Chapter 459: What I Want to Protect is a Knight's Pride
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 459: What I Want to Protect is a Knight's Pride
Rem didn't know why Encrid had told him to tear through the Demon Realm.
Did he sense something? Or was it just a hunch?
The reason didn't matter. Encrid must have felt something ominous and asked for help. Rem left it at that. If he checked and it turned out to be nothing, he could just head back then.
But there was work to be done, and the task lay right before his eyes. The reason Encrid had sent him here was currently reeking of blood directly in front of him: to thin out the ranks of the monsters waiting inside the Demon Realm.
Deciding on his objective, Rem deliberately raised his chin and swept his gaze across the area. Even in the darkness, he could make out his surroundings well enough. Everything in sight was a monster. Huddled between the trees of the Gray Forest, they looked like a massive army drawn up in formation.
There were two types: giant spiders and owlbears.
Are they running military drills or something?
The useless thought crossed his mind. Rem lowered his stance, letting the hand holding his axe hang loose. As he dashed forward, keeping so low his chest almost brushed the ground with his arms trailing behind him, he resembled an eagle skimming the earth.
His axe served as a substitute for an eagle's wings. Of course, those wings wouldn't let him fly. Instead, they would split and cleave whatever blocked his path.
Just then, a faint red light shone down from above. The Twin Red Moons had risen. It was the phenomenon known as the Red Moon—a night when monsters grew stronger. Rem didn't care. He simply focused on swinging his axe.
Sweeping across the ground in a stance lower than a crouch, Rem’s axe moved. He slashed as he ran, two lines tracing across the bodies of the monsters bathed in the red moonlight.
Slash, crack.
With a sharp noise, everything caught by the axe blade was severed. It didn't matter if it was a head, a leg, or a torso. Black fluid sprayed from the severed parts, but not a single drop touched Rem. The gray line, casting a distinct light of its own in the darkness, darted through the monsters as fast as he swung his weapon.
Several spiders reared up on their legs.
Thud, crack, screeech!
Rem pressed his axe against them and sliced right through. With a crunch, legs snapped, but a spider had six legs supporting its body. Breaking one wouldn't kill it. But if the blade that sliced the leg embedded itself in its head, it would.
Rem's axe sliced through the spider's leg, surged forward, stopped the instant the cut was made, and then reversed direction to strike the head. The sequence of movements was incredibly natural. It looked as effortless as a child playing with a loose thread from a spool.
Thud.
Another monster bowed its head to the ground. Rem was pleased with how his axe-play moved exactly as he intended.
Not bad.
It wasn't a Descent Weapon, but wasn't this the best one could find on the market? It had to be. A Mount Lewis Solid Steel Axe was hardly a common item. No one but Rem himself would even be able to wield it properly. The key was applying or withdrawing exactly as much force as desired, but the weapon also had to withstand its master's raw strength.
With such a weapon, Feather Axe-play was possible.
It was a feat performed entirely through his own physical strength, rather than relying on the weight of the weapon. What became possible when fighting this way? He could change directions without any recoil. Just like the reverse-motion slash from a moment ago. In other words, his axe-play became completely unpredictable.
Rem continued to swing. As the blade scattered in all directions without recoil, everything caught in its path was sliced apart. Two lines that cut through anything curved and swept across the area.
Screeech!
Crawling on the ground with half its body severed—or more accurately, a Screaming Spider lucky enough not to have its head chopped off—shrieked a warning to the rest of the horde. Rem deduced from that sound that there was something controlling these bastards.
His five senses merged into a sixth sense, lighting a path in the realm of instinct. Rem's gaze shifted to one side.
If anyone were looking down on this scene from above, they would find it fascinating. They would have seen the monsters clustered in a circle around the center of the clearing near the forest. Of course, Rem couldn't survey the battlefield from a bird's-eye view. Instead, he found his way by feel.
At that moment, claws descended from behind him. There was no sound, not even the rush of parting air. The feathered forearm possessed the monstrous strength to mince a mere human into a bloody lump of flesh.
Rem twisted his waist and kicked backward. With his left knee bent, he thrust his right foot out with the force of his twisting hips.
Thud!
The chest of the lunging owlbear caught the kick. Its feathers, which could withstand most sword strikes, caved inward. Through the sole of his foot, Rem felt the monster's breastbone shatter. Struck by the kick, the owlbear was launched backward, tumbling across the ground.
Though its chest was crushed, the beast rolled and tried to stand to regain its balance, but an axe immediately came crashing down on its head. Naturally, it was Rem's doing, having followed up right after the kick.
Crack!
The monster, its head split open, collapsed to the ground. Black blood poured out, pooling in a hollow in the dirt.
"That sneaky wildcat was a few times more vicious than you, bastard."
