Chapter 505: Deep in the Night, the Rain Falls
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 505: Deep in the Night, the Rain Falls
Encrid nodded slowly. He hadn't exactly intended for the items to be formal gifts, but somehow, Ragna was the only one left empty-handed.
Krais, however, figured that the jeweled scabbard and the promise of the merchant guild—which would come later—were more than enough of a gift for the man.
Esther, sitting as still as a painting in the corner, pulled out one of the items Encrid had given her. It looked like the fang of a powerful magic beast.
"I received mine," she said softly, though no one had asked.
Just then, Sinar stepped into the barracks, a playful glint in her eyes. "I can consider that dagger you gave me an engagement gift, right?"
It was a classic elven jest, delivered with a smirk.
Strictly speaking, Ropode and Pel hadn't received anything either, so Ragna didn't feel particularly singled out.
"Get out here, barbarian," Ragna growled, glaring at Rem. "I’m going to rip your head off."
He simply assumed the barbarian bastard must have pulled some sort of trick to end up with more than him. Whether he had become a knight or not, Ragna was still prone to irritation. Just because a man was a master of the sword didn't make him a sage or a saint.
"Bring it on, brat," Rem shot back.
Neither of them actually moved toward the door. They were just bickering as they always did, a familiar rhythm to their rivalry.
"By the way, where did you go?" Encrid asked, throwing out a question to change the subject.
Ragna tore his eyes away from Rem and answered calmly, truly not feeling slighted. "Just went out for some fresh air. On my way back, I found this lost Odd-Eye and brought him along."
"Who brought who?" Rem sneered.
Luagarne nodded in agreement; Rem had a point. Sachsen remained silent, and Audin was still deep in prayer. Krais, perhaps feeling the weight of the day, did nothing but let out a long yawn.
It was peaceful. Amidst the steady downpour of the seasonal rain, Encrid brought up the question he had been harboring since they all gathered.
"If you were suddenly dropped into the middle of a desert, how would you get out?"
It wasn't a casual hypothetical. He wanted to know: if they were knights, if their physical capabilities and perspectives were different, what would they do? Encrid had escaped the desert himself, but he considered it a stroke of luck. If you removed luck from the equation, how could one truly survive?
He had been curious ever since he woke up after his ordeal. Unlike him, how would these people face the void?
Ragna was the first to answer. Finding paths was, after all, his specialty. "You just look at the stars and find your way."
It was the biggest lie in the world, but technically, it wasn't wrong.
"You’ve got a disease, kid," Rem chimed in. "And you wouldn't be able to see them anyway. The sky is blocked in that land."
Encrid nodded, remembering the oppressive atmosphere of the desert. Ragna remained unfazed. "Then I’ll find the way by instinct."
It was madness. Encrid hadn't expected a logical answer from Ragna in the first place. Rem muttered something about a "crazy, directionally challenged bastard" before sharing his own thoughts.
"Pick a direction and just keep walking. No matter where it is, there’s bound to be an end to it."
Rem said this because he understood the nature of the West. A desert wasn't a mystical labyrinth; it was just land. To survive, one simply had to endure and keep moving. In truth, if things had gone south, Rem had planned to go looking for Encrid himself. If the Black Bird of Yearning pointed the way, he would have charged straight into the sands.
"At my level, I can survive for a month without food or water. But honestly, there’s no need for that. I’d just run."
It was a method possible only because of his sorcery. That was the underlying meaning of Rem’s words. If he used Spirit Possession to summon the Velopter spirit, he could run for days without stopping.
Next was Audin. "I would ask God and receive an answer."
Audin possessed divine power—a force that performed miracles like healing the broken bodies of commoners. To those who wielded it, miracles were a daily occurrence. Thus, while "asking God" might sound like nonsense to others, Audin was completely sincere. If he were lost, he believed God would surely grant him a revelation.
Listening to him, Encrid knew the priest wasn't joking.
Instead of answering directly, Sachsen posed a question of his own. "You said you couldn't get your bearings. Was that truly the case, no matter what you tried?"
One cannot undo the past, but by reviewing and reflecting on it, one can avoid repeating the same mistakes. That was why Encrid had asked, and it was exactly the point Sachsen was probing. Was that really the best you could do?
Sachsen spoke while crossing his legs. The rain had darkened the sky outside, but the fire blazing in the center of the barracks provided more than enough light. As the flames danced, everyone found themselves drawn closer to the warmth.
"Did you hear no sounds? What about the wind? How was the wind of the West?"
Hearing this, Rem thought to himself that Sachsen was a sly wildcat. It wasn't as if there were no guides who walked the deserts of the West. They were rare, but they existed. Not that they had the talent to find a specific person in that vastness—if they could wander the desert like their own backyard, Rem would have persuaded them with his Fists of Yearning long ago.
He had left them alone precisely because finding Encrid seemed impossible for a normal guide. But those desert trackers had a saying: they walked along the paths of the wind.
This was only possible for those born with more than just sharp five senses. It required a sixth sense—or something even beyond that.
