Chapter 177 - I don't really know either

I don't know either.

"What was that friend's usual behavior like?"

To understand someone, it's better to ask in various places. That's what Krais did.

First, he started with Doichi Pulman.

"He was polite. He would act like the tongue in your mouth, and he was thorough. He wouldn't start anything unless it was certain."

Before becoming a socialite, he was considered a talented individual. He got along well with everyone, and there were no people he was at odds with. Everyone had good relations with him, and his greatest strength was said to be his meticulousness.

"He was sly. His actions, and the methods he used."

This was Luagarne's opinion.

'Cunning, and cautious in a way that doesn't move unless sure.'

Whether in gambling, betting, or anything else, he wouldn't act unless he was certain.

"Well, he did well in everything, but he was kind of, well, he tended to take a long time preparing. The captain seemed to like that."

"His position in the battle formation? Was he always at the back? Oh, yes, he was always at the back. Every time."

"Now that you mention it, that's right."

After gathering the opinions of the vigilante group members, Krais built an image in his mind.

In Krais's mind, the guy was like a petty goat. And he had a general understanding of his habits.

'If we're talking about personality, he's more like Saxen.'

Saxen is someone who gets things done when needed, but personality-wise, they are meticulous, careful, and tend to be picky.

It's similar. Though the opponent was much dumber. Much, much dumber.

Krais created a script. A script to draw out the sly and timid guy.

More specifically, a scenario that placed elements that would make him drop his guard.

"How about we make him vomit some blood? Just use this."

It was a small pouch made from a pig's bladder. It smelled bad since it contained goat's blood, but it wasn't something to keep in your mouth—just something to spill out.

"I think it would be good if he got hurt a bit. Since she's a Frog, a little injury should be fine, right?"

"Yeah."

Luagarne was straightforward. He even came with his arm cut off.

"This would be more effective, right? But is it alright if I don't have one arm?"

"I'm right-handed."

Does that even count as an answer?

Maybe it does.

Anyway, the enemy would surely be relieved and confident of victory upon seeing the severed arm.

Even so, the morale of the allies wasn't shaken. This was thanks to Enkrid.

Something that was shown that day, amidst the beasts and monster hordes.

It left quite an impression. Even Krais himself let out a sound.

It was a plan crafted considering all of that.

'This should work.'

It seemed like it would be good to steer the enemy's thoughts in one direction. One could even call it conditioning.

'They don't seem that smart.'

Humans have habits.

Hiding behind is a habit, a routine. Could someone throw that away in an instant?

'Yeah, right.'

Identifying the enemy's position was an easy task for Krais.

Later, by placing Esther next to Enkrid, he also planted a preconceived notion in the enemy's mind.

Where the leopard is, there Enkrid is.

As dawn approached, before the enemy could catch on, he sent Enkrid and Luagarne out.

"Pin, try putting this on."

After making Pin wear the clothes, he placed him on the wall, in what could be called a gallery, and positioned Esther next to him.

It was time when the beasts and monster hordes, sensing victory, rushed in. For Krais, the enemy's hidden position was clear.

He hid while being able to see where the enemy would be.

They were probably wearing monster skins in the back.

Reading the enemy's intentions and using that to set a trap—it was simple and easy.

At least, that's how it was for Krais.

"That Big-Eyes guy, he's useful. His face wasn't everything."

Luagarne said. Enkrid's jaw moved slightly up and down. He was acknowledging it.

After the ambush at the place Krais mentioned, finding the guy disguised in hyena hide had been the right call.

Enkrid washed off the charcoal makeup mixed with water.

He also brushed off the stone powder-like dust from his face with a swipe of his hand.

Gray dust, like fine powder, scattered over his hand. It was dry and uncomfortable.

"These bastards, they tricked me!"

Ah, such a typical reaction.

Every time something like this happened, there was something Enkrid really wanted to say. His mouth itched.

"Only an idiot gets tricked."

The world had become so harsh and crafty that these stereotypical reactions had become rare.

