Rem didn't understand why Encrid had ordered him to delve into the Demon Realm.
Did he sense something? Or was it just a guess?
The reason didn't matter.
If Encrid had felt something ominous, he must have asked for help. That was enough for Rem to move. If nothing came of it after checking, he could simply return.
But there was something to be done. The task at hand became clear before him.
The reason Encrid had sent him here was right in front of him, smelling of blood.
His mission: to reduce the number of monsters lurking in the Demon Realm.
Rem determined his course of action and intentionally raised his chin, broadening his view.
Even in the darkness, he could roughly make out his surroundings.
And everything he saw was a monster.
Between the gray forest stood shapes that looked as if an army were assembled.
There were two types: large spiders and owlbears.
'Are they in formation or something?'
With that useless thought, Rem lowered his body, gripping his axe.
Dropping down so low it seemed as if his chest would touch the ground, he shot forward, with his arms trailing behind like a predator running across the earth.
His axe was a substitute for an eagle's wings.
Of course, those wings wouldn't allow him to fly through the sky.
But they could certainly split and slice through anything in his way.
Just as a soft crimson glow descended from above.
Twin moons had risen.
It was a phenomenon known as the Darpina.
A night when monsters grew stronger. Rem didn't care.
His only focus was on swinging his axe.
As he ran, low to the ground, even lower than a crouch, his axe moved. Two strokes traced over the monster's body, now soaked in red moonlight.
Thump. Crunch.
With the noise, everything in the path of the axe was cut.
Head, legs, torso—it didn't matter.
Black fluid sprayed from the severed parts, yet not a drop touched Rem.
The faint gray line illuminated in the darkness swept swiftly among the monsters, as fast as the swing of his axe.
Several spiders reared up, lifting their legs.
Thump. Crunch. Crack!
Rem slashed through them with his axe as he passed.
The sound of legs breaking echoed, but the spider still had six legs left to support itself.
Losing one leg wouldn't kill it. But if the axe that slashed through the leg came down on its head, it would die.
Rem's axe slashed the spider's leg, then halted, only to reverse direction and cleave its head.
The movements were fluid, almost effortless, like a child playing with a thread unraveling from a spool.
Crack.
Another monster collapsed, its head pressed to the ground. Rem was pleased with how his axe swings were coming along.
'Not bad.'
It wasn't a legendary weapon, but for something you could buy in town, it was probably the best.
Of course, a solid steel axe from Lewis Mountain wasn't something you'd find lying around.
And if it weren't Rem wielding it, no one else could properly use it.
The key was applying just the right amount of strength while the weapon had to endure its wielder's power.
With a weapon like that, feathered swings were possible.
Not using the weight of the weapon but manipulating it entirely with one's own strength.
What's possible when fighting like this?
You can change directions without any recoil.
Like that reverse slash just now. In other words, it became an unpredictable axe swing.
Rem continued swinging his axe.
The blade swept without recoil, scattering in all directions, cutting through everything in its path.
Two arcs of cutting lines curved, slicing through anything in their reach.
Gyaaaak!
A spider, crawling on the ground with half its body severed—its head still miraculously intact—let out a screech, warning the other monsters.
From that sound, Rem knew that something was controlling these monsters.
They acted as one, following instincts that guided them in a coordinated manner.
The line pointed in one direction.
If someone watched from above, they'd find it remarkable.
The monsters gathered in a circle around the center of a clearing near the forest.
But Rem didn't have that vantage point. Instead, he relied on his instincts, pushing forward.
No, there was no hesitation, no stopping.
He turned, kicking an owlbear square in the chest. Even its feathers, strong enough to deflect blades, caved inward.
He felt the monster's chest bones snap as it flew backward, rolling on the ground.
Despite its crushed chest, the beast tried to rise and regain its balance, only for its head to be crushed again.
Rem followed up with a kick, sending the monster sprawling. The split creature lay flat on the ground.
Black blood flowed freely, pooling in a deep crater.
"A sneaky feral cat would've been scarier than you, you little punk."
Black fluid dripped from the sharp edge of the Lewis Mountain steel axe, honed so finely that it could slice through even a strand of hair.
Under the red moons, both the axe and the fluid shimmered with a crimson hue.
Whether it was black or red didn't matter to Rem.
Once more, he let his arms drop, the axe dangling by his side.
And as much as he hated to admit it—though he would never speak the words aloud, not even on his deathbed.
'Those crazy bastards did help me.'
