Chapter 576: You Will Be Hunted for the Rest of Your Life
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 576: You Will Be Hunted for the Rest of Your Life
Audin watched as Encrid swung his sword through the empty air.
Those movements were, in essence, an unhesitating thrust—at least in terms of swordsmanship. Having finished speaking, Encrid swung his blade a few more times. He was likely checking his condition; his body hadn't been moving exactly as he intended since the middle of the previous battle.
It was a habit Audin himself had instilled in him: always check if your body is moving properly. He had taught the boy that fighting without knowing one’s own limits was the height of folly. He had insisted that maintaining peak condition was a basic requirement.
Eat well, sleep well, shit well, and devote yourself to training—but above all, know your body’s exact limits.
Encrid had followed that advice to the letter until now.
You truly are my chief disciple.
Audin spoke the words only in his mind as he raised his head. It was his turn to speak now. He intended to tell them he would return to the Holy Order to receive his punishment, offering up his life in exchange.
So, stop fighting.
He wanted to tell them to let the child—the Saintess—go. Surely they could grant that much. He would take responsibility for everything in their stead.
I shall dedicate the remainder of my life.
Audin murmured to himself, his gaze shifting to the paladin radiating Holy Light. The man stood in the very position Audin had once aspired to reach.
Looking at that divinity, Audin could tell: the Holy Light was a pure, clear white. It was not the light of a corrupt soul. Under the watchful gaze of God, the divinity of a corrupt priest was bound to grow dim. That was the reason so many priests in reality could not even manifest divine power.
It was also why figures like the Ragged Saint existed.
There was a man who had earned that moniker by healing the masses while clad in nothing but rags—a true saint who wandered the continent, enshrining God within the temple of his heart. The Holy Order called him the Abandoned Saint.
Audin had always wanted to meet the Ragged Saint. He knew the man personally, having heard he had become quite resourceful in hiding his identity from the Holy Order’s pursuit.
It was a stray thought—a passing whim surfacing as he looked back on his past life.
While Audin was making up his mind, Overdear spoke.
“Who says that?”
“I heard you’re playing dumb when you know full well,” Encrid replied nonchalantly. He had stopped swinging his sword and was now rotating one ankle in circles.
He had no intention of giving up. His attitude made that clear.
“Can you prove those words?” Overdear asked. His tone was polite but stripped of all emotion. It sounded somewhat forced, as if he were deliberately maintaining a specific speech pattern.
“Hmm, probably?” Encrid tilted his head.
“Are you slandering the Holy Order based on mere speculation?” Still speaking in that gratingly formal tone, Overdear paused and raised a finger. Holding his rod, he pointed at Audin. “Speak, Crusader Alma. Is that man indeed a heretic?”
Alma glanced around warily before nudging Bert. Inquisitor Bert spoke up in his stead.
“Lord Prophet Overdear, that man is Audin Pumrei. I know him to be guilty of the death of a man who was like a father to me, as well as abandoning his duties as an inquisitor. Though he was once favored by God for his outstanding talent, he betrayed even the priest who raised him.”
“And the reason he has not been captured until now?”
“His whereabouts were only recently discovered. He appeared in the capital of the Kingdom of Naurilia, and it so happened there was a priest there who recognized the heretic’s face.”
Bert spoke desperately, piecing his words together.
On the surface, an inquisitor’s job seemed to be chasing people down and beating them to death, but their primary duty was constructing logical justifications. No matter how powerful the Holy Order was, they could not entirely ignore public perception when branding and punishing someone as a heretic. They only burned or imprisoned someone after securing the consensus of the majority.
Of course, that rule never applied to the powerless.
Once, a twisted priest who had glimpsed Audin’s talent and divinity had pushed him into such a position—a position where he was forced to oppress and slaughter the weak. The fact that the Archbishop hated him for killing the Bishop’s child had also played a major role.
Ultimately, Audin had been unable to endure it and fled the Holy Order. That was the truth, but no one here would dare argue it.
“Is that so?”
That was all Overdear said. He raised his rod once more. Encrid raised his sword in response. Regardless of the conversation, their battle was far from over.
With a swift whoosh, the rod shot forward like a line drawn of light. A flash of white cleaved through the violet sunset, met by a blue blade rising to greet it.
Clang! Cl-cl-cl-clang!
It was a clash between knights. The shockwave exploding from the impact sent a sharp tremor through the air. An invisible wave of force rippled outward, pushing away the wind and the light itself. Sparks flew; blood splattered.
Screeech.
