Chapter 801: Monster Slaughterer
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 801: Monster Slaughterer
“Roman, fight constantly. Learn through the heat of battle.”
Encrid taught Roman right up until the moment of his departure. Roman, though not exactly gloomy, asked a question with a serious expression.
“Is my mental fortitude lacking?”
He had been possessed by a parasitic beast and nearly swallowed whole by armor forged from a Balrog’s hide. Regardless of his lofty resolve, knowing his own condition inside and out was essential for his training.
Weaknesses could be overcome, provided one had the discipline to strengthen them.
“Keep thinking. If you still see shortcomings, ponder how to overcome them.”
Develop a specialty, then circle back to move forward again. It was a continuous, grueling cycle.
Furthermore, while broad guidance was possible, the deeper, more personal aspects of growth had to be navigated alone. Encrid could point out the path toward knighthood and help establish training methods, but he could do nothing beyond that.
Encrid had realized this truth long ago. As he explained it kindly, the others standing nearby chimed in with their own sincere—if blunt—advice.
“Did you actually think you were strong?” Rem asked from the side.
“One must realize their current state before they can take the next step, my frail brother,” Audin added.
“If you’re weak, you’ll die,” Sachsen pointed out, stating the cold reality.
While Ragna glanced over and turned away, Pel suggested a training method involving tapping one’s head with a hammer. Ropode countered that doing so would only make him stupider, advising that resolve alone didn't solve everything and that he should always think twice or thrice.
“There are also flowers that never bloom in the end.”
Hearing Sinar’s remark on top of the rest, Roman let out a dry laugh.
They say a painting is only complete when you finally paint in the eyes.
“Did you truly believe you could win?”
Hearing Teresa’s solemn question at the end, Roman recalled their names anew.
Fucking lunatics.
Was he angry? Not really. He had watched their battles from the sidelines until now. Therefore, even if he couldn't respect their personalities, he could admire their skills and their ideals.
Roman brushed off the teasing and offered the same farewell as when they had parted in the City of Oara. He slammed his sword against the ground with a heavy thud.
“My promise still stands.”
“Yeah, I haven't forgotten,” Encrid replied calmly.
As he turned around, the Leader of the Heretic Extermination Priests approached.
“Thanks to you, we found some interesting traces.”
The reason the man's eyes shone brighter than ever was undoubtedly because he had found traces of the cult. At the mere sight of cultists, these priests would pounce like beasts starved for three days, fighting without a single thought for their own lives.
Wasn't there a saying that even if you make an enemy of the Pope of Legion, you must never become a target of the Heretic Extermination Priests?
Though the leader wore a genial smile, in reality, they were madmen who wouldn't hesitate to commit mass suicide just to slit a cultist's throat.
Still, they won't fight recklessly.
If they had, they wouldn't have survived this long.
“Since this is a place where traces of the Red Foot cultists remain, we have more than enough reason to stay. It is all the Lord's will.”
The leader expressed his joy, and Encrid nodded. Whatever they did, they were people who would take care of their own business.
Next, Andrew approached and summed up what he had said multiple times over the past fortnight.
“I wouldn't say the atmosphere in the capital is bad, but there's a strange undercurrent flowing. Anyway, be careful. There's a saying that what kills a knight isn't the battlefield, but a blade to the back—or a lover's pillow.”
Sinar and Sachsen chimed in on that remark.
“The position of lover is already spoken for.”
“Not a chance.”
Rem, perhaps feeling regretful that his injured body had prevented him from helping with Andrew's training, insisted that they must meet again.
“No, you really don't have to.”
Andrew shook his head repeatedly. Then, Zoraslav and all the other residents of the Demon Realm came outside to see them off.
Encrid slung a light backpack over his shoulder and looked back. It was a raw leather bag with a drawstring top, another gift from the villagers.
They had all decided not to ride horses. Although they could have borrowed mounts from Andrew, they figured walking would be more beneficial for their recovery.
“If you're grateful, you should say so,” Roman, standing nearby, said to Zoraslav.
However, the words that actually came out of Zoraslav's mouth were not of gratitude. He asked a question.
“With bodies like ours... are people like us allowed to go on living? Are we allowed to enjoy life more?”
The leader of the Heretic Extermination Priests considers many things to ensure none of his brothers die in vain. Anyone leading a group should naturally do so.
