Chapter 411: Borrowing for a Moment
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 411: Borrowing for a Moment
Sachsen, who had been unleashing a relentless barrage of daggers, hurled a Silence Dagger directly at the space between the Count’s brows.
The blade flew without a sound, only to detonate with a thunderous roar right in front of the Count’s face.
Amidst the deafening blast, a black veil shimmered before the Count. His barrier remained intact. It seemed a mere dagger, even one bolstered by a scroll, wasn't enough to pierce it.
“Do not beg for mercy!”
Dean Molsen, a man who had always looked down upon the world, finally felt the cold sting of a crisis now that he was backed to the edge of a cliff. Sweat poured down his back. He had never experienced anything like this—not once in his life. The novelty of the fear made him lose his composure entirely.
The Count was already weaving spells far beyond the capacity of an ordinary mage. Now, he was even burning through his own lifespan to fuel his malice.
His eyes rolled back into his head as he converted even more wraiths.
Those pitch-black eyes turned toward Sachsen. Suddenly, Sachsen felt a horrific chill surging from the hole in his stomach.
‘Hm?’
His legs buckled, nearly sending him to the ground, but Sachsen forced himself to stand. There were two bastards right next to him, practically begging for him to fall; he wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
“Die, die, die, die, die.”
The Count raised his staff, muttering like a madman as he glared at Sachsen. Sachsen stared back. Though the Count’s eyes were void-black, making it impossible to distinguish pupil from sclera, a relentless, burning obsession flickered within them.
The more the Count spoke, the more intense the cold rising from Sachsen's abdomen became. It reached a point where he could barely remain upright. Sachsen dropped to one knee. He slammed his palm against the ground with a heavy thud and squeezed his eyes shut.
He had to resist the cold. As he focused, he heard Rem muttering beside him.
“That's it. Just like that.”
Crazy barbarian, Sachsen thought as he deepened his concentration.
What his opponent had used was a type of curse. He had planted something foul within Sachsen's wound. All Sachsen had to do was find it and gouge it out. He began to observe the internal workings of his own body.
The endurance to bear the pain.
The composure to observe his own form.
And finally, the sensitivity to act.
If he were to add one more thing, it would be an indomitable heart.
‘There is no giving up.’
Sachsen, too, had learned something from watching Encrid.
Though it was his first time facing this specific spell, there had to be a solution. He had to organize what he knew, what he had experienced, and what he could deduce to find the answer.
Thus, during the interval while Sachsen endured on his knees—or more accurately, while his fellow squad members shattered every danger in their path—Encrid took three steps forward.
Those steps were toward the Count. He was now within sword's reach.
It was thanks to his squad members, who had repeatedly intercepted the Count as he cast spells and played his desperate tricks.
Having closed the distance, Encrid placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and spoke.
“You are already within my domain.”
With three kneeling and one standing, everyone looked at Encrid. The Count looked at him too.
Domain? He meant within the reach of his blade. The Count snorted in derision. He trusted the defensive spell wrapped around his body.
Encrid regulated his breathing. He had pushed himself to the brink to break through the Ten Thousand Wraiths. Fatigue had accumulated to the point where his muscles trembled, but it didn't matter.
It wasn't like this was the first or second time he had felt this way. This was a common occurrence when swinging a sword. Especially back when he had nothing, he had to swing his blade until his muscles tore. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to even reach for his dreams.
What must one do to reach out and move forward, even when the path is invisible?
Repeat, and repeat again.
It was thanks to that grueling experience that he knew how to push past his limits. Encrid could still endure.
His gaze fell upon the black veil shimmering in front of the Count. Encrid had already seen Sachsen pierce the opponent's barrier once. Through that, he had roughly estimated the strength of the protection surrounding the Count.
‘Even if a thrown dagger can't pierce it...’
It could still be cut. Of course, ordinary swordsmanship wouldn't suffice. There must not be a single shred of doubt in the mind that intends to sever.
Therefore.
“Ragna, I'm borrowing this for a moment.”
There was no time for Ragna to ask what he meant.
Encrid once again imitated the technique he had tried to copy and reflect upon countless times, only to fail every single time. He raised the sword as if the tip would pierce the heavens. He gripped the hilt with both hands and relaxed his shoulders.
It was the Heavy Sword Style Upper Stance.
To be precise, it was a modified stance of a family heirloom swordsmanship passed down in a northern household. Ragna's surname was Zaun, and she had arbitrarily altered the swordsmanship stance passed down through the Zaun family.
Encrid had no way of knowing that. He simply finished his preparations to swing.
Ragna looked at Encrid with slightly surprised eyes.
‘Not bad.’
