1072. Why are your eyes rolling?
I placed branches on top and covered them with well-dried monster hides. With that, the makeshift tent was complete. I
could just dig a pit to relieve myself, and I planned to subsist on the fruits of the Demon Realm and the flesh of monsters.
It was then that I was thinking of washing myself.
What’s your name? What are you doing here, a mere human and mortal?
Gray shadows, battles, enemies, dozens of warriors of death.
Several scenes flashed through his mind.
The man, having finished the tent, surveyed his surroundings briefly before walking to one side. If he was going to get dirty soon anyway, there was no need to wash right now.
Thinking this, he strode purposefully to one side, his steps as unhesitating as someone who had lived there for decades. A
dull light, shining down from the gray sky, settled around him, symbolizing the realm of evil.
Inside this realm of evil, the oppressive weight pressing down on the body would make it difficult for an ordinary person to breathe properly.
The man nonchalantly unfastened his sword, scabbard and all, from his belt, and walked on, swinging it like a club to strike the branches.
The strange thing was that even though he struck them with the scabbard still on, the branches were severed as if they had been cut.
Swish swish.
It was a branch falling with a sound.
He had been walking briskly through an environment where humans could not pass, but he stopped on ground filled with gouges here and there.
If he went to the right from here, he would find a small lake; while it was not suitable for drinking, it was not bad for washing.
If he walked halfway around the lake, he would come to a stream flowing with water that was safe to drink.
It is difficult to survive without water. This was the spot he had chosen with such considerations in mind.
It’s hot.
The man muttered to himself as he found a suitable rock and settled down.
It was a spot set against a backdrop of purple trees and dark brown rocks. Sitting alone, he hummed a tune.
Had Encred been here, he would have instantly recognized it as the song “The End of the War, The Knight of the Apocalypse,” but he was the only human in the place.
A moment later, the trees and rocks began to turn gray, starting from a distance away from the man. The gray shadows seemed to be slowly tightening and constricting the surroundings. The man swept back his greasy blonde hair, which he hadn’t washed for days.
Ss
As the surroundings turned gray, a chill rushed in and cooled the air. The man drew his sword.
Srrrr.
The sound of the blade, drawn very slowly, scraping against the scabbard rim blended quite well with the chill. Then,
he thrust the sword into the ground still drawn.
As if waiting for this moment, gray shadows rose up in front of the man.
“Kvörsu Dirpist Danlegur Madur……!”
The one standing at the very center, clad in gray armor with a hollow helmet, spoke. In reality, it was not so much speech as a method of conveying his will by vibrating the air, as he lacked vocal cords.
‘dancing.’
Their existence is meaningless. Thinking this, he took a step.
There was no sound, and no tremor in the air. His blade mingled with the wind as it advanced, drawing a line toward the man clad in gray armor.
Rumble! Sakagagagak!
A gale swept through his wake, followed by a sound that split into two, echoing through the surroundings.
How should I describe this? A living, moving lightning bolt? That is the movement, and that is the power contained in his sword strike.
The one in gray armor was a Knight of Death, and the majority of the shadows blocking his path were Warriors of Death.
The others were merely gray specters, though.
With a single swing of his sword, the knight, most of the warriors, and a dozen or so specters vanished.
The blonde swordsman twisted his wrist to change the direction of the blade, flicking the sword sideways with a snapping motion.
pop!
The sound of a leather bag bursting from the deflected blade echoed, and the amorphous specter of a hidden spirit exploded and died. Gray dust scattered into the air. Through it, a dull, black eyeball was revealed.
“What’s your name? What are you doing here, a mere human and mortal?”
The Death Knight in gray armor did not vanish even though half of his helmet was blown away.
“It’s quite a solid mental body.”
The blonde man spoke as he lowered his sword. Even though he stood still, the surrounding specters held their breath.
Should one say his very existence was violent?
It was an atmosphere that even a Balrog, worthy of being called a God of War, would not easily evoke.
That was the extent of the violence contained in the man’s sword strikes. It was a power that would make anyone
who had faced him—whether human or specter—flinch. It was the effect created by the will of the man spreading around him, even though he was not explicitly exerting intimidation.
No, that will, imbued with a slight intention, brought the surrounding specters to their knees. Several of them bowed their heads of their own accord.
