The fairy acting as a guide had once worked as a mercenary for an information guild, where he had learned a great deal. His eyes scanned the surroundings. He had a habit of memorizing whatever caught his attention.
Among the sights was a Knight clad in black armor sprawled on the ground. The sight was familiar.
‘The Black Snake, Ele?’
They had met once by chance, only in passing, but he had not forgotten the appearance of that armor.
It was too distinctive to forget. The armor bore a neatly engraved name, which stood out with an unusual sense of affection despite the ominous aura surrounding the black armor.
‘Olivia, Sophia.’
It was a detail hard to overlook. Judging by the context, the fairy could grasp the situation.
The fairy guide, chosen as Ermen’s successor, continuously scanned the battlefield for clues.
‘He took them all down by himself.’
Even if the three of them had ganged up on the Black Snake Ele, it would have been surprising, but the scene indicated the opposite.
"Cultists. The Apostle of Rebirth."
Luagarne said at just the right moment.
The fairy nodded cautiously and turned his gaze to the corpse holding a staff with a rounded metal tip.
The Apostle of Rebirth. The Evil of the Continent. The Demon’s Advocate.
There were many names for the being Encrid had killed. Though not a literal demon, the Apostle had committed deeds worse than one.
Rumor had it that the Apostle had single-handedly wiped out an entire city. He had supposedly cursed hundreds of people, turning them into the undead.
If left unchecked for another decade or two, he could have entered the realm of legends.
That was the fairy’s assessment.
"He was tough, sure, but nothing we couldn’t handle."
Pel said with a cocky tone.
The fairy, now understanding the situation fully, couldn’t help but be astonished. It was enough to make him momentarily lose control of his emotions.
Is this for real?
"Did you really kill the Apostle?"
He asked.
"Feels like a fake, honestly."
Encrid replied indifferently, and it was clear he meant it.
The fairy judged Encrid’s words to be truthful.
On the surface, it seemed like Encrid had shown more restraint than the fairy, whose widened eyes betrayed his shock.
"A fake?"
It didn’t seem like it.
When the fairy asked again, Luagarne shook his head and called out to Encrid.
"Enki."
"What?"
"When we get back, have a sparring match with Rem."
"I was planning to anyway."
"Then you’ll understand."
What he would understand was unclear, yet it felt oddly obvious.
"If this is fake, then whoever set it up deserves to be called the greatest traveling theater troupe on the continent starting today. Otherwise, they’re thieves who’ve sold their souls. That armor and the staff alone are incredibly valuable."
The fairy, being Ermen’s successor, had many strengths but also a few weaknesses. One of those weaknesses was that he was quite talkative for a fairy.
He rattled off his thoughts all in one breath before turning to Encrid.
"Is that so?"
Encrid nodded slightly, and the fairy took a deep breath before continuing.
"Yes, that’s the symbol of the Black Snake Ele, and the staff the Apostle was holding is made of magical metal. Do you know what magical metal is? Oh, this reminds me of my first year working as a mercenary for the information guild. There was a woman named Emily at the guild’s reception desk. She was always curt with me, and at first, I thought she hated me. It turns out I was wrong. I wasn’t accustomed to human society back then, so I didn’t understand. My instincts told me she liked me, but her words said otherwise. I ended up learning a lot about human language and behavior, including certain bedroom etiquette—oh, not that I fathered a half-blood child or anything. Thanks to Emily, I went on my first mission…"
The fairy wasn’t originally this talkative. It was a side effect of adapting to human society.
Fairies couldn’t lie, but as a mercenary, he had often needed to fabricate truths.
After much contemplation, he had decided to mix unrelated stories into his explanations, thereby confusing his conversation partners. Over time, this became a habit.
He never felt the need to fix it, especially since other fairies were patient with him and understood the core of his rambling.
Encrid also understood, though that didn’t mean he enjoyed listening to it. The digressions were far too lengthy.
"Get to the point."
Encrid interrupted as the fairy was about to recount his second date with Emily.
"Pardon?"
The fairy, respectful of Encrid as his idol, obeyed immediately.
"Summarize it."
"Uh, right."
Realizing he didn’t need to embellish his words with lies, the fairy condensed his explanation.
"It’s expensive."
Encrid observed the fairy and thought he resembled Krais more than Ermen.
Like Krais among the fairies.
The way he delivered concise, meaningful statements reminded Encrid of Krais, perhaps due to the burdens of experience.
In truth, it was only natural. The fairy had managed trade on behalf of his kin, accumulating a pragmatic mindset over time. This wasn’t a bad thing.
As a fairy living among humans and other races, he had to learn the art of communication, which began with trading goods.
It was far more practical to start negotiations based on benefits rather than ideals of mutual respect and understanding.
Of course, Encrid didn’t overthink this. He left the details to people like Krais and Avnair. Instead, he asked a simple question.
"Why is it expensive?"
"The staff is made of metal capable of absorbing magic. Over time, it becomes accustomed to the magic it absorbs, which is why it’s called living stone. Some even call it the Philosopher’s Stone. To correct my earlier statement, it’s not just expensive—it’s valuable enough to buy a small castle."
‘I see. Who would appreciate this gift? Esther? Krais?’
Encrid thought about it briefly and nodded.
No one else obstructed their path on the way back.
The aftermath of the Apostle’s death would spread across the continent like a drizzle rather than a downpour.
The Apostle had always worked from the shadows, manipulating events indirectly.
Had Encrid not been such a threat, the Apostle wouldn’t have shown himself in person.
In other words, Encrid had thwarted the cult’s plans many times before.
On a small scale, he had dismantled Knoll’s colony. On a larger scale, he had ended the civil war in Naurillia.
