Chapter 773: Feigning Illness
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 773: Feigning Illness
The Demonic Spirit possessed martial prowess on par with a knight, and this was the Demon Realm. Just as elves drew upon the forest’s essence, she commanded the very air of the Demon Realm, using it as her vital energy.
This land was her battlefield—an environment that favored her in every way.
The fallen elf, her hands still crackling with the remnants of black lightning, was certain she could cut down several of her opponents single-handedly. Even if they had managed to breach the castle wall and one of the witches had already fallen, personal combat was an entirely different matter.
Moreover, her specialty was one-on-one duels.
Though the fallen elf had been momentarily startled earlier, she now exuded a calm composure born of absolute confidence. She showed that while a few insults might anger her, they could not shake her resolve.
To anyone who had ever held a sword or survived a few battles, the sheer scale of her martial power was obvious. The clues were impossible to miss.
"I will handle this alone. This is my duty," Sinar declared.
Ragna showed no interest in the fight from the start, while Audin and Teresa knew better than to interfere with another’s resolve.
Encrid glanced at Sinar before shifting his gaze toward the blue-eyed witch. Does she have another trick up her sleeve? It seemed likely. Judging by their behavior so far, it was almost a certainty. And the one they called the Apostle wouldn't simply stand by and watch, either.
The Demonic Spirit scanned the others standing beyond the "lowly clan member" before her. There were many threats to account for. Some were occupied with the modified monsters in the rear, while a bear beastman was busy tearing a crystal armor golem apart with his bare hands, crushing the aberrant lump of flesh that spilled from its core.
"The Lord shall welcome you all!" the beastman roared, his voice laced with madness.
Elsewhere, a man was leisurely crossing the battlefield, making a direct line for the Apostle. Every one of them was an exceptionally skilled fighter.
Taking on three or more at once will be difficult, the Demonic Spirit calculated.
Her plan formed instantly: she would gather mana from a distance, loose her arrows, and pick them off one by one. Aside from her dueling skills, her swiftness was her greatest asset.
One arrow for the man approaching the Apostle, two for the bear beastman. Then, I’ll find an opening to kill the shield-wielding half-breed and strike the backs of the two dealing with the monsters.
In the meantime, the remaining witch would buy her the necessary time. It was a logical tactic designed to secure a certain victory. She was clever, and her plan was sound. However, formulating a plausible plan and actually executing it were two very different things.
"You're using your head," Sinar remarked, noting the shifting eyes of the Demonic Spirit.
Seeing how the creature calmly assessed the situation despite her earlier rage, Sinar knew the fallen elf was no fool. However, it was deeply unpleasant to realize she wasn't even being viewed as a primary threat. Sinar could tell the fallen elf saw her as a mere weed—something that didn't even need to be plucked, but would simply wither away if ignored.
"Ah, right. I forgot there was a lowly clan member here."
At Sinar’s words, the Demonic Spirit finally refocused on her.
Sinar’s intuition had been correct. The Demonic Spirit did not consider an elf who did nothing but spout insults to be dangerous. Although they had diverged so long ago that they were practically different species, Demonic Spirits and elves still shared many traits. Their roots, after all, were the same.
She knew exactly how pathetic an elf could be when deprived of their vital energy. She intended to simply slit Sinar's throat in passing and move on to the next target. If possible, she might even tear that mouth open—widening it permanently. That sharp tongue had been far too annoying.
Reading the murderous intent radiating from her opponent, the corners of Sinar’s mouth curled into a faint, knowing smile.
Deciding there was no need for further words, the Demonic Spirit closed the distance and swung her sword. Her movements were a succession of light steps and simple strikes, yet her speed and unpredictability were nearly identical to Sachsen’s earlier display.
There was no sound of feet striking the earth, no whistle of a blade cutting the air. Her approach was as silent and natural as a shadow. Just as one cannot block the wind with a bare hand, it felt as though the Demonic Spirit’s blade was unstoppable.
As the blade fell, the face of the ethereal elf was split in two.
There was no sound. Only a blurry afterimage remained.
Blending into the environment to move in an instant was originally an elven specialty—though it was the Demonic Spirit who had just demonstrated it. The split head of the elf faded into nothingness.
Sinar had leaped to the side, leaving the afterimage behind. With her smile still intact, she shifted her Leaf Sword.
Known as the Sword of the Four Seasons, the weapon transitioned through spring, summer, and autumn before finally reaching winter. The leaf-like Naidel, symbolizing spring, transformed into the Needle—a sharp, piercing thorn symbolizing winter.
This transformation was only possible because of the vital energy Sinar possessed. The Naidel in her hand had already narrowed into a lethal, elongated point.
The Needle thrust straight forward. The Demonic Spirit raised her mottled, dark-gray sword to parry.
Clang—!
With a sharp, brief ring of metal, Sinar froze in her thrusting posture. The Demonic Spirit held her sword horizontally, peering at Sinar over the flat of her blade. A deep, primal urge seethed within her dark pupils—a raw bloodlust.
Just as a dark light began to seep from her demonic eyes, a vibrant green flare ignited in Sinar’s gaze. A soft, emerald glow began to flow along the length of the Needle.
Suddenly, amidst the fishy, stagnant stench of the Demon Realm, the crisp, refreshing scent of a forest began to spread.
"……."
The Demonic Spirit’s eyes widened. Shock returned to her face. Sinar, maintaining her calm smile, murmured softly.
