Chapter 445: Arm Wrestling, Alcohol, Pride, Duty, Responsibility, Sabbath's End
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 445: Arm Wrestling, Alcohol, Pride, Duty, Responsibility, Sabbath's End
It was an arm wrestling match.
"Ruben! Ruben, you bastard! You son of a bitch!"
The man named Ruben lost. With a heavy thud, his wrist slammed backward against the wood.
Those who had bet on him screamed his name as if they were spitting blood.
The match was taking place outdoors. Several tables had been dragged out in front of the tavern, and the red-nosed owner shouted over the din, "James wins!"
Amidst the growing clamor, someone yelled, "Hey, let me in on this!"
Oara squeezed through the crowd without hesitation. Encrid stood there blankly for a moment before turning to Aisia.
"She’s always like that. Get used to it," Aisia said, heading toward the crowd herself.
She didn't seem to mind them moving as a group. Encrid took a step toward the tavern as well.
The owner was so thoroughly drunk it was hard to tell if his goal was to sell alcohol or consume it, but he still recognized Oara.
"No way! That’s cheating, Oara!"
A knight might command everyone’s respect, but they didn't force it upon a friend. Did being a knight mean having no friends? The tavern owner seemed to be exactly that—a friend, an acquaintance, someone she knew well.
He snorted his refusal, and Oara protested loudly. "Ah, why not?!"
Judging by her whining, she looked like a common mercenary who knew how to swing a sword, but Encrid knew this woman could slaughter everyone here in a few flashes of her blade.
"Oh, come on, how could we? It wouldn't even be a fair bet," the victorious James spoke up, rubbing his reddened head. He looked like an angry octopus; there was no discernible boundary between his forehead and the crown of his head.
"Hey, can you really say that after looking at these delicate wrists?" Oara kicked James, who was sitting in front of her, and stood up on a chair to address the crowd.
The kicked man tumbled to the ground and rolled, but he scrambled back up quickly. "Ah, why’d you kick me?"
"Because you're annoying!"
At her blunt reply, the man simply nodded.
He’s actually convinced by that? Encrid wondered silently as he watched.
Now that the prohibition had been lifted, the tavern exuded an atmosphere completely opposite to when he had first arrived. It wasn't quite a festival, but everyone was clearly enjoying themselves.
"Seriously, tell me—is there really no one willing to challenge me after seeing these wrists? Really?"
"Yes, there is no one!"
"Oara, you're a knight. Did you forget that?" the tavern owner chimed in.
Oara shifted her gaze, looking like a hunter searching for someone who would say exactly what she wanted to hear. Her eyes landed on a soldier carrying beer mugs. It was the fellow who had been struggling because Krona wasn't around. After working at the inn, it seemed he had come out here on a sort of business trip.
"Hey, do you think so too?" Oara pointed directly at him.
The soldier’s eyes darted around before he replied, "No, ma'am. I believe we must respect Sir Oara's wishes."
He adopted a shrewd, overly serious attitude, as if he were sincerely swearing an oath of loyalty. Oara maintained her smiling face as she spoke.
"Drag that bastard over here and sit him down."
Oara hopped lightly into the air and landed on her chair with a thud. At her command, the people nearby grabbed the soldier.
"Whoa, why—why are you doing this?"
"Shut up and sit down, you bastard," Oara said with a grin. Soon, the soldier was seated across from her.
"It's a bet! If you don't want to do it, then don't. But if you beat the person I choose, you get three gold coins. You said it’s unfair if I do it myself, right? Fine, I won't. If the guy you choose wins, I’ll give you three gold coins. But if my champion wins, you have to stand at the very front during the next wave."
"...Excuse me?"
Standing at the front during a monster wave—facing the horrors surging from the Demon Realm—was essentially a death sentence. The crowd burst into hearty laughter.
The soldier immediately regretted not leaving when Jack the Swordsman had asked him to join him earlier. Of course, even if offered again, he wouldn't go. He loved a woman who worked a side job in the back alleys, and he dreamed of earning enough to take her away and marry her. What did it matter if she sold her body? He knew that, for now, she only allowed him by her side.
"Hey, a man only dies once, not twice! Besides, don't you want to marry Rowena? Aren't you struggling because Krona isn't here?" Oara goaded him.
"Hey, do it! Just do it!"
"You punk, if you're scared of that, just give up on Rowena!"
The soldier flared up at the shouts from the crowd. "Will you all shut up?!" He turned back to Oara with a cautious look. "Are you going to put forward someone from the Order?"
"No." Oara shook her head.
"And it's not you either, Sir Oara?"
"Absolutely not."
The soldier remained cautious—or rather, he was pretending to be. Encrid could tell the man had already made up his mind. He opened his mouth while feigning intimidation, as if he had pondered the decision deeply. Some people were just born with that kind of personality. Even so, it didn't make him look bad; he was, in a way, incredibly transparent.
