Chapter 26
Chapter 26
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 026
Chapter Title: The Priest Relies, the Mage Questions, and the Knight Holds Conviction
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The cockatrice was the monster Roden had once bragged about as an example of how amazing knights were.
A massive lizard covered head to toe in stone-like skin...
Facing it in person, Shan realized that description perfectly captured its appearance—but utterly failed to convey its overwhelming ferocity and sheer intimidation.
Climbing atop the five-meter wall made the already enormous beast look like a full-blown dragon.
As if trying to figure out just what it was staring at, the cockatrice narrowed its eyes before throwing its beak-like jaws wide open and roaring.
[□□□■■■□□-]!
A wave unique to large monsters crashed over them, instantly suppressing their freedom of movement.
This was on an entirely different level from the troll's earlier roar.
Shan tried to shake off the paralysis by drawing on his immense heroic spirit, only to realize he didn't need to bother.
Priest Vent had swiftly bestowed a blessing that fortified their minds and bolstered their courage.
As payment, Vent himself collapsed limply to the ground alongside Roden and Jerpo.
"Urgh... grr!"
"My legs...!"
Even the horses buckled at the knees. Seeing this, Shan stepped forward to draw the cockatrice's attention before it could charge.
The beast peered down at him with snake-like slit pupils, then leaped off the wall in a flash.
Fortunately, it seemed drawn to Shan—the only one still moving amid the frozen others.
"Ngh!"
Boom! The ground cratered under its weight, dirt spraying everywhere.
Its stone-like skin wasn't just for show; the thing was insanely heavy for its size.
Yet what was truly astonishing was how nimbly it moved despite that bulk, just like any ordinary animal.
Shan dodged the slashing front claws and raked his sword along its flank.
A grinding screech of metal on stone rang out, sparks flying, as a long red line etched into the stony hide.
'Tough!'
He hadn't gone all out, but he'd infused enough heroic spirit to slice steel—yet it barely scratched the surface.
But Shan wasn't the only one surprised. The cockatrice recoiled in shock at the wound on its supposedly unbreakable body.
For something its size, it hardly counted as an injury, but maybe it'd never been hurt before in its life.
As Shan locked eyes with the beast's mix of confusion and terror, Jerpo's trembling voice came from behind.
"Wait... let's pull back for now... We're too exposed. We need time to prepare and plan."
Following his suggestion, the Green-Eyed Crew slowly backed away from the massive mansion.
Thankfully, the cockatrice just glared with its glaring yellow eyes, wary but not pursuing as they retreated.
"Haa..."
No one could say who sighed in relief first, but it wasn't until they'd put a good five minutes' walk between them and the mansion.
Even then, they glanced back at it several times.
With footsteps like that, it would've heard them coming from a mile away—but the pressure was that intense.
"Damn it, why'd the flashiest mansion have to have that freak in it?"
As Roden grumbled about their rotten luck, Jerpo—stroking his chin thoughtfully—countered.
"It might not be bad luck at all."
"Then what?"
"It's a relatively new theory, but some say monsters are drawn to powerful magic tools or something similar."
Like dragons hoarding treasure, tales had long persisted of great artifacts guarded by protectors.
Otherwise, someone would've just snatched the loot already.
But lately, some mages argued it wasn't just folklore filler.
Monsters supposedly fed on the ambient mana leaking from magic tools as their power source.
High-rank ones especially couldn't sustain their strength on normal food alone, making mystical energy even more vital.
That explained why warriors with top-tier magic gear often clashed with the strongest monsters, forging legends.
"You mean...?"
"There might be something in there keeping that cockatrice put. Probably is, even."
The central mansion screamed "top dog of the district" in size and style.
If treasure existed, that's where it'd be.
The problem? They couldn't excavate it without slaying the cockatrice first.
Given how it'd shown up just from their chatter at the entrance, sneaking in silently was a pipe dream.
"Even so, isn't that thing a bit much? Even lords need whole squads to take one down."
Vent frowned, voicing his doubts.
Trolls and cockatrices were both "large monsters," but the gap was heaven and earth.
The former could be hunted by a knight or two leading a subjugation party—like the one Shan had joined.
The latter demanded hundreds of warriors and a dozen knights at minimum.
Short of the ultra-rares that threatened entire kingdoms every few decades or centuries, cockatrices ranked among the toughest monsters out there.
Just participating in a cockatrice hunt was a badge of honor among knights; landing the killing blow made for a tale passed down generations.
"But quitting now would be such a waste."
"Yeah. After all that to get here."
"Mm."
Vent had no comeback to Shan and Jerpo's words, just a groan.
Considering the magic tools and supplies burned just getting in, bailing after skirting the edges felt criminal.
And the Demon Realm offered no guarantees they'd infiltrate this smoothly again.
"Let's hear what Shan thinks first. You've tangled with it once—got a feel for it. Think we can do it?"
Shan pondered amid expectant and worried stares.
Losing to the cockatrice here wouldn't just cost one life.
The Green-Eyed Crew's lifeline was his combat prowess; without it, reaching Shedil in one piece was a fantasy.
