Chapter 411 |
Jaxon, who had been relentlessly throwing daggers, hurled a Silence Knife straight at the Count’s forehead.
The dagger flew silently but exploded with a loud bang just before reaching the Count’s face.
With the explosion, a black curtain of energy flickered in front of the Count. The barrier was still intact. A dagger wrapped in a scroll wasn’t enough to break through.
“Don’t expect forgiveness!”
Deanne Molsen, who had always viewed the world with ease, felt a wave of urgency as he found himself cornered at the edge of a cliff. Sweat dripped down his back. This was the first time he’d faced such a situation. His first real experience of danger. It caused him to lose his composure.
The Count had already cast spells far beyond those of a typical wizard. Now, he was even drawing on his own lifespan.
He summoned more specters, rolling his eyes back.
His eyes, now pitch black, turned toward Jaxon. Jaxon felt a horrifying chill emanating from the hole in his abdomen.
‘Huh?’
“Die, die, die, die, die.”
The Count raised his staff, muttering repeatedly as he glared at Jaxon. Jaxon stared back. Despite the pitch-blackness of the Count’s eyes, making it impossible to discern the pupils or whites, the gaze was unnervingly persistent.
With each word the Count uttered, the cold creeping up from Jaxon’s stomach intensified. It became harder and harder to stay standing. Jaxon dropped to one knee, hitting the ground with his palm, closing his eyes.
He had to resist the cold. As he focused, he could hear Rem muttering beside him.
“Yes, that’s it.”
‘Crazy barbarian.’
Jaxon thought to himself, refocusing his mind. The Count had cast some kind of spell, planting something in Jaxon’s wound. He just had to find it and dig it out. Jaxon began to concentrate on his own body.
Endurance to withstand the pain.
Calmness to observe his body.
And finally, sensitivity.
One more thing to add—an indomitable will.
‘There is no such thing as giving up.’
Jaxon had learned something from Encrid as well.
Even though it was the first time he’d encountered such a spell, there had to be a solution.
From what he knew, from what he’d experienced, and through logical deduction, he would find a conclusion.
So, Jaxon knelt and endured, while his friends faced the immediate danger head-on.
Encrid took three steps forward.
Steps aimed directly at the Count. He was now within sword’s reach.
Thanks to the company members who had continually cast spells and kept the Count busy.
Now that the distance was closed, Encrid placed his hand on the sword grip and spoke.
“You’re already within my domain.”
Three sat, and one stood—all eyes were on Encrid. Even the Count looked at him.
Domain? He was talking about sword range. The Count scoffed.
He trusted the defensive spells surrounding him.
Encrid adjusted his breathing. Passing through ten thousand specters had been an ordeal.
His muscles trembled from fatigue, but that was fine.
This wasn’t the first time he’d been pushed to his limits.
When wielding the sword, such moments happened frequently.
Especially back when he had nothing, he had to swing his sword until his muscles tore.
Otherwise, he could never have even reached out for the dreams he held.
What must one do to keep reaching out, even when it’s beyond sight?
Repeat. And repeat again.
That experience was the key.
Because of it, he could now push himself beyond limits.
Encrid could still endure.
His gaze rested on the black curtain in front of the Count.
Encrid had already seen Jaxon strike at the barrier once, giving him a rough idea of its strength.
‘Even if a thrown dagger couldn’t pierce it…’
It could still be cut. But not with an ordinary slash. Cutting required absolute focus and certainty.
Therefore…
“Ragna, I’ll borrow this once.”
Before Ragna could even respond, Encrid once again mimicked the technique he had failed at countless times before.
He lifted the sword as if to pierce the sky. Both hands gripped the hilt, and he relaxed his shoulders.
A Middle Sword Technique, upper stance.
Specifically, a stance modified from an ancient family swordsmanship style from the north.
Ragna’s family name was Zaun.
The swordsmanship stance passed down in the House of Zaun was something Ragna had recklessly altered.
Encrid didn’t know that. All he knew was that he was ready to swing his sword.
Ragna looked at Encrid with a slightly surprised expression.
‘Not bad.’
His stance, momentum, and will.
There was nothing to criticize.
It was the best stance Encrid had ever taken.
Especially since he was imitating something of his own, it made Ragna feel even more impressed.
Ragna wasn’t the only one surprised.
Rem had been astonished ever since they started fighting the horde of specter soldiers.
‘He never got pushed back, not even once.’
Encrid had kept pace with him and Ragna. It was now hard to even recall their former Captain.