Encrid’s eyes and senses reacted, and his insight perceived the attack, yet he felt his arm failing to move as he willed. It moved, but it was a fraction of a second too slow. Because of that, his earlobe was sliced.
A torn earlobe was no reason to back down. He ignored the wound, raised his sword, and adjusted his stance. If his muscles and tendons were creaking and slowing his reactions, he would simply minimize his movements.
And so he did.
Aker’s Spiderweb, Rem, Ragna, Sachsen, Audin...
Gathering everything he had learned from them, he shortened his paths of motion and simplified his techniques. Meanwhile, he continuously channeled the Will of Rejection to push out the divinity invading his body. It wasn't instantaneous; it took time.
In the meantime, Overdear’s rod struck, thrust, and swung without pause. Along with the physical strikes, Encrid saw countless illusions—or rather, glimpses of what was about to happen.
It was Overdear’s specialty. Using Will forged from divinity, he implanted mental images directly into his opponent’s mind, forcing them to see his intent. The terrifying part was that the opponent’s own insight ended up aiding the technique.
Encrid, with his exceptionally sharp eyes, found his own strength turned against him. The insight he had honed through Aker’s Spiderweb now felt like a shackle.
Even now, he saw the future. He saw a scene where, in the gap as their weapons crossed, his thigh was struck.
And that scene became reality.
Clang! Thud!
Overdear deflected the sword and kicked Encrid’s thigh. The kick, delivered without disrupting his center of gravity, lacked heavy weight but was incredibly fast. Encrid could not avoid it.
If this continued, anyone else would have fallen into despair. It felt as though the entire course of the battle was being dragged along solely by Overdear’s intent. That was precisely why he was called the Prophet.
But Encrid did not despair. If he were the type to give up over something like this, he would have remained trapped in "today" forever, enjoying the hollow eternal life the Ferryman sang of—an eternity where only a single day was ever granted.
“Mmh.”
A sharp, tingling pain surged from his thigh. Though the kick lacked weight, it carried enough force for divinity to penetrate his defenses. Even so, Encrid did not retreat.
“Ha!”
Instead, he let out a fierce shout. He brought his sword down with condensed Will. Twisting his ankle, he added speed to the blade. The curving, downward-slashing blade accelerated mid-swing.
Double Acceleration. He had replicated one of Ragna’s specialties.
Clang! Crack!
Overdear met it with sheer force. A crack formed in the middle of the Valerian steel sword. It wasn't enough to break it immediately; the blade had been reworked by Eitri. Though it was not an imprinted weapon, its will was vivid. It would not break easily. Because Encrid believed so, that very will imbued the blade.
Overdear realized his opponent would not break easily. In that case, he had no choice. He had said he would not kill the boy, and he would keep his word—a knight’s word carried weight.
Instead, however, he would break an arm or a leg.
“Let us see how long you can hold out.”
“There is no need to hold out,” Overdear spoke, and over his voice, the Ferryman’s voice overlapped once more.
Encrid knew. There was indeed no need to hold out. But one could not achieve their goals by only doing what was necessary. To achieve what he desired, he chose to engage in this "meaningless" struggle.
It was something he had realized after wandering the continent and meeting countless people.
Nothing is achieved simply by becoming a knight.
Becoming a knight must not be the end. He chose to make it the beginning.
“A knight? What a fucking joke.”
Among the people who sneered like that, he couldn't even bring himself to say it was just the start. Yet, in the end, he had risen to become a knight—the very thing that had been the object of such ridicule. So, he would live according to his beliefs.
“How foolish.”
Over the Ferryman’s auditory hallucination, Overdear’s rod struck his shoulder. Encrid twisted his body, utilizing the technique of taking hits he had learned from Audin. Tensing his abdominal muscles, he twisted his waist and altered the angle of his shoulder to deflect the impact.
Crack!
The sound indicated something was wrong with his bones, but they weren't shattered. He swung his sword, held his ground, and let the rising heat within him drown out the pain.
Encrid repeated this over and over. The rod continuously battered his body. He held out with his Valerian steel sword, then suddenly twisted and drew Spark for a hidden left-handed thrust.
“Good!” Sinar shouted, watching his movement.
Before her words could even finish, Overdear blocked Spark with his rod. The two weapons slid against each other, bursting sparks into the air. They continued to clash, repeating the cycle of violence.
The blade grazed Overdear’s cheek and arm. Drops of blood splattered. It meant that what Encrid swung was a blade capable of cutting through Holy Armor. Overdear’s defensive measures were weakening.
