Chapter 181 - Some Madman is Chasing Me With a Sword (1)
Enkrid's head snapped around. It was a reflexive action, his body moving based on an instinct for evasion. In that instant, he took in and assessed the entire situation.
'Krais, a stick, the chest, the sword?'
Enkrid saw a murky substance being released from the sword embedded in the altar. The gray something spread out, enveloping the entire cavern.
Esther's body shot forward with a thump, kicking off the ground. She was heading for the exit, the way they had come in. The gray barrier materialized just in time to block her path.
Thud!
The panther's body slammed into the barrier and was thrown backward. Enkrid reached out and caught her. It was a movement as swift as the wind.
Enkrid gently cradled the panther, his eyes scanning the surroundings as he placed one hand on the grip of his sword. The atmosphere was so tense that it felt like something could leap out at any moment.
"Finn."
At his word, Finn moved to stand behind him. Luagarne took care of Krais, pulling back the strategist who had been standing dumbly with a stick in his hand. She, too, raised her guard.
Before Enkrid even had a chance to check on Esther, his danger-sensing instincts flared. It was a unique ability to detect danger that only Enkrid, who had died countless times, possessed. And yet…
'Hm?'
There was nothing. Absolutely nothing.
"…What is this?"
Amidst the confusion, he heard Krais muttering. Enkrid's gaze shifted toward him.
"Mraow."
Esther, seemingly uninjured from the collision with the barrier, let out a cry. Enkrid set the panther down and approached Krais. It appeared Krais had used the stick to open the chest.
Inside, instead of poison darts, there was only dust and a small letter. Krais unfolded it and mumbled something like, 'Already looted? Or was that Dolph bastard just crazy?'
"Let me see."
Enkrid stepped forward and examined the letter.
-Only he who obtains the treasure may leave.Did you come in through the back? My apologies, but this is the only trap here.
Crackle.
Along with the sound of the burning torch, Enkrid let out a low groan. He could almost hear the letter's author cackling. This Dolph character had a sick sense of humor.
But what treasure? The chest was empty. What about the other one? Krais had just used the stick to open the remaining chest.
"Nothing here," he reported. That one was empty, too.
"It seems they had a cruder name for the back-door method in this era. Damn it. What treasure?" Krais clutched his head in his hands.
A wealthy man from a bygone era had just driven a quick-witted soldier of the present into despair. It couldn't be helped. It was a trap interwoven with magic, a method that no one could have easily predicted.
"Anyone would have fallen for this," Finn added.
Enkrid left the dejected Bug-Eyes and turned his head. His eyes fell on the sword stuck plainly in the altar. The sword, which had been covered in moss and dust until a moment ago, had changed. A faint, dark blue light now emanated from the blade. The hilt was still not just old but rusted, and the blade was dull, but…
'The color of the blade has changed.'
Could it have been maintained in a place like this? Who would maintain it? Did he plant a skeleton soldier here to oil the blade? At a glance, the edge was clearly not sharp; it was old. However, for a blade to remain intact for so many long years was a rare thing.
Swords, if not maintained, were bound to fall into ruin. That was the nature of most weapons made from lumps of iron. It was only natural for a sword found in an ancient dungeon to shatter with a clang on the first swing. Its core would have been destroyed by the passage of time.
To a mercenary, a weapon is life. The less confident they are in their skills, the more they rely on their weapon. Because of this, Enkrid had paid a great deal of attention to his weapons over the years. Therefore, he had an eye for swords.
That sword over there—its edge wasn't sharp, and its hilt was so old and worn it looked like it would crumble if grasped.
'But its core is alive.'
It was a sound piece of equipment. Of course, it would need maintenance. It was the only thing here that could be called a treasure.
"How long ago did this Dolph guy make this?" Enkrid asked.
"At least fifty years ago," Krais replied, his expression dazed as his gaze shifted. With only the sword remaining, everyone's attention naturally gathered on it.
A sword that had been stuck there for fifty years was in surprisingly good condition? If that wasn't the treasure, what was? It was the only thing left.
"I'll try to pull it out."
Krais's despair was momentary. He shot back up, muttered "That bastard Dolph" once under his breath, and stepped forward. It was rather peculiar. He had a natural talent for hiding and running away, yet he couldn't ignore a mess he had made himself.
