Chapter 460: The Ultimate Tribute and Cheer
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 460: The Ultimate Tribute and Cheer
"That thing is on a different level from the half-baked ones we fought earlier. Did you block that hit knowing what it was?" Rem asked.
His tone wasn't accusatory, merely observant. Jerix paused, appearing wary of the newly arrived Rem. Considering the creature actually had a name, it was clearly no ordinary monster. It might even be capable of higher thought.
While common sense dictated that whatever sat atop a ghoul's neck was merely decorative, the Demon Realm was not a land governed by common sense.
Taking advantage of the lull—or more accurately, the tense standoff where both sides had raised their guard to the limit—Encrid took the opportunity to observe the ghoul named Jerix once more.
One thing was certain: this monster was absurdly strong. It was far more dangerous than the fake knights created by the Count who commanded wraiths.
"I noticed," Encrid replied.
He had already felt it firsthand; this ghoul knew how to fight. The "half-baked ones" Rem referred to were those very fake knights—broken toys stitched together from flesh and muscle.
"And you blocked it anyway?" Rem pressed.
"Because it was doable."
Encrid meant it literally. In the past, he wouldn't have even been able to hold his ground, but now, it was manageable. Besides, the bastard ghoul was keeping an eye on Oara as well.
Although his muscles were strained and his joints creaked, he hadn't actually been pierced by its claws yet. His ribs, which had taken two hits from the creature's foot, throbbed with pain, but it was still within tolerable limits.
Should I be thanking Audin?
If he hadn't trained with that specific striking method, his ribs would have been shattered. Moreover, he had realized something after being hit countless times: he had felt the Will moving at the exact moment of impact.
The important thing was that he had endured. Thinking back, even if he were to face the swordsmanship of that Azpen knight again, he felt confident he could hold his ground.
"Did you learn how to bluff from that guy with no sense of direction?"
Rem chuckled, but internally, his thoughts were grim.
Ah, this thing is really no joke.
It was nothing like the Count’s pathetic creations. Those things had the raw power of a knight, but their skills were laughable. What was the point of having great strength if the one wielding it was an idiot? That was why they had been easy to handle.
But the monster before them was different. It had fought its own kind just to survive. For a mere ghoul to develop its instincts to this level meant it had struggled on the brink of death time and time again. Its abilities were forged in the fires of combat.
It was no imitation. Rem assessed the situation coldly.
We can't kill it.
Not right now. They needed sorcery. Simply having improved skills wasn't enough to bridge the gap. To make matters worse, he had just finished dealing with five trolls hiding among the monsters. Those bastards hadn't been ordinary either.
His left forearm throbbed, and his hip joint creaked. While killing the third troll, he had blocked a stone axe with his left arm while simultaneously taking a hit to his waist. These were minor injuries, but they were enough to throw his balance off.
It wasn't life-threatening. A few days of rest would heal him. Seven days at most. Traveling on foot wouldn't be a problem, and dealing with common bandits would be fine. As long as he didn't engage in an intense battle right now, he would be okay. As long as he didn't have to face an out-of-spec monster.
The problem, however, was that such a monster was standing right in front of him. Yet, his so-called captain didn't seem to have the slightest intention of backing down. In fact, he seemed to be actively stopping Knight Oara from stepping forward.
This is a bit much for warding off bad luck.
Rem scratched his head with the handle of his axe. Since he had resolved to head West, he had expected to endure some misfortune, but this was definitely overkill.
"What's the plan?" Rem asked.
"To land a single blow."
The answer came instantly. Encrid’s mind was already made up. He wasn't the type to sit around agonizing over possibilities. He was a madman who, rather than stopping to worry, would move first and force the path he chose to be the right one.
Rem found that quality entertaining. Wasn't that why he had stayed? Because he had learned something from watching this man, hadn't he finally resolved to return to the West?
The ghoul twitched its fingers, looking as though it were performing a calculation. It was a monster that wielded the power of a knight based on pure combat instinct.
Rem thought he might actually die here.
"Let's do it."
But he had no intention of backing down. There was no time to formulate a complex tactic, but Encrid had been waiting for Rem ever since he envisioned the final blow. All they needed was a split-second opening.
And Rem would create that opening. Encrid believed in him.
*
Ghouls, by nature, do not think. For them, the head is merely an ornament.
However, the ghoul named Jerix was capable of simple thought. That was the primary reason he had become the monster he was today. Through this capacity for reason, Jerix judged the situation.
Whether there were two or three opponents blocking his path did not matter. They were weaker and slower than him. However, if he killed them, the other blade standing behind them would strike—a blade he had faced multiple times.
The ghoul calculated: he only needed to bide his time and endure. Eventually, the entity that had pushed him here would step forward.
