Chapter 241 - Teresa Is Dead

"... Fuuuck? How does that make any sense?"

Swallow Blade's eyes went wide as he muttered in disbelief.

Encrid said nothing, quietly reflecting on what he had done. Another voice answered from behind him instead.

"It happened right in front of you. Still won't believe it?"

When had they returned? That was Rem behind him. Had he seen the half-Giant stop fighting?

Everyone's shoulders heaved as though they had sprinted all the way. Marcus stood there with the others. Even as they gasped for breath, several archers had arrows nocked to their longbows, ready to loose at the first sign of trouble.

Those aiming at the Giant were no master archers, but they would have no trouble hitting her. A few of the more skilled bowmen turned their drawn bows toward Encrid's side of the fight.

"Hold it. Don't go sticking an ornament in the back of the Captain's head," Rem told them.

"Leave that warrior alone, too," Encrid added.

The archers watching the half-Giant quietly eased their bowstrings. They could hardly fire with a hostage right beside her anyway. Wasn't that the hostage Encrid had rescued himself?

"You can cut that?"

Even from a distance, they had clearly seen him cut through the flames. It was hardly something they could have missed even if they wanted to.

At Krais's mutter, Encrid thought this was the moment to shrug, but refrained. His enemy was still standing right before him.

"Ha ha. What the hell is this? Seriously."

Swallow Blade gave a hollow laugh. Until now, simply concealing his flexible sword and whipping it out had been enough to take countless lives. Even then, he had saved the scroll. It was like a spare life.

He had seen someone dodge a spell-made fireball before. There had been a fellow who could do that. Yes, dodge it. Any ordinary swordsman should have his hands full doing just that.

He had expected Encrid to dodge. But the surprise would leave an opening, and he would drive his fastest slash into that gap and gouge it open. It was his sure-kill tactic, his last resort.

Why would he cut it? Why could it be cut? A fireball made by a spell could be cut?

'He cut it? You can cut it? Is that really something you can cut?'

Swallow Blade was dumbstruck. Only briefly, but the impossible sight had driven all sense from his head.

"That was decent."

When had he approached? The blond fellow with the languid expression spoke, standing beside Encrid.

"Oh, you're here?" Encrid asked casually.

"I am," Ragna replied.

They were hardly the sort to stand around watching. Encrid silently looked ahead, as though asking what Swallow Blade intended to do now.

"Fine. I lost."

With that apparent admission, Swallow Blade reached inside his clothes again. Watching him, Ragna made one of his rare murmured remarks.

"I told you I'd see you later."

"Sure. See you again."

What he pulled out was another scroll.

Another fireball?

Encrid reacted, and a few archers were still wondering whether they should shoot when it happened.

BANG!

Ragna kicked off the ground and surged forward. He almost seemed to fly, moving fast enough to blur. As he charged straight in, Swallow Blade hastily tore the scroll.

RIIIP!

Beyond the torn scroll, Ragna cut diagonally through the air, just as Encrid had shown them.

RRRIP!

A strange sound lingered in the air.

THUD.

A dull impact followed.

"I told you I'd see you later."

Ragna's voice sounded over it. Encrid looked at what had fallen to the ground and made that dull sound, then silently nodded.

Never ignore Ragna when he said he'd see you later. The lazy bastard was quite frightening when he said that.

That scroll appeared to involve some form of teleportation. Swallow Blade had vanished, leaving only half his body on the ground: his lower half, spilling blood and entrails in wet surges. His upper half had been enveloped in light and disappeared in an instant.

* * *

"Aaaaargh!"

The spatial escape scroll had a success rate of slightly over half. The slightest mishap could drop its user somewhere strange, but this time it had worked.

Only, before that, the approaching blade had cut straight through the unfolding spell as well.

'That's insane!'

Swallow Blade's eyes rolled from the agony. He could not even tell whether this was a side effect of the magic or the aftermath of the sword stroke. The magic had left him unable to see.

When its effects cleared, he looked down through excruciating pain. There was nothing below his belly.

"Urk."

No one could survive losing half their body. Blood and entrails flowed onto the ground. There was nothing to be done. Even a high priest could not restore him.

Crawling along the ground, Swallow Blade died in that desolate wasteland, gurgling bloody froth with half his body gone.

Soon a few bald-headed vultures circled above his corpse. Then the crows flocked in.

* * *

"What do we do about that one?"

