Chapter 172 - Encrid the Lunatic's Wall

Among them was the squad leader who had guarded the gate that morning. He, too, had watched, and been impressed.

'That bastard is completely insane.'

He had seen it all—what Encrid did after covering himself in the blood of monsters and demonic beasts.

'Is he out of his mind?'

Drenching himself in blood and running off? What about the panther? Was he using it as bait to escape? No. That couldn't be it. He was going the wrong way. Once he began crawling, Encrid went deeper into the enemy ranks. No one sane would have chosen that route.

He had also watched Encrid reach the back of the horde and kill a Knoll there. After seeing all that, how could he call the man sane? Only then did the words of that big-eyed fellow, Krais, truly sink in.

["They call him the Lunatic Platoon Commander in Border Guard."]

A truly, utterly insane bastard. And precisely because these were the deeds of a madman, they set the squad leader's heart racing, until he could no longer bear merely watching.

The squad leader was intelligent and quick on the uptake. Watching this whole mess unfold, he realized there were spies, or something like them, within the mercenary corps.

'What if he hadn't stepped in?'

What if he hadn't done something so insane? What if he'd left the spies alone? What would have happened? To this village? With that horde of Knolls? There seemed to be hundreds of hyena demonic beasts alone. Could they handle all that? No. Only the worst possible outcome awaited them. No one would survive.

That man's madness had changed the outcome. The Knoll standing at the back had moved with extraordinary speed. Even from this distance, its movements had left afterimages. It had to be the colony's leader. And that madman had killed it.

'How many days would we have lasted?'

What if that Knoll leader had lived to control the colony? What if it had kept leading them? He didn't know. All he knew for certain was that he would have been a dead man.

Deutsch Fullman thought the same. They had watched it together; how different could their conclusions be? They agreed on two things, and acted: Encrid was insane, and they absolutely could not let him die.

How could they? Mad or not, how could they let the hero who had saved them, their comrades, and everything else die? Deutsch and the squad leader had stepped forward because they felt the same way.

In the end, they made the right choice. Esther's exploits, Encrid's desperate struggle, Deutsch and his men's fighting—all of it came together. As Encrid and the others slipped inside with their pursuers almost upon them, rocks fell from overhead.

"Die, you bastards!"

Someone had resourcefully gathered rocks in the meantime and was dropping them from the wall. A round stone the size of a human head landed with a thud on a hyena demonic beast's back.

CRUNCH.

The stone crushed bone and muscle, then rolled aside with a clunk. The demonic beast lay sprawled on the ground, ribs jutting through its entrails.

"Gurk!"

A Knoll beside it took a rock to the head and collapsed, clutching its skull. The quarry out back and the stockpiles of stone had made this possible.

"Loose!"

The arrows that rained down next made lovely ornaments for the creatures. Leaderless, they began scattering, fleeing in every direction.

"Made it back alive."

Encrid spoke matter-of-factly upon his return. He began putting his equipment in order as though he had been out for a stroll. He laid his bloodied swords side by side and took off his armor. Pressure marks and a few wounds showed here and there on his body.

He had pushed himself because he couldn't break through while avoiding every attack. Encrid had accepted those wounds deliberately, but how would that look to the people watching?

"Fuck," Deutsch muttered.

He could only marvel at Encrid. How could he be so composed? Why was he so unperturbed? The bastard didn't just have guts—he must have left his fear somewhere entirely.

"I think it's time I heard an explanation."

Deutsch spoke from where he had slumped on the ground. His tone already acknowledged the other man. He, too, agreed that they had barely escaped alive.

"Yes, of course."

Encrid nodded. Gone was his earlier, headlong aggression. He was calm and unruffled. How could anyone be so composed at a moment like this?

'I can't make sense of him at all.'

Deutsch kept that thought to himself. Whatever else, the man had saved him and everyone else.

Encrid was more than an expert at finding excuses. This was hardly his first time. He had done it countless times before.

"I was doing my morning physical training. The two faces up in the watchtower looked familiar."

An excuse didn't need to be perfect. It only needed to make sense. It was all over already. Who would pick it apart?

"Then I remembered. They were Cultists. I'd only caught a glimpse of them in my mercenary days, so it took me too long to place them."

There was no conviction in his words. He sounded as if he were stringing together whatever came to mind. It sounded like a lie. Turning it over a second and third time did nothing to change the impression: Just take my word for it, more or less.

Deutsch found it deeply unsatisfying, but as Encrid had expected, he couldn't press him further. In the end, the man had been right, and it was over. He had been dealing with Cultists, no less. And the man before him was unquestionably the hero who had saved his life.

"I can't see them anymore."

The voice came from atop the palisade. Krais. When had he climbed up there? No, on reflection, it made sense. Who else could have talked everyone into bringing up rocks and dropping them? Certainly not the overwhelmed militia. It was Krais's doing. He had persuaded the laborers and craftsmen to throw the stones.

Barely had Krais finished speaking before the people gathered on the palisade and in the watchtowers began shouting.

"They're retreating!"

"Ugh. We're alive."

"Ah."

"Ha."

The laborers, militia, and other villagers had all joined forces to hold off the monsters and defend the palisade. They had survived when they were a hair from death. They had nearly fallen off a cliff, only for someone to catch them by the sleeve. How could they not be grateful?

Their eyes turned toward the man who had caught their sleeves. They saw a man with black hair and blue eyes.

"What? It's true."

He was insisting on the truth of his story in a thoroughly flat voice, but not a single person cared about the words coming out of his mouth. Not even Deutsch.

"Let's leave it at that."

That was all he said. What really mattered? Anyone who wasn't an idiot could see why they were still alive.

"What did you say his name was?"

