Chapter 763: Bran's Cousin
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 763: Bran's Cousin
"He's ten times more interesting than that Hawk's Claw bastard," Rem muttered.
Hawk's Claw—that was the alias of the man who had rained arrows down upon the battlefield of Azpen. It was a name that still lingered in a corner of Encrid's memory. Back then, on that field of slaughter, those arrows had felt like the reach of the Grim Reaper itself.
But comparing those days to the present made no sense. Too much had changed.
I can block it, Encrid judged.
No one here would die from that arrow. The one most likely to be targeted was Luagarne, but even if she were struck, it would be futile. She was a Frok; her race could easily shrug off most wounds. The regenerative power of a well-trained Frok was second only to that of a troll.
"Heh."
Rem let out a chilling chuckle, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. Murderous intent leaked from his expression and his sharp gaze. It seemed he wanted to tear apart any archer he laid eyes on. In any case, when Rem said someone was "ten times more interesting," it was safe to translate that as "ten times more dangerous."
Encrid stared at the wall of trees and pondered. How far is it?
He had heard the sound, but pinpointing the source was difficult. Still, it couldn't be too far. It had to be within bowshot and in an environment ideal for firing. Those two conditions had to be met. In that case, were they shooting from a high vantage point?
His Luagarne-style Tactical Sword, which had now evolved into Encrid-style Orthodox Swordsmanship, naturally initiated a tactical analysis.
A perfect prediction is impossible.
It was difficult to discern the enemy's intentions or the exact situation. Then again, it didn't really matter. This was the Demon Realm; there was no need to be surprised if something defied his expectations.
"Because the worst-case scenarios keep flashing through my mind, I struggle to prevent them."
That was the answer Krais had given when Abnayor once asked about his thought process. Their conversation had taken place right in front of Encrid, and it had been fascinating to overhear, highlighting the stark difference in their mentalities.
Encrid interpreted Krais's words in his own way.
I need a broader vessel.
He needed to expand his capacity. He would let the branching thoughts spread as they willed, but he would accept whatever outcome they reached. He had to ensure that whatever filled that vast vessel did not overflow.
It feels as though the Sword of Chance is blending into it.
Accepting everything within one's tactical intent felt exactly like that. Though he had categorized his swordsmanship through Jeong-Jung-Hwan-Kwae-Yu, in the end, all of it was merely the act of swinging a blade. And the one swinging that blade was the person holding it.
Did it absolutely have to be divided into five? Was categorization the only answer?
Such questions arose, though they weren't the kind he could resolve in an instant. Yet, his heart raced during this brief moment of contemplation. It felt as though a fascinating spark of insight was about to ignite.
Whatever it was, now was the time to focus.
The Demon Realm confounded human senses. Though he was gradually adapting, the sensitivity of his five senses—starting with his sense of direction—was entirely different from the outside world. His senses of smell and taste felt dulled, and the visual information entering his eyes was dizzyingly distorted. It was as if the domain itself harbored a primal hostility toward them.
And the enemy would know this.
Do they need time?
Indeed. Given time, the intruders would adapt to this level of discomfort. The enemy would anticipate that. The purpose of the arrow was to halt their advance and pin them down. But were they really confident they could bind them with arrows alone?
"Tsk!"
The sound cut through his brief contemplation. Though his thoughts had been deep, only a few breaths had passed since Rem’s comment.
Encrid and the others snapped their gazes in one direction—toward Pel and Ropode. Hidden behind a massive tree, the two of them were looking down at the tree roots wrapping around their legs.
Encrid saw it too. Roots bursting through the violet soil wriggled wildly. Though stiffer than snakes, their movements were far too agile for mere vegetation. The roots tightened around Pel and Ropode's ankles, attempting to crush them.
Simultaneously, with a creaking groan, long, drooping branches above them bent downward like nooses. The dark brown wood twisted and lunged at their necks with incredible speed. While not as fast as an arrow, they were faster than a grown man’s punch. They looked incredibly tough, judging by the gnarled texture of the bark.
The trees had come alive, launching a hostile assault.
Pel sucked in a sharp breath. Getting caught wasn't entirely their fault; the Demon Realm disoriented the senses, and it was hard to anticipate roots stealthily creeping beneath the earth.
They were caught, but so what?
As Pel drew breath, he swung his sword in a wide, circular arc. The downward strike was loose but heavy with his body weight, while the upward follow-through was swift and fierce. It was a stroke designed to sever both root and branch in a single motion.
Thud! Crack!
Two distinct sounds overlapped. Idol Slayer was an exceptional sword, and the one wielding it was a master. No matter how tough the roots were, they could not withstand the deliberate strike of a knight. With the restraints severed, Pel broke free.
Ropode moved with similar precision. His weapon was also outstanding. Though not an imprinted weapon, Ropode's sword possessed a terrifying edge. It was a blade with an edge of truesilver and a core of Valerian steel—a masterpiece crafted by a dwarf who had poured three months of labor into its tempering.
That sword also traced a wide circle, shearing through the wood. The only difference was that Ropode maintained a constant, steady speed throughout the arc. There was no lack of power. Had Roman been there, he would have been astonished by the strike.
Though he had only recently awakened to it, Ropode was a knight often referred to as a "disaster." Will infused his trained muscles, granting him monstrous physical strength.
Crack! Snap!
Branches and roots were severed, spraying black sap into the air. Pel and Ropode retreated, scattering to the left and right. Right on cue, as if by design, two more bolts of black lightning shot toward them, targeting the exact spots where they were evading.
Boom!
Encrid’s body moved on its own before he could even consciously decide to block. Since Pel was closer, he lunged in that direction. Several thoughts flashed through his mind simultaneously.
