Ragna, who had matched his timing to Encrid's first move, assessed the situation and found that he had more or less achieved his goal.
‘As long as attention stays here, no one will target Ann.’
That was one of the reasons he had gone after Medusa. Would anyone really divert forces to kill a lone girl who was just flattening grass in the back while a massive monster was being cut down in a violent sword dance?
He would make sure they didn’t even have the chance. That was his intention.
In the end, it could be said this too was a way of protecting Ann.
It was the kind of idea only a madman might have, but it worked. They weren’t even thinking about the girl anymore.
Just two swordsmen—something poetic enough to become a line in a song—had caused their expressions to darken with rage.
Well, their skin tone was already dark to begin with, so a change in expression might have been hard for a human eye to detect.
‘If I believe that, then it’s true.’
Ragna shrugged off the thought with ease.
Now all that remained was survival and the fights to come.
“Can you fight?”
Ragna asked in a whisper.
Encrid clenched and unclenched his fist before answering.
“As much as a docile Rem.”
It wasn’t a code, but it could certainly be heard that way. Ragna understood immediately.
There was no such thing as a docile Rem. Therefore, Encrid could not fight properly. He probably couldn’t even muster a quarter of his usual strength.
From how he had decapitated the Medusa earlier, that made sense, he seemed to blank out in the middle.
“That was a brutish tactic.”
“It was your mother’s.”
“I meant it was fearlessly brave.”
Ragna, no matter how much she was his foster mother, would never commit the sin of insulting her with his own mouth.
He quickly corrected his words, shrugged, and stepped in front of Encrid.
“When we get back to the unit, I’ll be sure to tell them how I shielded our crippled captain.”
“Skipping the part where I killed the Medusa?”
“Isn’t it the storyteller’s right to decide how the tale begins?”
Drmule found the two chatting in front of him quite curious.
Were they fearless? Or had they accepted death? If that was the case, he had something to say.
“You cannot die even if you want to.”
His tone was calm, but he was a rotting half-corpse. So his words should have sounded eerie and chilling, but only if the listener chose to hear them that way.
“Oh, I agree. I don’t plan to die either.”
Encrid replied without even breathing.
“That’s not what I—…”
“Tch. What’s with all the talk? It’s not like we’re gathered for tea.”
He even cut off Drmule mid-sentence. With such verbal dexterity, he could very well earn the title of Knight of the Silver Tongue.
His tone, choice of words, and attitude all harmonized perfectly. Ragna was quietly impressed.
Anyone who could comprehend words wouldn’t be able to help but feel irritated by him. And so it happened.
“Kill them.”
Drmule gave the order in fury. His decayed, festering eyelids twitched as they moved.
Above his eye sockets—where his eyebrows should’ve been—a black, mangled chunk of flesh stuck out like a tumor and quivered.
At his words, his top disciple raised his right hand. Judging by the black mass earlier, this was likely his doing.
He had a third eye embedded in his forehead.
Ragna knew how to deal with wizards. He had learned second-hand from Encrid, but that was more than enough for him.
It’s best to cut them down before they cast their spells. A simple principle. And so, he would act on it.
He grounded himself and raised his greatsword before swinging it downward.
In terms of pure speed, the slash wasn’t exceptionally fast. Of course, that was by knightly standards, so to the old man with three eyes, it would seem very fast. Ragna even added a forward step to the swing.
A downward slash while advancing. Without needing to calculate, Ragna knew the sword’s reach perfectly.
The descending sword would cleave the old man’s head cleanly in two and drag out the grotesque thing inside.
But before the sword reached halfway, a heavy pressure struck his chest faster than the blade.
Thwack!
Ragna’s body floated a few inches off the ground and was flung backward. He wasn’t pushed too far. In the air, he twisted his body and dispersed the force the moment he felt the pressure on his chest, minimizing the impact.
“My eyes perceive even the laws that govern nature. Do you think a mere swordsman can escape my sight?”
The old man with three eyes spoke with pride.
Encrid was quietly impressed.
‘He said “mere swordsman” again.’
After getting teased so much, you’d think he’d be cautious.
Still, the tri-eyed elder had cast his spell incredibly fast. There wasn’t even an incantation to warn of activation.
“You two know so little. You rush in and swing your swords without even understanding the stages of spellcasting.”
