Chapter 482: How to Deal with a Mage
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 482: How to Deal with a Mage
Narae, Garam, Maru, Fortune-teller, Cloud, and Hanyui.
Excluding the minor clans, the West was dominated by these six main tribes. It was said they had evolved from several small, nameless groups gathering to form single, massive entities. Consequently, whether it was Narae, Garam, or Cloud, the smaller offshoot tribes shared the same names as their larger parent tribes.
If an elder decided to take his household and leave to strike out on his own, and that elder was of the Narae tribe, they would simply be called the Small Narae. The largest of these was the Great Wing—Rem’s tribe.
Most of Western tribal society was structured this way. Within them were positions like the Chief, the First Warrior, and the Eldest Shaman—titles that represented both political authority and martial prowess. Among them, the Narae were considered the parent of all tribes, primarily because the Great Wing was the most powerful of them all.
This was the gist of what Encrid had gathered regarding the Western tribes. There were plenty of mouths around to fill him in. There was Geomnarae, the twins, and a certain warrior from the Maru clan who visited him relentlessly. Some would often ask him for instruction after sparring, and what else was there to do while resting between fights but shoot the breeze?
Chatting might very well be one of the Westerners' favorite pastimes. Perhaps that was why it was so hard to find a quiet one among them. At any rate, those were the stories they told.
“It might be hard for you to understand. We have this concept where once you're family, you're family forever, and all that,” Geomnarae had said.
But Encrid understood it instantly. After all, he had grown up in a similar village. Even on the continent, small hamlets would form in areas where monsters were scarce. Hamlets, not cities. Starting as clan villages or settlements where people of shared blood lived together, almost everyone was related if you went back just one generation. Even when outsiders moved in, they were treated much the same. They were villages where people lived like family, even without sharing a drop of blood.
The village where Encrid grew up wasn't strictly a clan village, but it was very similar. It was a refuge formed by those fleeing from war. That was how it began—a modest place of barely fifty houses, a gathering spot for those scarred by various corners of the continent.
It was also the place where Encrid's dream had begun.
The place where the apple merchant who carved out the rotten parts lived. The place where the old maidservant who roasted potatoes over the hearth fire lived. The place where the foul-mouthed, hunchbacked old woman who once sold her body lived. The place where the mercenary who fled from battle and conflict lived.
It was a village that would have vanished long ago if monsters and demonic beasts hadn't been relatively scarce. With no special food, no grand lodgings, and no value as a trade route, it never developed into a city, but it was a place where people stubbornly clung to life.
“We will repay them in full for what we received.”
Should he call it a march to war? At any rate, those were the words Geomnarae spoke, grinning wide enough to show his fangs before stepping forward. A distinct solemnity could be glimpsed in his smile—the unique aura of a man who had staked his life.
Retaliation, huh.
His own village had a similar concept. If you didn't retaliate, you were looked down upon, and if you were looked down upon, you became a target for plunder. Though the reasons might not be exactly the same, it sounded familiar enough to Encrid.
Geomnarae wore a faded pelt, the hood shaped like a wolf's head. If he lay flat with it on, he would look just like a wolf. Although the veins on his forearms were still tinged with purple from the lingering poison, Geomnarae had no intention of backing out. He was the warrior who led everyone—the First Warrior. As the First Warrior of the Great Wing, how could he possibly sit out such a fight?
Naturally, the Westerners weren't just taking the assault lying down. They, too, were preparing. They gathered warriors, resisted the curse, and did what they could. The one leading this effort was none other than the Chief of the Narae Tribe.
Sky God, watch over us.
Hiding his anxiety, the Chief stood beside Geomnarae. If they just let themselves be beaten, the enemy would only grow more triumphant. Normally, he would have urged patience, bringing up words like Urquiora or Gloomy Dawn, but they didn't have that luxury now.
As soon as they realized the curse was upon them, the Eldest Shaman had blocked and suppressed it through several trials. Even that alone had taken a heavy toll, because both the Eldest Shaman and the First Warrior had been struck by the curse. Then again, looking at it the other way, most of the tribe would have fallen victim if not for those two.
The two of them blocked the misfortune.
It was like blocking a rushing torrent with a massive boulder. While small streams might still trickle through, the massive wave crashing down could be halted at least once. In the meantime, if they bought enough time to mix soil and build a wall, they could block even those small trickles. That had been the plan.
Though the Fortune-teller Tribe was the most skilled in sorcery, there were several formidable individuals on this side as well. But then, two giants appeared. They threatened the five tribes united around the Great Wing. In the process, the First Warrior of the Maru clan had died.
“I will hold them off! Everyone, head to the Great Wing!”
He had stepped forward with three warriors to protect the entire Maru clan. He was a man who was better at swinging a club than casting sorcery, often demonstrating his skills at festivals where the tribes gathered. Even Rem had once learned from him. But against two giants, it was too much.
