Chapter 740: A Life Seized with One's Own Hands Is This Precious
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 740: A Life Seized with One's Own Hands Is This Precious
In the hermits' village, private property was non-existent; the residents shared everything they owned.
Because no one knew what might happen or when, they had hidden away a considerable cache of supplies, hoarding them like squirrels caching acorns for winter. Storage caves, dug beneath massive tree roots or concealed with wooden planks and soil, were finally opened.
‘Since they stay cool even in the summer, they’re perfect for storage.’
They had dug these caves in deep, shady spots where the sun never reached. If one couldn't afford the luxury of cooling magic artifacts, they had to squeeze out every drop of ancestral wisdom to survive. Still, with summer approaching, they had already cleared out anything that spoiled easily.
Thus, though not as abundant as their winter stores, smoked meats and dried fruits the villagers had never seen before made a lavish appearance on the table.
"If we keep eating like this, we won't have anything left for later," one of the villagers muttered. Even in their current predicament, the compulsion to conserve was a hard habit to break.
They had never truly starved. Whether by luck or labor, they had always managed to gather enough fruits and herbs in their hidden valley, and they had even established a quiet trade with passing peddlers. They hunted in moderation, and when times were truly lean, they purified and ate the meat of demonic beasts. After all, as long as the toxicity was removed and the foul taste ignored, demonic beast meat provided enough nutrition to keep a soul in its body.
"Just do as you're told," a timid man whispered, glancing around warily.
Harkvent, acting as their spokesperson, kept his lips tightly sealed as he busied himself filling the table. Their physical activity had increased severalfold over the last few days, and their appetites had grown alongside it. Today, however, the hunger was even sharper.
On the lavishly set table, the children's hands moved first. Soon, everyone was occupied with the meal.
Ah, whatever. Let’s just eat. Even if we die today, at least it won’t be on an empty stomach.
That was the prevailing sentiment. And though they couldn't quite name the reason, a vague hope had begun to take root—a feeling that things might actually work out.
They called it vague, but that was only because they didn't understand the source. If they had looked just a bit closer, they would have realized this hope stemmed entirely from the attitude Encrid displayed. Unless someone was so utterly clueless that they cared more about their own belly than their starving child, the shift in atmosphere was impossible to miss.
Harkvent put a piece of smoked pork tenderloin into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. It was so salty his tongue tingled, prompting him to gulp down water.
‘What we did was training.’
What were they preparing for?
‘Training to fight demonic beasts.’
Of course, anyone with a decent head on their shoulders would have wondered: ‘Can we really fight demonic beasts just by doing this?’
Would standing back-to-back and thrusting spears really change their fate? While some had long since given up on thinking, others could not. Harkvent had passed the stage where anxiety made his stomach ache, but his mind was far from at ease. It felt like lying beneath a roof crudely fashioned from piled dirt.
It’ll be a miracle if it doesn’t collapse.
He felt as though he could be buried alive at any moment, yet whenever he looked over and saw Encrid calmly eating in the distance, a portion of his anxiety vanished.
‘An unusual fellow.’
The man possessed a peculiar knack for putting those around him at ease. Every word he spoke, every action he took, and his steady demeanor radiated a quiet confidence. The very source of their hope was currently sitting among the villagers, a child by his side, casually chewing on his food.
*
Encrid popped a fruit into his mouth, rolled it around with his tongue, and spat out the seed. The saliva-coated pit rolled carelessly across the ground.
The fruit had a wrinkled exterior and chewy flesh surrounding a seed the size of a thumbnail. Its taste was a complex blend of sour, sweet, and astringent, yet it was addictive. It was a wild fruit that had been aged using a specialized local method.
"It's delicious, isn't it?" the child sitting next to him asked.
Beside the boy sat Brunhild, sporting a prominent lump on her forehead instead of a third eye.
"It's similar to a plum," Encrid noted.
The clever-looking boy spoke again. When Brunhild had charged at Encrid earlier, only to be repelled by a single finger, this boy had stepped forward, muttered "That dummy," and defended her.
"She's physically gifted, but she finds using her head a hassle. And she's incredibly stubborn; once she makes up her mind, she can't change direction. That's the flaw of the genius named Brunhild. So, please understand—this was all a misunderstanding."
The boy looked to be thirteen or fourteen at most, with a small frame and thin limbs. He didn't look like he could fight at all.
