Chapter 815: Guests
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 815: Guests
‘Will is willpower.’
Simply put, that was the essence of it. Ragna knew this truth well.
But was the blade of heat unleashed through Sunrise truly his own will?
‘Or was it the sword’s?’
Was the technique made possible by a relic-grade sword—one that had accumulated generations of residual thoughts—truly his? Or did it belong to the weapon itself?
These thoughts had been drifting through Ragna’s mind ever since the battle with the Balrog. Along with them came a lingering sense of regret.
‘I shouldn’t have unleashed that heat at the very end.’
In the decisive moment against the Balrog, Ragna had been dissatisfied with his final strike. It was a fight that should have ended by his own hand, with his own sword. Yet, the blade that should have shattered three crystals had been blocked.
‘Why?’
Ragna always knew the path his sword would take. He could see it so clearly it was akin to glimpsing the future. Thus, he had seen his sword shattering the Balrog’s three crystals as it passed through.
It was a predetermined fact. Yet, he had failed. Was it a lack of capability? No, it was a path he saw because it was possible at that very moment.
While others might lose their way countless times when searching for a path, Ragna never faltered once he held his sword.
In the midst of that failure, he had also seen Encrid break through his shell and take a step forward. He had witnessed Encrid’s Extinguishing the Embers right before his eyes.
The Captain was moving forward.
‘Then what about me?’
Had he regressed?
When this thought crossed his mind, amusingly enough, his heart pounded. His mind wavered, and a storm of conflicting emotions converged into one. Strangely, it was not a negative feeling.
‘This is fun.’
The joy and ecstasy the Captain had spoken of so many times had finally found him.
The moments that had once been tedious because the path was already set now felt entirely different.
Therefore, this time spent in reflection was not painful. He simply enjoyed it. But just because he found it enjoyable did not mean he intended to stay still. The ultimate end of all these emotions could only be reached by moving forward.
Ragna was a genius. He did not lose sight of that truth. Only by moving forward would this enjoyment continue.
Monsters, the Balrog, battle, the Captain, Extinguishing the Embers, the Balrog again, and Sunrise.
One thought led to another as he walked, searching for the faintly visible light. Throughout this process, Ragna did not feel even a shred of boredom.
Thus, he swung his sword even when alone, walking within his own world regardless of what happened around him.
At first, he thought he was walking alone, but in his mindscape, the Captain and the rest of those crazy bastards approached and lingered one by one. Before he knew it, the light that had seemed so far away took a giant leap closer.
"Do you get it now?"
Within his mindscape, Sunrise spoke to him. Since Sunrise was a relic and not an ego sword, this had to be an illusion, but the sword did release a faint vibration.
"Now you can finally use a sword properly."
To be precise, it was likely a message from the residual thoughts contained within the sword rather than the weapon itself.
‘If I am consumed by Sunrise, I will remain at a mediocre level.’
Of course, "mediocre" here was strictly from Ragna’s perspective. He only called it mediocre because he could not be satisfied with his current state.
Naturally, there was a clear reason why even House Zaun had left such a sword unused.
If used incorrectly, the wielder would be consumed by the sword. It was a blade where outstanding talent was required just to be granted the right to hold it, and even then, that right had to be constantly proven.
‘It is not a treasured sword, but a magic sword.’
Yes, if one had to classify it, it was closer to a magic sword.
"The blade."
Therefore, it had to be wielded not with heat, but with one’s inherent will. One must not be swung by the sword, but swing the sword. It had to be done through sheer willpower. The answer to the conclusion he reached after repeated thoughts was the blade.
Not the heat, but the blade.
A sword forged from Will—Ragna’s talent found the light, grasped it, and swallowed it whole.
"...What is this crazy bastard talking about?"
The man in the black hat spoke, having barely managed to escape the crushing pressure. Beside him, the greatsword wielder looked ready to jump into a fight at any moment.
"What is it? Enemies? Shall I cut them down?"
Though it wasn't clearly visible on the outside, Ragna was bathed in a faint ecstasy. The sense of omnipotence he had felt when he first became a knight filled his body. Even so, he would not get drunk on this feeling and swing his sword recklessly.
Simply...
‘If we fight again.’
His mind was filled only with the thought that if he were to face the Balrog again—though it was already dead and gone—he would not fight as unsightly as before.
In other words, Ragna was currently brimming with the desire to fight.
