Chapter 177 - I Don't Really Know Either

"What was he usually like?"

To understand someone, it helped to ask a variety of people in different places. Krais did just that, starting with Deutsch Fullman. "Pleasant fellow. Knew exactly how to keep me happy, and he was thorough. Never started anything unless it was a sure thing."

A valuable man to lose, Deutsch said. That was how he had thought of him before the Cultist business. His easygoing manner had kept him on good terms with everyone, without making a single enemy. Everyone agreed that his greatest strength was his thoroughness. "Devious. Both his actions and his methods."

That was Luagarne's opinion. 'Devious, and too cautious to act without certainty.'

Whether gambling, making a wager, or doing anything else, he apparently never stepped forward without a sure thing. "He was good at pretty much everything, but, well, he took a long time preparing. The Captain seemed to like that about him."

"His position in formation? Was it the very back? Oh, yes. The very back. Every time."

"Come to think of it, you're right." Krais combined the accounts of the man's militia comrades into a mental picture. In his mind, the fellow was a petty little goat. He had a rough grasp of his habits, too. 'Personality-wise, closer to Jaxon?'

Jaxon could act decisively when necessary, but he was meticulous about preparation and weighed all sorts of factors. There were similarities. Of course, this fellow was stupider. Much stupider. Krais wrote a script to lure the devious, timid bastard out. More precisely, a scenario studded with reasons for him to let his guard down. "How about coughing up some blood? You can use this."

It was a little pouch made from a piece of pig bladder. The goat's blood inside stank, but Encrid wouldn't have to hold it in his mouth. Just letting it spill out was manageable. "It would help if you got hurt a little. You're a Frog, so a few injuries should be all right, shouldn't they?"

"Very well."

Luagarne did nothing by halves. She came back with an arm cut off. "That should certainly work better. But will you be all right with one arm missing?"

"I'm right-handed."

Did that count as an answer?

Perhaps it did. In any case, the enemy would see the missing arm and relax, certain of victory. Even this hadn't shaken their own side's morale. That was thanks to Encrid—thanks to what he had shown them amid the monsters and demonic beasts that day. It had been truly impressive. Even Krais had shouted. The plan took all of that into account.

'This should do it.'

He could steer the enemy's thinking in one direction. Condition him, one might say.

'He doesn't seem all that bright.' People had habits. Hiding at the rear was one of his. Could he abandon it in an instant?

'Not a chance.'

Pinpointing the enemy's position was very easy for Krais. He also kept Esther beside Encrid to plant an assumption in the enemy's mind: wherever the panther was, Encrid would be there, too. Then, before the enemy noticed, he sent Encrid and Luagarne out at dawn. "Pin, try putting this on."

He bundled Pin up in layers, sent her onto the walkway atop the palisade—a gallery, one might call it—and placed Esther beside her. The monsters and demonic beasts charged, anticipating victory. To Krais, their master's hiding place was obvious. Somewhere he could remain concealed while watching his enemies. At the rear, probably wearing a monster hide.

Read the enemy's mind and use it to lay a trap. Simple. Easy.

For Krais, at least.

* * *

"That Big-eyes fellow is useful. More than just a pretty face."

Luagarne spoke, and Encrid gave a slight nod of agreement. They had lain in ambush where Big-eyes—Krais—had told them to, then found a man draped in what looked like a hyena hide. He had been right. Encrid wiped off the makeup made from charcoal mixed with water, then brushed away the stone dust sprinkled over his face. Gray powder drifted from his shaking hand like dust. It had felt unpleasantly dry and gritty. "You bastards! You tricked me!"

Ah, such a textbook reaction.

Whenever this happened, there was something Encrid longed to say. He was itching to get it out. "Only an idiot gets tricked."

The world had grown so harsh and cunning that no one gave such predictable responses these days. It had been ages since he'd had such a textbook exchange. He found it deeply satisfying. "You little...!"

The Cultist's eyes reddened with anger. Several nearby Knolls responded to his shout, wheeling around to charge. GRAAAGH! The Cultist's brainwashing and beguilement spells scrambled monsters' minds. The Knolls were fearless. After seeing so many cut down by Encrid's sword, they should have scattered long ago. Instead, they charged without fear.

But Encrid didn't even need to act. WHOOSH! BANG! BANG! THWACK! Luagarne's whip lashed out. The lump of iron at its tip smashed Knoll heads open. One of them raised a thick wooden shield. Part of it burst with a bang, but it stopped the whip.

