Chapter 241
“…Shit? Does this make any sense?”
Swallow Blade stared with wide eyes and muttered in disbelief.
Encrid didn’t answer, silently recalling what he had just done, but a different voice responded from behind.
“It happened right before your eyes. Why wouldn’t you believe it?”
When did he return—he was behind them. It was Rem. Did he see the half-blood giant stop?
Everyone’s shoulders were heaving, as if they had just sprinted at full speed.
Markus and everyone else came to a halt.
Even as they caught their breath, several archers kept arrows nocked in their longbows.
They looked ready to fire at any moment.
Those aiming at the giant might not be sharpshooters, but they wouldn’t have trouble hitting their mark.
A few skilled archers even shifted their aim toward Encrid.
“Don’t go decorating the captain’s head—just stay put.”
Rem spoke to them.
“Leave that warrior alone, too.”
Encrid added.
A few archers who’d been watching the half-blood giant quietly relaxed their draw.
They couldn’t fire easily anyway with a hostage right beside them. Wasn’t that hostage the person Encrid had just rescued?
“Was that Vell?”
Even from a distance, the act of slicing through fire was clear. It wasn’t something you could miss, even if you wanted to.
Krys muttered, and Encrid thought about shrugging, but didn’t. The enemy was still standing right in front of him.
“Haha, what the hell is this? Seriously.”
Swallow Blade let out a hollow laugh. Until now, just unveiling his chained sword had been enough to claim several lives.
Even then, he’d been sparing with his scrolls. Those were like spare lives.
He’d seen people dodge fireballs made with spells before. There were guys like that. Sure, you’re supposed to dodge. Any normal swordsman would be desperate to avoid them.
He’d expected dodging.
If you’re startled, you leave an opening, and then you strike that opening as quickly as possible.
That was his kill move, his trump card.
But why did he slice it? Why did he cut through it? Did a fireball created by a spell get sliced?
‘He cut it? He sliced it? Is that really possible?’
Swallow Blade was stunned. For a moment, witnessing the impossible had left his mind blank.
“It’s fine.”
When had he approached? The blond with a languid expression said it, standing beside Encrid.
“Oh, you’re here?”
Encrid asked, unfazed.
“Yes.”
Ragna replied.
They weren’t the type to just watch. Encrid silently looked ahead, as if asking, what now?
“Yeah, I lost.”
Swallow Blade admitted, rummaging through his coat again.
Watching this, Ragna, rarely, muttered to himself.
“I said we’d meet again.”
“Yeah, see you next time.”
He pulled out a new scroll from his coat.
Another fireball?
Encrid reacted, and some archers hesitated, wondering if they should shoot.
Bang.
Ragna charged, pushing off the ground.
He closed the distance in a blur, so fast his form almost vanished.
As he dashed in, Swallow Blade quickly tore the scroll.
Szzzt!
Through the torn scroll, Ragna cut diagonally through the air, just as Encrid had.
Screeech!
A strange sound lingered in the air.
Thunk.
A dull thud followed.
“I said we’d meet again.”
Ragna said as the dull sound echoed. What made that sound was the ground. Encrid nodded silently as he saw what had fallen.
When Ragna says ‘see you next time,’ he’s not one to be ignored. At that moment, the lazy man was downright lethal.
That scroll seemed to have something to do with spatial movement.
Half of Swallow Blade’s body remained on the ground where he’d vanished.
It was a lower half, intestines and blood spilling in sluggish waves.
The upper half was instantly swallowed up in a burst of light.
—
“Aaaagh!”
Spatial escape scrolls had a little over a fifty percent success rate.
Slightly off, and you’d end up in the wrong place, but this time it worked.
But just before, a sword had sliced in, cutting right through as the spell was activating.
‘Insane!’
Swallow Blade’s eyes rolled back in agony.
Was it a magical side effect, or the sword’s aftermath? He couldn’t even tell.
He couldn’t see from the magical backlash.
When the aftereffects faded and he finally felt the terrible pain and looked down, there was nothing below his stomach.
“Uh.”
No one can survive losing half their body.
Blood and guts poured out onto the ground. There was nothing to be done. Not even a high priest could heal this.
Swallow Blade crawled across the ground and died alone in the desolate wasteland.
With frothing blood at his mouth, half his body gone.