"Mm."
Inspecting the sword that had sliced its flank earlier drew an involuntary groan.
The edge was a mangled mess, teeth filed down like a dull saw...
Even protected by heroic spirit, this was the damage. Swinging without it would've been as pointless as cutting bedrock.
To finish it, he'd need to pour nearly everything into a stab at the heart or brain.
Rationally, retreat made sense.
Grow a bit more, stock decent magic weapons—not quite Count Varik's level, but good ones—then challenge it safely.
But...
'How long would that even take?'
Plenty of explorers went lifetimes without scoring a single decent magic tool.
Claiming an unknown city was already insane luck; waiting for it to strike multiple times? Who knew the years?
And if he backed off every time trouble loomed, how would he ever achieve his goals?
Becoming a knight as an Altoin was impossible by normal standards from the start.
Extraordinary results demanded extraordinary measures.
"Let's make a plan."
Everyone nodded gravely at Shan's words.
His decision was final—no arguments, not even from Vent.
When it came to combat, Shan's authority outranked the other three combined.
Before launching the plan, the Green-Eyed Crew first scouted the surroundings.
They raided several large buildings away from the cockatrice's mansion, hunting usable magic tools.
Always together, four in one spot—no telling when it'd strike.
How long had they been rummaging dusty shelves and cabinets?
As Shan coughed through the dust, Roden's excited shout rang out.
"Whoa, got one! Here!"
Gathering around, Roden held out a gold-plated goblet.
True to its magic, it gleamed spotlessly amid the filth.
"Doesn't look great for fighting."
"You never know. Could make poison from any liquid inside... Let's appraise it."
While Jerpo probed the goblet's function, the others kept searching.
The reveal was underwhelming.
"Temperature control?"
"Yeah. Keeps liquids hot or cold indefinitely. Making something this trivial from such durable material? Owner was loaded—or it was personal."
Whatever. It wasn't slaying cockatrices today.
Still, a working Altoin relic would fetch a fortune in Shedil. Into the pack it went.
Shan brushed crumbled paper scraps from under a bed and asked Jerpo.
"Books are rare, huh?"
"Paper's lousy for enchantments. Or Altoins had better info storage. Intact Altoin books outsell most relics."
"That pricey?"
"Magic tomes aside, imagine an old Altoin Empire map. Treasure beyond treasures for explorers."
"Fair..."
That'd pinpoint the legendary capital, Asilrub—thousands of kilometers east.
"That's why Altoin history's such a black box. Even survivor lore's scarce. Most popular's the Goddess Faith version—"
"Old Altoins betrayed humanity and the Goddess, using magic to open gates to the demon world?"
"Old Faith clings to that. I don't buy it—too fragmentary."
So the Goddess cursed them, twisting their forms and barrening their lands. Exiled to wander ugly and homeless forever.
Priest Ador's daily sermons had drilled it in.
Even chattering excitedly with Jerpo, Shan's eyes and hands never stopped.
They hit five more houses, scoring plenty of Altoin relics: freshness-preserving cabinets, semi-permanent cosmetics, self-cleaning handkerchiefs...
Regular homes—not armories—meant mostly daily goods.
Best for combat? Solar-charged orbs that glowed at night. Useless until recharged.
By search's end, dusk had fallen, blanketing the city in darkness.
The Demon Realm's perpetual cloud cover made nights pitch-black.
Scouting sans fighting was deliberate.
Shan's night vision shone brightest in the dark.
"[Garnarovashtang... Arbonasfrum...]"
Eerie incantations echoed in the dark building.
After enchanting weapons for the third time, Jerpo collapsed in exhaustion.
Heroic spirit aside, magic drained stamina with overuse.
"Huff... no... no more. For real."
Explorer-talented in many spells, but enchantment wasn't his forte—understudied too.
His specialty: appraising tools, analyzing relics—archaeology lite.
Compared to true enchanters, his magic was weak, lasting mere minutes.
Still, better than pointless tricks. Consensus reached.
Leaving Jerpo with the horses, Shan, Roden, and Vent headed for the mansion.
"Hoo..."
Shan spotted cold sweat beading on Roden's torch-lit face.
Vent was tense too, if less so.
Perfectly normal, marching into a mega-monster's lair at night.
Yet Shan felt no tension.
No—something hot and thick welled from his chest...
'Ah.'
He knew this feeling.
Fighting Steel Lion bandits invading the village. Black Spear Peonil. The troll.
Only in fights where death loomed.
Never against piddly monsters or safe foes.
Pre-battle thrill mixed with mortal dread, stabbing his brain.
Exhaling lightly to vent steam, Shan halted them thirty meters out.
"Here."
"Not closer?"
"Fine. Assassination's ideal if possible."
First clash: loud entry, spotted.
Solo stealth? Maybe decapitate a sleeping beast.
Best-case perfection.
After Vent's final vitality blessing, Shan slipped inside cat-like, leaving them at the entrance.
Unlike the prior hasty one-hander, he wielded his longsword—bought dear at the capital smithy.
