Chapter 487: It Was No Big Deal
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 487: It Was No Big Deal
Encrid pivoted instantly toward the Black Warrior.
Though the cluster of giants writhed in the midst of some dark awakening, he trusted his allies. They’ll be fine, he thought.
Rem was there, as was Dunchabel, and above all, the female Rem—Ayul—was fighting like a demon.
This was the priority. His intuition screamed it.
"He's coming!"
One of the cannibals spotted Encrid and shrieked, his voice thick with terror. And why wouldn't it be? The man who had led them until moments ago was currently lying in the dirt, his head severed from his shoulders.
Encrid caught a glimpse of the cannibal's black teeth but ignored them.
The state of the battle, the shifting tides—everything seeped into his mind, making his priorities crystal clear. He filtered the chaos within his sensory domain, utilizing a battlefield instinct forged in the fires of his struggle against Azpen.
Beyond strategy and tactics, he knew what he had to do by sheer instinct.
As the cannibals watched Encrid charge, the terror in their eyes swelled. Their pupils dilated, and their hands began to tremble violently. How could they possibly survive against such a monster?
In truth, they didn't even need to worry about that. Once they were dead, such worries would be a luxury they couldn't afford.
There were a few fresh scratches on Luagarne's heart armor, but she had sustained no major wounds. However, a long piece of iron was lodged in her abdomen—a javelin thrown by a cannibal had snapped, leaving only the spearhead and a span-long shaft behind.
On the other hand, the Black Warrior standing opposite her was missing an ankle. It had been burned down to a blunt, charred stump, likely the work of her Flame Whip.
The fight had been evenly matched, but the Black Warrior was backed by a horde of cultist cannibals, while Luagarne stood with the Westerners.
It had been a precarious situation. But not anymore.
A faint shadow materialized behind the Black Warrior.
Naturally, it was Encrid. Matching his momentum to his intent, Encrid swung his sword. The silver blade severed the dead warrior's neck.
Sshhk.
Soot scattered, but the head immediately reattached itself. It was a body that took no damage unless struck by something magical.
It didn't matter. Aker was a magic sword.
He could damage the Black Warrior. However, it wasn't a blade grand enough to kill such a creature in a single blow. Besides, he had been feeling lately that the sword was somehow losing its spark.
Still, it didn't matter. It was still usable.
With a single slash, the creature's soot thinned, but it didn't die.
It won't die.
Was cutting off its head pointless? Then what?
Since the soot seemed to thin with every strike, he would simply keep slashing.
His thoughts were brief, and his actions were swift. Encrid whipped Aker like a light branch, the high-speed blade carving through the creature's body in rapid succession.
The Black Warrior thrust its spear in a desperate resistance, but it was futile. Encrid shifted his footing, letting the spear stab empty air while he delivered three more slashes.
After a total of nineteen cuts, the Death Warrior made of clumped soot began to disperse.
Normally, this was an opponent that required specialized magical tools or sorcerous rituals to defeat. Geomnarae had been bracing himself to summon his wolf once more for that very reason.
But now, there was no need.
Watching the summon disintegrate under the high-speed slashes, Geomnarae thought once more: Do I really have to spar with this guy?
The Death Warrior dissolved into the air like tobacco smoke exhaled by Hira. It vanished like black mist scattering in the sunlight. An enemy that had posed a dizzying threat to Luagarne had crumbled without even putting up a proper fight. The disparity in their martial power was stark.
"Run!"
"O Sand Ghost, save us!"
Seeing their champion fall, the cannibals scattered in all directions, casting desperate sorcery as they bolted.
"I won't let a single one escape!" Luagarne shouted, giving chase.
Encrid didn't bother joining the pursuit. The fleeing cannibals pulled out strange talismans and weapons, but they were no match for Luagarne. A talisman thrown by a cannibal caused sand to erupt with a loud fwoosh, taking on a humanoid shape, but as soon as Luagarne's Flame Whip wrapped around it, the construct burned black and crumbled.
Luagarne wasn't the only one taking action. Seeing the enemy flee, more than five Western warriors hurled obsidian javelins with atlatls or intercepted them with slings.
Geomnarae simply threw a hand axe.
Whoooosh!
The flying axe struck a fleeing cannibal square in the back. With a dull thud, the man collapsed forward, and Frok's foot immediately stomped on his head.
Crunch.
The skull shattered, and an eyeball popped out, rolling across the ground. Death was instantaneous.
Luagarne continued to hunt down the rest. Their sorcery was a variable, but Geomnarae neutralized the remaining threats. He performed a trick that prevented their sorcery from activating in the first place; naturally, Encrid couldn't comprehend the mechanics of it, but he could feel the results.
