Chapter 443: Shall We Go Now?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 443: Shall We Go Now?
Encrid had experience facing blades that moved faster than his mind could process.
Sachsen had subjected him to it time and time again.
This was no different.
It was beyond cognition. Oara’s words were so fast they seemed to reach his ears only after the strike had already landed.
"Stomach."
The word struck him. Even before the sound registered, a blade flashed across his midsection.
Single-Point Focus and his Sense of Evasion flared to life.
Encrid shifted his center of gravity, digging his heels into the dirt. Just as he thought he had evaded the strike by pushing off the ground to retreat, Oara’s face came into focus.
She wore a faint smile. The corners of her mouth curled higher than before.
"Knee."
Encrid realized then that the blade slicing toward his stomach had been an illusion.
It was like magic conjured by sheer force of will. No, he had experienced something like this before. It was similar to the sword made of Vital Energy that Sinar had shown him, though this time, it was achieved purely through momentum and psychological suggestion.
It happened the exact moment Oara spoke.
The blade, now aiming for his knee, plunged vertically from above.
Instead of dodging, Encrid swung his sword in a diagonal arc. His blade bent like a whip as it slashed through the space Oara had occupied only a heartbeat ago.
Even as she evaded Encrid’s counter, Oara didn’t alter her sword’s trajectory. It remained a vertical thrust. She had kept her right hand locked in place, merely twisting her body to dodge.
Tap.
The tip of her sword tapped his knee.
There was no wound. It had merely left a faint mark on the fabric of his trousers.
"That's it for today!" Oara called out.
"Huff... huff..."
Encrid finally released the breath he had been holding.
With a sharp clack, Oara sheathed her sword and stepped closer. Staring intently at Encrid, she gave him a playful, crinkle-eyed smile and tapped her own cheek.
"Do you feel like you fell for too simple a trick?"
Encrid knew that what his opponent had shown him consisted of only two strikes. One was a slash targeting his stomach—a feint. The other was a vertical plunge toward his knee.
The match had been decided on the second move.
Encrid felt many things, but one realization stood above the rest.
Her level of experience is on another plane.
Oara was highly skilled. She hadn't just recently attained the rank of Knight; she had lived as one for years. Her seasoned expertise was evident in every breath.
"Your age?"
Encrid deflected her question with one of his own, mimicking the blunt style of Thousand Bricks. He was quick to adapt. It was meant as a joke.
At his words, Oara’s smiling eyes stiffened.
"I let it slide because you're handsome, but didn't anyone ever teach you? Asking a lady her age is a good way to get a hole blown through your head."
Encrid fell silent. Oara walked past him with a chuckle.
"Ah, I'm hungry."
As she sauntered away, Luagarne approached.
"Since your knee was struck, you would have lost your mobility. Even if you had fought to the end, you would have lost."
"I know."
"Those two movements are simple, but they contain a straightforward truth."
Luagarne paused, giving him a moment to reflect. Encrid pondered the exchange and found the answer.
"If you are faster and stronger than your opponent, you cannot be blocked."
Those called Knights were exactly that kind of people. To take it a step further, it meant she was confident she could subdue him using only the most basic movements.
Simplicity over flashiness—because being simple didn't diminish the lethality of the blade. Striking softly didn't turn a sharp edge into a ball of cotton. It was a truth he had already realized himself.
In other words, if one could win with efficient swordsmanship, that was the only correct way to do it.
"Correct," Luagarne nodded.
Encrid felt no despair over his defeat. Not that he was satisfied, either.
After a quick wash and a meal, Encrid sought out the tavern owner.
"There are no bugs."
Luagarne complained about the food along the way. It was understandable; there was nothing on the menu suitable for a Frog Kin.
Encrid gestured to the owner sitting at the bar, and the man approached. The tavern was quiet due to the prohibition.
"Do you know the location of those cultists or heretics?"
"Instead of asking that, why don't you ask Sir Oara to lift the prohibition? I'm about to starve to death here."
While most of daily life was handled through contribution points, some things were not. Naturally, Krona still changed hands. They accepted Krona when merchants stayed over, and the same applied to alcohol or the red-light district.
The tavern owner lamented his plight, and Encrid ordered a special dish.
"A plate of well-roasted grubs, please."
"……Where on earth am I supposed to get... well, I suppose that's for me to figure out, yes."
Clink.
As the owner spoke, a pouch on the bar counter gaped open, revealing a silver gleam. The tavern owner was quick-witted.
"You can have it ready by lunchtime tomorrow."
The dozen or so Silver Coins on the bar shone brightly. The owner pocketed them and shared what he knew.
It wasn't particularly useful information. Aisia had already mentioned roughly where they might be, but she said they wandered like nomads.
But what did they have to gain by wandering around here? When he thought about it, the answer was simple.
