Chapter 600: Walking Fire
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 600: Walking Fire
What is the Walking Fire?
It is a Forbidden Word Spell—a curse that should never be invoked.
Why was it forbidden?
Spells generally fall into two categories: those that borrow power from beings in other worlds, and those cast by shaping mana within one's own internal world. The former are known as Borrowing Spells, while the latter are Creation Spells. The Walking Fire belongs to the domain of Creation Spells.
Its origin lies in a catastrophe caused by an unprecedented monster known as the Salamander.
"Everything that burns is beautiful."
Long ago, there was a genius captivated by flames, a man obsessed with manifesting a sentient form made of pure fire. The spell known as the Walking Fire was the result of that obsession. It was also his most corrupt and ultimate failure.
To manifest the spell, one required two things: a mass sacrifice and the caster’s own life.
The requirement: one hundred people, regardless of race, who must suffer as they burn to death.
On top of that, the caster’s lifespan was consumed entirely; theoretically, the caster was guaranteed to die the moment the spell manifested.
It was not called a Forbidden Word Spell for nothing. Because it was conceived by attempting to summon the unknown entity known as the Salamander, the Walking Fire occupied a unique space—it was a Creation Spell that touched upon the domain of Borrowing Spells. The genius had resolved the spell's inherent deficiencies by borrowing the name of the Demon God who ruled the flames of the Demon Realm.
One might wonder if a moderately trained mage could simply be brainwashed into casting it, but that was impossible. The Walking Fire was so complex that anyone but an exceptionally gifted mage would fail the attempt. From mana control to the rhythm of the chant, if even a single syllable faltered, the caster would either burn to death or explode instantly.
It was a spell that required a genius to gamble their life just for a chance at success.
Thus, no sane mage would ever manifest it. But if they did, the results were lethal. The Walking Fire would not vanish until its purpose was fulfilled, moving across the land by using the mana flowing through nature as its fuel.
*
Esther was a witch, a seeker of magic, and a researcher.
Nodding at the question Encrid had posed through the mirror, Esther recalled everything she knew about the Walking Fire.
To be precise, it was a spell where the domain of control had been stripped away to maximize the domain of destruction. If one encountered it and became its target, escape was nearly impossible.
What if it were me?
Esther instantly calculated several solutions. However, all of them were only possible because she was a witch and a seeker of the stars. There was nothing a mere swordsman could do against such a thing.
“Why?” Esther asked.
The mirror she had given him reflected only Encrid's face. Their conversation was forced to be fragmentary; though it was a Spell Object of her own making, it contained too little mana to sustain a long-distance dialogue for long.
“Because I have to. Tell me everything you know.”
The man beyond the mirror spoke with a sense of urgency that stopped Esther from pressing for his reasons. She conveyed the details she had just recalled as concisely as possible.
“What if someone holds out in front of it until its mana is depleted?” Encrid interrupted.
He was clearly in a hurry, cutting straight to the point and omitting all context.
Esther understood the gravity of the situation and replied, “Even if that were possible, I wouldn't recommend it.”
No matter how she looked at it, he sounded like he intended to step into the fire himself. If he did, he would either burn to death or, at best, be left a charred, crippled husk.
But naturally, her advice fell on deaf ears.
“I suppose that’s one way,” Encrid muttered.
His image vanished, and the mirror returned to its dull, lifeless surface.
Esther stood up. His words and the unfolding situation clicked together in her mind. If he had already seen the Walking Fire, it would be too late even if she left now. However, she had learned something from Encrid during their time together.
If you stop just because you're late, nothing will ever happen.
Moving the very instant you perceive the need—that was the fastest way. Esther took her first step.
*
The mirror Esther had given him was a Spell Object that reacted when held in both hands while focusing one's thoughts on her. As Encrid let go of the mirror, turning his mind to his next move, the connection severed.
There was no time for greetings. Encrid set the mirror aside and began stripping off his Scale Armor. If he was going to endure the heat, this metal armor would only become a death trap. After shedding everything down to his navy cloak, he stripped further until he wore only a thin, short-sleeved shirt, then strapped his sword belt and weapons back on.
He had disarmed and rearmed himself so many times across his regressions that his movements were swifter and more practiced than a veteran soldier of twenty years.
