Chapter 437: Those Lacking Intelligence
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 437: Those Lacking Intelligence
The request was simple.
Naurilia operated under a framework called the Soldier Mercenary System, and this favor—this mission—was a formal request issued through that very system.
[Proceed to the Demon Realm borderlands and provide support to the order of knights.]
The document even specified that the request had come directly from none other than Knight Oara.
Although the letter had been penned by Marcus, Encrid felt as if he could hear Krang’s voice echoing in his ears.
“She’s a knight. Don’t you want to meet her?”
He did. Beyond that, the rewards listed in exchange for the mission were substantial.
“What’s this? Pedigree breeding stock? Oh, and irrigation technology? With this, we might actually be able to install a proper sewage system for the Border Guard, just like in the capital.”
In a world where people were forced to live within the safety of castle walls due to the constant threat of monsters and demonic beasts, many conveniences had been developed. However, the vast majority of those advancements were concentrated solely in the capital.
Now, they were offering to share that technology.
They were offering him a meeting with a knight and the gift of technology—they were giving him everything he needed.
They already gave me Aker. Is this really okay?
Encrid rested his hand on the hilt of the sword hanging from his belt.
He knew nothing of politics. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if the surrounding nobility might object to such a generous transfer of knowledge, but he quickly dismissed the thought.
The ones handing over the technology were nobles themselves.
He must have persuaded them well.
Just as Encrid’s persuasion relied on his hands, his feet, and his sword, Krang’s persuasion relied on his words and his sheer presence.
His worry was short-lived. While these logistical matters were important, they didn't truly occupy his mind. Only one name remained vividly etched in his brain: Knight Oara.
A knight.
His grip tightened instinctively. The leather strap binding his right arm for training began to groan, snapping and fraying with a series of sharp pops. It felt as though the restraint would burst apart if he applied even a fraction more force.
The Knight of Azpen, the Mercenary King, Ragna, Sinar.
Encrid had clashed with them all, witnessing firsthand what it meant to be a knight. Even now, in his mind, he was endlessly parrying the blades of Ragna and Sinar.
But that wasn't enough.
Encrid had swum through the Lake of Experience under the guidance of Luagarne. In doing so, he had shattered his own stagnation. Yet, despite everything he had endured and achieved, he still felt a void. There was a burning thirst in his throat that refused to be quenched.
Perhaps this task would finally provide the answer.
Knight Oara.
He wanted to meet her out of pure, martial curiosity. Refusing was out of the question.
However, the entire unit couldn't go, nor was there a need for it. A postscript at the bottom of the letter mentioned that Azpen’s deterrent force needed to remain stationed where it was. There was no reason for the entire Mad Company to mobilize for such a minor support role.
Krais folded the letter neatly and spoke first.
“Please leave Lord Audin behind. We need someone to oversee the general training.”
The training of the Border Guard’s standing army was grueling. The presence of a leader who could push them through the process without a single word of complaint was essential. In truth, anyone—including Encrid—could have done it, but Audin was currently the perfect fit for the role.
Anyone who had seen his fists up close would sooner desert than dare to rebel.
Of course, Audin firmly believed that all his actions were born from a spirit of benevolence. The soldiers, however, were convinced that the god’s benevolence resided solely in the man's fists.
“I do not mind staying behind, Brother,” Audin said.
Although the order of knights had requested support, the situation didn't seem dire. The letter mentioned they were simply short on numbers and needed help fending off troublesome monster ambushes.
“I still have much to pass on to you. I must go with you,” Luagarne, who had been listening nearby, interjected. Encrid nodded in agreement.
“I have a lot of work to do as well.”
The speaker was Esther. She was a beauty with long hair and striking blue eyes; once someone laid eyes on her, it was impossible to look away. Today, she maintained her human form. As she swept back her hair, several soldiers guarding the quarters near the training ground stood transfixed.
Encrid subtly shifted his body to block their view. If they kept staring, he was certain Esther would start talking about gouging out eyeballs again.
“I’m busy.”
Ragna was slacking off.
It was a bold statement coming from the single idlest man in the entire unit. It wasn't hard to guess his true intentions, though. Since the task wasn't dangerous, he didn't want to bother traveling; he preferred to stay and hone his own skills.
If Ragna felt frustrated and needed to vent his energy, he could simply patrol the Pen-Hanil Mountains or the areas near the five walled cities Krais had mentioned. Monster activity had been rising sharply of late.
