Chapter 602: Embers of Despair, Blade of Hope
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 602: Embers of Despair, Blade of Hope
Pouring all of one's Will into a single strike.
If it were those who became knights through ordinary means—though putting knights in the category of "ordinary" made little sense in itself—or even those who possessed a comparable amount of Will, they would never dream of doing such a thing.
For those who had once experienced the "lethargy" of exhausting their Will when they first awakened it—intoxicated by a sense of omnipotence, feeling as though they could do anything—knew just how dangerous it was.
They instinctively realized that pouring out even a fraction more of their Will could kill them.
Perhaps this was the price of wielding a power that transcended the limits of one's species. To face death as the cost of unleashing an intangible force was simply the nature of that power.
Thus, it was something one would normally never do, but Encrid was born with an inexhaustible supply of Will. Thanks to that, he had never experienced this lethargy before.
No, this was his very first time.
His blade slashed through the Walking Fire. It was the exact moment he watched the severed flames scatter.
'Hmm.'
Encrid immediately sensed something was wrong.
Strength drained from his limbs. His arms and legs felt as though they didn't belong to him, and his breath hitched so violently that he could barely breathe unless he focused entirely on the act.
His vision blurred, and spasms racked his muscles. His thighs and arms trembled simultaneously, and even his abdominals tightened with a dull ache.
It went beyond severe muscle pain; it felt as though his physical freedom was being stripped away. All of this was the result of the lethargy brought on by expelling every drop of Will in his body in a single instant.
And the price of that was the Walking Fire crumbling beyond his hazy vision.
The flames scattered and died down. Sparks flew into the air, and a few embers clumped together and splattered. Though the splattered embers did not fly far, the way they scorched the dirt where they landed showed that even if the core of the spell had been severed, the power of the flames still lingered.
One of those embers flew straight toward Encrid's face.
'I can't dodge it.'
He truly lacked the strength to lift even a single finger. Squeezing out what little Will he had left to turn his head aside was the absolute limit of what he could manage.
Some of the townspeople, who had witnessed both the walking fireball and the strike that cut it down, simultaneously shared a similar thought.
He's going to get burned.
That ember would hit his face, and while it might not kill him, it would surely disfigure his skin with a hideous burn. It was the lingering ember, the final offensive left behind by the Walking Fire.
Just before the ember could touch his face—
Thud.
Encrid felt his blurry vision clear slightly, and at the same time, he saw the thick back of a hand blocking his view. Thin cords were wrapped across the back of the hand, tied there to ensure her grip never slipped.
It was Frok's hand.
The smell of burning flesh wafted through the air. Flames caught on Frok's skin. Frok, Luagarne, shook her hand to fling the flames off, but the power of the lingering ember had already charred her skin black in an instant.
Before it could spread, Luagarne sliced off her own skin as if carving meat. Applying a blade was less painful than letting it burn. Since Frok had a rather dull sense of touch, this was something she could endure with a mere furrow of her brow, even if it wasn't exactly a pleasant sensation.
Of course, there might be other Frok who wouldn't react this way, but Luagarne did not even knit her brows.
“I am fine. I regenerate,” she said.
Encrid blinked once and nodded. “Still, I should say thank you.”
His tongue, which had been stiff as stone, now moved smoothly. Though the lethargy had dominated his entire body just a moment ago, Encrid soon felt his strength returning. The speed of its recovery was just as rapid as its sudden disappearance.
'Why?'
Looking inward, he felt his Will welling up. An inexhaustible Will—even if he poured it all out in a massive burst, it would soon replenish itself. On top of that, he had realized a few more things.
'Once I get used to it, the amount I can unleash will increase. If I repeat this, the vessel itself will expand. Experiencing this lethargy might actually be beneficial for me.'
He was truly a man obsessed with training. This was the very madness of Encrid that the Ferryman had spoken of. Despite having just gone through a horrific experience of total exhaustion, his immediate thought was to use it for training.
“It really was the Walking Fire,” said Luagarne, who had lost a hand.
She had chased after the guy who suddenly ran out, claiming he had to cut down the Forbidden Word Spell rather than block it, only to find this mess. Not everything about the situation was clear. There were many baffling parts.