A mutant Knoll. It bared its fangs from behind the shield. As three or four mutant Knolls moved to shield the Cultist, Luagarne puffed out her cheeks.

"Do you think I'll let you escape twice?"

"You must not value your heart, frog! You didn't realize I was unprepared last time, did you?" The bastard certainly liked to wag his tongue.

With that thought, Encrid's hand moved. WHOOSH. Something like a streak of light flew out. It wasn't a whistle dagger, so it was much slower than one, but he had thrown the knife using the Heart of the Superhuman. In other words, it was fast.

It looked set to pierce the Cultist between the brows. Just before it did— THUNK! A mutant Knoll thrust out its left arm and blocked it. The knife lodged in its thick hide. Without changing expression, it pulled the knife from its arm with its other hand and tossed it aside.

Black blood streamed down, but it merely furrowed its brow once and stared at Encrid. 'Those reflexes.'

Not bad. No, excellent.

The Knoll fixed its yellow eyes on Encrid, and he met its gaze.

* * *

The Cultist was timid, but he wasn't a moron. He knew that continuing to control the monsters directly was foolish. Why waste mana?

There was an easier way: create a leader for the colony. The previous leader had rampaged with two poisoned daggers. This time, he had chosen the largest mutant Knoll. With spells added to the mix, something like a black heat haze seemed to rise from the new leader's shoulders. "An evil cult's trick," Luagarne said.

He took it as a warning to be careful. Encrid drew a sword. One, rather than two. Holding it upright before him in both hands, he watched his enemy, taking in the black haze and the Cultist behind it. 'How does it compare?'

At some point, Encrid had begun using Rem as his standard for judging an opponent's strength.

'As strong as Rem?'

Or perhaps:

'Harder than Rem?'

Failing that:

'Would I rather face Rem or this?'

His conclusion?

'Not even close.' Comparing it to Rem was almost an insult to that ignorant barbarian.

So—

"Watch my back."

With that, he charged. The Cultist was confident. He trusted his summoning. He remained confident as the Knoll leader charged. No matter how capable the opponent, he had created this new leader as a contingency against unexpected enemy strength.

The man standing there was precisely that: an unforeseen factor. An unexpected combatant. As those two unforeseen factors met, the Frog charged him. The Cultist wanted a strategy that would guarantee victory. He had also judged the man who had just drawn his sword far more dangerous than the one-armed Frog. 'Yield the flesh.'

Take the bone.

And so he did. Something like a black lump fell from the fingertips of his right hand. Darker and denser than a shadow, it felt ominous merely to look at.

"Arm of the warrior."

At his murmur, the lump immediately took shape. It was a strange shape: humanoid, with two thin legs, only one arm, and no head. Its right arm alone was thick, and its hand held something resembling a blunt sword. Meanwhile, Luagarne strode up and swung her whip. It came whistling toward him, poised to crush his skull.

"Block it!"

The Cultist shouted, his eyes bloodshot. THWACK! A mutant Knoll intercepted the whip with its body. Luagarne flicked her wrist, sending the supple whip curving over the Knoll she had killed to strike at the Cultist's head again.

It was like a living snake. He barely twisted aside, and the whip coiled around his left arm, breaking the bone with a crunch. Damned frog!

Instead of screaming, the Cultist bit his tongue. Thick blood welled at the corner of his mouth as his teeth sank in.

With blood as the price.

As he murmured inwardly, the left arm caught in the whip dropped off and melted into black liquid. "Dog of huarin!" he shouted.

The black liquid that had been his left arm transformed into a four-legged black beast, larger than most dogs. Calling two summons in succession made his guts feel as if they were twisting into knots. His stomach churned, and his vision spun. Worse, blood gushed from where he had sacrificed his left arm.

'Fuck.'

One wrong move and he'd be dead. Swallowing the blood pooled in his mouth, he barely managed to collect himself. Then he gave a short laugh at the sight before him.

The Frog was fighting the dog he had summoned. Across from them, the arm of the warrior had nearly reached that half-baked proto knight with the strange techniques, who was still fighting the Knoll. 'I've won.'

The Cultist was certain of victory. Facing the summoned dog, Luagarne wound her whip once around her wrist. The shorter her whip, the harder it struck.

The enemy had been concealing his abilities. His summon was considerably more troublesome than she'd expected: quick feet, sharp fangs, and remarkably good at dodging for something without eyes. She couldn't finish it with a single strike. She had also seen him command two summons at once. That put him in a different class even among Cultist priests.

