Chapter 88: Bonehead
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 88: Bonehead
Having closed the distance, Encrid intended to end the fight with a single strike.
But as he swung his sword upward, something slammed into his face. It was a heavy blow, as if Rem himself had landed a punch.
Encrid fell flat on his backside, only for another heavy impact to loom over his head. Reflexively, he tucked his chin and rolled to the side.
Thud.
An invisible force—an intangible shockwave—slammed into the ground where he had stood a heartbeat ago. The spot was free of filthy sewage, but damp clumps of dirt kicked up and splattered across his face.
Squinting one eye, Encrid’s gaze darted around frantically.
I can't see it.
It had to be a spell. It was a natural assumption; he had just seen a disembodied head floating there, its mouth agape. Who else could make such a thing possible?
"You avoided it. You're only making things harder on yourself," the mage spoke, waving his hand. "If you just stay still, it won't hurt."
Since the attack was invisible, there was no way to block it. Encrid rolled to the side once more. A blade of wind sliced through the air with a sharp whoosh right where he had been.
Encrid didn't know exactly what it was, only that it was magic.
What do I do in a situation like this?
He had met countless sword instructors in his time, and whenever the topic of mages came up, they always said the same things.
"A mage? There's only one way to deal with them."
"Run. Run and don't look back."
"Don't engage. Unless you want to spend the rest of your life trapped between life and death, suffering endlessly."
"If you're lucky, you die. If you're unlucky... don't even imagine it."
Considering some of those instructors were quite famous, their words served as a stark reminder of just how dangerous mages and spells truly were. On the other hand, the members of his troublemaker squad had a slightly different perspective.
"Shoot them dead with a bow," Rem had said.
"Kill them when they aren't looking," was Sachsen’s advice.
"If we must fight, isn't it enough to just get close, Brother?" That was a very Audin-like answer.
And as for Ragna...
"If you cut them, they die just like anyone else."
The conclusion was clear: it was best to avoid mages. But if he absolutely had to kill one, he would follow Ragna's logic.
If you cut them, they die just like anyone else.
So, that was what he would do. Fleeing was not an option. If left alone, this bastard would keep doing the same thing. People would be torn apart like old rags and scattered like trash.
The shoemaker and the weaver's daughter came to mind. If left alone, those two would be the first to die.
Though it had been one-sided, he had watched over them for dozens of days. Even without much interaction, they had prepared meals and expressed worry for Encrid as he lingered at the crossroads. They would never know the hardships Encrid endured, but that didn't matter.
Even if no one ever knew, if there was something to protect, he would protect it. That was the dream Encrid dreamed, the path he had chosen to walk, and the final destination pointed to by his signpost.
"Now, now, don't run away. Good boy, it's alright," the mage said, snapping his fingers.
With a sharp click, a light rose toward the ceiling of the sewer. It was far brighter than a torch, casting long shadows beneath their feet. The mage neither laughed nor showed anger; to him, this was merely a job.
Watching him, Encrid focused with every fiber of his being, flinging open the Gate of the Sixth Sense.
The mage didn't care about Encrid's movements. To him, his opponent was merely a test subject, a bug, a lump of meat. As his hand moved again, an intangible shockwave flew forward.
Boom!
He's lucky, the mage thought.
Encrid had lightly leaped to the side, dodging the spell. He was moving by relying on a strange sensation.
I can't see it, but just because it's invisible doesn't mean it isn't there.
A realization dawned on him. If I can't see it, can I feel it?
Just as his concentration and sixth sense had allowed him to predict the movements of a wolf demonic beast, he would watch the hand gestures of this corpse-obsessed mage, predict his next move, and feel whatever was coming.
Encrid did exactly that.
The mage shaped the wind into blades and threw them—three curving projectiles flying from different directions simultaneously. It was a spell sharper than a grim reaper's scythe, one that would easily slice through cheap cloth armor. Yet...
Encrid rolled and dodged it.
"You dodged again?" the mage muttered, his hands moving incessantly.
Invisible shockwaves and blades targeted Encrid one after another, but he dodged them all. It wasn't luck. It was the realm of pure sensation, a sixth sense that transcended the physical. His half-closed eyes, his twitching ears, the goosebumps rising on his skin—everything painted a picture of the tricks the mage was pulling.
At the same time, he searched for a way to kill his opponent. He could have ended this by throwing a Whistling Dagger, but his instinct told him a mere throwing knife wouldn't kill this man.
He was dodging magic purely by instinct now. The opponent was performing wonders, but Encrid simplified it.
If I just think of them as arrows or blades... if I think of it as an enemy soldier swinging a blunt weapon... is it threatening?
No. He could dodge it. In fact, Mitch Hurier's sword was much sharper.
It was time to follow Audin's advice: Just get close.
He dodged and instantly kicked off the ground. He saw the mage's eyes widen.
"You bastard!"
The mage was shocked. In a single breath, this soldier had dodged invisible magic, rushed forward, and raised his sword. Encrid was now within his range.
Whoosh.
As the blade of the longsword descended toward his head, the mage cried out in a panic.
"Devour!"
Powerful mana and a spell merged, manifesting in the world. It was a spell that could only be cast by a mage who had experienced the deep, dark world—a spell that should have severed and erased Encrid's internal organs. It was not something that could be dodged by instinct.
Yet, nothing happened. Or rather, something happened to the wrong person.
"Ugh!"
The mage gasped in dismay. The spell had been reflected, returning to strike his own body.
Through Encrid's cloth armor, sliced open by the wind blades, the mage saw what lay underneath: black leather armor heavily steeped in the scent of magic.
"Y-you... what are you wearing?"
"Something good," Encrid replied.