"Your name?" Encrid asked.
"Eirik."
Encrid had acted like Krais while pushing them into the cave. In other words, rather than preparing for a short-term decisive battle, he had anticipated the future and prepared for the long haul. One could say he drove them like Rem and thought like Krais.
"You grouped people of similar builds who already live closely together to form the formation, right? The goal is to keep them from dying easily. To make them hold out?"
Eirik saw right through it. A cool breeze, unusual for the summer heat, blew past, fluttering the boy's hair. It was blonde hair, so pale it reflected a white light.
An interesting child. Encrid, finding the smoked meat too salty, sandwiched it between slices of herbal bread, chewed, and asked, "And why stick to a circular formation and have them hold spears instead of shields?"
"Since the goal is to confront the demonic beasts and buy time, you want to keep them at a distance. Only a few strong people need to hold shields here and there. We could call the formation the 'Scared Hedgehog.' Keeping them at bay is meant to ensure not a single person dies, but if the line breaks, everyone dies."
"Wouldn't it be better to use bows or slings for that?"
"No. Once you shoot an arrow, there's a gap while you reload. If they could be repelled with stones or arrows, this place wouldn't be as dangerous as it is now."
Eirik possessed the same shining, burning gaze Encrid had seen in Brunhild. Water-colored eyes stared straight at him, sparkling like two lakes reflecting the midday sun. While Encrid's eyes were a deep, dark blue, this boy's eyes were pale and clear.
Before Encrid could respond, the boy asked, "Am I wrong?"
He was a child who hadn't been among those led by Brunhild, nor had he stood out among the training adults until now.
"You are correct."
"That's a relief."
He had asked with such certainty, yet he admitted it was a relief. No, it wasn't just relief. Encrid knew this feeling from his long years with Krais; the child had genuinely doubted his own brilliance.
‘And he was anxious.’
He must have worried about the stranger's true intentions.
‘This is a process of verification.’
Brunhild stepping forward and the boy defending her had likely been part of that process. It was like looking at Krais's childhood. The boy's intellect was extraordinary. Talent is biased; it is never fair, and it always tilts the scales. That was why such coincidences occurred. If Brunhild was born with physical talent, this child possessed an outstanding mind.
"Memorize the formation well. If it falters, everyone dies."
Choosing a tactic that kept the enemy at bay started from the premise that if the enemy closed the distance, it was over.
"What will you do next?" Eirik asked.
No matter how clever a child was, he could not imagine a world beyond what he knew. Eirik couldn't even begin to guess Encrid's next move.
"Predict and deduce. Think with your own head. Filter out what needs to be done."
"If you are planning to take us with you..." The boy paused, gauging Encrid's goodwill.
In a way, such an audacious attitude could be grating, but Encrid's vessel was not so small. Just as he had not envied Brunhild’s physical gifts, he harbored no ill will toward Eirik’s mind.
The child named Eirik tried to measure Encrid's intent. Had he calculated this as well?
‘No, not that.’
From here on, his words were a gamble. He was speaking for the sake of his village, even if it meant risking his life.
"It won't work. We came all the way here because we'd rather die together than live under someone else's thumb. We can't give up what we've built here."
They would rather die than live as slaves in a city again. That was their resolve. Livelihood, foundation, home—they were all different words for the same thing, and their home was here.
For some reason, the words Encrid had heard before leaving Zaun came to mind.
"I'm sorry. I'd like to follow you, but my place is here. That's for sure."
"If you told me to follow you as a slave, I would. But if you tell me to live as Riley Zaun instead, I won't leave Zaun."
"Can I come visit later?"
Had they told him to stay in Zaun instead? Ridiculous fellows. He understood this child's worry, and he knew why Harkvent kept glancing at him. It certainly wasn't because either of them had grown fond of him.
Is he trying to force us from our home? What does he want?
Questions would endlessly swirl in their heads, but if he could have put them at ease with a single word, he would have gathered the villagers and given a speech long ago. Since he couldn't, he left them be. Even if he could, it would be a meaningless waste of time.
Encrid stroked the boy's head and asked, "How old are you?"
"Seventeen."
"...Seventeen?"
"Yes, I'm small for my age, aren't I? It's the source of my inferiority complex. I've been weak and lacked strength since I was a child."
"But you're smart," Brunhild added.
"I can tell without being told," Encrid said. "You should listen to him more."
"I do listen. I listen, but..."
