Chapter 652: Three, Spells, and Evil Spirits
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 652: Three, Spells, and Evil Spirits
The Apostle did not repeat himself. Instead, he gripped the staff in his right hand and extended his left.
To Pel, the hand gesture looked bizarre. The Apostle pressed his thumb against his middle and ring fingers, splayed them out with a sharp sweep, and then curled them back in, leaving only his index and pinky extended.
After a few more intricate mudras, incomprehensible incantations spilled from his lips, and a single drop of black water dripped from his fingertips.
Only then did intelligible words follow.
"Huarin’s Dog."
It was a spell Luagarne had seen before when facing cultists. The black water swelled rapidly, manifesting four legs that planted themselves firmly on the ground.
Growl—
As the beast shook its head and let out a bizarre roar, a black, steam-like vapor seeped from the corners of its mouth, rising above its head.
The spells cast by ordinary cultists and those of an Apostle of the Advent were incomparable in power. One look was enough to tell this was no ordinary mutt.
"Bite them to death."
At the Apostle's command, Huarin’s Dog joined the fray. It kicked off the ground with a dull thud and lunged forward, blurring into a black streak.
Sensing the beast targeting his back, Encrid spun to dodge and slammed his elbow directly into the bridge of its snout.
Crack!
With a sharp, sickening crunch, Huarin’s Dog was sent flying backward, landing flat on its back.
Despite taking such a heavy blow, the beast didn't even whimper. It sprang back up, shook its head, and bared its fangs once more. It wasn't particularly threatening, but it was a nuisance. Meanwhile, the Apostle continued to chant spell after spell.
"Your body is over there. Go and take it."
"The one who killed your mother is right there."
"Hear my prayer and leave a stigmata upon that human's body."
In the midst of the chaos, Encrid managed to carve out an opening, thrusting his sword forward to split Huarin’s Dog down the middle.
Since it was sliced rather than bludgeoned, the beast dissolved into ash and vanished.
In that brief window, a vampire's claws swiped down toward his head, but Encrid deflected the strike with a punch.
Boom!
A deafening explosion erupted as invisible pressure pushed the air outward, whipping up a violent gust of wind. The gale swept up the ashes of the dead Huarin’s Dog, scattering them into the sky.
Whoosh!
The wind carried a sweltering heat, as if infused with the warmth of the Red Moon. It was inevitable. With swords constantly clashing, the heat of the battle was immense despite the winter night. It was a symphony of flying sparks and thunderous booms.
The night, which should have been silent, was as raucous as a festival. Of course, this was a festival that drank blood as wine, ate flesh as bread, and used bowls carved from bone.
Before long, a pale blue light, resembling soft moonlight, began to emanate from the sword in Encrid's hand.
As the blue light parried the black, whip-like sword swinging beneath the Red Moon and the dark-red spells of the vampire, it looked as though three distinct lights were interlocking and battling in midair.
When had he seen this before?
It was a sight similar to what Oara had shown when she fought the Balrog.
Of course, since Encrid was at the very center of it, swinging his sword and scattering the pale blue light, he couldn't just stand by and watch as he had back then.
Huarin’s Dog, which had seemed capable of holding its ground during the first clash, was dead. The evil spirits unleashed next were also sliced and pierced to pieces by flashes of pale blue moonlight—a light that shouldn't have been visible tonight under the Red Moon.
Not a single evil spirit survived a single strike. Yet, even if they hadn't died in one blow, it felt as though he would have killed them anyway. That was the sheer momentum he carried.
Perhaps lacking the spare focus to speak, Encrid silently swung his sword without a word.
Instead of speaking to him further, the Apostle chanted spells without pause. Unheard-of necromancy spilled from his mouth in a relentless stream. Black figures flickered in the air before lunging with raised blades, and dark masses flew through the sky.
Pel, Luagarne, and Zero did not just stand by and watch.
All three drew their weapons. Luagarne, in particular, puffed her cheeks out in anger. Whenever she saw cultists, she was reminded of her deceased lover. They were her mortal enemies. Even if the intensity of her grudge had faded slightly over time, she could never just smile and let them go.
Moreover, what they desired was to turn this world into a Demon Realm where monsters could roam free. Was it normal to just stand by and watch such a thing? Agreeing with them in the first place meant there was something seriously wrong with one's head.
"You crazy cultist bastards."
Luagarne held her Loop Sword in one hand and a whip in the other.
Crack!
Sparks flared from the whip as it struck the ground. Pel also drew his Idol Slayer and took a stance. Zero retreated slightly, warily reading the room.