“What are you doing?” Luagarne asked, her eyes wide.
“It’s hot.”
It was a strange thing to say with the early winter chill setting in, but then the air changed.
“Fire!”
“Aaaah!”
“The fire is walking!”
“H-Hot...!”
Hearing the screams and bizarre shrieks echoing through the streets, his comment about the heat became chillingly accurate.
“Hm? This is...?” Luagarne puffed her cheeks out in surprise.
“Well then.”
Encrid stood up and dashed out. Before he even crossed the plaza, he saw the Walking Fire. It was exactly as he remembered. Whenever it stretched out its flickering arms—sending out rod-like projections that resembled elongated fingers—people burned to death and buildings erupted in flames.
Boom!
An explosion rocked the oil storage area, sending thick black smoke billowing into the sky. The acrid stench and the soot instantly obscured his vision. Amidst the smoke, the panic only intensified.
“Fuck, what is this?!”
“It’s hot! It’s too hot!”
“Aaaaargh!”
Amidst the cacophony of screams, the knight’s senses perceived the enemy—the raw presence of the spell. He didn't even need his eyes to track it. Encrid dropped into a low stance, bending his left knee, and did the only thing he could do.
Thump!
Kicking off the ground, he lunged forward and drew a horizontal line. His blade of refined Ink Gold sliced through a portion of the Walking Fire's outer surface. His past failures had not been in vain.
If I slash the main body, it explodes. If I cut too deep, it detonates. Even if I sever a piece larger than a certain size, it triggers an explosion.
The resulting blast would create a backdraft, sucking in everything nearby before a secondary explosion scattered lethal embers in all directions. Each of those embers carried the power of a fire spell cast by an average mage.
He must not slash it; he had to endure. He had to stay in its path until its mana was completely depleted. The moment he chose this path, Encrid knew it would be a battle of absolute patience.
What, then, was his immediate task?
Shave it.
He had to slice away the creature's flames as if filleting a fish, keeping the shavings thin enough so they wouldn't explode. He did this to bleed its power faster and to draw its attention—because the creature ignored him no matter how much he shouted.
He had to be the target so the people could escape.
Encrid moved with the precision of an acrobat. It was incredibly dangerous, but it wasn't impossible. His five senses, honed by the lessons of Sachsen, and his body, conditioned through the Isolation Technique taught by Audin, moved in perfect harmony.
With the activation of Single-Point Focus, his swordplay ascended to the realm of art. Two blue flames glowed through the black smoke—the eyes of an artist drawing lethal lines. Those lines carved and sliced away portions of the Walking Fire's body. The severed embers and fragments of flame scattered into the air and vanished.
The battle he had started merely to survive was turning into a path toward victory.
He adjusted his grip and focused. The boldness granted by the Beast's Heart allowed him to fully surrender to his instincts. But the Beast's Heart did more than just grant courage; its true utility lay in erasing reflexive weaknesses—like blinking or flinching the moment a blade approached.
It meant that instead of wasting time on fear, he could make a cold judgment. He could find the gaps within his own instincts and exploit them. It was the same principle as the improvised, gap-splitting axework that Rem favored.
Encrid did the same. Yet, even so, the Walking Fire did not react to him.
“The Walking Fire!” Luagarne’s startled cry echoed from behind.
As he continued to shave away the flames, another voice reached his ears.
“Idiots! Head to the manor!”
It was a voice he had heard several times today. Castellan Louis had rushed out, shouting orders.
The crowd of fleeing people entered the web of Encrid’s senses. Suddenly, the Walking Fire’s hand reached toward them. If he didn't act, dozens would burn.
“My baby! My baby!”
In the chaos, a woman crouched down, shielding a child with her own body—the child must have tripped. Even without looking, the scene painted itself in his mind. A mother wrapping herself around her child to protect them from the inevitable.
Should he sacrifice the few to save the many?
There was no need to hesitate.
The Ink Gold blade swept from bottom to top, swift as a swallow. The blade severed the Walking Fire’s arm.
Whoosh!
The flames flared violently, and a massive explosion erupted. Encrid lunged at the creature—a mere ball of fire, yet possessing the vague shape of a man—and tackled it, rolling to the side.
