Chapter 240 - Cut

Jaxon slipped away as soon as they were out of Swallow Blade's sight. There was no need to tell anyone.

'That barbarian.'

He noticed whenever Jaxon disappeared. Granted, Jaxon left half those traces for him to notice, but it was still remarkable perception.

Not a sound. Not a glimpse of him. As he slipped through the undergrowth, the foliage stirred no more than if a bee had landed on it.

Moving with his particular expertise, Jaxon found avoiding that idiot Swallow Blade's eyes effortless. He infiltrated the place where the hostages were being held, thanks to having hurried over the moment he was out of sight.

'This isn't work to do for free.'

No one had hired him, either through the guild or privately. Was he trying too hard? The brief question vanished as quickly as it had arisen. His body moved first.

It was an unfamiliar experience, but not such a bad one. After all, he was a member of the Lunatic Company now.

When he entered the abandoned hut, Bell recognized him.

"How?" Bell asked.

"Easily."

With that short answer, Jaxon cut the cords binding Bell's wrists and ankles. A few more movements of his dagger quickly freed the others.

Then he led them toward the back of the hut, where a small side room stood.

Why head into a dead end? As everyone exchanged questioning looks, Bell, who had gone in first, asked, "Did you cut through the wall?"

Instead of answering, Jaxon pointed outside. Rather than use the door, he had cut through the rear wall with his sword to make a new entrance. The hut now had a back door.

He had cut the wall so easily thanks to his peculiar magical weapon, but there was no reason to explain that. Nor was he obliged to answer the question. He did what needed doing.

"Get out."

He had moved separately because he did not expect the enemy to keep his word. Getting these people out of the way would help his brain-damaged Captain, too.

Now it was important to stay out of sight. That was the sensible course if he wanted to avoid needlessly getting the woman in that obnoxiously grinning bastard's arms killed.

'The Captain said he'd protect them.'

Jaxon would help him do it. Though he did think it was a rather ill-fitting task for him.

'Saving lives instead of taking them.'

How unlike him. And without even being paid. But it was what his Captain wanted.

Having rescued all the hostages, he stole a look through the window to see how the fight was going.

The Giant charged, and the flexible sword snaked forward. Just before it could plunge into Encrid's back, he moved. That was the moment he spotted Jaxon.

* * *

Encrid planted his left hand against the charging shield and unleashed the Heart of the Superhuman. He seemed to brace against it with raw strength, then shoved it aside. The force behind the shield flowed off to one side.

Something dropped straight down after it: the half-Giant's sword, swung from overhead. A follow-up to the shield attack. And a sharp menace was stabbing at his back as well.

As he deflected the shield, Encrid caught the flexible sword's tip on his pauldron and shifted his stance, drawing his right foot back to the left. It was a technique Audin had taught him: deflecting with his body.

He swung his sword as he moved. The instant his rising blade met the descending sword, he relaxed half his strength and guided it aside. Flowing Sword. Deflect everything. His training was bearing fruit.

And all of it happened in barely half a breath.

THUMP! TING! CLANG! SHRRRING!

Push the shield aside, block the flexible sword with his pauldron, deflect the sword. Sparks flew, but he had redirected everything, leaving little impact to absorb. In other words, he still had enough to spare for his next move.

With those movements complete, Encrid drove the toe of his boot into the half-Giant's shin.

CRACK!

She endured it, pulled her shield back, and swung it like a bludgeon. The flexible sword came for his back again.

Encrid calmly parried, blocked, and deflected. How to put it? His movements were faithful to the fundamentals, yet strangely without an opening.

How was that possible? The question lingered in Swallow Blade's head, but the half-Giant had no such questions. She understood her opponent's movements the moment she saw them.

'Faster, stronger, more supple.'

Move faster than your opponent and anticipate their actions. Have still greater speed and superior strength. With those things, such movements were possible.

'Ah.'

He was reading her moves. The half-Giant nearly lost herself in the fight again. But she simply could not.