The stance, the momentum, and even the will—it was hard to find fault with any of it. It was the best stance Encrid had shown so far. The fact that he had copied Ragna's own style made her feel that way even more.
Ragna wasn't the only one surprised. Rem had been impressed ever since they started fighting the horde of wraith soldiers.
‘He hasn't been pushed back even once.’
Encrid had kept pace with his and Ragna's rhythm. Now, it was hard to even recall the captain of the past.
‘How amusing. Truly amusing,’ Rem thought, tightening his grip on his axe, prepared to hurl it if things went south.
Unable to clasp his hands, Audin chanted his prayers with only his mouth. The pain felt as if his skull were shattering, but Audin endured it with ease and prayed.
“The sheep watched over by the Father has shed its wool to become a shepherd.”
And a shepherd is one who strikes and chastises what is wrong and wayward.
A restriction was no joke. If something went wrong, one could go mad from the pain. There were plenty of people who ended up that way due to a lack of discipline. But what must be done, must be done. That was what Audin had learned from watching the man named Encrid.
Sachsen raised Carmen's stiletto and slowly stabbed his own abdomen. Avoiding his vital organs, he aimed the thrust directly at the source of the chill.
Squelch.
With that, he suppressed the cold and looked ahead. Though the blade had pierced his stomach, it wasn't a fatal wound. He had avoided his organs, and proper treatment would be more than enough. Moreover, he hadn't stabbed himself deeply.
He also reflected on his shortcomings.
‘I was sloppy.’
He hadn't fully utilized his assassination techniques. For some reason, his master's teachings came back to him.
“Do you want to do your best? Then find a place to stay first.”
Why did he say such a thing? When he was destined to inherit the Dagger of Geor, didn't he already have a place to stay?
“If you enjoy fighting with all your might, you will become drunk on killing and being killed.”
His master had said so. Sachsen had indeed felt that way before. What must he do to avoid that?
It was an untimely train of thought. Sachsen decisively cut off his reflections. This was not what mattered right now. He looked ahead.
There stood his captain, who no longer needed his help. The captain's back filled his vision. It was a stance poised to step forward and swing the sword.
“Phew, damn bastards.”
The Count steadied his breathing. Though he had been pushed back repeatedly, seeing them collapse one by one allowed him to barely regain something resembling composure.
His eyes turned to Encrid. The Count also knew how to wield a sword. Seeing Encrid take his stance, the Count decided he couldn't afford to yield the first strike. Since the shimmering black veil would render most attacks useless anyway, he went on the offensive.
After rapid calculations, the Count thrust his sword first. He kicked off the ground and lunged. It was a flawless thrust. The tip of the sword, appearing as a mere dot, flew toward Encrid. It was straight, precise, fast, and powerful.
Encrid calmly struck down, parrying the Count's sword.
Clang!
The Count tried to recover his deflected sword to slash, while Encrid briefly copied Ragna's severing technique.
Encrid's foot kicked the ground as he lunged forward. At the same time, his shoulders rotated smoothly, and the sword's trajectory shifted, pivoting on his waist. The sword he had swung down to block the Count's thrust changed direction, moving like a fish playing in a river.
The Heart of Monstrous Strength surged, adding power, and to this, he added his will.
‘Cut.’
It was the Will of Severing.
Encrid's sword swept horizontally, parallel to the ground, slicing across the bridge of the Count's nose.
Screech!
The barrier was cut. Will is the power of volition. The Will of Severing cleaved through the barrier and split his skull as well.
Having split the skull, Silver shattered into pieces and flew apart.
Encrid froze in his follow-through stance and exhaled the breath he had been holding. Standing with both hands gripping the hilt, his eyes seemed to glow blue. In the black world created by the Count, those two shining blue eyes made him look as if he alone stood in a different world.
“Phew.”
Exhaling, Encrid felt the pain in his arm muscles as he lowered his halved sword and turned around.
The Count had lost the top of his head.
To an onlooker, it would have seemed like a very simple exchange of blows. Encrid had simply deflected the thrusting sword with his own, and instead of pulling his sword back to recover his stance, he had smoothly transitioned into a high horizontal slash. The Count had been struck down without even the chance to block.
It was a portion of the technique Ragna had shown earlier, infused with the Will of Severing. That was why he had said he was borrowing it.
“Gurgle...”
Bloody foam bubbled up from the Count's mouth. Though he was a treacherous schemer who had turned the nation of Naurilia upside down, death was fair to all humans. Since a person could die from a stray arrow, there was no way a human with his head split open could survive.
Blood poured down the Count's split head. The gushing crimson looked intensely red, even in the darkness.
And then, something incomprehensible happened.
“I cannot end like this.”
