Chapter 407: Watch Him. He Is My Friend
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 407: Watch Him. He Is My Friend
Audin knew that in his current state, he couldn't match his opponents in speed. He could tell just by the way they lunged at him.
Others might not have realized it, but a select few—Encrid included—knew that Audin possessed incredible insight and fought with a cold, calculating mind. On the surface, he looked like a man who solved every problem with brute force, but that was far from the truth.
They are too fast.
He could easily catch them if he endured the pain and channeled his divine power, but there was no need for that yet.
Audin calculated and moved. In a way, his style of fighting was the closest to the Orthodox Sword.
Two opponents rushed him. One held a trident, the other a long spear. Both kept their distance, thrusting at Audin with annoying persistence, repeatedly stabbing and retreating. Spearheads faster than a bee's sting fiercely sought to pierce and tear Audin's flesh.
Audin compensated for his lack of speed by minimizing his movements. He deflected the spearheads with the backs of his hands, keeping his defense ironclad.
Flutter!
The tattered cloak draped over his shoulders whipped wildly. It was little more than a rag, offering no real protection; every time a spearhead grazed it, the fabric shredded further.
Audin endured and bided his time. Then, in a flash, he dropped his center and lunged forward. For a split second, he moved so fast his body seemed to blur. If he committed his entire strength solely to a forward charge, he could momentarily match his opponents' speed.
"Ha!" the trident-wielder grunted.
Because Audin had ducked so low, the spearhead only grazed his back. It was a thrust backed by monstrous strength; even a mere graze split his rag-like cloak in two and scraped his skin. Yet, no blood flowed. Audin's skin was as tough as iron armor, far removed from that of an ordinary human.
Having closed the distance, Audin wrapped his arms around his opponent's knees. Even if the enemy was more agile, Audin would not be outmatched in raw strength—and the pinnacle of hand-to-hand combat lay in close quarters.
As Audin grabbed the knees and hoisted him up, the trident-wielder's feet left the ground.
"What?!" the creature cried out in shock.
His trapped legs wouldn't budge, as if wedged between massive boulders. He instinctively tried to shake Audin off, but it was futile. Finding himself hoisted into the air, he couldn't help but panic.
Seeing this, the long-spearman thrust his weapon forward without hesitation. Sensing the ripples in the air, Audin read the trajectory of the spearhead and slightly twisted his torso.
Swoosh!
The spearhead slid along his torso, deflecting harmlessly to the side.
It was a Body Deflection.
Audin was the very man who had taught this technique to Encrid. It was only natural that his execution was far superior. Despite his massive build, his body moved as fluidly as a ball of cotton. The spearhead struck his back but only grazed past.
All the while, the man whose knees were gripped by Audin remained suspended in the air.
The airborne opponent dropped his trident and reached out with both hands. His fingernails, which had suddenly grown long and sharp, clawed at Audin's forearms. Ignoring them entirely, Audin slammed him into the ground.
Crash! Crack!
Naturally, Audin didn't stop at a mere slam.
After pinning him down, Audin rolled forward while holding onto the man's legs, flipping them over the opponent's head. Folding the enemy's waist completely in half, he stepped on the shoulder with his right foot and ripped out the spine.
Riiiiip!
The blood-red bone was exposed to the open air. Blood sprayed violently under the sheer, brutal force. The opponent's claws never even had a chance to touch Audin's shoulder. Everything happened in the blink of an eye.
Having dispatched one, Audin turned his gaze to the long-spearman. The creature flinched. Even though it had half-lost its mind, it was stunned by what it had just witnessed.
"A monster...?"
Hearing the word come from the mouth of a monster, Audin smiled faintly.
"The Lord awaits you, brother monster."
The fight that followed was no different. The monster whom even two men couldn't handle was now helpless as Audin deflected spear strikes and closed the distance. Even Audin's iron-like skin suffered scratches, and blood occasionally splattered, for his opponent's strength was not to be underestimated.
Nevertheless, the distance closed.
Once caught in Audin's grasp, the opponent had his arms ripped out and his waist snapped. At the very end, Audin performed the brutal feat of tearing out a portion of the cervical vertebrae with his bare fingers.
Encrid almost clapped.
Was the opponent's martial prowess overwhelming? Yes. Yet, this was the result. On the surface, they looked like Chimera Humans resembling knights.
But they are still no knights.