The annoying blade approached once more. Jerix casually kicked away the axe aiming for his ankle while meticulously blocking the sword. That sword was laced with a troublesome metal.
Monsters were naturally weak against silver, as it held divinity. However, silver was a soft metal, making it extremely difficult to forge into a weapon unless one was an exceptional artisan. Above all, an unblessed silver sword could not harm his body.
Yet, the iron his opponent wielded felt ominous. It was only natural, for Aker was laced with Truesilver.
Jerix focused on evasion. He only needed to avoid being deeply cut or stabbed. Therefore, the weapon wasn't a true threat. Whether it was a sword of Truesilver or a blessed club, it meant nothing if it didn't hit him.
Jerix was confident. He would never fall to such mediocre swordsmanship. Having lived for a long time, he knew this instinctively. He had already finished measuring their skills.
With a whoosh, the axe blade flew in again. Jerix formed his hand into a blade, moving faster than the axe, and blocked it.
Clack!
His hardened skin stopped the edge. Then, his opponent dragged the axe across.
Screeech!
Metal grated against skin, and hard fragments of flesh shaved off by the axe splattered. He wasn't cut deep, but a portion of his thick hide was torn away. It was a feat possible only because his skin was like armor. It was a successful block.
Having blocked with his left hand, Jerix thrust his right hand forward.
Clang!
His right hand was stopped by another axe blade. Several exchanges followed as hands retracted and thrust forward in a blur. Jerix confirmed his opponents' limits. He was certain these two could never kill him.
Time was on his side. There was no rush; he could corner them slowly. The ghoul was still learning, even now. Just as he had learned while fleeing from the human wielding the terrifying sword, he was learning how to drag out time and corner his prey. He suppressed his urge to slaughter and waited.
Of course, every being in the world is prone to making assumptions.
"Ah!"
A scream rang out. It was human.
The ghoul's borderless pupils contracted. His gaze shifted toward the source. He saw a small female human clutching her shoulder, rolling on the ground. Blood flowed down her arm.
The sweet scent of blood, the tender flesh—the urge to slaughter surged. His appetite boiled. By suppressing it and observing the situation, Jerix took another step forward in his evolution. His intellect developed rapidly, accelerating in the face of crisis. At this rate, he might even be called a god of the Demon Realm.
And then.
"Now."
It happened in the brief moment he turned his gaze.
A blade, moving so fast that its shadow looked like a single line, transformed into a long streak and flew in as a slash. It aimed for his wrists; it was unavoidable.
It was what happened in the split second he looked away. An axe blade aiming for both of his hands.
The reason his gaze had shifted? It wasn't because of the injured human. It was because he had seen the terrifying sword moving right beside him. The human who had been cornering him took a step. That sword sliced right behind the human who smelled of sweet blood. To be precise, it sliced the Owlbear that was targeting her.
Whoosh—thud—rip.
Everything happened in an instant. Oara threw herself forward and swung her sword. The Owlbear was split vertically, spraying black blood.
Watching this, the ghoul reached out, twisting his wrist so his palm faced upward, and snatched the axe blade. Since there was no longer any need to hide his strength, he bared his claws and gripped the metal.
Sounds of snapping and crushing echoed. The axe blade was punctured and shattered. As he crushed the weapon, Jerix kicked his left foot forward. The foot flying straight ahead was his hidden trump card. It was three times faster than his hands.
Boom!
A thunderous roar erupted. Hit by the kick, the owner of the axe was sent flying backward. Everything was within the ghoul's calculations. It happened exactly as he had computed.
In the brief moment he dealt with the axe—Jerix saw a light that transcended his perception. He encountered something completely outside his calculations.
Before he knew it, that light had arrived right before his eyes. The light, which had condensed into a single point, vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Since it had pierced straight through his head, entering between his eyes, it was only natural that he could no longer see it.
The ghoul could not comprehend what had happened, but one thing came to mind: he recalled the terrifying blade that had targeted him before. It was a light similar to that.
As his head was pierced, Jerix summoned his remaining strength to thrust his claws forward. Incapable of feeling emotion, this final act was driven purely by instinct. The tips of his claws dug deep into flesh with a squelch.
*
If his previous method had been about squeezing his muscles to their absolute limits, Roman's strike was slightly different.
Will in every movement.
From taking a step to drawing a breath. Since he could not become a knight right away, Roman infused Will into everything to mimic a knight's strike. Encrid had observed, learned, and digested that method.
Although he could feel the Will, he could not yet wield it at his whim. Then how had he used Speed or Giant's Strike?
Everything is within me.
If he infused it with resolve, he could use it. Therefore, even when moving his feet, he had to walk as if risking his life, and he had to do the same when gripping his sword. Enlightenment came in an instant, but a long time was required to move forward through it. He repeated the actions so his physical body could reach that enlightenment.
