Chapter 88 - Bonehead

Having closed the distance, Encrid meant to finish it in one blow. But as he swung his sword upward, something struck his face—a heavy blow that felt like a punch from Rem. He landed on his backside and felt another heavy impact coming down over his head. Instinctively, he tucked his chin and rolled sideways. THUD. Something invisible—an intangible shock wave—slammed into the spot where he had been. There was no filthy sewage there, but damp earth flew up and spattered his face instead. Squinting one eye shut, he searched frantically with the other. 'I can't see it.' It had to be a spell. An obvious conclusion. He had seen a severed head working its mouth, with nothing left below its face. Who else could make such a thing possible? "You dodged it. You're only making this harder on yourself. Stay still and it won't hurt."

The male mage waved a hand as he spoke. Encrid couldn't block what he couldn't see. He rolled sideways again. Something like a blade of wind whistled through the spot he had just occupied. Of course, he didn't know what it was. Only that it was some kind of spell. 'What do I do now?' He had met a great many swordsmanship instructors over the years, and whenever mages came up, they all had something to say. ["A mage? There's only one way to deal with one."]

["Run. Run and don't look back."]

["Don't fight one. Not unless you want to spend the rest of your life neither alive nor dead, suffering endlessly."]

["If you're lucky, you'll die. If you're unlucky... don't even imagine it."] Some of those instructors had made quite a name for themselves, which only underscored how dangerous mages and their spells were. The troublemakers in his squad, on the other hand, saw mages rather differently. ["Shoot them dead with a bow."]

That was Rem. ["Kill them when they aren't looking."]

That was Jaxon. ["If you absolutely must fight one, wouldn't getting right up close do the trick, brother?"]

A typically Audin answer. As for Ragna, well, his answer had been:

["Cut them and they die, just like anyone else."] In any case, the conclusion was that mages were best avoided. But if one absolutely had to be killed, Ragna's words would serve as a guide. 'Cut them and they die, just like anyone else.'

Then that was what he would do. Running away wasn't an option. Left alone, this bastard would keep doing the same thing. People would be torn apart like old clothes and left lying about like rags. He thought of the cobbler and his daughter. If he left this man alone, those two would be the first to die. The cobbler and his daughter. One-sided though it was, he had watched them for dozens of days. Even without much interaction, they had prepared meals for him as he paced before the branching passages and expressed their concern. That didn't mean they would know what he had endured. No, they would never know. But that wasn't what mattered. Even if no one ever knew, if something needed protecting, he would protect it. That was Encrid's dream, the path he had chosen to walk, and the destination his signpost pointed toward. "Now, now. Don't run away. Be good. It's all right."

The mage snapped his fingers as he spoke. SNAP.

A light appeared near the sewer ceiling. Far brighter than a torch, it floated overhead, spreading shadows beneath their feet. The mage neither smiled nor grew angry. To him, this was merely work. Watching him, Encrid concentrated harder still and opened his Sixth Sense wide. The mage paid no attention to Encrid's movements. A mere test subject, a worm, a lump of meat. That was all he saw in Encrid. His hand moved again, sending out an invisible shock wave. BANG! 'A lucky one.'

That was all the mage made of Encrid's quick hop sideways to evade the spell. But Encrid was moving by a curious sensation. 'I can't see it.'

Yet being invisible didn't mean it wasn't there. That small realization came to him. Then couldn't he feel it? Just as concentration and Sixth Sense had combined to predict the wolf demonic beasts' movements, this time he would watch the corpse-loving mage's gestures, predict what came next, and feel whatever he could. That was what Encrid did. The mage shaped wind into blades and hurled them. They curved in from three directions at once. The spell was fiercer than death's scythe; if it connected, that pathetic cloth armor would be sliced clean through. Yet Encrid rolled sideways out of its path. "Again?"

Even as he spoke, the mage kept both hands in motion. Invisible shock waves and blades targeted Encrid one after another. He dodged them all. It wasn't luck. This was perception beyond the five senses—the realm of Sixth Sense. His half-lidded eyes, his ears twitching attentively, his skin prickling with gooseflesh: all of them conjured an image of the mage's tricks. All the while, he searched for a way to kill his opponent. Thinking about it calmly, a single whistling blade should finish the job. If a sword cut could kill him, surely a hole in his throat or head would too. 'No. That won't work.'

Pure instinct. His Sixth Sense told him a throwing blade wouldn't kill this man. Then what was his best option? He didn't know whether this was natural, but he was dodging magic by instinct alone. His opponent was doing wondrous things with spells, but... 'If I just think of them as arrows or blades...'

If he thought of it as an enemy soldier swinging a blunt weapon or a sword... 'Is it really that threatening?'

No. He could dodge it. Mitch Hurrier's sword had been sharper than this. So he would dodge. He could. If a whistling blade wouldn't work, it was time to recall Audin's advice.

'Just get close.' He dodged and immediately kicked off the ground. He saw the mage's eyes widen. "You bastard!"