Brunhild wasn't entirely clueless either. Looking at how things were unfolding, the stranger who had taught her spear techniques wasn't doing this out of malice.
The Night of Predation arrived. Though anxiety and fear still coiled in the corners of their hearts, the nature of that fear had changed.
"Demonic beasts!"
Before the two moons could disappear, just before the break of dawn, a mixed pack of wild dogs and wolf demonic beasts—more than fifty in total—invaded the village. Ignoring the traps laid out in the front, they glared from between the trees with glowing red eyes, stamping the ground with thick forepaws.
Those holding spears swallowed hard. Previously, the mere murderous intent and pungent stench of the pack would have made their knees buckle, but not anymore. Over the past fortnight, they had lived in the shadow of a blade far more dangerous than any demonic beast.
Encrid had never neglected to prod the backs of those exhausted from training, casually swinging his sword inches from their noses.
"If you fall, I'll cut you myself. Hold your ground."
To an outsider, it might have looked as though he was determined to torment them, but as a result, everyone who endured it had grown much bolder. Even when facing the demonic beasts, their legs did not tremble.
"Begin!" Harkvent shouted, glaring at the pack.
"Ha!"
With a spirited shout, they gathered in groups of ten to form circles. The human groups, now in formation, faced the pack with their spears leveled. It was a circular wall wrapping around the exterior, keeping those unable to fight safe in the center. Eirik stood at the heart of it all, scanning the surroundings.
‘Holding out.’
He understood the stranger's intention now, but he still didn't know the reason.
‘Is he a sadist?’
Did he want to watch people struggle desperately before dying? Did he want to torment them to death? Or did he plan to kill the survivors with his own blade in the end? All sorts of wild thoughts crossed his mind, but the weak had no choices. They could only struggle to survive.
The stranger had nurtured the strength of the collective, not the individual.
‘Instead of tailoring it to the exceptional, he set the standard based on the weakest, making them move as one.’
Eirik saw it clearly. He was right. An army exerted its true power when the collective became a single entity.
"Rotate!"
"Ha!"
Because they had been pushed to their absolute limits, most were suffering from agonizing muscle aches, yet their minds were clearer than ever before.
Bark!
Four wild dog demonic beasts lunged at the circle. Those holding the spears knew exactly how to thrust. They gripped the shafts with both hands, occupying the space the beasts were trying to enter. Brunhild moved between the groups, correcting those who fell short. Naturally, this was Encrid's doing.
Only then did the adults realize that Brunhild possessed a talent unlike any other child. Defense was handled by the person beside them. They thrust their long spears to block the beasts' approach. Extending to the left and right with precise spacing and speed, the spears became the quills of a hedgehog.
Bark! Yelp!
Compared to monsters, the hides of demonic beasts were soft. Excluding a few exceptional specimens, they were entirely manageable. Furthermore, if the goal was not to kill but to hold out, this was more than enough.
‘Now then.’
Encrid watched those holding their ground from atop a tree. They would not die easily now. The illusion of the Ferryman appeared in the air beside him and spoke.
"Cunning bastard."
Cunning? This was an excellent tactic. It was a tactical application of the Valen-style Mercenary Sword: feigning defeat. Feigning defeat was a unique technique; while appearing to be pushed back, an ally would strike the enemy's exposed flank. Taking the help of others into account was the very essence of the Valen-style.
Many disparaged the Valen-style Mercenary Sword because they only knew a few basic techniques, but they wouldn't be able to do so if they understood the depth of the swordsmanship.
‘It is no exaggeration to say that the Illusion Sword is a Tactical Sword.’
Encrid had already mastered the Illusion Sword to an outstanding level. The problem was that no matter the style, one needed raw strength to utilize it. A piece of iron only had meaning when someone had the power to swing it.
Encrid sharpened his senses from atop the tree. Then, after enough time had passed, he leaped down, killing and driving away the remaining beasts in a blur of steel.
"Haa... haa... hoo..."
Everyone's breathing was ragged, but no one had died. To be precise, there wasn't a single scratch on them. They had held the line.
"We rest today," Encrid said.
It had been practice, just like a real battle. Since he was watching over them, it was safe to call it training. A single real battle was all they needed to believe.
"Waaaaah!"
Cheers erupted—cheers that had never burst forth when they survived by relying on the protection of others. For a life seized with one's own hands was truly that precious.