They were gathering followers. A few deserters here, a few people struggling to survive in the Demon Realm there. They approached those whose hearts had grown weak, wedging their ideology into the cracks. Once their numbers grew, they would flee far away to live in luxury.
Why those bastards were here didn't matter. What mattered was that they were targets to be eliminated.
He had gained very little from wandering the city all day.
"You'll have to search for them on foot yourself."
This was the most useful advice he received, and it came from Milio. He had also watched the sparring match between Oara and Encrid.
"Please spar with me as well."
He was an enthusiastic fellow, and Encrid accommodated him. Milio used a simple, heavy hammer. While it was perfect for crushing an enemy in a single blow, his movements became far too sluggish if the opponent dodged or blocked.
"What if you hold it like this and twist it like this?"
"Ah, that hurts!"
Encrid taught him a few useful footwork techniques and joint locks to use between swings. It wasn't enough to be called Valaf-style Martial Arts, but it would allow Milio to exploit the complacency of an opponent trying to target the opening created by a large swing.
While they trained, Rem finally woke up. It was late afternoon when the barbarian spoke.
"Those cultist bastards? They're about a day's journey away."
It was an unexpected lead. Rem said he had spotted them while out looking for a whetstone.
"……You saw them?"
"They were gathered far off, doing something. I thought they were just bandits, but listening to them, they sounded like those cultists."
"Do you know where they are?"
"Do I look like some brainless swordsman who can't find his way or keep his bearings?"
Rem glared with his round eyes, clearly offended. He looked ready to draw his axe at any moment.
Watching him, Encrid wondered if this was something that really needed to be postponed. It was his job, after all. Had he not come as reinforcements to capture deserters and deal with the Colonies?
A deserter turned cult leader. Even if the man had made a name for himself in this area, he would never be on the level of a cult's Bishop. At best, would his martial power even reach the level of a Squire?
A small elite force—consisting of himself, Rem, Dunchabel, and Luagarne—was more than enough to handle them. They might use strange spells, but intuitively, Encrid didn't feel threatened. It would be nothing more than troublesome tricks.
With this much power, it was closer to overkill. Encrid had an objective grasp of his current strength. Above all, if it got dangerous, they could just retreat. It wasn't a defensive mission; it was a surprise raid. Besides, if they waited, those bastards would become harder to find and turn into a real headache.
That was why he spoke.
"Shall we go now?"
It was a question asked with the answer already decided.
The sun was beginning to set. There was a saying: the sun belongs to humans, and the darkness belongs to monsters. It was a favorable time for creatures with keen night vision who loathed the light.
Of course, no one in this group cared about such things.
"Just the four of us?" Dunchabel asked.
"Do you know anyone else here?" Encrid countered.
There was no one else worth taking. Drafting ordinary soldiers would be no help at all.
They headed straight for the city gate. The soldier guarding the entrance tilted his head in confusion.
"You're heading out now?"
"Is that not allowed?"
The person before him was the Demon Slayer, a hero of the civil war. The soldier quickly shook his head. He assumed Encrid's group was just going out for a brief stroll. The barbarian named Rem had done the same yesterday.
He gave them the password for their return.
"No, it's fine. Just shout 'A cloak has to be red, after all' in front of the gate."
They couldn't let just anyone into the city in the middle of the night. The guard passed the message to the next man on duty. That guard nodded, and since they hadn't returned by the end of his shift, he handed the instructions to the next.
"They're a bit late, aren't they?"
"Could anything really happen to them?"
To an ordinary soldier, an Associate Knight represented an impossibly high realm of power. They weren't the kind of people who would struggle against a few monsters on the road. On top of that, they had a Frog Kin and a Beastman with them.
Dawn broke.
The morning guard saw figures returning with the first light at their backs. It was Encrid's group.
"Open the gate."
Their blood-stained armor caught his eye. Black blood and red blood were splattered together.
"Did you run into monsters?"
"Something like that," Encrid replied as he entered the city.
*
When they had first stepped out of the gate, Encrid thought finding the cultists would be the hard part, while dealing with them would be easy.
"Which direction?"
"This way."
Rem led them. Although the moon was hidden behind clouds and the surroundings were dark, the dim light was more than enough for this group.
"Want to learn how to track?"
"Right now?"
Encrid didn't mean it as a refusal. Rem judged that finding the cultists would be easy for a specific reason.
Rem's gaze turned toward the Beastman. Dunchabel's eyes glowed golden even in the darkness. He had thought so for a long time, but she had a uniquely colored pair of eyes. She also possessed a sense of smell far superior to that of ordinary Beastmen.
The moment Dunchabel felt Rem's gaze, she placed her hand on her curved sword.
"You crazy Beastman, use your nose. This isn't a spar."
"Is that your method?" Encrid interjected.
"Is there any reason to take the hard road when there's an easy one? We have a Beastman with us, and she has an uncanny ability to smell everything except her own body odor."
