His mouth opened instinctively, but it couldn’t be helped, he was trapped in a curse that repeated today over and over. And as that day repeated, sometimes the count reached into the hundreds.
When added up, the number wasn’t in the hundreds, but in the thousands.
So, saying “just that much” came naturally. If someone like the ferryman knew of this situation, they’d nod in understanding.
“That makes sense.”
Of course, if someone unaware of this context heard it, they’d take it completely differently.
A provocation, in the middle of this?
Well, wouldn’t it look like that?
To Encrid, that single word “just” was obvious. But to others, it sent a ripple through the atmosphere.
Just moments ago, even the raindrops seemed to bow in reverence to Drmule’s overlapping voice, it made him seem like an otherworldly being.
A being so lofty, you could never touch him no matter how far you reached.
Yet with that one word—“just”—he was again reduced to a hideous soul, bound to rotting flesh and sustained by spells and potions.
Even worse, he revealed his narrow-mindedness by reacting to just a few words.
“…I’ll give you this, you’re good at scratching where it stings, creature.”
He spoke to Encrid.
“I’m just a lone swordsman.”
Encrid replied, lifting the Three Iron. His arm rose slowly to point in one direction. Then he added,
“Combined, we’re just two swordsmen.”
Whoooosh…
No one else spoke, only the rain and wind made sound.
The fact that he could still provoke someone in a moment like this… one had to admit, he was far from ordinary.
CRACK!
The heavens thundered as if in awe of Encrid. A blinding flash of white briefly lit up the area before fading.
His shadow stretched out in four directions from the center of his body, then returned as if blending into the darkness that came in the light’s wake.
Throughout it all, Encrid’s stance never faltered for even a second.
“No wonder they call you a madman.”
Lynox muttered in admiration. Encrid wanted to disagree. Hearing that from a man who joked about wielding only three swords after losing an arm felt ridiculous.
But before he could speak, the head of the house cut in.
“It’s my turn now, Encrid of the Border Guard.”
The head of the house stood before the monstrous being with blackened stone-like skin, a result of some twisted cosmetic technique. Though his body was covered in wounds, he radiated the same oppressive force as ever. He looked like a human shaped after a greatsword.
No, not simply oppressive, he was a sword.
A greatsword sharpened with pure battle intent. There was no need to ask what its tip was pointing at.
“Don’t worry. You’ve got a meat shield right here, Lynox.”
Lynox added with a smirk.
“You said one of our days is like ten to you?”
Encrid jumped in with a question before the enemy could respond, and followed it up with another:
“Is that why you look so prematurely aged?”
At this point, it wasn’t exaggeration to say he was risking his life just to insult the guy.
His tone was heroic—his words, absolutely not. His ability to provoke was downright impressive.
Premature aging? Seriously?
“I’m youthful, I’ll have you know.”
Lynox stuck out his tongue as Encrid fired back again.
“What an insufferable bastard.”
Even Drmule’s voice trembled with anger. In his decades of existence, surely someone had insulted him before, but this? It had been a long time, perhaps even the first time, someone said things like this to him.
No need to delve into his entire past, but he’d spent the last few decades in a state like slumber.
Before and after that, he’d only ever been surrounded by those who worshipped him.
“My god!”
“The master who shall become the new god of the Demon Realm!”
The only one who didn’t show fear was Hescal. But that man approached seeking benefit, not reverence.
Even Hescal didn’t stay by Drmule’s side, but instead built his own version of Zaun. That alone twisted Drmule inside.
Just because he wanted to become a god didn’t mean he had a broad mind. That was Drmule’s true nature, he had never spared someone who fell out of favor.
He didn’t even trust Hescal fully and had planted a curse in his heart. Yet in the end, that man made a choice Drmule couldn’t understand.
Faith? Trust? Those words didn’t exist in Drmule’s vocabulary. He’d never given faith to anyone, he was a narrow-minded man.
And now, a narrow-minded monster.
“I will kill you without fail.”
Drmule raised a finger and pointed at Encrid. Blackened skin over rotten flesh, hideous to behold.
“What did I even do to deserve this?”
Encrid countered calmly.
It wasn’t like he’d never had people show killing intent toward him. So he wasn’t genuinely upset. In fact, his tone was so cool, it was irritating.
“Let’s never meet as enemies again.”
Lynox said again, half admiring him.
The head of the house raised his sword without even a smile.
For the past twenty years—not every day, but often—Zaun had been torn by internal strife. Suspicion, purging, constant tests of loyalty.