One could compare his state to Frok right before achieving his goal, a giant drunk on blood, an elf protecting the forest, a dwarf discovering a precious gem, or a beastman facing an attractive member of the opposite sex.
However, an extraordinary person always breaks and shatters the limits set by their race.
An extraordinary Frok would know how to restrain himself even when drunk on desire right before achieving his goal. The same went for other races: a calm giant, an ascetic beastman, an aggressive elf, or a dwarf detached from material greed.
Ragna had shown such patience simply by asking instead of immediately slashing. Esther recognized this. She, too, had achieved things through magic and walked a similar path.
Looking at Ragna, she thought:
‘And all of this is because of that man, Encrid.’
It was what they had learned by watching his back. Just as she had, so had Ragna.
"No. Guests. For now, they are guests."
Esther chose her words carefully, and the man in the black hat felt his cold reason turn into boiling water.
He wanted to pour out everything he had right here and force them to their knees. But he couldn't. As long as he claimed to be someone's minion, orders took precedence over his own will.
"I will kill them."
Regardless, the man wielding the greatsword made his intent clear. No matter the purity of that intent, its magnitude was substantial. Judging by his stance, attitude, and momentum, he was someone who knew how to fight.
By Ragna’s standards, "someone who knew how to fight" meant someone at the level of a knight.
But he didn't quite measure up. At best, it would be over in one or two slashes.
In that case, it would be better to spar with the Captain. Of course, right now, reflecting on what he had just realized was more important.
So, if they weren't enemies, he could just ignore them.
Hearing Esther’s words, Ragna turned and walked away with long, easy strides. The man wielding the greatsword could not pursue him. Even if he had shown a willingness to fight, he was still a minion all the same.
"...What on earth was that?" the man in the black hat muttered. He had lived long enough in this world and had met many peculiar individuals.
The man from just now was outstanding even among them. He was a fellow in whom madness could be glimpsed.
Esther replied, thinking of Ragna.
"A lost swordsman."
"What?"
She had nothing more to say. In any case, they were on their way to meet the man named Encrid.
The merchant, who had a genial impression, pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his forehead. He took a round pill from his breast pocket, swallowed it, and muttered to himself.
"It protects and calms the mind."
The effect was apparently genuine, as his trembling legs quickly returned to normal.
"Whew, surely nothing similar will happen again, right?"
The merchant spoke with a smile and began moving again. They continued along the path. After walking just a few paces, they encountered someone else.
And it wasn't just a simple encounter. Though different from before, it was a similar situation.
"Who are you?"
The merchant felt something cold and eerie touch his neck. He couldn't tell exactly what had happened, but the warning delivered by his instincts was clear: stop walking and shut your mouth.
The merchant did just that.
The man in the black hat rolled only his eyes to the side. His eyes rolled past the normal range of motion for a human, identifying the person standing beside him.
It was a man with reddish-brown hair and an uncommon appearance. Having approached undetected, he stood between the man in the black hat and the merchant, aiming two blades—each less than a span long, held so their hilts were hidden—at their necks.
If things went wrong, their heads would be cleanly severed. The man in the black hat also realized this by instinct.
The man wielding the greatsword took a step back a moment too late, gripping the hilt of his sword.
Sachsen’s gaze did not waver. Though he had asked who they were, he stared quietly at Esther. He wasn't trying to pick a fight for no reason.
The moment he saw the three of them, his senses reacted. Regardless of their skill, they exuded an ominous aura. They had not come with good intentions. Therefore, if necessary, it was right to subdue them here.
They were unpleasant enough that, had it not been for Esther, he would have attacked first.
Sachsen was originally accustomed to repelling assassins targeting Encrid or those sneaking in. To him, this was daily routine.
Though not for those on the receiving end.
"For now, they are guests," Esther replied flatly.
She did not consider them a threat. That was why she was leading them directly to Encrid.
"Hmm."
Sachsen withdrew just like that. Since there was no need to exchange further words, he went on his way to tend to his business. Today was the day he was meeting his lover.
His intervention just now was merely born of the thought that he might as well pick up some trash he saw on his way; he had no strong intention to do anything more.
After Sachsen withdrew, the merchant muttered, "This is worse than the Demon Realm."
Esther glanced at him. From his appearance, the merchant looked like someone who would find it difficult to survive even long enough to count to ten if he entered the Demon Realm.
