Chapter 735: Brunhild, You're a Genius
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 735: Brunhild, You're a Genius
A ceiling woven from branches, dry leaves, and leather covered the waist-deep dugout. Sunlight filtered in weakly, barely illuminating half the cramped space.
‘The spots where the thatch is thicker must be pitch-black even during the day.’
Humans cannot live without light. Therefore, they wouldn't spend all their time cooped up inside.
The structure of the dwellings was far from ordinary. Inside, separate hiding spaces branched out like an anthill. Of course, the man named Harkvent hadn't kindly shown him around to explain all this; these were simply details Encrid noticed with a single glance. The Luagarne-style tactical sword naturally forced him to perceive and map his surroundings.
Even if a fight broke out with the man before him, Encrid could kill him with a single gesture regardless of the terrain. Still, that was no excuse to neglect analyzing his environment. Once again, the old maxim came to mind: The sharpest blade that kills a knight is complacency.
‘A good dugout to hide in.’
It was built for survival, not for combat.
Deep inside the hollowed-out dugout, several types of herbs were laid out to dry on a flat patch of dirt, but they had been neglected for so long that they were completely shriveled. To one side, clay tableware, coated in a layer of undisturbed dust, sat neatly arranged. In a corner stood a crude table fashioned from chopped logs.
There was a bed as well, though Encrid would have happily wagered Krais's daily wage that it wasn't stuffed with high-quality straw.
"We don't have much to offer. It's a destitute place."
Encrid read the anxiety and suspicion in Harkvent's eyes. Yet, the man did not outright tell him to leave. Harkvent poured water into a clay cup and set it on the wooden table. The water was clear and tasted surprisingly sweet.
‘They've been settled in this area for quite some time.’
The structure of the dwellings made it obvious. This wasn't a temporary camp; they had lived here for years—at least a few, if not more. Traces of practical survival wisdom were visible everywhere. Their use of Nightmare Herb was one indicator, as were the half-finished traps scattered around.
Amidst the scent of dried leather and herbs, a sharp, unfamiliar aroma pricked his nose. For humans to survive, three basic needs must be met: food, clothing, and shelter.
‘They secure food through hunting and gathering.’
Yet, despite the complete lack of any weaving looms or textile tools, their clothes were in decent shape.
‘Which means there's a merchant guild or a peddler who trades exclusively with this village.’
There were indeed peddlers who made a living solely by traveling between hidden villages. Encrid had encountered them a few times himself.
Harkvent let out a series of shallow breaths, each one heavy with immense worry. His tension was palpable. Clenching his fists, he asked, "Did you... come from the south, by any chance?"
Encrid read the man's apprehension but feigned ignorance as he replied, "I was simply passing through and happened upon this place."
Though summer had arrived, they were deep within the mountain range, where cool winds blew during the mornings and evenings. Of course, since it was currently midday, the interior of this semi-basement dwelling was stiflingly warm. Sweat beaded on Harkvent's forehead, tormented by the dual assault of heat and anxiety. He took another deep breath. This time, it was long and slow—a sigh of relief.
"I suppose so. If you were from the south, we wouldn't even be speaking right now."
To put it simply, these people were fugitives from the south, and Harkvent was their representative—essentially their village chief. Most hidden villages were sanctuaries for criminals or fugitives fleeing the tyrannical extortion of their lords. Fleeing to another city was out of the question; their pursuers would never give up, and they lacked the street-smarts to blend into an urban crowd. For one reason or another, they had chosen the lesser of two evils: rather than living alongside thieves and cutthroats, they chose to make neighbors of demonic beasts and monsters.
Harkvent stroked his golden beard, sweeping it to the right several times as he spoke. It seemed to be an old habit.
"Until the demonic beasts started running rampant like this, it was actually quite livable here."
Deep exhaustion was etched into the man's face. Of the fifty or so villagers, half were women, children, and the elderly. They had never survived through sheer force of arms.
‘Traps and herbs.’