Vengeance was asking about the unnervingly large half-Giant.

"I have no intention of fighting anymore. Kill me."

Her voice was unchanged: husky and rough, yet strangely pleasant to hear.

Encrid exhaled and approached her.

"Even if you had your reasons, that was a pretty vile thing to do, wasn't it?"

At his blunt words, the half-Giant knelt on the ground and looked up.

"The one who sent me was a bishop of the Cult of the Sacred Demonic Realm."

Those words revealed her identity. She was someone who had to be killed.

And yet Encrid did not immediately swing his sword.

Watching him, Marcus wondered why. Did he want to lock her up and torment her? Killing her seemed the best course.

"Those who betray the cult die. Every last one of them has. So I will die here," the half-Giant continued.

Encrid regarded her in silence.

A Cultist.

It did not seem she had chosen to become one. Above all, those last moments stayed with him. She had turned away, saying she could not do it, and when the scroll's fireball exploded, she had shielded the hostage with her own body.

If she had not interposed herself, the hostage might have died.

Even now, he could see her singed hair and the blisters rising on her forearms. Burns.

Were Cultists the sort to risk their lives to save someone?

"Do you have to kill her?"

Juri, the young woman who had wet herself, finally found her voice. Those were her first words.

"I have to die," the half-Giant answered.

Marcus left the choice to Encrid. In truth, his own part in this had been very small.

"The evil cult will come after you. Be careful in all things."

Encrid said nothing to the Giant's warning.

"What? Want me to do it?"

Rem had finally seen enough to intervene. With his axe propped on his shoulder, he sounded every bit an executioner.

"So if you don't die, the Cultists will hunt you?"

That was what her insistence on dying sounded like to Encrid, so he asked.

"Without fail. What could be more dangerous to them than an apostate?" came the reply.

Believing in an evil cult was a difficult, arduous business. They never let anyone leave once they entered. No, even if there were exceptions, they were exceedingly rare.

Yet why did this woman look as though all she wanted was to quit being a Cultist?

"Do you wish to repent, Sister?" Audin asked as he watched.

"My name is Teresa."

Quite a grand name. The name Teresa carried the meaning of holiness.

"I have no surname. I was born and raised within the evil cult, and fulfilled my duties there."

There seemed to be no faith in her, only anguish. Her words and expression conveyed nothing but doubt and regret.

"In death, I shall finally find peace."

She murmured to herself. She was not quoting the evil cult's scriptures.

Encrid raised his sword.

"What would you want to do if you were born anew?"

The blade reflected the light. It was sharp and sturdy. It could easily cut through a Giant's neck; a half-Giant's would pose no problem.

The Giant answered.

"I would fight and fight again, and live proving myself."

She smiled as she spoke. It was a lovely, open smile. Encrid found himself quite liking her, too.

Then he swung his sword.

WHOOSH.

So fast it left no afterimage.

With that sword stroke, Teresa the Cultist died.

* * *

"Um, is this really all right? We're not fooling anyone."

"True."

Encrid nodded at Krais's words. It was a vague signal that things would probably be fine. In truth, he did not know either.

This had been closer to an impulsive choice than a calculated act. Much like sparing Dunbachel before.

"No, but will it really be all right?"

"Who knows?"

"Aren't you being a little too carefree?"

"Am I?"

"Yes."

Rem interrupted their brief exchange in the quarters. He stepped between Encrid and Krais, draped an arm over each man's shoulders, and asked,

"Why? Someone giving you trouble? Don't like it, do they? Tell me. I'll give them a good stab and chop. How's that?"

A stab and chop, he said.

It would never come to that, Krais thought. Who would dare object? There was one place that gathered only the men who could contend for the title of strongest in the entire force. Around the barracks, people called them the Lunatic Company with affection and reverence.

And they had gained a new member.

A woman in a mask.

"I want to keep my name."

Teresa. A former Cultist. Now, well, what would you call her?

"After wandering the continent all my life, I've decided to settle here. I look forward to getting along with you."

Apparently, she had been born anew. Said she had forgotten her past through death.

Krais thought it stranger still that she had gone along so readily. What on earth was this woman thinking?

"Ah, whatever."

Krais stopped voicing his worries. What was the point? The Captain would do as he pleased anyway.

It was the Captain who had said he would kill her, then sliced through empty air—well, more precisely, through her singed hair—and persuaded the woman who insisted she had to die.