Should he join in? He felt like he would only get in the way. Even so, he hated the thought of running away. He had spent his entire life avoiding things and running away.
If I avoid fighting just because I lack skill, I'll never be able to fight properly for the rest of my life.
To Zero, his idol, Encrid, was someone who had fought against his own limits his entire life. His sensitive elven senses read Encrid's essence. Zero saw his idol and wanted to be like him.
That was how Zero felt. But that didn't mean he could do anything right now. Thus, keeping his mouth shut was the right choice. He resolved that if he survived this, he would train himself to death—even if he had to visit the Heavenly Flower Garden, he would dedicate himself to training.
The Heavenly Flower Garden was where elves went when they died, the equivalent of heaven for humans. The scent of the flowers there was said to be so fragrant and sweet that one would never tire of it, making it truly synonymous with paradise.
While Zero was warily watching and steeling his resolve, Pel kept his eyes fixed on the Apostle of the Advent. To be honest, he was ready to take him out if things went south, but he couldn't see any openings.
To Pel, the Apostle was clearly furious. Veins bulged on his forehead as he did nothing but chant spells.
Should I try to force an opening, even if there isn't one?
As Pel made up his mind and subtly shifted his stance, the Apostle's gaze flicked toward him. Did he have good intuition? Or was his sixth sense for reading momentum highly developed?
Well, it didn't matter either way. The Apostle nonchalantly chanted his next spell.
"Huarin’s Hunting Game."
As he spoke, shaking his staff, black water clumped together and dripped from its tip, quickly forming about a dozen dogs.
Wait—are those horses too, not just dogs?
Pel adjusted his grip on his sword and scanned the surroundings. It was time to change his approach.
I need to ease his burden.
If left alone, that Apostle bastard would suffocate Encrid with his spells. Therefore, Pel needed to pose a threat to the enemy right here.
As he made that decision, the Apostle unleashed a new spell.
"Come forth, Death Warrior."
The Apostle could cast a hundred spells, and had once even held the title "Spell Collector." How great was the gap between him and a mage like Galaf, who could grasp a river? With Esther absent, there was no way for those remaining here to know.
However, one thing was certain. That Apostle could take on everyone present here all by himself.
"Do you think our meeting here was a coincidence? No. I have been waiting for the right moment. After killing you all, I will rain despair upon the Border Guard. I have already dispatched my subordinate forces to the city you lived in. Now, did you fail to understand my words again? Then I shall repeat them as many times as it takes."
He must be incredibly pissed off, Pel thought to himself as he looked at the pale-skinned warrior emerging from the black mist. It held a broad blade and had pitch-black eyes.
Should a monster created by a spell be considered a monster too?
The Death Warrior was a necromancy spell commonly used to deal with Associate Knights. The spell above it was the Death Knight. However, neither spell was easy to cast. Unless the caster offered their own body to their god, they required the physical corpse of a warrior or a knight to serve as the foundation.
The Apostle of the Advent could summon fifteen more Death Warriors with his spells. Pel didn't know that, but he knew what he had to do.
The moment the Apostle looked in their direction and chanted a spell, Encrid also glanced over. At this rate, they would become a burden rather than companions.
You genius bastards, I will definitely catch up to you.
Pel steeled a resolve that was similar to, yet different from, Zero's. In any case, Pel knew his role well. He had to help Encrid, who was currently fighting two knight-level opponents while simultaneously dealing with the enemy's spells.
In that case, he couldn't afford to drag things out against an opponent of this level.
He steadied his breathing and stared straight at his opponent. The black warrior took a stance with its broad blade. Its legs were spread moderately, and the tip of its sword pointed toward the sky. The weapon looked light, but its forearms were thick.
It was a bit of a gamble, but...
Thanks to that bastard Ropode, I've made gambles like this dozens of times.
Pel's talent was certainly exceptional in some areas. On top of that, he had been intensively beaten by Encrid on their way here. This meant he hadn't just learned how to taunt.
The black blade fell diagonally. There were no obvious openings in the creature's stance. A stream of momentum could be felt flowing from its feet up through its thighs. It was the skill of a master. The sword swung by the Death Warrior looked poised to split Pel in two.
Only then did Pel move.
Taking a large step forward with his left foot, he slashed his sword upward. There could not be even a shred of waste in his movements. He made sure there wasn't. He used every single finger and toe as if they existed solely for this single strike.
While Encrid had been watching Pel and stealing his talent to learn from it, Pel hadn't been idling either. What Pel displayed now was Encrid's specialty: the Full-Force Slash.
