Chapter 385: Esther and Rem
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 385: Esther and Rem
"Step back. Do only that, and I will give you everything."
Esther stared at the figure before her, which appeared to be nothing more than an illusion.
She had set out wondering what kind of trickery was afoot. If they dared to attack, she had intended to show them the vast, insurmountable difference in their levels.
The opponent's response, however, was unexpected. They did not pick a fight.
Instead, they had cast a spell over a pre-drawn magic circle, projecting the image of a person from far away.
It was a mere illusion.
Is this supposed to be an impressive trick? she couldn't help but wonder.
A spell that summoned an illusion here would require no ordinary amount of resources. It was akin to bypassing vast distances through pure magic. Making an illusion visible and projecting reality were two entirely different matters. Though some mages were said to achieve this using a Water Mirror or similar tools, it was by no means a common feat.
It was not Esther's specialty, nor had she ever seen it performed in person.
Contrary to her inner thoughts, Esther stood calmly, her gaze unwavering.
A breeze blew through the trees. She had slipped out of the capital and made her way to a nearby forest. The two mages who had activated the illusion's magic circle stood beside her, their hands politely clasped.
In that quiet clearing, the opponent appeared as a shimmering image.
Count Molsen. A man she had seen by Encrid's side.
"What matters most to a mage is their own world, and a world that aligns with their will. What I offer is clear. What do you say?"
The man overflowed with confidence. His tone suggested there was absolutely no reason to reject such an offer. He wasn't asking her to help him, nor to betray anyone, nor to play some trick on Encrid.
He wanted only one thing.
To step back and simply watch.
There was no need to weigh the options. The opponent before her wielded high-level magic. The artifacts and research materials he offered were rare and highly valuable. Conversely, what he asked of her was trivial.
That man knew exactly what was important to a mage.
The two mages standing beside her took it for granted that Esther would nod in agreement. Count Molsen had calculated that as well.
Esther had stayed by Encrid's side to rid herself of her curse, but now, Encrid's presence was no longer strictly necessary. She had already harnessed a portion of the curse to forge a new path for herself.
That was the reality of her current situation.
Therefore, the proposal was indeed attractive. It would provide the resources to expand her world and move forward. There was no logical reason not to choose it.
It was annoying that Count Molsen seemed to know this, but it didn't truly matter. Even if he was playing games, she had the power to easily ignore them. During her long struggle with the curse, those agonizing experiences had been fully integrated into her world.
Without answering, Esther calmly stared straight into the eyes watching her. Being an illusion, the figure had no color.
She locked eyes with the colorless specter. Looking at it, she couldn't help but laugh.
As she let out a bright, mocking laugh, the eyes of the two mages beside her snapped toward her. She felt them flinch. They were ready to make a move if things went south.
As Esther raised her arm, the front of her coat parted, revealing her form-fitting attire. Lust flickered in the eyes of the two mages.
Looking at the illusion and the two mages acting like puppets at another's beck and call, Esther reminded herself once again of who she was.
She was the witch who wielded the flames of the dark world. The witch who fought, struggled, and pioneered her own world. The witch born to pursue truth through fire.
Therefore, she would never do something as foolish as being swayed by another's will. And therefore, her refusal was absolutely not for Encrid's sake.
"My word," the Count spoke first.
Something akin to a primordial flame flared in Esther's eyes.
"I will burn you just the same."
Esther spoke, and for the first time since being cursed, she drew forth the true fire from within her world.
Having traveled so far out, the sun was already on the verge of setting.
"A pity," the Count spoke just before the illusion vanished. His tone was so dry it was impossible to tell if he truly found it regrettable. "Do you truly believe he will survive?" he asked.
Who else could "he" refer to?
Esther sneered at him. "If he were the type to die from something like this, he would have died long ago."
Was he really the kind of man to die just because he lacked a single mage?
Just?
But was it right for her to refer to herself as "just" a mage?
Esther thought for a moment, but her body moved on its own. Flames erupted. The two mages cast spells to resist, but it was futile. A meaningless struggle.
Their tiers were different, their power was different, and the paths they had walked were entirely different.
*
Rem thought as he sprinted, That bastard is definitely hiding something.
Should I just wait and face it?
That would be fun, but turning the opponent's stomach inside out sounded even more entertaining. He decided to do both.
He pulled out his sling as he ran. Placing a round, carved stone into the leather pouch, he raised the cords above his head and began to spin.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
The light spinning instantly erupted into a roaring, wind-splitting shriek. It was as if he were running with a spinning disc of death atop his head.
The Immortal Madman dashed into an alleyway without once looking back.
Instead of chasing him directly, Rem stepped onto the protruding eave of a nearby shop and leaped upward. His body soared. He landed on the roof and kept running, the spinning disc above his head following him like a hovering spear. The moment Rem secured a line of sight from the rooftop, he released the stone.
Even spinning and throwing from a stationary position was difficult to aim, let alone doing it while at a full sprint—but Rem was Rem.