It infuriated the head of the house. And now, the one responsible for all that division stood right before him.
The true architect wasn’t Hescal, it was the monster before him.
The head of the house knew that.
“I should’ve killed you long ago.”
He muttered quietly, and Drmule’s eyes shifted toward him.
“How arrogant you are, wretch.”
They’d searched for the one who spread curses and diseases for over a decade, and only now met face-to-face.
In truth, Drmule had only been active for a very short time, his disciples acted in his place.
If Hescal hadn’t helped, he’d still be in a dormant state, hiding somewhere.
“I woke up a hundred years earlier than planned.”
Not that it mattered. Waking early? A small thing.
After all, now he had glimpsed divinity.
The fish in the lake called Zaun couldn’t possibly contend with him.
Even knowing he wasn’t perfect, he’d started everything anyway. Drmule no longer needed to teach. It was time for punishment.
Dark smoke rose from his hand, and wriggling worms gathered on the ground.
Each was the size of a palm. “Painful” wouldn’t begin to describe being bitten by one.
Encrid raised his sword. Lynox, with one arm, stood beside him. From behind, presences began to gather.
They didn’t need to look back. It wasn’t the aura of beasts. Voices followed soon after.
“Anahera is here.”
The most beautiful of the Giant Tribe limped forward, missing her helmet, and said,
“I forged my sword for moments like this. Let me fight too.”
Beside her came a man with a natural limp, Riley. Anahera of the Giant Tribe and limping Riley.
“Is that him?”
“Hescal’s dead, huh?”
“Ragna’s dead? He better not be. Not before I surpass him.”
The swords of Zaun were gathering.
“If you fall, I’m next in line.”
And leaning half her weight on Odinkar’s shoulder, Alexandra joined them.
“Don’t worry. I’m here, Alex.”
Odinkar reined in the fury boiling to his scalp. Even in a short time, he’d grown.
He used to cross the line in duels, but that habit vanished after his time in the Border Guard.
The swords of Zaun gathered, to protect their home. That resolve surely exceeded Drmule’s expectations.
Even if he had wiped out the Medusa and the spells, he didn’t think not one of Zaun’s people would fall and all would rise before him like this.
But Drmule didn’t care. He was alone, but that wasn’t a problem.
Hescal, the so-called disciples—they were tools.
He would become a god and open a new Demon Realm here.
And be worshipped by all the creatures across the continent and empire. As a god, he would lay down new laws.
“Protect the head of the house.”
Encrid said, following his instincts, then continued without pausing for breath.
“Move next to Anahera! Kal, cover the rear! Riley, lead the group! Kill every last worm!”
With a few gestures from Drmule, worms rained from the sky, and black earthen golems rose from the ground.
The fists of the mud golems were the size of human heads.
Another long battle?
No, it wasn’t like that.
The head of the house raised a vial, emptied it into his mouth, and then took a breath, his sword hanging low in his hand.
‘Now, of all times?’
It was the medicine Ann had given him—just enough to dull the pain, even if only briefly.
The head of the house had chosen to take it now. Which meant, he’d been fighting all this time in that wrecked body.
Why?
‘For now. For this one moment.’
This was the moment the head of the house, with all his talent for strategy, had been waiting for.
Even without understanding it fully, Encrid sensed the shift in his aura.
Meanwhile, Drmule summoned swarms of insects, golems, and flying spirits, and spread disease.
The black smoke he exhaled was poison itself, a plague bringing only death.
Inhaling it could cause boils to form inside the body, or even blind the eyes.
The swords of Zaun withdrew just enough, buying time through attrition.
They avoided the smoke, sliced the insects, and crippled the golems by targeting their legs. If they regenerated, they just cut them again.
Thus began the battle.
The head of the house stood still like a corpse, sword hanging low, then lifted it alongside his face.
Drmule saw this and flung a mass of dark liquid by swirling his hands. It was the size of a human head, and the idea of what it could do if it burst was terrifying.
“Block that.”
The head of the house spoke calmly. Whether he knew what that thing would do or not, Encrid acted on his words.
Encrid could sense the shape of spells. He had trained this sense with Esther, and even mastered it against Walking Fire.
‘It’s a spell.’
Reading its flow, he swung his sword. He drew his left foot back, then struck forward with the Three Iron.
Fwack!
The black mass split into two.
Splish.
It dropped and mixed harmlessly with the dirt.