It had been a long time since he'd experienced such textbook-like dialogue, and for some reason, it made him feel proud.

"These bastards!"

The cultist got angry, and his eyes turned red.

A few of the monsters nearby reacted to the cultist's outburst and turned to charge.

Guuk!

The cultist's brainwashing and confusing spell shook the monsters' minds. The pack of monsters was fearless.

If they had seen their companions being sliced up by Enkrid's sword, they should have scattered and run long ago, but instead, they charged without fear.

However, there was no need for Enkrid to act.

Whoosh, bang! Bang! Crack!

Luagarne's whip moved. The metal tip of the whip struck and burst one of the monsters' heads.

One of them, holding a thick wooden shield, tried to block it.

With a popping sound, part of the shield shattered, but the whip was stopped.

It was a mutant monster. The creature behind the shield bared its fangs.

As a few more mutant monsters closed in to block the path near the cultist, Luagarne puffed out his cheeks.

"Do you think I'll miss twice?"

"You're a frog who doesn't know the value of your own life! Back then, didn't you know I wasn't ready?"

The guy had a very long tongue.

With that thought, Enkrid's hand moved.

Whoosh.

Light beams—something like that—flew.

It wasn't a whistle dagger. It was much slower than that, but it was a knife thrown with the power of his immense strength. The speed was still fast.

The knife flew straight for the cultist's forehead. It seemed it would pierce him.

It was just before it hit.

Wham!

A mutant monster extended its left arm and blocked the knife. The blade embedded itself into the thick hide of the mutant monster.

Without changing expression, the mutant monster used its other hand to pull the knife from its arm and threw it aside.

Black blood oozed from the wound, but it only furrowed its brow slightly before continuing to glare at Enkrid.

'Reaction speed.'

Not bad. No, it was excellent.

The mutant monster's yellow eyes stared at Enkrid, and Enkrid met its gaze.

The cultist was cautious, but not foolish.

He knew that continuing to control the monsters like this was a stupid move. Why waste mana?

There was an easier way. Make a leader for the colony.

If the previous leader had been a reckless fool wielding two poisoned daggers, now it was the biggest mutant monster among them.

Adding magic on top of that.

It seemed as though a black haze began to rise over the shoulders of the newly appointed leader mutant monster.

"It's a cultist's trick."

Luagarne said. It sounded like a vague warning.

Enkrid drew his sword. Not two swords, but one.

He gripped it with both hands and faced forward, eyes locked on the enemy.

He included the black haze and the cultist in his line of sight.

'What's it like?'

Since some time ago, Enkrid had started using Rem as a benchmark for measuring his opponents' strength.

'Is this like Rem?'

Or...

'Is it harder than Rem?'

If not...

'Which is worse, facing Rem or this?'

To sum it up.

'No contest.'

When compared to Rem, this ignorant barbarian didn't even deserve a comparison.

So.

"Behind."

After speaking, he charged.

The cultist was confident. He trusted his summoning spell.

He had believed in it even when he summoned the leader. No matter how skilled the opponent was, he had considered the possibility of unexpected strength and created the variable—this new leader.

So the one standing over there was a variable.

An unexpected force.

And as variables met, the frog rushed toward him.

The cultist was determined to use a foolproof strategy.

The cultist judged that the one with the sword now, the one who had drawn it, was far more dangerous than the frog with only one arm left.

'Give up the flesh.'

The bones.

The cultist did just that.

A black lump fell from the tip of his right index finger.

It was darker and denser than any shadow. Just looking at it made an ominous feeling settle in.

"Phantom of Valor."

As the cultist muttered, the lump immediately began to take form.

It was a strange shape. A human-like figure with thin legs and only one arm, but no head. The right arm was thick, holding what appeared to be a blunt sword-like weapon.

In the meantime, Luagarne swiftly advanced and swung his whip. The whip, with a whooshing sound, seemed about to shatter the cultist's skull.

"Stop!"

