Chapter 643: The Demon, the Tobacco, and the Duel
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 643: The Demon, the Tobacco, and the Duel
"Stay still."
After hacking One-Killer to pieces, Encrid lowered his sword, took a few deep breaths to steady himself, and spoke.
At his words, everyone seemed to hold their breath. In truth, even if he hadn't said anything, they would have been left speechless.
Encrid briefly turned his gaze inward.
His limbs trembled slightly from the strain. Every muscle in his body screamed with fatigue. No matter how much he had poured his entire being into maintaining his state, the toll was undeniable.
That was rough.
It was only natural that exhaustion weighed heavily on him. It had been that kind of fight.
Only now did the parts of Oara's fight that he had previously glossed over finally make sense, entering the realm of his understanding. There was nothing left of what Oara had shown him in his dreams that he had missed. A rush of joy and exhilaration pounded against his chest.
The Wave-Blocking Sword.
It wasn't just a mere technique; he had forged a swordsmanship style that encompassed its meaning, its method of manifestation, and even its training regimen. He couldn't help but feel as though he had stepped into a whole new world.
As various theories and pieces of knowledge melded together, something else began to take shape in his mind.
Not right now.
Instinct told him so. This was something that required time to organize, not a sudden flash of inspiration. He already had plenty of inspiration; it just wasn't something to be done immediately.
He also needed rest. Fighting while using Thought Acceleration and Thought Partitioning—no matter how one sugarcoated it—was an act of extreme mental exhaustion.
Yet, regardless of his physical condition, now was not the time to discuss resting.
One-Killer is dead, but the Demon Realm remains.
Sinar pretended to be unfazed on the outside, but to put it bluntly, she was practically itching to move. She started to stand up, then stopped. She did so because Encrid had told her to stay still.
The black-haired, blue-eyed man who had spoken those words approached. Right now, he didn't look like a madman at all.
Just like the others he had saved, Sinar saw a light radiating from Encrid. With the orange-glowing demon dead, the light source was gone. Yet, even amidst the heavy, dreary darkness that had settled over them, she could see a light in him.
With a soft rustle...
The Truesilver sword, which had held out for two days, finally crumbled. The blade shattered into dust, leaving only the hilt. Encrid placed the remaining hilt over his scabbard and wrapped it tightly with a torn strip of cloth.
Meanwhile, the elf Brisa held up a new luminescent stone and spoke.
"...We won."
It was a battle they had watched for two whole days. A battle so exhausting just to witness. She had seen countless spine-chilling moments where the cold sweat running down her back felt as terrifying as shedding blood.
It was only natural that she had struggled to find her voice until now. For two entire days, it had felt as though the man standing before her might drop dead at any second. Moreover, if he had died, hope would have been scarcer than a human-faced dog acting charming. Even if they used Kiaos, killing One-Killer would have been a distant dream.
"Yes, we won."
Those words came from Bran, who was likely more shocked than anyone else present. Even at the massive Woodgard's words, Encrid didn't particularly react.
Having put away his sword, he approached Sinar. The elf looked up from her seat. Lifting her chin, she gazed at her savior with green eyes that were nothing short of mysteriously beautiful.
Her savior spoke. Or rather, he asked:
"Are you really four hundred and forty-eight years old?"
After a brief silence, Sinar laughed. For the first time since the days she used to play with her sisters and hang out with Aden, a full smile spread across her face. She replied:
"You bastard."
Though the word was an insult, there was affection laced within it. Encrid felt a sense of pride, having finally paid her back for all the elven jokes he had endured.
Overhearing them from behind, Pel clicked his tongue and muttered, "Is that guy seriously insane?"
Hearing this, Luagarne puffed out her cheeks with a soft pfft. For her kind, it was the equivalent of giggling.
"How typical of you."
In place of his broken Truesilver sword, Encrid drew Spark and began to slash, stab, and hack at the back of the chair. Spark was also cracked down the middle and looked ready to snap at any moment.
Thud! Rip!
Having lived through countless 'todays', he knew all too well that the chair was a living entity. His instruction to stay still had meant for her to wait while he dealt with the chair.