Finally feeling the urge to boast, Drmule couldn’t help himself. That’s how Encrid saw it.
He could imagine how pompous the man must have been when teaching alchemy in the past.
While Drmule spoke, Ragna thrust his greatsword forward.
His opponent wasn’t a Knight. A clean stab should’ve ended it. But it didn’t go as planned.
Whoosh!
A burst of black smoke erupted before Ragna.
The smoke turned into dozens of hands, feet, swords, spears, and hammers—all blocking his path.
Ragna changed the trajectory of his thrust and swung his greatsword in every direction. His slashes were so fast that even the falling raindrops seemed to dance around his blade.
It looked like he was conjuring a small storm with his sword, and the smoke-formed limbs and weapons, as if they had physical form, were caught in it—shattered by the greatsword.
Boom! Crack! Thud!
At the end of the noise, Ragna blocked a heavy strike aimed at his knee.
Clang-clang-clang!
What was previously invisible took on a faint form in the rain, it was a blade forged from compressed air.
A long cut was left across his greatsword, and part of the armor covering his knee was torn.
If he hadn’t been wearing greaves of iron on his shins, the injury might’ve been serious. But Ragna, unfazed, retrieved his greatsword and aimed forward once more.
“No fear, huh!”
The tri-eyed elder yelled and extended his hand, summoning lightning.
Light gathered in his palm and branched out like erratic tree limbs. Ragna tossed his greatsword slightly above eye level and retreated.
Crash!
Lightning struck the sword and blasted it far away. Watching this, Drmule spoke again.
“One who first glimpses the world of spells is called an ‘Observer’. That’s the level of someone who’s just realized what a spell even is. The next is the ‘Speaker’. This is the stage of one who borrows power from otherworldly beings and recites incantations.”
Was he trying to say resistance was futile?
Drmule casually waved his decayed hand as if the commotion nearby had nothing to do with him.
It wasn’t a meaningful gesture, just something added for flair as he spoke. But it spread a foul stench through the air. Encrid reflexively raised a hand to cover his nose.
Upon closer inspection, the stench wasn’t from Drmule, it came from the tri-eyed elder with the unique appearance.
Drmule stood before the two fools and offered them his “teaching”. Encrid couldn’t be sure of his true thoughts, but judging by his tone and gestures, it was likely as he suspected.
Maybe he taught alchemy not out of kindness but because he enjoyed flaunting his knowledge.
It was half-guesswork, but Encrid had glimpsed a part of Drmule’s essence.
Drmule continued speaking, still in that explanatory tone.
“What comes after seeing and speaking?”
Meanwhile, Ragna had charged barehanded but retreated upon facing a golem made of black stone.
Naturally, the golem had been summoned by the elder.
No matter what Drmule said, Ragna didn’t pretend to listen. Encrid looked at Drmule and responded:
“Unlike that delinquent, I’m quite exemplary. Please, do go on—O legendary alchemist, Lord Drmule.”
He even spoke formally.
The Luagarne-style Tactical Swordplay glimmered.
When one's body is not in top form, buying time by putting the opponent at ease is a valid tactic.
With the Medusa gone, Encrid calmly raised his head and assumed a posture of attentive listening.
Drmule found the behavior of the man who had mocked him earlier repulsive, but couldn’t stop himself from enjoying his own speech.
“Next is the ‘Bearer’. The one who owns a world of their own—a true wizard.”
Thud!
A loud noise exploded beside them. Ragna and the golem were clashing.
In terms of pure physical control, Rem was better, but when it came to martial arts, there was no one in the Mad Knights who could rival Audin.
Well, if it came to hand-to-hand combat, Encrid was confident he could subdue Ragna too.
That didn’t mean Ragna was incapable of using his body, though.
After taking a few hits, he seized an opening and smashed the golem’s head. He blocked the golem’s left and right punches with alternating arms, then leapt up and drove his knee into its jaw. Luckily, its core was located in its head, and the golem froze in place.
As soon as Ragna landed after destroying the golem’s head, he rolled backward.
Boom!
An explosion went off where he had just stood, flames erupting upward only to be quickly extinguished by the rain.
“Huff… Huff…”
Ragna gasped for breath, clearly exhausted to anyone watching.
“Disgusting like an insect. Just a lowly insect.”
