Chapter 795: Once More, I’ve Got the Feel
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 795: Once More, I’ve Got the Feel
Exhilaration surged through the Balrog. A sensation of pure ecstasy spread through his entire body, causing his Will to flare even higher.
A battle forged in iron, blood, and grit, making the soul blaze like a wildfire; an opponent who fought with everything on the line, whose skills did not falter in the slightest.
This was the life he craved—his very reason for existence.
-Let us fight.
His willpower manifested as intent, vibrating through the air. Though unintentional, a heavy pressure radiated from him, bearing down on his opponents. But that was fine.
They were not the type to back down or crumble under such weight. It was rare to find bastards with such fierce spirits.
In this rare moment of combat, the Balrog was intoxicated with joy. Simultaneously, a similarly joyous memory flashed through his mind.
The first was the time he had roamed the Demon Realm alongside the demon known as the "Father of the Dead," "The Last Door of Life," or "The Door of Ending."
He had eleven brothers, and every single one of them was a maniac obsessed with battle and struggle.
He remembered the moments he spent slaughtering them all, fighting to escape the embrace of the demon who claimed to be their father.
Seeing the faces of those standing defiantly before him, determined to fight, brought those blood-soaked days back to life. Even some of his brothers had joined forces in the end for the sake of survival.
Though, in the end, they still proved no match for him alone.
Black mist seeped from the corners of the Balrog's mouth, condensing into a thick glob before dripping onto the ground. For a human, it would have been the equivalent of drool pooling and spilling over.
The Balrog's gaze shifted to the man with blue eyes and black hair.
Even among this group, this bastard stood out. He had hardened and reshaped his Will specifically to block him. Looking at that Will naturally brought back memories of facing the Thorn Castle Lord and shattering his fortress walls.
The Thorn Castle walls had fallen twice, and the first time had been the Balrog's handiwork.
Then, the Balrog recalled a third memory—his defeat. No, it was more accurate to say he could never forget it, having chewed over the bitter taste of it countless times.
“Go. You do not wish to die here, do you?”
Those were the words of the one who had surpassed him through sheer skill.
He, too, had been a human. A human who had cast aside the Balrog—who had wanted to fight to the bitter end—and vanished into the deeper reaches of the Demon Realm, as if sinking into the abyssal depths of the ocean.
Had they said he received a calling?
Through the "reason" he gained by slaughtering his brothers with brute force, the Balrog had become a demon. He had learned how to take what he desired. Yet, a single human had surpassed him in martial might.
It had happened, even though he had rarely lost even back when he possessed no reason at all.
Because his thoughts operated at high speeds, these reflections drifted by in an instant. The Balrog once again became intoxicated by the joy of the present. No, he had been intoxicated all along.
For the struggle was more thrilling and delightful than anything else.
Memories were fleeting things. What had passed was the past, yesterday. The Balrog did not dwell on yesterday; he lived for today.
-Give me greater joy, he commanded.
There were three crystals. If he killed them all before they could shatter the remaining two, the victory would be his. To claim the sense of accomplishment from survival and victory at the end of this ecstasy—that would be perfect.
*
It was a battle like perfectly interlocking gears.
The Fiery Roar thrown by Rem had exploded, tearing a hole in the Balrog's perception. The moment the Balrog had to account for blocking the projectile, an opening was bound to form.
Yet, if he had left it unchecked, the projectile Rem threw would have shattered a crystal. Knowing this, the Balrog had blocked it.
Next, Audin had snatched the flame whip, momentarily neutralizing the whip named Salamander, while Encrid completely nullified all of the Balrog's counterattacks.
In that brief window, Ragna had heated his Will. Though he did so without even realizing it, Ragna had altered his Will to match the searing heat of a sunrise. It was truly the realm of natural talent.
He had slashed at the crystal embedded in the Balrog's chest, but he had failed.
Could they fight like that again?
Had all of this happened by mere chance? Had they simply exploited a moment of carelessness from the Balrog? Would it be too difficult to seize such an opportunity a second time?
It was only natural for such doubts to arise.
