Chapter 794: Trust and Weapons
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 794: Trust and Weapons
Just before Encrid’s blade met the Balrog’s—at the precise moment the interlocking gears of fate clicked into place—Sinar moved.
She swung her Leaf Sword, parrying the embers raining down upon her.
Thud, sizzle.
The black embers threatened to incinerate the Leaf Sword, but her remaining essence flared, extinguishing the flames.
‘If these keep piling up, Naidel will burn.’
With her essence running dangerously low, she had no choice but to be cautious. Sinar looked ahead. Even stray sparks like these were a threat she had to avoid, yet there was a man fighting right in front of her, facing the inferno head-on.
Every elf eventually faces a moment in life when they must burn their very existence. But the man before her looked as if he had already become the spark itself.
"Good. Very good."
The elf’s whisper was low, barely audible over the roar of battle. Dodging the sparks, she lashed out with her Leaf Sword toward the flame whip. Stepping back with her left foot, she pivoted into an upward diagonal slash. The whip twisted like a living snake, slithering past her blade.
Pulling back her swing, Sinar kicked off the ground and retreated. It was the nimble, ethereal footwork of an elf.
Crack!
Tearing through the air, the whip grazed the exact spot where she had stood a heartbeat ago.
The green light coating the Leaf Sword flickered precariously. It was a dying glow, looking as if it might vanish at any moment.
‘This is bad.’
Her body was far from its peak. Even in the heart of a forest, victory wouldn't be guaranteed, and now she had completely exhausted the essence she had gathered in her sword.
Yet, if she collapsed here, she would never be worthy of standing beside that man—the one who lived like a blazing spark.
Sinar’s eyes darted between the flame whip and the Balrog’s movements—each of which sent a primal shiver down her spine—as she searched for a way to contribute.
‘What is the best I can do right now?’
Cool down. This isn't the time for a racing heart; it's the moment for a cold, calculating mind.
‘Am I of any help right now?’
No. I can't even dream of interfering in my fiancé's fight. I can't take a blow for him up there, either. With my current essence, even buying time would be a struggle.
‘If I can't help...’
‘...then I must at least stay out of the way.’
With light, rhythmic taps, Sinar’s feet moved nimbly. Regardless of her lack of essence, her physical martial arts were peerless. She kicked a pebble off the ground, launching it toward the flame whip as she flipped through the air. As she spun in a blur of motion, the whip found an opening and shot toward her like a lethal arrow.
Boom, boom, boom!
A series of explosions rang out, circles of fire erupting one after another along the whip’s trajectory. It was like a knight’s lance thrusting with murderous intent—or a javelin thrown with the strength of a giant.
Crash!
Once again, the tip of the whip was intercepted by a shield layered with brilliant white light. Reading the trajectory perfectly, the shield of divine power met the whip dead center, blocking it cleanly. It was a feat possible only for one who possessed both exceptional mastery over divine power and absolute physical control.
"It is called the Holy Light Shield, sister."
The one who had intervened was Audin. He smiled, his field of vision expanding to encompass the entire clearing. He, too, had been watching Encrid’s battle, and he could feel that the momentum radiating from it was far from ordinary.
‘A solid stone wall.’
It was as if Encrid had built a fortress inside his body, his Will interlocking perfectly with his honed muscles.
‘The transformation of Will.’
Uske and Indules.
The two ancient words referred to the stages of training one's Will. Uske meant an Inexhaustible Will—to steel one's resolve until it felt infinite.
‘And Indules refers to the transformation of that Will.’
Though distinct from Will, a similar concept existed within divine power: the Sanctuary Declaration. Audin couldn't use it yet. While individual capability was paramount, the conditions for its manifestation were incredibly demanding.
Regardless, Audin clearly saw Encrid’s transformation. He also grasped the opportunity Encrid had carved out.
As the flame whip rebounded off the shield and lashed out again, Audin batted it away with the back of his hand. The divine power coating his skin neither melted nor scorched under the whip’s heat. However, his sleeve caught fire and began to incinerate.
Since he couldn't protect his clothing entirely, his attire—already ruined from breaching the castle wall—was reduced to tatters.
Audin deflected the whip and ripped off his upper garment, tossing the burning fabric aside.
Riiip!
With the sound of tearing seams, his upper body was revealed. His torso, crisscrossed with various scars, was living proof that the path he had walked was paved with hardship.
Audin intended to buy time for Sinar.
Even if Sinar were captured or injured, no one here would easily lose focus or crumble.
‘Still, it would affect them psychologically.’
It was preemptive prevention. While Encrid held off the Balrog, Audin found his own role. His job was to act as the counterweight, maintaining the balance at the center of the battlefield.
Whether through defense or offense, he had to become the anchor.
"Lord Father, borrow a trick from the God next door and bestow it upon me."
This was the moment the God of Scales was needed.