“Do as you wish.”
Encrid nodded. He had no illusions about how "diligently" Ragna would actually move while he was away.
Ropode stayed behind, as did Pel.
Pel’s complexion had grown terribly sallow in the few days since Encrid had last seen him. His energy had waned because he had lost his confidence, but no one offered him comfort.
Wasn't it the unspoken rule to overcome such hurdles on one's own? To Encrid and his companions, that was the only natural way. And if he fell behind? Then they would simply conclude that the swordsman raised by the Shepherd of the Wilderness was a lacking bastard and leave it at that.
Encrid didn't worry about him. It was Pel’s own burden to sort out.
Teresa also stayed behind to assist Audin.
“I want to fight,” Dunchabel said, though she was hiding her true feelings.
To be honest, there wasn't a single person in the inner circle weaker than her—not Teresa, and certainly not the newcomer, Ropode. Dunchabel’s skills had improved after being tormented by Rem, but a seed of doubt had taken root.
Is this my limit?
Lately, that thought had been haunting her. Every time she hit a wall, the nightmares returned. Sometimes, she would even begin to transform in her sleep without realizing it.
Staring at her own hands—a form that felt more like a curse than a gift—Dunchabel recalled her oldest nightmare. It was the day she had been driven out of the village where she was born.
“You cannot live here.”
“Go out and die quietly.”
“It would be wise of you to find a cliff and throw yourself off.”
What had she done so wrong?
Back then, a fire of resentment had flared in her chest, making her want to slaughter every beastman in sight. But she didn't want to make a suicidal vendetta the purpose of her life. Dunchabel felt the same way now as she did then, and even when she had lost to Encrid.
She wanted to live.
If she had stubbornly resisted the day she was exiled, she might have stayed in the village. But she hadn't.
I want to run away.
It was her survival instinct rearing its head again.
Should I just settle down somewhere, work as a common guard, and live off a modest salary?
Yet, she didn't actually want that life either. Dunchabel didn't even know what she wanted. So, whenever the urge to flee seized her, she looked at Encrid and steeled her resolve.
Is the place you reach after running away truly a paradise?
Those were the words of Kentaro—the deceased storyteller, painter, and ancient saint. He had said there was no paradise to be found at the end of flight.
In other words, her claim of wanting to fight was merely a mask for her desire to run.
“Do as you wish.”
Of course, Encrid cared about Dunchabel’s internal conflict about as much as a ghoul cared about compassion.
Meanwhile, Rem returned, his body splattered with the black blood of monsters. He grunted that he would be going along, and Encrid agreed.
It wasn't a serious mission. It would be more like a light journey. Even if the Demon Realm borderlands were dangerous, they wouldn't be as perilous as the actual Demon Realm or the labyrinths of the south. While the borders near Naurilia were treacherous, the general consensus was that they were far more manageable than the heart of the corrupted lands.
“We depart in three days,” Encrid said, brushing off the shredded leather strap that had been wrapped around his right arm.
It was an incredibly sturdy restraint, yet he had snapped it using sheer muscular expansion alone.
“That is the secret technique I created: the Escape from Binding method,” Audin remarked, watching the leather fall.
“You mean mindlessly bulging your muscles until the strap breaks?” Rem, who had been uncharacteristically quiet lately, offered his "praise" for the technique.
“You got beaten to a pulp and lost your spirit, so how are you suddenly so lively again?” Ragna chimed in, noting that it was good to see Rem back to his old, abrasive self.
It had been a while since they had shared such a familiar moment. Even Encrid hadn't seen them like this recently.
Rem grinned, radiating a faint aura of bloodlust.
“Heh, heh. Yes. It’s about time I carried an axe blade on my neck instead of a head. Let’s make a head out of an axe blade. Let’s replace the brain with steel.”
Rem sang a discordant, absurd tune.
Audin smiled. “You brothers certainly do love to cause trouble.”
Ragna let his sword hang loosely in a lazy posture. Rem rested his axe on his shoulder and tilted his head. It looked as though a lethal brawl would break out at any second.
In that tense, hair-trigger moment, a bolt of lightning struck between the two.
Crackle!
It wasn't actual lightning, but the afterimage left by a sword. Bending in a sharp zigzag, the white flash emitted a high-pitched screech akin to a bird’s cry.
At the strike that cleaved the air, both men instinctively shifted their weight backward. In that brief interval, Encrid lowered his sword and spoke.
“Mine is white lightning.”
