Chapter 574: Prophet Overdear
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 574: Prophet Overdear
Kill them all and leave?
The idea wasn't impossible. In fact, it was highly realistic.
For the trio—Encrid, Sinar, and Audin—slaughtering the five before them would be child’s play. Even if one of the five seemed to be at the level of a squire, they posed absolutely no threat. Encrid alone could easily slice through every single one of them without letting a single soul escape.
At Encrid’s question, Alma’s eyebrows twitched.
Kill everyone? Who? Me? Weren't they keeping us alive because they feared the Holy Order's reaction?
"What?"
A flustered Alma blurted out the word but couldn't bring himself to say more. It was the same for Shilma. Though a divine sense of duty burned in her bloodshot eyes, she couldn't help but wonder if this made any sense.
She had never imagined he would say such a thing. It was completely unexpected, defying all anticipation—to dare silence them by murdering members of the Holy Order.
Moreover, if the opponent before them truly resolved to do so, their deaths were a foregone conclusion.
Encrid didn’t actively project Intimidation. He merely spoke in a flat, calm tone. However, the weight carried by his words was entirely different. From his renowned title as the Knight of the Iron Wall to the cold attitude he displayed now, he was a man who kept his word. If he couldn't do it, he wouldn't have brought it up in the first place.
Encrid’s demeanor overwhelmed everyone present. Sinar casually rested her right hand on Naidel’s hilt. If necessary, killing a few people was no difficult task for her.
Amidst the tense, ominous atmosphere, the distant, trumpeting cry of an unknown beast echoed through the air. Audin let out a long sigh and shook his head. He didn't fall for the devil’s whisper.
Encrid probably didn’t mean it literally, either. It was a threat—a warning asking them what gave them the confidence to act so arrogant.
Naturally, the five, including Shilma and Alma, relied on the Holy Order. In terms of sheer influence across the continent, the Holy Order was far more powerful than any bank. While the banks of the trading nations existed only in major cities, the temples and monasteries of the Holy Order were scattered everywhere.
So, what can that Holy Order of yours do for you right now?
That was the underlying meaning. Audin knew well that Encrid was far more calculating than he let on. With this, hadn't he silenced both the bloodshot-eyed Shilma and Alma, who had been running wild relying on his own martial prowess?
Just as the atmosphere was about to shift completely due to that threat—Sinar was the first to react.
Her pointed ears twitched. While Audin’s ears perking up earlier had been a mere trick of the mind, Sinar’s ears truly moved. The twitching tips of her ears pointed in one direction.
Encrid’s head snapped toward where her ears were aimed. A moment later, Audin’s gaze followed. Everyone’s eyes turned back toward the path they had just traveled.
Someone was approaching.
It was quite a distance, but for a knight capable of manipulating Will, it wasn't particularly far.
An iron breastplate, a balanced stride, and iron rods at his waist.
Embroidered on his clothing was a pattern of seven grapes. Anyone could recognize it: he belonged to the Temple of Abundance.
Moreover, he was no pushover. A dizzying sensation that he hadn't felt when looking at Alma stimulated Encrid’s mind. The figure walked down the small hill the group had just crossed, his pace neither fast nor slow.
After watching him take about five steps, Encrid saw a bizarre illusion. An illusion of that man suddenly lunging off the ground, grabbing him by the neck, and slamming him into the dirt.
Was it just an illusion?
In a split second, Encrid judged that this was something wrought by Will. In other words, he saw it as an impending event pierced by his insight, and he reacted.
Boom!
Simultaneously with the sound, the stranger’s white clothes fluttered as if tearing apart, expanding rapidly before Encrid's eyes. The wearer of the iron breastplate closed the distance in an instant, his leg whipping around like a lash toward Encrid’s calf.
It was a low sweep following a monstrous dash.
Encrid perceived everything—the opponent’s approach, the moment the leg swung—with dynamic visual acuity that transcended human limits. Along with it, Single-Point Focus naturally activated, stretching his thoughts. His cognitive acceleration made it feel as though time itself was expanding.
