Chapter 651: The Apostle and Enlightenment
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 651: The Apostle and Enlightenment
His objective was simple: deflect the projectile hurtling toward him.
The moment he perceived the threat, his body reacted on its own. No calculation was needed. The enemy’s blade wasn't built for follow-ups; it was a style that staked everything on a single, decisive strike. As his thoughts accelerated, the world around him seemed to stretch and slow.
Encrid saw exactly what was targeting him. A long skewer—a rapier. The thrusting style reeked of Sachsen.
Reacting instantly, he channeled strength into his right big toe, drew Penna, and swung.
The speed at which he transferred force from his ankle to his waist, and finally to his hand, was twice as fast as it had ever been. He sprang from his knees to generate explosive power, keeping his shoulders, elbows, and wrists locked firmly in place.
The Heavy Sword Style Thrust. It was a technique that prioritized raw power over speed, often called the Battering Ram Thrust because it could pierce through almost anything if blocked half-heartedly.
True to its name, the sword flew forward like a siege weapon smashing through a castle gate. When such technique was paired with a treasured sword of absurd sharpness, a mystery was forged.
Screech! Slice!
The iron skewer snapped in two, and the head of the bastard who had burst from the earth was sliced clean off.
The sudden movement whipped up a gust of wind from beneath Encrid's feet. The sparks generated as the blade severed the metal rode the wind, surging upward like a waterspout before vanishing. To an ignorant onlooker, it would have looked as though he had suddenly conjured a gale wrapped in embers.
Beyond merely blocking the strike, he had severed the weapon and killed its owner in a single motion. It was a harmony of technique and power that could easily be called magic.
Having cut down the man, Encrid shook his sword. The blood clinging to Penna splattered onto the ground. When he looked at the blade, not a single drop remained. Had they said its sharpness would be maintained even without oiling?
Still, he had been told it was best to wipe it down about once every six months with a special oil—a specific blend of Woodgard sap and camellia flower oil. When he had nodded in agreement, the elf named Lafratio had personally gifted him a bottle of the blend.
It was more than just a good sword; it was well worthy of being called a treasure.
"A fine weapon."
The words came from the man holding the staff, the one who had first spoken to them. Encrid shook his sword once more and looked ahead.
Though he hadn't been the only target, Luagarne and Pel were not the types to die from a surprise attack of this caliber. As expected, both had deflected the ambush. Luagarne had used her forearm as a shield; it now sported a hole, but since she was a Frok, it was considered a successful block.
Pel had quickly arched his back, drawing his sword to strike back in the same motion. In the midst of the chaos, Encrid heard a faint, resonant clang—the sound of Pel deflecting a blade.
Zero had leaped backward in surprise, saved by his nimble elven feet. His blonde hair fluttered in the air. A scratch had formed on his forehead; a split second later, and he would have had a hole in his skull instead of a face.
Of course, if Zero had been in mortal danger, Encrid would have prioritized saving him over killing his own attacker, but he had judged that the elf could manage the block.
"Apos—"
The cultist with the staff tried to speak, but Encrid acted first.
It was that brief moment of hesitation as everyone looked for an opening—a perfect instant to exploit a gap in their thoughts. Encrid's left hand brushed past his chest and shot forward.
A bizarre sound echoed in tandem with his movement.
Pwooooo!
He threw a modified whistle dagger. No matter how much he practiced with the Silence Dagger, it never felt right in his hand, so he had modified the design to suit his own style. He had added extra blades to the whistle dagger to increase its lethality, and because of that, he was planning to change its name. The sound it made was far more suited to a Horn Trumpet Dagger than a whistle.
Crunch!
Its destructive power perfectly matched the sound.
Encrid was not lazy. Beyond simply training his swordsmanship, he constantly chewed over everything he had learned, practicing daily. The daggers, thrown using the technique he had learned from Sachsen, killed three of the ambushers who had burst from the earth.
The daggers didn't just pierce their heads; they shattered them, practically blowing them apart on impact. He had used three of the daggers he had commissioned Eitri to make. Since he had only brought six, he had three left.
'And Penna is my only sword.'
This was because he had lost his Truesilver sword and Spark. Penna was a bit short to be used as a primary weapon, but...
'But that doesn't mean I'm at a disadvantage.'
Encrid judged the situation calmly. There was no reason to panic. Slowly widening his stance, he settled into position and raised his sword. As he held Penna vertically, the crimson moonlight seemed to split down the center of the blade.
This was a land illuminated by two moons. In front of the group, who stood with their backs to a hill, the man with the staff tapped the ground once more.
