Chapter 828: Dragonkin
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 828: Dragonkin
"Well, he's gone mad again," Rem muttered from behind.
Their captain, smiling like that, had always seemed a bit unhinged. Of course, Rem was hardly one to talk, but no one here cared about that.
Encrid’s Dawn sliced diagonally through the air. Once again, he stepped into the Domain of Silence. His opponent reacted in kind.
The only difference was...
It’s bending.
In a split second, the white sword warped, wrapping around Dawn’s blade. It was as if a white snake were slithering up the steel. How could a sword do that when it wasn't even a flexible blade? There was no time for questions. Hesitating for even a second would cost him his wrist.
Encrid twisted his arm, channeling strength and Will into the wrist he had tempered through countless repetitions.
Cl-cl-cl-clang!
The moment they broke free from the crushing air, the screech of clashing blades rang in his ears.
Sparks flew violently. They were on an uphill slope with barely any footing. Clambering halfway up the ridge, the two moved again—stepping on, crushing, and shattering tree roots and loose rocks in their wake.
Encrid feigned a High Horizontal Slash to draw his opponent's gaze, only to abruptly drop his sword downward. It was one of the techniques of Encrid-style Orthodox Swordsmanship—an art of deceiving the sword's starting point.
The vertically slit yellow eyes did not waver. The opponent raised his pure white sword and parried the blow.
Clang!
As their blades clashed several more times, the rest of the group began to gather behind Encrid.
"What is that?"
Ragna arrived first, followed by Sachsen, who silently crossed his arms. Audin spoke with a smile.
"We saw several flame monsters on our way here, but it's surprisingly quiet around this spot."
"That might actually make sense."
Esther approached from behind Audin. She had arrived riding a beast that looked like a mass of condensed darkness, but the moment her feet touched the ground, her mount dispersed like smoke. The scattered black vapor transformed into a shawl draped over her shoulders.
To an outsider, she looked exactly like a witch from the Demon Realm or a summoner of demonic beasts, but no one uttered a word of complaint. Instead, they focused on her words.
"What do you mean by that?" Rem asked from his perch in a tree, his eyes still fixed on the fight ahead. The battle was neck-and-neck.
Of course, without fighting firsthand, there were things one couldn't know for sure. At this level, victory or defeat could be decided by a single minor mistake or a flicker of psychological pressure. In that regard, it didn't seem like Encrid would lose, but one could never predict the outcome of a life-and-death struggle.
"Neither human, dwarf, nor elf," Sinar said as she arrived. She kept her eyes forward and continued. "His eyes are like those of a snake, and the aura he exudes is more unique than any other race."
There was only one race that fit that description.
It was said that elves were the children of flowers and trees, and dwarves were the children of iron and flame. Giants, who proved themselves through blood and slaughter, were the children of hot blood. Beastmen, who began hunting for survival, were called the children of mountains and fields. Frok were the children of dreams, and humans—capable of becoming anything—claimed the world itself as their parent.
And the Dragonkin, alone among all races, were said to have no parents. They walked alone. They were beings who could not be easily understood.
"Why would a Dragonkin appear here?" Audin muttered to himself.
Coincidences happened. The Balrog Expedition had come to meet the Salamander—or more precisely, to smash the head of that infamous monster. No one could have expected to run into a Dragonkin along the way. The Dragonkin surely had his own reasons for being here, but there was no way for them to know.
Perhaps the gods looking down from the heavens knew? Maybe, but in reality, it was impossible to tell.
Ever since Esther had experienced the illusion, her ability to sense mana had become incredibly sharp. That sensitivity allowed her to read the traces left by the Dragonkin.
Fluctuations.
The mana in the atmosphere surged and trembled, pulling toward one side. It was a form of extreme mana affinity—one of the innate traits of the Dragonkin.
Mages were essentially researchers. As a side interest, she had once collected and read historical records regarding their kind.
Meanwhile, Encrid's sword became a flash of light, drawing three lines in the air. It was a strike that traced the shortest possible path through optimized thought.
Since one could not predict lightning, the Dragonkin gave up on predicting it. Instead, he leaped backward in a burst of acceleration. Encrid lunged at his retreating opponent, becoming a fluid, continuous line. It was a relentless cycle of action and reaction.