Along the way, he had slain both the Apostle of Curses and the Apostle of Forbidden Magic.
From the Apostle’s perspective, Encrid had become an intolerable threat.
Postponing action was no longer an option, and the Apostle had resorted to using all his resources to deal with him.
In hindsight, it made sense for him to intervene directly. The only surprising part was why it had taken so long. But that was because Encrid was an anomaly.
No matter what they did, he wouldn’t die. Curses didn’t work, nor did forbidden magic.
Even the most renowned assassins on the continent had returned with their heads severed.
Of course, Encrid had died countless times, but no one other than him knew that.
"It’s raining."
Pel, who was walking ahead, commented.
Just as he said, raindrops began to fall. Not snow, but rain—perhaps the sky’s way of announcing the end of winter.
A few days later, when they returned to the Border Guard, Luagarne could clearly sense the changes in Encrid.
"…This is insane. What the hell did you do?"
Rem was defeated after a one-on-one sparring session with Encrid. Encrid, standing awkwardly, simply responded with a question.
"Stop messing around and take it seriously. There’s no need to hold back or let me win."
"Hah, fine. Let’s fight like it’s life or death, you lunatic."
That day, Rem fought with everything he had.
* * *
In a sparring session, as opposed to a life-or-death battle, few sword techniques could rival the Wave-Blocking Sword technique.
It was natural, considering it was built on hundreds of sparring sessions as its foundation.
Just moments ago, Rem had quickly shifted his footing, aiming to strike downward at Encrid’s head with his axe while stomping on Encrid’s foot with his right leg.
If Encrid dodged the axe by pulling back his foot, Rem’s right foot would land in the spot where Encrid’s foot had been, gaining positional advantage and allowing him to continue attacking.
This spontaneous attack was a move that couldn’t be read through strategic prediction and could force the opponent into a defensive position if they dodged.
The previous Encrid might have relied on his sturdy body, blocking the axe with his sword while allowing his foot to be stomped, or retreating and accepting a defensive position before finding a way out. But this time was different.
Encrid lifted his foot, kicking away Rem’s, and deflected the axe using the short sword he had received from the fairies.
Neither movement was weaker than Rem’s, and the timing was perfect. This was possible because Encrid’s mind could simultaneously execute two thought processes.
Rem was momentarily surprised that his attack had been thwarted. Still, he didn’t pause his movements.
Thud.
The sound of their weapons colliding wasn’t loud, but Rem felt a sudden sense of danger.
That danger quickly materialized. Using the rebound from deflecting the axe, Encrid’s short sword plunged downward.
Rem had neither the time to dodge nor the means to block, so he grabbed Encrid’s wrist with his left hand.
But the moment he thought he had caught Encrid’s wrist, Rem felt a shock on his forehead.
Thump.
A headbutt. Forget strategy—Rem stumbled backward. His vision flashed as he instinctively swung his axe downward, but it hit nothing. That was the end of it. Encrid didn’t continue the attack.
Instead, he just stood there, looking at Rem with a curious expression.
Despite it being a sparring session where they couldn’t go all out, what had just happened left Rem feeling unsettled.
Though he didn’t say it out loud, one thing was certain.
‘Did I lose?’
Rem’s pupils trembled. Not even when fighting that bastard Ragna had he been pushed this far.
Of course, if he had used all his sorcery arts like Possession or Descent, he wouldn’t have been so easily overwhelmed. And sure, getting hit by a single headbutt didn’t necessarily mean he had lost.
But this was a sparring session. At this level, it was fair to say he had lost.
What if Encrid had followed up with another attack after the headbutt?
Speculating about things that hadn’t happened might be meaningless.
‘I could have lost.’
Rem adjusted his internal thoughts. If the outcome were measured by probability, the chances of his defeat were already at eighty percent.
He was so shaken that he had asked Encrid what he had done. Encrid had told him not to joke around, and Rem had then swung his axe seriously.
But still—
"Damn, you block everything."
He blocked it all.
"I call this technique the Wave-Blocking Sword?"
"My axe should be stronger than any wave."
"Is that so?"
The playful banter faded. Both were fully serious. Even so, Rem couldn’t overwhelm Encrid. In fact, he felt slightly outmatched.
Usque!
An endless, overflowing well—that’s what Encrid’s Will felt like. Rem knew he wouldn’t go down easily, but in a prolonged battle, he understood he couldn’t win.
‘Even in a real fight, I wouldn’t win.’
It was a fact his natural talent made clear. No wonder he was so shocked.
Moreover, Encrid wasn’t even using his main weapon; he held a short sword instead.
Although the sword was a treasure, it didn’t give him any particular advantage.
If anything, its short length was a disadvantage.
"Let’s try again."
They continued sparring, though the matches were very short.
"That’s enough."
With those words, Rem twisted his wrist, slashing the air with his axe four times as he backed away.
He had recently used this technique against Ragna, and Ragna had fumbled while trying to block it.
By imbuing his strikes with divine power using his sorcery arts, Rem had made even small movements pack immense power. But Encrid tilted his sword at an angle, blocking and deflecting every odd-angled trajectory of the axe.
Clang, thud, ting, clang!
The two weapons clashed like musical instruments producing rhythmic sounds. After a few more short sparring sessions, they stopped.
On one side, Audin, who had been quietly praying and reciting hymns, had risen and was watching them.
On the other side, Ragna, who had been dozing under the warm sunlight, had awakened and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Even Jaxon had crept to the edge of the roof, resting his chin on his clasped hands, eyes gleaming with interest.
All three had seen and felt the same thing.
No comments yet. Be the first to leave a review!