Chapter 443 - You’re leaving now?

Chapter 443 - You're leaving now?

Enkrid had experienced facing blades from outside his perception before.

Jaxen had repeatedly been the source of such encounters. This time was no different.

It was beyond perception—so fast that Oara's words seemed delayed in reaching him.

"Stomach."

The single word struck his ears, but the blade preceding it had already grazed his stomach.

His Heart of the Beast and Sense of Evasion activated simultaneously.

Enkrid shifted his weight to his heels and pushed backward as if gliding on the floor, thinking he had evaded the strike. In that fleeting moment, he caught sight of Oara's face.

A faint smile adorned her lips, curving higher than before.

"Knee."

Enkrid realized the blade slashing at his stomach had been an illusion.

It was akin to magic manipulated by sheer will.

No, this wasn't entirely unfamiliar. It resembled the energy-forged sword Shinar had once demonstrated.

But this time, it relied solely on momentum and suggestion.

As Oara spoke, the blade targeting his knee struck down vertically from above.

Instead of dodging, Enkrid swung his sword in a diagonal arc.

From below to above, his blade lashed out like a whip, carving through the spot Oara had just occupied.

Oara avoided his swing effortlessly, twisting her body while keeping her sword's trajectory unchanged.

A clean vertical thrust.

She hadn't moved her right hand—only shifted her body to evade while maintaining the attack.

Thunk.

The blade tip lightly grazed his knee.

No wound, just a mark on his garment.

"That's it for today!" Oara announced cheerfully.

"Huff, huff."

Enkrid exhaled heavily, releasing his held breath.

Oara sheathed her sword with a crisp motion and approached. Her mischievous gaze lingered on him as she tapped his cheek lightly.

"Feeling like you got tricked by a simple move?"

Enkrid acknowledged that she had only used two techniques in the entire sparring session.

One was the slash aimed at his stomach—a feint.

The other was the vertical thrust targeting his knee.

It was the second move that decided the match.

Though he had learned much, Enkrid understood the most crucial point.

"The difference lies in experience."

Oara was skilled.

She hadn't just ascended to the rank of knight recently. She had lived this life for years, showcasing her expertise.

"How old are you?" he asked in a jesting tone, adopting the Thousand Brick questioning style.

Oara's smile froze slightly before her eyes glinted with mock annoyance.

"You're lucky you're handsome. Haven't you learned that asking a lady's age can get your head ventilated?"

Enkrid stayed silent as Oara chuckled and walked away.

"Ah, I'm starving," she muttered, leaving with a casual wave.

Luagarne approached, observing.

"If your knee got hit, your mobility would've been compromised. Even if the spar had continued, you'd have lost."

"I know," Enkrid replied.

"Her moves may be simple, but they carry profound principles."

Lagarne paused, giving Enkrid time to reflect before he answered.

"If your opponent is faster and stronger, you can't block them."

Knights were such opponents.

Looking further, the principle was clear: relying on simple techniques was a show of confidence in one's ability to subdue the enemy.

Elegance didn't diminish lethality. A sharp blade didn't turn into cotton fluff simply because it struck gently.

Enkrid had already grasped this truth.

Victory was about efficiency.

"Exactly," Luagarne agreed with a nod.

Though Enkrid wasn't discouraged by his loss, he wasn't satisfied either.

After a quick wash and a meal, Enkrid sought out the tavern keeper.

"No bugs here," Luagarne muttered in complaint. It was no surprise—this tavern didn't seem to cater to frogs.

Enkrid gestured toward the barkeep, who approached the bar where Enkrid sat. The tavern was quiet, thanks to the prohibition on alcohol.

"Do you know the whereabouts of the cultists or zealots?"

"Instead of that, could you ask Lady Oara to lift the prohibition? We're all starving here!"

Most needs were settled through contributions, but currency—crona—still held sway in certain areas. Merchants, alcohol, and brothels were among those exceptions.

The barkeep grumbled about his struggles, and Enkrid ordered something unusual.

"One plate of well-roasted larvae, please."

"…Where am I supposed to get such—ah, never mind. I'll figure it out."

Clink.

A pouch landed on the bar, slightly open, its silver coins glinting inside. The barkeep's hands moved swiftly.

"By tomorrow at lunch."

The handful of silver coins sparkled atop the counter. Motivated, the barkeep shared what he knew.

The information wasn't particularly useful.

Even though he vaguely mentioned the cult's location, they wandered like nomads.

What could they possibly be searching for in this desolate area? Enkrid mused. The answer was simple.

They gathered followers—deserters, desperate souls from the demonic frontier, and others who had lost their way.

The cult preyed on their vulnerabilities, inserting their ideology into the cracks of weakened spirits.