Before anyone could say a word, Krais grabbed the sword's hilt and immediately let go.
"Ack!"
He looked startled. As everyone stared at him, Krais continued, "No, seriously, some madman is chasing me with a sword!"
He had only just grabbed the sword, and now he was saying some madman was chasing him?
"Here, let me try."
Finn stepped up. Bravery, and at times recklessness—other words to describe a Ranger. Brave but sometimes reckless, that was the way of the Rangers who walk ahead.
Before anyone could stop her, Finn gripped the sword and immediately let go.
"He's right!"
Enkrid's gaze lingered on the sword's hilt.
"A cursed sword," Luagarne said, glaring at the weapon. She shook her hand loosely in the air and puffed up her cheeks. "A mere cursed sword."
She stepped forward. The moment her hand touched the hilt…
Slip, shhk.
"…Hm," Enkrid grunted. Luagarne tried again.
Shhk.
Her hand couldn't grip the hilt and slid right off the top.
"Ah, I saw him for a second."
A Frog's skin has a unique slipperiness to it. That's why they use weapons with looped hilts. The cursed sword was too plain and smooth for her to grip, and it didn't even have a proper pommel at the end of the hilt.
"That's the only treasure here," Krais said, looking at the sword. It seemed they would have to pull it out.
"Can we trust the message that Dolph fellow left?" Enkrid asked. What if they pulled out the sword, believing it to be the treasure, only for it to be a trap designed to kill them all?
"Yes, well, I think we have to trust it, don't you? He was a bastard, but they say Dolph lived his entire life with integrity and never told a lie. It's quite a credible story."
When a man like that lies, it's usually fatal, but for now, they had no choice but to trust him. Thinking this, Enkrid inwardly shook his head and stood before the sword.
Shhk, shhk.
Luagarne was still trying to get a grip on the sword.
"I can see him. It's a man with a sword," she said, her eyes half-closed as if concentrating.
"A cursed sword…" Krais wiggled his fingers and clicked his tongue. They had to pull out the sword, but if they touched it, some madman would chase them. It had only been for a moment, but he never wanted to meet that thing again. He didn't want to see it. A cold sweat ran down his back.
Luagarne gave up trying to grip the sword, shook her hand, and said, "A cursed sword. To be precise, a sword possessed by a malevolent spirit."
A malevolent spirit?
Enkrid had wandered the continent for quite some time, but he had only seen a malevolent spirit once. It was a creature called a Wraith, a spirit that preys on human anxiety and fear. He had taken on a request but found it was something he couldn't handle. A village where everyone had already died and become such spirits. It had been quite horrifying.
It was not a job for a run-of-the-mill mercenary armed with scrap metal. They had needed a priest. A priest who could wield true divine power.
'How much did that cost back then?'
Enkrid had emptied his own pockets. I took the request, so I will solve it. That had been his thinking. The funny thing was, the one who made the request had also been a ghost—the remnant of a human soul that had not become a malevolent spirit. She had cried and cried, and in her tears, she had made her wish. The little girl's wish had been so desperate that she had disguised herself as a city urchin to make the request. Enkrid, true to his promise, had eliminated the malevolent spirits from her village.
'I think I spent my entire fortune.'
Hiring a priest, and a priest capable enough to use divine power to extinguish malevolent spirits, naturally cost a significant amount of krona. What this meant was that malevolent spirits were not beings that an ordinary mercenary could handle.
While Enkrid was lost in old memories, Krais muttered, "Ah, so if I had kept holding onto it…"
Luagarne immediately replied, "It would have split your head open."
It was a chilling answer. As Krais nervously rubbed his arm, Enkrid calmly reached out his hand.
Pull out the sword, take it, then leave. It was a simple proposition. And more than anything, he was curious.
Enkrid gripped the sword's hilt.
Though he hadn't blinked, he knew his surroundings had changed. The very density of the air was different. He was standing on viscous mud that clung to his feet.
Then, something fell from above. It was a sword. A blade, dropping vertically.
His body reacted. He reflexively drew a sword and swung. He met the vertical blade with a horizontal strike.
CLANG!