One of the craftsmen who had come to build the castle walls asked Krais. They had become acquainted over the past few days thanks to Krais's friendly overtures.

Krais sank down on the palisade's walkway, a place that might have been called a gallery had this been a castle wall. His legs had gone completely weak.

"Encrid. He's a lunatic."

Completely insane. How could he run out there into that horde and fight?

"Prrr."

Esther had appeared beside him at some point and nodded as though in agreement. Krais looked at her. For the first time, they agreed on something. She was just as dumbfounded.

He had asked her to watch his back, so she had gone out there—only for him to do his damnedest to get himself killed. One little thing going wrong, and the vital object she needed to lift her curse could have been damaged.

"Rawr! Rawr!"

Esther remained thoroughly disgruntled.

"Exactly, exactly. I'm telling you, that man's insane."

The craftsman listening beside them repeated Encrid's name, then muttered, "Encrid, Encrid... No, it doesn't roll off the tongue. The Lunatic's Wall. Yes, that'll do."

"Huh?"

Krais turned his head. With the certain gaze of someone who had made up his mind, the craftsman said, "The name of the wall we'll build."

Wait, could they really give a wall a name like that? Should he stop him? No, he let it go. His legs had given out, and he was utterly drained himself.

"Encrid the Lunatic's Wall. Maybe that's better."

Meanwhile, the craftsman was sounding out a second option all by himself. The sun was setting. The day would soon be over.

* * *

Luagarne had moved the moment she heard Encrid's words, heading straight for the supposed Cultist's house. Finding it was easy. Men who refused to answer a Frog's questions were rare indeed.

The Cultist was rolling around with some woman. Luagarne ignored that and called him out. He came to the door half-naked, and she checked his face. It was the man who looked like a freshwater fish, the one who trailed after that fellow Deutsch Fullman.

"Are you one?"

At her abrupt question, the man tilted his head and awkwardly asked, "Pardon? What is this about?"

He gave her an amiable smile as he spoke. Of course, by a Frog's standards, it couldn't be considered a pleasant smile. For one thing, he looked like a fish head. His expression seemed to say: You'll have to explain what this is about.

'Is he one?'

Or wasn't he? Luagarne asked herself, then administered a simple test. That would answer the question on his face.

She slid a foot forward and punched. It wasn't a killing blow. Just a punch to test him. She put a little strength into it, allowing for the possibility that he was a Cultist, but it was still only a test.

Of course, the man saw it very differently. A Frog, one of the born warrior races, was throwing a purposeful punch. She twisted her right ankle as she struck. Her fist shot forward like a flash of light. If it connected, his skull would burst.

The man sensed it instinctively, and at that moment his hidden power reacted. Once he judged his life to be in danger, there was no suppressing his instincts.

HUM.

A brief vibration sounded.

THUD!

At the same instant, Luagarne's fist was stopped by a translucent barrier, dull and milky white.

It wasn't a spell. At one point, Luagarne had tracked down and beaten the shit out of more Cultists than even the Inquisitors. So she knew it well: the defensive Authority peculiar to Cultists. Which meant she had the right man. That fellow Encrid had an excellent memory.

"You are."

The Frog's cheeks swelled with joy, exhilaration, and anticipation.

"How did you know?!"

The instant his identity was exposed, the Cultist moved his feet. Two stamps on the ground with his left foot. Though condemned as a depraved evil cult, the Cult of the Sacred Demonic Realm did not easily lose followers.

Why was that? Because it transformed people's lives by giving them power so very easily.

Now the Authority the man had gained upon becoming a priest proved its worth. With two stamps of his foot, he vanished.

CRACK!

Luagarne's whip lashed the spot he had vacated, gouging the dirt a finger joint deep.

'Well, look at this bastard.'

The moment things went wrong, he ran instead of trusting his barrier? It wasn't a teleportation spell. Such high-level magic couldn't be activated so easily. What he had used was an Authority that briefly accelerated his body.

This was familiar, too. Hunting down bastards like him had once been Luagarne's work.

"Hmph. A mere Frog."

His voice came from roughly ten paces away. No, a little farther than that.

"I am a priest. Do you wish to die? Then come. I'll use you as fertilizer to spread our faith."

CROAK.

He was welcome to try. If he came at her intent on killing her, it would only make things easier.

Luagarne the Frog answered his bold declaration with her body rather than her tongue. Her foot drove against the ground.

BOOM!

She rushed him. Charged straight in.

The priest of the Cult of the Sacred Demonic Realm hurriedly stamped his right foot twice again. This time it was the Authority of levitation.

WHIRR!

Acceleration and levitation saved him. Her whip swept in a circle through the spot he had just fled. He had already dodged, leaving the lash to slice harmlessly through empty air with a hiss.

"Right. When I catch you, your tongue comes out first."

Luagarne spoke brightly, puffing her cheeks with a croak.

Deciding that, for now, it was time to get away, the priest flew off. Luagarne went after the Cultist, and their game of tag lasted nearly all day.

In the end, she lost him. She pursued him for a full day, but he had a trump card: summoning. A troublesome bastard. Dealing with the things he summoned forced her to abandon the chase.

"We will meet again!"

She could only hope he meant what he shouted as he fled. Now that she knew his tricks, her resolve had simply changed.

'Next time, I'll break his legs first.'

That was all.

It was late at night when the Frog returned. Having taken a wide route around the quarry, only now did she see the signs of battle in front of the Pioneer Village.

What had happened here? The aftermath alone told her that something vicious had taken place. Traces of battle, blood-soaked earth and palisades, the scent of agitated humans, with the reek of blood filling the spaces between. On top of it all, the atmosphere was peculiar. Grim, yet not grim—was that how to describe it?

Amid it all, she spotted the man who was the reason she had not left, though she should have gone back long ago. The man named Encrid.