“……What the hell? Is this for real?”
Swift Blade muttered in disbelief, his eyes wide with shock.
Encrid remained silent, reflecting on what he had done, while a different voice answered from behind.
“Seeing is believing, isn’t it?”
Rem had returned. Had he seen the half-blood Giant stop?
Everyone’s shoulders rose and fell, as if they had sprinted at full speed.
Marcus and the others stood up.
Even while catching their breath, a few archers nocked arrows to their longbows.
They looked ready to shoot at any moment.
Those aiming at the Giant might not be sharpshooters, but they wouldn’t miss.A few skilled archers turned their aim towards Encrid.
“Don’t accidentally put an arrow in the Commander’s head, just stay still.”
Rem spoke to them.
“Leave that warrior alone.”
Encrid added.
A few archers, who had been aiming at the half-blood Giant, quietly lowered their bows.
With a hostage right next to her, they couldn’t risk shooting. Wasn’t that hostage someone Encrid had personally saved?
“Is that what you call cutting fire?”
Even from a distance, it was clear that he had cut through the flames. It wasn’t something you could miss even if you wanted to.
Krais muttered, and Encrid thought of shrugging his shoulders but didn’t. The enemy was still standing right in front of them.
“Haha, what is this? Seriously.”
Swift Blade let out a hollow laugh. Until now, he had taken many lives just by revealing his hidden sword technique.
Even in those moments, he conserved his Scrolls. They were like extra lives.
He had seen people dodge fireballs created by spells before. There were those kinds of people. Sure, you dodge them. That’s normal for a swordsman.
Dodging was expected.
But if there was a gap due to surprise, he’d strike that gap with the quickest slash.
It was a surefire tactic, a last resort.
But why cut that? Why does that get cut? A fireball created by a spell?
‘It was cut? Cut, really? That thing can be cut?’
Swift Blade was dumbfounded. For a moment, his mind blanked from witnessing the impossible.
“It was quite impressive.”
When had he gotten so close? The one with the lazy expression and blonde hair spoke. He stood next to Encrid.
“Oh, you came?”
Encrid asked casually.
“I did.”
Ragna replied.
They were not ones to just stand and watch. Encrid silently looked ahead. It seemed to ask, “What will you do now?”
“Alright, I concede.”
Swift Blade admitted, rummaging through his pockets again.
Seeing this, Ragna unusually muttered.
“I said we would meet again.”
“Yeah, see you again.”
What he pulled out was a new Scroll.
Another fireball?
Encrid reacted, and a few archers hesitated, wondering if they should shoot now.
Boom.
Ragna dashed forward, kicking off the ground.
He moved so fast it was as if he was flying. His figure blurred with speed.
As he charged, Swift Blade hurriedly tore the Scroll.
Crackle!
Through the torn Scroll, just as Encrid had seen, Ragna also slashed diagonally through the air.
Screeeeech!
A strange sound lingered in the air.
Thud.
A dull noise followed.
“I said we would meet again.”
Ragna spoke above the sound. The dull noise was from the ground. Encrid, seeing what had fallen, silently nodded.
When Ragna said ‘see you again’, it wasn’t to be ignored. When he said that, the usually lazy man was quite deadly.
That Scroll seemed related to spatial movement.
Only the lower half of Swift Blade, who had vanished, remained on the ground.
His entrails and blood spilled out, sloshing.
The upper half had been engulfed in light and vanished.
“Ahhhh!”
The success rate of the spatial escape Scroll was just over fifty percent.
Even a slight mistake could result in ending up in a strange place, but this time, it succeeded.
However, the blade that had approached earlier had sliced right through the spell’s activation.
‘Crazy!’
Swift Blade’s eyes bulged in extreme pain.
He couldn’t even determine if it was due to the backlash of the spell or the impact of the sword strike.
The aftermath of the spell left his vision blurred.
As the effects wore off, he looked down with excruciating pain and saw there was nothing below his waist.
“Ugh.”
No one can survive losing half their body.
Blood and entrails spilled onto the ground. There was no remedy for this, not even a high priest could heal it.
Swift Blade, crawling on the ground, died in that desolate wasteland.
Blood bubbled from his mouth, and he was left with half his body gone.
Soon, a few bald-headed vultures flew over his dead body, followed by a swarm of crows.
“What should we do about that one?”