["Die on the battlefield, if that's what you want."]

It had not even been a long speech, yet the half-Giant had readily agreed.

["You would take responsibility for me?"]

["Take responsibility for yourself."]

["You'll make enemies of the Cultists. They'll come at you without end."]

["... Did you come here to share a friendly meal, then?"]

Teresa, too, had come to kill him. The Cultists were already his enemies. They had declared Encrid their enemy.

That was why he had said it without the slightest worry on his face. Had that expression moved Teresa? There was no knowing. All that was certain was that, after a pointless exchange—

["You will regret it."]

["Nope. I won't."]

—she had accepted her own death.

["As of today, Teresa the Cultist is dead."]

That had been the end of it.

Battalion Commander Marcus had said little, either. He had not asked whether taking her in was wise, nor whether they were worried about the Cultists. He had simply let it happen.

'Really none of my business.'

Still, the Captain really was Irresistible.

Such were Krais's idle thoughts.

"Let's go."

Today was another day for training. Encrid led his troops out.

He remembered the rapier swordsman's infiltration. Had discipline in the ranks grown lax? There had even been a soldier among those taken hostage.

"I, Bell, have resolved never to disgrace myself like that again!"

One stint in captivity had given him motivation.

Encrid addressed all the soldiers gathered on the training ground.

"I will make every one of you be born anew."

Until now, he had said he only gave them training they could endure, and that had been hell. Now he said he would make them be born anew.

"Rem."

"Right here."

"Ragna."

"Yes."

"Audin."

"Yes, brother."

Three instructors.

"Dunbachel."

"Yeah."

"Beat up anyone who comes at you."

And Dunbachel, the assistant instructor specializing in violence.

"Teresa the Wanderer."

"Yes."

Some of the soldiers' shoulders twitched at the half-Giant's meek reply. It was a response brimming with unmistakable strength.

"I won't complain if you leave them half dead."

What was this? A death sentence?

Bell felt his motivation slowly draining away. He truly wanted to flee.

'Should I retire?'

The thought was a private mutter. Of course, Bell was not the only one thinking it. The urge to run away welled up in every one of them.

Where before they had simply run, now they had to run with packs twice as heavy as before. There was no rest from morning to evening. And then there were the sparring sessions in between.

"I pick you today. You look like you'd feel good to hit!"

Rem grabbed people at random and pummeled them. The others were no different.

"Your legs have given out. Allow me to help you up, brother."

Wasn't helping someone up supposed to involve taking their arm and pulling? Why was he hitting them back onto their feet?

Most of the soldiers wanted to be on duty. It was their only rest.

Deserting while on duty was unthinkable. No, even neglecting their duties was out of the question.

Hadn't someone infiltrated the barracks before? Hadn't they said that could never be allowed again?

And hostages? Hooostaaages?

A soldier had been taken hostage?

Because of that, Bell took flak from every direction for a while.

"Is this all that bastard Bell's fault?"

For a time, that was what the soldiers were saying. Bell himself, though, was too busy living half dead to have ears for the rumors.

Training, and the occasional wandering visitor. That was Encrid's daily life. His own training continued as before.

There was, however, a new intrusion into that routine.

"One more time!"

Edin Molsen.

The Count's wastrel son had stayed instead of going home as he ought to have. The fellow behind him who looked like his brother and the bodyguard were still there, too.

"Aren't you going back to your territory?"

When Edin challenged him repeatedly, Encrid knocked him down and asked that question.

"None of your business."

Edin Molsen did not seem to have any intention of leaving. Did he have some purpose in mind? Encrid did not concern himself with it.

Winter was approaching, the season said to be the harshest in northern Penn-Hanil.

"Do you drink?"

Around the time the cold winds began blowing in, Edin Molsen asked from where he lay sprawled. Encrid answered honestly.

"I don't have time for that."

A man obsessed with training rather than drink. That was Encrid.

"You really are a crazy bastard."

Edin had identified Encrid's true nature. He was not wrong.

When Edin finally rose from where he had been sprawled, the man who resembled him approached and asked,

"Is this the best way?"

"I believe it will be one of the best."

"Is that so?"

Edin gave a faint smile at his brother's words and somehow gloomy expression. With one eye swollen and blue, the smile was not particularly attractive.

Soon the bodyguard approached, and both fell silent. This was not a conversation to have in front of him.