Chapter 654: Sparring and Real Combat
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 654: Sparring and Real Combat
The elf serving as their guide had picked up a wealth of experience during his tenure as a mercenary for the information guild. His eyes habitually swept over their surroundings, a reflex born of the need to commit every detail to memory.
His gaze eventually fell upon a knight in black armor sprawled motionless on the ground. It was a familiar sight.
Black Snake Elle?
Though they had only crossed paths briefly by chance, he hadn't forgotten the design of that armor. It was far too distinctive to overlook. Neatly engraved names were visible on its surface. The black plate itself exuded a sinister aura, yet the names etched into it seemed to overflow with affection.
Olivia. Sophia.
They were names hard to forget. Piecing the context together, he easily grasped what had transpired. This guide was the very elf Ermen had chosen as his successor, and his eyes continuously scanned and deciphered the lingering traces of the battlefield.
He took them all down alone.
It would have been shocking enough if the three of them had teamed up to defeat Black Snake Elle, but the evidence suggested the exact opposite.
"A cultist. An Apostle of the Advent, you said."
Luagarne spoke up just then. The elf nodded cautiously and shifted his gaze.
Before them lay the corpse of the one who had wielded the staff tipped with a heavy iron ring. The Apostle of the Advent—the scourge of the continent, the devil’s advocate.
There were many titles for the being Encrid had just slain. He wasn't a demon, but he was a man who had committed deeds far more heinous than any monster. Rumor had it this apostle had single-handedly slaughtered an entire city and used curses to turn hundreds of innocents into wraiths.
Had another decade or two passed, the man might have ascended to the status of a dark legend. At least, that was the elf's assessment.
"He put up a decent fight, but he was nothing we couldn't handle," Pel blustered.
Having fully grasped the situation, the elf couldn't help but be astonished. It was a shock profound enough to shatter his emotional restraint. Is this actually real?
"You... you killed an apostle?"
"Though he seemed like a fake," Encrid replied.
The elf had asked in sheer disbelief, but Encrid's reaction was entirely nonchalant. What was more, he was being completely sincere. The elf could tell Encrid truly believed his own words. On the surface, it seemed as though Encrid, not the elf, was the one practicing elven stoicism. While the elf's eyes were wide with shock, Encrid remained perfectly calm.
"A fake?"
I highly doubt that.
As the elf pressed further, Luagarne shook her head and called out to Encrid.
"Enki."
"Yeah?"
"When we get back, go spar with Rem."
"I was planning on doing that anyway."
"Then you'll understand."
It was unclear what exactly he would understand, yet at the same time, Encrid felt a vague inkling.
"If this is a fake, then the people who set this up might as well be called the greatest traveling theater troupe on the continent. If not, they are thieves living with their souls mortgaged. Moreover, that armor and the staff the apostle held are incredibly rare treasures."
Ermen's successor had many virtues, but he also had his flaws. He was uncharacteristically talkative for an elf.
Having rattled off his thoughts in a single breath, he looked at Encrid.
"Is that so?" Encrid murmured.
Encrid merely gave a slight nod, but the elf took a deep, sharp breath and launched into another leisurely explanation.
"Yes, that armor is the signature of Black Snake Elle, and the staff in the apostle's hand is crafted from magic metal. Do you know what magic metal is? Ah, this actually happened during my first year as a mercenary in the information guild. The woman at the reception desk back then was named Emily. She was always so blunt with me that I initially thought she despised me. Yes, indeed. I hadn't fully adapted to human society yet, so I was quite clueless. My intuition told me she was fond of me, but her tone was incredibly harsh. Thanks to her, I learned a great deal about human speech and behavior. Especially bedroom etiquette. Ah, not that I fathered a half-elf child or anything. Thanks to Emily looking out for me, I was able to set out on my first mission..."
Elves were not naturally talkative. This was a side effect of his adaptation to the human world. As an elf, he was incapable of lying, yet surviving as a mercenary for an information guild often required deception. After agonizing over this dilemma, he had devised a solution: instead of lying, he would weave a dizzying web of miscellaneous stories to utterly bewilder his listener. Over time, this had hardened into an unbreakable habit.