But she brushed aside such trivial matters. What captured Luagarne's attention was something else entirely.
'That strike just now.'
Luagarne had been right behind Encrid. Arriving late, she could only catch the sight of Encrid swinging his sword. That strike had cut a spell. It had severed a Forbidden Word Spell, an Annihilation Spell that would not end until it burned everything to ashes.
What should one call that moment? Spell suppression? Spell containment? Spell slaying?
What was certain was that it was a strike that could easily be called the natural enemy of mages.
'Cutting the Walking Fire, a Forbidden Word Spell?'
Even for a Frok with infinite regeneration, it was an incredibly difficult feat to attempt. What kind of knight could perform such a deed? She had witnessed that acrobatic feat, that sublime art. How could her heart not race?
How had the process been carried out? Luagarne's keen eye sought and discerned the underlying principle within it.
'Unleashing an overflowing amount of Will in a single instant.'
That was what Encrid had just done. Originally, Encrid's weakness was that the amount of Will he could unleash at any given moment was limited. It was like having a well brimming with water, but only a tiny bucket to draw it out.
That was Encrid's weakness. No, it had been his weakness. It was no longer the case. Had he not just proven it right before her eyes? He had overwhelmed the spell with his own Will.
Along with awe, what made the Frok tremble was her sense of inquiry. A question arose: How could he overcome his weakness and achieve this in just a single day?
'It is the unknown.'
That was what made Luagarne's heart pound. The ecstasy she felt right now was so immense that she felt she could readily utter the words, 'My heart is pounding.'
Encrid's vision and the movement of his tongue had returned, but strength had not fully restored to his limbs. His senses had recovered faster than his body. Within that state, Encrid's sixth sense picked up a malice targeting him. It emanated from deep within the alleyway, manifesting into reality.
They were not particularly skilled practitioners.
“Die!”
For shouting during a surprise attack was practically advertising that they were novice assassins. Why on earth would they attack while giving away their position? If Sachsen saw this, he would have called it utterly incomprehensible. Thus, they posed no great threat. Yet, their malice was real. There were three of them in total, throwing daggers and shooting poison darts.
Had Encrid been alone, it might have been somewhat of a threat, as his lethargy had not fully faded yet. But Encrid was not alone.
Crack! Thud-thud.
Luagarne's whip blocked everything. The dark brown whip, woven from the hide of a demonic beast, lunged forward like a snake targeting its prey, striking the knees, waists, and shoulders of the attackers. A round weight was attached to the end of the whip, allowing it to be used as a blunt weapon; those struck had their bones shattered and their flesh torn open.
It was a perfect harmony of Frok's monstrous strength and whip-wielding technique. The three were brought down in an instant. They collapsed with painful shrieks.
The fallen men glared with venomous eyes and shouted:
“The world ruled by black blood shall come!”
“O Demon God, descend upon this land!”
They were cultists.
Had he swung his sword for the sake of such people? One might have harbored such doubts, but Encrid's gaze remained unwavering as he looked down at the three beaten by the whip. By cutting down the Walking Fire just moments ago, he had saved the city's tomorrow.
If the Ferryman saw this moment, he might have asked: “So, is that the 'tomorrow' you wanted to save?”
If asked, Encrid would answer with absolute confidence.
“No.”
Because what wasn't, wasn't.
Would the Ferryman be dumbfounded by such an answer? To save all humans even if they tried to harm him and had blackened hearts? To give everyone an equal opportunity through that? Encrid possessed no such grandiose ideals. Thus, he had no saintly desire to spare those who had attacked him.
“Kill them,” Encrid said.
“Naturally,” Luagarne nodded.
Their devotion to the cult and their cries to the Demon God might have been the result of brainwashing, but that was none of Encrid's concern. He couldn't save every single person in his sight from the very beginning. He would protect the tomorrow behind him, but he would still kill those who, in his eyes, had crossed the line.
If not for that, he wouldn't have picked up a sword in the first place. A sword, after all, was a tool meant to harm people.
“Whew.”
Encrid exhaled, clenching and unclenching his fists to check his physical condition.
“Are you alright?” asked Luagarne, who had just returned after snapping their necks.