Even though Esther had cast a physical acceleration spell to watch the fight, she couldn't fully follow the entire exchange. What she did manage to see was Encrid's Dawn striking the Dragonkin's left arm at the exact moment the Dragonkin's white longsword thrust toward Encrid's stomach.
It all happened in the blink of an eye. And the outcome defied all expectations.
Grey scales sprouted on the opponent's arm, blocking Dawn's blade, while Encrid's stomach was not pierced by the longsword.
Their gazes locked.
Scales?
Leather?
One stared at the scales, while the other's eyes were drawn to the black leather armor. Simultaneously, Encrid kicked out, and the Dragonkin threw a punch.
Crack!
With a deafening boom, a gale erupted around the two. Sinar stepped in front of Esther and waved her hand, gathering her vital energy to disperse the shockwave.
"A formidable opponent indeed," Sinar murmured in admiration. In truth, everyone was impressed.
None of them could look down on Encrid's current strength. The fact that the Dragonkin could fight him to a standstill was proof enough of his incredible combat prowess. Of course, to the Dragonkin, who had always held a superior position due to his innate authority, this must have been even more surprising. Yet, he showed no emotion. He simply did what he had to do.
"It really doesn't work. Stop."
It was a wave of mana felt not just by Esther, but by everyone present. What rode on his words was Will itself—a power that overwrote and suppressed the opponent's will. It was the signature authority of the Dragonkin. A collective term for the mysterious power that manifested through speech: the Word of Power.
It was similar to a magic spell, but of an entirely different nature—a coercive force that an ordinary human would find nearly impossible to resist. This was what Esther knew to be true.
Yet, the human whose will should have been suppressed and shaken retorted nonchalantly.
"I refuse. Stop being so clingy."
He certainly had a way with words. But why was the Dragonkin speaking like that? Esther felt a mixture of surprise and curiosity welling up inside her.
"I dislike clingy people, but seeing how you haven't said a word to me so far, you must already think of me as your fiancée, right?"
Sinar was her usual self. She had called him formidable, but not threatening. If that was how she saw him, it was the same for the others. None of them stepped forward. There was no need to.
Encrid's fighting spirit had not faltered once. If anything, it seemed to grow even fiercer as the battle raged on.
Amidst his savage onslaught, the opponent asked, "Are you a Balrog, perhaps? The way you fight is like that."
"His grammar is a total mess," Rem remarked. In that instant, everyone was of one mind.
Encrid mentally translated and processed the words in real-time, pondering what his opponent meant. Was he saying that because of the material of his armor? He thought so for a moment, but that wasn't it. Within the Dragonkin's knowledge, there was only one kind of being that enjoyed fighting this much, which was why he had asked.
"I think I'm better looking," Encrid replied nonchalantly.
He wasn't thrilled about being compared to a creature with two horns and cracked skin, but what did that matter right now?
"Let's keep fighting."
Encrid exhaled sharply. He possessed no talent like the Word of Power, so his words carried no coercive force. Instead, he had resolve, will, conviction, and his fists. To be precise, Dawn, the imprinted weapon gripped firmly in his hand.
Sometimes, his sword displayed a coercive force far greater than any Word of Power.
A smiling madman and a slender, blonde man staring indifferently. The human and the Dragonkin clashed weapons. When Encrid tried to lock blades and force a Bind, the Dragonkin retreated. Encrid pursued him, accelerating his thoughts. He mobilized his five senses and his sixth sense, trying to read his opponent's next move.
All those efforts stretched the moments of thought, tightening his perception of the present. Within that compressed time, lines and points connected in succession to suppress his opponent, while a partitioned thought analyzed the foe.
Dull.
That was how the opponent's swordsmanship and momentum felt. No matter who he fought, there was always a distinct sensation transmitted through the sword.
For instance, the Balrog? It sounded strange to put into words, but the creature brought to mind a rock that was solid yet bent flexibly. Oara was like a flowing wave, while Ragna was a lightning bolt that shattered everything, yet burned and lingered like a flame—a lightning bolt full of stubbornness, unsatisfied with merely flashing for an instant.
