Chapter 537: The Unclean Thing
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 537: The Unclean Thing
Sinar’s gaze swept over Ragna. It didn't even take an elf's heightened senses to assess his condition.
He’s still breathing.
Leaning on his shattered sword like a makeshift cane, Ragna kept his eyes open, though his gaze was somewhat vacant.
He looks like he could still muster a few swings if anyone dared draw near.
Even if projectiles flew his way, he would likely manage to swat them down once or twice. Of course, there was no telling what would happen if the enemy soldiers—glaring with iron spears in hand—decided to throw away their lives in a desperate, final charge. But that was only a concern if she weren't here.
The two of them had made a silent pact: one would handle the enemy commander. The commander had chosen to target Ragna first, which effectively split their roles.
Since he's alive, I should take him back.
Had Ragna fallen, Sinar would have been the one to step up next. Knights weren't the type of combatants who simply doubled their power by standing side-by-side; fighting with clear roles was the only proper way.
Though Ragna looked to be on the verge of death, she judged him to be a man who would survive through sheer tenacity. As for the enemies before her, they could hardly be called a threat.
Just then, the enemy commander’s eyes darted around before he made his move.
"There is no surrender! Kill them at all costs! We shall all have our names inscribed in the Hall of Honor!"
Azpen had erected a grand hall in the heart of its capital, and having one's name carved into its stone was the ultimate glory. It was a sanctuary reserved exclusively for the dead—specifically those who had perished for the motherland. Once a name was inscribed, an annual pension was provided to the fallen soldier's family.
Some fought for posthumous honor. Others fought for the survival of their descendants.
With a collective roar, the heavy infantrymen reached into the waist of their armor, pulled out hidden pouches, and emptied the contents into their mouths. They didn't bother measuring the dosage; clouds of powder puffed around their faces and spilled onto the dirt.
One thing was certain: the bulk of the powder hit their tongues, mixed with saliva, and went straight to their guts.
Inside their helmets, veins began to bulge across their foreheads and temples. Taking such a drug didn't suddenly grant them the ability to use Will. It merely allowed them to temporarily forget pain, erased their fear, and unleashed nearly double their natural physical strength.
The drug, known as 'Fury' and found only on the black market, was designed to overstimulate the emotion of rage and forcibly drag out a human's latent potential.
"For the motherland!"
One of the more fanatical soldiers bellowed. As he screamed, the capillaries in his eyes burst, and tears of blood began to stream down his cheeks. Some bled profusely from their noses—a violent side effect of the overdose. In fact, five of them collapsed instantly, their limbs twitching in the dirt as their bodies failed to handle the chemical surge.
The rest charged, their boots stomping heavily against the earth. They drooled a mixture of saliva and blood, their bloodshot eyes wide with a manic, unthinking light.
An ordinary person would have been paralyzed with terror at the sight. Even a veteran would have felt a chill crawl down their spine. Knights were not devoid of emotion, and it would have been normal to feel at least a sense of disgust, but Sinar was different.
She calculated the situation with icy precision.
I won't be able to catch that one.
She watched the commander flee, using the drugged soldiers as a meat shield.
"Uwooooh!"
Sinar swung her Leaf Sword at the first man to reach her. As before, the blade emitted Vital Energy, severing the man's neck before the steel even touched his skin. Sinar had reached the level of a knight, but she knew that didn't increase her physical mass. If she allowed that mindless, drug-fueled charge to close the distance, she could still be knocked down and injured.
Of course, she wouldn't allow that. It wasn't a boast; even if she fought with her eyes closed, such a thing would never happen.
With a light tap against the ground, Sinar took to the air, fluttering like a butterfly. The butterfly's wingbeats were her leaf-like sword, which repeatedly claimed necks and split skulls. Moving only as much as necessary, at the exact moment required, to cut down only what was vital.
That was her way of the sword. And it was more than enough.
The soldiers under the influence of Fury charged toward Ragna, but not a single one could get within arm's reach of him. If she had abandoned Ragna, she could have caught the fleeing commander, but...
Is there any need for that?
Sinar saw no reason to bother. Nor could she leave her post. While Ragna wouldn't just lie down and take a beating, his condition was critical. His shoulder and knee were serious concerns, but if the wound over his eye wasn't treated immediately, he might end up as a one-eyed fool with no sense of direction.