Following his bizarre prayer, the Holy Light flowing from his body radiated a brilliance far denser than before. The light coalesced, manifesting in the place of his clothes. It was a Holy Armor—a demonstration that he had no need for physical steel or garments.
Thus, Audin stood at the center of the formation. Once again, the board was set: Encrid was blocking the Balrog to his front-right, while the flame whip watched for an opening directly ahead.
While blocking the Balrog’s sword, fists, and feet, Encrid also kept the whip’s attacks in mind. He intended to block everything that dared to pass near him.
This was evident in the way he shifted his feet or twisted his waist at split-second intervals, moving with uncanny precision.
While Audin anchored the center, Rem, whose wits were twice as sharp as anyone else's, had already leaped far back.
Keeping his distance and measuring the gap—his positioning was a product of cold, simple calculation.
He hadn't worried about Sinar’s safety from the start. If she were to die from something like this, she wouldn't deserve to be called the Captain’s fiancée. And just as expected, she had found her own role.
Instead of foolishly rushing in to "help," she had retreated to safety.
‘Retreating is also a tactic.’
Fighting to the death wasn't always the answer.
If necessary, one had to survive even if it meant throwing a handful of sand into the enemy’s eyes.
They couldn't resort to such tricks when fighting for honor, but didn't they say that the cheers of victory only ring out for the survivors? That the Goddess of Fortune smiles only upon the living?
There was even a mercenary joke that seeing the Goddess smile after you were dead was utterly meaningless.
For they said the God of War welcomes the dead, but the Goddess of Fortune always watches over the living.
‘So don't feel hurt just because I'm striking from afar.’
It was a flimsy self-justification wrapped in the names of the gods, but it served its purpose.
Rem unleashed his sorcery power. He would likely be bedridden for a long time after this fight ended, but now was not the time for such concerns.
Through spirit possession, he channeled the power of a god into his entire body. Sorcery power was both the foundation and the vessel. If left empty, the power of a god would fill it.
To be precise, it was closer to pouring all his strength into reinforcing the vessel rather than emptying it, but no matter how much one explained the trick, those without the talent would never grasp it.
Spirit possession in the West was a feat reserved for an extremely small fraction—the geniuses—among the sorcery-wielding clans. It was just as difficult to master as Indules.
‘Descent, right here.’
Spirit possession is received through the body, while descent is received through space and tools. A ritual tool crafted through meticulous sacrifice was more than enough to serve as a vessel for descent.
A bizarre pattern surfaced in Rem’s eyes, and his shadow transformed into a figure with long arms and a small frame.
In the West, there are eight divine generals, including Grime. They represent the pinnacle of Western sorcery. The one he had summoned through spirit possession was one of them: the ancestor of slingers, the one who brought down the flying divine general, the small giant—the ‘Sky-Flier.’
He pulled out a ritual tool carved from Ink Gold, loaded it into his sling, and began to spin it. Every movement was seamless.
Whoosh, whoosh—whirrrrr!
Two discs hovered in Rem’s hands. However, he couldn't throw them immediately.
‘Now, show me something interesting.’
He waited. If he threw them now, he might hit his allies in the back of the head. No, there was a high probability he would crack his allies’ skulls open.
Even from a distance, he could tell: this Balrog bastard was a master of combat. He would know exactly how to turn his opponents’ coordinated attacks against them.
Rem gathered all information, searching for an opening, but none appeared.
One cannot move forward in pitch-black darkness without a single ray of moonlight. It was like falling into a deep lake where one could no longer distinguish up from down.
Only when someone grabbed your hand and pulled would you finally be able to rise above the surface.
With Audin taking his place in the center, Ragna stood behind him, Sinar retreated, and Sachsen vanished without leaving a single trace.
The flame-shrouded whip lashed out left and right as if it were alive, flicking its tongue once toward Audin and once toward Encrid. That tongue was so intensely hot that a mere graze would scorch flesh and heat the air to a boil.
Before long, the air grew stifling. The acrid scent of sulfur thickened. The fragrance Sinar had released was pushed back. Instead of spreading outward, the Holy Light wrapped tightly around Audin’s body.
Because of this, the Balrog’s shadow seemed to encompass and dominate the entire area. It was a subjective feeling, but for a knight of their caliber, such sensory perceptions were reality. Suddenly, the creature’s movements changed. A warning rang out in Rem’s senses: the Balrog’s swordplay had shifted.
Rem’s thoughts accelerated, his pupils dilating as he deciphered the flood of visual information. The movements of the Balrog appeared to stutter. In an instant, a motion of a completely different speed began. The distance between the Balrog’s feet shifted. Extending his left foot diagonally backward to plant it, he stamped the ground with his right foot and brought his sword down.
‘Overhead Slash.’
Power, speed, and exquisite technical precision.