What had sliced between them was Encrid’s strike—a technique created by blending what he had mastered with Ragna’s black lightning. Naturally, it was a technique infused with Will.
If the Giant’s Strike was about unleashing explosive power in a single blow, this was about pinpointing that strike and distributing the force with absolute precision. It was a technique forged through blood—literally, through coughing up blood during training.
At least, that was how it had been for Encrid. And the technique was showing results. In the past, he would have had to throw his entire body into the fray to stop them, but now, a single flick of his sword was enough.
It was a strike that once again proved just how immense his progress had been.
“Are you borrowing my style again?” Ragna asked, showing genuine interest.
“No, I’ve adapted it into something original.”
He meant that while it looked similar on the surface, the underlying mechanics were different. Ragna’s pitch-black lightning originated from a fast, heavy sword.
Then what about that white lightning? Ragna wondered.
He analyzed the characteristics of the strike he had just witnessed.
Distributing power while focusing on speed.
Speed—drawing a sword as fast as a ray of light in a zigzag pattern to leave afterimages, preventing the opponent from predicting the point of impact. And then, bringing it down while bending the trajectory again and again with sheer, brute force.
With his genius talent, Ragna grasped the essence of the technique in an instant. It wasn't a new Will. It was a variation of the Will of Speed, blended with the Giant’s Strike.
“Yes, I see,” Ragna acknowledged.
Encrid nodded and patted Rem on the shoulder.
“We leave in three days.”
Rem wiped his nose and nodded. “Understood.”
Though he might have normally made a snide remark, Rem didn't wag his tongue any further.
*
Three days later, the group set out.
The Demon Realm borderlands lay to the northwest of Naurilia. Along the way, they reached the main road leading to the West. At that exact junction, Rem paused and turned his head toward the horizon. It was as if a nostalgic scent was tickling the tip of his nose.
“What is it?” Encrid asked.
“Just looking.”
“That way is the West,” Encrid pointed out.
“Do I look like an idiot who can't tell directions?” Rem flared up. He clearly took the comment as a comparison to Ragna’s poor sense of direction.
“No, just saying.”
Encrid resumed his stride.
They spotted bandit groups a few times along the way, but only one group was bold enough to actually launch an ambush. Encrid found this rather baffling. Their group included Frok, and every single one of them was heavily armed. If anyone dared to attack them after seeing that, one had to question the bandits' intelligence.
Or perhaps they had something to rely on.
There was the fully armored Encrid, the fierce-looking Rem, Frok Luagarne, and the beastman Dunchabel. They had ridden horses for the first leg of the journey but were now traveling on foot. Since they had baggage, they kept only a single pack horse and sold the rest at the last village.
The path was slightly off the main highway, with a low hill to their left and thick brush to their right. It was good ground for walking, but not a path suitable for riding.
“Near the Demon Realm, monsters are so rampant that horses are basically just free feed,” they had been warned.
The royal palace had offered to dispatch a ranger unit to guide them, but they had declined. It was unnecessary. It wasn't as if they were Ragna; finding the way wouldn't be difficult.
With about five days of walking left until they reached the borderlands, a group of bandits blocked their path. The murderous intent gleaming in the eyes of the outlaws would have been terrifying to an ordinary merchant caravan.
“Are they fearless, or just stupid?” Dunchabel muttered.
Her hand hovered over her scimitar, her feet set in a stance ready to either spring forward or bolt at a moment's notice.
Encrid ignored her and observed the bandits. The man in the center had a rough, stubbly beard, and the rest of them shared a similar, weathered look. They looked like they could be Rem’s relatives. The way they gripped their spears and swords made it clear this wasn't their first time doing this.
Keeping a careful distance, they formed a surrounding formation. It wasn't a masterclass in tactics, but their positioning was good enough to overwhelm ordinary travelers before they could react. There were even a few archers positioned in the rear.
They seemed to know what they were doing. Living as a bandit wasn't something one could do just by swinging a sword; they had to survive the monsters and secure their own safe zones. As they drew closer to the Demon Realm, the people in the villages grew rougher, so an encounter like this was inevitable.
One of the bandits, apparently having overheard Dunchabel, spoke up. He had sharp ears.
“We’re risking our lives here too, girl. You think robbing caravans in these parts is easy?”
Encrid wondered how many more of these bastards existed in this country. It would be impossible to eliminate them all. Not that he intended to let anyone who attacked him walk away in one piece.