Protecting him was the rational, efficient choice.
Thus, Sinar slaughtered every last one of the drugged soldiers while the commander made his escape into the distance.
*
I'm going to die.
Corwin’s Insight was a supernatural gift he had possessed since birth. After only a few clashes, that insight delivered a singular, chilling conclusion.
No matter what he did, he would die. If he held his ground, he would die. It was a predetermined outcome—an unchangeable, fixed destiny. That was how his future appeared to him. A fixed fate, mirroring the very name of his sword.
Consumed by terror, he chose flight.
It wasn't a calculated tactical retreat. The psychological warfare of foresight simply did not work on Rem. That realization struck absolute terror into Corwin’s heart.
Why doesn't it work on him? It even worked on Barnas!
The reason was simple: Rem didn't think about anything until the very moment he attacked.
He fought purely on instinct. In every split-second moment of decision, he simply found the best path. That was his essence.
The moment his sling whirled, tearing through the air with a sharp whoosh, it blew apart the head of an assassin from the Swamp of Monter—or whatever those idiots called themselves. Yet even that movement hadn't been caught by Corwin's Insight.
How is this possible?
It was possible because Rem had spun his sling with the simple intent of throwing whatever was at hand, be it a stone or an iron ball. There was no calculation in his head. Everything was an impromptu decision. He chose the optimal direction on the fly without deliberation.
But could a person always make the right choice in a heartbeat?
That was impossible. And the same applied to Rem.
Even when a red aura swirled behind him and Red Eyes appeared, having transformed into mist, Rem tried to split Corwin's crown without a second thought. Corwin barely managed to block the strike by reading Rem's intent—visible for only a fraction of a second—while Red Eyes thrust a curved kris toward Rem's back.
The curved blade was coated in sorcery poison.
To put it simply, Rem was not stabbed.
A hazy, legless wolf suddenly manifested and bit down on the blade, holding it fast.
"I never said I was fighting alone," Rem muttered.
It didn't matter if he couldn't always make the perfect choice—as long as he had the power to fill the gaps.
The moment Red Eyes saw the wolf, he twisted the hilt of the dagger and let go. Instantly, the blade glowed crimson, emitting a blinding light. He was gathering sorcery power to detonate it.
"Eat it, Cloud."
At Rem's command, the spirit wolf swallowed the glowing red dagger and dashed away. A muffled bang echoed from the distance. The wolf dispersed into mist before reforming into its original shape, though it looked slightly smaller than before.
Instead of paws, the wolf had cloud-like wisps that it used to glide through the air. The sight of it digesting a dagger laced with sorcery poison was so captivating that both Corwin and Red Eyes found their attention momentarily stolen.
Rem whipped the sling in his left hand, stomped his right foot hard against the earth, and brought his axe down in a vertical arc.
The sling pierced the head of an assassin trying to throw a net from behind, while his foot crushed the collarbone of a foe sneaking up from underground. The axe targeted Red Eyes. If one were to break down these movements, swinging the axe was technically the slowest action, yet by the time he had thrown the sling and kicked, the axe blade was already grazing Red Eyes' head.
Every movement was executed in a flash of incredible audacity.
Had Corwin, who was lingering behind Rem, thrust his sword at this exact moment, he likely would have landed a hit. That was how boldly Rem had turned his back to him. Of course, even if Corwin had thrust, Rem would have parried it. Though Cloud was at a distance, Rem could have simply pulled back his descending axe to block. He had been fighting in this manner for some time now.
It had been a tedious stalemate; whenever one was cornered, the other would step in, making it difficult to focus on finishing either one.
But instead of thrusting his sword, the man behind him bolted.
"I'll take the front!"
To make matters worse, he pulled a petty trick at the end. He only pretended to attack before running away. His innate foresight had gifted him with the talent to manipulate Intimidation, and Corwin utilized it now. He projected an aura as if he were about to charge head-on. It felt incredibly real. He seemed to have completely forgotten his previous rage over the insults about sleeping with ghouls.
However, Rem knew it was a bluff. The trick Corwin just pulled was something Rem had seen countless times while sparring with Encrid. He was well-accustomed to it.