Those two giants were now dead. And they had been killed by the stranger who came with Rem. The shock felt by the Westerners, especially the Maru Clan, was immense.
“Hero!”
It sounded only natural for one of the Maru Clan to shout that. It was well-deserved.
The Chief of the Narae Tribe continued to gather warriors after that. It was time to wipe out the bastards holding the sacred ground. The Fortune-teller Tribe would be there, of course, along with the giants and the mastermind behind all of this.
Chances of winning? There was no time to think about such things. At this rate, they would just wither away and die. Honestly, if those giant bastards had brought their comrades and swept down earlier, the fight would have been over long ago, but for some reason, they had hesitated.
Thanks to that, they had bought time. The curse being resolved and the two giants being killed had served as the catalyst. Even so, the Chief remained anxious. The thought that they were only marching out to avoid being slaughtered kept popping into his head.
Were giants the only ones gathered before the sacred ground? Was that really all? Looking at how things were unfolding, more than a few things seemed strange. It became even more apparent the more he spoke with the returned Rem.
“So those giant bastards made a few jabs and corralled each tribe here like they were hunting game? And that's how several warriors died, forcing us to band together like this?”
“Yes. They probably did it to spread the curse,” Rem replied. Since the curse would only exert its full power if they were gathered together.
“I see.” Rem fell into thought for a moment. “What happened after everyone gathered?”
“What do you mean, what happened?”
“I mean, did the giants demand anything else?”
To go to such lengths, there had to be an intention. And it might be glaringly obvious. This was the West; it wasn't a fertile land. Attacking this place just to eat people didn't make economic sense. They would have been better off raiding a few small villages beyond the pioneer lands.
Then why?
The Chief couldn't even begin to guess the reason. He only felt a growing sense of unease. No demands, no raids. Only time passed. Hence, this was a desperate struggle. Fighting was a far better choice than just waiting to wither away from the curse.
“Let's go.”
They had known for some time that a horde of giants had gathered before the sacred ground. The Western warriors set off.
“Are you coming with us?”
The Chief listened to the voice coming from behind and turned his gaze. He saw someone speaking in a leisurely, carefree manner. It was the giant slayer and the savior of the tribe.
Black hair, three swords, black leather armor, and equipment imbued with sorcery. The gear he carried was almost excessively miscellaneous. Yet, every single piece of it seemed necessary. That was why he didn't look uncomfortable walking, nor did he look awkward carrying so much.
Rem answered his question. Since the Chief was keeping a close eye on them, their conversation reached his ears clearly.
“She says she's following as a companion,” Rem said, gesturing to the woman beside the savior.
“That goes without saying,” Ayul chimed in. A faint trace of anxiety could be seen in his daughter as well.
He was a father and a Chief. He looked at Ayul's face. He couldn't stop his daughter. He couldn't tell his own daughter to stay behind because it was dangerous while ordering everyone else to fight. A Chief must never do that. He was the eldest of the Great Wing, responsible for all these tribes.
“Let's smash them all to pieces!” the Chief shouted once more to mask his anxiety.
Geomnarae gave a casual wave of his hand in response. The warriors nodded. Everyone marched forward with long strides. Encrid glanced at the Chief, who kept shouting.
Why is that guy tagging along?
“I think there might be cultists too, not just giants,” Encrid said.
“Seems like it.”
“Did you know?”
When asked, Rem lowered his voice significantly. “Do you really think I was just out picking flowers all this time?”
I thought you were.
“Your eyes look weird.”
“No, they don't,” Dunchabel said, tilting her head as she stood beside them.
“A whole bunch of giants gathered? But will this many of us be enough?” She pointed out the issue with an uncharacteristically sharp perspective.
“We must test the waters first. We don't just plunge into an all-out war right away. We go like this to first gauge the enemy's numbers properly, set up a camp nearby, and proceed from there. Battle is not about blindly charging in and swinging. That is how one would fight under normal circumstances,” Luagarne chimed in.
She was right. Encrid knew that there were still several warriors left behind besides this group. For instance, the twins, Hira, and the other shamans hadn't come along. This meant they were essentially a scouting party preparing for an all-out war. Although Westerners were called barbarians, it wasn't as if they blindly charged into battle without any strategy.
Ten riders on Velopters followed them from one side. Aside from them, those who could be called warriors numbered just over fifty. And among those, by Luagarne's standards, fewer than twenty were actually useful.
“The rest will have to keep their wits about them if they don't want to die.”
Luagarne's eyes seemed deeper than before, and her speech had slowed down, as if she had attained some sort of enlightenment. He didn't bother to ask what it was. Well, as one lives, various thoughts are bound to cross one's mind. And those thoughts often proved helpful. If they threatened to become a distraction, she would snap out of it quickly. Because the Frog kin named Luagarne whom he had known would do just that. Encrid had faith in her.
He didn't feel particularly tense on the march. There was no reason to. There was no warning from his Sixth Sense either. It was simply a matter of slicing and fighting whoever they met. The horde of giants might be dangerous, and there could be unexpected threats, but he didn't feel particularly nervous.
