Chapter 507: The Witch of Black Flower and Gold
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 507: The Witch of Black Flower and Gold
"Take my disciple as your own."
Baron Philip was the lord of this region. He was an unremarkable man, yet he was not entirely devoid of ambition.
One day.
He dreamed of becoming a lord with a vast, sprawling territory. However, that ambition was little more than a pipe dream—until Lorenzo, a man claiming to be a master of the sword, appeared before him.
Lorenzo had urged him to adopt his disciple, and Philip had readily agreed.
To the public, the story was that a prestigious swordsmanship instructor had been hired for the Baron’s newly adopted son, but the truth was far different.
That disciple, Cavan, was a genius with the spear. Fighting with a spear in one hand and a shield in the other, he was a powerhouse capable of slaughtering a dozen ghouls in a heartbeat.
"Impressive."
The word escaped the Baron’s lips unbidden.
It was his first time witnessing a warrior of such caliber with his own eyes. The soldiers of his territory, who prided themselves on their physical prowess, were utterly incomparable.
Furthermore, his teacher, Lorenzo, was an even more formidable fighter than Cavan.
These two had offered to become his strength.
"I have long admired your benevolent and righteous character, Baron. I came here seeking a resting place for a wanderer who has lost his way, but if you wish to turn me away, I shall depart quietly."
Those were the words Lorenzo had spoken during their first meeting.
Because the entire region of Naurilia was in turmoil following the civil war, rumors were rife that skilled warriors were seeking out worthy masters to serve. Philip believed his opportunity had finally arrived.
Did they think I couldn't do it?
Philip believed he was in no way inferior to Encrid, the man at the center of every rumor. Encrid wasn't even a true noble; he was merely a mercenary who had lucked into his current station.
A mere wandering swordsman...
...who had made a name for himself by exploiting the chaos of the civil war.
Was Philip envious? Deeply.
If that was the case, all he had to do was seize that fame for himself. He had subtly rallied the surrounding nobles to exert pressure, salivating over the plump prey that was the Border Guard.
Philip had made his move. And this was the result.
*
"I catch a scent. That one reeks of nobility," said Rem, who had once been notorious as a hunter of nobles. The way he twitched his nose made it look like he was imitating Dunchabel.
He couldn't have actually smelled the man’s status, but the stranger looked like a noble to anyone with eyes. It was obvious from the feathered hat, the thick shirt with puffed shoulders, and the fine leather boots reaching up to his calves.
In other words, Rem was mocking his opponent despite knowing exactly who he was.
"Who goes there? You stand upon the lands of Baron Philip."
Three of the men looking down at the two swordsmen were mounted on horseback. Because of the difference in height, Encrid looked up and spoke calmly.
"Encrid of the Border Guard."
As far as introductions went, nothing more needed to be said.
Baron Philip blinked in surprise.
Who? Whether they loved him or loathed him, there was no one in the region who did not know the name Encrid. Even those who belittled his achievements could not fail to recognize it.
"Are you an impostor?" the Baron asked suspiciously.
Encrid ignored the question entirely, his voice cold. "Did you pick a fight with me?"
"……What?"
What is this bastard saying?
"I asked if you were the one who picked a fight."
There was a limit to the respect Encrid would show simply because someone held a title. He was well aware of the intangible power he now possessed.
A noble? A baron? Don't make him laugh.
He was the hero who had ended the civil war, a man granted lordship over the surrounding territories, and a general of the realm. If his noble status ever became an issue, a single letter would resolve it. Even if a minor problem arose, Marcus could handle it with ease.
Besides, he had already received a letter from Krang stating that it was perfectly fine to "deal" with a few of them—in fact, the higher-ups practically encouraged it.
"You insolent wretch!"
The Baron flew into a rage. He bellowed from atop his horse, pointing a trembling finger at Encrid. General or not, how dare a commoner who wasn't even a true noble speak to him with such gall!
"Cavan!"
At Lorenzo’s shout, his adoptive son, Cavan, dismounted. Narrowing his eyes, Cavan gripped his spear and shield—the weapons he carried everywhere.
Cavan’s gaze swept over the two men. They didn't look like easy marks, but he didn't think he would lose, either. Murderous intent welled up within him.
In truth, he had settled here with this very plan in mind. Sowing internal chaos within Naurilia—that was his true goal.
Unfortunately for him, his opponents were far too formidable.
The moment Cavan harbored the intent to kill, Rem reacted.
"Ah, what a load of crap."
Rem muttered under his breath and took a single step. His foot flexed, the ball of his foot digging into the dirt as his heel lifted, and then he vanished. At least, that was how it appeared to Cavan.
To put it simply, it wasn't even a fight.
Before Cavan could even think of thrusting his spear, Rem closed the distance in an instant and swung his axe. It was a speed far beyond Cavan’s ability to perceive.
Rem’s axe sliced right through the crown of Cavan’s head as the boy clumsily tried to raise his shield.
Thwack!
The skull split wide.
"Cavan!"
Lorenzo cried out, but he was too late. He leaped down from his horse, but Rem was already there. Rem caught the man by the throat mid-dismount and slammed him straight into the earth.
