Chapter 403 - Everything Felt Wrong

Chapter 403 - Everything Felt Wrong

For those who dealt with magic, an omen was not simply three words.

It was a prediction derived from sensation.

Esther felt something was happening in this land.

And it was related to the world of magic.

A sense that it could also affect her directly followed, and she concluded that she couldn't let it go unchecked.

In other words, immediate confirmation was needed. That was the reason. Esther opened her mouth.

"Guard me."

At those words, Andrew, who had been about to enter the battlefield, turned his head.

"Did you say that to me?"

"Shall I call Enkrid, who's ahead?"

Esther, with kind and lengthy explanations, made the other person understand the facts and closed her eyes.

She was in a hurry.

Andrew hesitated before halting his steps.

Where was his position now?

Since he was with Enkrid, he had been accepted as part of their unit.

As a baron of the Gardener family, his position was ambiguous when it came to commanding the troops.

Even if he considered those under his command, there were only five of them.

Andrew looked at the battlefield.

It wasn't overwhelming, but the situation seemed to be flowing according to their intentions.

Andrew stopped his steps. He thought it was right to listen to Esther, the mage, at this moment.

"Form up."

With that, Andrew and the five trainees formed a circle around Esther.

Esther sat in the middle. She didn't care about the dirt beneath her. This wasn't the time for such things.

Her robe dragged on the ground as it touched the earth.

Soon, Esther entered the world of magic and began searching for the plot prepared by the opposing mage.

No, she didn't need to search.

The enemy revealed and showed, rather than hiding or concealing, all to raise his own prestige.

The great majesty became pressure, weighing down on Esther's shoulders.

But she was no ordinary mage.

A witch who dealt with the fire of the black world.

A witch who fought, struggled, and pioneered worlds.

A seeker who burned the truth with flames to understand it.

She chanted a spell to prove herself and lifted her head.

Esther saw the work prepared by the enemy, the mage Count Molsan.

Not all mages were mad, but there was a saying that great mages always nurtured madness.

Esther agreed with that statement.

The one who was causing trouble right now also proved it.

'They mixed curses and spells.'

Between the flows of mana, the presence of spirits also mingled. The power of invocation covered the area, showing the enemy's will.

It was darkness.

***

Count Molsan, sitting in a black chair that appeared even darker in this space, wore a cloak made of soot and held a black staff identical to the chair, glaring at her.

"Are you trying to stop me?"

The will of the Count turned into words, mixed with mockery. He dared her to try.

Esther didn't respond to the mockery. Instead, she observed, continuing to scrutinize.

'A magic circle.'

The entire battlefield was turned into a magic circle. A magic circle required material to draw.

"You're brilliantly mad."

When she realized this, Esther spoke. The Count raised his chin with one hand, holding his staff with the other, and spoke.

"Do you think knowing will change anything?"

The Count had used the horrors of war, blood, and corpses as materials for his magic circle, drawing a spell based on curses.

What would the result be?

Esther partially opened her eyes and guessed what would happen when the spell was complete.

She too was one of the greatest geniuses in her world. That's why she could make such a guess.

The pure black darkness would engulf the entire battlefield. The world covered in that darkness would lose its light, consumed by a will as dark as night.

This was the repulsive work of a madman attempting to connect his own magical world to reality.

What disgusted her the most was this: what did a mage's magic world mean?

It was their flaws and secret space, a place that should never be shown or revealed to anyone. It was a taboo.

Count Molsan ignored that taboo.

'He's trying to connect and send spirits.'

By hiding the light and vomiting forth darkness with the magic circle, he was essentially ripping his magic world out and manifesting it here.

Esther's eyes also caught sight of the black mass behind the chair the Count was sitting on.

Spirits. There were countless spirits filling the Count's magic world.

What would happen if those beings were released into the battlefield?

Spirits could erode the human mind. Some would become puppets, others would swing their swords indiscriminately, unable to distinguish allies from enemies. Others would lose their will and die right there.

Most would exhibit madness.

This was the reality that was about to happen.

It would unfold just as the Count intended.

Victory in the war? That wasn't necessary.

Only blood, corpses, and death were needed.

With those, he would dominate the battlefield with his spirits.

If Krais knew about this, he would likely rage.

"Are you going to try and stop me?"

The Count asked.

Esther could burn the enemies with her magic right now. But she couldn't stop the ones fighting.

No solution came to mind.