He wasn't wrong. Even Dunchabel agreed. She twitched her nose and pointed.
"I smell something over there."
The group moved out and soon discovered a camp. They saw people huddled around mobile tents.
"Who goes there?"
A man picking his nose right in front of them came into view. Instead of answering, Encrid lunged. Stepping forward, he slashed upward. The rising blade traced a crimson line from the man’s chin to his brow.
Splatter.
Blood sprayed as the corpse collapsed.
"Are these guys fucking crazy?!"
A spiky-haired blonde man next to him shouted in terror. His voice trembled.
Thwack.
The blade of a curved sword buried itself in his face.
As Encrid watched the camp descend into chaos...
"What? Are you holding back?" Dunchabel asked.
"No."
Encrid replied, stabbing and slashing at everything in his path. He ignored the ones who fled.
"The Demon's minions have arrived!"
The cult leader finally appeared. He looked exactly like a man who had mastered the art of banditry. Encrid observed him through his senses. He wasn't a mage, yet he performed something akin to magic.
Closing the distance, the man reached out. An invisible blade flew from his hand.
Encrid had already suffered similar attacks from Sinar, and from Oara earlier that afternoon. Just because it was invisible didn't mean it wasn't there. The energy was exactly the same.
Clang!
As he drew his Gladius and twisted it to deflect the blow, the cult leader's hand wrenched back as if he were holding an actual sword. It was fascinating—as if he were wielding a transparent blade.
Without hesitation, Encrid raised his sword and struck down at the man's shoulder. It was a heavy, careless slash, like splitting firewood.
Crack!
"Argh!"
As his shoulder split open and blood spurted, the cult leader rolled backward. He was incredibly nimble; even though the strike had been aimed at his head, he had managed to shift enough to save his life.
"Fuck, please spare me! Spare me!"
His demeanor had flipped instantly from his earlier bravado.
"I heard you have cultists backing you up?"
"That was just a rumor I started!"
The man spoke quickly, his eyes darting around. Rem, who saw no point in talking to such a bastard, threw a hand axe while Encrid was still speaking.
Whoosh! Thud!
The axe became a permanent ornament on the man's forehead. His body lifted slightly off the ground before slamming back down.
Encrid saw something fall from the man's hand. Stepping closer, he saw an object faintly reflecting the torchlight.
“It's not something you can obtain just because you have dozens of gold coins. Do you know who Carmen is? He isn't called a master artisan for nothing. If a single one of his swords appears on the black market, it can trigger a bloodbath. In fact, a few years ago, a massive uproar broke out among the assassin guilds when the Katar, the third piece of the Carmen Collection, surfaced.”
Sachsen's words came back to him. He had explained what the Carmen Collection was and even told him the name of the final dagger in the set.
Invisible Blade.
It was an unexpected gift.
Encrid pocketed the treasure and headed back toward the city. On the way, a pack of Demonic Beasts attacked them—wild dogs that had turned. There were many of them, but the group cut them down without breaking stride.
By the time they reached the city, dawn had broken.
After eating, washing up, and catching a few hours of sleep, they headed toward the city gate once more.
"How to find a Colony? That's even easier. It's obvious just by looking at the terrain," Rem said as they set out.
The sweltering heat remained. This region was more humid and hotter than the rest of the realm. They had already seen how troublesome it was when a flock of Harpies formed a Colony.
Encrid and his group moved out immediately. Somehow, they had fallen into a rhythm of resting during the day and hunting at night.
"Heading out again?"
The soldier on duty was the same one from the previous evening. He had been grumbling about back-to-back shifts when Encrid’s group appeared.
"Is there a problem?"
"No, sir."
They headed out. Rem had extensive experience hunting monsters, Dunchabel had her nose, and Luagarne possessed vast knowledge. They weren't soldiers trained in a rigid organization; they were survivors who had spent their lives rolling around in the wild.
With Dunchabel’s sense of smell acting as a literal cheat code, finding the Harpy nest was child's play.
"I smell a foul stench."
"It's a perfect place to hide. It's definitely here."
Encrid looked up at the towering cliff. The terrain of the Demon Realm was erratic. This was less of a cliff and more of a natural tower—a circular rock so tall Encrid had to tilt his head all the way back to see the top. It was high enough that ten Rems stacked together wouldn't reach the summit.
Above, a few Harpies circled. They cast minor wind spells, but nothing impressive.
"I'll go first," Rem said, pulling out his Sling.
A javelin would be difficult at this angle, but Rem could fire stones with more force than any throwing spear.
Tonight was brighter than the last. Two moons took turns casting their light—one large, one small.
Beneath the twin moons, a whoosh, whoosh, whoosh began to echo. The sound quickly escalated into a roar that ripped through the air.
Whirrrrrr!
Rem began to spin his Sling. Soon, a third moon seemed to rise above the barbarian’s head—a full moon formed by the blurring speed of the spinning cord.