The tri-eyed old man kept repeating the word lowly. Whether pleased by the description or not, Drmule’s tone softened noticeably.
“When one becomes absorbed in the pleasure of spellcasting, they begin to indulge. This phase is called Immoderantia. Once they surpass that, they reach Willis—the Realizer. That is the level of one who manifests their own world. And beyond even that, do you know what comes next?”
The way he paused at just the right moment made him seem like he had the talents of a bard.
Of course, given his appearance, there weren’t many brave enough to sit cross-legged before him and listen to a tale.
“Tacitus—the Silent One. It is the rank of one who possesses the right to defy the laws of the world. That is why they are no longer bound by incantations.”
Encrid could see that while Drmule may not have been a virtuous man, he was at least a proper teacher.
Petty as he was, he seemed to explain thoroughly when he taught.
Even now, he was expanding from basic concepts, breaking down every term and explaining it one by one.
Kind, in his own way.
Certain Knights from certain cities could stand to learn from him.
“Just do it like this. Now try.”
They show it once and call it teaching.
“My disciple is at the Silent One stage.”
Drmule added. Silent Ones are spellcasters who no longer need incantations.
Ragna stepped back and called out to Encrid.
“Still feeling docile?”
The moment Ragna retreated, boom-boom—an invisible shockwave flew toward him, carving holes in the earth.
“Irritating, but not quite enough.”
Encrid knew that the best he could manage right now was a few decent slashes. Then he had to make them count.
Would it be enough to cut down that monster? He wouldn’t know unless he tried.
“End it.”
At Drmule’s command, the tri-eyed old man raised his hand.
A woman standing nearby suddenly grew horns from her skull. Then, with a grotesque crunching sound, scales sprouted along her arms, and her snout protruded forward.
“Behold—the being that shall rule this land when I become a god!”
She looked like a half-mix between a Scalor and a human.
Skreeeee!
The woman let out a screech, then lowered her head and let her arms hang.
“Huff, huff, huff…”
She was a monster trying to regulate her breathing. Her shoulders and chest heaved with each breath, and that alone radiated a pressure that could only belong to a creature, a chimera-like beast.
The monster twitched and slowly lifted its head, eyes glancing upward.
It was a gaze from below to above, as soon as her eyes met theirs, they could feel the pressure.
Telekinesis.
“It will feel like being held down by a hundred grown men.”
The tri-eyed elder said. And if just her gaze was this intense, what would happen when she actually tried?
Ragna reached out to the side.
“At this rate, we might both die here.”
“Then who’ll tell the story of how you shielded your captain?”
“You will, Captain.”
Encrid handed him Penna once more and replied.
“If I’m the only one who makes it back, Ann will poison me.”
“……Well, that can’t be helped.”
They had traded jokes and stalled for time, but the danger was still real.
Would it be fine, since dying meant today would simply repeat itself? No—it wasn’t. Encrid couldn’t bring himself to think that way.
If he was going to live carelessly, he wouldn’t have fought so hard to survive.
The words the ferryman had spoken when he’d collapsed resurfaced in his mind.
That luck wouldn’t last forever. That they had all made it here alive was a miracle, and it would be foolish to expect more of the same.
‘If it doesn’t work, then I’ll just keep going until it does.’
He steeled his resolve. Encrid gathered his Will, rising from his battered body.
If it came to it, he too would perform his final sword dance.
Ragna gripped Penna and steadied his breathing.
How many times in his life had he fought with someone to protect at his back?
There was someone behind him now who absolutely had to survive.
Ragna gripped Penna and stared at the beast standing silently before him and the old man behind it.
“None of the people standing behind me are going to die.”
He was learning once more what it meant to fight to protect others. He added his own will to what he had learned from Encrid.
Ragna was a genius. He had watched what Encrid had done, and he more or less understood his foster mother’s techniques.
Though he’d only seen them once, he had proven he could roughly imitate them when he crushed the golem’s head earlier.
Now, Ragna mixed in his own style.
If he failed, he would die. But was dying the important part? No, achieving what he wanted mattered more.
And right now, what he wanted was to protect those behind him.
Was it an impossible dream, given the circumstances? Then he would enjoy it while he could.
“This is fun.”
Ragna stole Encrid’s line.
“Hey, that’s my line.”
Encrid grumbled in protest.
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