Chapter 817: Burning Crow, Promiser of Abundance, Companion of Heat, Pure White Destroyer, Loner of Distrust
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 817: Burning Crow, Promiser of Abundance, Companion of Heat, Pure White Destroyer, Loner of Distrust
"Kill them? Should I just kill them? I’m telling you, they reek."
Dunbakel suddenly chimed in, echoing Rem's earlier sentiment. Her training in the East and the myriad experiences she had gathered there had evolved her sense of smell into a new form—one that transcended even the sixth sense.
She could smell the scent of malice. It was similar to the sixth sense of perceiving an opponent's momentum, but she processed it as a physical odor.
The stench emanating from the three of them was giving her a headache.
Why do they smell worse than the monsters in the East?
Did they simply not wash?
In this context, "washing" didn't mean merely fetching water and pouring it over one's body.
"What is the point of only washing the body? One must wash the mind."
There were many eccentric people in the East. Among them was a man who had sworn never to kill a human in his life, choosing to fight only monsters. He was said to be a priest serving the god of the depths.
He had once told her that true cleansing meant purifying the mind.
She didn't know how to achieve that, but she knew one thing for certain.
The deep sea.
A stench was wafting off these three that made her want to pinch her nose.
Malice, twisted desires, and utterly warped cravings.
There were several distinct smells; they resembled one another but refused to mix. It was like the scent of half-siblings who shared a father but had different mothers.
Though that's a strange way to put it.
Rather than struggling to describe the sensation, Dunbakel simply expressed her intent.
"Are we not killing them?" she asked again.
To her, they were filth that needed to be cleared away. That was her judgment. If they were in the East, she would have struck first.
But this was the Border Guard. There was someone else who would move before she did. Above all, when she had unconsciously tried to make a move earlier, that bastard Rem had subtly checked her.
And hadn't Rem muttered as he stopped her?
"What, did you become some kind of Eastern ruffian? Is that the title you want to claim?"
Exercise restraint. Control yourself.
Rem's gray eyes had conveyed that message clearly. Dunbakel had received a similar scolding from Anu in the past.
"Just because you've overcome fear doesn't mean your journey is over. In a way, beastmen are even more obsessive than Frok. If you don't cultivate self-control, you won't be able to climb any higher."
Anu had said this while chewing on a piece of thoroughly steamed demonic beast meat, only to spit it out with a loud ptui.
The guards and loyal vassals standing beside him had laughed heartily at the sight.
At the time, Dunbakel couldn't possibly understand self-control. Life in the East was fundamentally laissez-faire. You fought on your own, fed yourself, and did what you had to do. Otherwise, an Eastern expedition could not survive.
Since they were constantly wandering to explore new territories, there was no place that could truly be called a city, save for the central camp. On the bright side, there were almost no monster attacks there.
But it was just as barren. The wasteland was full of places where not a single blade of grass could be found. It wasn't even a desert, yet it was an extreme environment where one could only survive near the lakes.
Children born in the East had to pull their own weight from a young age. They had to find their own food, and survival was impossible unless they proved their worth.
Anu would gather such children and send them to the continent in the first place. His previous visit to see Encrid and his continuous letters were part of that effort.
He is generous.
Anu was indeed like that. He paved the way for those who couldn't settle in his lands. In a way, he opened a path for them to make a living by heading to the Border Guard.
In any case, because Dunbakel had reached her current state based on such lawless principles, she had never learned the art of self-control.
"What? Should I gouge out one of your eyes? Since it's golden, I bet Big-Eyes would pay a pretty penny for it."
But here, there was Rem—the very definition of self-control. This bastard was always picking fights, interested in everything, and incredibly quick-witted.
Having restrained Dunbakel, Rem turned his gaze toward Encrid. Encrid remained silent. As always.
He merely stared straight ahead with a calm expression. It wasn't that Rem's gaze held any doubt.
Why is he leaving them be?
Curiosity? It was likely that.
Though he couldn't smell them like Dunbakel could, Rem's senses were extraordinary in their own right.
Ominous and subversive.
It wasn't because they were spreading curses. To put it in the Western way, they were like 'a day when the sun never rises.' Like dark storm clouds completely blanketing the sky.
Today's sky was exceptionally clear and the sunlight was warm, but the atmosphere these three exuded was the exact opposite.