Vengeance asked, referring to the intimidatingly large half-blood Giant.
“I have no intention of fighting further. Kill me.”
The Giant’s voice still held strength. It was rough but oddly pleasing to the ear.
Encrid exhaled deeply as he approached.
“Even if you have your reasons, it seems like a despicable act, doesn’t it?”
At his abrupt words, the half-blood Giant knelt and lifted her head.
“The one who sent me was the bishop of the Sacred Cult of the Demon Realm.”
Her identity was thus revealed. She was someone who should be killed.
However, Encrid didn’t immediately swing his sword.
Marcus observed Encrid, pondering.
Why? Does he want to imprison and torment her?
Killing her would seem the best course of action.
“Those who betray the Cult die. Every single one of them. So, I will die here.”
The half-blood Giant continued.
Encrid silently stared at her.
A Cultist.
It didn’t seem like it was her choice. More importantly, her final act lingered in his mind.
She turned away, and when the fireball from the Scroll exploded, she shielded the hostage with her body.
What if she hadn’t blocked it with her body? The hostage might have died.
Now, her scorched hair and blistered arms were visible.
Burns.
Would a Cultist risk their life to save someone?
“Does she really have to die?”
The young woman, Jurie, finally found her voice. That was her first question.
“I must die.”
The answer came from the half-blood Giant. Marcus left the decision to Encrid, as his own role here was minimal.
“There will be pursuit from the Cult. Be cautious in all things.”
Despite the Giant’s concern, Encrid remained silent.
“Why? Do you want me to do it?”
Rem, unable to watch any longer, interjected. His words, while shouldering his axe, were no less savage than a madman’s.
“If she doesn’t die, will we be chased by the Cult?”
Encrid asked, interpreting her words that way.
“Absolutely. There’s nothing as dangerous to them as an apostate.”
The answer came back.
Trusting in the Cult was diffiCult and grueling, and there was no example of someone who left once they joined. Or if there was, it was extremely rare.
Yet, why did this woman seem as if she wanted to leave the Cult behind?
“Do you seek repentance, sister?”
Audin, who had been watching, asked.
“My name is Teresa.”
What a grand name. The name Teresa carried a holy connotation.
“I have no surname. Born and raised within the Cult, fulfilling my duties there.”
She didn’t seem to have faith. She appeared full of turmoil. Her words and expressions conveyed only worry and regret.
“I shall find peace in death.”
She muttered to herself. She wasn’t referring to the Cult’s holy war.
Encrid raised his sword.
“What do you want to do if you’re born again?”
The blade reflected light. It was a sharp and sturdy sword. It could easily cut through a Giant’s neck, so a half-blood Giant’s neck would be no problem.
The Giant replied.
“I will fight and fight again, proving myself.”
She spoke with a smile.
It was a pleasant and refreshing smile.
Encrid liked her quite a bit.
Then he swung his sword.
Whoosh.
So fast it left no afterimage.
With that swing, the Cultist Teresa died.
“Is this really okay? Isn’t this just a cover-up?”
“That’s true.”
Encrid nodded at Krais’s words.
It was a sign that things should be fine. In truth, Encrid didn’t know either.
This was more of an impulsive decision, not a calculated one.
It was similar to when he spared Dunbachel before.
“Seriously, will it be okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Aren’t you too unconcerned?”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
Rem interjected into their simple conversation inside the barracks.
He put his arms around the shoulders of both Encrid and Krais, asking with a friendly gesture.
“Why? Is someone picking a fight? Does it bother someone? Tell me. I’ll just give them a ‘poke’.”
A ‘poke’, he said.
That wouldn’t happen. Krais thought.
Who would hold a grudge?
In this unit, there was a group of men considered the strongest.
Within the barracks, they were revered and called the Madmen Platoon.
And now a new member has been added.
A woman wearing a mask.
“I want to keep my name.”
Teresa.
A former Cultist.
Now, well, what should we call her?
“I’ve settled down after wandering the continent all my life. Please take care of me.”
She said she had been reborn.
She claimed to have forgotten her past through death.
Following orders without question seemed odd. What was she thinking?
“Oh, I don’t know.”
Krais didn’t voice any more concerns.
What would be the point?
The Commander would do as he pleased anyway.
It was the Commander who had convinced the woman, who had said she should die, by cutting through the air and even singeing her hair.