It had been imbued with the power of sulfur, meant to melt anything it touched, but the spell’s core had been disrupted. That was why it failed.
“You cut a spell?”
Drmule was shocked. Rightfully so.
To slice apart the strands of a spell powered by mana…
Could a mere swordsman really do such a thing?
“How dare you…”
Drmule hurled five more black blobs, then chains of black smoke sprang from behind him, stretching outward.
The chains slithered silently like snakes, brushing past Encrid’s ankles.
He cut down the five blobs in sequence. Aside from the spell itself, cutting them wasn’t too difficult—they weren’t fast, nor did they fly erratically. Easier than the pumpkins Rem threw with his bare hands.
The chains were the same. He could see the points where power condensed. He kept moving and cutting them.
He shifted his stance, kicked for space, and dragged the Three Iron in a sweeping arc across the ground.
His whole body ached, his head throbbed.
‘Thin and long.’
After triggering a single burst, he had learned to draw his Will like thread, steadily and delicately.
It became easier to control.
He thought about mimicking what Ragna did, but right now, swinging his sword with what little strength he had left was more important.
“Ha!”
Drmule glared at Encrid. Nothing was going his way.
Encrid’s lips moved. Was he about to say something? Was he finally admitting he couldn’t hold out?
Blood streamed from his nose, he clearly wasn’t alright. Drmule aimed another spell and watched Encrid’s mouth.
Encrid swallowed the blood that bubbled up his throat, and then spoke, not too loud, but just loud enough for Drmule to hear. He was a skilled speaker that way.
“What do you think? Two mere swordsmen and a little girl pulled this off.”
Here?! Now?!
“KIAAAGH!!”
Drmule shrieked, enraged.
The number of spells flying his way increased. More black blobs, more chains, hands of darkness sprouting from the ground.
Some of the raindrops darkened and transformed into dog-like beasts.
Lightning even sparked between them, but Encrid dodged it all and cut down any spell that threatened the head of the house.
He rolled through the mud, soaked from head to toe. Fragments of his torn fairyfolk undergarments slipped loose from beneath his armor.
He looked like a rat that had been drowned and beaten, yet his blue eyes still shone in the darkness.
Just when he thought he had reached his limit, the head of the house charged forward.
What had Drmule placed his faith in? His protective spells?
But faith… is always something that can betray you.
Even the holy scriptures say so: Take in a hundred disciples, and one will betray you and sell out their master.
Every scripture has a fable about a betraying disciple. It’s even in the old oral traditions.
“Ah.”
At some point, Ragna let out a groan, he had come to.
Encrid, too, stared ahead.
He could no longer move, propping himself up with the Three Iron stuck in the ground.
Rain pelted his brow, but he didn’t blink.
The head of the house—Tempest Zaun—rushed in and swung his sword. Just once.
He poured everything into that single swing: all his experience, all his training, all his future.
His blade erupted with light. It wasn’t like Audin’s divine light, it was the embodiment of Will.
The glow around the sword bent the world itself. It was a blade that could cut anything. You knew that the moment you saw it.
The head of the house’s sword shattered every protection and cleaved into Drmule from shoulder to hip, slicing him apart on a diagonal.
To the naked eye, it simply looked like the light itself had torn through the hideous beast.
Encrid felt the explosion of Will inside the head of the house. It wasn’t because he had special senses, any Junior-Knight could’ve felt it.
Will had no form, yet it could be felt. And now, it could even be seen.
The Will of head of the house didn’t just manifest, it reshaped the space around him like wind tousling hair.
An explosion.
He had detonated his Will, but unlike Alex, who did so gradually, over time, the head of the house poured it all into one single strike.
Focus Point Explosion.
Alex paced herself, it was an explosion of line. The head of the house, by contrast, embedded everything into a single blow.
That was his secret technique. And it ended Zaun’s long nightmare.
Black blood splattered the ground. The rain eased. Even the wind calmed.
Drmule looked down at his torn body. His rotting innards spilled onto the ground.
“Why?”
He muttered in disbelief.
There was no false god here now. Only a wretched man who denied death.
Encrid, recalling the family head’s single strike, felt a chill ripple through his body.
To be honest, he’d thought that if he fought with everything he had, he might win.
‘But I can’t block that.’
After seeing that strike, his skull reeled with the realization.
The continent is vast. And that makes it fun. He had seen it.
Encrid smiled, having witnessed the head of the house’s Will and sword. And Drmule—by chance turning his gaze—saw that smile.
A storm of hatred surged in his heart.
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