Then, what did the leader of these people—who had been busy barely scraping by, offering sacrifices to some apostle of the Red Foot or Blue Foot—consider as he lived?
Was surviving enough? Or should he have strived for a better life?
Encrid had seen the efforts the villagers made to avoid dying in vain. He had seen them working with leather, herbs, and poisonous plants, trying to make their lives even a little bit better. He had also heard the songs of hope they sang.
Was there anyone among them struggling because they wanted to die? Was there anyone among them who didn't want to live?
“If you have resolved to live.”
Then you may.
If you have resolved to sing of hope, dreams, and tomorrow, rather than surrender to frustration and despair.
Then you have every right to live.
There was no standard here for who to save and who not to save. Encrid simply followed his heart.
That was why Encrid knew he did not possess the caliber of a king. Standards, rules, and laws are established by kings. A leader governs the masses with them.
He was a swordsman. A mercenary. A warrior. A knight.
Therefore, these were the only words he could offer.
“I swear upon my dawn, I will protect you.”
At Encrid's words, spoken as he gripped his sword, Zoraslav bowed his head. His legs seemed to give out, and he fell to his knees, beginning to weep. All the villagers followed suit, kneeling beside him.
The elderly, the men, the women, the children—all of them looked at Encrid. Even the young children, who understood nothing, were swept up in the atmosphere. Most of the villagers knew. They knew they had struggled to survive while existing outside the boundaries of humanity.
And so, even if those people pointed their blades at them in the name of punishment, there was nothing they could do.
Yet, there was someone who had fought purely for them. Someone who promised to protect them. Someone who reached out to them as they stood precariously on the borderline.
What should they call someone who had saved them without asking for anything in return?
“O Hero of the End of War who saved us.”
Instead of the title 'Knight of Demonic Charm' that Luagarne had repeatedly tried to engrave into their minds, they called Encrid the Hero of the End of War.
“O Hero of the End of War.”
The villagers called out to him in unison.
Zoraslav engraved his hero's name and face onto his very soul. Until the moment he died, if he ever had the chance to repay this debt, he would not spare his own life.
This sentiment was not unique to Zoraslav. It wasn't for nothing that they had poured their life's blood into processing the Balrog's hide.
“Well then.”
The sky was blue, dotted with a few clouds. Though the Demon Realm hadn't been entirely driven back, the sky was clear, perhaps due to the Balrog's death. It was as if the border of the Demon Realm was declaring that this was now the land of humans.
The sunlight breaking through the clouds shone down upon the residents of the Demon Realm. No—now it simply shone upon the people of the Naurilian frontier.
They might still face discrimination for their purple skin, but at least for now, they would live a better life than before.
Encrid briefly recalled the moments he had given up because he couldn't protect them, but then he simply allowed himself to bask in the comfort he felt right now.
“You seem to be in a good mood,” Sinar said.
“There's no reason not to be,” Sachsen agreed, while Ropode and Pel scratched their heads for no particular reason.
The villagers hadn't expressed their gratitude only to Encrid. They had voiced their thanks to everyone.
Meanwhile, Rem and Ragna began bickering over who had contributed more.
“I'm the one who suffered more.”
“No, this one got lost wandering inside the Demon Realm and only showed up at the very end.”
Rem's eyebrows twitched at Ragna's words.
“If my body were in perfect shape, you'd be dead. I'm letting you off easy.”
Ragna calmly looked around at the villagers and replied.
“Someone like you?”
“Whew, fine, let's just go right now. It won't take long to kill you before we leave.”
“If you're grateful, dig a hole here instead of me and bury this guy.”
They didn't actually fight. Encrid stepped in to stop them at the right moment.
“Enough.”
They had shown no hesitation in their steps when they arrived, and the same was true as they departed. As the group walked away with the sun at their backs, a song blending the end of the world and the end of war echoed behind them for a long time.
Andrew knew they had slaughtered the monsters, but he didn't know they had killed the Balrog.
In fact, because everyone had been focused entirely on resting and recovering for the past fortnight, no one had properly explained it to him. Luagarne had shared a few words, but even that Frok wouldn't leave Encrid's side.