Since he saw no reason to correct it, he kept it up. Among fellow elves, they would patiently listen to such rambling and easily extract the core message hidden within. Encrid was also capable of grasping the point, but that didn't mean he enjoyed the monologue. The preamble was simply far too long.
"Get to the point," Encrid cut in.
The elf had just been about to describe his second date with Emily.
"Pardon?" the elf blinked. He was highly obedient; after all, this was his idol speaking.
"Condense it."
"Uh, well..."
The elf was momentarily flustered, but realizing there was no need for deception here, he delivered the summary.
"It's expensive."
Watching him, Encrid couldn't help but think that this fellow resembled Krais far more than he did Ermen.
He's like the elven version of Krais.
The single word he chose for his summary was immediately about money. Was it because he had been worn down by the ways of the world? Yet, one couldn't really blame him. Having engaged in commerce on behalf of his clan, this pragmatic way of thinking had become second nature. Besides, it wasn't a bad thing.
Since they had ventured out onto the continent, surviving alongside humans required them to learn communication rather than isolation. It was only natural that their first step would be trade—the exchange of goods. Calculating mutual profit was a far more practical starting point than trying to establish mutual respect right off the bat.
Of course, Encrid didn't dwell on such minutiae. He figured people like Krais or Abnayor would handle those matters. Instead, he simply asked what he was curious about.
"Why is it so expensive?"
"The metal that makes up that staff is capable of absorbing mana. As it continuously absorbs mana, it becomes attuned, which is why some call it a living stone. Others even refer to it as the Philosopher's Stone. Actually, let me correct myself. It's not just expensive—with this, you could easily buy a small castle."
I see. Who would appreciate it most? Esther? Krais? Encrid simply nodded, turning the thoughts over in his mind.
No one else blocked their path on the journey back.
The ripples of the cultist's death would spread across the continent like a gentle drizzle rather than a sudden downpour. He had never been one to operate in the open, preferring to pull strings from the shadows.
Had Encrid not posed such a massive threat, the Apostle of the Advent would never have felt compelled to step forward himself. Conversely, it meant Encrid had thwarted an immense number of the cult's schemes. On a small scale, he had dismantled a Gnoll Colony; on a large scale, he had brought an end to the civil war in Naurilia.
In the process, he had even slain the Apostle of Curses and the Apostle of Forbidden Arts. To the remaining apostles, he was a threat that could no longer be ignored. He had become a problem that demanded immediate resolution, even if it meant putting their other plans on hold. Objectively speaking, it was only natural for an apostle to intervene. In fact, one might wonder why they had waited this long, but that was only because Encrid was an anomaly. No matter what they did, he simply would not die. Curses failed to take hold, and forbidden arts proved utterly useless against him.
Even when they dispatched the most notorious assassins on the continent, the killers only returned with their heads severed. Of course, in reality, Encrid had died countless times, but that was a secret known only to him.
"It's raining," Pel said from the front. Just as he spoke, fat droplets began to patter down. The sight of rain instead of snow felt like the sky's way of announcing the end of winter.
It took a few more days to return to the Border Guard, and once they did, Luagarne witnessed the undeniable proof of Encrid's transformation.
"...This is bloody ridiculous. What on earth did you do out there?"
Rem had been bested. It was the outcome of a one-on-one spar with Encrid. Yet Encrid, standing in an awkward stance, merely frowned.
"Stop holding back. Fight me for real. There's no need to throw the match."
"Hah, fine. Let's fight with our lives on the line, you lunatic!"
That day, Rem went absolutely wild.
*
When it came to sparring rather than a life-or-death struggle, few styles were as formidable as the Wave-Blocking Sword. It was only natural, considering the style had been forged through the crucible of hundreds of regressions and spars.
Just a moment ago, Rem had instantaneously shifted his footwork, aiming to chop down at Encrid's head with his axe while simultaneously stomping on Encrid's instep. It was a clever tactic: if Encrid pulled his foot back to dodge the axe, Rem's right foot would claim the space Encrid had just vacated, securing a positional advantage to press the attack without pause.
