Chapter 452: Let's Die Smiling
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 452: Let's Die Smiling
Thud.
Encrid raised Aker vertically and drove it straight down into the head of the lunging spider. The blade pierced through the monster’s skull, sinking a span deep into the earth.
He stepped onto the spider’s back and wrenched his sword free, black blood slicking the length of the blade.
There are too many.
In the distance, spiders were visible in swarms, a constant, pouring tide. However, the immediate vicinity was relatively clear.
This was a battlefield where countering was more advantageous than rushing in. His intuition told him as much. For a brief moment, it was safe to look away.
Encrid turned his gaze toward the space in front of Oara, where the monsters had converged.
A spider swung its eight bladed arms.
Whoooooosh!
Wind howled as the blades spun, their rapid rotation forming a circular barrier in front of Oara. It resembled the spinning disc Rem produced with his sling.
Instead of charging, the spider advanced one deliberate step at a time. It moved at a walking pace, and matching that speed, the shield of blades began to close in on Oara.
Watching this, Encrid wondered: What would I have done?
This was a style of combat unlike anything he had seen before. Should he thrust his sword straight in? He couldn't. Or rather, he knew he shouldn't.
I see no openings.
Thrusting a sword blindly and leaving the rest to luck wasn't an attempt to win—it was an admission of defeat.
And the spider wasn't the only threat.
The owlbear began to move. Its steps were unnervingly silent, its presence fading as it prowled. Although darkness had fallen, the red moon hung high, providing enough light to see. Yet, the owlbear’s massive frame blurred, as if dissolving into the shadows.
It was like watching Sachsen vanish right before his eyes. It was a blade hiding in wait, seeking the perfect opening. It was the essence of the Mu-sal Thrust.
A ghoul emerged leisurely from behind the spider, flanking Oara. Its long, drooping arms ended in overgrown claws capable of inflicting a fatal wound with a mere graze.
This is a nightmare.
That was his honest assessment. In his mind, Encrid swapped places with Oara.
I would die. This is a wall.
Even so, if he were the one standing there, what would he do?
He looked at Oara’s back. Her red cloak fluttered in the wind, and the tip of her sword pointed diagonally toward the sky. She gripped the hilt with both hands.
"This is fun," Oara whispered.
Encrid could only see her back, but he knew exactly what expression she was wearing. She had to be smiling—a smile incomparably brighter than the stolen, hollow grin of a ghoul.
The smiling Oara.
How does a knight earn an epithet? They earn it by proving themselves. An epithet is forged through action and execution.
"Watch closely, everyone. I’ll show you what a knight’s battle looks like."
Oara’s voice carried clearly across the field.
Preparations, traps, and special monsters designed specifically to counter a knight—everything was a threat. It was a crisis in every sense of the word.
"Even I can't handle that," Rem muttered.
To be precise, he meant it was impossible right now, but there was no point in discussing power he didn't currently possess. He kept that thought to himself.
Oara spoke further with her back and her sword: Just chew on some jerky and watch.
Encrid did just that—though instead of chewing jerky, he swung his blade. Two spiders that had crept too close were caught by his steel, their heads split open.
As he snapped his sword back, Oara moved.
For a split second, Encrid lost track of her. Once one becomes a knight, their reflexes and physical capabilities reach a completely different realm. They strike from incomprehensible angles and move at impossible speeds. Even if one tries to watch, it is difficult to truly see.
Encrid knew this from experience. Had he not already faced opponents of knight-level strength?
"If you try to look at it as a single point, you won't see it anyway."
Luagarne’s words surfaced in his mind. Encrid stopped trying to track her individual movements and instead observed the flow. Only then did the faint outline of the battle register in his eyes.
Oara’s sword descended upon the spider’s barrier. Her perfectly straight strike clashed with the wall of blades.
Cl-cl-cl-cl-clang!
The dim red moonlight was pushed aside by a shower of golden sparks.
"The name of my sword is Laughter."
This was what Oara had told him during their sparring. Knights possessed Imprinted Weapons—arms into which a knight had infused their Will. An extraordinary artisan, rare metals, and a knight’s Will; only when these three elements aligned could such a weapon be forged.
"My sword will never break as long as I am smiling."
It was exactly as Encrid had heard. It was a weapon imbued with intent, an extension of her own body.
Amidst the golden sparks, a white powder sprayed into the air. Her sword tore through the barrier formed by the spider’s forelegs and returned to her stance. Naturally, 'Laughter' did not suffer a single nick.
"Let’s see how long you can block this!" Oara shouted.
The white powder was actually fragments of the spider’s blades. Oara’s Laughter began to shave away the monster's chitinous arms.
Just then, the owlbear lunged from her blind spot.
Because he was watching from a distance, Encrid didn't miss it. But what if he had been the target? It would have felt like facing Sachsen. A blade soaring out of nowhere was Sachsen’s specialty.