It's a fake.
The judgment was instantaneous, and his hand did not stop. The axe fell straight toward Red Eyes.
Red Eyes blocked the axe with two krises he had drawn in a blur. The curved daggers and the axe locked in a brief struggle of strength, but the daggers were immediately forced downward.
Clang! Screeech!
Seizing the momentum, Rem put his weight into the strike and dragged the axe down.
Crack!
Having shattered one of the dagger blades, the axe's trajectory shifted slightly, slicing diagonally.
"Argh!"
The axe blade caught Red Eyes, slicing his ear clean off. He immediately attempted to turn into mist, but even that was useless against a Descent Weapon.
A Descent Weapon was forged by pouring sorcery power into the metal. Furthermore, Rem's axe had sealed sorcery within it, serving as a vessel for a long time. It was, quite literally, a mass of sorcery power. Trying to use sorcery to escape such a weapon was a fool's errand.
"Wow, that guy is really something."
Rem tried to keep track of the fleeing man's presence, but there was nothing he could do. Even he hadn't expected the man to run away so shamelessly. He felt it was a waste of effort to have been so cautious.
Well, there was no helping those who had already fled. Rem looked back at Red Eyes.
"Even if the matchup had been in your favor, the result would have been the same."
Rem spoke after grasping the source of his opponent's power and weighing the sorcerous advantages, but Red Eyes had only reached the level of a knight by awakening and placating a sealed ancient soul. He couldn't possibly comprehend the principles Rem was talking about.
Corwin, you son of a bitch.
Instead, seeing Corwin flee, he realized his situation was as wretched as a ghoul's rot. A split-second decision would decide his life or death.
Leave it to me.
Just then, the voice that had been tempting him all this time echoed once more. It was the whisper of the sealed ancient soul. Under normal circumstances, he would never have listened. The ancient soul was a type of vampire, and it had only one desire.
Blood. Blood, blood, and more blood. It was a being crazed with gluttony.
But if staying like this meant certain death anyway?
"He told me never to do this..."
Though Barnas had forbidden it, Red Eyes felt he had no choice. He pawned a portion of his soul to the ancient vampire. He had no intention of simply giving in; he tried to form a contract where he surrendered only a part of his soul while keeping the rest. It was an arrogant delusion. He believed that one day he would subjugate this vampire's soul, find other ancient souls, and become an unprecedented soul knight.
"This body is mine now."
The ancient vampire's Will seized control in an instant. A brief opening was all it took.
"Ah, the mortal realm," the vampire spoke.
Rem scratched his ear. It was a language he had never heard before—naturally so, as there was a vast difference between the tongue of the vampire's era and the modern one.
But did that matter? Not at all.
The vampire's eyes glowed with a crimson light, sinister and bewitching. He stared directly at Rem.
"Come, bow your head. This is the difference in our stature—"
Thwack! Crack!
"What is he even blabbering about?"
The vampire realized his charm spell hadn't worked. At the same time, he realized he hadn't even seen the axe swung by this brute. That very axe had just split his head open.
Between the vertically split halves of his skull, blood vessels tangled together, pulling the divided head back into one. It was a nauseating sight. The process of regeneration, with blood and veins weaving together, was vividly visible.
"You bastard!" the vampire roared in anger before his head had even fully fused.
"How many pieces can you survive being chopped into?" Rem asked nonchalantly, swinging his axe once more.
Thwack!
Only after the axe had passed did the vampire raise his arms. It was a terribly delayed reaction. The ancient vampire would indeed be at the level of a knight if he could utilize all his abilities, but he had only just seized the body. He lacked the time to properly control it. He needed a period of adjustment.
Of course, even if he had adjusted, Rem wouldn't have lost. There was that much of a gap between them.
As the axe danced, the vampire could no longer utter a word. The next strike shattered his tongue and fangs. The mass, chopped into dozens of pieces, squirmed before dispersing with a soft pfft, turning into gray smoke.
Rem shook his axe in the empty air and muttered, "Got some unclean stuff on it."
At least his axe didn't seem to mind. Rem's gaze turned toward the direction the other man had fled. One had escaped, but he supposed he had done his job.
Rem took a step forward. It was time to either pursue the runaway or rejoin the captain.