Even then, the Count, seated on an unnaturally dark, black chair, did not move.
Sachsen slipped behind Encrid, catching his breath.
"He's a troublesome spellcaster."
Hearing Sachsen's assessment, it was clear the Count was a formidable foe. Encrid looked at Count Molsen. Veins bulged on the Count's forehead, and his eyes burned with a murderous intent so intense that "bloodthirsty" felt like an understatement.
"I should have killed you sooner."
The Count felt genuine regret. He had never imagined they would block his path to this extent. To think things would turn out like this when not even a single proper knight had stepped forward—it was infuriating.
But that did not mean he had failed. Besides, the reason he had kept them alive was clear. He would plant wraiths in them and turn them into his thralls. If he couldn't keep them under his thumb as humans, he would simply have them remain in a non-human form.
"I won't be able to sleep with my legs stretched out in peace until I've slaughtered every last one of you."
"I'll make sure your legs are folded nicely inside a coffin so you can rest," Encrid retorted smoothly.
It was a sharp jab—implying the Count wouldn't die peacefully, but would instead have his legs broken and folded—delivered at the perfect moment. Needless to say, the retort twisted the Count's stomach in knots.
If nothing else, that bastard's tongue was sharp enough to rival a knight's sword. Though, of course, even the sword in his hand had now become incredibly threatening.
"Yes, babble all you want! I will tear you to shreds and burn you alive! I'll keep you conscious until the very end so you can watch your own flesh rip and burn!"
He would claim whatever remained of their souls, leaving them in a state of being neither dead nor alive.
When the Count spat out those final words, his voice sounded as if two voices were overlapping. The sound sent a sharp, ringing ache through Encrid's head.
Amusingly, as Encrid listened to the Count's curse, he felt his vision expand. It was the very sensation he had experienced when he was trapped in Abnayor's grasp, unable to break free. It was a way of perceiving the battlefield through pure intuition, rather than strategy and tactics.
The realms of intuition and the sixth sense expanded, carving out a path to achieve his will. It belonged not to the domain of reason, but to instinct. It was a realization that came naturally, especially given the words Esther had once spoken to him.
I have to kill him to end this.
It was an intuitive certainty that the war would only end with the Count's death. Just as he was reflecting on this intuition—
"Are we just going to leave him be?" Rem asked.
Encrid stared blankly at his barbarian subordinate. Behind Rem, Ragna, Audin, and Sachsen also came into view. Every single one of them looked slightly exhausted, but they were not the type to show it.
Audin, who seemed to have broken a finger, popped the bone back into place with a sharp crack and smiled.
"Brother, let me add a prayer to your journey."
It was an invitation to fight together. Encrid looked around at the four of them, then turned his head back toward the Count. His eyes spoke his intentions clearly.
"Together?"
At his brief question, the four of them naturally nodded.
Rem took a step forward, Ragna followed close behind, and Sachsen quietly took his place at the side. Audin moved at the very rear, watching over them all.
"I knew he was a miserable bastard. Right from the start," Rem muttered.
"Agreed. That thing needs to die," Sachsen replied.
"There's no need to look for a shortcut anymore," Ragna said, staring straight at the Count.
"My Lord, Father. I shall send up one more soul with a feeble mind to You," Audin prayed.
Encrid walked out in front of the four of them.
Sinar did not join them. To be honest, she didn't think she would be of any help right now. Though she had slain the newly mutated elves, one of their blades had slashed her thigh, making it difficult to run. No matter how much she drew upon the vital energy of spring to fight, they were not easy opponents.
She pulled out a bandage and wrapped it tightly around her thigh. Even if she couldn't help, she refused to be a hindrance.
Dunchabel and Teresa didn't even dare to intervene. Encrid had already told them to fall back earlier. Although it sounded like a convenient excuse to avoid the front lines, they faithfully obeyed his command.
While Dunchabel and Teresa retreated to the rear, Encrid and his companions steadily advanced.
In truth, none of them—Rem, Ragna, Audin, or Sachsen—were in perfect condition. Sachsen was the least injured among them, but his specialty was not frontal breakthroughs. And in terms of pure swordsmanship, Encrid could now be considered superior.
Yet, the five of them pressed on. They did what had to be done.
Encrid had lived every single "today" in exactly that manner. And so, he walked forward to bring an end to this civil war.