Sachsen was an invisible blade, and Audin seemed like a stubbornly rolling boulder, though he occasionally pulled out a hidden blunt weapon from behind it. He appeared to be a simple, honest brawler, but it meant he possessed various hidden means to win. Rem behaved like a ferocious beast while simultaneously displaying the traits of a hunter.
Contradiction.
Within his stretched thoughts, he recalled the day he drank the Founding Liquor. It was an excellent alcohol. To describe its aroma and taste, contradictory words were essential. Two incompatible things existing as one.
The Balrog—a bending rock—was exactly like that. And everyone in the Mad Knights was gradually acquiring something similar. Because his discernment had changed and his perspective had shifted, Encrid was now able to see these things.
His opponent was like a dull, heavy swamp. Or perhaps a pitch-black pit.
It feels like fighting a doll, but...
He was real. It was reality, not an illusion. The moment Encrid read the trajectory of the white longsword, the next move became clear. It wasn't experience, but a split-second inspiration that showed him an inch ahead.
Encrid's Dawn bypassed the longsword and slashed the opponent's left thigh.
Cl-cl-clang!
At the same time, the opponent's sword grazed Encrid's stomach.
Skrrrrt.
The sound was unfamiliar. So was the sensation transmitted to his hand.
It's the same as before. It's not flesh.
It felt as though he had struck something solid. As the loose cloth—a tattered piece of fabric useless as armor—tore open, scales similar to a Scaler's were revealed on the man's thigh. Grey scales densely covered his skin.
"Are you a monster?"
It was his answer to the opponent's question about being a Balrog. There was no reply. At best, Encrid could faintly sense a sliver of emotion from him. Amusingly, the texture of that emotion felt through their clashing swords was similar to his own.
This is fun.
Amusement, anticipation, goodwill. The opponent showed absolutely no malice or intent to kill. Even so, Encrid didn't expect him to back down.
"You're going to keep blocking, aren't you?"
Amidst the dullness felt from the sword, a single will was clearly perceptible. Whether he was a Dragonkin or whatever, he had no intention of backing down. Along with his vertically slit yellow pupils, scales began to sprout on his face with a series of soft clicking sounds.
It was the Dragon Scale, the second authority of the Dragonkin following the Word of Power. His body had now become something that ordinary sword strikes couldn't even scratch.
The fight was far from over. However, something else intervened.
Whoosh.
The sound was quiet, but the shadow cast over their heads was massive. A mass of flames? A cloud? Suddenly, a cloud of fire appeared above them.
At that moment, the Dragonkin turned completely around. He had turned his back entirely on the opponent he had been trading blows with just a second ago.
What is this now?
A trap? No. From the Valen-style Mercenary Sword to the Encrid-style Orthodox Swordsmanship, Encrid was a master of deception even among knights. Conversely, from what he had experienced so far, this scrawny Dragonkin who possessed absurd, monstrous strength was not skilled at deception. It was a fact easily discerned after exchanging just a few blows.
Therefore, turning his back now was genuine. But why?
The moment the Dragonkin turned, he raised his sword. A fireball flew toward him, and his white longsword sliced it in half, just as Encrid had done before. The split fireballs crashed into the ground and exploded.
Boom!
Shattered stone fragments, tree branches, and clumps of scorched earth scattered in all directions. Intense heat instantly enveloped the area, causing everything in sight to sizzle and shimmer like a mirage.
Hmm?
Encrid deflected half of the flying debris with his sword and blocked the rest with his gauntlet. He looked forward again.
"I wanted to live too."
A child appeared. Though it was a child he had never seen before, the moment he laid eyes on him, he instinctively knew that he was the one who had failed to protect him.
Encrid's eyes met those of the child, who was crouching and looking around warily inside a pit of fire. The moment their eyes met, a wave of emotion surged, overpowering his reason. Facts and reality no longer mattered; only his current feelings became the truth.
The child spoke again. "You could have saved me too, right?"
A child who was already dead. A child he had failed to protect despite standing right behind him. Several faces overlapped over the child's.
There had been two kids who wanted to become herb-gatherers. One he had lost, and one he had saved. The child he had lost looked at him and asked, "You could have protected me, couldn't you?"
There was no resentment in his tone. It was innocent. That innocence gouged deeper into his heart, sending his emotions into a wild tempest.