The owlbear swung a fist made of dense feathers toward Oara’s back. At the moment of impact, Oara’s body bent fluidly. Her frame swayed like cloth in the wind as she shifted aside.
It was an astonishing display of reflexes. To Encrid, it looked like a choreographed dance.
The owlbear’s fist struck empty air. A sharp pop echoed as the air ruptured—a thunderous sound that conveyed the sheer force behind the punch. It was a fist that tore through sound itself.
In that motion, Oara’s face came into view. Her feet, her hands, her gentle smile. With a stepping foot and a twisting wrist, her blade curved toward the owlbear’s neck. A streak of white light struck the monster’s throat.
The owlbear pulled its neck inward, shrugging its shoulders. The feathers around its neck bristled, hardening to block the steel.
Grrrind!
The blade ground against the feathers, threatening to sever the neck. Black blood splattered in droplets. The feathers shattered like shards of iron, scattering into the wind.
Then, the spider dissolved its barrier, stepped forward, and swung all eight legs. It brought two arms down from above, slashed diagonally with another two, thrust two toward her thighs, and drove the remaining two toward her insteps.
The eight bladed arms moved in perfect, lethal synchronicity.
Halting her attempt to decapitate the owlbear, Oara pulled back her sword, leaving eight afterimages in her wake. Her blade parried each of the spider’s legs one by one.
Encrid felt his senses sharpen to their absolute limit. His ears caught eight distinct sounds.
Clack, thud, pierce, slice, rip, slash, crunch!
Single-Point Focus, Sensory Technique—it was a battle that could only be followed by mobilizing everything he had. Of the eight legs, Oara deflected five and cut, tore, or crushed the other three.
It was impossible to see the process, but the outcome told the story. His mind spun rapidly.
She twisted her wrist to slash, thrust, and strike.
Was such a thing possible solely through the movement of a wrist? It was possible because she was a knight.
By thrusting and twisting her sword, she tore one of the spider’s arms to tatters. With a heavy strike on the return, she severed the second, and finally, she slapped the last one with the flat of her blade, folding it in half. The broken leg dangled uselessly.
How could anyone move like that? He didn't know. He couldn't comprehend it. Yet, it was the destination he craved, the path he wished to walk.
Ragna, Sinar, the Mercenary King, and even the Knight of Azpen. What would happen if those four exerted their full strength? Oara was demonstrating that right now. A mere swordsman touching the realm of omnipotence—that was a knight.
Ah.
A gasp escaped him, his gaze utterly stolen. He had no choice.
"Are you insane?" Rem grumbled beside him.
"There are too many monsters. Unusually so," Luagarne spoke, sensing an ominous presence.
If even the slow Frog Kin was worried, the situation was dire. Dunchabel began to tremble violently beside them.
Even so, Encrid stared at the smiling Oara. All his senses were consumed by her.
"Oa!" a soldier shouted the rallying cry.
Oara responded.
The ghoul joined the fray, thrusting its claws toward her arm. One could tell by the speed and angle—the monster fought like a knight.
Holding her sword in her right hand, Oara struck the owlbear’s fist while swinging her left arm to block the ghoul’s claws. She deflected the strike with the vambrace on her left arm.
Screeech.
Claw marks gouged the metal. Meanwhile, the spider’s remaining bladed arm struck Oara’s torso.
Oara endured it.
Thud.
She subtly twisted her body to disperse the impact. She didn't stop. The sword that had blocked the owlbear’s fist was suddenly embedded in the spider’s head.
I missed it.
The attack had been truly invisible.
The spider died. The owlbear vanished into the darkness once more, and the ghoul thrust its hands in a rapid blur. Head, chest, stomach, thigh. Its targets were clear.
Just land once.
Oara blocked them, alternating between her sword and her vambrace. Meanwhile, the owlbear swung its arm in a wide, horizontal arc from behind.
Whoosh!
Even from a distance, the wind felt as if it were slapping Encrid's face. The attack range was too wide to dodge normally. Instead of blocking, Oara leaped straight up, kicked off the owlbear’s swinging arm, and soared into the sky.
Twisting midair, Oara brought her sword down. Her curving blade appeared as three distinct paths of light—a harmony of monstrous strength and speed.
The ghoul moved both arms, mimicking the way Oara had deflected attacks with her vambrace. A supernatural exchange of offense and defense ensued. It was a fight where either side could win.
And then.
Thud. Squish.
Oara’s sword split the ghoul’s head. At the exact same moment, the ghoul’s claws pierced Oara’s flank.
"I won, you persistent bastard," Oara said, her smile still intact.
Her torn red cloak fluttered in the wind. In the hand of the owlbear, whose face had been sliced in half, hung a scrap of her cloak. The ghoul, Xerxes, collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud.