Fast.
Should he dodge? No, enduring it would be better.
Following his split-second judgment, his body moved, obeying his will. Encrid bent his knees, tensed his ankles, and raised his Will. Because his reaction speed had grown exponentially, though his leg was kicked with a sharp clang, his center of gravity barely wavered.
At the same time as the kick, a hand flew toward his neck. Encrid clenched his fist and thrust it out at an angle. It was a punch delivered in the style of Valaf-style Martial Arts, twisting his waist and back foot in a fraction of a second to load his weight and power into the strike.
Crack!
Hand met hand, and the sound of compressed air exploding rang out. With that crisp sound, the opponent retreated as quickly as he had approached.
Whoosh!
A beat too late, Sinar’s blade swept through the space where the man had just been standing. Her Leaf Sword vertically sliced through the sunlight of the slowly setting sun. The strike was so swift and keen that it seemed to sever the light itself, yet the opponent had already evaded it.
It was a feat possible only because his insight—his ability to see an inch ahead—was at an outstanding level.
But Sinar didn’t stop there.
Thanks to Single-Point Focus, Encrid perceived his surroundings as if time had slowed down. A flurry of offense and defense so fast and fierce was unfolding that anyone who wasn't a knight wouldn't even comprehend what attacks were being exchanged.
Sinar’s Leaf Sword seemed to sweep through the empty air, only to bend vertically mid-swing and spring forward. It was like a soaring swallow playing freely in the sky. He had killed a fellow called Swallow Blade in the past, but that title truly belonged to Sinar now.
Yet, the opponent blocked even that attack. Though the blade was as fast as a dagger thrown by Encrid himself, one of the rods from the man’s waist was already in his hand, intercepting the blade.
Clang!
The harmony struck by the two weapons rippled outward, accompanied by a shockwave. It was a sound so intense it made their ears ring.
From the moment he saw the first illusion until now, every single action had occurred within the span of a single breath. The opponent was fast, bold, and ruthless in his execution.
"I intended for you to block it, but you block remarkably well," the opponent said, sounding impressed.
While taking hits lying down was never in Encrid’s nature, a strange shock lingered in the leg that had just been kicked. Though his muscles and skin were perfectly fine, the tendons and ligaments deep inside throbbed with numbness. This was despite him employing the technique called Iron Armor.
Even if a giant had kicked him with full intent, it wouldn't have felt like this. In other words, the opponent had used some kind of technique—a technique he couldn't even begin to fathom right now. The thing that caused him to see the illusion earlier was probably something similar.
Though his leg was numb, Encrid lowered his hand as if nothing were wrong. His dangling hand stopped near his hilt. He was ready to draw and swing his sword at any moment. Though he had learned Valaf-style Martial Arts, Encrid’s true specialty could only be fully unleashed when he held a sword.
Sinar lowered the hand holding her Leaf Sword and asked, "What did you do?"
Since she also possessed insight, if the opponent had done something, she should have perceived it beforehand. Even if her reaction was slightly delayed, she definitely should have sensed it. Moreover, Sinar possessed senses so sharp she could play hide-and-seek with assassins. Yet, she had felt absolutely no premonition when the opponent approached, kicked, and reached out.
What did this mean? Was it because the opponent possessed skills far superior and grander than her own? No, that couldn't be it. Even if that were the case, she would have detected something.
Then what? The opponent had played some trick. Naturally, it would be a trick using Will. The brief clash just now was enough to tell: the opponent was a knight.
And as if to confirm this, the Crusader Alma, who had been beaten by Encrid earlier, cried out:
"Sir Overdear!"
An unfamiliar name? It was to Encrid. Then, Inquisitor Bert added as if to explain:
"The Prophet!"
The Prophet. Even Encrid had heard that name before. A man who could be called the backbone of the Paladin Order. One who had lived for so long that it was difficult to guess his age. Though he looked like a middle-aged man on the outside, he was said to be a monster who had actually lived for over a hundred years.