‘This is fun. This is really fun.’
Rem thought, tightening his grip on his axe, ready to throw it in case things went awry.
Audin, unable to use his hands, muttered prayers with his mouth. The pain felt as though it was shattering his skull, but Audin endured, praying.
“As the Father watches, the lamb sheds its wool and becomes the shepherd.”
And the shepherd is the one who strikes and corrects what is wrong.
The Forbidden Magic was no joke. If something went wrong, the pain could drive one mad. Many who lacked discipline had fallen to that fate.
But he had to do what needed to be done.
That was what Audin had learned from watching Encrid.
Jaxon slowly pierced his own stomach with Carmen’s stiletto. He avoided his internal organs, aiming for the source of the cold.
Thwack.
He suppressed the chill and looked forward. Though the blade had stabbed into his abdomen, it wasn’t fatal. He’d avoided his organs, and with the right treatment, it would be fine.
Moreover, the stab wasn’t deep.
He also reflected on his own carelessness.
‘That was sloppy.’
He hadn’t fully utilized his assassination skills. Why was it that his teacher’s teachings suddenly came to mind?
“Do you want to give your best? Then first, find a place to settle.”
Why would his master say something like that?
He was the one destined to inherit Geor’s Dagger, after all.
Didn’t he already have a place to call home?
If he fully gave in to enjoying the fight, he would become addicted to killing.
That’s what his master had said.
Jaxon had, in fact, felt such emotions before.
How could he avoid that?
Random thoughts were piling up. Jaxon decisively cut off his thoughts. This wasn’t the time for that.
He looked ahead.
He saw the Captain, who no longer even needed his help.
The Captain’s back filled his entire field of vision.
He was preparing to swing his sword.
“Damn you bastards.”
The Count steadied his breath. He had been pushed back repeatedly, but seeing his enemies fall one by one gave him a sense of calm.
His gaze turned to Encrid. The Count knew how to handle a sword.
Watching Encrid take his stance, the Count thought he couldn’t afford to let him take the first strike.
The flickering black curtain of his barrier rendered most attacks useless.
Calculating his chances, the Count thrust his sword forward first.
He pushed off the ground, driving his blade forward. It was a flawless thrust. The tip of the sword, as small as a point, flew straight toward Encrid.
It was precise and clear. Fast and powerful.
Encrid calmly struck down the Count’s sword.
Bang!
The Count quickly tried to recover his sword to swing again.
Encrid mimicked Ragna’s ‘Severance’ technique for a moment.
Encrid’s foot pushed off the ground as he moved forward. Simultaneously, his shoulders rotated smoothly, and his sword’s direction changed, pivoting around his waist.
The sword that had blocked the Count’s thrust now glided like a fish in water, redirecting smoothly.
The Heart of Great Strength surged, adding power and Will.
‘Cut.’
It was the ‘Will of Severance’.
Encrid’s sword leveled horizontally with the ground, slicing past the Count’s nose.
Crack!
The barrier was cut. Will is the strength of intention. The Will of Severance sliced through the barrier and cleaved the Count’s skull.
The silver blade that split the skull shattered and flew into pieces.
Encrid, still in the posture of his slash, exhaled the breath he had been holding.
Standing with both hands gripping the sword, his eyes seemed to glow a bright blue. In the black world created by the Count, Encrid’s glowing blue eyes made it seem as though he stood in a world all his own.
“Hah.”
Encrid exhaled, feeling the pain in his arm muscles, lowering the half-broken sword, and turning around.
The Count had lost the top of his head.
From an observer’s point of view, it seemed like a very simple exchange of sword strikes.
Encrid had deflected the thrusting sword with his own, not pulling back to reset his stance, but smoothly transitioning into a horizontal upper slash.
The Count didn’t even have time to think about defending, he was struck down without resistance.
It was partly the same technique Ragna had shown earlier, infused with the Will of Severance.
That’s why Encrid had said he was borrowing it.
“Gggrrrkk.”
Blood bubbled up from the Count’s mouth.
Though a treacherous mastermind who had overturned the nation of Naurillia, death is a fate that comes equally to all.
Even a stray arrow can kill a man, and no one could survive having their head severed.
Blood poured down from the Count’s severed head, flowing thick and red even in the darkness.
And then, something strange happened.
“This cannot end like this.”
Once again, a voice rang out, piercing through the mind. The Count, though dead, spoke. His voice had split into two, overlapping and echoing.
As blood flowed down his face, his mouth continued to speak clearly.
