Chapter 411: Borrowing for a Moment

Jaxson, who had been continuously throwing daggers, hurled a Silence Knife at the Count’s forehead.

The soundlessly flying dagger exploded with a bang right in front of the Count’s face.

With the blast, a rippling black curtain became visible before the Count. The barrier was intact. It seemed a dagger wrapped in a scroll alone couldn’t pierce it.

“Do not expect forgiveness!”

Dean Molsen, who had always viewed the world lightly, felt a sense of crisis now that he was cornered at the edge of a cliff. Cold sweat streamed down his back. This was a first. A novel experience. And because of that, he lost his composure.

The Count had already used spells beyond what ordinary mages could cast. Now he was even consuming his lifespan.

He shaved off even more of it, eyes rolling back.

His pitch-black eyes turned toward Jaxson. Jaxson felt a terrifying chill surge up from the hole in his abdomen.

‘Hmm?’

His legs nearly gave out, almost making him collapse, but he ultimately held on. There were two bastards beside him who would love to see him fall.

“Die, die, die, die, die.”

The Count glared at Jaxson, repeatedly muttering while holding his staff. Jaxson met his gaze. Though the entirely blackened eyes made it impossible to distinguish pupil from sclera, an obsessive persistence could be felt.

With each word from the Count, the cold rising from Jaxson’s abdomen grew increasingly severe. It became difficult to remain standing. Jaxson dropped to one knee. Thud—he placed his palm on the floor and closed his eyes.

He had to resist the chill. As he focused, he heard Rem muttering beside him.

“That’s right, that’s it.”

‘Crazy barbarian.’

Jaxson thought, intensifying his concentration. What the opponent had cast was a type of spell. He had implanted something in his wound. He just needed to find it and dig it out. Jaxson began to observe his own body.

The patience to endure pain.

The cold rationality to observe oneself.

And finally, sensitivity.

If he had to add one more thing, it was an indomitable heart.

‘There is no giving up.’

Jaxson had also learned something from watching Encrid.

Though it was his first time facing this spell, there had to be a way to resolve it.

Knowledge, experience, reasoning—organizing them to reach a conclusion.

And so, as Jaxson knelt and endured—or more precisely, as his captain shattered all the dangers laid before them—

Encrid took three steps forward.

Steps taken toward the Count. Meaning, he was now within sword range.

It was thanks to his squad members blocking the Count, who kept casting spells and playing tricks.

After closing the distance, Encrid placed his hand on his sword hilt and spoke.

“You are already within my domain.”

Three seated, one standing—all looked at Encrid. The Count also looked at Encrid.

Domain? He meant sword range. The Count sneered.

He trusted the defensive spells wrapped around his body.

Encrid regulated his breathing. He had overexerted himself breaking through the ten thousand wraiths.

Fatigue had piled up to the point his muscles trembled faintly, but it was still okay.

How many times had he faced such enemies?

It was a frequent occurrence when swinging a sword.

Especially in the days when he possessed nothing—when he had to swing his sword until his muscles tore.

If he didn’t, he couldn’t even reach for the dreams he held.

What must one do to reach out and advance even when nothing is visible?

Repeat, and repeat again.

It was thanks to that experience.

Because he had lived it, he could push through even after overexerting himself.

Encrid could still endure.

His gaze reached the rippling black curtain before the Count.

Encrid had seen Jaxson pierce the opponent’s barrier once. From that, he roughly estimated the strength of the barrier the opponent had wrapped around himself.

‘It won’t be pierced by a thrown dagger.’

But it can be cut. Of course, a normal slash would be impossible. To cut, there must be not a single shred of doubt in one’s heart.

Therefore.

“Ragna, I’m borrowing this for a moment.”

Ragna had no chance to question what that meant.

Encrid once again mimicked a technique he had tried and rehearsed countless times, failing at every attempt.

He raised his sword as if its tip pierced the sky. Gripping the hilt with both hands, he relaxed his shoulders.

A high stance from the Heavy Sword style.

To be precise, it was a posture derived from a family heirloom swordsmanship passed down in a northern family, then modified.

Ragna’s surname is Jaun.

It was a swordsmanship posture passed down in the Jaun family, which Ragna had arbitrarily changed.

Encrid couldn’t possibly know that. He had merely finished preparing to swing his sword.

Ragna looked at Encrid with slightly surprised eyes.

‘Not bad.’

Posture, momentum, even will.

There was nothing to criticize.

It was the best posture Encrid had ever shown.

Especially since he was mimicking his own, it made him feel that way even more.

It wasn’t just Ragna who was surprised.

Rem had been surprised since the fight with the horde of wraith soldiers.