Thus, they remained in the dark. Even the Heretic Extermination Priests only learned a fraction of what the mad order of knights had accomplished after discovering that Thorn Castle, notorious within the Demon Realm, had collapsed.
The residents of the Demon Realm had only spoken of what they knew. They simply said that a horde of monsters had swarmed in and died, and then a cave had appeared where a battle took place.
Andrew and the priest leader knew that something extraordinary had occurred, but they didn't grasp the full picture.
* * *
As soon as they left the village, Ragna tried to take the lead, but Ropode and Pel grabbed him by both arms.
“It's not that way.”
“Where are you going? That's the wrong direction.”
Luagarne clung tightly to Encrid's side, urging him to put what he had realized into words.
Encrid, thinking it was about time he started training again, spoke.
“We're stopping by Nauril.”
He stated their destination in a concise voice. Everyone nodded. Stopping by on their way would be no trouble at all. It was also a summons from Krang, and the route aligned.
“Cough, carry me on your back.”
Sinar requested from beside him, forcing out a cough. It was a blatantly fake cough.
“Cough, cooough, hack, wheeze.”
Moreover, her coughs weren't even consistent. Was this supposed to be acting? Seeing this made him wonder if the concept of theater should be introduced to elven culture.
Of course, that would never happen. To elves, who do not speak falsehoods, acting would be nothing short of torture.
“Can we not spar instead?”
Ignoring her coughing, Encrid asked, showing interest in the martial arts she had displayed. She had called it Ars Pugnae. Elven hand-to-hand combat.
He might forget other things, but there was no way he would forget something that struck a chord with his core interests.
At Encrid's question, Sinar raised her eyebrows and narrowed her eyes, making no effort to hide her displeasure.
“You should be carrying me, yet you're asking to spar.”
Even after that, Sinar continued to pester him.
“Carry me.”
This was the behavior of a four-year-old, not a four-hundred-year-old. Normally, he wouldn't indulge her, but this was getting excessive.
“Hey, should I carry you instead?” Rem, unable to watch any longer, chimed in.
“I don't want that.”
The elf, who knew no falsehood, shook her head resolutely.
“Do you think I asked because I wanted to?” Rem grumbled in irritation. His slow recovery seemed to have made him increasingly irritable.
“Haha, then should I do it?” Audin stepped forward, but the result was the same.
Sinar made eye contact with Teresa and shook her head dismissively. Meanwhile, a gust of wind blew, fluttering her blonde hair and making her look like a sage brimming with wisdom—as if she were shaking her head to tell those seeking the truths of the universe, "No, that is not it."
Of course, the actual meaning was simply her stubborn refusal to be carried by anyone other than Encrid.
“It's not like your back will wear out. Just carry her,” Ropode said. He always sought the fastest path, so he had proposed the most efficient solution.
Encrid's arms weren't in perfect condition, but his legs were fine. He had already proven as much when he subdued Roman.
Reluctantly, he hoisted her onto his back and began to walk. He was still wearing his armor, which had no negative effect on him. Sinar, smelling of fresh grass, spoke from his back.
“This time, I got carried first.”
First? Without even needing to think deeply, his intuition provided the answer. His thoughts accelerated on their own to deliver the conclusion.
He had held Esther first in the past. That memory surfaced, and Sinar had clearly been mindful of it. Therefore, she was pleased to be the first to be carried this time.
Encrid didn't bother to dwell on the meaning of Sinar's words. His mind was already immersed in swordsmanship once again.
He walked without uttering a single word, beginning his mental training. The others, noticing this, simply accepted it as his usual behavior. It was also a time for the others to reflect on what they had learned and acquired during this journey.
“This is nice.”
Only Sinar would occasionally murmur such words.
Thus, they made their way toward Nauril. Any hordes of monsters or demonic beasts that appeared along the way were mostly cleared out by Ropode, Pel, and Teresa. Sinar was carried occasionally, but she also walked on her own two feet.
By the time they arrived in Nauril, although the people did not know they had slain the Balrog, word had already spread through the grapevine that they had slaughtered the monsters of the Demon Realm.
The rumors had spread as Andrew and the priest leader sent messengers to request supplies and other necessities. For words always travel faster than feet.
“The Monster Slaughterer.”
The soldier guarding the city gate spoke the name from the rumors. It was Encrid's new moniker.