Chapter 181 - Some Lunatic Is Chasing Me with a Sword (1)

Encrid snapped his head around. It was reflexive, his body moving on his dodging sense. In an instant, he took in his surroundings and assessed them.

'Krais, a stick, a chest, a sword?'

He saw something murky spilling out of the sword embedded in the altar. The gray substance spread, enveloping the cavern.

Esther kicked off the ground with a sharp bang, heading back the way they had come, toward the exit. The gray membrane closed across her path just in time.

THUMP!

The panther struck the membrane and bounced backward. Encrid reached out and caught her, moving like the wind. Cradling her gently against his chest, he surveyed their surroundings and rested one hand on his sword hilt. It felt as though something could leap out at any moment.

"Pin."

At his call, Pin moved behind him. Luagarne took care of Krais, pulling him behind her as he stood blankly holding his stick. She, too, went on guard.

Before Encrid even had time to check Esther, his danger-sensing instincts stirred. This was an ability unique to him, born of countless deaths. And yet...

'Hm?'

Nothing. There was nothing.

"... What the hell?"

He heard Krais muttering and turned his gaze toward him.

"Mrr."

Esther opened her mouth, apparently unhurt by her collision with the membrane. Encrid set her down and approached Krais.

Krais seemed to have opened the chest with his stick. Inside, rather than poisoned arrows, lay dust and a small letter. Unfolding it, he muttered things like, "Did someone already clean this place out? Or was that bastard Dolph insane?"

"Let me see."

Encrid came over and examined the letter.

-Only those who obtain the treasure may leave.

Did you come in through a rear breach? Sorry, but this is the only trap in the place.

CRACKLE.

The torch crackled as Encrid let out a thoughtful hum. He could almost hear the letter's writer snickering. This Dolph fellow had a nasty sense of humor.

But treasure? The chest was empty. What about the other one? Just then, Krais used his stick to open the remaining chest.

"Nothing."

That one was empty, too.

"I suppose they called backdooring a rear breach in those days. Damn it. Some treasure this is."

Krais clutched his head. A wealthy man from a bygone age had plunged one quick-witted soldier of the present into despair. There was little to be done about it. This trap involved a spell, and no one could easily have anticipated such a trick.

"Anyone would have fallen for this," Pin agreed.

Leaving Big-eyes to his misery, Encrid turned. The sword stood alone, embedded atop the dais. It had changed from the moss- and dust-covered thing it had been moments ago. A faint blue-black sheen now ran along its blade, though its hilt was still worn to the point of rusting and its edge was dull.

'The blade changed color.'

Had someone maintained it in a place like this? Who would do that? Had they stationed a skeleton soldier here to oil the blade? At a glance, it clearly had no edge left. It was old. But for the blade to remain sound after all this time was unusual.

A sword went to ruin without maintenance. That was true of most ordinary iron weapons. It was only natural for a sword found in an ancient dungeon to snap with a clang on its first swing. Time would have ruined its core.

A mercenary's weapon was his life, and the less confidence he had in his skill, the more he relied on his equipment. Encrid had therefore paid close attention to weapons over the years. He had an eye for swords.

That sword had no edge, and its hilt looked so worn it might crumble in his hand.

'But its core is sound.'

It was a serviceable weapon, though it would need some work. It was the only thing here worthy of being called treasure.

"How long ago did you say this Dolph fellow built the place?" Encrid asked.

"More than fifty years ago, at least."

Still looking stunned, Krais answered and turned his gaze. With only the sword left, everyone's attention naturally converged on it. A sword that remained surprisingly intact after fifty years embedded there? What else could it be but the treasure? It was the only thing left.

"I'll try pulling it out."

Krais's misery was short-lived. He sprang to his feet, muttered, "Dolph, you bastard," and stepped forward. What could one say? For all his natural talent at hiding behind others and running away, he couldn't ignore the shit he'd left behind.

Before anyone could say a word, Krais grabbed the sword, then immediately let go.

"Gah!"

He seemed startled. As everyone stared at him, he continued.

