Chapter 481: Dream, Flower, Dream
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 481: Dream, Flower, Dream
"There are always people by your side."
It had been a while since the Ferryman had last appeared.
Rippling river water, a violet lamp, a blurry face. Today, the Ferryman had one eye closed and the other open.
Encrid turned the Ferryman's words over in his mind.
People by my side? Of course there are; what else would there be? Is this another one of his cryptic clues?
Then another thought occurred to him. Had anything this Ferryman said ever actually been helpful?
He didn't think so. If anything, the Ferryman's idea of "advice" was constantly telling him to run away or give up. Encrid let the words go in one ear and out the other. He quietly kept his mouth shut, suppressing the urge to ask if the Ferryman was just lonely rowing all by himself on this river.
It was bearable. Speaking one's mind wasn't always honesty; sometimes, it was just a lack of tact. So, he held back.
"You are never alone," the Ferryman spoke once more.
Encrid cast his gaze into the distance, past the Ferryman and across the river. He couldn't see a thing. He could only make out what lay within the reach of the lamp's glow. Within that light, there was only the Ferryman, the boat, the oar, and Encrid.
It was a bleak view with nothing to appreciate, much like the wilderness of the West. There was only the endless, pitch-black river. Encrid pulled his gaze back and looked at the Ferryman again.
Is he not going to put on a one-man show like before?
"Solitude shall assail you."
Encrid felt like the Ferryman had said something similar before. The Ferryman still kept one eye closed. Encrid stared at him for a moment. Their eyes met—one pair colorless, the other blue.
After a brief silence, Encrid spoke.
"Is that the 'friend of the ill omen' you spoke of?"
There were moments when it was impossible to hold back. This had nothing to do with tact; hearing those words made his tongue move of its own accord. It was like a naturally gifted swordsman instinctively parrying an opponent's blade upon seeing a clumsy strike.
The Ferryman shut his mouth. He looked somewhat annoyed, but he didn't say anything more.
The dream ended.
Encrid opened his eyes. He saw the familiar tent, and...
"Are you awake?"
...two eyes staring intently down at him.
Though a few veins in the whites of the eyes were tinged with purple, they were deep brown eyes that carried a certain warmth. They were full of youthful energy, showing a clarity untouched by the harshness of the world. Above those eyes was a neat forehead, and the harmonious arrangement of the nose and mouth formed a strikingly handsome face.
It was the child named Jiba, who was cute now but would undoubtedly grow up to be a great beauty.
"Aren't you sleeping?" Encrid asked without moving, only opening his eyes.
Jiba grinned. "I woke up early."
Whether the boy was acting as a human talisman or a warding doll, Encrid didn't know exactly, but he knew Jiba's mere presence was diluting the curse. Geomnarae, who was now up and moving around, was proof of that, and Jiba himself was now well enough to play with the other children.
According to Hira, it would take a few more days to fully recover, but Geomnarae claimed he was already fit enough to fight. He wasn't in perfect condition, but he could move, and that was enough. They were worried about the Eldest Shaman not waking up, but that was something Encrid couldn't help with.
Just as the Ferryman had said, there were indeed many people around him. When they first arrived, it had only been Rem, Dunchabel, and Luagarne.
"You really are diligent," Geomnarae spoke as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
Beside him, Hira was already packing tobacco leaves into her pipe first thing in the morning. There was also Luagarne, who had been part of his original group, and Dunchabel, who was just waking up and rubbing her eyes.
"What are you all up to?"
Right on cue, Rem walked in. What on earth had that bastard been doing since dawn? He returned with grass and thorns stuck all over his clothes.
"What have you been doing outside?" Encrid asked, gently pushing Jiba's forehead away.
Rem raised his left hand. With the morning sunlight breaking through the dim sky to herald the start of the day, it wasn't hard to see. Encrid hadn't misseen.
"Flowers?"
In Rem's hand was a bouquet of white and red flowers, trimmed to the same length and tied at the bottom with a stem.
"They only bloom around this time of year," Rem said.
"Flowers?"
"Ayul likes flowers."
There was no embarrassment, no awkwardness. Rem was Rem—completely unbothered and confident. Encrid finally understood why this bastard hadn't been able to find the giants despite wandering around for days. He had been out picking flowers.