Utilizing his long limbs, he swung his sword, extending it to the absolute limit of his reach. A standard Overhead Slash involved stepping forward to strike, but he had executed it while stepping backward. One could tell just by looking at his center of gravity. It was a masterfully skilled execution.
‘Even if blocked, he’ll be pushed back.’
Something as extraordinary as Rem's own spirit possession had just manifested on the Balrog’s sword. Will had coalesced to form a blade. The creature’s eyes narrowed into long slits, flickering with malice. As the tip of the Balrog’s sword came straight down toward Encrid’s head, Rem had to make a choice.
‘Action, or trust?’
Encrid had said he would block it. He had told Rem to strike from afar.
The discs were ready; if he threw them now, he could prevent Encrid from crumbling under that single blow and dying instantly.
The discs remained in his hands. In that split second, watching the scene through accelerated thoughts, Rem endured. He chose trust.
At the same time, Encrid became a wall of solid stone. The intangible power within him—his Will—had transformed into an immovable object.
Encrid raised his sword diagonally, blocking the Balrog’s blade.
Screeech.
No sparks flew, and there was no explosive roar. Instead of an ear-splitting crash, only a sound like a snapping harp string echoed between the two swords.
The two intangible forces had clashed and ground to a halt. An opening appeared. The moment Encrid blocked the sword, Audin snatched the tip of the flame whip.
Sizzle!
A bizarre sight unfolded as the flames burned through the Holy Light. White smoke billowed from Audin’s hand as he gripped the whip.
‘An opening.’
Rem recognized it the instant it appeared, and his hands moved on instinct.
‘Fiery Roar.’
The projectile, carrying the energy of the Sky-Flier, flew to strike the Balrog’s forehead, but the creature raised a hand to block it. He had molded and condensed his demonic energy into a shield to intercept the attack.
‘Resourceful bastard.’
Rem spat out the curse, but no one paid him any mind.
Ragna drew Sunrise and held it with both hands. The blade of Sunrise was as quiet as if it were asleep. It neither radiated heat nor blazed.
This was because its master did not yet desire anything from it. Amidst the stifling air, Ragna composed his breathing. Then, he waited behind Audin’s back.
The moment Encrid blocked the Balrog’s attack and Rem’s projectile exploded, Ragna made his move.
‘Single-Point Focus.’
Since Encrid had said he would block it, he would. Ragna had not doubted him for a single second.
Because he believed so completely, he let nothing else occupy his mind. He watched solely for the opportunity to land a single strike.
Donapa, the knight and teacher he had met in the Labyrinth, had struggled for decades to hone his specialty, but for Ragna, it was something he could do naturally from birth.
He ignored all sound and restricted his vision. The only thing his eyes held was his opponent.
Ragna swung his sword straight toward the Balrog’s flank. Encrid had just bolstered his Will, trapping the black-flamed sword with a Bind.
Swinging from right to left, the sword grazed past Encrid’s right side. A red light shimmered on Sunrise’s blade. Through Ragna’s Will, it transformed into a blade of ultra-high heat.
Clash!
The offensive of the blade, which seemed capable of slicing through anything, was blocked. With his sword trapped, the Balrog thrust his left arm forward. A thick bracelet protruded over his skin—he had hidden an artifact beneath his flesh.
As the bracelet artifact cracked, the shrieking scream of a vengeful spirit erupted. Just when it seemed the attack had failed, Ragna’s sword moved once more.
He tilted the sword he had swung from right to left, pivoting it around the Balrog’s forearm to bring it parallel to the ground. It was a continuous, fluid strike.
The Balrog was not the only one who possessed technical refinement.
The ultra-high heat radiating from Sunrise shifted to the opposite edge, scraping against the Balrog’s forearm with a harsh grate. It scratched the skin but failed to cut through.
Instead, following the path of the swung blade, a line of intense heat shot straight toward the Balrog’s chest.
Boom!
At that moment, the Balrog wrapped his wings around his body, balancing on one foot while thrusting his other leg out. Ragna ignored the counter and finished his swing. Since Encrid had decided to block, he would do so. His trust remained unshaken.
Encrid did not betray that trust. Unleashing Urt, he immediately kicked down at the Balrog’s ankle.
The explosive boom was the sound of Encrid’s foot colliding with the Balrog’s. Furthermore, Ragna’s Sunrise did not achieve the desired result either.
Splatter.
His blade shattered one of the Balrog’s crystals but failed to cut through completely. Black blood trickled down from the long line carved across the creature’s chest.
He had intended to slice through three crystals simultaneously, but he had failed.
"I seem to bleed quite often lately," the Balrog said calmly, reassuming his stance.
Blood trickled from Encrid’s nose. Whether blood flowed or not was something he couldn't afford to care about. Encrid had just felt the Balrog’s true strength once again in that clash.
‘Are only swords and whips weapons?’
To that question, the Balrog answered with his entire body. To the Demon of Struggle, even a single fingernail was a weapon.