It was a monstrous display of strength that made the human body look like a kite tossed in a gale. A jagged rock peeked out from the dirt, and Rem smashed Lorenzo’s head directly onto it.
Crack!
A human skull is rarely harder than stone. The scalp tore, the bone protecting the brain shattered, and blood and grey matter spilled onto the soil.
Rem tossed the corpse aside and dusted off his hands.
They weren't even worth using a real axe on. Even though Encrid had earned the moniker of Demon Slayer, all kinds of pests still swarmed around him.
Good thing I brought a hand axe.
On his way here, Rem had picked up a simple wood-splitting axe from a blacksmith’s shop. If he used his Descent Weapon for something like this, his beloved axe would probably pout.
He had killed two men, but it felt like nothing. Drawing a weapon without a word was an expression of lethal intent, which meant they were prepared to accept their own deaths.
Wasn't that simply the nature of the path? It was a common occurrence—the killing that took place between people facing each other with steel, whether it be spears, swords, hammers, or axes.
The Baron’s mouth hung wide.
To Philip, Cavan and Lorenzo were peerless warriors. He had doubted anyone short of a true knight could match them.
He had not known.
He had not known that there was a sky above the sky, and a world far beyond his comprehension. The curtain had fallen on his clumsy delusions, ending the stage of a vain ambition that could not even be called a dream.
"Did you pick a fight? And sent assassins, too?" Encrid asked again.
None of the watching soldiers dared to move. They were frozen solid, even though winter was still a long way off.
"……Pardon?"
The ambition that had nested in Baron Philip’s heart vanished, replaced by a raw, primal survival instinct. Any thought of standing proudly as a noble evaporated.
His opponent was the Demon Slayer.
"Let's just take his head. It's faster," the barbarian monster beside Encrid suggested.
"Don't take his head. I'm not a murderer. If I kill everyone who picks a fight with me, they'll start calling me the Demon General," Encrid replied.
"Please... spare my life."
Hearing their conversation, the Baron spoke immediately. It was a plea uttered with every last drop of his courage. He did not trust the soldiers behind him to protect him. It was a wise choice; regardless of their armor, the soldiers were already on their knees.
What sin had the soldiers committed, after all?
"From today on, you will work the fields with your own hands."
Looking at the soldiers' faces, Encrid could tell they weren't doing this because they were well-fed and prosperous. Baron Philip’s territory was not destitute, but it was far from affluent. This whole affair had been started solely because the Baron relied on those two scoundrels, Lorenzo and Cavan.
The Baron nodded frantically. Originally, his territory had begun with land granted to his ancestors to cultivate. Just looking at Encrid made his legs tremble.
It was only natural. Fear was the only logical response when facing him as an enemy. Although Encrid controlled it, possessing Will meant his presence naturally exerted an influence on his surroundings. To an adversary, facing him felt as dizzying as standing on the edge of a precipice.
"Thank you... thank you."
Baron Philip bowed his head. Becoming a vassal territory under a great lord was a small price to pay for his life.
"There were a few more places, right?" Encrid asked casually, leaving Philip behind.
"Are you going to visit them all?" Rem asked.
"Since we're already out."
This was the conversation Encrid and Rem exchanged as they walked away. Philip was not the only noble who had challenged Krais. Since he had set out, Encrid decided to meet them all, as if on a grand tour.
Some nobles had hired "helpers" like Lorenzo, while others had simply jumped on the bandwagon of their associates. No one expected Encrid to take action personally, but those who knew him well might have anticipated it. After all, Krais had more or less expected this outcome.
Thus, they weeded through the nobility. For the utterly useless bastards—the scum who preyed on the wives or daughters of their tenants—Rem took their heads under some suitable pretext. The rest were simply subjugated.
No matter how much the opponents wanted to fight, and even if Krang had given his permission, decapitating nobles left and right would cause an uproar. However, pretexts were aplenty.
"Are you insulting my honor right now?!"
The local nobles always spoke fiercely when they first met, throwing desperate tantrums. Hearing the man’s words, Rem threw a worn-out glove he had found right into the noble’s face.
Since time immemorial, throwing a glove was the ultimate challenge to a duel.
"Yeah, I insulted you."
Smack.
Some got nosebleeds from the soggy leather glove, while others spat out curses in a fit of rage.
"Your mother’s a ghoul!"
Rem brushed off such insults without a second thought. What was the point of talking to a corpse?
"Fight in my stead!" the noble would scream, putting forward a champion.
"You're risking your own life on your champion's life. In that case, I'll risk our captain's neck, too."
The "captain's neck," of course, referred to Encrid.
Whether Encrid revealed his identity or not, most situations played out the same way. He couldn't just go around decapitating nobles without these petty excuses; there was still an order to maintain within the kingdom. What Encrid and Rem were doing was utilizing a summary trial by combat within the framework of the law.
In the end, the whole ordeal was little more than a casual stroll for them. Though the fading fame of "Rem the Noble Killer" rose to new heights because of this, it was of little consequence. Rem didn't care, and neither did Encrid.