'Just hold out.'

That would be enough. The Frog brought out the weapon she had prepared. When traveling alone, the hardest monsters to deal with were those in spirit form: ghosts and evil spirits, for instance.

The Cultist's summons were similar. A paltry trick that manifested physical forms for them in this world and put them to work. There were several ways to deal with them, but she preferred simple methods. For example:

"Burn."

Using a simple magical tool. FWOOSH.

Blue flames sprang up along her whip. A spell, of course. Something that could deal real damage to a summon. She didn't know the Cultist had burned his own lifespan to summon them. She merely thought he had sent one to keep Encrid occupied and the more troublesome one to her. Meanwhile, the arm of the warrior raced on its scrawny legs until it was right before Encrid. Within striking distance.

Encrid had just swept his two-handed sword to deflect the Knoll's descending club and drawn the blade forward, slashing open its belly. RIP! Despite a gash wide enough to expose its guts, the Knoll pulled its club back and swung as though it had forgotten pain. Encrid bent his knees and ducked at the waist. The club whooshed over his head. Then he drew his sword back fluidly, cutting behind its knee. Crossing one foot past the other, he moved behind it and left two cuts in each calf. SLICE! SLICE! That was enough. With its calf muscles severed, it could no longer stand. Its knees hit the ground with a thud.

Encrid twisted at the waist and delivered the Heavy Sword Technique's spinning cut. THWACK!

The Knoll's severed head flew through the air.

"Gra—"

It died before it could even finish screaming. Not every movement flowed smoothly into the next. He had improvised each to suit the moment, though he still fought with Rem in mind.

Encrid found this easier than facing multiple opponents. Victory came in an instant. The difference in skill was stark. As he cut the Knoll's calves, the Cultist's black mass and its sword approached. As he severed the Knoll's neck, the summon swung its featureless black blade. This was the Cultist's final desperate effort, and a lethal move. The arm of the warrior was a summon that delivered a single strike before vanishing. A spell used when one absolutely wanted someone dead. Seeing the creature charge on its scrawny legs, Encrid raised his sword. The black blade hurtled down from above. It was fast—an abrupt acceleration. He couldn't dodge it.

He had envisioned killing the Knoll and blocking this blow, so he raised his sword.

Block, then knock it aside. Exactly as the Cultist had hoped. The arm of the warrior's swing would ignore physical defenses and inflict fatal damage on the human's spirit.

Blood flowed from his mouth and arm, but his eyes sparkled with anticipation.

'Die.'

Encrid's sword met the blade swung by the arm of the warrior.

* * *

'Hmph.'

Esther watched Encrid fight from atop the wall. The Cultist's spells were amateurish tricks. Still, those clumsy tricks could prove fatal to someone wholly unprepared.

Knowing that, how could she simply send the man off? She had torn apart the leather armor that had reached the end of its useful life and added it to her mana. This was, in a sense, something in return.

'A gift, man.'

Esther had split off some of her mana and planted it in his sword, ready to react if the enemy tried anything resembling a spell.

* * *

Encrid saw a faint blue glow from his sword. It happened within a fraction of an instant.

The glowing blue blade broke the black sword and sliced the black mass in two. Had it been human, the cut would have passed just below its chest. The sensation of cutting lingered in his hands. Despite its appearance, did it have something like flesh?

The severed black mass billowed black smoke, then dispersed and vanished. The Cultist's eyes widened almost to bursting at the sight. "... What the hell is that?!"

Encrid was honest. He was also bewildered. He wouldn't call it agonizing over the question, but after thinking a few seconds longer than usual, he opened his mouth.

"I don't really know either." Heat rushed to the Cultist's head at that answer. The man had parted his lips as if he had something to say, only to come out with that?!

The emotional blow set his vision spinning. His breath suddenly caught. Already strained beyond his limits, his heart stopped. "Ghk."

Some deaths were simply anticlimactic.

Clutching his chest, the Cultist gasped a few ragged breaths and toppled forward. The way he plunged headfirst into the ground with a thump did not look healthy. At that, the fog lifted from the minds of the rampaging monsters and demonic beasts. They had instincts, too. The moment they saw the human who had been killing their kind, they fled in every direction.

The colony had broken apart. Meanwhile, Encrid was studying his sword.

'Was this a magic sword?'

Then was that blacksmith in Border Guard a mage?

That didn't seem likely. The combination didn't fit at all.