"The direction of the wind, the scents... everything becomes a trace and a clue. If you can read them, you cannot get lost."
Sachsen could find his way even in a magical labyrinth. His senses were unaffected by most spells or sorcery. His sensory abilities, rooted in his Will, were one of the primary weapons that had brought him to his current position. After all, he hadn't won the titles of Master of the Dagger of Geor and Master of Dawn Dew in a game of cards.
"What an interesting topic," Sinar interrupted.
She knew the desert. It was a world opposite to the forest. But did that mean the land lacked Vital Energy? To handle Vital Energy meant to see spirits. Sinar was born with the blessing of the forest; she believed spirits existed even in the dunes. Or, at the very least, traces of energy.
"Just because it’s a desert doesn't mean there is no Vital Energy. I would walk by seeing the path of the world's breath."
"But do we absolutely have to go to the desert and get lost? I feel like I just wouldn't let that happen in the first place," Ropode cut in.
"Don't say stupid things," Pel immediately refuted him. "This conversation started on the premise of being in the desert."
Ropode spoke with a smile, though it looked somewhat stiff. "That’s what I’m saying. I wouldn't allow myself to be put in that position."
"And I’m saying your premise is wrong," Pel countered, crossing his arms. "A shepherd does not get lost, so he will find a way out no matter what. And he always carries a few days' worth of rations in his coat."
"Which is why I’m saying you just don't go in there in the first place!" Ropode snapped, his smile vanishing.
"Stupid talk," Pel muttered.
"You want to get beaten to a pulp?"
"The Idol Slayer does not discriminate between people. You know that, right?"
"So I just have to make sure you don't even graze me? Easy."
Since when had it been like this? Perhaps it started after the "crack" formed in Pel’s mind. Ropode and Pel simply did not get along. It was reminiscent of the old days of the Mad Platoon.
Their goals were fundamentally different. Ropode valued calculated moves and knightly discipline, while Pel believed that split-second, raw decisions were all that mattered. With their differing views on swordsmanship, only skill could settle the argument. On top of that, Pel the Shepherd didn't know how to filter his words, and Ropode, coming from a formal order of knights, was clumsy at dealing with someone so uncouth. Their relationship had turned terribly sour.
Encrid stared at the two of them for a moment before speaking. "Stop."
A single word was enough. Both of them backed down instantly. They didn't even glare at each other. In this regard, they were actually quite similar—neither wasted mental energy on useless friction once ordered.
Pel suppressed the boiling anger inside him. The crumbling of his mind due to the crack was one thing, but he truly wanted to bash the head of this Ropode bastard, who had only ever learned swordsmanship in a cozy, controlled environment. And it wasn't impossible. Catching up to a man who had merely taken one step ahead by sheer luck was nothing.
Ropode felt similarly. That bastard has no manners. He doesn't know how to respect his betters. He needs to be taught a lesson.
To fight and win, Ropode decided he just had to live every day like Encrid. Now that Ragna was back, there would be more opportunities to stay close and master the sword. Before he knew it, Ropode had completely forgotten about his original plan to return to his knightly order.
Watching the two, Encrid wished that Rem, Ragna, Audin, and Sachsen would listen to him this well. Not a chance, he thought.
He had asked his question and received his answers. Encrid realized how differently everyone perceived the world. Some pushed through with sheer stubbornness, while others utilized the unique abilities they possessed.
Could I have smelled the wind too?
Sachsen had said that if you couldn't hear, you should at least smell. Though he couldn't see Vital Energy or spirits like Sinar, was there really nothing that caught his sixth sense? He didn't know. Perhaps there had been clues he simply wasn't ready to see.
"If you had studied and known the terrain beforehand, it would have helped," Luagarne interjected. She was right. Knowledge was power.
Encrid organized his thoughts. Every word they offered was a piece of a larger puzzle. His train of thought led him back to the soldier who had challenged him as soon as he arrived at the barracks—the man whose name he hadn't even known at the time: Marco.
He used Will.
But in what way? The soldier had bolstered his mental strength by refusing to back down. He had strengthened his resolve by warning his opponent, and he had tried to gain a psychological advantage by unleashing his most confident move as his opening strike. It didn't matter if he couldn't win with a single thrust; he wanted to imprint the ferocity of his spear onto his opponent's mind.
The first strike was meant to be the strongest, most violent attack. The warning, the thrust, the stance, and the attitude—all of it was a tactic. Everyone had their own tactics, and Encrid was learning from all of them.
"There isn't just one way," Encrid muttered to himself.
"If your Will is overflowing, your physical stamina will change too," Ragna added.
That was also true. It was the reason every single step Encrid took after that final moment in the desert had been imbued with power.
Encrid engraved these insights into his mind, piece by piece. Anu, the King of the East and the Mercenary King, had told him to experience many things. Now he understood why. Encrid saw the differences in everything he observed, but he also saw the commonalities. The realizations from the desert, the lessons from his companions—it was all coming together.
It was like moonlight. Visible, yet slipping through his fingers. There was still a missing piece, but pondering it now wouldn't make it appear. There was no need to rush.