*
Returning to the Border Guard, Encrid resumed his ordinary daily routine.
One day he would play with Odd-Eye, and on others, he would seek out his squad members to ask them questions. He also wandered through the city. As the reputation of the Border Guard soared after weeding out the corrupt nobles, people began to target Encrid in a different way.
Specifically, a crowd of young ladies launched a relentless assault on the Border Guard.
Wearing heavy makeup and voluminous dresses, these ladies—renowned for their beauty in the region—cast their fishing rods to catch the "big fish" that was Encrid. They did not realize that while fishing rods belonged in the water, this place was utterly dry land.
"He'll fall for me the moment we meet, won't he?"
"Do you think there's a man alive who wouldn't fall for my face?"
"Rowen, you can do it. If his heart doesn't flutter when he sees you, he's not a man, he's a eunuch."
Unfortunately, the crowd of ladies, backed by the encouragement of their parents, faced two insurmountable walls.
The first wall was a black-haired beauty who, while rebuilding her Spell World, had recently been observing the lives of common people to gain a new understanding of humanity. Esther, with her raven hair and striking blue eyes, was a witch whose beauty made even the ladies blush. It was a grace that could captivate even other women.
"Esther of the Black Flower."
This was the nickname that began to spread through the streets.
"I should give up..."
"I'm going back."
Some retreated, but others persisted, convinced they had at least one quality better than the Black Flower. Those who remained, however, faced the elf, Sinar.
"The Gold Witch."
Hers was an otherworldly beauty. They couldn't even dare to show their faces in comparison.
Why is an elf even here?
These events unfolded while Encrid himself paid absolutely no attention. Because of this, rumors spread far and wide that the master of the Border Guard held a witch in one hand and a flower in the other. This was also why the love letters significantly decreased.
"That's how it turned out. So they call Captain Sinar the witch and Esther the flower."
This was the story Krais shared with him. Encrid merely nodded, uttering a brief, "Is that so?"
He couldn't care less about such trivial matters. He needed time to ponder, contemplate, and agonize over things far more important than gossip. He had warned those who picked fights—specifically, those who dared to touch his people. With that, he had checked off one of his tasks. It was something he had done simply because he felt like it. Now that it was done, his mind was at ease.
That was enough.
"I'm leaving."
Krais was a busy man. He said his piece and departed.
"Sure."
Encrid replied from where he sat and entered meditation once more. He was reflecting on the words he had heard from his squad members.
"Huh? How do I use sorcery?"
The first had been Rem.
"What do you mean how? I just use it. If there's a difference, well, it's like this: Descent is basically having the energy of a spirit dwell in my body. For example, they say the energy of a bear dwells in me, or the legs of a wolf. They say you only pull it out when you need it, but in my case, the spirit is always there, dwelling inside."
He remembered Rem laughing as he spoke. After returning from the West, Rem had sparred with Ragna, signaling that he had entered a different realm entirely. Sachsen subtly avoided facing him. Audin had admitted defeat.
"If we fight now, I would lose, Brother. It is meaningless."
To be precise, because he had emphasized the word "now," it didn't quite sound like a total surrender. It sounded more like an invitation to fight later.
Following Rem, Encrid had asked Sinar a similar question.
"There is a flow to the world, and you entrust a part of your body to that flow."
This was her answer to how she had risen to become an elf knight.
"It just happens."
He had asked Ragna as well, but his explanation was a complete mess.
Nevertheless, those words were helpful to Encrid. The diverse experiences mentioned by the Eastern Mercenary King could mean observing differences, but they could also mean finding commonalities.
Just as a knight used Intimidation, Rem used a similar technique—a sorcery called Fear Infusion. Were the two different? Yes. Yet they were the same. The effect was identical. They were the same in that they both crushed the opponent’s spirit.
His thoughts expanded and scattered, then ripened and gathered once more. Oara had said that rather than any special technique, you just had to swing. How was that possible?
If Will was imbued through one's intent, then a mere swing would become an unstoppable strike. The training of muscles, the refinement of techniques, the steeling of one's mind, and keeping one's spirit upright—all these things flashed through his mind.
What made a knight's Will different?
Sitting on a tree stump, Encrid felt the wind, listened to the birds singing, and heard the distant shouts of training soldiers as he immersed himself in a single thought.
Not drawing it forth only when needed, but keeping the gate flung wide at all times.
There was a door, and he had to keep it open constantly. Originally, he had only opened it when necessary. He had no choice because a fierce wind blew from the outside. No, it was also unavoidable because he couldn't keep the door open without holding it with his own hand.
But the wind was something he could simply endure. What must he do to keep the door open at all times?
A method came to mind, and Encrid opened his eyes. Luagarne was watching him with an indifferent gaze. The eyes he had closed and reopened were calmer than ever before, as if he had completed some profound preparation.
"I'm heading to the mess hall. Want to come along?"
As Encrid rose lightly and spoke, Luagarne shook her head.
"I don't feel like it."
Encrid headed to the mess hall. Now was the time to eat.