The stone flew with a sharp whoosh, its trajectory a mere blur, and struck the back of the opponent's thigh.
Crack!
But it didn't make the sound Rem had expected. Why did it sound like a dull pop?
He saw one of the spear shafts on the opponent's back break.
Sorcery?
And high-level sorcery at that. Where on earth had he picked up such a thing? He must have acquired it by slaughtering his own kind.
"You're dead meat," Rem muttered to himself, hardening his resolve. Speaking aloud when the opponent couldn't even hear him showed just how determined he was.
As he unleashed a few more stone bullets, the remaining four spears trailing behind the opponent's back all shattered as if exploding. Splinters of wood scattered through the air.
The Immortal Madman ran without pause, twisting through the alleys until he burst into a wide-open space. It was the place the back-alley thugs called the plaza.
It wasn't particularly large—about a quarter of the size of the capital's central plaza. In the center of the capital, Naurilia, there was a plaza with a fountain, but this empty lot was the exact opposite in atmosphere. Still, it was spacious enough for about twenty grown men to tangle and fight.
Crack!
This bullet struck the ground. Stone dust billowed, and shards of broken rock sprayed in all directions. Having lost his spears, the Immortal Madman rolled across the ground, which was how he managed to dodge it.
Even so, he was ultimately struck in the back of the thigh by a subsequent stone bullet. Had it not been for his multi-layered, specially made leather guards, his leg would have been punctured or his flesh torn apart. Instead, he merely suppressed a groan and stood up, limping slightly.
Rem discarded his broken-strapped sling and looked down at the crowd gathered below. Looking down from the roof, the natural dynamic was established: the opponent looking up, and Rem looking down.
"Well, well. Is this some kind of hometown reunion?" Rem said, sounding impressed.
Scanning them one by one, they were all from the West. He didn't recognize any faces, but he could tell just by their vibe. They were all fugitives.
The Immortal Madman clutched his thigh for a moment before standing up. It seemed to hurt like hell.
"You bastard, you won't leave here alive."
To the Immortal Madman, Rem's very existence was a threat. If left alone, Rem would keep coming after him until he was dead. That was why he had intervened in this matter.
His goal was singular: to kill Rem.
To that end, he had gathered those who had been exiled from the West. Among them were some he had taken as disciples, and others who were mere mercenaries here strictly for the pay. Their common thread was that all twenty of them had once been candidates to become heroes of the West.
"Is that him?"
"He gathered all of us just to catch one guy?"
"I feel like I've seen him somewhere."
"That's Rem the Immortal. He's famous around the Border Guard."
"Famous? Don't make me laugh. A guy playing around in the sticks is a nobody. Immortal? What kind of velopter-shedding-its-scales nonsense is that?"
A velopter was a Western mount, a type of reptile. Since the scales covering their bodies rarely fell off, saying "a velopter shedding its scales" was an idiom meaning something was utterly absurd.
The gathered men chimed in one by one. Their voices jumbled together, but it wasn't hard to make out their disdain. Among them, several kept their mouths shut, their eyes gleaming. Every single one of those silent types was "ready."
Ready to fire the blowguns at their waists.
"Exiles always have the loudest mouths," Rem muttered, bending his knees to squat. Squatting on the roof, he scanned the gathered crowd.
They were nothing but a collection of trash.
As he watched, Rem pulled a sling from his breast pocket, loaded a bullet snugly, then reached back in to pull out another sling, wedging it between his thighs. Using his legs to make up for his lack of hands, he loaded another bullet.
With every movement, the round, carved stone bullets in the pouches tied to both sides of his waist clattered against each other. Now holding a sling in each hand, he spun them the moment he stood up.
Whirrrrrr!
With the sunlight at his back, two spinning discs appeared in Rem's hands. They spread diagonally to his left and right like wings. As Rem kicked off the roof and leaped upward, the two discs made it look as though wings were keeping him suspended in midair.
Of course, that wasn't the case. It was merely an illusion of motion.
The moment Rem snapped his wrists, the bullets flew at a speed nearly impossible to track with the naked eye.
Whoosh, whoosh!
Half of the Western fugitives raised their shields. Some had thick, leather-reinforced shields, while others had small bucklers strapped to their wrists. Those with the small bucklers were the ones who trusted in their own agility; they carried shields barely large enough to cover their faces because they excelled at deflecting the point of impact.
The heads of the two men holding those light shields burst like smashed pumpkins.
Splat! Splat!
The sound was crisp. Blood and brain matter sprayed into the air, mixing together. Blood, acting as paint, flowed across the canvas of the dark gray ground.
The bullets were twice as fast as the one that had struck the Immortal Madman earlier—far faster than they had anticipated—making them incredibly lethal. Two of the Western fugitives died without even a chance to resist.
Thud, thud.
The two collapsed backward. Landing on the ground, Rem spun his slings once more.