"Did you think I entered this place unprepared? My name is Sinar Kirhais. On behalf of all the children of flowers and trees, I shall take the life of the one who betrayed our clan so long ago."
As their blades remained locked, Sinar savored the vital energy infused in her sword. She had not come this far empty-handed. She had been hoarding her strength because she didn't have enough to expend it twice; she had packed her sword to the brim with the forest’s essence.
Her constant leaning on Encrid’s shoulder, her complaints of headaches from the Demon Realm’s air—none of it had been an act.
Feigning illness.
Of course, Encrid, watching from a distance, had every reason to think exactly that.
She was hiding power like that, yet whimpering about being sick? What a faker.
Sinar had whined so much lately that he couldn't help but think it twice. She acted more like a twelve-year-old than a being several centuries old. Yet, seeing her step forward now, she looked far beyond "fine"—she was practically bursting with vitality.
The blades of the two warriors clashed again. Two distinct colors drew lines in the air, meeting and parting in a blur of motion.
Thud.
The sound was muffled, but the impact was immense. A gale erupted between them—a bizarre wind that was half-foul stench and half-forest fragrance.
From what Encrid could see, Sinar wasn't going to lose. Of course, no fight was decided until the final blow, and a gap in skill didn't always guarantee victory. Still, he trusted her. He respected her wish to settle this alone.
The embers that had been crackling in the sky had faded. The flickering light died out. And just before the last traces of those embers vanished—
"I'll chew you all to pieces!"
It was the shriek of the remaining witch. The death of her red-eyed sister had ignited a frantic fury. She waved her hands repeatedly, chasing after Sachsen’s trail. Psychokinesis coalesced around her palms, and winds as sharp as razors whipped through the air.
Sachsen responded with the standard strategy for dealing with spellcasters: he immediately widened the distance and moved in erratic curves to break her line of sight. He was running at full tilt.
The witch did not lose him. Instead of trying to track his movements with her eyes, she simply blanketed the entire area in a spell.
"You cannot remain noble alone among the crows!"
This was not a borrowing spell that drew upon an external entity, but a creation spell. As the magic spread, Sachsen realized that hiding was futile. He might have managed it if he pushed himself, but there was no need to overdo it yet.
The witch’s spell scattered a fine, dust-like substance that left visible traces whenever anything moved. No matter how well one hid their presence, a physical body could not avoid disturbing the dust.
Sachsen shifted his focus entirely to evasion. When an armored skeleton blocked his path, he dismantled its bones mid-stride, tripped others, and continuously dodged the incoming spells.
Then, as light flashed from the witch’s hand, Sachsen sensed a lethal threat. He grabbed a nearby skeleton soldier to use as a shield and rolled across the ground. The beam of light incinerated the monster instantly, leaving only a flickering afterimage in its wake.
Bang!
As bone fragments shattered by the blast flew through the air, Encrid began to move. Though he hadn't coordinated with Sachsen, their long time fighting together allowed for seamless cooperation. While Sachsen drew the witch’s ire, Encrid approached from her blind spot, aiming for her back.
It was a perfect pincer movement.
His physical condition was stable. He wasn't seriously injured, and his Will had begun to recover. While he wasn't at his absolute peak, Encrid knew that for a man who lived by the sword, the "present" was always the best state he had. He had to believe that.
Unless one could always fight perfectly rested and well-fed, one had to perceive the current moment as the absolute best. This was a truth he had realized while pouring out Krona. That very mindset was essential to wielding Will. Since a knight’s vow influenced their power, their daily mental state was paramount.
His forearms, which had been venting steam earlier, felt stiff, but he dismissed it as a completed warm-up.
"How dare you, how dare you, how daaaare yooouuu!"
The blue-eyed witch shrieked, flailing her limbs like a madwoman. Then, her voice suddenly dropped into a calm, chilling chant. She was a textbook example of a fractured personality.
"Dog of Huarin."
Her dual nature was a testament to her insanity. Wind whipped up from beneath her feet, fluttering her hair and billowing her robes. As she stretched out her hands, a thick, black liquid dripped from her fingertips, and hounds made of soot began to rise from the earth.
It was a spell Encrid had seen many times—a common tool of cultists in the West. The only difference was that these hounds were a dark, visceral red, looking far more feral and ferocious.
Encrid remained unmoved. He simply swung his sword to deflect, slash, and cut them down as he advanced. The magical beasts lunged with black fangs bared, but Encrid met them with Dawn Forge. Elegant lines were carved into the air, and anything his blade touched scattered into dust.
The witch was no fool; she immediately followed up with physical spells. Boulders rumbled and rose from the collapsed castle wall, hurtling toward him.
The problem was their speed. Compared to the arrows of black lightning he had faced earlier, these boulders were slow. Encrid stepped aside, placed a hand on a passing rock, and used a burst of strength to redirect it. The boulder rolled into a pack of human-faced dogs, crushing nearly a dozen of the monsters.
"Kaaah!"
The witch’s eyes rolled in a frenzy, but she was powerless to stop them. Encrid cut through her spells as he advanced, and whenever an opening appeared, silent daggers flew from Sachsen on the other side. She employed every hex and curse in her arsenal, but she could not halt their steady advance.
Finally, she resorted to the same desperate tactic as her sister.
With a sickening crack, her bones twisted and her body began to bloat. Black, bloody froth bubbled from her torso, and six additional hands burst from her back. Those hands rapidly began weaving seals, manifesting a forbidden art—a spell to summon a portion of a demon’s true power.