Just as he unleashed Speed or Giant's Strike, he infused Will into his steps and his hand gestures. By breaking down the movements and infusing Will into every single one, they naturally became concise. If he had tried to infuse Will into every complex movement, even three hundred "todays" would not have been enough.
Thrust.
He reached the process of thrusting his sword forward with resolve. He had arrived. After dozens of failures, he finally infused it into a single movement. The foot stepping on the ground felt awkward. The hand holding the sword felt awkward as well.
But as he channeled Will from the ankle stepping on the ground all the way to his fingertips—everything around him blurred. It became difficult to perceive objects. Thus, he simply moved as he had initially decided. His focus was entirely on channeling Will.
Encrid thrust his sword forward. To be precise, he broke down the act of thrusting into tiny fragments, analyzing each movement with his sensory technique, and executed it through a single point of focus.
If asked whether this was any different from usual, he wouldn't be able to say. However, the Will infused throughout his entire body allowed him, if only for a brief moment, to taste omnipotence.
Thrust.
The opponent cannot evade. It will be so. It is only natural. That was how it felt.
And indeed, it was. The tip of Aker pierced straight through Jerix's forehead.
Roman had said that a single strike like that would leave him feeling empty, eventually draining every ounce of strength from his body. But Encrid was different. He knew because he had already experienced it multiple times. He felt no emptiness from the loss of willpower. Instead, the muscles throughout his entire body simply throbbed with a tearing pain.
As Jerix died, he bared his claws and lunged. And then, a white shadow slipped in front of Encrid.
It was Dunchabel.
The moment she saw the monster, her body trembled violently. She wanted to run away. But she didn't. To run, to flee, to escape—these were words that could only exist when one chose to face the threat. Dunchabel faced it and threw her body forward. She hadn't acted after thinking it through. Her body had moved first.
Why did I do that?
The question followed afterward, accompanied by a dull squelch.
"Ugh!"
Dunchabel felt an imaginary pain piercing her abdomen. She braced herself for the excruciating agony of her entrails being torn apart, but because she had tensed up so hard, her abdominal muscles were merely stiff. There was no pain.
Dunchabel saw the trembling muscles of an arm. A dented vambrace caught her eye. At the same time, she saw part of a monster's corpse held in that hand.
"What are you doing?" Encrid asked.
Immediately after Dunchabel had blocked his front, he had lifted a monster's corpse to shield them.
"Aren't you going to move?"
Encrid felt an overwhelming fatigue. It wasn't just the simple thrust; even lifting the monster's corpse to block had to be executed by infusing Will. As a result, fatigue flooded every muscle in his body. Yet, because there was no emptiness, his eyes were clearer than ever.
The dunce who had glimpsed omnipotence didn't even consider how incredible his achievement was. That wasn't what was important right now. Instead, his gaze shifted to the side.
Jerix was dead. In the meantime, Roman had also killed the Spider Swordsman with a knight's strike. The Owlbear had been sliced down by Oara. He saw the Short-Haired Blonde lying injured, having forced open an opening. And standing beside her was Oara.
"What are you?" she asked him in astonishment.
Encrid answered her question.
"It's your turn."
Despite the sudden remark, Oara didn't argue and turned her head forward. There, she saw the true lord ruling over this Demon Realm.
The Fragment of Balrog.
Oara was unable to fight for extended periods due to poison. Overexerting herself meant she would have to rest for a long time, so she rarely left the city. She only stepped forward when she had no other choice. Therefore, if she had faced that thing after fighting Jerix and the others, she would have had to quietly stretch out her neck and wait for death.
Because he had seen it all before, Encrid knew that was how today would have played out.
*
"Show us. Show us what it is that Knight Oara protects."
A guest who had visited the city spoke from behind Oara. The guest was an exceptionally handsome, peculiar man. It was as if he had acted knowing things would turn out this way.
Was there a problem with that? None.
Oara smiled, knowing what she had to do. Raising her sword, she said, "Cheer for me, and I'll show you a dance."
Returning the words Encrid had once spoken to her, Oara swung her sword down. She moved her feet as she struck. The destination of the blade, which drew a gentle curve, was the Balrog's head.
Clang!
Soon, the fragment raised a red-hot lump of iron and blocked Oara's sword. A knight and a monster stopped, weapons locked.
Encrid had wished to see Oara fight properly. That was why he had repeated today. He had already cheered her on by killing the ghoul Jerix.
Creating this stage was the ultimate tribute and cheer Encrid could offer. He simply wanted to see what a knight was, and what a knight could do.
Through the repetition of today, Encrid had said what he wanted to say. And Oara showed him exactly what he hoped to see.