The mage was startled. The man had crossed several paces in a single burst, charging through invisible magic with his sword raised. The soldier's blade had reached a threatening distance. Encrid's range. A swordsman's range. WHOOSH. As the longsword fell toward his head, the mage cried out in panic.

"Devour!" Powerful mana merged with the spell and took form in the world. The mage's words manifested, exerting their power. It was a spell only a mage who had experienced a deep, dark world could produce. The manifested spell should have cut away and erased part of Encrid's internal organs. This was not a spell that could be dodged by instinct. But nothing happened. No, something did. "Urk."

The mage was bewildered. The spell that should have manifested had rebounded, returning as a shock to his own body. Through the cloth armor slashed open by his wind blades, he saw black leather armor beneath. It positively reeked of magic. "Y-you, what are you wearing?"

"Something good."

Encrid answered as he followed the mage's gaze to his armor. It seemed to have stopped some trick the man had attempted. Encrid was quick on the uptake. And his hands were just as quick. WHOOSH! The blade swallowed the air. The descending steel was a thing called a sword, fashioned by men called blacksmiths through spells of hammer and flame. CRUNCH! CRACK! The head split and burst. Encrid felt resistance arrest the sword midway, but forced it down. As he died, the mage inwardly raged at the injustice.

'I still have so much prepared! Bamillo! Bamillo!' He tried to wake the child he had named Bamillo. Of course, every attempt failed. The dead could do nothing, and mages were no exception. Delusions after death could not affect reality. "You look disappointed."

Encrid kicked the dead mage. Then he took off his shredded gambeson. It was impossible to keep wearing it. It wasn't even fit for rags anymore. No rush of satisfaction came. He felt little relief at surviving, either. Had his life been in danger? Yes, but he had overcome it. He merely felt he had done what needed doing. He had killed someone who deserved to die. That was all. 'Before I deal with the aftermath...'

This was the man who had laid all those spell traps. Thinking he might have things stashed away, Encrid searched farther inside, taking considerable care not to trigger another trap. He found a thick brown book, a Krona purse containing five gold coins, a black wooden staff, several blue and white stones, and a pair of chestnut-brown gloves. He took them all. The rest consisted of herbs he couldn't name and other objects he couldn't identify. Every one of them looked so unsettling that he felt no desire whatsoever to take them. Preparing to head back, Encrid wiped his sword and began to sheathe it, only for the blade to snap in the middle with a clang. "Damn."

The lament escaped him. It probably wasn't because he had been too rough with it. He had felt that strange resistance when cutting down the mage at the end. Had that caused it? There was no way to know. In any case, it looked as though the Krona the mad mage had hoarded would have to go toward another sword. 'Could I have it joined back together?'

He had been told it was Valeri steel. Perhaps it would still be serviceable after repairs. Encrid turned and headed out. His belly ached and his head rang from the several shock waves that had hit him, but he could bear it. He had gone fewer than ten steps before he turned back.

"It's not going out?" He had assumed the mage had conjured it with a spell, but the light overhead remained. Frowning up at it, wondering just what the man had done, he saw a stone floating in the air and emitting light. 'A magic tool that floats on its own.'

Didn't that positively reek of Krona? 'Well, now.'

The stone was only the size of a fist. He hopped up and snatched it, and it kept shining in his hand. For the moment, it looked like a useful substitute for a torch on the way out. Encrid set off again, his footsteps soft as he retraced his route. Only long after he had gone did a Lake Panther resembling a black cat drop to the floor. 'He watches magic and dodges it?'

Esther was astonished. She had never imagined anyone could perform such a feat. Though the opposing mage had admittedly been abysmal. Then another realization struck her.

'Of course there would be things I don't know.' She hadn't spent her life roaming the world. Quite the opposite: she had lived in seclusion. So there could well be someone with such a talent out there. In any case...

'What a windfall.' Esther explored magic and reveled in knowledge. Once, curious about other mages' grimoires, she had even stolen a few to read. She rummaged through the objects with her claws and snorted.

'The quality of this work...' Crude. To her eyes, at least. The windfall wasn't any of this junk. It was over here. Bamillo, had he called it? A being stitched together from the corpses of demonic beasts, monsters, and humans. A guardian intended to compensate for a mage's physical shortcomings. Mages commonly called such things flesh golems. To human eyes, it might provoke a primal revulsion. To a mage, it was an exceedingly useful monster. Esther scraped together what little strength she had and extended a claw, inscribing a magic circle on the flesh golem's forehead. A world of black earth and fire. The formula would send the stitched-together monster beyond, into the world of spells she possessed. The dead mage had been an utter fool. Had he awakened the golem at the start, Encrid's chances of victory would have been drastically lower. Of course, she wouldn't simply have stood by and watched. Soon she finished inscribing the circle. The formula connected one world to another, and the flesh golem's entire body began to fragment and crumble. It broke down like dust and vanished—the process of passing into another realm linked to Esther's inner world. Nothing remained where the golem had been but the marks left by its seated body. Looking at the spot, the panther panted. Esther was utterly exhausted. She had spent every last trace of her remaining mana. All she wanted was to return to the quarters and rest. Still, she couldn't leave without a finishing touch. In honor of the mage who had created the flesh golem, she bestowed an unforgettable name. "Bonehead."