They said his aging was slowed by a divine blessing. His moniker was the Prophet.
Prophet—meaning foresight, or prophecy. However, his prophecies were limited only to those who faced him. He possessed the talent to imprint the image of his opponent being defeated upon them, utilizing Will—specifically, Divine Power. It was no different from raising his own will to force a future upon his opponent.
Because the future decided in this manner had never once gone astray, he was called the Prophet.
He held one iron rod in his left hand, and another remained at his waist. With the outer corners of his eyes drooping, he might have had a gentle impression, but his silver pupils gave off a mysterious aura first and foremost. Those mysterious silver eyes opened as he spoke.
"A faint revelation descended, making me doubt if this was correct, but indeed, the Lord’s will never errs," Prophet Overdear said. As he spoke, he drew the other iron rod from his waist.
With one rod in each hand, the two rods were his Imprinted Weapons. Crossing the rods diagonally in front of him, his intent to fight was unmistakable.
"Those people are persecuting us and trying to take the Saintess away!" Shilma cried out, refusing to be outdone.
"A revelation?" Encrid suddenly reacted to Overdear’s words.
Despite hearing Shilma’s outcry, Overdear did not respond to her and instead looked at Encrid. Perhaps he found this side more interesting than conversing with Shilma right now. Or perhaps he simply couldn't tear his eyes away.
Even as he spoke, Encrid’s momentum was steadily swelling. His will attempted to press down on Overdear in the form of Intimidation. Naturally, Overdear wouldn't be crushed by it, but it would be a lie to say he didn't care. His gaze also fixed on Encrid.
"Indeed. I received a revelation," Overdear replied. His posture remained unchanged, and his tone was calm.
At the opponent’s words, Encrid recalled the Ferryman who had been appearing incessantly in his dreams over the past few days.
"Before you, there shall be only hardships and obstacles."
"Don't you have anything more to say about swordsmanship?"
"You will come to wish that you were trapped in today instead."
"What about something like this instead of the Wave-Blocking Sword?"
"You shall become an immortal."
"When the opponent strikes down like this, you deflect it with the flat of the blade and close the distance like this."
Around the time the word "immortal" came up, Encrid had even demonstrated it while balancing on the swaying boat. He had just told the Ferryman about what he had realized while reflecting on the things he had learned from Krona while wandering the continent. Surprisingly, the Ferryman seemed to have a deep knowledge of swordsmanship. The casual advice he tossed out often proved to be of immense help.
"...I will not swear."
The Ferryman he met most recently had only said what he wanted to say, but since Encrid did the same, neither could blame the other. Thinking of that Ferryman brought a sudden, idle question to mind.
Encrid stared straight into the silver pupils of the Prophet standing before him and asked, "By any chance, was the fellow who gave you that revelation riding on a boat? Did he have gray, cracked skin? Or maybe he was holding a purple lamp?"
It was a completely random question. It bordered on nonsense. No one could grasp the intent behind it, not even Audin or Sinar.
Encrid didn’t care about that. He didn’t care what they believed in, either. In a way, one could say he was free of prejudice. He didn’t curse them as fanatics, and even if they claimed to believe in God while taking bribes and straying down a corrupt path, he simply let it be. As long as they didn't cross the line—the boundary he had set—he could tolerate it.
It was an extension of that thought. He merely wondered if another voice might have slipped into the very foundation of their faith. In truth, these words might have been denying the existence of the God at the root of their beliefs.
Of course, he hadn't thought that deeply about it. However, if God truly existed and was as righteous as they believed, there was no answer as to why a certain child had to be imprisoned under the name of a Saintess, or why corrupt priests and believers went unpunished. Thus, Encrid did not believe in God.
Because he didn't believe, he could say such things.
If Overdear had known of these thoughts, the composure he had maintained over his century-long life might have wavered slightly. But there was no way for him to know Encrid’s thoughts, and if there was one thing he had realized over his long life, it was that it was best not to answer useless words.