"Waaaaah!" Roman roared. It was a cheer of victory.
"There are too many. Someone is pouring them out," Luagarne said. Spiders were still emerging.
"Reckon so," Rem agreed. Even though Aisia had gone inside, the issue remained unresolved.
Was it over? At the very least, they had bought enough time to breathe.
As Encrid made that judgment, Dunchabel flinched, every muscle in her body contracting. She didn't know why, but fear had pushed her intuition beyond its limits.
She sensed it. "Something’s coming."
Dunchabel’s gaze snapped to the side. Oara’s gaze followed. Encrid was a moment too slow to look.
Slam!
A monster covered in raw, crimson muscle appeared directly in front of Oara. It had two legs, two arms, bat-like wings, and a broken horn rising from its forehead.
Among monsters, those that were truly exceptional were known as Majin. This was a creature from the Great Demon Realm.
Dunchabel smelled sulfur.
The monster, looking as if it had crawled straight out of hell, lunged at Oara like a streak of light. It bore down on her just as she had exhausted her strength.
Barely managing to block, Oara braced her blade with her left hand, holding off the edge of the monster’s palm.
"...Everyone, run," Oara said.
"Shit, get the hell out of here!" Rem yelled.
"A Balrog? No, a Fragment of Balrog," Luagarne recognized the opponent.
The moment the creature appeared, it dominated the field. Its sheer presence was an act of Intimidation. The soldiers' feet froze.
Crack.
In that brief moment of paralysis, several soldiers were slaughtered by spiders. Others simply stood in silent shock.
Dunchabel was drenched in terror. Her beastman eyes allowed her to see the reality more clearly than anyone. She saw Oara’s arms trembling. She felt her heart shriveling under the pressure. She had to run.
Fear broke her mind.
Dunchabel dashed forward without realizing it, swinging her scimitar at the new monster. Without taking its hand off Oara, the monster delivered a high kick to Dunchabel’s head.
Crack!
Her skull shattered. Blood sprayed.
"Dunchabel!" Encrid screamed. His Will of Rejection activated. His body moved.
"I told you to run," Oara muttered. She pushed the monster’s hand away with both of hers.
A few blows were exchanged, but the outcome was inevitable.
Crack.
Struck in the head, Oara’s neck snapped.
Was it because of the wound in her flank? No, even without it, she was spent. Poisoned and exhausted, her body couldn't sustain the fight. The monster had set the stage, letting the others wear her down before the ambush.
It was a sinister, brutal creature.
Encrid advanced with his sword raised, knowing this was a dog’s death. Yet, his body refused to listen to reason.
He wasn't the only one. The moment they witnessed Oara’s death, a madness took hold.
"Let’s die smiling!" Roman shouted.
"Let’s die smiling!"
"Oa!"
"Oa!"
Oa was the rallying cry named after her. This was Oara’s city. The city protected by the Knight Oara. A surge of tragic exaltation swelled within them.
The Fragment of Balrog possessed strength on par with a knight. The previous three monsters had been mere appetizers. The disparity in power was absolute.
Spiders attacked relentlessly, and arrows of thread rained from above—the same arrows that had killed Milio.
Encrid clashed blades five times with the Fragment of Balrog. It was a display of near-divine swordsmanship, but in the end, a kick to the flank sent him flying.
He saw the dead Roman. He heard Rem, who had rolled beside him coughing up blood, mutter as he lay dying: "I should’ve gone back sooner."
Starting with Dunchabel, everyone died. It was a total massacre. The city Oara wished to protect was vanishing.
Encrid took it all in. By the time breathing became difficult, his vision began to dim. Having died so many times, he knew the signs.
That was a bad hit.
An impact that even his bandage armor couldn't withstand had shredded his insides. Broken ribs punctured his organs.
Cough.
Blood gushed from his mouth. Death was imminent. Just before closing his eyes, Encrid watched the Fragment of Balrog slaughtering the remaining soldiers. Two or three died with a single swing of its club—the creature had picked up Roman’s weapon.
Boom! Thud!
Bodies exploded and shattered.
"Aaaargh!"
"Let’s die smiling!" a soldier cried out through tears before he was crushed. Encrid didn't know his name, but the face was familiar.
Everything Oara loved was crumbling.
Encrid closed his eyes. After passing through a long tunnel of darkness...
Sway.
The ferryboat rocked with the movement of the waves. When he opened his eyes, he saw the violet lamp.
"You will like this wall very much," the ferryman said, sounding thoroughly excited.
Before he could reply, Encrid closed his eyes and opened them once more.
Screeech!
It was a repeating today. He now knew that the shriek belonged to a Screaming Spider. Even though he had woken up before midnight, the start was not morning.
Today began from the moment he woke up. Which meant this 'today' was going to be incredibly short.