Black liquid dripped along the edge of the Mount Lewis Solid Steel Axe, which had been honed so sharp it was thinner than a strand of hair. Under the Red Moon, his axe, his skin, and the black fluid all took on a reddish hue. Well, whether it was black or red didn't really matter.
Rem let his arms and his axe hang down once more. And though he hated to admit it—absolutely hated to admit it, and would never say it aloud even if he died—
It did help. You crazy bastards.
Rem acknowledged that his muscles had grown tougher than before, the power behind his axe was fiercer, and his senses had become sharper. These were all things he had gained from hanging around those lunatics. He had once thought he had reached the limit of his physical skills and techniques, but he was wrong.
He had learned this by watching a man who didn't know how to give up.
There were no limits. There was no end to anything. Thanks to that, Rem felt a swell of anticipation. Now, compared to his past self, the difference in his current skill was night and day.
So, what would happen if he layered sorcery on top of this? Even back when he had sorcery, he had never thought he would lose to those knight bastards.
"Hey, I'm busy. Hurry up and bring it on."
Rem grinned and dashed forward again, heading straight toward the thickest cluster of monsters.
*
While Rem was swinging his axe, Dunchabel split the skull of an owlbear that suddenly lunged at her. She used her curved sword to clear the path, then leaped up into a tree.
Her night vision was far superior to that of ordinary beastmen. On top of that, her eyesight was excellent. Thus, she spotted a pack of spiders behind the horde of monsters, their legs bent in the shape of bows. The moment Dunchabel saw the gathered pack, she could anticipate the damage they would inflict. It was only natural; she might lack tact, but she was no fool incapable of reading a battlefield.
Arrows, bows, monsters.
An unexpected threat and attack. What must she do to eliminate that threat? Take preemptive action.
Dunchabel's survival instinct began to operate in a different way. She enhanced her sense of smell through her instinctive feel. Even Dunchabel herself didn't know why such a thing was possible. However, there was a different kind of scent wafting from beyond, and she was able to catch it.
If signals were being sent via scent, it meant there was a receiver and a sender. The distinct scent—the sender—was nearby. In other words, the ones commanding them.
Dunchabel's gaze shifted to the rampaging barbarian. The bastard was plunging into the midst of the monsters all by himself, unleashing a slaughter. At the center of it all was a monster emitting a peculiar scent. Not just one, but about five of them?
That, too, felt like a problem that needed solving. Yet, somehow, Rem seemed to know, carving his way straight through the monsters. Watching him, Dunchabel heard the voice rising from her heart.
I can't do that.
Plunging in there is too dangerous.
Then what is it that I can do?
If I hold out here, I might die.
But do I fight? Is fighting the way to survive?
I could just run away.
It was the warning of her instincts. Dunchabel's fur stood on end. At the same time, she took a step forward. She ignored the countless questions plaguing her. She had decided on her task.
Proof.
What was she standing here for? Right now, that "what" was crystal clear. To slice, carve, and kill the monsters. For that purpose, she drew her curved sword and ran.
As her feet kicked off the ground, fur sprouted from her body, which seemed to slice through the moonlight. Soon, pure white fur covered her face. It was the transformed state that her beastman village had called a curse.
As her body transformed, the quality of her muscles changed. Power surged into the feet kicking the ground, and her body grew even faster. Dunchabel stepped softly, using her ankles and knees to muffle the sound as she bounded forward. A sharp crack of parting air rang out, drawing the heads of several monsters, but Dunchabel was already in full sprint.
Thus, Dunchabel ran all the way to the edge of the swamp. The toxic miasma threatened to seep into her entire body. Dunchabel held her breath. Then, she plunged headlong through the fog of poison.
Her target lay at the very center of the swamp.
*
Arriving near the battlefield, Admor saw Rowena tied to what looked like a wooden pole.
"Damn it, Rowena."
Gritting his teeth, he approached, untied the ropes, and checked her injuries.
"How...?" Rowena blinked and asked. She wasn't gravely injured, but he could see her torn undergarments wrapped tightly around her thigh. "Did Knight Oara come? Or Sir Roman?"
"A barbarian and a beastman came, but let's talk about the details later."
Admor pulled out a dagger, cut the remaining ropes, and hoisted her onto his back. Half of her squad members were dead, but the other half had survived.
"I thought it was the end," Rowena muttered.
"Where do you think you're going, leaving me behind? What end?" Admor said, binding Rowena and himself tightly together with a rope.
Now, what should he do? He had found and rescued his ally. The surrounding area was already filled with nothing but monsters sliced apart by axes. Even so, his vigilance did not waver. This place was still dangerous, threatening, and terrifying.
Could they just head back? As he pondered his next move and sharpened his senses—
"Bring it on!"
Mocking his caution, a figure could be seen running wild near the swamp. Something held in his hands traced lines through the air. Even though Admor knew they were axes, they looked like feathers. Yet, those feathers crushed and split everything they touched.