“Die on the battlefield, if that’s what you want.”
It wasn’t a long speech.
The half-blood Giant quickly complied with those words.
“You’ll take responsibility for me?”
“Take responsibility for yourself.”
“The Cult will become our enemy. They will come endlessly.”
“…Did you come to dine with them or something?”
Teresa had also come to kill. The Cult was already an enemy. They had designated Encrid as their adversary.
Therefore, he spoke without any hint of concern. Did that move Teresa’s heart?
Who knows? Simply.
“You will regret it.”
“Yeah, I won’t.”
After such a trivial conversation, she just accepted her death.
“From today, the Cultist Teresa is dead.”
That was the end of it.
Battalion Commander Marcus didn’t say much either. He didn’t question whether it was right to take her. He didn’t ask if he was worried about the Cult.
He just let it be.
‘Not my problem at all.’
Nevertheless, the Commander truly had a way with people.
That was Krais’s idle thought.
“Let’s go.”
Today was another training day. Encrid led the troops.
He recalled when a Rapier Swordsman had infiltrated before.
Was it because the discipline within the unit had slackened?
There was even a soldier who had become one of the hostages.
“This one, Bell, will never disgrace himself like that again!”
Having been captured once, he was now full of determination.
Encrid addressed all the soldiers gathered in the training ground.
“I will make you all be reborn.”
They had thought they had endured tough training before, but it had been hell.
And now he was saying he would make them be reborn.
“Rem.”
“Here.”
“Ragna.”
“Yes.”
“Audin.”
“Yes, brother.”
The three instructors.
“Dunbachel.”
“Yeah.”
“Beat up anyone who steps out of line.”
The enforcer, Dunbachel.
“And Teresa the Wanderer.”
“Yes.”
Some soldiers shuddered at the calm voice of the half-blood Giant.
It was a response filled with immense strength.
“I won’t complain even if you beat them half to death.”
What was this, a death sentence?
Bell felt his determination slowly fading.
He really wanted to run away.
‘Should I retire?’
He muttered to himself. Of course, Bell wasn’t alone in this thought.
Everyone felt an overwhelming urge to flee.
Previously, they just had to run, now they had to run with a backpack twice as heavy as before.
There was no rest from morning till evening.
In between, there were sparring sessions.
“Today, I’ve chosen you. You look like you’d make a good punching bag!”
Rem would grab anyone and beat them up.
Others weren’t any different.
“Your legs have given out, I see. Let me help you up, brother.”
Isn’t helping someone up usually done by pulling them by the arms?
Why was he hitting them to make them stand?
Most soldiers preferred guard duty.
It was the only time they got to rest.
Deserting during duty was unthinkable.
Neglecting their duties wasn’t an option either.
Someone had previously infiltrated the barracks.
They had declared it unacceptable.
And a hostage? A hostage? A soldier taken hostage?
Because of that, Bell had been criticized left and right.
“Is this all because of Bell?”
Such words circulated among the soldiers for a while.
Bell, half-dead and struggling to survive, didn’t even have ears to hear the rumors.
Training and the occasional drifters.
That was Encrid’s daily life.
Training continued as usual.
However, there were additions to his daily routine.
“Once more!”
Edin Molsen.
The Count’s prodigal son who should have gone home stayed instead.
The brotherly figure and the guard were still there too.
“Aren’t you going back to your territory?”
Encrid, after knocking him down several times, would ask.
“None of your business.”
Edin Molsen didn’t seem to have any intention of leaving.
Did he have some purpose?
Encrid didn’t care.
Winter was approaching. It was the harshest season in Pen-Hanil North.
“Do you drink?”
As the cold wind started to blow, Edin Molsen, lying on the ground, asked, and Encrid answered honestly.
“I don’t have time for that.”
A man more obsessed with training than drinking, that was Encrid.
“You really are a crazy bastard.”
Edin confirmed Encrid’s identity.
He wasn’t wrong.
As Edin, sprawled out, got up, someone who resembled him approached and asked.
“Is this the best way?”
“I think it’s one of the best options.”
“Is that so?”
Edin responded with a faint smile to his brother’s somber words.
A smile wasn’t very appealing with one eye swollen and bruised.
As the guards approached, the two fell silent.
It wasn’t something to discuss in front of the guards.
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