Audin, realizing what was happening, began to suspect the truth.
‘Is this…?’
A foreboding sensation, like something from deep within the Demon Realm, pressed against his skin.
“A demon?”
While Audin muttered to himself, black smoke began to seep out from the Count’s body.
“Though not a hundred thousand, you did cut down ten thousand, so I respect that. In recognition, I grant you a deep curse… Hm? A witch?”
Just as the black smoke began to form into a human shape after Audin mentioned a demon, the sound of thunder rumbled through the clouds.
Boooom.
The black smoke froze, unable to fully take form.
Encrid, still holding his broken sword, looked at it.
Plop.
Raindrops began to fall.
“…You’ve been caught.”
Both the decapitated Count and the demon that hadn’t fully manifested spoke at the same time. Their voices overlapped.
Encrid now understood why the Count’s voice had occasionally doubled.
It was because he had harbored a demon.
But that didn’t change anything.
Encrid discarded the broken silver sword and drew his Gladius.
With the Gladius as a distraction, the real strike would be…
Ember.
In an instant, Encrid calculated the course of the fight.
While everyone else was still in shock, he alone prepared for the next battle, causing the demon’s gaze to shift back toward him.
“You arrogant fool.”
There was no emotion in the demon’s tone. Not that it mattered.
Encrid was simply trying to finish a fight that wasn’t yet over.
Especially since all of his company members were either injured or exhausted.
It meant he was the only one left who could step up.
At this point, one might wonder if this was an insurmountable wall, but Encrid didn’t think so.
In every moment, he did his utmost.
That’s how he had lived.
And that’s what he would do now.
Beyond the mental world, the ferryman laughed.
“Indeed.”
Clearly, this man was truly insane.
The Count had extraordinary talent, and his ambition far surpassed human limits.
That’s how he had obtained and indulged in the Heart of a Demon.
The demon, ignoring the mad swordsman charging at him, watched the witch’s handiwork with mild interest as he spoke.
“If you block my final curse, won’t I feel a bit disappointed?”
His tone was light, but the meaning behind the word ‘demon’ was far more significant.
A creature of the highest danger, something only seen in the Demon Realm.
Intelligent beings, exceptional in tormenting and killing humans.
“A demon, huh.”
Encrid muttered, and the demon’s gaze turned toward him.
“You, yes. You were impressive. Human. But it seems that even if you wanted to fight now, you wouldn’t be able to.”
The demon didn’t know the full path Encrid had walked, but it understood what he had accomplished today.
After all, everything had centered around this human.
Even the witch who had just intervened—wasn’t she also one of his people?
“If you touch him, I’ll hunt you down and kill you.”
The witch’s voice reached the demon across space.
Even as a demon, it had no desire for annihilation, so the threat was unsettling.
“Arrogant witch.”
From the black mist, only something resembling an eye emerged, surveying the scene with a dull gaze.
The moment Encrid sensed the entity, he felt a strange awareness.
It was certain this was no human. But did that mean it couldn’t be cut? Was that really the case? The demon said it wouldn’t fight, but was that true? Should he try cutting it?
Those thoughts flashed through his mind.
Gathering his remaining strength to charge, Encrid felt the demon’s gaze land on him.
Up until now, its tone had been playful, but this time, it was different.
“We’ll meet again.”
Through the mist, Encrid could vaguely make out the figure, but it was too unclear to recognize.
“I am the master of ten thousand specters.”
The demon spoke, and its form began to dissipate. The falling raindrops grew heavier, making it impossible for it to remain.
The witch had summoned the rain through her magic. As a natural phenomenon, it erased any artificial traces.
Moreover, the rain was warm. The witch had partially opened her magical realm, filling the rain with her power.
The demon vanished.
The rain washed away the magical world that Deanne Molsen had created to manifest the specters in this land.
Before disappearing, the demon took its heart, reading the final command of its servant and sacrifice.
“I had everything in my grasp.”
Deanne Molsen’s final grievance.
“Do you think life in this world is that easy?”
The Count died, expressing his frustration, but at this point, there was nothing he could do.
It was a message only the demon could hear. The last remnants of the servant’s spirit were soon erased.
The demon clicked its tongue, frustrated that it had lost the chance to leave a significant mark on the human world.
As the part of its soul that had inhabited the servant was about to completely vanish, the demon turned to look at the one who had slain him.
Black hair and blue eyes.
“Encrid.”
It had heard someone call his name, so it remembered that as well. The demon thought to itself that if they ever met again, it would torment him until he begged for death.
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