And yet, I'm curious too.
The opponents had targeted that point perfectly.
Setting aside their talk of eternal life, their very existence was grating. That feeling was unfamiliar.
To put it in the terms of a wild beast returned from the East, they reeked of something rotten.
Above all, it was a smell he had encountered before. The stench of the Demon Realm.
He had smelled a similar scent from the Balrog. However, while the Balrog's scent was primarily a smoky, burnt smell, this one had a stronger fishy odor, like rotting fish.
Of course, Rem hadn't literally smelled it. It was just his sixth sense, honed by sorcery power, telling him so.
Those things are utterly wicked.
It felt as though one of his eight guardian deities was saying it was his turn to step forward. The guardian deity who loathed and detested all things evil whispered that he would lend his strength.
Suppressing that urge, Rem shifted his weight to one leg, swayed his shoulders in a swaggering posture, and rested his axe on his shoulder.
"Interesting bastards, huh? Very interesting," Rem muttered.
As was often the case with those who encountered Rem, the three individuals—whether guests or uninvited intruders—felt a sudden sense of foreboding. They could tell that if left alone, this man would split their heads open with his axe at any moment.
He felt far more dangerous than the man who had suddenly swung a sword at them on their way here.
The mage in the black hat let his arms hang loose. If things went south, he would have to prove his strength, even if it meant unleashing a barrage of spells.
In that tense atmosphere, an unexpected voice rang out.
"Whatever it is!"
Was it because he felt the atmosphere shifting strangely? Or did he decide that they couldn't afford to keep being dragged along like this?
It was likely both. The pot-bellied man cried out, his jowls trembling. He was a merchant, a born businessman who could never allow himself to be swept up in the mood and sell his wares for cheap.
He had achieved an outstanding track record in his field. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been chosen as the envoy to deliver this message. Because his merchant's instinct screamed that now was the time, he spoke up again.
Encrid's gaze shifted toward him. Though he appeared indifferent, the fact that he looked at all meant he had found some interest.
While not as powerful as Krang's, the merchant's voice possessed a distinct appeal that drew the attention of those around him.
"There is no need to make a decision all at once. When buying an expensive item, shouldn't one weigh what is good about it and what benefits can be gained?"
The words of the man, who had been shrinking back into a corner under the oppressive atmosphere, now carried weight. Instead of riding the existing flow, he created a new one.
Of course, this flow was of the sort that could be split in two by a single swing of Rem's axe, turning into blood, brains, and shattered bone fragments.
Even so, the merchant showed courage. If he were the type of person who couldn't even speak his mind, there would have been no reason for him to come all this way.
"That is indeed very true."
The person to answer those words entered the training ground. A man with glossy brown hair walked in, accompanied by his dark-skinned guard and lover. Right behind them was Abnayor, who was working far beyond his best despite not having officially defected.
The sunlight shone upon them. Abnayor quietly observed the three intruders, making eye contact with each one. Inwardly, he judged them to be formidable opponents. It was a habit of his to gauge an opponent's presence in his own way.
Of course, compared to the man named Encrid standing before them, the presence of those three was sorely lacking.
The Balrog Slayer.
For days, Abnayor's heart had been pounding at the stories he heard through Krais.
Suppressing the Demon Realm, strengthening the nation's internal affairs, and establishing its foundation. A nation with deep roots would eventually gain the upper hand in the fight against the Demon Realm and would not be shaken by external forces, be it the Empire or anything else.
This was the nation Abnayor dreamed of. And what was the most crucial element of his dream?
Knights.
Or mages. More precisely, martial power that transcended standard limits. A force composed of a select elite. And they couldn't be just any ordinary knights or mages; they had to be those who fought to the end to prove themselves.
Meaning, they had to remain vigorously active even after wiping out several colonies.
Yet, fighting the Demon of Struggle? Winning against it? And returning?
It was something he had never even dared to imagine. The man who had achieved that stood right before him.
That was why, even though the three standing ahead exuded a bizarre presence, he remained perfectly calm.
Was Krais the same? Abnayor couldn't be sure. What Krais had said upon hearing that the Balrog had been killed remained branded in his memory.
"Now, Ab, imagine you have a large house. But a fire breaks out in the house right next door. Wouldn't you be curious about who started that fire? Or at the very least, wouldn't you try to find out why it started? But let's say you happen to find the person who set that fire."