"You said you'd be right back, but you stopped here first?" Ayul said as she entered the tent.
"I just stopped by on my way."
"Sure, of course you did."
Her tone was sharp, but the murderous intent from before was gone. Seeing the flowers in Rem's hand, the corners of Ayul's eyes softened slightly. A happy face, a joyful expression—that was how it looked to Encrid.
"See you later," Rem said, turning around.
Ayul grabbed his forearm tightly. She wouldn't let him go. Had she come looking for him because she couldn't bear to have him out of her sight for even a second? Judging by the atmosphere, she looked ready to "kill" him with something other than an axe—with a bed, flesh, and heat.
Just like that, the two of them would head to the thick leather tent they called home, onto the wide mat woven of straw and dried grass, to pray for the birth of a new talent. That would be an achievement greater than any spell or sorcery. After all, it was how children like Jiba were born.
But didn't they say they were in a crisis? Encrid asked himself.
They had been complaining about their relationship with Ayul, but they patched things up in the blink of an eye.
"That bastard is incredibly carefree," Geomnarae voiced Encrid's thoughts for him.
Still, it was a pleasant sight. It seemed Rem would stay here once this was over. Ayul was nudging him to do so, and Rem seemed to want it as well. Doesn't having a child imply settling down?
Will he settle down? Should I try to hold onto him?
No, he wouldn't. Rem wasn't the type to be held back even if he tried, nor did Encrid have any desire to do so. A man's body belonged where his will and heart were.
"Dunchabel, come out," Encrid said, picking himself up.
It was time for morning training.
The early morning sun rose, illuminating their surroundings. What Oara had left behind—the culmination of all his accumulated experiences—was now within him. Encrid couldn't feel a specific, physical change, but...
I can cut them.
Even if there were three of the same giant, he felt it wouldn't be a problem.
*
Luagarne sat and reflected on the dream she had last night. It had been a highly unsettling dream.
It has been a long time.
A welcome face had appeared, but of all things, the setting was the moment she least wanted to remember.
If there was anything as important to a Frok as desire and passion, it was spiritual love. They pursued it relentlessly. Because of this, they sometimes took humans as spiritual spouses. Naturally, this was not a common occurrence. A person who was both exceptionally handsome and possessed an inner beauty capable of intoxicating a Frok was exceedingly rare.
Of course, inexperienced Froks often made mistakes. The first man Luagarne had dated was like that. Thus, drawing from that experience, the second man she dated had been a wonderful person.
"Lua, what do you think lies beyond that?" her lover had asked, looking at a map of the continent.
As a Frok, Luagarne had answered like a Frok. "Do we really need to know?"
Back then, Luagarne's goal had not been the exploration of the unknown. She was a seeker of techniques. Her goal was to analyze and master all kinds of combat skills. It was during that pursuit that someone she fell in love with at first sight appeared.
He was a man who shone just by being looked at. They said he had elf blood in his ancestry, and while she couldn't be sure, his appearance was certainly outstanding.
"Hahaha," he laughed heartily. "We don't have to."
He was never one to force anything.
"I'm going to make a map. A map that encompasses the entire continent."
His work was to go where no human had set foot, to study and investigate. His swordsmanship wasn't particularly outstanding, but there were those who shared his vision: mercenaries, former thieves, discharged soldiers, and so on. And even a Frok.
There were more than ten of them in total. Everyone, including Luagarne, wandered for their own purposes and gains. They excavated ruins, took on commissions, and moved from place to place. Such days continued.
But exploring the unknown was never easy. Some began to leave.
"You need a full purse to get anything done. What can we do when we're living like beggars?"
There was harsh criticism. Because he lived for a belief rather than earnings, her lover's pockets were never deep. Noblemen who promised sponsorship frequently washed their hands of them. Whenever a companion who insulted him left, the man would simply smile.
"Everyone thinks differently, and everyone values different things. I can't force my way on anyone."
He had every right to feel resentful, but he didn't. He never treated people that way.
It was during that time, before they reached the eastern frontier of the continent, that a plague broke out nearby. At that moment, Luagarne was thinking of her first lover—a fellow who was practically the son of a ghoul. She had been so immature back then. She had chosen him solely for his looks, but he turned out to be a guy who used her name to frequent gambling dens.