Overdear did exactly as he had learned.
"Revelations are handed down only by my Lord."
In other words, he would not listen to such nonsense.
Encrid hadn't expected an answer anyway. He had asked half-jokingly. Since the Ferryman only appeared in dreams or illusions, he wasn't about to argue over this conversation right now. Encrid had asked just in case the Ferryman had played some trick, but after asking, he figured that probably wasn't the case.
And in truth, none of this was important.
Had the Ferryman said that only hardships and obstacles lay ahead of him, and that such was his fate? That he would become an immortal repeating today? That endless walls would block his path?
Encrid, in all honesty, didn't care about any of that. Life was inherently full of hardships and obstacles, and no matter what wall appeared, he would simply climb over it. That was all. It was the same now.
Whether he was a Prophet or a Paladin, the man had appeared. Whether the Ferryman had drawn him here, or he had appeared through a genuine divine revelation, or it was mere coincidence—it didn't matter. His heart was simply pounding.
He is strong.
Clashing hands just once had been enough to feel it. That bold execution and robust body. It was a style of combat entirely different from Audin’s.
The two iron rods held by the Prophet caught his eye.
Tring.
He tapped the two rods together and crossed them. Sinar raised her Leaf Sword, pointing it diagonally at the opponent.
"Crusader Alma speaks! That fellow over there is a heretic and a fugitive!"
Alma’s finger pointed at Audin. Audin glanced to his side. Naturally, there was no one there. Tilting his head, Audin pointed a finger at his own chest and asked back, "Me?"
His shamelessness was second only to Encrid’s. He, too, had learned a thing or two over the years. It was an admirable piece of acting. If he were put in charge of a puppet show at some monastery right now, he could easily operate five or more puppets by himself and lead the play with mastery. A true abbot caring for orphans would have thought as much.
But to Alma, who had brought it up, watching this display on the spot made the curse that piece of shit rise naturally to his throat.
"Of course it's you, who else would it be!" Alma roared, unable to contain his anger. It was a miracle he didn't add any profanity.
Alma’s insides boiled. Hot, like a volcano on the verge of eruption. His heart burned as if someone had set it ablaze. Extreme rage surged within him. He had been shoved, kicked, and beaten, completely ruining his dignity. And after Encrid’s threat to kill them all, he hadn't even been able to offer a proper retort. He had been forced to shut his mouth with a dumbfounded "What?"
Self-loathing, combined with his wounded pride, made him even angrier. Naturally, he was also furious that things had gotten so tangled up. It was then that he had heard what Bert told him about Audin. A heretic and a fugitive. A criminal, wasn't he?
Prophet Overdear’s gaze swept over Encrid, Audin, and the collapsed Saintess.
"Hmm."
Overdear merely let out a short cough. One couldn't read his inner thoughts from his face alone.
Encrid stopped watching the farce and quietly shifted his position. The sun was just setting, and by moving slightly to the side, the twilight creeping down the mountain range would strike the opponent’s eyes at a piercing angle. Whether due to the Gigant Mountains or some other reason, today’s sunset was closer to purple than orange—a purple mixed with pink.
Even though the light shone directly into his eyes, Overdear didn't change his position. Only his gaze followed Encrid’s movement.
"I will not kill you. For this cannot be called your fault," Overdear said.
Ah, is that so?
Encrid answered with a strike.
Kicking off the ground with one foot, he closed the distance in an instant and swung down, aiming for the crown of the man’s head. A fast, heavy sword—a strike that seemed to copy Ragna’s.
Clang!
A roaring sound erupted. It was the sound of the rod meeting the blade.
Sinar did not intervene. This was a duel. She couldn't win by stepping in and stabbing him in the back; that would go against her honor and beliefs. Some things had to be upheld. Encrid would never tolerate anyone interfering.
For this reason, Encrid stepped forward alone.
And he lost.
Though, he didn't die either.