Audin's left palm was blistered and warped by the heat, and the radiance that had imbued Ragna's sword had vanished without a trace.
Rem adjusted the speed of his spinning sling while keeping his distance. The disc, which had been whirring sharply, slowed down slightly with a low hum. If he kept spinning it at such high speeds, the sling's cord wouldn't hold.
Sinar still could not find a gap to slip through, and no one knew where Sachsen was.
‘Did that bastard run away?’ Rem even entertained the thought.
Of course, he didn't truly mean it. If Sachsen were the type to run, he would have abandoned this group long ago. After all, he had no reason to remain in the Order of Madness in the first place.
Well, the same went for Rem himself. And was it any different for Audin, Ragna, or Sinar?
It was the same for Esther, Teresa, Pel, and Ropode. The same for Krais and Dunchabel.
There was only one reason they had all gathered. It was because of the man standing at the center of them all. They were here because they had realized and learned something from watching him, and their perspective on life had changed.
The madman who had driven all those changes, who had achieved an absurd dream and yet refused to stop, continuing to march forward, opened his mouth.
“It's fine. I’ve got the feel for it. I can block him. Let's do it again. We just have to do it again.”
In the eyes of this unprecedented madman, who had forgotten the taste of defeat, despair, and frustration, a spark still lingered.
The fellow who had climbed to the rank of knight with nothing but meager talent still did not know how to give up.
He appeared expressionless, but if one looked into his eyes, they would clearly see what he desired.
Of course, Rem, standing far away, could not see the fellow's eyes. He could only see the back of his head. But he knew without looking.
‘He's probably got that crazy look in his eyes again.’
Eyes full of anticipation, looking as if he were having the time of his life. And even without seeing his eyes, there was something else Rem could tell.
His tone was clear and bright. Not a shred of dark emotion could be felt in his voice. Was there anyone else in the world who could speak like that in a moment like this? Surely not.
“Fine, let's do it,” Rem muttered with a smirk.
What if things went south and he died? He would have to wait for Ayul and his child as a corpse. He'd probably get beaten up by Ayul for dying first.
Even so, in this moment, there was no way not to be intoxicated by the spirit that man displayed.
Yes, let's fight. Let's fight again.
Slashing the Balrog was not a matter of chance, but of inevitability. If Encrid believed so, then he would simply believe it too.
Following Rem, Audin spoke.
“His eyes are steel, for they know no fear; his steps are thunder, for they do not hesitate. As the Lord Father watches over him, the Lord shall not hesitate to stretch out His hand.”
Audin was equally uplifted and inspired.
The Balrog's aura—whether it was majesty, pressure, or a bloodthirsty momentum—as he stood before them declaring his joy, was nothing compared to a single word from Audin's commander.
Encrid's uprightness was like a light that pierced through even a demon's aura. As an apostle of the God of War, it would even be fitting to present that demon as a pet monster to his god.
“To the side of our lonely Lord, I send a fawning demon,” Audin’s prayer continued.
“I mean it,” Encrid said once more. He said it because he truly meant it. After all, wasn't sincerity something you stated twice?
He had discarded the cloth gauntlet wrapped around his left hand, as it was torn to shreds. Now, he was bare-handed. And it wasn't just his gauntlet that was ruined.
He had sustained quite a few injuries. The most severe was on his torso. Even though it was armor imbued with Esther's breath, his flank was deeply gouged, and bloodstains were vivid upon it.
Had he taken a direct hit, a massive hole would have been opened in his abdomen.
Ragna had still not taken his eyes off the Balrog. Without looking away, he spoke.
“Again?”
It was a question. Encrid answered immediately.
“Again.”
It was not a query, but an answer filled with absolute certainty.
To coordinate perfectly, they needed to know each other's skills and even their minutest habits—and they did. It was the result of viewing one another as rivals and constantly observing each other in order to win. Because they had to win without killing during their spars, they had to observe even more closely.
This meant they possessed the conditions necessary to turn chance into inevitability once more.
Looking at their current situation objectively, it was far from favorable. Audin's left palm was sizzling and burning, and Encrid had lost his gauntlet and was injured.