It would be a deplorable state of affairs if the Father of the Dead, the demon and Lord of the Mirror Realm who had sent them, were to witness it. But what could be done? The overwhelming threat and presence threatening him right before his eyes were crushing his mind.
“Is a name important? It doesn’t symbolize me.”
He had no name in his childhood. Back then, names like “Swordsman,” “Little Kid,” “Damn Bastard,” and “Youngest” served as his place of a name.
It was only after he took up a sword that a man acquired a name, and it was when he was over twelve years old.
“But if you’re still curious, well, my name is Elric.”
His tone was bored, and his expression was indifferent. While he was asking for his name, the gray specters that had spread around him slowly crept toward the man with the shattered helmet, coalesced, and transformed into a single mass.
It was the process of a Death Knight, a Warrior, and a Specter merging to become the monstrous Lord of Specters.
The man, who revealed his name as Elric, watched silently for three more lightning-like sword strikes, and the Lord of Specters split into gray dust and fragments, falling to the ground.
A vivid bluish-white color coalesced from Elric’s sword and thinly coated the blade, which appeared to be an ordinary longsword.
The gray mass that had fallen to the ground caught silver flames, burned, and vanished. Black smoke rose before it vanished in an instant.
Although the air of the Mirror of Death seemed to have become even more dreary, the man finished his work as if nothing had happened.
Today was the day to wash and fetch water to drink.
He naturally displayed Will, who commanded the attention of his surroundings, and proved through his swordsmanship that his skill surpassed that of an ordinary knight.
He is a formidable opponent, truly troublesome to have as an enemy.
A portion of the Grey Army sent by the Father of the Dead was effectively wiped out by a single swordsman without being able to do anything.
After that, the Father of the Dead stopped paying attention to this mad swordsman named Elric. He judged that it would be difficult to deal with him immediately, no matter what was sent.
He even subtly suggested to other demons that they devour him and ascend, but that fell on deaf ears, too.
“What a crazy bastard has entered my territory.”
That is what the Burning Crow said. Both his skills and his actions were like that. I felt a bit wary, but since there couldn’t possibly be two guys like that in the world, it was right to keep an eye on him for now.
* * *
You’re doing something funny.
Has Encred returned and his skills noticeably improved compared to before? That is not the case. It really wasn’t the case this time.
However, he was already a monster even before he left, and the fact that he showcased a new technique simply drew everyone’s attention.
“If you increase the purity of Will, a lingering scent remains. Well, I set it up with that concept.”
Encred, having returned to the Border Guard, spent his time as usual, acting as if nothing had happened.
In the meantime, he researched the influence that the purified Will was having on the surroundings.
That is what has now piqued Rem’s interest. No, to be precise, he has captured everyone’s attention.
What kind of stunt is this now? Everyone is watching with similar expressions.
Ragnar flicked his fingers on one side while gripping his greatsword, and Saxen’s gaze was sharper
than ever as he watched Encred. Though he appeared indifferent, a subtle heat flickered in Saxen’s eyes. It was because he was filled with anticipation rather than composure, and a competitive spirit rather than anticipation.
It’s not quite a declaration of territory, but it’s similar to God’s presence encompassing the surroundings.
It was Audin’s words. He, too, was intrigued.
Enkrid listened to Audin and fell into thought for a moment.
Perhaps the ascension that demons desire is a yearning born through such stages. A
knight is someone who is human yet possesses martial prowess that transcends the human realm.
If one goes beyond the limits of such an ordinary knight, what then becomes?
Wouldn’t they reach the heavens and attempt to usurp the title of god?
At one time, when the continent was engulfed in war and chaos, usurpers of the throne appeared everywhere.
Of course, it was likely due to the turbulent times, but it is also said to have been a period filled with exceptionally talented individuals.
They aimed for the throne because their martial prowess, intellect, strength, authority, charisma, and talent were outstanding.
If you are not a king but usurp a god.
Just how formidable must their abilities be?
Didn’t some of them remain on this earth forever, wandering in search of a way to become gods?
Those are the very ones who gathered over time.
Isn’t that the narrative of the Demon Realm’s creation, and the reason for the existence of the demons known as monarchs?
It is a guess, but I was half-convinced. Ascension—seeking to go up to the heavens—is usurping the title of god, so it would be fair to call them usurpers of gods rather than ascenders.
That is why they must be demons. Demons are adversaries of gods. They are beings who covet what gods possess by opposing the gods who originally exist.