While Sinar waited quietly, Encrid's Spark mercilessly carved and tore into the stone chair. The blood-vessel-like structures hidden inside were severed, spraying fluid. A dark, greenish-black blood—somewhere between black and green—flowed out.
"It's a chair that drains vital energy," Sinar said. Though some vessel-like remnants still clung to her back, her connection to the draining entity had been severed.
"For a 'courtship demon', it seems he wasn't after your chastity. You've lost your chance to escape spinsterhood."
"I am grateful to you for saving me, but I must repeat: whether they are human, elf, dwarf, or dragonkin, teasing a woman about her age is a truly petty thing to do."
"Well, I've always been a bit of a petty man."
Beneath their trivial banter flowed a strange undercurrent of emotion. After slicing away all the vessels protruding from the chair, Encrid extended his hand.
Sinar took it. One pulled, and the other rose. As she stood up, Sinar seemed to grow dizzy and collapsed into Encrid's arms. The elf's body, sinking softly against him, was incredibly small. Encrid caught her with one arm.
"What are you doing?" he asked, holding her.
"You held Esther all day, but this is more than enough for me."
With those words, the elf slipped from his embrace. Despite being inside a labyrinth, Sinar smelled of fresh grass and flowers. Even after she stepped away, her scent lingered faintly, teasing his nose. If Esther was like the night sky, Sinar's scent made him feel as though he had stepped into the heart of a forest.
Encrid brushed his hands off nonchalantly and said, "I don't think this is the end. Am I right?"
It was said that the demon of the Demon Realm had split its body in two. One to guard this place. Then what had the other become? Sinar held the answer.
"Is that intuition? Or do you actually know something?"
Naturally, it was information he had gathered and pieced together from his past 'todays'.
"Just a guess."
"If that's mere intuition, then the Goddess of Fortune has surely chosen you. Yes, this cannot be the end."
Sinar spoke, confirming it wasn't over.
"What else is left?" Bran stepped forward to ask. To him, this moment felt like a 'today' detached from reality. He was so shocked he hadn't even thought of lighting his tobacco. The other elves felt the same.
Meanwhile, the elf named Arkoiris approached and carefully peeled away the remnants clinging to Sinar's back. Though it must have stung, Sinar remained stoic. Having lived for so long with suppressed emotions, the elf was simply clumsy at expressing them.
Even so, they were currently in a state of temporary excitement. They had killed the demon. That fact alone made every fluid in their bodies boil with exhilaration, temporarily driving away the fatigue of watching the battle in a semi-conscious state for two days.
"The demon of the labyrinth split itself in two," Sinar explained, pointing behind her. This was where the straight passage ended. Branching out from this central area were three more tunnels leading deeper inside. "One became a combat type to guard this place, while the other must have become a production type meant to eventually swallow the city."
Did demons that birthed monsters exist? Yes. In places worthy of being called a Demon Realm, such entities usually existed. And there were always guardians to protect them. The demon One-Killer was exactly that.
This place, which they called a labyrinth, was essentially the same as the Demon Realm in the City of Oara. While that place held a fragment of Balrog, this one housed a demon that coveted the flesh and blood of elves, along with their souls.
The main body came into view where Sinar led them.
It was a massive lump of flesh. There was no other way to describe this form. The mass of flesh was large enough to swallow a person whole, if it had a mouth. A crevice in the center of the flesh writhed constantly, parting slightly from time to time to reveal its interior. It was an incomprehensible jumble of raw meat, coagulated black blood, and bone fragments.
"It's a demon that births monsters. It is weak to fire."
The elven clan was not foolish. Neither was Sinar. As long as One-Killer wasn't in the way, the elves had the means to kill it. There was no need for Encrid to step in.
Arkoiris pulled a green stone from his breast.
"A stone of condensed vital energy is called a Kiaos, and this is a refined version of it," Bran said, explaining for Encrid's benefit.
"What is it used for?"
"Inside is the forest essence we've gathered over the years. If we detonate it, boom."
As Bran spoke, he struck a flint with a click and lit his tobacco. He puffed out clouds of smoke. Seeing this, Sinar spoke.
"You can stop smoking now, Bran."