Yet, if he had experienced not just the Demon Realm borderlands but the Demon Realm itself, there had to be a reason. The information revealed in his tone suggested as much.
"It'll be troublesome if you're surprised by just this," Esther spoke honestly. In the Mad Knights, there were others left who would surprise them even more than those two.
The path to the training ground was more arduous than expected.
They had set out to deliver a simple message or threat, but instead, they were the ones being threatened.
"Damn bastards."
The man in the black hat felt his temper flare slightly.
As they continued forward, this time, two knight-level swordsmen suddenly appeared, arguing with veins bulging on their foreheads. They weren't clashing swords, but rather engaged in a war of words.
"Look, there are some unfamiliar faces. It's only fair to ask them."
It was the man named Pel. Formerly the 'Shepherd of the Wilderness', he was now a member of the Mad Knights—a hard worker who staked everything on a single moment, debated talent, yet trained like a madman.
The man standing opposite him, Ropode, shrugged. "Be my guest."
Pel looked at Esther and then asked the three behind her.
"Hey there. Which of us two do you think has the better face?"
What the fuck kind of random question was this?
The man in the black hat wasn't even flustered. He merely felt a daze, as if he had stayed up for several nights. There were simply no sane people here.
"Do I look like a pushover to them?" the man in the black hat muttered.
Even though he had once served as the commander of a demonic beast legion? Even though back then, countless soldiers would wet themselves just seeing him from afar?
It was enough to make his alias, 'Guide of the Black Wave', utterly meaningless. No matter how blind they were, how could they...
The man suppressed his complicated feelings with an expressionless face. He was a minion. What he could do here was limited.
"This one," he answered quietly, pointing.
Pfft.
It felt as though such a sound had echoed from somewhere. The man’s eyes rolled abnormally once more to scan Esther. Only one of his eyes slid all the way to the outer corner. It was an eerie trick.
Her face was expressionless. However, the laughter from a moment ago had definitely been hers.
"See? His eyes are like that, so of course he can't see properly."
Pel refused to accept this. He pointed a finger at the man’s eye as he spoke, then turned away.
"Indeed, you wouldn't want to admit it," Ropode was nonchalant. Since it was a battle he had won from the start, he spoke with a victorious tone. "It was an unfair match to begin with. You mingle with the soldiers every day while I don't. If they evaluate our looks, they're bound to choose you out of fear of your fists."
Before coming here, they had just asked the soldiers a similar question to get their answers. Sometimes, talking too much is proof of being at a disadvantage. That was currently the case for Pel.
"Let's go."
Esther ignored them and walked past. The man wielding the greatsword debated whether he should draw his sword or not. Was it not to that extent? He felt like he should draw his sword to threaten them, but at the same time, he didn't. It was ambiguous.
As they walked, they encountered a large man and woman who closely resembled each other, perhaps siblings.
"You are filled with an ominous energy."
"Should you ever feel inclined to meet the God of War, feel free to let us know at any time."
The two stopped after saying only that. Esther repeated that they were guests. The two passed by without another word.
"We have a sermon at the temple today," said a man passing by, who was presumed to be a bear beastman.
The man in the black hat carefully chewed over the words the two had spoken.
‘Meet the God of War?’
That was a common phrase used by the apostles of the God of War. It was the crazy talk of those who claimed that since forgiveness belonged to God, it was their duty to send people to His side.
In other words, they were telling him to speak up if he wanted to die.
"Those motherfuckers..."
At this point, he didn't even have the energy to be angry. Esther—the witch whom the man called the Star Child—led them to their destination. There stood a black-haired, blue-eyed man.
"I smell a stench."
Beside him was a beastman with golden eyes and an insolent tongue.
"Oh? What kind of wraiths are you dragging around? Are they for the kids' practical training?"
And with them was a barbarian spouting even greater nonsense. The beastman pinched his nose, while the barbarian grinned and pulled out an axe.
"Can I split one of them open first?"
He probably could. However, that decision was not Esther’s to make.
"Guests."
Esther spoke and looked at Encrid. Two pairs of blue eyes met. There had to be a reason why Esther had brought them all the way here.
"You crazy bastards!"
And the man in the black hat, so 'delighted' by the treatment he had received on his way here, let out a screech resembling a cheer.
Encrid looked at him calmly.
It was a stark contrast. One side was visibly agitated, while the other was entirely serene.