Over the corpse, soon, headless vultures swooped, and then crows gathered.
—
“What should we do about that one?”
Benzense asked, speaking about the intimidatingly large half-blood giant.
“She doesn’t want to fight anymore. Kill her.”
The giant’s voice rumbled on. It was rough, but oddly pleasant to hear.
Encrid exhaled and approached.
“No matter your reasons, what you did was pretty despicable, wasn’t it?”
He spoke suddenly, making the half-blood giant kneel and lift her head.
“I was sent by the bishop of the Cult of the Demon Realm.”
With those words, her identity was revealed. She was someone who had to be killed.
However—
Encrid didn’t immediately swing his sword.
Markus looked at Encrid and thought.
Why? Does he want to lock her up and torment her?
Wouldn’t it be better just to kill her?
“Anyone who betrays the Cult is killed. Every last one. So I’ll die here.”
The half-blood giant continued.
Encrid looked at her quietly.
A cultist.
It didn’t seem like she’d chosen it. More than that, her final moments kept replaying in his mind.
He hadn’t been able to do it; when the fireball went off, she’d shielded the hostage with her own body.
If she hadn’t done that, the hostage might have died.
Even now, he could see her scorched hair and blistered forearm.
Burns.
Do cultists risk their lives to save people?
“Is it really necessary to kill her?”
Juri, the girl who had wet herself, finally spoke up. Her first words since all this began.
“I have to die.”
The answer came from the half-blood giant. Markus left the decision to Encrid. He himself had played only a small part here.
“The Cult will hunt you. Be careful from now on.”
Even with the warning, Encrid gave no answer.
“Why? Should I do it instead?”
Rem cut in, unable to watch any longer. He hefted his axe onto his shoulder, sounding as unruly as ever.
“If she’s not killed, the Cult will chase after her, right?”
Encrid asked, hearing the implication.
“Absolutely. There’s nothing more dangerous to them than a defector.”
The answer came.
It’s hard and painful to believe in the Cult; once you’re in, no one leaves. Or if they do, it’s extremely rare.
Yet this woman looked like she wanted nothing more than to abandon it.
“Do you wish to repent, sister?”
Audin, who had been watching, asked.
“My name is Teresa.”
Quite a grand name. Teresa carried a sacred meaning.
“No surname. I was born and raised in the Cult, and served only there.”
She didn’t seem to have faith. Only torment and regret. Both were clear from her words and expression.
“I’ll find peace in death now.”
She muttered to herself. It wasn’t about any holy war of the Cult.
Encrid raised his sword.
“What would you do if you could be reborn?”
The blade reflected light. Sharp and solid. It could easily slice through a giant’s neck—let alone a half-blood.
The giant replied.
“I’d fight and fight again, and live to prove myself.”
She smiled as she spoke.
It was a pleasant, refreshing smile.
Encrid liked her quite a bit.
Then he swung his sword.
Whoosh.
So fast, it didn’t even leave an afterimage.
And with that swing, the cultist Teresa was dead.
—
“Is this really okay? Isn’t this just turning a blind eye?”
“Yes.”
At Krys’s words, Encrid nodded.
It was a signal that things would probably be fine. In truth, Encrid wasn’t sure.
It was more of an impulse than a calculated act.
It was similar to when he spared Dunbakel before.
“No, but is it really okay?”
“No idea.”
“Aren’t you a little too carefree?”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
In the simple conversation inside the quarters, Rem chimed in.
He came between Encrid and Krys, throwing his arms over their shoulders as he spoke.
“What, is someone complaining? Who’s got a problem? Tell me. I’ll just, you know, take care of it.”
‘Take care of it.’
That wasn’t going to happen. Krys thought as much.
Who would have any complaints?
There’s a group here of the strongest men in the company.
Within the barracks, they were known—almost with reverence—as the Madman Platoon.
And now, there was a new member.
A woman in a mask.
“I want to keep my name.”
It was Teresa.
Former cultist.
Now, what to call her…
“I wandered the continent my whole life and finally settled down. Nice to meet you.”
She said she was born anew.
She said her past died with her.
It seemed stranger to obey so willingly. What was this woman thinking?
“Ah, whatever.”
Krys stopped worrying.
What’s the point?
The captain would do whatever he wanted anyway.