"Catch this!" Swallow Blade shouted from behind.

SHRRRIP!

The hostage sailed overhead, too pale with terror even to scream. A projectile aimed straight at Encrid. A particularly troublesome projectile: a living one he could not simply knock aside.

The projectile's skirt was wet, as though she had pissed herself.

In the slowed time, his fixed gaze shifted sideways, taking in the flying hostage and Swallow Blade. Already, the flexible sword was snaking toward his ankle. Encrid turned completely around.

The half-Giant had to swing, with either her shield or her sword. Wasn't that why she was in this position? Why else had they deliberately kept Encrid between them? She had let that wicked tongue manipulate her for this, for this very moment. Yet her hands would not move.

Watching the flexible sword approach, Encrid met it with a kicking motion of his boot. The tip of the boot was sliced off with a snap, but his toes were unharmed.

Then he gently caught the flying hostage. He bent his knees to absorb her weight and spun to dissipate the remaining momentum. If this had been a competition for catching flying people, he would have won on the spot.

"Are you all right?"

Even when he asked, Juri, the marmalade maker, could not speak. She had been badly frightened.

"I can't do it."

The voice came from behind him then: the half-Giant's husky voice.

"Is that so?"

Encrid glanced back and spoke casually.

"Yeah. I can't." She nodded.

She had not wanted a fight like this. He was not someone to kill this way. She had been told to kill him, but she could not readily bring herself to strike.

'This is wrong.'

Her head said no, but her heart was telling her what to do. She knew she should not do this, yet she simply could not strike. The half-Giant gave up. Unknown to anyone, it was as good as giving up her life. The act was no different from suicide.

But...

'I don't think I'll regret it.'

With that thought, she withdrew her hands. She had no intention of fighting on.

"Crazy bitch!"

Swallow Blade roared, but leaped backward as though this were hardly a surprise. Where was he going? Toward the hut holding the hostages. He was very fast.

Encrid had ways to stop him. He could throw a dagger, or charge straight after him. Even if he could not stop him outright, he could buy time; with luck, he might keep him from reaching the hut. But there was no need.

Swallow Blade flung the hut's door open. Encrid watched him in silence.

The movements of the flexible sword he had just faced lingered before his eyes.

'It cut the tip of my boot off.'

He had meant to evade it and then knock it aside, but at the last moment its tip had bent at an unexpected angle. How should he deal with it next time? More than seven possible methods came to mind. The experience he had accumulated was finally blossoming, becoming part of his body.

Pell had fastened the final button, but Encrid had been fastening them all along. When he could not fasten one, he sewed it on; when he could not sew it on, he made a new button if that was what it took. So this was hardly something he owed Pell thanks for.

"... Fuck," Swallow Blade muttered.

Naturally, a curse was the first thing out of his mouth. The hut would already be empty.

'Jaxon's here, after all.'

Encrid had expected it. Swallow Blade had not.

"Surprised?"

As Encrid spoke and made to set the hostage down, the half-Giant reached out.

"I won't hurt her."

She had refused even to strike him from behind. She would not torment a hostage, either. That went without saying.

Encrid handed the woman to the half-Giant, who gently seated her on the ground.

He walked toward Swallow Blade. Slowly, steadily. The rain-soaked ground squelched underfoot. At the sound of his boots, the man turned his head.

"You smuggled the hostages out? You liar!"

Would you look at that? He was as shameless as Rem. He had tried to stab Encrid in the back without warning, and now he called him a liar?

"You've got quite a thick hide."

Swallow Blade could no longer even spare a smile. Holding his sword in one hand and the dangling flexible sword in the other, he took his stance.

Encrid tipped his sword back behind his head, bringing his hands beside his right ear. The Wrath Stance of the Heavy Sword Technique, meant to kill in a single blow.

["As though cutting down a charging lion, as though cutting through solid steel."]

Ragna's words came to mind, and Encrid naturally settled into position. What should he do if the flexible sword was troublesome? If it came at him again whenever he knocked it away? He need only cut through it all.