"Some lunatic is chasing me with a sword!"

All he had done was grasp the hilt. What did he mean, some lunatic was chasing him with a sword?

"Let's see. My turn."

Pin stepped forward. Courage, and sometimes recklessness: other words for a ranger. Brave, but sometimes foolhardy. That described the rangers who always went first perfectly.

Before anyone could stop her, Pin grasped the sword and immediately released it.

"He's right."

Encrid's gaze lingered on the hilt.

"A demon sword?"

Luagarne glared at it. She flicked her hand loosely through the air and puffed out her cheeks.

"A mere demon sword."

She stepped forward. The moment she placed her hand on the hilt, it slid right off.

"... Hmm."

Encrid hummed under his breath. Luagarne tried again, but her hand slipped upward without finding purchase.

"Oh, I saw it for a moment."

Frogs had distinctively slick skin. That was why they fitted their weapons with loops. The demon sword was too smooth and slippery for her to hold, without even a proper pommel at the end of its grip.

"That's the only treasure here."

Krais spoke, stealing a glance at the sword. It seemed they would have to pull it out.

"Can we trust what this Dolph bastard wrote?"

Encrid asked. If they pulled the sword out thinking it was treasure, only to trigger a trap meant to kill them all, they would be done for.

"Well, yes. Don't we have to? He may have been a bastard, but they say Dolph lived his whole life by his word and never told a lie. Those accounts are fairly credible, too."

A lie from someone like that could be deadly. Still, for now, they had no choice but to trust him. Shaking his head inwardly at the thought, Encrid stepped in front of the sword.

Luagarne was still trying to grasp it, her hand slipping off again and again.

"I can see him. A fellow with a sword."

Her eyes were half-closed, as though she were concentrating.

"A demon sword, of all things."

Krais wiggled his fingers and clicked his tongue. They had to pull the sword free, but the moment he touched it, some lunatic came chasing him with a blade. The encounter had been brief, but he had no desire to repeat it. He didn't want to see that thing again. Cold sweat trickled down his back.

Giving up on gripping the sword, Luagarne shook out her hand and spoke.

"A demon sword. More precisely, a sword inhabited by an evil spirit."

An evil spirit? Encrid had spent a fair amount of his life roaming the continent, but he had encountered one of those only once. It had been a wraith, an evil spirit that fed on human anxiety and fear.

He had gone there on a commission, only to find a place he could do nothing about: a village where everyone had already died and become evil spirits. It had been horrific.

A ragtag mercenary armed with steel stood no chance against such things. He had needed to summon a priest. One who could wield divine power, at that.

'How much did that cost me again?'

Encrid had paid out of his own pocket. He had accepted the commission, so he would see it through. That was how he had thought. The funny thing was, his client had been a ghost, too.

The remnant of a human, only a soul remaining, one that had not become an evil spirit. She had wept endlessly, wishing as she wept. So desperate was the little girl's wish that she had posed as a street child in the city to hire him. And Encrid had rid her village of its evil spirits, as promised.

'I think it wiped out everything I owned.'

Hiring a priest capable of using divine power to annihilate evil spirits naturally cost that much Krona. The point was, evil spirits were beyond an ordinary mercenary's ability to deal with.

While Encrid briefly lost himself in old memories, Krais muttered.

"Ah, then if I'd kept holding it..."

Luagarne answered at once.

"That thing would have split your skull open."

It was a chilling answer. As Krais rubbed his own arm for no particular reason, Encrid casually reached out. Draw the sword and claim it. Then leave. A simple proposition. Besides, he was curious.

He grasped the hilt. Without so much as blinking, he knew his surroundings had changed. Even the density of the air was different. He stood in wet mud, the kind that sucked at his feet.

Something fell toward him from above. A sword. A blade descending vertically. His body reacted. He reflexively drew his sword and swung, meeting the vertical blade with his own held horizontally.

CLANG!

The moment they met, he shoved his opponent back with brute force. With a heavy clang, the sword floating in the mist retreated. He used the recoil from that forceful clash to step back himself, though the muddy ground hampered his footwork.