According to Harkvent, their original plan had been to lure the demonic beasts into the village and kill them by dropping them into pit traps. Crude as those traps were...
‘Under normal circumstances, it probably would have worked.’
Encrid agreed with that assessment. However, having fought the pack himself, his perspective had changed. This was a pack capable of coordinated, tactical skirmishes. Even if lured toward these dugout homes, how many of them would actually fall for it? Very few would blindly rush in to be buried alive. They also utilized other traps and poisonous herbs, but...
‘If left to their own devices, they will all die.’
There was no need to rely on intuition or his Sixth Sense to realize this. One only had to recall the leopard demonic beast that had been watching the village from afar. Their chances of survival were practically nonexistent. Originally, they had carved out a living along the boundary between monster and demonic beast territories, but at some point, the demonic beasts had aggressively crossed that line.
‘The demonic beast pack wiped out the monsters.’
That was the only logical conclusion. It was an exceedingly rare occurrence.
"I think you can tell your friends with the clubs outside to stand down. Even if they collapse this ceiling on me, I doubt it would kill me."
"...My apologies. Everyone is just on edge."
The place Harkvent had invited him into as his "home" bore traces of past habitation, but it was also covered in a thick layer of dust. He had been lured into a trap from the very beginning. Still, Encrid didn't blame them. Why would people living in hiding ever welcome a stranger?
Throughout their conversation, Encrid asked a few questions out of genuine curiosity. When asked why they had settled in such a perilous location, Harkvent explained that several valuable herbs grew just behind the village. Just as Encrid suspected, a clever peddler had established a trade route with them. Their dream was to amass enough gold through him to eventually descend to the plains, hire mercenaries, and establish a pioneer village of their own.
It was an ambitious dream. And because of that, it was a dream he wanted to support.
"Would you... care to stay for a few days?"
Harkvent had lived a life where asking for help was a foreign concept. Slavery was still rampant in the south. This man had been born a slave and had fled after losing his parents. Many of the other villagers had also narrowly escaped slavery after southern lords seized their lands. It was a miracle they had managed to flee all the way here and establish a settlement.
If one were to unpack their past struggles, it would easily fill several volumes. How many crises had they faced before finally settling down? How many sleepless nights had they endured? Encrid didn't need to hear the details to understand.
Even though he had just driven off the wild dog demonic beasts, no one cheered. A few let out sighs of relief, but the vast majority remained deeply guarded. It was only natural. For as long as they could remember, they had fought tooth and nail just to survive. In all that time, they had rarely, if ever, relied on the charity of others.
"I will," Encrid nodded without a moment's hesitation.
"We don't have much to offer," Harkvent repeated.
Encrid knew that all too well. The surroundings and the people were different, yet he felt an odd sense of familiarity, as if he had returned to his hometown. The place where he had been born and raised was much the same, making this place feel strangely like home.
*
The dugout that had been prepared as a trap became Encrid's temporary quarters. Perhaps his effortless dispatch of the wild dog demonic beasts had left a deep impression, as several children with glassy, curious eyes began to linger nearby. One of them, a young girl with soot smeared across her face, boldly approached him.
"Mister, how good are you at fighting?"
Her name was Brunhild. Beneath the soot, her skin seemed remarkably pale. She had large eyes and long, slender limbs. She would likely grow up to be quite a beauty. She had approached him while he was sitting on a crude wooden stump he had fashioned near the edge of the village, basking in the sun.
On the surface, he was merely enjoying the sunlight, but internally, he was mentally reviewing the swordsmanship he had refined so far. Still, he didn't mind the interruption.
"Very."
It was difficult to answer a question without any frame of reference, so his response was naturally vague.
"Can you beat my dad?"
She called Harkvent her father. But considering Harkvent had over six such children and no wife, it was easy to deduce that she wasn't his biological daughter. Harkvent possessed a massive build and impressive musculature.
‘He has the build to make a living by the blade on the continent.’