"I will make you one final offer. Have you no intention of turning to our side? It would be a waste of talent for you to die here."
"Who did you say you were?" Encrid asked, his posture unwavering. There was no sign of panic or fear.
The most shocked person present was Luagarne. Staring at the staff and the opponent's attire, she couldn't even puff out her cheeks as she glared at him.
"Could it be?" Luagarne asked.
Pel scowled, his hand resting on the hilt of Idol Slayer, while Zero held his ground, taking thin, slow breaths. For some time now, the pressure radiating from the armored knight in black had been weighing heavily on their shoulders. It felt like being dragged back into the Labyrinth of the Demon Realm.
Intimidation—a presence that was the exclusive domain of knights.
"Your assumption is correct," the man with the staff said, nodding at Luagarne. As Encrid watched blankly, the man continued. "I am the Apostle of the Advent."
In the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult, an 'Apostle' referred to those with exceptional talent, but it also meant those who had met one of the Six Devils and awakened their abilities. The man standing before them was the First Apostle, and he had become an Apostle in the latter sense.
To put it simply, it would not be an exaggeration to say this man had been the shadow behind every cultist they had faced until now. He was the one who had sent the Apostle of Curses, and even the mage of forbidden arts who commanded the Walking Fire had acted on his orders.
"A demonic charm that even bewitches cultists," Pel muttered. Since he had been putting a lot of effort into his provocations lately, nonsense slipped out of his mouth reflexively.
"Is that really what you're going with?" Encrid retorted.
Pel chuckled. He felt the threat, but there was no reason to shrink back in terror. Was today the day he died? If he had feared death, he wouldn't have picked up a sword in the first place. A Shepherd of the Wilderness grew up chatting with evil spirits and playing tag with monsters.
That was what it meant to be a shepherd wandering the wilderness. If fearing death prevented one from doing what needed to be done, they wouldn't even be able to start a shepherd's work.
"Is it not?" Pel replied. It was pure audacity.
In Encrid's eyes, Pel's greatest talent was that very audacity. It suited his temperament perfectly. He didn't envy it, though. He simply found the Apostle's comment about his talent being a waste to be utterly laughable.
"Go find a ghoul to call mother and beg for milk. What do you mean, 'turn to your side'?"
Encrid spoke directly to the Apostle. It was an abrupt and vulgar insult. The Apostle furrowed his brow at the novel insult, the likes of which he had never heard. He scowled without even realizing it.
What did he just say?
Hearing those words, Pel felt something click in his mind. What was a provocation? It was a stimulus. It had to shake the opponent's composure.
'What's needed is to read the atmosphere and throw out something the opponent would never expect.'
Encrid knew how to twist his words to mock someone, but right now, he was insulting his opponent directly. Yes, Pel finally understood. The goal was to agitate the opponent and shatter their peace of mind, not just to hurl random curses.
Pel was thrilled. Eager to apply this new realization immediately, he opened his mouth.
"Look at his face. He's way past the age of weaning. Asking for milk with a face like that? Blegh."
Though he couldn't bring himself to actually mimic gagging and only spoke the words, he had certainly grasped the right direction.
"...They did say you were madmen," the Apostle muttered.
The core of the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult was, of course, in the Demon Realm. This man was, so to speak, a regional manager dispatched to this area. Even so, to have the composure of someone directly taught by a devil turned inside out by a few words—it was a truly gratifying moment.
Luagarne's cheeks puffed out. The Frok let out a loud, gurgling laugh.
"Still, I shall grant you a chance. Elle."
As the Apostle spoke, the armored knight in black moved. No—the moment Encrid perceived the movement, a black line was already drawn over his head. A single line cutting through the gaps of time, through his accelerated thoughts.
Encrid raised Penna and slashed upward.
Clang!
Earlier, he had sliced through a skewer with a single clean stroke, but this time, his strike was blocked. The black blade wavered in front of Encrid, splitting into three.
'An afterimage created by shaking the wrist while pivoting on the ankle.'
He understood the technique instantly, and a countermeasure sprang to mind. The opponent used a deceptive sword style. Encrid naturally partitioned his thoughts and executed the Wave-Blocking Sword style.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
A crisp, rapid clashing echoed as blade met blade. Along with the noise, a gust of wind whipped up between the two. Through the flying sparks, Encrid's blue eyes gleamed.
The armored knight in black was no easy opponent. Wearing a helmet with the visor lowered, only his eyes glinted, but a deep blue light seeped from within. Dozens of clashes occurred in an instant, and in the midst of it, the Apostle spoke at a pace that was neither fast nor slow.