The threat was gone. Since opponents who couldn't even put up a decent fight were busy running away, he no longer perceived them as a danger.
"Enki, not here," Geomnarae said, looking at Encrid.
Encrid nodded and turned around. The battlefield would only be truly cleared once the Apostle's final death throes were dealt with.
"You want to die twice? Sure, fine. Die!"
Just then, Rem's shout rang out.
It didn't matter that the slain enemies had risen again, or that there were over a dozen giants of a threatening caliber. Encrid watched Rem rampaging like a madman.
Rem slammed a giant's club aside with his left axe and sheared through its wrist with his right. His monstrous strength sent the giant's hand flying into the air. After the wrist came the neck. Stepping on the giant's instep, Rem leaped upward, his axe blade whistling through the cartilage beneath the giant's chin.
With a wet rip, a new mouth opened on the giant's neck, and blood gushed out. The bracers wrapped around Rem's forearms grew damp, soaked in gore. Droplets of blood splattered in all directions, and beside the flying crimson, Ayul joined the fray.
"Kill them all!" she shouted, swinging her axe.
Encrid had a rough idea of what she was doing. It was the technique the twins had shown—a blue energy enveloped her entire body, making her axe strikes incomparably faster and cleaner than before. Regardless of gender, it was a slash that utilized her massive frame and the heavy weight of her weapon to devastating effect.
As those two elements harmonized, she struck a giant's shin with a heavy thud. Instead of purple blood, black ichor poured from the split bone. With a single blow, the leg was half-severed, causing the giant to stumble and fall, unable to support its own weight.
When another giant nearby swung its fist, Ayul caught it with one hand.
Thud!
She didn't deflect it; she caught it head-on. It was monstrous strength—the kind that would make her a perfect match for Audin in an arm-wrestling match.
"The Bear's spirit is with me," Ayul muttered, shoving the giant's fist aside before swinging her axe.
The heavy battle axe, its blade twice the size of a normal one, fell vertically and buried itself in the giant's instep.
Crack.
Bones shattered. Black blood sprayed across her face, and the corners of Ayul's lips curled upward. She was smiling. She was actually enjoying herself.
She really is the female Rem, Encrid thought. What a couple. Both of them fought with terrifying efficiency.
Beside them, Dunchabel was also running wild.
"Why the fuck are they coming back to life?" she cursed, buying time with hit-and-run tactics.
A Westerner threw javelins from behind her to provide cover. Dunchabel seemed more than capable of keeping herself safe, but the number of giants was still considerable.
But then, something unexpected happened.
Pfft-pfft-pfft.
From the flank, a few individuals who were small even for Westerners shot blowguns and swung hook-like weapons. The giants hit by the darts squealed, blood pouring from their eyes and noses. Even if they didn't collapse immediately, their combat effectiveness was halved.
It was sorcery poison—the work of the minority tribe Rem had summoned.
Sensing they were allies, Encrid maneuvered around them and joined the fray.
Graaargh!
A giant suddenly charged, flailing its limbs like a windmill. Encrid deflected its club and feet with Aker, then delivered a high thrust, punching a hole straight through its skull. As he pulled the blade out with a squelch, a stream of blood followed.
He watched the dead giant for a moment; it merely twitched and did not rise again.
So they weren't rising anymore.
Many Westerners had been startled by the giants' sudden "awakening," but the shock had worn off. Now that Encrid was fighting them directly, he realized there was a significant gap between these giants and the two he had faced before.
Normally, this would have been a complete Death Giant warrior unit, outfitted with wraith armor and bone knives summoned by the Apostle and a necromancer. But the necromancer was dead. Thus, they were only half-complete.
Watching the battle, the Chief was practically shedding tears. He had worried things might go awry, but the line had held. Most of those who had set out as the vanguard alongside Great Wing had prepared themselves for death. They had stood here willing to die for the West, for freedom, and for survival.
Yet, not a single person had died.
The Apostle's final desperate gambit had been cut down by the blades of Encrid, Rem, and the beastman. The sorcery poison had seeped in, binding the giants' feet.
The hands of the tribesmen, who had been throwing javelins from afar, finally stopped. There were no giants left to stab.
The minority tribe vanished even faster than they had joined. They retreated to the side of the gorge, showed their palms in a silent gesture, and departed without a word. They were a people who believed that even speaking to others invited trouble. Most of the Westerners respected their culture and let them go.
The battle, which had begun at sunrise, ended before noon. No one felt a sense of emptiness, nor did anyone think this had been easy just because it ended quickly. They simply felt the weight of survival. The threat had been eliminated.