Yet, he had chosen to stay here. Was it out of a sense of responsibility, or perhaps duty? Without prying into the man's heart, there was no way to know. In any case, to answer the girl's question—even if a thousand Harkvents attacked him at once, Encrid wouldn't lose—but his reply was brief.
"I can."
"So you really are strong."
A child's world is small. It was even smaller for a child raised in a hidden village of barely thirty dwellings. Encrid looked into her eyes. He didn't expect anything grand from her, nor did he have any intention of doing her a grand favor. This was merely a whim, a distraction to pass the time while the tangled thoughts in his mind refused to unravel.
"You use a spear?"
A dull piece of scrap metal bound tightly to the end of a crude wooden stick with demonic beast tendons could, technically, be called a spear.
"Yeah!" Her eyes sparkled.
Sensing his approachability, the wariness in her voice faded. Encrid's original plan had been to track down the demonic beasts, exterminate them, and move on, but he hadn't found a single trace of them all morning. It was now the morning of his second day here. He had been contemplating expanding his search radius while continuing to mentally organize his swordsmanship. A small distraction in the meantime wouldn't hurt.
"Did anyone teach you how to use it?"
"No one really teaches me. But I'm good at it on my own."
A child's innocent confidence would normally bring a smile to an adult's face. But in this village, few possessed the peace of mind to smile at her. She was at an age where she desperately craved affection and validation. Would showing a little kindness to soothe her heart hold any meaning for him? He didn't know. He was simply acting on a whim.
"Here, watch this!"
Brunhild gripped the crude spear with both hands. Peculiarly, while one would normally grip a spear shaft with hands spaced far apart, she held it with her hands close together. Because she held it near the very bottom rather than the middle, she struggled to lift its weight, causing the tip to drag along the dirt.
"Can you block this?"
"Give it a try."
He figured he would offer her some encouragement, let her expend some energy, and then tell her to go rest. After all, she was a child who wouldn't stand a chance against even a single wild dog demonic beast.
Holding the very end of the shaft, Brunhild suddenly spun her body. Encrid's eyes widened slightly. Bracing the shaft against her waist, she moved as if coiling a whip. Even before the motion was complete, Encrid saw the trajectory.
She was going to swing the spear with perfect leverage. The tip was aimed precisely at his abdomen. A split second later, that was exactly what happened.
Lacking the raw strength to bend the shaft, she spun her entire body to generate centrifugal force, channeling that momentum to drive the spearhead forward with remarkable speed. It was the absolute best strike she could have delivered with her underdeveloped muscles and crude weapon. The slight wobble in the shaft was due to her malnourished, untrained body. Yet, despite her lack of strength, she had devised a technique that maximized what little power she had.
Clack.
Encrid reached out and caught the shaft just below the metal tip. No matter how brilliant her technique, she posed absolutely no threat to him.
"Whoa. You caught it with one hand."
The girl's eyes sparkled with even greater intensity. He had seen Harkvent handle a spear. But in terms of pure technique, this child was already a cut above him.
‘She's a natural.’
Without any instruction, she had figured out how to wield a spear entirely on her own. Her innate grasp of distance, despite having zero real combat experience and little to no sparring... her intuitive understanding of how to manipulate the shaft and leverage her own body weight...
"Brunhild, you're a genius."
Encrid uttered the very words he had been told when he was young. The spontaneous praise left him with a strange sense of déjà vu. Remembering the lifetime of hardship that had begun with that single phrase, he quickly added, "Ah, well... actually, just forget I said that."
It was a purely reflexive response. That was how deeply Brunhild's talent had shocked him.
"Huh? I've never heard anyone say that before."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah."
It made sense. There was no one here who would ever say such a thing to her. In this tiny, struggling village, who would have the time to listen to her, watch her grow, and nurture her talent? No one could.
Then, a thought occurred to him.
‘Ultimately, it is a person who wields swordsmanship.’
The core of any weapon art lay in the fundamental principles of leverage and movement. In other words, even if she wielded a spear instead of a sword, teaching her wouldn't be difficult.
‘Should I teach her a thing or two?’ he found himself wondering.