Whoosh, whoosh, whirrrrr!
"Block it!" the Immortal Madman screamed.
Bullshit.
Rem envisioned the fight from start to finish. He would begin with the sling and end it with his axe. The Immortal Madman would absolutely die here.
It was only natural. Time had passed since his last encounter with the Immortal Madman. In the interim, Rem had lost to that crazy bastard, Ragna. Even Encrid didn't know how deeply that defeat had stung Rem's pride.
That sting had driven Rem to become diligent. It forced him to swing his axe and train relentlessly. He had even secretly observed Encrid's Isolation Technique, picking up parts he could apply to himself and incorporating them into his training.
This was no time to be picky. Rather than questioning whether what went into his mouth was made by a ghoul or a human, he was too busy filling his stomach.
Ragna, you son of a bitch.
Even now, just thinking of that bastard Ragna made power surge through him. He unleashed that power, fueled by rage, directly onto his enemies.
As he hurled two more stone bullets at the rushing crowd, the men with large shields closed the distance.
Thud! Thud!
The shields, crafted from dozens of layers of leather and reinforced with tough rubberwood, withstood the force of the bullets. The stones embedded themselves in the shields without penetrating.
"Crazy bastard," one of the shield-bearers muttered, his face pale. The stones were far more threatening than he had imagined, but he couldn't afford to lose his nerve. Once your spirit broke, you couldn't properly execute either sorcery or physical techniques.
Whether the opponent steeled his resolve or not, it didn't matter to Rem.
Watching the men close in, Rem dropped the two slings and reached for his waist. He gripped the handle of his axe.
Seeing the long-handled axe, one of the men lunged forward in an instant. His speed was formidable. In the blink of an eye, he was right in front of Rem. It was the sorcery, Lightning Foot.
As if expecting this, Rem drew the axe and thrust it straight forward. It wasn't as fast as the Lightning Foot, but the timing was perfect. It looked as though the opponent had rushed forward specifically to be hit.
The man who had charged in with accelerated speed became the first sacrifice to the axe blade.
Thud.
The perfectly upright axe blade split the man's head in two. Naturally, a man with his head split in two could not survive. Yet, without even realizing he was dead, his body kept moving toward Rem. His hands grabbed Rem's thigh. He was a fighter whose specialty was getting close to twist and break bones.
He died right there, clutching Rem's leg.
With the corpse still clinging to him, Rem began to swing his axe.
Whoosh, crack, crash, thud!
Every single one of them was inferior even to Encrid. The only real threat was the Immortal Madman. He threw spears that mimicked descent weapons and charged in, wielding a spear himself.
Though threatening...
He's leagues below that bastard Ragna.
Having danced to that bastard's swordplay, this level of combat was laughable. In an instant, Rem's axe split five heads and severed the limbs of the sixth and seventh men, completely turning the tide of the battle.
These were men who had never been prepared to risk their lives in the first place. That was why they had become fugitives.
"He's a fucking monster!" one of them screamed. It was a realization that had just dawned on the Immortal Madman as well.
The moment the thought of fleeing crossed his mind, the Immortal Madman threw all his spare spears and grabbed the arm of the man he called his disciple, flinging him forward. This was accompanied by a sorcery that surged with the strength of a bear.
"Masterrrrr!" The thrown disciple's cry was pitiful.
Rem swung his axe at the incoming human projectile.
Whoosh! Crash!
With his Heart of Monstrous Strength beating, the power dwelling in his arms was like that of a giant. Holding his breath and channeling his strength, he swung his axe diagonally.
A clean diagonal line was drawn through the flying human projectile. Through the axe blade, he vividly felt the sensation of cutting through flesh, muscle, and bone. The weight of the body transmitted a heavy pressure through his arms, but as he withstood and overcame it, a sudden sense of liberation washed over him.
The axe blade had passed completely through the human body.
With a wet thud, the split man became two halves, brushing past Rem's shoulders as they fell. In that brief moment, a deluge of blood drenched Rem's entire body.
Rem's gray eyes, now stained red, gleamed. In his vision, he saw the back of the fleeing bastard.
If anyone were to ask him what he had trained the most since meeting the Immortal Madman, he was ready to answer with absolute confidence.
His leg strength.
That was also why he had stolen and learned the Isolation Technique.
"If I lose him this time, my mother is a ghoul."
Muttering the habit of speech he had picked up thanks to Encrid, Rem kicked off the ground. The Immortal Madman bolted, and Rem pursued without a moment's hesitation.
There were survivors, but they could only blink in a daze. They had only survived out of sheer luck. Their gazes followed Rem and the Immortal Madman.
Earlier, it had been a chase as well, but one side had laid a trap, and the other had walked into it knowingly. This time was different. There were no traps, and the pursuer was dead serious.
At most, he would be caught and killed within half a day. Seeing the inevitable future of the Immortal Madman, the survivors began to move.
To remain here meant only a dog's death.