"Let's say I do?"
"What would you do with that person?"
He might set fire to my house too.
A person harboring such an assumption was right beside him. Abnayor was a designer who set all kinds of traps on the battlefield. He possessed an intelligence that transcended the ordinary and reached the extraordinary.
"If it were me, I think I'd make him burn down the enemies threatening my house."
"Indeed. You could do that, or you could try to eliminate the variable. Right?"
It was difficult for Abnayor to anticipate just how far Krais's imagination stretched.
The house and the fire.
In any case, he understood that the one who set the fire was Encrid, but everything after that was completely incomprehensible.
Krais's voice rang out, shattering his thoughts.
"What peculiar people. One of you is a mage, right?"
Krais was not a knight, nor even at the level of an associate knight, but his wits far exceeded those of ordinary people. He read the opponents solely through their appearance and demeanor.
The gaze of the man wearing the wide-brimmed hat shifted to Krais. His eyes seemed to say, What is this guy now? He had experienced several absurd things on his way here.
Even so, he realized that the big-eyed man was likely the most rational and reasonable person to have a proper conversation with.
"That's right," Esther answered.
Meanwhile, the greatsword wielder awkwardly pushed himself up. He no longer dared to attack. Having been broken in a single blow, he had nothing to say. If they were to fight in earnest, he still had means to resist, but right now, he had come as an envoy. He could not go against his master's will.
The impact remains.
Above all, the blow to his stomach had ruptured some of his internal organs. It was a strike that would have killed an ordinary person. The blow that battered his torso must have been transmitted to the master he served as well.
It was likely thanks to that. His master's intent, which had originally been subtly straddling the line, had now tilted to one side. The scales holding elimination and conciliation had tipped.
The direction it leaned was not toward elimination, but the opposite.
Lure him in, by any means necessary.
Another ego residing within him intuitively conveyed his master's will. While the greatsword wielder stood up and quietly sheathed his sword, the merchant spoke up.
"May I formally introduce myself?"
He spoke while looking around at the crowd, his gestures and attitude perfectly natural. He was well-accustomed to this sort of thing. He was someone who had dealt with countless people, whether at street stalls or as a peddler.
He was a man in charge of a branch of the Rengadis Merchant Guild. He had proven himself not through martial might, but through other means.
"I am here at the behest of the master of the forbidden word spell and the devotee of gold."
He spoke, puffing out his chest, while simultaneously gauging everyone's reactions. He didn't look secretly; he stared at everyone openly. It was to see if they understood the meaning of his words, and if so, how they would react.
The beastman still looked like she wanted to beat them to a pulp, while the barbarian had a look that said, What the fuck is that supposed to be?
The man named Encrid was calm, and the mage named Esther was muttering, repeating the words "person, magic, person, magic."
At least the brown-haired man and the green-haired man standing behind him seemed reasonable. A faint curiosity flickered in their eyes. The merchant's gaze shifted toward them.
They say if you want to shoot the general, shoot his horse first.
Target the associates first.
In particular, that brown-haired man clearly felt similar to himself. In other words, he was someone who could disregard conventional wisdom if there was a profit to be made.
If so, they could communicate. At the very least, he would be able to convey his master's will. Wasn't that the very reason he had come here in person?
"Do you know of the Demon Realm?" the merchant asked.
Information was an invisible, intangible commodity. Furthermore, enticing the opponent by giving away a portion of the goods was the basics of trade. He raised his own value by bringing up information the other party did not know. The other two quietly became onlookers.
Since he was the most eloquent speaker among them, they left it to him. Of course, if he tried to pull any tricks in the middle, they would stop him immediately.
The merchant possessed no martial power, but the other two did. That gave them a relative sense of ease.
"In the Demon Realm, there are several beings you refer to as demons."
'Demon' was not a derogatory term, but it wasn't a respectful one either. Those who actually resided in the Demon Realm called themselves something else, but there was no need to go into that here.
The merchant knew how to choose his words.
"The Burning Crow, the Promiser of Abundance, the Companion of Heat, the Pure White Destroyer, the Loner of Distrust."
The merchant paused appropriately before continuing.
"You all look as though you are hearing these names for the first time. These are all terms referring to the demons you speak of."