He was quick-witted, and his hands were just as fast as his wits.
Swoosh!
The blade swallowed the air. The descending iron, forged by hammers and flames, struck true.
Crunch, splat!
The mage's head was sliced open. Encrid felt a strange resistance blocking the sword halfway through, but he forced it down with sheer strength.
As the mage died, he inwardly wailed at the injustice. I still have so much prepared! Vamilo! Vamilo! He tried to awaken his creation, but a dead man can do nothing. Delusions after death could not affect reality.
"You look disappointed," Encrid said, kicking the corpse.
He took off his torn gambeson; it was in such bad shape it couldn't even be used as a rag. He didn't feel a rush of accomplishment or relief. He had simply done what needed to be done. He killed a bastard who deserved to die. That was all.
Before cleaning up...
Thinking there might be a hidden stash, Encrid searched the area cautiously. He found a thick brown book, a pouch containing five gold Krona, a black wooden staff, a few blue and white stones, and a pair of chestnut-brown gloves. He took them all, leaving the unsettling herbs and mysterious items behind.
Encrid wiped his sword, intending to sheathe it, when the middle of the blade snapped with a sharp clang.
"Damn it."
It wasn't just from rough use. That strange resistance he felt when cutting the mage must have been the cause. He would have to buy another sword with the mage's gold.
Should I have it reforged? Since it was Valerian steel, it might still be usable.
Encrid turned to leave, but stopped after ten steps.
"It's not turning off?"
The light source overhead remained active. He looked up and saw a glowing pebble floating in the air.
A magic tool that floats on its own. It practically reeked of Krona.
He leaped up and snatched the fist-sized stone. It continued to emit light in his palm. It would serve as a good torch on his way out.
As Encrid’s footsteps faded, a Lake Panther, looking like a black cat, leaped down to the ground.
He saw magic and dodged it?
Esther was utterly astonished. She had never imagined someone could perform such a feat. Of course, the mage's skills had been pathetic, but still...
Then again, I've lived a reclusive life. Someone with this kind of talent was bound to exist somewhere.
She looked at the items Encrid had left behind and snorted. How amateurish.
The real windfall wasn't the gold or the book. It was the thing the mage had called Vamilo—a creature stitched together from demonic beasts and human corpses. Mages called them Flash Golems. To a human, it was a source of disgust; to a mage, it was an incredibly useful tool.
Squeezing out her remaining strength, Esther carved a magic circle onto the Flash Golem's forehead. It was a ritual to store the monster in the alternate world she possessed.
The dead mage had been a fool. If he had awakened the golem from the start, Encrid's chances of winning would have been abysmally low.
As the ritual finished, the Flash Golem's body crumbled into dust and vanished, crossing over into Esther's inner world. The panther panted heavily, completely depleted of mana.
In memory of the pathetic mage, Esther gave the golem a name she wouldn't forget.
"Bonehead."
He was the most pathetic bastard among all the spell-seekers she had ever seen.
*
"A mage in the sewers?"
"Yes."
"And you killed him?"
"Yes, that is correct."
Encrid was nonchalant, and the Company Commander was equally so. After she left to verify the claim, Encrid washed up and inspected his gear. He needed a new sword before he could apply for another demonic beast subjugation.
"...What on earth did you do?" Rem asked back at the lodgings.
"I went to war over a pair of boots."
"Wait, is that shoemaker crafting ego boots? Do boots fight that well?" Rem joked.
Everyone was staring at Encrid, waiting for the story.
"I'll finish my report first," Encrid said. He didn't want to give the Company Commander any reason to find fault. "Where is Esther?"
Audin replied from the corner, "She often wanders off. She’ll be back in your arms by evening, Brother."
Encrid nodded. She was a cunning panther; no one would be able to harm her.
He returned to the commander's office. She arrived shortly after.
"They were there. Both the spell traps and the dead mage. It was a potential threat lurking beneath the territory. Good work."
Encrid saluted, pressing his hand to his sword hilt.
When he finally explained the situation to his squad, they were floored.
"Why would a mage pop out from there?"
"Hmm, as expected, you just have to cut them down."
"In the sewers?"
"You have punished a wicked soul, Brother."
Encrid took two days of rest to recover from the shockwaves he'd endured. When he tried to have his sword reforged, the blacksmith just grumbled.
"This is completely ruined. What did you do? Cut down a mage?" The blacksmith clearly didn't believe him. "I can't reuse this. I don't have any Valerian steel, so if you want a new one, it'll have to be ordinary iron."
"That's a shame."
"Well, wait a few days. An acquaintance is bringing some Noir wrought iron. It’s expensive, so bring a heavy purse."
Noir wrought iron was several times stronger than ordinary iron—one of the finest materials a blacksmith could use. Encrid found himself looking forward to it.
On his way out of the market, a familiar voice stopped him.
"Hey, hey! You there, soldier!"
It was the shoemaker. He ran over and thrust a bulky pouch toward Encrid.
"Here."
"What is this?"
"Your boots look worn out. Wear these. If someone gives you something, just take it. No questions."
The shoemaker grumbled and turned away, embarrassed. Encrid chuckled. The man had no idea what Encrid had done; he was likely just grateful the request had been resolved.
A single pair of boots might seem like a trivial reward for killing a mage, but they were brand new and meticulously crafted. That was more than enough.
The next day, Encrid strapped on an arming sword he’d borrowed from Ragna and set off. He was impatient to integrate the experience he’d gained from the sewer fight into his body.
"Is it just my imagination, or do you look way too excited to go kill demonic beasts?" Rem asked with a grin.
"No, you're right," Encrid replied smoothly. "I am excited."
And he truly meant it.