The sacred ground was said to be a cliff with over a hundred caves.
“A long, long time ago, all kinds of animals—bears, tigers, wolves, foxes—received the care of the Sky God inside those caves and became human. There's a myth like that,” Rem had told him.
Rem walked while picking his ear, while Ayul beside him nagged him to stay alert, saying those two giants weren't the end of it.
“The enemy knows nothing, so they will have to take quite a beating,” said Luagarne, whose tone had grown strange.
“What is it they don't know?”
The beastman, who had briefly shown sharp intuition, quickly reverted to knowing even less than the enemy. Lately, Dunchabel seemed to have given up on thinking altogether. Aside from sleeping, training, and being nagged into washing up, he hadn't seen her do anything. All she did was watch butterflies and swing her front claws.
Listening from the side, Encrid agreed with Luagarne's words. What didn't they know? The enemy didn't know him, and they didn't know Rem. Would they be on guard since two giants had died? They would. But so what?
Luagarne had said that he was currently stuck somewhere between an Associate Knight and a Knight. What did that even mean? He didn't know. Nor did he need to know. He would just do what he always did. Internally, Encrid thought it was ridiculous for swordsmen to divide themselves by such standards.
Right, so if a low-grade soldier fought an intermediate soldier, did the intermediate soldier always win? If an Associate Knight fought a Squire, did the Associate Knight always win? A real fight wasn't some sparring match that began only after shouting "start" on well-leveled ground. A battlefield was a place where you had to stake your life. You had to keep in mind that you could die at any moment.
Thus, there was no law saying a Knight couldn't be killed by an Associate Knight. Carelessness breeds defeat. Defeat breeds death. Therefore, always give your all.
Well, maybe I can ignore sorcery a little bit?
Since the Ferryman said he would swallow up all curses. Encrid steeled his resolve once more as he walked, lost in these thoughts. This, too, could be considered one of Encrid's specialties. He never let his guard down, even if his opponent was a child. Anyone would be the same after having their stomach punctured by a twelve-year-old kid.
It was just as they were reaching the sacred ground. Several small hills came into view. They stood before a place that could be called a canyon, thanks to the high ridges rising on both sides. On the wide expanse of land, dozens of giants were gathered. They looked almost like an army.
Even at a glance, there were over thirty heads. They weren't perfect soldiers; they weren't lined up in neat ranks and files. It was a clumsy formation. Nevertheless, seeing so many massive figures standing together carried an immense sense of intimidation. A few Westerners gulped.
Shit, they look completely ready for battle.
“So you're the stranger they spoke of.”
An unfamiliar old man spoke from the front of the giant horde. Thanks to his massive companions, he hadn't been noticeable at first, but there was indeed a line of human-looking figures standing there. It was the old man standing in the center who spoke.
A long cloak, a wooden staff in hand—he was the textbook image of a mage. Several people stood to his left and right, all of them looking so filthy and unwashed they could have been Dunchabel's friends. Their faces were pitch-black, perhaps from never washing, which made their eyeballs stand out even more. One of them opened his mouth and licked his lips.
White eyeballs, black teeth, and a mage. Watching them, Encrid tensed his toes. During his time immersed in the Lake of Experience with Luagarne, Esther had also been of great help. She had taught him how to deal with mages.
How to deal with a mage:
“You bastard, I am the—”
Rule number one: Cut them down first, no matter what gibberish the enemy mage is spouting.
Encrid did exactly that.
Following his toes, he channeled strength into his left foot. He tensed his thigh muscles and stomped hard against the ground. The reactionary force of his stomp propelled his body forward. It was a charge utilizing the principles of a Knight's strike. It was an explosive dash, far faster than what the Associate Knight of the Red Cloak Knights had shown on the battlefield of Azpen long ago.
Most of the Westerners probably couldn't even track Encrid's movement.
Boom!
The ground exploded, dirt erupting like a fountain.
Craaack!
Before anyone knew it, the drawn blade of Aker slashed diagonally across the mage's body. Though it cut through flesh and bone, it made a sound like hard wood splitting. Since the slash had sliced right across the mage's mouth, he couldn't even finish his sentence.
However, the shadow of death did not loom in his eyes. His form blurred, and an identical figure materialized right behind him.
“You dare—”
He tried to say more, but this time, a flash—a spark shooting from Encrid's left hand—pierced his face.
Rule number two of dealing with a mage: never give them room to speak.
“Talk about being impatient.”
From behind, Rem also kicked off the ground and surged forward. Without giving anyone time to be shocked or speak, the chaotic brawl began. To Rem, a chaotic brawl with giants was normally a form of combat to be avoided. But honestly, right now, it didn't matter.
Seeing Encrid and Rem charge, Geomnarae joined in as well. They had come to fight anyway, so what was the point of talking? They just had to do what needed to be done.
In other words, it was time to repay them for everything they had suffered.