Krang and Marcus, who had joined late, witnessed this scene.
"More than all the months I spent racking my brain, worrying, suffering, and preparing... it seems a friend I met by chance is going to place the crown upon my head," Krang said with a smile. He didn't look worried in the slightest.
Marcus found it baffling that Krang could smile so brightly in a situation like this.
"Can you really laugh right now?"
Although their ally—specifically, Encrid—had displayed overwhelming martial prowess, Count Molsen remained unfazed. He sat motionless, radiating a dark, gloomy aura. He looked as though he were seated on a throne of death in a palace of the battlefield. If someone had claimed the chair's actual name was Death, it would have been easy to believe.
Aisia also approached, leading her knights to a spot where Encrid and his company were visible. Squire Ropode, who was under her command, caught sight of Encrid and his companions and spoke up hastily.
"I will help!"
Before he knew it, Ropode had come to respect and follow Encrid more than any actual knight. Who else could fight like that, and step forward like that? Ropode was ready to charge out immediately, but his orange-haired superior stopped him.
"Don't be reckless."
"Pardon?"
"He stepped forward and brought the entire battlefield to a halt just to keep fools like you from dying. Just watch closely and see how they fight."
Even Aisia was disgruntled.
He didn't even ask me to come along?
She was an Associate Knight. She was a skilled fighter. Sure, she had lost to Encrid once, but those standing by his side right now had just been through a brutal battle. They were bound to be injured. Wouldn't it make more sense to take her, since she was relatively unscathed?
"How annoying."
A sudden urge to join them welled up inside her. Even though she was a member of the Red Cloak Knights—a group peerless within Naurilia—right now, she wanted to stand by Encrid's side. She wanted to do so no matter the cost. Thus, the words she used to stop Ropode were as much for herself as they were for him.
The Shepherd of the Wilderness had also been quietly slipping away from the suddenly halted battlefield, but Pel, unable to suppress his curiosity, approached under the pretext of guarding Krang.
Huh?
It was a familiar face.
That moonlit night.
It was the crazy bastard who had begged to be cut down again and again, even after being slashed by the Idol Slayer. Pel had known the man was extraordinary, but still...
Was he really that strong?
He stared at Encrid's back. It was a back that had influenced everything that had transpired on this battlefield, a back that now advanced after bringing the combat to a standstill.
Is it duty? A duty to fight and protect?
As Pel was lost in thought, Krang spoke, his eyes shining.
"Watch him. He is my friend."
A friend, he said. So he wasn't bound by royal duty. Yet, he still stepped forward. For what?
Pel had heard his declaration to end the war. That meant he had stepped forward solely for that purpose. To a shepherd who moved only for utility and profit, such an action didn't quite resonate.
"Pel. To lead a flock, you must not view the world solely through the lens of profit and loss."
His father's teachings came to mind. Pel gained a small realization: sometimes, one had to accept losses for the sake of an ideal. At the same time, he made a decision. He would leave the shepherds for a while. It wasn't just because of the nagging elders.
There is much to learn from him.
While Pel was lost in thought, Krang smiled and ordered everyone to stand down.
Only Marcus was burning with anxiety. He knew it too—that there was no stopping Encrid now. Even so, he wanted to use some underhanded trick. Even if he were to be cursed for the rest of his life, he wanted to shoot an arrow straight at the Count's head right this instant. Of course, it wouldn't work. But he couldn't help wanting to try anyway.
He wanted to stop Encrid from walking straight into the jaws of a bastard who looked incredibly dangerous just to look at.
Seeing Krang smiling through all this, Marcus couldn't help but ask, "I find it truly baffling how you can laugh right now."
"Commander Marcus, if I don't laugh now, when will I? Besides, if Enki dies, we're all going to die anyway."
"...We still have our last resort, don't we?"
"I will not use it."
"Why?"
"A crown is not worth wearing if it means letting a friend die."
Krang was still the same. He was who he was. Marcus found it frustrating, but that was precisely why he served him. Only then could Marcus put his mind at ease. All he had to do was bet everything on Encrid.
"Well then," Marcus let out a hollow laugh and smiled.
* * *
The Count was not looking at the approaching men. His gaze was fixed on the rear of the battlefield. The detachment he had sent to slit the throat of that wretched witch was just about to ambush the rear.
That damn witch.
In his mind, the Count cursed Esther a hundred times over.