He kicked off the ground with heavy thuds as he withdrew.

WHOOOO.

Wind rose, and something like mist streamed away from behind the floating sword before vanishing. Beyond it, he saw his opponent: a helmet and plate armor, with blue flames burning in place of eyes inside the helm.

'What is this?'

No speech. No breath. He could sense no warning before its sword moved. Something that ought to have been present in any human was missing. The sword simply began to move.

Their blades rang against each other through several exchanges, and Encrid realized his body wasn't the same as usual.

'The Heart of the Superhuman won't work.'

He had lost something he normally possessed. His reaction speed was roughly the same, but his body was stiff. Above all, his opponent's swordsmanship was astonishingly formal, built around reading several moves ahead.

When Encrid lashed out on instinct and reflex, it deflected his blade as though it had anticipated the blow, then launched its next attack. A stab this time.

He sucked in a breath and drew his body back. He had to retreat. Then he could turn his consciousness back outside. Instinctively, he knew how to leave this place. The problem was that his opponent was too close.

'It'll cut me before I can get out.'

That much was clear. Quite apart from its physical capabilities, his opponent seemed to read his every move. And this was the result.

THUD.

An iron-clad gauntlet struck his abdomen. Encrid didn't take it lying down. His sword whooshed through the air in a forceful swing and struck near the enemy's shoulder. He had aimed for its neck, but the pauldron stopped him.

'It read me.'

He barely evaded the blade that followed, only to take an elbow to the cheekbone.

CRACK.

After experiencing his neck being broken a few times, a man learned something. This was enough to kill him.

"Ghk."

Encrid let out a death rattle. That was the end. He thought he had died, but when he opened his eyes, everything was back to normal. He had escaped that world of the mind, or that evil spirit's playground, whatever it was.

"Captain?"

He saw Krais's wide eyes staring at him. Beside him were Pin, Luagarne, and even Esther.

"Are you all right?"

"How much time has passed?"

His throat felt inexplicably raw. He rubbed his neck as he spoke. The pain lingered, sharp and vivid. His neck felt cold, too, but it wasn't bent in any direction it shouldn't be. Only the pain and that moment of death remained.

"It hasn't even felt like a minute."

Encrid frowned, a rare occurrence for him. He had died, but he wasn't dead? How could he put it? Fighting in there had felt like fighting barehanded. Like setting aside everything he had and speaking through the sword alone. For him, it had been no different from fighting with his arms and legs removed.

"You're really all right?"

"Yes."

Nodding to Krais, Encrid studied the sword. It hadn't come out. It remained as it was, like some aloof noblewoman. Though all that waited inside was a lump of iron.

"Did it get you?" Luagarne asked beside him.

"It broke my neck."

"In there?"

He nodded. Luagarne sank into thought at his answer.

Physical force couldn't harm evil spirits, but they hadn't been able to harm Encrid either. That had been the case on that old commission. Was this the same? It didn't seem so.

It had felt real. Even knowing it was false, it had been just like actually dying. Having died countless times, Encrid was practically an expert on death. He knew.

Meanwhile, Luagarne examined the gray barrier, feeling and tapping it with her fingertips. On the opposite side, Esther was lightly dragging her claws across it.

"Does that panther have any idea what she's doing?"

Pin muttered, apparently baffled by the sight.

'Probably?'

Encrid knew the Lake Panther at his side was no ordinary beast. In any case, they all spent a while trying to make sense of their situation.

The answer came from Luagarne. After tapping the barrier, studying the sword, and trying several more times to grasp it despite repeatedly losing her grip, she spoke.

"This is half conjecture, but..."

"What is it?" Encrid asked.

She answered in a grave tone, or so it seemed. Reading a Frog's emotions was difficult, so he couldn't be certain. Standing with her arms folded, she offered a plausible explanation.

"You'll have to die dozens upon dozens of times. Only then will you see anything resembling treasure."

That was quite easy for Encrid, but Luagarne had no way of knowing it.