Rem acknowledged that his muscles had become tougher, the strength behind his swings had grown more intense, and his senses had sharpened.
All of this was thanks to being around those lunatics.
He had once thought that his physical abilities and skills had reached their peak, that there was nothing more to gain.
But he was wrong.
He had learned that from a man who never gave up.
There were no limits. No matter what, there was always room for improvement.
Thanks to that, Rem felt a surge of anticipation.
Now, compared to his former self, the difference in skill was evident.
So what would happen if he combined this with sorcery?
He had never once thought himself inferior to Knights, even when wielding sorcery in the past.
"Hey, I'm busy here. Let's wrap this up."
With a grin, Rem ran toward the cluster of monsters once again.
While Rem swung his axe, Dunbachel suddenly leapt onto a tree, having just split an owlbear's skull with her blade.
Her perception was far beyond that of an ordinary beastkin, and her eyesight was sharp.
She spotted a cluster of spider-like creatures with bow-shaped limbs among the monsters.
At the sight of them, Dunbachel immediately anticipated the damage they could cause.
While not the most perceptive in other matters, she wasn't a fool on the battlefield.
'Arrows, bows, monsters…'
A threat she hadn't expected.
To eliminate this threat, she knew she had to act.
Her survival instincts kicked in, and she began sniffing the air.
Why she had this ability, she didn't know.
But she could detect a different kind of scent coming from beyond.
If there was a signal being sent, there had to be someone receiving it, and someone sending it.
That different scent was coming from nearby.
It was the Commanders.
Dunbachel's gaze shifted toward the raging barbarian.
He was tearing through the monsters, wreaking havoc.
At the center of the chaos, several monsters gave off a special scent—around five of them.
Those too, would need to be dealt with.
But somehow, Rem, knowing this, was already cutting his way through the horde, heading straight for them.
Dunbachel watched and heard the voice in her mind.
'Not me.'
Going in there was too dangerous.
'So what can I do?'
'If I stay here, I might die.'
'But should I fight? Is fighting the way to survive?'
'Why not just run?'
Her instincts screamed a warning. Dunbachel's fur bristled. But she took a step forward, ignoring the questions that plagued her mind.
'Prove it.'
Why was she standing here now? It was clear.
To slice, cut, and kill monsters.
For that purpose, she drew her blade and ran.
With each step, her muscles tensed as her body transformed.
White fur covered her face.
The transformation, labeled as a curse in her village, took hold.
As her body changed, her muscle fibers became denser, her legs pushing harder against the ground, propelling her faster.
Dunbachel bounded silently through the air, her movements smooth and deadly.
The sound of tearing air followed her, and in its wake, heads of monsters turned, but Dunbachel had already passed by.
She sprinted toward the center of the swamp, pushing through the noxious fog, holding her breath as she dove in.
Her target lay in the heart of the swamp.
* * *
Admor arrived near the battlefield, where he saw Rowena tied to a post.
"Damn it, Rowena."
He bit his lip, rushing to untie the ropes and check her injuries.
"How…?"
Rowena blinked, asking weakly. She wasn't gravely injured, but a makeshift bandage was wrapped around her thigh.
"Did you come to rescue me? Is Sir Oara here? Or Sir Roman?"
"Barbarian and beastwoman are here, but I'll explain later."
Admor cut the ropes with a dagger and hoisted her onto his back. Half of her squad was dead, but the other half had survived.
"I thought it was over…"
Rowena muttered.
"Leaving you behind? What do you mean over?"
Admor tied them together with a rope.
Now, what next?
He had found and rescued his ally.
The area was already filled with monsters that had been cut down by axes.
Despite that, Admor didn't let his guard down. The place was still dangerous, threatening, and filled with fear.
Should he just go back?
As he pondered his next move, tightening his vigilance, a voice broke through.
"Come at me!"
The scene rendered his caution meaningless. Near the swamp, a figure was rampaging.
Whatever the figure held in both hands drew arcs in the air. It was clearly an axe, yet it looked as light as a feather.
However, those 'feathers' were smashing and slicing through everything they touched.
For a moment, Admor stood mesmerized, watching Rem fight.
Everywhere Rem moved, black fluid sprayed, staining the surroundings.
Admor snapped out of his daze.
"Let's get out of here."
He gathered his partner and retreated. It seemed unlikely that any monsters would chase them now.
* * *
Oara felt a strange sense of deja vu.
Had something like this happened before?
No, it couldn't be. She had never let anyone else fight her battles.