Bran was Sinar's teacher, as well as her sisters'. The demon had approached with warmth only to burn the city to ashes, engraving an image of fire as pure terror and agony into the mind of the elf Sinar. Bran had smoked tobacco ever since. It was one of his efforts to erase the terror the demon had inflicted upon Sinar.
After all, it was extremely rare for a Woodgard to handle fire. In fact, there was likely no one else besides Bran. It was an effort, a desperate struggle, to help her escape a reality where fire equaled terror. No matter how fire-resistant their bark was, fire was the natural enemy of a Woodgard.
"Now, I can barely last a day without tobacco," Bran replied nonchalantly.
Emotional signals passed between them beneath their restrained words. The long years of being held hostage by the demon were finally drawing to a close.
"I will stay behind," Arkoiris said with a calm face. For a human, this would have been a moment of solemn resolve and dramatic flair. To put it simply, they needed someone to detonate the refined Kiaos—the condensed block of forest essence.
Luagarne puffed out her cheeks and stepped forward. "Can't we just strike it from a distance and run?"
"Though the structure varies with each Demon Realm, that demon is the master of this labyrinth. If it dies, the labyrinth will collapse."
Arkoiris spoke calmly, yet showed an unyielding determination. Though rare, when an elf showed emotion, it was a sign of absolute resolve. Both the manticore and the drowned ones must have been created inside that thing.
Even as they spoke, the lump of flesh squirmed, attempting to spit something out. With a wet plop, a hand slipped through a crack and pressed against the floor. It was a monster's hand, mottled with blue and black spots, tipped with long, sharp claws.
"This is seriously disgusting."
Pel darted forward and sliced it off. Slash! The blade of the Idol Slayer severed the emerging monster's arm. There was no scream; its vocal organs had not yet been formed.
The demon must have realized the danger it was in. Had it not expected the combat-oriented half of its split self to lose? It certainly seemed so. Otherwise, other monsters should have lunged at them by now, but nothing stood in their way. There was only this repulsive lump of flesh, desperately trying to construct something.
Black blood surged sluggishly through the veins bulging on its surface. Sensing its impending doom, the creature tried to create something, but destruction was always easier than creation.
Though the fatigue from fighting for two days weighed heavily on his feet... It's not like I can't run.
The others hadn't even fought; they had merely watched. They all had more than enough stamina to run.
"Lua?"
Encrid called out, glancing at the gem. It was a loaded call. The quick-witted Frok understood immediately. If she wrapped it in her whip and threw it, she could extend its range.
"I think I can do it. Since it's designed to detonate upon impact."
She could also deliver a spell-based impact to it. Luagarne pulled out her whip and wrapped it around her arm. That whip was a magic weapon. All she had to do was wrap it, throw it from a distance, and trigger the explosion.
"I also have at least one hidden trick left up my sleeve, Arkoiris. There is no need to throw your life away for nothing," Bran persuaded him once more.
"We must destroy it completely," Arkoiris shook his head. It was a stubborn insistence, an obsession born from long years of suffering. If there was even the slightest chance the demon might survive, he couldn't leave it to chance.
"If it doesn't work, we can just come back and kill it again. It won't be easy for it to recreate something like One-Killer anyway," Encrid spoke up. Just because sacrificing oneself was a sure method didn't mean it was the best one.
"Then let's do that."
Arkoiris changed his mind instantly. Encrid, who had been about to open his mouth to persuade him in earnest, stopped.
Why is he so compliant all of a sudden? Even a four-year-old child wouldn't be this obedient. Ah, then again, were four-year-olds ever obedient to begin with?
"Then let's go," Bran turned around. Sinar followed behind him. As Luagarne measured the distance of her whip's reach and prepared to take the Kiaos, Arkoiris hesitated. This was a mass of essence that the elven clan had spent decades condensing right under the demon's nose. If they failed, it would be incredibly difficult to make another one.
Encrid was wondering if he could kill the demon by shaping his will into a sword and slashing it. It was an intuition gained from fighting One-Killer, but he would probably have to hack away at it for months to kill it. After all, even though One-Killer's body had been sliced to pieces, hadn't it kept writhing without dying? In any case, doing so right now was out of the question due to his physical and mental exhaustion.