‘He never fell behind.’

Encrid had kept pace with his and Ragna’s rhythm. Now, it was becoming difficult to recall the former captain.

‘Interesting. Very interesting.’

Rem thought, tightening his grip on his axe, ready to throw it if things went south.

Audin, unable to clasp his hands, recited prayers only with his mouth. The pain felt like it was shattering his skull, but Audin endured it skillfully and prayed.

“The lamb watched over by the Father has shed its wool and become a shepherd.”

Furthermore, a shepherd is one who strikes and admonishes the wicked and erroneous.

Divine prohibition is no joke. If mishandled, one could go mad with pain. There were many who, lacking discipline, ended up that way.

But what must be done, must be done.

That was what Audin had learned from watching the man named Encrid.

Jaxson took Carmen’s Stiletto and slowly stabbed his own abdomen. Avoiding his organs, a thrust aimed at the source of the chill.

Squish.

With that, he suppressed the chill and looked forward. The blade had stabbed his abdomen, but it wasn’t fatal. He had avoided his organs, and with proper treatment, it would be sufficient.

Moreover, he hadn’t stabbed deeply.

He also reflected.

‘It was sloppy.’

He hadn’t fully utilized his assassination skills. Why did his master’s teachings come to mind now?

“Do you want to do your best? Then first, find a place to belong.”

Why would he say that?

He was a body destined to inherit the Daggers of Gaor.

Didn’t he already have a place to belong?

If you fight with all your might and enjoy it, you will become intoxicated with killing and being killed.

That’s what his master had said.

Jaxson had actually felt that way before.

What must he do to avoid that?

A continuous stream of untimely thoughts. Jaxson decisively cut off his thoughts. This wasn’t important right now.

He looked forward.

Now he saw a captain who no longer needed his help.

His back filled his field of vision.

It was the posture just before advancing and swinging his sword.

“Hoo, damn bastards.”

The Count steadied his breathing. Though pushed back again and again, seeing his enemies fall one by one, he was barely finding something akin to composure.

His eyes turned to Encrid. The Count also knew how to handle a sword.

Seeing Encrid take his stance, the Count thought he couldn’t yield the initiative like this.

The rippling black curtain rendered most attacks useless, so—

After various calculations, the Count struck first.

Pushing off the ground, he extended his blade forward. It was an impeccable thrust. The sword tip, looking like a dot, flew toward Encrid.

Straight and clear. Fast and strong as well.

Encrid calmly swung his sword down, striking the Count’s sword.

Thud!

The Count tried to recover his deflected sword and slash, and—

Encrid briefly borrowed Ragna’s Severance.

Encrid’s foot pushed off the ground as he advanced. Simultaneously, his shoulder turned smoothly, and using his waist as an axis, the sword’s direction changed.

The sword that had been swung down to block the Count’s thrust changed direction like a fish swimming along a river’s surface and surged forward.

The Heart of Monstrous Strength surged, adding power, and then will.

‘Cut.’

The Will of Severance.

Encrid’s sword became level with the ground and swept past above the Count’s bridge of his nose.

Crack!

The barrier was cut. Will is the power of intent. The Will of Severance split the barrier and also cleaved the skull.

Silver, which cleaved the skull, cracked as fragments flew off.

Encrid stopped in the posture of having swung his sword and exhaled the breath he had been holding.

His eyes, gripping the hilt with both hands while standing, seemed to glow blue. In the Black World created by the Count, those two shining blue eyes made it seem as if he alone stood in a different world.

“Hoo.”

Exhaling, Encrid lowered the halved Silver, feeling the pain in his arm muscles, and turned around.

The Count had lost the top of his head.

From the side, it looked like a very simple exchange of sword strikes.

Encrid had struck the thrusting sword with his own to deflect it and then, instead of pulling back his sword to recover his posture, smoothly continued the motion to execute a high horizontal slash.

The Count couldn’t even muster the courage to block it and was struck.

It was also part of the technique Ragna had shown earlier, and it contained the Will of Severance.

That was why he had said he was borrowing it.

“Gurgle…”

Bloody foam rose from the Count’s mouth.

Though he was a treacherous villain who had overturned the nation of Naurilia, death is fair to all humans.

Since people die even from blind arrows, a human with a severed head cannot live.

Blood streamed down from the Count’s severed head. The swaying crimson blood looked vividly red even in the darkness.

And then, something incomprehensible happened.

“It cannot end like this.”

Another statement that rang sharply in their heads. The Count spoke while dead, and his voice split into two, overlapping as it was heard.

Blood flowed down his face, yet his mouth spoke perfectly fine.

Only then did Audin doubt the opponent’s true nature.