Oara watched as Encrid fought Jerix.
An opponent who bore the name of her ex-husband.
That meant he was the one she should cut down.
But why wasn't she stepping forward?
The answer was right in front of her.
It was because of Encrid.
His determination held her back.
'He's holding on well, but…'
It felt like he was constantly teetering on the edge of disaster.
Watching from the side, it seemed precarious.
Clang!
Jerix slashed down with his claws, but Encrid blocked it with his sword.
As he parried, Encrid hooked Jerix's leg.
Jerix quickly lifted his foot and brought his knee up, aiming for Encrid's groin.
It was as if Encrid had predicted the move. He pulled his sword, now parallel to the ground, and slammed the pommel into Jerix's knee.
Just before the pommel hit, Jerix leaned back, extending his leg.
The foot was still aimed directly at its original target.
In that split second, Encrid lowered his left arm, blocking Jerix's shin with his forearm.
Jerix's foot and Encrid's forearm crossed in an X-shape.
Clang!
The sound of metal clashing echoed. The silver bracer covering Encrid's hand had blocked Jerix's strike.
After the rapid exchange, the two distanced themselves for a moment.
Oara observed them, thinking.
Jerix wouldn't stop. But neither would he easily commit to a decisive strike.
He was fighting Encrid while also keeping an eye on her.
Jerix has gotten stronger, she thought.
Should she just stand by and let this continue?
If she left it as is, Encrid might die.
It would be a shame—his face, his skills.
She didn't want him to die.
But stepping in wasn't a simple choice either.
Though not a Knight, Oara could see that Encrid was exuding the willpower of one.
For just a moment, as he stood before her, he seemed like a Knight.
It must have been her imagination.
Of course, it was.
He was barely hanging on, wasn't he?
Yet, despite the precarious situation, Encrid continued to hold his ground. It was a narrow line, but he was managing.
Oara was a Knight.
She understood honor and wielded her sword in accordance with her vows and beliefs.
That's why she couldn't bring herself to stop the man standing in front of her.
Encrid, too, seemed to be showing something similar to her.
A vow to keep smiling no matter what.
That vow was built on the resolve to protect this city.
And to Oara, this city was the source of her joy and laughter.
Encrid seemed to be protecting something similar.
What is it, she wondered, that this man is protecting? What lies behind him?
'What are you really?'
Curiosity sparked within Oara.
She had ended up watching him, but now she was truly intrigued by why Encrid was doing this.
Of course, if things got bad, she would step in.
But it wasn't that simple either.
Right next to her, Roman was fighting a spider swordsman, and an owlbear strong enough to take on Knights was lurking, waiting for an opportunity.
Oara was now the balance point of the battle.
If she acted, she could surely take down one of the three enemies.
But the remaining two monsters would target one of her allies.
Could she stop that from happening?
That would be difficult.
She decided to position herself as the balance.
If someone here could take down just one of the three enemies.
'The rest would be easy.'
It would be possible to end this battle without anyone dying.
Of course, the situation was unfavorable. Time was on the enemy's side. The monsters didn't tire, but her allies were gradually being pushed back.
Yet the fierce light in their eyes had not dimmed.
Their fighting, their struggle, their will had ignited a fire in the hearts of the soldiers.
"Oara!"
Behind her, from atop the fortress walls, a soldier shouted a chant.
"Let's die with a smile!"
The cry of those prepared for death echoed.
Oara didn't want to tell anyone to die, not if she could help it.
For a moment, she put off making her choice.
* * *
"Damn it."
Oara was frustrated, unable to fight properly because of the poison.
"I'll hold them off until the end."
She held on until the bitter end, dying while standing her ground.
Oara had never truly lost a fight—she had simply never been given the chance to fight properly.
At least that's how Encrid saw it.
The creature, some fragment of Balrog, had sent its monsters to wear her down, ultimately claiming an easy victory.
If not for the poison?
Oara would have been able to fight.
Couldn't fight properly because of poison?
Then I'll make sure you get a proper fight, just once.
What Encrid was protecting was the pride of Oara, the Knight. His muscles ached from blocking the ghoul's claws.
Because he was also protecting Oara behind him, the ghoul hadn't been able to take the opportunity to kill him.
He endured. And kept enduring.
Finally, his endurance was at its limit.
"What's going on here? It's a mess."
Rem had arrived.
"There was a Commander controlling the archers, but I killed him."
Dunbachel, limping, returned as well, hungry for praise.
"You took your time, Rem."
Encrid said.
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