Because it was entirely improvised, it was a move that defied anticipation. If the opponent dodged, it was a brilliant way to force them onto the defensive.
The old Encrid would have relied on his sturdy physique, parrying the axe with his sword while letting his foot get stomped, or perhaps backing away to regroup. This time, however, was different.
Encrid lifted his foot to kick Rem's foot away, then deflected the incoming axe with the short sword he had received from the elves. The force behind both of his movements was equal to Rem's, and his timing was impeccable. It was a feat made possible only because he was processing two thoughts simultaneously.
Rem was stunned that his attack had been dismantled in a fraction of a second. Even so, his limbs didn't freeze.
Clang!
The sound of the sword and axe colliding was quiet, yet Rem felt an instantaneous, chilling threat. That threat materialized in the blink of an eye. Harnessing the recoil from deflecting the axe, Encrid drove his short sword straight down.
With no time to dodge and no way to block, Rem desperately grabbed Encrid's wrist with his left hand. Just as he thought he had secured the wrist holding the blade, a sudden impact rattled his forehead.
Crack!
A headbutt. Throwing all tactical calculations out the window, Rem stumbled backward. With stars flashing in his eyes, he swung his axe blindly, but it struck only empty air. That was the end of it. Encrid didn't press his advantage. Instead, he simply watched Rem with a knowing, inscrutable look.
Even though this was just a spar where they couldn't unleash their full power, what had just transpired was deeply unsettling. Though he would never admit it aloud, one fact was undeniable.
Did I just lose?
Rem's pupils dilated. He had never been pushed back like this, not even when fighting that bastard Ragna. Of course, if he were to employ his full arsenal of sorcery, like spirit possession or descent, he wouldn't be overwhelmed like this. Nor could a single headbutt truly dictate a defeat in a real battle. But this was a spar. By these standards, he had effectively lost.
What if Encrid had ruthlessly pressed his advantage after that headbutt? While debating hypotheticals was ultimately meaningless...
I might have actually lost.
Rem corrected his internal estimate. If he had to calculate the odds, his chances of losing were close to eighty percent. Even though he had swung his axe with genuine lethality this time, every single strike had been neutralized.
"Damn, your defense is like a brick wall."
"I call it the Wave-Blocking Sword," Encrid said.
"My axe is fiercer than any wave, you know," Rem grunted.
"Is that so?"
The playfulness drained from their banter. They were dead serious now. Yet, Rem could not overwhelm him. In fact, he felt himself being slowly pushed back.
Uske!
It was an inexhaustible, endlessly welling spring. That was the nature of Encrid's Will. Rem wouldn't go down easily, but he knew that in a war of attrition, he stood no chance.
Even if this weren't a spar, even if we fought to the death, I couldn't beat him.
His innate talent whispered this undeniable truth. How could he not be utterly shocked? What was worse, the weapon in Encrid's hand was a short sword—hardly his primary armament. While Rem recognized the blade as a treasure among treasures, its short length meant Encrid was fighting at a distinct disadvantage in reach.
"Let's go again," Rem said.
Another brief clash ensued. It was, quite literally, a fleeting exchange.
"Enough," Rem grunted, flicking his wrist to slash his axe four times in rapid succession as he leaped backward.
It was a technique he had recently used against Ragna, one that had left the younger man's hands tangled. By channeling divine power through spirit possession, Rem could pack immense, crushing force into those small, rapid movements. Yet, Encrid simply angled his blade, deflecting and parrying every single strike along the axe's bizarre trajectory.
Clang, clack, ting, crash!
It was as if the two weapons had transformed into instruments, pouring out a sharp, metallic melody. Just as Rem brought their exchange to a close—
Audin, who had been quietly praying and reciting scriptures in the corner, had stood up at some point and was watching intently.
On the other side, Ragna, who had been dozing under the warm sunlight, was now on his feet, his hand resting on the grip of his sword.
Even Sachsen had crept to the very edge of the roof, resting his chin on his hands as his eyes gleamed with interest.
All three of them had seen and felt the exact same thing.