"Since we're all gathered, tell us a story, fiancé," Sinar said, pulling one knee up to her chest.
Encrid looked up.
"What on earth did you do to have rumors calling you the Savior of the City or the Pioneer of the West?" Sinar asked. Her expression was far more relaxed than usual.
Encrid hadn't realized his deeds had earned him such grand nicknames. Since there was no reason to hide it, he began his tale. He told them how he went from being a simple Demon Slayer to the Savior of the City and the Pioneer of the West.
He turned out to be a surprisingly good storyteller. Before long, everyone was leaning in, hanging on his every word.
"Why didn't you become a bard instead of a knight?" Krais remarked.
"It's not bad," Luagarne said, puffing out her cheeks. Even though she had been there for many of these events, hearing them from Encrid’s perspective made them feel new.
He wasn't the greatest storyteller on the continent, of course. Aside from Krais, his skills were actually quite unpolished. But thanks to Krais chiming in with perfect timing and dramatic flair, the story became much richer.
Of course, what shocked them the most was the revelation of Rem’s wife and child.
"Trash," Krais whispered. His interjection was exquisite.
Krais, who had been abandoned by his own parents at a young age, utterly despised those who did the same.
"You want to die?" Rem growled.
"Leaving your wife and child behind..."
"Ayul is a strong woman," Rem defended. "And she has her own desires too."
In truth, Ayul had been the one to urge Rem to leave. She was a remarkable woman who knew how to support a man with grand ambitions.
"Marriage? Did you threaten her?" Ragna asked.
Rem answered by swinging his axe toward Ragna’s head. Sachsen picked at his ears, wondering if he had misheard the part about Rem being a family man. An axe flew toward him as well, but he dodged it with practiced ease.
Audin offered a prayer of blessing. "It is said that even a wingless bat has its mate, so surely this is something God will bless."
Though it was framed as a blessing, it felt heavily laced with personal judgment.
"Fuck, you call that a blessing?!" Rem roared.
They talked until dawn. Sinar shared a story of wandering through the Forest of Vital Energy, though it ended abruptly with a tale of a lethal labyrinth created by a demon. "If you fall in there, you die. Every single one of them died," she said flatly. It had started as a heartwarming forest tale and ended in a massacre. Sinar’s storytelling skills were, evidently, also terrible.
Audin told the story of Teresa devoting herself to God. He spoke of how she couldn't forget her past but had learned to look toward tomorrow. As he spoke, his gaze on Encrid was intense—a mix of gratitude and a burgeoning competitive spirit rather than romance.
"Cultists should be killed on sight," Luagarne added firmly.
Ropode and Pel shared their pieces as well. Pel talked about the life of a shepherd, while Ropode remarked on the irony that even in a knightly order, one rarely saw a "true" knight—all while looking around the room at the monsters gathered there. As it turned out, there were at least three people in the barracks who fought at the level of a knight.
Sachsen shared a story related to the Carmen Collection. Despite the warmth of the fire, it was a tale of brutal, desperate revenge that sent shivers down their spines. Surprisingly, Sachsen was the most eloquent of them all. He was usually quiet, but when he spoke, he commanded the room.
"I went for a walk and cut down a few guys who were decent with a sword," Ragna said, summarizing his entire time away in a single line. He had done nothing but train, sleep, and wander, so he didn't have much to contribute. The only reason he had left in the first place was because Encrid wasn't there; without his rival, his motivation had withered, forcing him onto the road to find some form of stimulation.
"What a crazy bastard," Rem muttered. This time, instead of an axe, Ragna threw a punch.
Rem didn't get hit. He tilted his head to let the fist whistle past and began swinging back from his seat. Audin, sitting between them, broke them up without even standing. He used his bare hands to suppress both of them. Whether they were at the level of a knight or not, a master of close combat like Audin was on another level entirely.
Amidst the laughter and bickering, soldiers brought in bottles of alcohol and trays of food. Krais had ordered the spread. Everyone ate and drank in an impromptu feast.
For Encrid, it felt like he had finally, truly returned home. The silly jokes, the grand stories, and the distinct voices of his companions filled the air. As they chattered, the night deepened.
At some point, the bickering stopped. The atmosphere shifted to something more genuine.
"A Balrog... a troublesome opponent," Ragna remarked.
They were discussing Oara’s story. It was accepted as a natural fact that Encrid would eventually go to kill the beast. Not a single person told him to give up. No one said it was too dangerous. If it was something that had to be done, they would do it together.
"Not right now," Encrid replied.
Krais sighed, rubbing his temples. "Someone stop him, please. A Balrog, of all things."
Wasn't that a monster an ordinary person wouldn't even hear of in their lifetime? A creature of flame whips and blazing swords—the god of the Gnolls hidden within the Demon Realm.
They spoke of the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult, of their childhoods, and of the people they had met in the West—of Jiba, his mother, and the man who loved her. They spoke of the fragments Oara had left behind.
Deep in the night, the rain continued to fall. Cups were passed, stories were shared, and the blazing fire chased away the dampness of the world outside.