Normally, fire would cause blisters and welts, but the heat was so intense his skin began to char instantly. His clothes turned to ash, his flesh burned, and an agonizing pain surged through him. No matter how legendary his patience, saliva spilled from his mouth as his body trembled. He didn't even have time to feel the moisture; it evaporated instantly.
“You idiot! Enki!” Luagarne screamed, running toward him.
Even amidst the agony of burning to death, Encrid believed this was better. The Winter Flower had burned, but Delma had not yet burned, and Luagarne was still alive.
Whoosh.
Another 'today' passed. After the darkness, the Ferryman appeared. His demeanor was the same as before. At times, his personality would shift erratically like a whimsical child, but this time, he remained cold and steady.
“What a naive dream,” the Ferryman said.
“What do you mean?”
“You said you hated running away alone, so I offered to let the people you want to protect go with you. And yet, what? 'Protect tomorrow'? Arrogant. Truly arrogant.”
“Hmm, I see,” Encrid gave a half-hearted reply, lost in thought.
Once he woke up, there was too little time to think. Even with Thought Acceleration, it wasn't enough. He had the experience accumulated from repeating this day, but he needed to utilize this void as well.
“You won't be able to overcome it with that method,” the Ferryman added.
The moment he finished speaking, the loop reset. When Encrid opened his eyes, he was back at the moment he woke up from his nap.
That method?
The Ferryman’s words nagged at him, but Encrid had things to test. He dashed forward the moment he opened his eyes.
The Walking Fire entered the city on foot, burning everything in its path. He would wake up sensing an ill omen, and immediately after, the fire would begin to rage.
Question: What if I meet the creature before it enters the city?
Encrid formulated the hypothesis. But when he ran to the gates, the Walking Fire was already inside. And this time, he couldn't even put up a proper fight.
I should have taken off my armor before coming.
He had missed that step in his rush. Stripping off armor while running was no easy task. Encrid leaped across the rooftops to save time, but the result was the same. His hypothesis was wrong. The Walking Fire was already there.
Instead, he witnessed the moment the rampage began. It burned a carriage in front of the city gates, then set fire to the stables. No humans had died yet. Some people stared in confusion; others screamed at the sight of the dying horses. He saw an old man, the stable keeper, striking the Walking Fire with a pitchfork.
Whoosh!
A prison of flames consumed the old man before he could even scream.
Watching this, Encrid thought: I need to know more.
After that, he fought while feeling his skin sear against his heated armor, and died.
“What a fool,” the Ferryman chided.
Today began once more.
Was stripping off Scale Armor while running as difficult as catching a flying arrow? It was easier, but it required a specific knack. He needed a faster way.
Let's not take it off.
Encrid used the shortsword he had received from Eitri to slice the leather straps of his armor.
“I told you that was expensive!” Luagarne shouted, but he ignored her.
The moment he woke up, he ran, cutting his armor off as he charged—and died again.
“How foolish.”
The Ferryman’s scolding welcomed him to another today.
Let's cut down the time it takes to grab the sword belt, too.
He gave up on the straps and the shirt entirely. He dashed forward carrying only his Ink Gold sword. He spent several more 'todays' like this, but gained nothing of note.
Information.
In the next loop, he pulled out the mirror while running. By this point, Encrid had become a master of stripping while at a full sprint. Even he wouldn't have guessed he would master such a bizarre skill.
“You know the Walking Fire, right? The Forbidden Word Spell that burns until its mana is depleted. Tell me more.”
On the other side of the mirror, Esther was taken aback, but she spoke. He listened to a few words per run, repeating the day over and over, piecing the information together.
Through this, he discovered a crucial detail.
No wonder it seemed to grow larger as we fought.
The creature grew by absorbing surrounding mana. Its method of doing so was killing living things. Since it was a spell manifested by consuming sacrifices, it continued to feed on them to sustain itself.
In other words, the creature was at its weakest before it killed anyone. If it killed even one person, its power surged.
He had figured that out, but Encrid failed yet again.
“I thought you were just arrogant, but is your head merely for decoration?”
The Ferryman was practically fuming. He should have been delighted to see Encrid trapped in the loop, yet for some reason, he looked genuinely exasperated.