It hadn't fully sunk in yet, but the victory was undeniable.
Under the gentle sunlight, Encrid felt the cool Western wind on his face. Purple blood flowed like a river, and a foul stench hung in the air amidst the piles of corpses. But such things did not register in the eyes of the Chief and the Westerners.
They only saw the two men who had started and ended this fight exchanging words: the prodigal son who had returned, and the foreigner he had brought with him.
While Encrid basked in the wind with Aker hanging loosely in his hand, Rem approached. Encrid, reading Rem's mind, spoke first.
"You don't have to bow your head and thank me."
"...Did I say anything?" Rem tilted his head.
Fortunately, they weren't within earshot of the others, so the onlookers' profound emotion wasn't shattered. Only Ayul approached, staring at Encrid as if wondering if he was slightly mad. Even so, she kept her mouth shut because he was their savior. If she argued with him now, she would look like an ungrateful fool.
"Right. If you're grateful, just treat me well from now on," Encrid said.
"Are you alright? It sounds like you're hearing things. I think you need medical attention," Rem replied immediately.
To Ayul, it was a succession of crazy remarks, but it wasn't a bad sight. It showed the bond between them. She saw the time of Rem's life that she had missed reflected in his rapport with Encrid. Seeing it made her feel good. The two had fought, won, and were now enjoying silly banter.
"Well, let's at least have a cup of the best alcohol in the West," Rem said, expressing his gratitude in his own way.
Encrid nodded nonchalantly. "It was no big deal."
Considering what he had received from Rem over time, this truly was nothing. The battle was over, and with it, the crisis of the West.
* * *
Recovering the bodies, burying the dead, and clearing the area took time. The exploration of the Sacred Ground had to be postponed because the Eldest Shaman hadn't woken up yet. Encrid took their word for it.
In the meantime, various things happened.
"We will carve your name into the cliff," someone said, offering the highest praise. He was from the Maru Clan.
The time spent mourning was brief. To them, death was not the end; that was their culture. During the cleanup, all sorts of people approached him.
"Drink up," an old man offered, handing him a flask.
"Sigh, Mother is opposing my trip to the continent. I need a secret place to hide until I leave, darling," Jiba said, still dreaming of her escape.
Dunchabel, lost in thought after the battle, spent her time staring into space or dozing off. Luagarne, meanwhile, mingled well with the Westerners, asking about their ecology and culture with natural curiosity.
"We cannot call you a true Hero, for in our land, a Hero holds a different meaning. But I wish to call you an honorary Hero."
The light of the bonfire flickered over the gathered Westerners. Those who had been chattering noisily fell silent. These were the words of the Chief, his back to the massive flames.
With that single statement, every eye turned to Encrid. He merely stood there, calm. It was the night after the battle, and the lingering adrenaline had yet to fade.
"Foreigner, I speak on behalf of all Westerners. From this moment on, you are our friend."
Having said this, the Chief bowed, pressing his forehead to the ground.
Rem had told him what that posture meant. Hadn't he mentioned that if the Chief ordered him to his room stark naked tonight, he’d have to go without a word of protest? The thought of that old man was nothing short of horrifying.
"It was no big deal," Encrid said, politely declining the weight of the gesture.
Behind the Chief, Ayul and everyone else pressed their foreheads to the ground in the same posture. It was nothing compared to what Rem had done for him, yet to them, it was more precious than anything. It was the act that allowed them to keep living.
"They're saying thank you," Rem said, chuckling as if he had read Encrid's mind.
Encrid said once more, "It really was no big deal."
He meant it. The Beast's Heart had been his beginning. Without it, the man standing here wouldn't exist. Was it all luck? A gift of chance? Perhaps. But luck comes to those who are prepared. Encrid wasn't denying his own efforts, but gratitude was gratitude.
Therefore, this was no big deal. At least, not to him. But he knew well that it was everything to them.
The Chief stood up, not even brushing the dust from his knees, and shouted, "Eat and drink!"
With the Chief's permission, the festival began.
"For the soul of the West!"
"For the Bear and the Thunder!"
"Weep, Grime! Thank you for granting my wish!"
"Rise, Dawn Bird, and bring the sun!"
Shouting toasts, they raised their cups and tore into the meat. For two days, the festival raged. Encrid joined them, drinking his fill of fermented goat, sheep, and cow’s milk. Despite the volume, he didn't get drunk. After a heavy sweat the next morning, any trace of the alcohol vanished.
It was a clear, dry morning when the Eldest Shaman finally woke up.
He was the one Rem said was necessary to find his own sorcery. The next journey was about to begin.