The best she could do was take those she wanted to protect out of harm's way.

Should she do that?

It was a sudden thought, but she figured Enkrid wouldn't want that.

So, what should she do?

'I'll ask him.'

She would pass everything on to Enkrid. She would ask him.

For those who knew magic, it would be quite a surprising choice.

Esther converted part of her will into liquid form and sent it flying towards Enkrid, who was at the front of the battlefield.

It was a feat possible because they had lived side by side for over a year.

To send her will in such a form required such a relationship.

Fortunately, Esther's will reached Enkrid.

"I'll ask."

Esther spoke, and the Count blinked in confusion.

What was she going to ask, he wondered.

***

A giant who wielded its body as a weapon.

That was Benukt's epithet.

Enkrid pulled the sword out of the fallen giant's head, with the giant's blood following the blade as he removed it.

He pressed his foot down on the giant's shoulder, and as the sword came out with a "schuck," blood trailed behind it.

The giant's fighting spirit was impressive and terrifying.

'Compared to Audin, though...'

It was weak.

Benukt had struck Enkrid's side once and grabbed his ankle, twisting it.

But Enkrid withstood the strike with core strength and slipped the attack off his side.

When his ankle was grabbed, he turned his body in the opposite direction, neutralizing the giant's move and making it ineffective.

Then, he repeatedly struck, stabbing and slashing.

The difference in skill was evident, so there was no need to rush. Using the capturing blade, Enkrid cornered Benukt into a corner.

After killing Benukt.

Enkrid looked around.

He saw soldiers running toward him in terror.

These were not the ones who would retreat in fear, having seen the giant's death.

They were at least dozens of soldiers.

'Why?'

It was a puzzling sight. Their eyes were filled with fear, their legs shaking. Enkrid hadn't used any form of intimidation.

Yet, their eyes were full of terror. It looked like they were being pushed forward.

That was the answer.

They were the sacrifices the Count had sent, sent to die.

To protect those behind him, it meant becoming a demon to the advancing soldiers.

Enkrid understood that.

Even so,

"I don't like it."

It bothered him intensely, almost to the point of cruelty.

Enkrid struck the trembling spear tip with the back of his hand, knocking it aside, then grabbed the spear shaft and yanked it away.

The boy, who looked to be no older than twenty, stumbled forward as the spear was taken from him.

In his panic, he couldn't even brace himself on the ground and fell, his chin hitting first.

"Ahh!"

A scream echoed.

Enkrid swiftly sliced through the next opponent's spear with his sword and kicked the chin of the one behind him.

Thud.

Though it was a light kick, the chin was knocked up, and the opponent's eyes spun as he collapsed.

After knocking down a dozen or so, the enemies no longer dared to attack.

Eyes full of wariness, eyes full of fear, both mixed together, and the pupils turned, showing a complex inner turmoil.

Enkrid didn't like any of it.

The blood of the dying.

Their flesh and bones.

The flowing death staining the land.

It was an unpleasant feeling, originating from instinct and completed through intuition.

'Why?'

This was a battlefield, and he was now familiar with it.

He knew well that in order to protect his back, he had to become a demon to those standing before him.

As he scanned his surroundings in caution, something like blue smoke approached from behind him, touching his back.

It was the substance of Esther's will.

She conveyed to Enkrid what she had seen, heard, and understood.

It was a strange experience, as if Esther's voice was whispering in his ear.

The message she passed along, that the Count's actions were the source of his discomfort, was the root of his irritation.

Although he didn't fully understand what the magic circle was or what exactly the Count was planning, he found it perfectly natural to obstruct whatever the man desired—there was nothing about him that appealed to Enkrid.

The fact that the battlefield had been turned into a tool for the Count's schemes made it all the more distasteful.

Turning his attention back to the enemy, Enkrid pushed forward, and the enemy soldiers parted to clear his path.

They wouldn't dare to charge, as even a dire struggle from behind, no matter how forceful, wouldn't change the outcome.

The giant had just been slain. The one who had killed a beastly creature, a monstrous fiend in the eyes of ordinary soldiers, had come.

Though outwardly seeming like an ordinary swordsman, his display of power made him anything but.

And so, the path was cleared.

On the other side, Rievart stepped forward.

"Benukt is no match for you, huh?"

"Wasn't that obvious?"

"I suppose so."

"You should have stepped in earlier."