Admor stared blankly for a moment at Rem's fight. Black fluid sprayed wherever he moved, staining the surroundings. Admor couldn't afford to remain dazed.
"Let's get out of here."
He secured his lover and backed away. It seemed that even if he just retreated, no monsters would pursue them.
*
Oara felt a sense of déjà vu.
Has something like this happened before?
Probably not. She had never handed over a moment she was meant to fight to someone else. Oara watched Encrid and Jerix fight. After all, this was an opponent she had named after her ex-husband. Which meant he was the one she ought to slay.
Yet, why wasn't she stepping forward? The reason was right before her eyes. It was because of the fellow named Encrid. The Will he displayed had stopped her.
He's blocking well, but...
It also looked like a succession of crises. From the side, it looked incredibly precarious.
Clang!
She saw Encrid block Jerix's clawing strike with the flat of his blade. As he blocked, Encrid tried to trip the ghoul. The ghoul pulled back the foot that was about to be tripped, raised its knee, and aimed straight for Encrid's groin.
As if he had anticipated it, Encrid pulled back his sword—which had been held parallel to the ground—and struck the ghoul's knee with the pommel. Just before knee met pommel, the ghoul leaned back and extended its leg. Jerix's foot was still aiming for the same spot.
Just as he was about to lose his manhood, Encrid brought his left forearm down to block Jerix's shin. Jerix's foot and Encrid's forearm met in a cross.
Clang!
A ringing metallic screech erupted. The silver vambrace covering the back of Encrid's left hand blocked the top of Jerix's foot. After the instantaneous exchange, the two briefly backed away to create some distance.
Oara watched this and thought. Jerix wouldn't stop. But he wouldn't easily commit to a decisive strike either. The bastard was keeping an eye on her even while dealing with Encrid.
Jerix has gotten even better.
Should she just leave them be? It looked like Encrid would die if left like this. He was a waste of a man—both in looks and talent. She didn't want to let him die.
But conversely, she couldn't easily step in either. Even though he wasn't a knight, Oara could see Encrid radiating Will on par with a knight's. For just the briefest moment when he blocked her path, he had looked that way.
It must be an illusion. Of course it was. Even now, he was barely holding on. Yet, Encrid was still blocking. It was precarious, but he blocked somehow.
Oara was a knight. She knew honor, and she wielded a sword that protected her convictions through a Vow. Therefore, she could not stop the man who now stood before her. Encrid, too, was showing something similar to herself.
A Vow to smile no matter what. The foundation of that Vow was his resolve to protect this city. Because to her, this city was laughter itself. Something similar to her own conviction could be seen in Encrid.
Just what lay behind that man? What was he trying to protect?
What is he, really?
Oara felt curiosity bloom. Though she had ended up just watching, she was genuinely curious about why Encrid was acting this way. Of course, if things went south, she would step in. But even that wouldn't be easy.
Right beside them, Roman was dealing with a spider swordsman, and an owlbear strong enough to face a knight was watching for an opening. Oara was currently the center of the balance. If she made a move, she could definitely kill one of the three. But in exchange, the remaining two monsters would target one of her allies.
Could she prevent that as well? That would be difficult. She decided to act as the counterweight. If someone here could just kill one of the three...
The rest will be easy.
They might even end this battle without losing anyone. Of course, the situation was unfavorable. Time was on the enemy's side. The monsters did not tire, while her allies seemed to be slowly pushed back. Even so, the brilliant light in their eyes did not fade. Their combat, their fight, their struggle, and their Will set fire to the hearts of the soldiers.
"Oara!"
Behind her, atop the castle wall, a soldier shouted the battle cry.
"Let's die smiling!"
The shouts of those prepared for death echoed. Because Oara wanted to avoid telling anyone to die if at all possible, she deferred her moment of choice, if only for a brief while.
*
What rotten luck.
Oara, feeling resentful because she couldn't fight properly due to the poison.
I will hold the line until the very end.
Oara, dying as she held out to the last.
Oara had never lost. She had simply never had the chance to fight properly. She had merely died without being given any opportunity. At least, that was how it was from Encrid's perspective.
The bastard who was a fragment of Balrog, or whatever it was, had sent the monsters first to exhaust Oara's strength, taking an easy victory. What if she hadn't been poisoned? If so, Oara would have been able to fight.
She couldn't fight properly because of the poison? Then he would give her the chance to fight properly, if only just once.
What Encrid wanted to protect was the pride of Knight Oara.
Encrid's muscles throbbed from blocking the ghoul's claws. Because it was keeping Oara behind him in check, the ghoul couldn't easily find an opening to kill him. So he held on. He held on, and held on again.
This was the end of his endurance.
"What's this? It's a mess here too."
Rem had arrived.
"There was a bastard commanding the archers. I killed him."
Dunchabel, eager for praise, also returned, limping.
"You kept me waiting, Rem," Encrid said.