It was a voice that rang in their heads once more. The Count spoke even in death, his voice splitting into two overlapping tones. Blood was streaming down his face, yet his mouth was speaking perfectly fine.
Only then did Audin suspect the opponent's true identity.
‘This is...?’
An ominous sensation, the kind one would only feel deep within the Demon Realm, brushed against his skin.
“A demon?”
While Audin muttered to himself, black smoke began to pour from the Count's body.
“To think you cleaved through them, even if it was a mere ten thousand and not a hundred thousand. I respect that. Out of respect, I shall bestow upon you a deep curse... Hm? A witch?”
It was just before the smoke could take human form after Audin called it a demon. As gibberish continued to spill from the Count's mouth, thunder rumbled through the dark clouds.
Rumble!
The black smoke stopped mid-formation. Encrid watched it, holding his halved sword.
Pitter-patter.
Then, raindrops began to fall.
“...I've been done in.”
The headless Count and the demon, who had failed to fully manifest, spoke at the same time. Their voices overlapped. Encrid felt he now understood why the Count's voice had occasionally sounded distorted.
It was because he harbored a demon. Not that it changed anything, though.
Encrid threw away the broken Silver and drew his Gladius. Draw attention with the Gladius, and the fatal blow would be...
‘With the Spark.’
In an instant, he mapped out the course of the battle. As he alone prepared to fight while everyone else was stunned, the demon's gaze turned back to Encrid.
“What an audacious brat.”
No emotion could be felt in its tone. But that didn't matter either. For Encrid was simply trying to finish an unfinished battle. Moreover, all of his company members looked injured or exhausted. He was the only one who could step up.
At this point, one might wonder if this was an insurmountable wall, but Encrid did not. Do the absolute best in every single moment—since he had lived his life that way, he would simply do the same now.
Beyond the mindscape, the Ferryman burst into laughter.
“Indeed.”
He truly was a proper madman.
*
The Count was highly talented, and his greed far exceeded human limits. Thus, he had obtained and consumed the heart of a demon.
Ignoring the crazy swordsman rushing at him, the demon watched the witch's trickery and spoke.
“Wouldn't it be disappointing for me if you even blocked my final curse?”
Though its tone was light, the weight carried by the word 'demon' was extraordinary. A monster of the highest danger level, the kind only found in the Demon Realm. Beings possessing intelligence, exceptionally skilled at tormenting and killing humans.
“A demon,” Encrid muttered.
The demon's eyes fell upon him.
“You, yes. You were impressive, human. But even if I wanted to fight right now, I don't think I can.”
The demon did not know the path Encrid had walked, but it knew what he had accomplished just now. Had they not all gathered around this human as their core? Moreover, wasn't the witch who just played her trick also one of his people?
“If you touch him, I will hunt you down wherever you go and kill you.”
Transcending space, the witch's voice reached the demon. Even a demon wouldn't welcome annihilation. Thus, the threat was rather annoying.
“What an insolent witch.”
Only eye-like shapes emerged from the black mist, casting a dull gaze over the crowd.
The moment Encrid perceived the opponent, he felt a strange sensation. It was definitely not human. But did that mean it couldn't be cut? Was that really true? It said it wouldn't fight, but was that the truth? Should he try cutting it?
Right after that thought crossed his mind, just as he was about to gather his remaining strength and charge, the demon cast its gaze upon him. Its tone had been playful until now, but this time was different.
“We will meet again.”
Though its form was faintly visible to Encrid through the mist, it was difficult to make out its appearance.
“I am the Master of 100,000 Wraiths.”
As soon as it spoke, the demon's body dissolved. The pitter-patter of the falling rain began to grow heavier, making it impossible to endure any longer.
The witch summoned the rain using her mana. Since this was a natural phenomenon, it had the effect of erasing artificial constructs. Moreover, the rain was warm. The witch had opened a portion of her spell world, letting rain infused with mana pour down.
The demon dissolved. The falling rain washed away the spell world created by Dean Molsen, which had helped manifest the wraiths upon this land.
Just before vanishing, the demon took back its heart and read the final thoughts of the dead soul who had been its sacrifice and minion.
“Everything was in the palm of my hand...”
It was Dean Molsen's final resentment.
“Did you really think the world was that easy?”
The Count voiced his bitterness as he died, but there was nothing to be done now. These were words only the demon could hear. The lingering remnants of the dead soul were quickly erased.
The demon smacked its lips. It was a pity to have lost the opportunity to leave a massive scar on the human world. Just before the fragment of the soul residing in its minion completely perished, the demon looked at the one who had killed it.
Black hair, blue eyes.
“Encrid.”
Having heard someone call his name, the demon remembered it. It thought of him as a human with a face it would love to torment until he begged for death, should they ever meet again.