Saying he’d kill her, slashing at empty air, then persuading the woman who said she must die—it was all the captain’s doing.
“If you want to die on the battlefield, just wish for it.”
It wasn’t a long speech.
The half-blood giant followed along just like that.
“You going to take responsibility for me?”
“Handle your own responsibilities.”
“You know you’ll be at odds with the Cult? They’ll never stop coming.”
“…Did you come for a friendly meal or something?”
Teresa had also come to kill. The Cult was already the enemy. They had declared Encrid their enemy.
So he spoke with a face showing not a shred of worry. Did that move Teresa’s heart?
Who knows. Just—
“You’ll regret this.”
“No. I won’t.”
And after that trivial exchange, she accepted her death.
“As of today, the cultist Teresa is dead.”
That was the end.
Commander Markus didn’t say much either. He didn’t ask if it was right to bring her along. He didn’t even voice any concern about the Cult.
He just let it be.
‘None of this is really my business.’
Anyway, the captain is truly something.
That was Krys’s idle thought.
“Let’s go.”
Today was another day of training. Encrid led the soldiers out.
He remembered when the rapier-wielding swordsman had snuck in before.
Maybe discipline had gotten lax in the company?
A soldier who’d been taken hostage was even among the hostages.
“I swear, I’ll never make a fool of myself like that again!”
After being caught once, Vell was newly motivated.
Encrid addressed all the soldiers gathered at the drill ground.
“I’ll make sure you’re all reborn.”
Up until now, he’d only put them through tolerable training, but that was hell.
And now he said he’d make them new again.
“Rem.”
“Right here.”
“Ragna.”
“Yes.”
“Audin.”
“Yes, brother.”
Three instructors.
“Dunbakel.”
“Yes.”
“Beat down anyone who resists.”
Dunbakel, the violence specialist sub-instructor.
“Teresa the Wanderer.”
“Yes.”
The answer from the half-blood giant was calm, but a few soldiers shivered at the sound.
It was an answer full of strength.
“I won’t complain if you leave them half-dead.”
Is this a death sentence or something?
Vell felt his motivation slowly draining away.
He really wanted to run away.
‘Should I retire?’
That’s what he was thinking. He wasn’t the only one.
Everyone felt the sudden urge to escape.
Before, they just ran. Now, they had to run with packs twice as heavy as before.
No breaks from morning till night.
And sparring in between.
“Today, it’s you. You look like you’ll make a nice punching bag!”
Rem grabbed anyone and beat them.
The others weren’t any different.
“Your legs gave out? Let me help you up, brother.”
Isn’t helping someone up supposed to mean grabbing their arm and pulling?
Why was he helping by hitting them?
Most of the soldiers just wanted to be on duty.
That was the only real break.
Desertion during duty? Dream on.
Slacking off? Out of the question.
Didn’t someone infiltrate the barracks before?
Never again would that be allowed.
And hostages? H-h-hostages?
A soldier was taken hostage?
Because of that, Vell got blamed all over.
“Is all this because of Vell?”
That rumor went around for a while among the soldiers.
Vell was too busy being half-dead to even care.
Training and the occasional drifter.
That was Encrid’s routine.
Training stayed the same.
But there was something new in the daily life.
“One more time!”
Edin Molsen.
The count’s good-for-nothing son should have gone home, but he stayed.
And the man who looked like his brother, plus the bodyguard, stuck around too.
“Aren’t you going back to your domain?”
After knocking him down repeatedly, Encrid would ask.
“Not my problem.”
Edin Molsen didn’t seem intent on leaving.
Did he have some kind of purpose?
Encrid didn’t care.
Winter was coming. The harshest season in the north of Pen-Hanil.
“Do you drink?”
As the cold wind blew in, Edin Molsen, sprawled on the ground, asked.
“I don’t have time for that.”
A man more obsessed with training than drinking—that was Encrid.
“You really are insane.”
Edin called out Encrid’s nature.
He wasn’t wrong.
After sprawling on the ground, Edin’s lookalike approached and asked,
“Is this really for the best?”
“It’ll turn out to be one of the best options, I think.”
“Is that so?”
At his brother’s gloomy expression, Edin smiled faintly.
With one eye swollen and blue, the smile wasn’t very charming.
When the bodyguard approached, the two fell silent.
There were some things you just didn’t discuss in front of a guard.