‘This is…?’

A foreboding, the kind felt deep in the Demon Realm, touched his skin.

“A demon?”

While Audin muttered alone, black smoke began to flow from the Count’s body.

“Not a hundred thousand, but a mere ten thousand, yet you cut through them. I respect that. I respect you, so I shall bestow upon you a deep curse… Hmm? A witch?”

Just as Audin said “demon” and the smoke was about to take human form, amidst the Count’s mouth emitting what sounded like nonsense, thunder rumbled through the dark clouds.

Rrrrumble.

The black smoke, in the process of forming a shape, stopped.

Encrid watched it while holding the halved sword.

Plop.

Then raindrops began to fall.

“…I’ve been had.”

The Count, who had lost his head, and the being called a demon, who hadn’t fully formed its shape, spoke simultaneously. Their voices overlapped as they were heard.

Encrid seemed to understand why the Count’s voice sometimes sounded overlapped.

It was because he harbored a demon.

Not that it changed anything.

Encrid threw the halved Silver and drew the Gladius.

Using the Gladius to draw attention, then landing the fatal strike with—

‘Blazeblade.’

He envisioned the course of the battle in an instant.

While everyone else was stunned, he alone was preparing to fight, so the demon’s gaze turned back to Encrid.

“You audacious fool.”

No emotion could be felt in its tone. That wasn’t important either.

Encrid merely intended to finish the unfinished fight.

Moreover, all his squad members looked injured or exhausted.

Only he could step forward.

At this point, one might doubt if this was a wall, but Encrid did not.

The best he could do in each moment.

That’s how he had lived.

Even now, he merely did the same.

Beyond the mental world, the Ferryman burst into laughter.

“Indeed.”

Truly a proper madman, wasn’t he?

—

The Count was exceptionally talented, and his ambition far surpassed human limits.

Thus, he obtained and consumed a demon’s heart.

The demon, ignoring the mad swordsman charging at him, watched the trick played by the witch and spoke.

“If you block even my final curse, wouldn’t I be disappointed?”

The tone was light, but the meaning carried by the two characters ‘demon’ was extraordinary.

A fiend of the highest danger level, the kind seen only in the Demon Realm.

Beings with intelligence, exceptional at tormenting and killing humans.

“Demon.”

Encrid murmured. The demon’s eyes met his.

“You, yes. You were impressive. Human. But now, even if you want to fight, you probably can’t.”

The demon didn’t know the path Encrid had walked, but it knew what he had just accomplished.

Hadn’t they all gathered around this human as the center?

Moreover, the witch who had just played a trick was also this guy’s person, wasn’t she?

“If you touch him, I will chase you anywhere and kill you.”

Transcending space, the witch’s voice reached the demon.

Even a demon wouldn’t welcome annihilation. So, the threat was bothersome.

“You insolent witch.”

From within the black fog, only something resembling eyes rose clearly, surveying the surroundings with a gloomy gaze.

The moment Encrid recognized the opponent, he felt a peculiar sensation.

It was definitely not human. But does that mean it can’t be cut? Is that really so? It said it wouldn’t fight, but is that true? Should I try cutting it once?

Right after such thoughts—

As he gathered his remaining strength to charge, the demon cast its gaze toward him.

Until now, its tone had been consistently playful, but this time was different.

“We’ll meet again.”

Beyond the fog, its form vaguely entered Encrid’s vision, but it was difficult to make out its appearance.

“I am the master of a hundred thousand wraiths.”

Having spoken, the demon’s body immediately dissipated. The falling raindrops thickened—plop plop—until it was unbearable.

The witch had caused rain based on her magical power. This was a natural phenomenon, so it had the effect of erasing artificial things.

Moreover, the rainwater was warm. The witch had opened part of her spell world, allowing rainwater infused with magical power to pour in.

The demon dissipated.

The falling rain erased the spell world created by Dean Molsen, which had helped the wraiths manifest on this land.

Just before disappearing, the demon took its heart and read the final command of the sacrifice and pawn who had been its vessel.

“Everything was within my grasp.”

Dean Molsen’s final resentment.

“Do you think worldly affairs are that easy?”

The Count expressed his bitterness upon dying, but now there was nothing to be done.

It was a statement only the demon could hear. The lingering remnant of the command was quickly erased.

The demon savored the taste. It was regretful to have lost the chance to leave a significant mark on the human world.

Just before the part of its soul that had inhabited its pawn completely vanished, the demon looked at the one who had killed it.

Black hair, blue eyes.

“Encrid.”

Having heard someone call his name, it remembered that name as well—thinking that if they met again, it would torment that human-faced being until he begged for death.