Of all the students of spells she had ever seen, he had been the biggest fucking idiot.

* * *

"There was a mage in the sewers beneath the city?"

"Yes."

"And you killed him?"

"Yes, that's correct." Encrid was matter-of-fact, and so was the Company Commander. Afterward, she left to verify his report, while he washed and checked his equipment. He had considered volunteering for a demonic-beast extermination commission straightaway, but his sword had broken. Getting a sword was now the first priority. "... What have you been doing?"

Rem asked when Encrid stopped by the quarters. "Waging war against boots."

"What, does that cobbler make sentient boots? Boots can fight that well?" It was half joke, half astonishment. Sentient boots were a play on sentient swords—swords that could think for themselves. Those were the stuff of legend, of course. It wasn't just Rem. Everyone was staring at Encrid, their looks asking what had happened. "I'll finish reporting first."

The Company Commander would be back soon. Best not to give her grounds for criticism by being absent unnecessarily. "Where's Esther?"

Encrid looked around before leaving. Audin answered from the corner. "She's often out. Come evening, she'll return to your arms, brother."

In other words, don't worry. True enough. The panther seemed not merely clever but downright shrewd. No one would be able to harm her. Encrid went straight back to the Company Commander's office, and she returned shortly afterward. "They were there. The spell traps and the dead mage."

"Yes."

"A latent threat beneath the city."

"Was he?"

"Well done." Encrid, who had been on guard for another of her jokes, gave a military salute. He pressed down on his sword hilt with his left hand and bowed his head. Afterward, he returned to the quarters and explained the situation to his squad members. They were all surprised. "Why the hell was there a mage down there?"

"Mm. Just cut them and they die, after all."

"In the sewers?"

"You have punished a wicked man, brother." Encrid had no idea why a mage had been there either. He wasn't injured, but the fatigue had built up, so he rested for two full days. Then he went to have his sword joined back together, only to hear unwelcome words from the blacksmith. "This is completely ruined. Can't be done. What did you do to it? What? Cut down a mage?"

The blacksmith gave him an odd look. He didn't seem to believe him. They had decided to keep the mage incident quiet. Nothing good would come of the citizens learning about it. There had been a threat, but it was gone now. Even if no one knew, what mattered to Encrid was that he had protected them. He had no great objection. "Let's say that's true. Do I look like the sort of man who can forge a weapon to withstand spells?" A blacksmith well regarded in Border Guard, but no master craftsman whose name would ring across the continent. That was the extent of his skill. Encrid shook his head, and the blacksmith continued. "Then I'd suggest not doing that again. You can't reuse this. A decent sword? Haven't got one right now. Want me to make you one? I haven't got Valeri steel. It'll have to be ordinary iron." Valeri steel was certainly hard to come by.

"That's a shame." "Or wait a few days. The demonic beasts have thrown the schedule off a bit, but someone I know said he'd be bringing some Noir wrought iron this time. You know it's expensive, right? You'll need a heavy purse."

The blacksmith held out an open palm as he spoke. An enticing prospect. Noir wrought iron was several times stronger than ordinary wrought iron. A weapon forged from it might not qualify as a famed blade, but it would rank among the most expensive in the smithy. In some respects, it was harder to obtain than Valeri steel. Naturally, Encrid couldn't help looking forward to it. He was on his way back from the blacksmith's shop when a familiar voice stopped him.

"Hey, hey! You, soldier!" He was in the middle of the market. The man who had called out as he crossed it hurried over at a near run and held out an old bag. It was fairly bulky, easily big enough to hold a boot. "Here."

"What's this?"

"Footwear. Yours is all worn out. Put these on." It was the cobbler—the owner of the shop with the hole in its floor. He didn't know it, but Encrid had already seen him over dozens of days. "Why are you giving me this?"

"If someone's giving you something, just take it." The cobbler turned away, grumbling as though embarrassed. Encrid let out a small laugh. The cobbler didn't know what Encrid had done. He was probably just grateful that the commission had been completed. A pair of boots. Little enough, one might say, for killing a mage with such grotesque pastimes. But the boots were new, finished with particular care, with not a single rough spot. That was enough. Encrid took the boots and returned to the quarters. The following day, he set off to kill demonic beasts with Ragna's spare arming sword at his waist, though it was unfamiliar in his hand. Real combat. There was no arguing that real combat was what he needed now. He was a little impatient, too. He wanted to make all the experience he had gained exploring the mage's den part of himself as quickly as possible. He was more eager than ever. "Is it just me, or do you look awfully excited to be going off to kill demonic beasts?"

Rem, who was accompanying him, asked with a grin as they headed out. "It's not just you. I am excited."

Encrid had a ready answer for Rem, as always. He meant it, too.