The sword swung by Pel split the Death Warrior from its stomach to its head. The blade swung by the Death Warrior sliced uselessly through empty air.
Pel stepped forward and paused in his upward-slashing stance. For a brief moment, it felt as if the Red Moon's light had been severed in the space he had just passed through. One couldn't play in this league with mere master-level skills.
Pel's sword spoke for him. Since the league he played in had changed, he had to change as well.
"Whew."
Regulating his breath, he looked ahead to see the Apostle with his mouth tightly shut. Should he ask him to repeat himself, claiming he hadn't understood? Feeling that no matter what he said now, it wouldn't provoke the Apostle much further, Pel kept his mouth shut and simply raised his sword.
"Mormon," the Apostle spoke.
At his call, the figure standing beside him—whose sleeves and ankles were bound with cords—stepped forward. Pel had naturally assumed the newcomer would target him.
Another one?
But the man headed toward Encrid, not him. The steady, rhythmic sound of his footsteps made it clear he was no ordinary opponent. Pel couldn't pinpoint exactly what made him so formidable, but he just seemed extraordinary. It was a warning from his sixth sense.
If he came after me, it would have been too much to handle.
That was Pel's assessment. There were three such opponents now. And all three of them were heading toward Encrid. Could Encrid even handle that?
"Yes, let's do this. We shall just watch from now on. Of course, we can't have your hands and feet getting bored. Come forth, Sham."
The Apostle summoned four more Death Warriors, assigning one to Luagarne, one to Zero, and two to Pel. Then, he summoned eleven more corpses and sent them all toward Encrid.
Though their quality varied and they weren't all on the same level, they were at least comparable to half-baked Associate Knights. Since they were corpses, they wouldn't make good meat shields, but they would suffice as corpse shields to distract and hinder Encrid's movements.
This meant Encrid had to face three formidable foes, spells, and a swarm of Death Warriors all at once.
"Shouldn't we call for reinforcements?" Pel muttered.
Had they acted too recklessly? Should they have anticipated that the cultists would throw everything they had at them? Had Krais missed this? If so, they would all die here. Judging by the Apostle's gaze fixed on Encrid, running away was out of the question.
To think all three of them are knight-level.
He couldn't help but realize once again that the league they were playing in had completely changed. Black Snake Elle, the vampire, and the martial artist who had stepped up last were all knight-level.
The last one to join the fray lunged with clenched fists; while the first two were masters of unorthodox techniques, this one adhered strictly to orthodox combat.
Now facing two Death Warriors, Pel could no longer risk everything on a single strike like before and had to buy time. Luagarne had to fight while protecting Zero. Just because she hated the cultists didn't mean she could let the person beside her die. Luagarne had also learned quite a bit from Encrid—specifically, how to protect someone.
Zero's expression grew grim at the realization that he was a burden. He was angry, but since there was nothing he could do immediately, he kept his mouth shut and busily swung his Naidel.
If Encrid died, they would all die. It all seemed like a matter of time. The strange balance would only last for a moment. Yet, somehow, he was holding out remarkably well.
Was it thanks to the help of the Goddess of Scales? Or was it the Goddess of Fortune?
"Oh, my..." Luagarne muttered in the midst of the battle. Her voice sounded quite astonished.
Pel, who was busy dealing with the two swords wielded by the Death Warriors while keeping an eye on Encrid, felt similarly. However, if Luagarne's words were based on some understanding, Pel was completely in the dark. If he had the luxury, he would have tilted his head and wanted to consult or debate with the two warriors attacking him.
Perhaps even asking them, "Hey, how long do you think you guys could hold out against three knights?"
Although the Idol Slayer could cut down evil spirits, it couldn't put the Death Warriors to rest in a single blow, which had been quite frustrating. But all that frustration vanished in an instant.
The area where Encrid was fighting came into everyone's view. Something unimaginable was happening there right now.
"...What on earth is this?"
The cult's headquarters was naturally located in the Demon Realm. Even so, they wouldn't run this local parish half-heartedly. In other words, the Apostle of the Advent possessed the strength to face a knight on his own, and he believed that the three apostles under his command would have no trouble killing a single knight.
But he was wrong.
The sight of Encrid's sword splitting the vampire caught his eye.
Aaaaargh!
The pale blue light passed through the vampire's body three times. The Red Moon empowered the denizens of the Demon Realm. Under these conditions, the Vampire Apostle should have been able to handle a guy like Encrid all by himself, yet his limbs were severed, rolling on the ground.
Is this a dream? the Apostle thought.