When their numbers swelled, they'd vanish to a distant place to live in comfort.

Their reasons for being here didn't matter.

What mattered was that they needed to be dealt with.

After a day spent scouring the city, the results were meager.

"You'll have to search for them yourself," was the most helpful advice, courtesy of Millio, who had also observed Enkrid and Oara sparring.

"Care for a match with me?"

Eager and persistent, Millio wielded a heavy hammer—effective for crushing enemies in one blow but too slow for follow-ups when dodged or blocked.

"What if you grip it here and twist like this?"

"Ahh, that hurts!"

Enkrid demonstrated a few footwork and joint techniques to counteract the hammer's inherent sluggishness. Though rudimentary, they offered a way to exploit an opponent's momentary hesitation.

As time passed, Rem awoke late in the afternoon.

"Those cultists? They're a day's journey from here."

Unexpectedly, he had stumbled upon a clue while looking for a whetstone.

"…You saw them?"

"They were gathering far off. I thought they were bandits, but their behavior screamed cult."

"You know where?"

"Do I look like some clueless swordsman who can't find his way or follow directions?"

Rem's sharp glare hinted at a quick temper, ready to draw his axe at any slight.

Enkrid considered whether this was something to delay. It wasn't.

It was his task—capturing deserters and dealing with the colony.

"A deserter turned cult leader."

Even if they'd gained some notoriety here, they wouldn't be on par with a true bishop of a cult.

At best, their strength might rival that of a squire.

With a small, elite team like Rem, Dunbakel, and Lagarne, they wouldn't be lacking.

Though the cultists reportedly used strange incantations, his instincts didn't perceive them as a real threat.

It would be nothing more than tedious theatrics.

With his team's current power, it would almost be overkill.

Enkrid knew his abilities objectively.

And if danger arose, retreating was always an option.

It wasn't a mission to protect something but closer to an ambush. Delaying any longer would make tracking down these troublesome targets more difficult.

Hence, the suggestion arose.

"Shall we go now?"

The question was posed with the answer already decided.

The sun was beginning to set. There's a saying that the sun belongs to humans, and the darkness to monsters.

For creatures whose eyes excel in the dark and shun the light, this was their prime hour.

It was the same now. Dusk had arrived.

Of course, none here were concerned about such things.

"Just the four of us?"

Dunbakel asked.

"Do you see anyone else around here who knows the area?"

Enkrid replied with a counter question, implying there wasn't anyone else to bring along. Recruiting soldiers?

That would be pointless. They wouldn't be of any help.

With that, they left the city. The soldiers guarding the gates tilted their heads in confusion.

"You're leaving now?"

"Is that a problem?"

The one asking was the demon slayer, the hero of the civil war. The soldier shook his head.

The guard assumed Enkrid's party was merely stepping out for a stroll. After all, that barbarian, Rem, had done the same yesterday, leaving briefly and returning shortly after.

Thus, the guard taught them the passphrase to use upon their return.

"No, sir. Just shout, 'The cloak should be red, after all,' in front of the gate, and we'll let you in."

This was a measure to prevent strangers from entering the city at night.

The soldier passed this instruction to the next shift, and they, in turn, relayed it to their replacements when their watch ended.

"They're taking their time, huh?"

"Do you think there'll be any trouble?"

To an average soldier, a semi knight was akin to an unreachable peak.

Encountering a few monsters on the way wouldn't be an issue for them.

Not to mention they had a Frog and a beastkin with them.

Dawn broke.

The morning guard saw figures returning against the light of the rising sun. It was Enkrid's group.

"Open the gate."

The sight of blood-soaked armor caught their eye—black and red blood mingled together.

"Did you run into monsters?"

"Something like that."

Enkrid answered as they entered the city.

When they first left the gate, Enkrid thought the mission would be simple.

Finding them was the hard part; dealing with them would be easy.

"Which way?"

"This way."

Rem led the group. Clouds obscured the moon, leaving their surroundings dim, but the faint moonlight sufficed for those present.

"Want to learn how to track people?"

"Now?"

Enkrid's response to the sudden question wasn't a refusal, just curiosity.

Rem figured it would be easy to find their targets—a cult group.

There was a reason.

Rem's gaze fell on the beastkin. Dunbakel's eyes glowed golden even in the dark.

He'd always thought those eyes were unique.

Beyond that, her sense of smell was exceptional, even for a beastkin.

Dunbakel noticed his gaze and instinctively reached for her curved blade.

"Crazy beast, sniff them out. This isn't a sparring match."

"This is your method?"

Enkrid asked in the middle of it all.

"Why take the hard route when there's an easier one? We've got a beastkin here, and she can track scents with freakish precision—everything except her own."

It wasn't wrong. Even Dunbakel agreed.