"Hand it over. If it fails, I'll just have to suffer for a few months," Encrid said to the hesitating Arkoiris. Once again, the elf became an obedient child. Arkoiris manipulated the green crystal and handed it over, having primed it for activation.
"Here."
Luagarne took it, wrapped it at the end of her whip, and spun it around.
"Reminds me of Rem," Encrid said, watching her. The way Luagarne spun the whip over her head looked remarkably similar to Rem swinging his sling.
"Are you challenging me to a duel?" Luagarne asked, deeply puzzled. Was this guy so obsessed with sparring that he was doing it even now?
"No, I'm just saying you look like him."
"Ah, so it wasn't an insult."
As Luagarne spoke, she activated the whip's spell. A red glow enveloped the tip of the whip, and flames erupted.
Whoosh!
It was a flame directed at the demon that had once approached with warmth only to burn the elves. To put it poetically, one might say the demon that rose by fire would perish by fire. As the flames enveloped the Kiaos, the surface of the stone cracked open. Luagarne hurled it with all her might.
The whip stretched taut, launching the green crystal block forward. The flying mass of essence slammed directly into the fleshy demon.
Thud!
"We have to run," Sinar said. Though she had seemed to do nothing but sit in the chair all day, she had actually been drained of her vital energy, and she couldn't use any of it inside the labyrinth. Her steps lagged behind. Encrid naturally scooped Sinar up into his arms.
Bran ran remarkably well for his size. He dashed forward with heavy thuds, moving surprisingly fast despite his appearance. The others, of course, needed no explanation.
Encrid cast a glance backward. A green flash erupted, and a wave of light surged forward from behind like a tidal wave. The condensed essence was erasing the demon from existence.
Rumble!
And then, the labyrinth began to collapse.
Because Encrid had lived through hundreds of 'todays', the paths had become jumbled in his mind. No matter how good his memory was, he didn't have the mental capacity to memorize the layout of the labyrinth. Thus, as he led the way and hesitated for a moment, Pel bypassed him from behind and said:
"This way. Are you suddenly trying to imitate Ragna?"
Encrid blurted out his inner thoughts without realizing it. "Once we get out, we're dueling."
With a heavy crash, shattered stone fragments rained down from above. Pel smirked and quickened his pace. Just like that, they reached the entrance. There was no light filtering in from the outside. The entrance itself was part of a spell. So was the Demon Realm itself. But that changed nothing. All they had to do was run out.
Pel and Zero made it out first, and just as Encrid was about to follow—
Leave my bride behind!
A remnant of the demon, or perhaps its dying embers, lunged at him. Right in front of the entrance, a hand-span-long burning blade plunged down.
Because there was neither killing intent nor presence, his perception was delayed. His mental fatigue played a part as well. The final blow prepared by the demon, just in case, aimed straight for the crown of Sinar's head.
Encrid's perception of time slowed down. Through high-speed thought, he perceived everything in fragmented, frame-by-frame scenes. His foresight saw the future.
Too slow.
Holding Sinar, he had no way to block it. But was he going to give up? No, absolutely not. Without a moment's hesitation, Encrid threw the dagger strapped to his lower back upward without even aiming. Throwing it was the best he could do; aiming was impossible. It was a motion barely above flicking the dagger out with his fingertips.
While running, he had just been thinking about how Eitri might be disappointed that he hadn't used the dagger he gave him. That very thought had triggered his current action.
The blade flicked from his fingertips struck the descending demonic blade, altering its trajectory. The dagger 'Fortune' intercepted the path of the strike.
Clang!
As the blades clashed, the demon's final gambit went wide. Instead of Sinar, the blade grazed Encrid's cheek. A tiny cut opened with a sting. The moment the blade grazed his skin, Encrid knew it was identical to the ones on One-Killer's body.
Pain surged from his cheek, and a profound weakness washed over his entire body. Then, darkness.
How much time had passed in that pitch-black void? The first thing he perceived was a swaying motion.
Sway—
Soon, he realized where he was. There was a river of black waves. A river that looked like a waterway to hell. Upon that river stood an entity holding a violet lamp.
As if it were only natural, the Ferryman had come to greet him, and the face of the Ferryman standing on the boat looked clearer than ever before.