Oara crossed her arms and waited with a smirk.
"I'll choose Lord Oliver."
At those words, several soldiers let out a chorus of boos. Among them, Encrid spotted a man with forearms twice as thick as anyone else's. He was short but had a stocky build and a heavy jaw. Though shorter than Oara, he was the man rumored to possess the greatest raw strength in Thousand Bricks—Squire Oliver of the Order.
"Is that not allowed?" the soldier asked, scanning her face. Since they had agreed not to use anyone from the Order, yet he had chosen a squire, it was a cheeky request.
Oara simply shook her head. "I accept the challenge. Now, who should I put forward?"
Oara feigned contemplation, mimicking the soldier's earlier hesitation. Squire Oliver patted the poor soldier's shoulder, and as the soldier stood up, Oliver took his place. His body looked as though it had been blessed with natural, tectonic strength since childhood.
Oara rested her chin on her hand, pretending to ponder, before looking at Oliver. "Oliver, you don't mind losing, right?"
"I won't lose," Oliver replied instantly.
Oara nodded as if her decision was made. "I choose you as my champion. Step up!"
Her finger pointed right next to Aisia. She was pointing at Encrid.
"Me?" Encrid, who had been watching from the sidelines, asked after a beat.
Oara ignored his confusion. "Should I send Aisia instead then? Don't you see those delicate wrists?"
Mentioning "delicate wrists" was clearly a habit of hers.
"You can back out if you're scared. You might get hurt if you're not careful," Oliver said. He knew his opponent was a renowned Demon Slayer, but when it came to raw strength, Oliver believed he was peerless. His eyes were filled with that conviction.
Encrid stared at him for a moment, then stepped forward. Oara smiled broadly and stepped aside.
Seated, Encrid looked at Oliver. "I don't think you need to worry. No one's getting hurt. Ah, I mean you, not me. I'm going to go easy."
"Go easy?" At Encrid's light provocation, Oliver's expression stiffened.
"I meant I'll make sure you don't get hurt," Encrid repeated.
"Is that so?" Without a trace of a smile, veins bulged on Oliver's forehead. He was a man with remarkably thick blood vessels, and his forearms were just as imposing.
Encrid rolled up his sleeves. Beneath his thin shirt, his well-defined, chiseled muscles were revealed. His arms, forged through the Isolation Technique, were by no means thin, but they still looked slender compared to Oliver's. However, these were muscles of a different caliber—compressed and tightened through the teachings of Audin.
"Alright, place your bets!" Oara shouted.
The crowd of onlookers had doubled. Those who had been training nearby, those who had been slacking off, and even those who had been rolling dice in a corner all gathered around.
"Still, betting on Lord Oliver is the right move, isn't it?"
"His opponent is an Associate Knight. A Demon Slayer."
"You don't know what you're talking about. Even Sir Oara said she couldn't beat Lord Oliver in raw strength!"
"So? When it comes to arm wrestling, Lord Oliver can crush even a demon's hand! Haven't you heard of 'Giant-Armed Oliver'?"
The bets piled up on Oliver. Encrid didn't care. Someone set down beer mugs next to them, the pewter filled to the brim with golden liquid and frothy foam. Oliver gulped his down, let out a long breath, and slammed his elbow onto the table.
Thud.
He looked like a stone golem crafted into human form by some mad mage. Encrid also drained the mug beside him. It was a bitter yet savory beer, remarkably fresh. After finishing, Encrid raised his hand and gripped Oliver's.
It felt exactly as it looked—like the forearm of a stone golem. It was ignorantly hard and heavy. Oliver locked eyes with him, but Encrid lowered his gaze, quietly contemplating his inner self.
Was his willingness to accept defeat in the past because he lacked competitiveness? Because he was easygoing? It was quite the opposite. Encrid was a man who would cling on tenaciously until he won. He absolutely loathed losing. He simply saved all that strength and Will to ensure victory the next time.
Therefore, if he could win right now, he had no intention of losing.
Just as the surrounding noise began to quiet down, Oara spoke. "Start."
Oliver and Encrid exerted their strength simultaneously.
Creak.
The table groaned under the pressure, but it didn't collapse yet. Oliver unleashed a force that could truly be called monstrous.
Impressive, Encrid thought. From the grip strength alone, he understood why they said Oliver could crush a demon's hand.
However, the man sitting across from him was someone who, through endless daily repetitions, had learned the Isolation Technique from a monster far greater than Oliver.
Encrid activated his Heart of Monstrous Strength and channeled his Will. Power surged through every muscle in his body like an explosion. There had been very few times in his life when he had exerted himself this much.
Giant's Strike.
He even mobilized the technique he had learned while wielding his sword. To put it in Rem's terms, it was the strength of a giant giving its all.