A gambler backed by a Frok—who would dare cross him? Every word out of his mouth was a lie. To put it simply, he was a crazy bastard. Luagarne had broken all ten of his fingers to bring him to his senses. He had sniveled and wept buckets, swearing he would quit gambling, only to be seen loitering around a gambling den three days later. His fingers hadn't even fully healed yet. She hadn't killed him; he wasn't worth the effort. He was just a pretty face.
Her second lover, however, had a good character and grand dreams. That man could not simply pass by a place plagued by disease.
"This is bad."
While trying to find the source of the disease, they discovered it was the work of a scheme.
"If we leave it alone, people will die."
He possessed a naive sense of justice. And Luagarne possessed confidence—an arrogant confidence that she could protect her man from almost anything.
She should have stopped him.
"Lua, I'm sorry," her dying lover had said.
Luagarne, who had lost an arm trying to protect him, didn't even have time to shed tears. The opponent was a cultist. It was a tragedy.
"Have you ever heard of Huarin's Dog?"
The enemy had conjured pitch-black soot and commanded dozens of black hounds. In a place where a plague had swallowed a whole city, Luagarne tasted despair.
"Pursue the heretics!"
The army of the Holy City swept in and cleared the area. Thanks to them, Luagarne barely survived. After surviving, she devoted herself to hunting cultists for a time.
I will root out the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult.
But that could not be her ultimate goal. A Frok's desire could not be fulfilled by vengeance alone. Once again, a goal was born.
The unknown makes a person's heart boil.
Experience changes one's purpose. Desire moves accordingly. The gift her second lover had left her had redirected the course of her desires. Her lover's death replayed in her mind over and over. Even after waking from the dream, it remained.
It hurt. It throbbed with a deep ache. She placed her hand over that aching spot, even though the sturdy heart armor she never took off, even to sleep, protected it well.
It feels like it's going to shatter.
Suddenly, negative thoughts flooded her mind without end. It felt as though, in the end, everyone would die, burn, and vanish. Froks were a mentally resilient race, but that didn't mean they were perfect. There were days like this—days when she was simply in a bad mood.
In Luagarne's mind, all her memories connected like fragmented scenes, leading up to the present.
"Ha!"
A sharp shout pulled her back to the here and now. Focus returned to the eyes of the Frok who had been lost in the past. Her round pupils looked forward. There, she saw a man with black hair, scattering sweat as he moved.
He was a human who had shown a state that surpassed the level of an Associate Knight. It was a mystery that was truly incomprehensible.
He showed a will that surpassed the level of an Associate Knight? How?
She couldn't understand the process. Only words like luck or a prank of the gods came to mind. But looking at the man before her, any thoughts of luck or divine pranks vanished instantly.
Encrid simply swung his sword. Without rest, he recalled what he had learned and repeated what he had recalled. As if he never grew tired of it, he was always the same. He cut the same figure. Even though the Encrid of yesterday and the Encrid of today were different, he did not live any differently.
He proved himself through his actions, through his life. He simply swung his sword. Watching him, her idle thoughts faded away.
Over the past few days, she had felt strangely uneasy, so she had looked around. She had spotted traces of soot, but she wasn't certain if they belonged to a cultist. Yet, keeping it to herself made her feel uneasy, so she spoke up.
"I think I might have seen traces of a cult, but then again, maybe not."
Encrid stopped mid-swing and turned his head. Lowering Aker and standing with his back to the sun, he said, "I see."
He didn't seem to care in the slightest. In truth, what did it matter if a cultist appeared before him, or if their mother, father, or grandfather showed up? If they were enemies, all he had to do was cut them down. And that was exactly why he was swinging his sword right now.
After a night passed, Luagarne's mood was much improved. Two days later, a host of warriors gathered, with Geomnarae at the lead.
"It's a fight."
As he spoke, one of the tribe's warriors raised his axe high.
"For the soul of the West!"
"For the soul of the West!"
Everyone shouted, raising their weapons. Thus, it was battle.
The number of gathered warriors was less than two hundred—just over a hundred and fifty. Among them were Rem, Encrid, Dunchabel, and Luagarne. Since everyone was going to fight, they couldn't very well sit this one out.
Furthermore, Encrid saw no reason to drag this out. That was why he had ignored the chief's offer to wait for the main force, choosing instead to step forward.