Was Rem, spinning his sling in the distance, in perfect shape? Not at all. He hadn't been in proper condition to begin with. Having fought while protecting Ragna, his entire body was screaming in pain.
Ragna wasn't fine either. An overworked body couldn't recover overnight just from sleeping.
Furthermore, Encrid had already died at the Balrog's hands over a hundred times. Every single attempt had failed. Each time he greeted a new "today," he had challenged the beast while recognizing his own changes and growth. He had found a few methods and even viewed them as a way out.
Yet, all had ended in failure. He had died every single time. The pain was practically engraved into his bones. It was only natural to be overwhelmed by the opponent's sheer presence.
In other words, it would have been normal to feel fear and hesitate. Yet, there was not even a crumb of such negative emotion in his voice.
“Let's go again.”
There was only pure anticipation.
Watching the situation from within Encrid, the Ferryman could not help but marvel. It was as if this bastard had never died even once.
It wasn't that he felt relieved because he could repeat the day. He simply didn't even entertain the thought of death. He merely focused on the act of fighting itself.
He fought as if he had never died, as if this were his very first time.
-Again.
The word "again" crossed and clashed in the air. Even the Balrog uttered it.
Based on everything he had learned and experienced so far, a single question arose in Encrid's mind.
How do I defeat my opponent?
When the opponent moves once, I just need to move twice. Block once, strike once. When others swing their sword once, I must attack twice.
This wasn't something that could be achieved through mere speed. If one danced to the tune of the opponent's combat calculations, speed alone would only result in swinging at empty air.
Through his battles with the Balrog and his past experiences, Encrid felt he faintly understood the answer to the question that had just surfaced.
‘I must hold the upper hand not just in speed and strength, but in the understanding and depth of Will.’
Maintaining everything at a high level, like a perfect circle.
‘And from there, layer my own specialty on top.’
It was identical to the theory he had established previously, dividing a knight's path into intermediate, advanced, and peak stages. It was a repetition of that.
Raising one's overall skill as if drawing a circle, forging a specialty from it, and then drawing another circle based on that specialty. By repeating this countless times, what was once a specialty and an advanced technique becomes internalized as a basic skill.
‘Repetition, and more repetition.’
This was the path toward becoming a knight—and a monster. In the first place, becoming a knight was simply the result of repeating this process.
And right now, a monster who had repeated the act of drawing and shattering that circle to a maddening degree stood before him.
The Balrog. And he had gone even further.
‘Using the entire body as a weapon.’
It was a feat only a being that had evolved from a monster into a demon could pull off. Since his very skin possessed extraordinary density and strength, he could use it as a weapon. It was likely on par with the physical reinforcement used by exceptionally talented giants.
While elves used Elven Essence as weapons and western warriors used descent weapons, giants refined their Will into parts of their bodies. Though giants called it Fury, not Will.
‘Audin could probably do it too.’
Since his Holy Light Armor was a weapon in itself.
The point was this: fists, feet, elbows, fingers—everything became a weapon.
Encrid's gaze never wavered from the Balrog's eyes, where flames swirled, but he also noted that the beast's tail was drooping. His vision expanded, taking in miscellaneous information from his surroundings and factoring it into his calculations.
‘If he fights using his entire body as a weapon, maintaining distance with minimal force and optimal movement...’
The Balrog's movements always followed the most optimal paths. This was a truth that became clearer the more they clashed. Encrid had even stolen and learned some of those paths by watching the beast's attacks.
As a result of all this, while others swung a sword once, the Balrog could strike three or four times with either his blade or his hands. In the face of that, petty calculations crumbled.
That was how the Balrog fought. In other words, pure calculation could not block all of his attacks.
Even so, he had the feel. Thoughts merely flashed through his mind like sparks. Thanks to his accelerated thinking, he was simply breaking down and absorbing the ideas that surfaced in an instant.
In truth, this was merely a fraction of the thoughts floating on the surface of his mind, like oil on water.
Encrid had been focusing all of his senses on the movements of the monster before him. The spark-like thoughts shattered into pieces.
For the opponent had moved.