["Nothing in this world cannot be cut. If I failed to cut it, the fault lies in my own shortcomings. Or my equipment's."]

Ragna's words. That crazy layabout, yet his genius was undeniable. Encrid was fortunate to have learned swordsmanship from him.

"Hey. I'm going to kill you. Count on it."

Swallow Blade dropped his intact sword with a clink as he spoke.

Kill him? How? This was confidence, not arrogance. Swallow Blade was no match for Encrid. He had been able to fight him even before meeting Pell the Shepherd. Had he accepted the risk of injury and resolved to kill him, he could have.

Of course, that had been before Swallow Blade used his flexible sword. What about now?

He would not lose. He could cut it. He would cut it.

That repeated determination planted a small seed in Encrid's heart. The formless energy he had learned through refusal. It had yet to sprout, but the seed was firmly planted.

"Try it," he said.

"Sure, you fucking bastard."

Cornered, the man reached inside his clothes. The Throwing blade technique? Was he about to throw something?

Encrid's prediction was wrong. What the man drew out was a roll of parchment. An implement, an artifact Encrid had never seen in his life. It was a very precious object called a scroll: something that stored a spell for activation when needed.

Magic was mysterious, and spells were strange things.

"Blow up!"

With that shout, the man hurled the parchment above Encrid. Encrid did not recognize it as a scroll. Naturally not: he had never seen one before. But his Sixth Sense did warn him that something would come from that roll of parchment.

And it did.

FWOOSH!

The parchment burned, and a massive fireball suddenly formed and hurtled downward. It was slower than an arrow, so he could dodge it, but...

Even before assuming his stance, Encrid had mapped his surroundings in his mind.

'If I dodge?'

The fireball would fly past him. In its path stood the half-Giant and the woman who had wet herself. Even if the half-Giant blocked it with her shield, what if it exploded? The woman he had rescued would die. His thoughts accelerated.

He assessed everything in an instant, reached his conclusion, and drew out the very best he could achieve from the Wrath Stance.

THUD!

He charged toward the approaching fireball. Pushing off the ground and holding his breath, he brought together his raised sword, the hands gripping it, and the balance of his body moving with his feet. He united it all within himself.

BOOM!

It seemed as though that sound rang out. Encrid's body appeared to blur and stretch like an afterimage. At least, that was how it looked to Swallow Blade.

'You idiot!'

Swallow Blade was certain of victory. What swordsman would charge bodily into a fireball? Once it hit, that would be it. Encrid would be gravely injured, unable to stop him. The half-Giant bitch had backed out, but she would not interfere.

The jubilation of victory, the sheer ecstasy! Mingled with it was the frustration of having gone so long without killing. It was also the moment he escaped a corner, and Swallow Blade's thoughts accelerated, too.

For a moment, their thoughts aligned. It happened as Encrid's stretching figure reached the fireball.

From Encrid's hands came the most logical move the Wrath Stance could produce. Pivoting on his left foot, he transmitted rotational force from his toes through his waist and into his hands: a diagonal cut of the Heavy Sword Technique.

WHOOSH!

Everything happened in an instant. Watching from a tree beside the hut, Jaxon's brow twitched.

'He's cutting it?'

The sword stroke launched from the Wrath Stance. Along the diagonal line it traced through space, the oncoming fireball split in two. The divided halves fell to either side of Encrid.

BOOM! BOOM! KABOOM!

Explosions erupted. The wet earth dried in an instant and scattered everywhere. Several pebbles, turned into sparks, whizzed past Encrid's head and rattled against his back.

Having poured out his strength, Encrid had his left knee on the ground. He briefly recalled the instant he had cut the fireball, then rose.

"Hmm. It cuts."

An exceedingly understated expression of wonder. If he could cut it, good. If he could not, he had figured he would get a little singed. Half his face might have burned, admittedly.

But something mattered more to Encrid than his looks: this moment, in which he neither gave up nor backed down.

And so Encrid cut magic.