"Krrgh!" A groan escaped Oliver's mouth.
Creeeeak.
The table trembled. Even though it was made from a solid piece of hardwood, cracks began to splinter through the surface. For a split second, Oliver's arm tilted.
Crack!
In the end, the table couldn't hold. It split open, and the section supporting Oliver's elbow caved in. Even though the table had shattered, Oliver tried to hold his ground.
"Is it a draw?" one of the soldiers muttered.
Encrid stopped right there, holding his position. Oliver caught his breath, and after holding out for a moment, he finally released his strength. Encrid followed suit.
"I lost," Oliver declared.
"No!" one soldier wailed—the one who was Rowena's boyfriend.
Those who had lost their bets actually burst into laughter and cheered.
"Wow, what strength."
"Hey handsome, are you that strong at night too?" a few soldiers threw dirty jokes.
"Why even ask?" someone else shot back.
"Soldier, I'll give you one more chance. How about trying to beat him in drinking?" Oara extended a helping hand to the devastated soldier. The poor man couldn't tell if the hand belonged to a devil or an angel.
"Let's do it," the soldier burned with determination. Encrid nodded. Since he had decided to join in, he would see it through.
Strong liquor was served. Encrid drank a spirit whose name he didn't even know. By his fourth glass, the soldier's eyes went unfocused. He passed out after shouting, "I love you, Rowena!"
The soldiers snickered. Encrid chuckled, set his glass down, and said, "Next."
He had no intention of losing in drinking either.
"I'm next," Oliver stepped up again. He passed out after just one glass. He was strong, but a complete lightweight when it came to alcohol.
Oara gulped down the strong liquor, while Aisia stuck to a light fruit wine. Nearby, some rolled dice while others shared raunchy jokes. Overhearing a conversation between two women, Encrid was left speechless by the sheer graphic nature of their humor.
Rem joined in halfway through. "Why are you guys having all the fun without me?"
He mingled with the soldiers. Before long, Luagarne and Dunchabel had joined them as well. The front of the tavern became a chaotic mess, as if a festival had broken out.
"Fun, isn't it?" Oara asked.
Encrid, half-drunk, replied, "It's heartwarming."
It was exactly how he felt.
As the sun set, the twilight glow illuminated the city. Amidst the sunset, the soldiers chattered. A few of the soldiers on duty grumbled, "Damn it, why does everyone have to have so much fucking fun today?"
"Unlucky bastards!" another soldier teased.
A commander who led a hundred men poured out his grievances to Oara. One squad leader said he respected Encrid, only to find himself in a tight spot when Oara chided him, "So you don't respect me?"
Among them, one guy got beaten black and blue after claiming he had fallen in love with Aisia at first sight.
It was truly heartwarming. The sunset, the city, the soldiers—everything.
Oara wandered around, drinking and listening to their troubles. She even stepped outside the city for a moment to replace the broken table, returning with a massive log she had chopped down herself.
"Bring me a plane!"
She began shaving the wood herself, though her craftsmanship was questionable. Seeing this, the petite female Associate Knight Encrid had seen at the log cabin popped out, took over the plane, and began shaping the table with expert skill.
Everyone played hard and drank well.
"I like this town," Oara said, thoroughly drunk. Encrid, who had stayed here for a few days, agreed. Instead of deserters constantly fleeing, only those who truly loved this place remained.
"The last bastion protecting us from the Demon Realm. Isn't it magnificent?"
They possessed pride.
"If we fall, the people living in the villages behind us will all die. Do you know that? If the territory of the Demon Realm expands any further, this entire region is doomed."
They possessed a sense of duty.
"This is my job, so I do it. Is there a problem with that?"
They possessed a sense of responsibility.
Because the borderlands of the Demon Realm always faced imminent threat, one could not survive without being strong—not just in body, but in mind.
"Ah, this is great!" Oara shouted, and Encrid, feeling the alcohol kick in, clinked his glass against hers.
Thus, the drunken night passed.
Encrid returned to his quarters and slept. Rem, who had drunk heavily, was already out cold. Luagarne had received a special meal of insects and some alcohol.
"It was an exquisite taste," she had said, satisfied. Dunchabel was already curled up in a corner, sleeping with soft, rhythmic breaths.
Encrid closed his eyes. In his dream, the Ferryman asked, "Are you having fun?"
It was a question a hundred times more unsettling than being told that misfortune was approaching. Just as he opened his mouth to reply, his eyes snapped open.
Waking up at the exact same time every day was familiar to him now. As he went outside to warm up his body and break a sweat, Luagarne followed him, and later, Dunchabel emerged as well.
"Don't you ever sleep?"
Around noon, Oara came by again. Her attire was similar to yesterday's, but she carried a long, slender sword.
"Sabbath's end," she said.
It was the most welcome news he had heard in a long time.