Overdear stared at his opponent. Far from merely holding out, blue flames were now rising from Encrid’s eyes. He didn't know what the man was thinking, but he knew he could no longer underestimate him.
The divinity loaded onto his rod grew thicker. As their powers clashed, it felt as though a tempest were raging.
Watching them, Audin felt as if his heart were splitting in two.
Why are you holding out? For what?
Audin felt an agonizing pain. It felt as if God Himself were scolding him. If he were to receive such direct punishment, he would gladly bear it—but not this. This was too difficult to watch. His head spun; his insides churned.
Yet, even as he watched, he realized he already knew the answer to his own question. Wasn't that why he had decided to step forward in the first place? Then why was he standing here, hesitating?
“Stop,” Audin muttered. Neither listened. They couldn't hear him.
Encrid, failing to block in time, took a heavy blow to the chest. A sickening crack echoed. Even so, Overdear’s rod did not stop. And neither did Encrid.
Boom!
As divinity and Will clashed, Encrid’s body was blown backward by a thunderous explosion. His cloak, clothes, and leather armor were torn to tatters, revealing the inner armor wrapped tightly around his body. Miraculously, his sword remained intact.
Beyond mere anguish, Audin felt physical pain. The agony in his heart had manifested in his body. That blow just now—had Encrid been even slightly negligent in his daily training, his heart would have burst. He would be dead or crippled.
“You endured that?” Overdear asked.
Encrid was already on his feet. He had used the momentum of the blast to right his posture mid-motion. Blood flowed from his forehead.
Overdear spoke again. “I repeat, I will not kill you. But I will take one of your legs.”
The subtle awkwardness in the Prophet’s tone no longer bothered Encrid. He had no mental leeway to care. Audin knew Encrid would be pushed back. He wouldn't die, but he would lose a limb.
“Sinar, over there,” Encrid spoke suddenly. He had been watching the perimeter even during the fight.
That bastard Alma was creeping up behind Audin, a hammer in hand and murderous intent in his eyes. It was the gaze of a corrupt soul. Sinar stepped in front of Audin and raised her Leaf Sword, signaling she would cut Alma down if he took another step.
For the first time since the day he had met Encrid, Audin grimaced. He hadn't even made such a face when he resolved to leave the Holy Order, but now, he could not hide his emotions.
“Do nothing. Let him die. Just like you did to me,” the illusion of Fildin whispered. Audin watched the fight with hazy eyes.
Encrid was struck again and again.
Crack! Thud! Clang!
He blocked. He was hit. He stood his ground. He did not take a single step back.
Why?
If he backed down, Overdear would let him go.
“Stop. You can just leave me and go, Brother Captain,” Audin said, but his voice was lost. Perhaps Encrid heard him, perhaps not.
Encrid wiped the blood from his eyes. Overdear paused, catching his breath. A hint of exhaustion touched the Prophet’s face.
Encrid spoke in a quiet, low voice, yet it carried to everyone present.
“I do not agree to a future created by others. And if I know that what someone forces upon me is wrong, I will not turn a blind eye to it just because I lack strength.”
By giving voice to his beliefs, his Will would be shattered if he failed to uphold them. Encrid had declared his path not just through action, but through words. There would be no backing down.
Ah.
Audin understood. Overdear was speaking through force, telling Encrid not to interfere in the Holy Order’s affairs—telling him never to dare step forward again. And there was no way Encrid would ever tolerate such a command.
Encrid’s words pierced Audin’s chest. It was entirely self-willed, yet that determination shone as brightly as the sun. It felt as though a divine Holy Light were shining down upon him through the violet sunset.
It was likely an illusion visible only to Audin.
“Stop,” Fildin spoke. The illusion’s face was clearer than ever. Audin briefly turned away from the child he had failed to save and looked at the back of the man before him.
It was the back of a man who lived solely by his own will.
To Audin, this moment was a succession of salvation and punishment. Dying and coming back to life. Living and dying. It was no different from repeating "today."
If Overdear was the punishment, Encrid was the salvation.
Audin’s hands trembled, then went still. What Encrid was doing now was obstructing the Holy Order. Since he couldn't kill them all to silence them, this meant making an enemy of the entire Order. Refusing to back down meant exactly that.
Looking down at the blood-splattered ground, Audin opened his mouth. His voice was a heavy, deep bass, carrying a weight entirely different from before.
“You will be hunted for the rest of your life.”
Becoming an enemy of the Holy Order meant precisely that.
Encrid’s answer came immediately.
The sounds of clang-clang and thud-thud were his reply.
So what? That was all his blade had to say.