The enemy is watching us.
If they are watching, they know we are outsiders.
They know we need time to adapt to the air of the Demon Realm.
It was an extension of his earlier reasoning. His thoughts rushed toward a single conclusion: they intended to pin them down using a combination of arrows and tree monsters, keeping them trapped until they were picked off.
But who in their right mind would let them have their way?
Crack! Boom!
As Encrid moved with absolute intent, the ground beneath his feet exploded. His body tore through the heavy air as if teleporting. Dawn Forge struck the lightning. A sky-blue light clashed against the black bolt.
Crash!
A deafening explosion erupted. He didn't just deflect it; he struck it down. The arrow Encrid hit slammed into the dirt and bounced away.
Almost simultaneously, Audin blocked the second arrow aimed at Ropode. White light coalesced in his hand, forming a large sphere that blasted the arrow aside.
Bang!
The light in Audin's hand scattered like a torn ball of yarn, flickering before vanishing. It was the price of withstanding the arrow's force—it looked as if the realm itself was dispersing his divine power, asserting that even for a God of War, this was no holy domain.
"An insidious opponent, Brother."
Audin wore an expression he rarely showed. Though his mouth smiled, his habitual eye-smile was gone, revealing cold, pale yellow eyes.
Encrid felt a sharp vibration tingling in his palm and inspected the blade of Dawn Forge. If the impact was enough to numb his grip, had the blade been damaged?
Well, look at that.
Catching the faint, dull sunlight, the blade radiated a pure sky-blue hue. It was completely unchanged from the day he had received it from Eitri.
Not even a scratch?
The humming blade seemed to answer him: it would never break, no matter the foe. Encrid was deeply pleased.
"It will not break," Eitri had said. Perhaps those weren't words of mere encouragement, but a simple, objective fact. Eitri had wielded Will as a blacksmith. Those who poured their entire being into their craft often used Will without even realizing it. And when it came to Will, nothing was more important than belief.
The determination never to lose. The resolve never to give up. These were the foundations of Will. It was only natural for the sword—forged by Eitri burning his own life force and inheriting Encrid's Will—to display such confidence.
A sword that will never break.
In the elven tongue, was it called Infrates? The elven blacksmith, Lafratio, had mentioned it once during a discussion on legendary weapons. In the eastern or southern tongues, it meant "Immutable." Beyond simply not breaking, it meant remaining eternally unchanged.
That was why he loved this sword. It fit perfectly in his hand. He had no need for the divine weapons of legend.
The trees moved like the Wood Guards he had seen in the elven village, using their branches like massive hands to slam downward.
"Do I look like an easy target to you?" Pel asked, standing defiantly beneath them. He had stopped mid-evasion. In truth, he hadn't needed anyone to block the arrow for him. Had he shown a slight opening? Perhaps, but not enough to kill him. He was fully capable of overcoming this on his own.
Am I a burden?
He would never admit to that. If he struggled, it was simply because his training was still lacking. An intense desire for self-improvement and competitive drive surged within him, blending with his Will and coursing through his body.
The dark brown tree giants rose, using their roots like feet. Dirt and stones sprayed in all directions.
"Indeed," Ropode replied from the other side. He was in a similar state of mind. His pride was wounded. Do these tree bastards take us lightly?
The two of them drew their swords, thrusting and slashing. The exterior of the tree giants was hard, but not enough to withstand a knight's blade.
Thud! Crack! Splat!
Amidst the dull noises, the wood split apart, spraying black sap. Encrid watched the collapsing giants, then turned to Sinar.
"They look like Bran's cousins, don't they?"
Though their appearances differed, their structure was similar to the Wood Guards, the tree elves. Were they relatives? Or just another type of monster? There were countless trees nearby, and the entire wall of forest began to wriggle and move.
A wave of wood surged forward. Roots tore through the soil, crawling along the ground, while sharp branches sliced through the air, reaching out to "welcome" their guests. The problem was that this welcome was less of a greeting and more of a violent impalement to suck them dry.
A faint crease formed between Sinar's brows. She drew her Leaf Sword. The blade seemed to slice through the very air of the Demon Realm as it emerged, her Will infused within the steel.
"I wondered why the air felt so ominous," Sinar muttered, locking eyes with Encrid. "It seems there is something I recognize beyond that wall."
Encrid didn't press her. They would see it soon enough. For now, they had to deal with the horde. How? By cutting them down. Ropode and Pel had already proven they could die.
"Looks like we'll each have to handle about fifteen of them," Rem said, estimating the numbers.
"I'll kill thirty. I suppose that is the duty of a vice-commander," Ragna interjected. His tone wasn't arrogant, but his words were grating nonetheless.
Ever since he showed off that fire blade, he's been acting like this. Rem's eyes darkened, his murderous intent becoming palpable.
"Is your head just a decoration? I knew you were an idiot ever since you babbled that nonsense about being terminally ill, but do you even think before you speak? You bastard, who said they couldn't kill thirty? Read the room. I was giving a rough estimate so the numbers would add up."
"Understood. Mere member."
Rem's molars ground together. "And I'm the vice-commander. Duty, my ass. Does that word even suit you? Duty? Duuuuuty?"
"You're an eyesore. I wouldn't mind cutting you down before we fight the trees."
"Give it a try."
They stared each other down in a silence so thick not even the wind could pass through. The surrounding air froze, and the dust settled quietly.
The approaching horde of tree monsters actually hesitated for a moment. Why are those two fighting each other instead of us? If they had mouths, they might have asked.
The monsters weren't actually bewildered, of course; it was simply that the sheer, crushing intimidation radiating from the two men created a formless pressure that caused the beasts to falter.