She wrinkled her nose, sniffing, before speaking.

"The scent's coming from that direction."

The group moved and soon spotted a group with makeshift tents.

"Who's there?"

One of them, picking his nose at the front, called out.

Enkrid responded with action instead of words. He stepped forward, raising his sword.

The blade cleaved upward, carving a red line from the man's chin to his forehead.

Thud.

Blood sprayed as the body collapsed forward.

"Crazy bastards."

The spiky-haired blonde beside him spoke in a trembling voice.

Thwack.

Dunbakel's blade flew toward his face. He stood dumbstruck, unable to dodge.

"Why stop?"

Dunbakel asked.

"I didn't."

Enkrid replied, cutting down whoever he could see. He ignored those fleeing.

"The devil's henchmen have arrived!"

A man who looked like the leader appeared. He seemed more like a seasoned bandit than a true cultist.

Enkrid focused on him instinctively.

He wasn't a mage but performed a feat resembling magic.

The man closed the distance and extended his hand. An invisible blade shot forth.

Enkrid had encountered similar attacks before—from Shinar and earlier from Oara that same day.

Invisible didn't mean nonexistent; the energy remained.

Ting.

Enkrid unsheathed his gladius, twisting it to deflect the attack. The leader's hand contorted as if gripping an unseen weapon.

It was fascinating. It truly seemed as though he held a transparent sword.

Without hesitation, Enkrid raised his blade and swung down on the man's shoulder. His strikes were as indifferent as chopping firewood.

Crunch!

"Aaaagh!"

Blood spurted as the man tumbled backward. Despite his speed, the blow aimed at his head struck his shoulder instead.

"Please, spare me! Spare me!"

A stark contrast to his earlier cries of allegiance to the devil.

"The cult supports you, don't they?"

"That's just a rumor I started!"

The man's eyes darted around as he spoke. Rem, uninterested in such excuses, hurled a throwing axe while Enkrid exchanged a few words.

Whizz! Thunk!

The axe embedded itself in the man's forehead, his body flying backward from the force.

Enkrid noticed something fall from the man's hand.

Approaching, he saw the object glint faintly under the torchlight.

"This isn't something gold coins alone can buy. Do you know Carmen? He's not called a master craftsman for nothing. If this dagger appeared on the black market, assassins would kill each other over it. In fact, a few years ago, Carmen's third masterpiece, a katar, caused a commotion among assassin guilds."

Jaxen's words resurfaced in his mind. He had mentioned what Carmen's collection was and the name of its final dagger.

Invisible Blade.

A gift came out, out of nowhere.

Enkrid pocketed the dagger and returned to the city. On the way, they encountered a few beasts.

A pack of feral dogs, seemingly transformed into monsters, attacked them, but all were swiftly dispatched.

Dawn broke. It was time to return.

Back in the city, they ate, cleaned up, slept briefly, and then headed for the gate once more.

"Looking for colonies? That's even easier. The terrain makes it obvious."

Rem commented as they set out. The oppressive heat remained unchanged, the humidity unbearable.

They had already witnessed how troublesome a harpy colony could be.

Enkrid's group moved immediately.

Somehow, their pattern continued—resting during the day and venturing out again at dusk.

"Heading out again?"

The same guard on duty the night before asked, experiencing déjà vu.

"Any problems?"

"None."

With that, Enkrid's group departed. Rem had ample experience hunting monsters. Dunbakel's sense of smell was almost absurdly sharp. Luagarne brought a wealth of knowledge.

None of them were polished warriors from an organized group.

Instead, they were individuals forged by the wild.

With Dunbakel's keen nose and their combined experience, locating the harpies' nest was a breeze.

"This stench is foul."

"It's perfect for hiding and gathering. Clearly, this is it."

Dunbakel and Rem alternated remarks as Enkrid stared at the towering cliffs.

The bizarre terrain of the demonic realm was as unpredictable as ever.

Was it a cliff or a natural tower?

The circular rock formation was so tall that Enkrid had to crane his neck to glimpse the top.

Judging by eye, not even ten Rems stacked on top of each other could reach the summit. It was tall—very tall.

Above, the harpies began to appear, flapping their wings.

They weren't formidable, wielding only minor wind magic, but their sheer numbers made them a threat.

"I'll start."

Rem spoke, pulling out his sling. Though using a spear might be challenging, this barbarian excelled at hurling stones with deadly precision.

Today was brighter than yesterday.

Two moons alternated their glow—one large and one small.

Amid their light, a hum began to echo.

The whistling grew into a deafening roar as it pierced through the air.

Whooosh!

Between the moons, Rem spun his sling.

Soon, a third moon appeared above him—a full moon crafted by his sling.

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