The moment they connected, he used his strength to push his opponent back. With a heavy thud, the sword floating in the mist retreated. He used that rebound to create distance, but the muddy ground made footwork difficult. As he kicked off the ground to retreat, thwip, thwip.
Whoooosh.
The wind stirred, and the mist behind the floating sword swirled and vanished. Beyond the dissipated mist, his opponent became visible. A figure in a helmet and full plate armor. Inside the helmet, blue flames burned in place of eyes.
'What is this thing?'
It made no sound, didn't breathe. He couldn't feel the prelude to its sword swing. It lacked something that any human should have. Then, the sword simply began to move.
Clang, clang. After exchanging a few blows, Enkrid realized his body wasn't the same as usual.
'Heart of the Beast isn't working.'
He had lost something he possessed. His reaction speed was roughly the same, but his body felt stiff. More importantly, his opponent's swordsmanship was surprisingly formal, a style that seemed to see several moves ahead. When Enkrid struck with instinct and reflex, the knight would deflect his sword as if it had anticipated the move, and then launch its next attack.
This time, a thrust.
Hup.
He sucked in a breath and pulled his body back. He had to retreat. He just needed to shift his consciousness back outside. He instinctively knew how to escape this place. The problem was that his opponent was too close.
'I'll be cut down before I can.'
It was a self-evident fact. Separate from physical ability, his opponent seemed to read his every move. And this was the result.
Thwack.
An iron-clad gauntlet slammed into his abdomen.
But Enkrid didn't just take the hit. He swung his own sword with a powerful whoosh, aiming for the enemy's shoulder. He had aimed for the neck, but it was blocked by the pauldron.
'It read me.'
He narrowly dodged the subsequent slash, but was immediately struck in the cheekbone by an elbow.
Crack.
Having experienced his neck being broken several times, he knew one thing. A blow like this was enough to kill him.
"Gack."
Enkrid let out a final gasp. That was the end. He thought he was dead, but when he opened his eyes, he was back to normal. He had escaped from that world of imagery, that playground of the malevolent spirit.
"Commander?"
He saw Krais's large eyes looking at him, along with Finn, Luagarne, and Esther beside him.
"Are you okay?"
"Time… how much has passed?"
His throat felt strangely raw. Enkrid spoke while rubbing his neck. The pain was still vivid, still real. His neck felt cool, but it hadn't been bent in a way it shouldn't have been. All that remained was the pain and the moment of death.
"From my perspective, not even a minute has passed."
Enkrid furrowed his brow. This was unusual. He had died, but he wasn't dead? The fight in there felt like fighting bare-handed. A feeling of setting aside everything you have and speaking purely through the sword. For Enkrid, it was no different from fighting with his arms and legs torn off.
"Are you really okay?"
"Yeah."
Enkrid nodded at Krais's words and stared thoughtfully at the sword. It hadn't been pulled out. It remained as it was, looking like a noble lady. Of course, inside the sword was just a lump of iron.
"Did it get you?" Luagarne asked from the side.
"My neck was broken."
"In there?"
Enkrid nodded. At his words, Luagarne fell into thought. A malevolent spirit couldn't be dealt with by physical force, but the spirit hadn't been able to harm Enkrid either. That had been the case during that past request as well. So, was this the same situation? It didn't feel like it. It had felt real. Even knowing it was fake, it was the same as actually dying. As a veritable expert in death who had experienced it countless times, Enkrid knew this.
Meanwhile, Luagarne examined the gray barrier, tracing its surface with her fingertips and tapping it. On the other side, Esther was gently scratching the barrier with her claws.
"Does that panther know something?" Finn muttered, looking bewildered.
'Probably?' Enkrid thought. He knew the Lake Panther by his side was no ordinary animal.
In any case, everyone was busy trying to grasp the situation. The answer came from Luagarne. After tapping the barrier, observing the sword, and trying to grip it several times despite it slipping through her fingers, she finally spoke.
"This is half a guess, but…"
"What is it?" Enkrid asked.
She spoke in a solemn tone—though it was difficult to read a Frog's emotional state, so he couldn't be certain. The words of the cross-armed Frog seemed plausible.
"You have to die dozens of times. Only then will you be able to see something resembling treasure."
For Enkrid, this was a remarkably easy task, but Luagarne had no way of knowing that.