Enkrid reproached Rievart, as if scolding a young student. He was genuinely upset.

The way Rievart was acting didn't match the current situation, so naturally, it was a provocation.

Rievart, even in moments like this, was irritated by the fact that he was a mocked.

His specialty had always been turning his opponent's thoughts upside down through words.

"Your tongue…"

"Shut up. I won't listen to excuses."

Enkrid cut off Rievart's words.

"You really are a bastard."

Rievart spoke without a trace of a smile, and Enkrid raised his sword.

It was clear that only by crossing this point could they move forward.

At that moment, Esther, who had been observing Enkrid's situation through his will, read his intent.

There was no thought of retreat.

It was a will like an endlessly burning flame.

He would block. He would stop them, no matter what.

She understood that will and spoke.

"Don't lose."

If they lost and retreated now, they would never be able to stop the Count.

Enkrid lifted his sword. Holding Silver with both hands, he looked at his opponent, preparing to divide them in two vertically by the blade.

Reflections on past battles had occupied his mind all day long, immediately after the fight had ended.

Even while chewing meat, sleeping, waking from sleep, and even in the middle of fighting, he had thought about them.

There was no boredom.

On the contrary, it was enjoyable.

This was an opponent that had to be overcome. Therefore, it was fun. It was an opportunity to move forward by facing them.

More importantly, he instinctively knew.

'I can win.'

How many times had he felt sure of victory before?

Even against such an exceptionally skilled opponent.

He hadn't fought thinking of today as a repetition, though.

Enkrid believed there would be no repetitions.

"I'm envious."

Rievart, with an unreadable expression, lifted his sword and shield.

He raised his shield to cover his mouth, revealing only his eyes.

The preparations for battle were complete.

It was expected to be a fight similar to the previous one.

Those who had watched their previous duel thought the same.

But it was not so.

Wham!

Suddenly, Enkrid sheathed his sword and charged forward.

Rievart, holding his shield, adopted a defensive stance in response to the unexpected movement, pulling the shield closer to his body and hiding his sword-hand.

Enkrid extended both hands forward.

Without warning, he pulled out a whistle dagger that emitted a sharp sound.

Screech!

Two beams of light shot straight toward Rievart's eyes.

Thud!

Rievart hurriedly lifted his shield to block his vision.

'Blocking my sight?'

Blocking his sight didn't mean he couldn't read the opponent's movements. A knight's senses were honed to be highly sensitive.

Rievart's body spun around. Enkrid quickly circled around him and threw his sword.

It was a technique called the "tandem sword."

The gladius spun like a disk, heading straight toward Rievart's back.

Can he block with the shield? Too late. Rievart, trusting the sturdy armor he wore, only turned his back slightly to display an acrobatic technique.

The technique of redirecting the sword's trajectory using his torso was the key.

It was a technique similar to one Enkrid had learned from Audin.

Thud!

The second attack was also deflected.

From there, Enkrid jumped up and delivered a vertical slash with his sword.

Bang!

Even though the shield blocked it, Rievart felt the force travel down his arm, reaching his forearm.

It was as if his body was sinking down.

Something was off—Enkrid seemed stronger than before.

Enkrid had seized the opportunity created by the dagger throw, restricted Rievart's movement with the gladius, and then struck again with the medium sword in a spinning motion.

Of course, he didn't stop there.

This was the world of the breathless.

Having once gained the upper hand, he immediately pulled Rievart into the most favorable battlefield for himself.

And it worked.

Normally, Rievart could endure a fight all day, but after exchanging dozens of sword strikes and focusing on defense, his breathing had become erratic.

His opponent had far superior stamina.

Enkrid had to have done something extraordinary to gain such strength.

Spark slipped through the gap in Rievart's armor and stabbed deep into his belly.

A thrust aimed at the gap in his armor pierced through part of his internal organs.

Rievart immediately swung his shield and struck Enkrid.

Having overexerted himself in the previous thrust, Enkrid couldn't dodge it.

Thud.

The shield hit Enkrid, and he staggered back a few steps.

"Cough!"

And Rievart coughed up blood.

The battle was decided. Enkrid looked into his eyes.

Dark, dead eyes—eyes like those of a dead fish.

"Huh, I'm really envious."

Rievart spoke those cryptic words again.

Enkrid didn't care about that, focusing instead on raising his sword.

"Do you think this is how one becomes a knight?" Rievart asked.

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