“The lingering scent is nice. Did you give it that name because the other beastmen reek of staleness too?”
Rem asked. He was asking if he had named it that way because he had realized it in the City of Beastmen.
He had expressed it in his usual brat-like manner, though. It
was only natural for a name to be influenced by one’s surroundings. Encred nodded. Well, it wasn’t a name given because of the stale smell, but the name “Lingering Scent” suited it well in the sense that the high-purity Will naturally influenced its surroundings.
“I guess so. That fruit was really delicious. The alcohol, too.”
Rem showered them with praise that he would rarely do. He was so intoxicated by the taste of the wine and fruit that he even asked to be taken along the next time.
That must mean it was that impressive.
Even Saxon nodded, Ragnar showed interest, and Audin even whispered softly, as if in prayer.
“O Lord Father, forgive me for being greedy for food. But because I possess the body and sense of taste of the living, I dared not refuse.”
This reaction resulted from having eaten everything received as a gift in the City of Beastmen.
In any case, Encred heightened Will’s purity and naturally released it, displaying an intimidating aura that enveloped those around him.
If a little more intention were added to this…
“……Hey hey, what are you doing?”
Immediately, Rem placed his hand on the axe, Saxen, who had been watching from behind the wall, vanished, and Ragnar subtly raised his right hand and shifted the position of his feet. Audin maintained the smile on his face but changed his body direction toward Encred. Sinar, whom they
had encountered several times on the way, had long since stepped back to avoid the attack. Temares, who was more perceptive than him and could read minds, had retreated long ago.
As the intention was imbued, everyone felt threatened. Still, they only reacted this way because they could withstand the Will they possessed.
For the average level, it was not resistance but submission. It was the effect of imbuing the afterglow with intent.
Tension filled the air. Encred thought that he would be fine performing a sword dance against the four of them like this.
No, he actually desired it. His grip on the sword tightened. The twilight trembled, revealing its presence. It was an imprinted weapon that had read Encred’s mind. Just then, at the sound of a single blade of grass falling, fierce sword strikes were about to be exchanged.
Gurgle, gurgle.
“Pogii aanhaee.”
It was the voice of Frog, half-drunk, or perhaps half-crazed from resisting while being crushed by intimidation.
The sound that came before was a scream or groan, the kind a human would make, uttered when they could no longer endure it.
Meelun gasps for breath and rolls her eyes.
“I’m not giving up! You leech-like bastards!”
To Frog, who lives in the swamp, leeches are synonymous with profanity.
In any case, it is a thunderous roar. Encred thought that Meelun deserved to be praised.
Frog, who had somehow ended up caught between him and the four, did not faint despite being crushed by the intimidation.
He had overcome it by confronting the lingering scent and intentional intimidation he had scattered without avoiding it, and by refusing to give up even while being crushed.
Even if it was only to the extent of overcoming the desire to submit after being ‘influenced’.
Considering he couldn’t even properly handle Will, Frog was truly a man of strong will.
Encred was fully willing to give him a gift.
“Strike Meelun first. No, I need to see how much your skills have improved.”
“Didn’t you just say you wanted to strike? You shouldn’t view us as being on the same level, right? Huh?”
Rem spoke and relaxed his demeanor. Everyone felt the same way. Encred nodded.
“Still, it’s a little better than Meelun.”
“……A little?”
Ragnar muttered.
Let’s see each other sometime later.
Rem gritted his teeth and added his words. It wasn’t that difficult for Encred to provoke him and everyone else.
Meanwhile, Meelun was already exhausted and was about to say she was going to rest for a while, but gave up. It wouldn’t work no matter what she said anyway. These bastards were all lunatics.
It was the same with the Beastman who had been squealing as soon as he returned, and the captain bastard.
She would never forget the scream of the Beastman who had returned a few days ago, reeking of stale odor.
“devil!”
At first, I thought some cultist had returned. It was because of the crazy beastman who shouted “Demon!” as soon as he arrived. “Where did the enemy come from?” I wondered, lifting my head, when the beastman shouted again.
“Let’s go catch him!”
What kind of nonsense is this?
I thought her excited shout might turn the city upside down, but in reality, that didn’t happen. Kreis, who came out startled by her shout, shouted back to stop her.
“Why are you so crazy!”
He was a bit flustered, but he still managed to pull himself together. That was a relief.