Someone in the crowd shouted, “Good riddance!” He would hear later that those three were notorious for committing particularly crazed acts in a city that had already devolved into lawlessness. Well, it wasn't as if those three were the only such bastards left.
“Yeah,” Encrid replied as he stood up. Strength had returned to his body. Compared to before he cut down the Walking Fire, nothing had changed.
'No, actually, I feel like I have even more strength.'
Anyone knowledgeable about a knight's Will would have been horrified to hear this, but to Encrid, it was only natural. For his Will, born of sheer willpower, was always overflowing.
Encrid inspected the blade of his Ink Gold Longsword. He saw a sharp crack running down the middle.
'I'll have to ask Eitri again.'
When he returned, Krais would undoubtedly nag him again, asking if he was going to break his equipment every single time he stepped outside. Still, it was a relief that it ended like this.
Although cold gazes still lingered on Encrid within the city, there were others as well. Among them were those who showed goodwill, and those who looked up to him with reverence that transcended their anxiety.
The gaze of the old stable keeper, who had been staring blankly while holding his pitchfork, shifted from shock to respect.
“Th-thank you.”
Words filled with utmost gratitude spilled from the old man's mouth. Having witnessed it up close, he instinctively knew how dangerous the Walking Fire was. If Encrid hadn't cut it down, many would have died.
What would tomorrow hold for the old man, who had died repeatedly in the past 'todays'? No one would know. Only that they could see him alive, bowing his head. That was the only change.
There was no grand celebration where the entirety of Cross Guard praised Encrid or chanted his moniker. But such things weren't necessary.
“What happened here?”
The Castellan arrived late. Delma and the innkeeper approached soon after. The Castellan was then briefed on the Walking Fire, grasping roughly how massive a threat had entered and vanished from the city. Luagarne's explanations added the perfect commentary to this. She seemed eager to boast about how incredible Encrid's feat was.
“Can any of you cut down a spell? From now on, you must add the title 'Spell Slayer' before the name of the hero who saved this city. If the Annihilation Spell known as the Walking Fire had run rampant, who among you would have survived? One thing is certain: I wouldn't have died.”
Luagarne asserted that if she didn't die, Encrid wouldn't have died either. It was her way of saying she would never let this man die before she did. And indeed, she had done exactly that throughout the repeating 'todays.'
While the Castellan, initially bewildered, realized the gravity of the danger the city had faced and expressed his relieved gratitude, Encrid quietly reflected on this 'today' that would no longer loop back.
At the start of today, he had held up a mirror and told Esther that he would cut down the Walking Fire. If asked why he had done so, he would say it was a process of steeling his resolve.
'I need to gather my armor, too.'
After sorting things out, Luagarne asked: “Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Why did you step forward? You have no obligation of loyalty to protect this city.”
Cutting down the Walking Fire was a gamble. At least, that was how she saw it. Encrid had indeed thought about it during the repeating 'todays,' amidst the loops of burning to death. When the Ferryman had asked, he had said he would protect tomorrow.
And now, this seemed like the right answer:
“Because I could.”
Yes, that was all. It was something he was capable of doing. He could choose not to run away. Within the repeating today, he could bring forth a new tomorrow. That was why he did it.
Furthermore, he was glad to have protected the child who wanted to become an innkeeper, glad to have protected those who steeled their hearts to build boats, and glad to have protected the Castellan who thanked him without fully understanding the situation.
The sun set over the city, where far more people had remained oblivious to the danger of the Walking Fire. When he woke up after sleeping, a sun rose that was the same as yesterday, yet entirely different.
He had only stayed for a few days, and only a single day had passed, but Cross Guard's 'today' felt slightly different. It was more vibrant, and a hope—like planting an apple tree that would bear fruit someday—lingered.
There had been embers showing despair and suffering, but there was also a blade that summoned hope and protected human lives. That was what had occurred in this city yesterday.
Thus, moving past today and into the dawn of tomorrow, it was when he got up and went out to train as usual.
“Hold me. I am cold.”
An unexpected visitor had arrived.
“Esther?”
She had come to him, her face pale as death, wearing only a single robe that was still slightly translucent.