Half his troll bounty gone for the finest steel blade money could buy.
Soundless past the entrance into the garden, then—thud thud.
'Busted.'
His steps barely rustled leaves, so not footsteps. Scent?
Sir Darkal had drilled monster ecology, but cockatrices? Sketchy.
Rarely hunted solo; mass subjugations lacked fine data.
No basilisk death stare, just stupidly strong, fast, tough.
Soon, it burst from the mansion's shadows.
Unlike before, no scouting—eyes blazing fury at the intrusion.
[□□■□-]!
The bellow echoed like before, but Shan didn't flinch.
No mental blessing, but prior exposure built tolerance.
Heroic spirit would've countered anyway.
Dodging its charge, he first checked the flank wound.
'Good, barely healed. No regen...'
After evading strikes, Shan thrust his longsword into the gash.
Far more heroic spirit this time, targeting crumbled stone—blade sank hilt-deep instantly.
[■■■■■■□□□--]!
Not rage or threat—a scream packed with pain.
Even for a near-ten-meter lizard, a meter-long sword plunging deep was fatal.
No time to retrieve it; Shan dropped the hilt and ducked.
Whip-thin tail lashed overhead.
'Close...!'
A hair less duck? Skull pulped, instant death.
Stood still? Head gone.
Glad he'd skipped teaming with Roden.
Cockatrice strength and speed dwarfed trolls; Roden's reflexes might block one or two—at mortal cost.
Dodging follow-ups, Shan noted its night vision rivaled his—tracking sharp, countering fierce.
Aiming for his glowing green eyes?
Test: eyes shut, senses only. Claw-whoosh incoming.
Dodged razor-thin, eyes open. Same as before.
Not it.
'Nearly died!'
His agility topped it, but sheer mass meant one hit = game over.
Knights fought like that: subpar bodies overcome by gear, skill, spirit.
Thankfully, flank pain distracted it; at distance, it whined without charging.
Less pain-tolerant than the troll.
"Spear!"
Leaping back near the gate, Shan bellowed for Roden.
Torch doused, hearing only thuds and snaps, Roden hurled blind.
Daylight? Trembling grip fumbles it. Darkness: luck.
"Watch out!"
Shan saw the spear hurtle spear-like despite dark.
Dodged, caught, jabbed at oncoming face.
Aimed eyes past beak; head-twitch grazed orbital skin.
Luck over skill.
'Damn.'
Plenty spirit, but cheap spear + meh enchantment = no killshot.
Parrying claws, at opening: massive spirit surge stabbed throat.
Blade pierced stone; third hilt-deep.
"Ngh!"
Dizzying stamina drain groaned him out; rolled aside.
Rabid slash shredded chainmail at gut, shards flying.
'Wore it for a reason...'
Heavy, noisy—considered ditching. Else? Guts everywhere.
Death's brush flooded brain with bliss-juice.
Like blocking Black Spear.
But this foe wouldn't pause.
Desperate dodges till vitality blessing refilled him.
"Sword!"
Familiar one-hander flew.
His first trophy: Steel Lion officer's blade.
Preferring two-hander, Shan startled but leaped, embedding it mid-back as beast twisted.
Rebound snapped it with a clang!
Spirit surge sapped him; staggered as it wheeled to bite—leapt to wall footholds.
Five-meter climb proved, not safe—but bought time.
"Huff... haa..."
Two near-max bursts: nausea roiled.
No blessing? Passed out cold.
Darkal's breathing steadied him briefly; then—he noticed it wasn't attacking.
'...Huh?'
Flank sword, throat spear, back blade: painful, not vital.
Yet it scanned around, not lunging.
Like hunting him blind.
'No way.'
Test: called Roden.
Backup longsword arced over, thudding down; cockatrice pounced, flailing air.
'Got it...'
No vibration-sensing needed: footsteps.
Dark? Hyper-aware. Ground-pounds gave it away.
Intruder inside? Ignored outer Roden/Vent.
Shan clung till stamina full—one minute—then dropped.
Thud drew instant charge.
"Hyah."
Dodged razor-close, snatched Roden's dropped sword.
One-handed it up building wall.
'Good, now lure under...'
Cockatrice approached warily.
Twice vanished near building? Suspecting trickery.
Troll-smart? Would've climbed instantly.
High-IQ monsters: trouble beyond stats.
'C'mon, bit closer.'
Thrust at throat—head too? Skull toughest; legends said neck-decap kills sure.
Step. Step.
Go time: released wall, plummeted.
Doubt stabbed: 'Can I really one-shot?'
Backup blade: inferior steel.
Jerpo's spell meh; fail to sever thick neck, drop drained? Crushed.
Shan gritted, banished doubt.
Priest trusts Goddess fully; mage questions all; knight knows he can.
Darkal's lesson cleared his mind.
Cut!
Razor spirit honed blade; gashed log-neck.
Half instant; half mangled force.
Blade wrecked—remelt required.
"Ahaha..."
Laughing at floppy head, Shan realized his body betrayed him, collapsing.
Victory-high mind vs. drained corpse: hilarious.