"Do you truly believe you live according to your own will? Do you think this world is fair? All humans are equal before the Demon Realm. If you knew our ideology, you would understand."
As he spoke, the sword of the man named Elle split into three once more, but unlike before, it suddenly elongated. With a sharp ping, the blade segments scattered and stretched out, revealing a cord-like connection between them.
It was a move planned from the very beginning. It seemed impossible for Encrid to dodge. Had he not just leaped backward to evade? Furthermore, the opponent had extended his left hand and wrapped a strange cord around Encrid's wrist.
Everything pointed to a gruesome end. The cloth binding his wrist sealed his hand, and the segmented blade seemed poised to rip his chest open—but no such thing happened.
Ignoring the cord bound around his wrist, Encrid pulled Penna back and struck the middle of the suddenly elongated, segmented sword.
Clang!
Sparks flew violently, and the sword that had been aiming for Encrid's chest lost its trajectory. When a weapon lengthened, its path naturally became more vulnerable. If force was applied to its midpoint, its direction would easily warp.
"My name is Black Snake Elle!" the man shouted, seemingly growing excited as the battle progressed. He swung his sword as he yelled; it appeared to be his imprinted weapon and his specialty.
Clatter!
The sword broke into segments and lengthened. It was like a whip made of blades. Yet, it freely transformed from a sword to a whip and back again. Despite its erratic nature making it seemingly difficult to counter...
Clang! Clang!
Encrid held his ground perfectly. It looked precarious, yet he never seemed to be in actual danger. From the outside, it was an incomprehensible battle.
Luagarne saw it with her own eyes, and the Apostle, of course, saw it too.
'Did he not barely win against Hatun?' the Apostle thought. Even if he had won, did this make any sense?
In terms of combat power, Black Snake Elle was the strongest in the parish he managed. In a life-or-death struggle, even the Apostle wasn't confident he could defeat him. Yet, this man was holding his ground. And doing so with ease.
'It was wise of me to prepare.'
In terms of temperament, the First Apostle was similar to Ermen or Krais. He had considered the possibility that Elle might fail to subdue Encrid.
The Apostle opened his mouth. "Levantine."
A man dressed in cloth garments stepped forward. His loose, baggy sleeves did not look like attire suited for combat.
"May I drink a little?"
"Do as you please."
It was an enigmatic exchange. The corners of Levantine's mouth curled up abnormally. Fangs protruded sharply from his torn lips, a truly repulsive sight. Saliva dripped between his fangs, exposing his gums, and dark veins bulged across his eyeballs.
"I am the Night Noble, Levantine."
He spoke as he lunged forward, but Encrid casually swept his sword along the angle of his approach. Penna sliced through his clothes.
Rip!
The fabric split in two, but in that brief instant, Levantine dissolved into mist, scattering and rising upward. In the Demon Realm lived a race called vampires—denizens of the Demon Realm who fed on human blood. Levantine was one of them. Though not a knight, he was an entity whose defeat even Elle could not easily guarantee. It was only natural, as he was part of the forces the First Apostle had painstakingly gathered.
Re-forming into human shape in midair, Levantine reached out. His palm split open, and black blood poured out, coalescing into the shape of arrows before flying forward.
Thud!
Pivoting on his left foot, Encrid spun his body like a top and swung his sword. The arrows of black blood burst against his blade, and with a sharp clang, Elle's sword was blocked as well. To an observer, it looked as though he had barely managed to deflect them through a sudden burst of wit.
"Dammit," Pel muttered. He had been looking for an opening to intervene, but he couldn't find a way.
Looking at the situation, the man standing in the back seemed likely to be just as formidable as the two in front. If things continued like this, Encrid would eventually collapse. So, intending to intervene somehow, he watched with his hand on his sword, but no clear opening presented itself. Luagarne was similarly focused, harboring the same thoughts. Zero didn't even dare to think of stepping in.
In that tense standoff, the Apostle spoke once more.
"Become a human equal before the Demon Realm. Thus, become a pillar that builds a more meaningful world. Do so. That shall be your destiny."
The Apostle did not rest his mouth, as if eager to deliver a sermon. "I shall grant you the chance to restart your wretched destiny!"
The cultist's voice rang out loudly. Some strange power seemed to dwell within his words.
Clang!
And amidst the clashing of blades and the—
Pop!
—bursting of the vampire's blood, Encrid spoke.
"What?"
Thud! Clang-clang!
"I didn't hear you. Say it again."
"Ah."
Pel let out an exclamation of awe. The realization that a simple, dismissive phrase could be more gut-wrenching than a direct insult ushered him into a new world of enlightenment.