The cultist shouted, his eyes bloodshot.

Thud!

One of the mutant monsters blocked the whip with its body.

Luagarne just shook her wrist. The whip flexed and twisted.

It passed over the dead mutant and aimed for the cultist's head again.

The whip moved like a living snake. The cultist twisted his body in an attempt to dodge, but the whip wrapped around his left arm and with a crunch, broke the bone.

Damned frog!

Rather than scream, the cultist bit his tongue. A sickening crack echoed as dark blood poured from his mouth.

For blood...

As the cultist muttered inwardly, his left arm, still caught in the whip, fell off and melted into black sludge.

"Filthy dog of Hua Rin!"

The cultist yelled.

The black sludge, which had once been his arm, transformed into a large, four-legged, black beast, bigger than an average dog.

The cultist had summoned so many creatures in succession that his insides felt like they were twisting. His vision blurred, and everything seemed to spin.

Moreover, with the loss of his left arm, blood poured out relentlessly.

'Shit.'

It was a close call, but he might die if this continued.

The cultist swallowed the blood that had pooled in his mouth and managed to regain his senses.

Then, he looked at the scene before him and let out a mocking laugh.

The frog was fighting the beast he had summoned.

On the other side, the half-witted knight using bizarre techniques was facing the Phantom of Valor, which was already dangerously close.

'I've won.'

The cultist was confident of his victory.

Luagarne wrapped her whip around her wrist as she faced the beast the cultist had summoned.

The shorter her whip became, the more powerful it became.

The opponent was hiding his true strength. The summoned creature he controlled was more troublesome than she had anticipated.

Its legs were fast, its fangs were sharp, and despite not having eyes, it was surprisingly agile, dodging attacks effortlessly.

This was no opponent to finish off in one blow.

She had also seen the cultist summon two creatures at once.

It was clear that he was no ordinary cultist.

"Just hold on," she thought. "That's enough."

The Frog drew the weapon she had prepared. The hardest opponent to face while traveling alone was always an ethereal beast, like a ghost or an evil spirit.

The creatures summoned by the cultist were of a similar, intangible nature.

They were physical manifestations of spiritual entities, summoned into this world.

There were many ways to deal with them, but she preferred a simpler one.

For example...

"Burn."

She muttered, wielding a simple magic tool of sorts.

Whoosh.

Blue flames erupted on the tip of her whip. Naturally, this was a type of spell.

A spell that would deal significant damage to the summoned creature.

She did not know, however, that the cultist had burned his own life force to summon these creatures.

She simply thought that the cultist was trying to block Enkrid's movements while sending a troublesome summon for herself.

Meanwhile, the Phantom of Valor, with its gaunt limbs, advanced rapidly towards Enkrid, closing the distance.

It was right in front of him.

Enkrid swung the sword he gripped with both hands, deflecting the club coming down from above. With a quick slash, he made a gash in the beast's abdomen.

The blow was so deep it almost exposed its internal organs, but the mutant didn't seem to feel the pain. It pulled its weapon back and swung again.

Enkrid bent at the knees and waist to avoid the strike.

Whoosh! The club passed just over his head.

He quickly retracted his sword, slashing at the mutant's knee from behind.

With a cross-step, he pressed forward, cutting deep into its calf muscles.

Crack!

That was enough.

Unable to stand due to the severed calf muscles, the creature collapsed onto its knees.

Enkrid twisted his body and, with a sweeping motion, executed a spinning strike.

Thud!

The mutant's head was severed and flew through the air.

The battle raged on, each move calculated and deadly.

The mutant did not even manage to scream as it died.

The movements during the fight weren't fluid, as each action was executed to suit the situation at hand, but Enkrid fought as if anticipating an opponent like Rem.

For Enkrid, facing many enemies was harder than fighting a single strong one. The outcome was decided in an instant, and the skill disparity was stark.

By the time Enkrid had finished with the mutant's calves, the black mass sent by the cultist, the "Phantom of Valor," was closing in.

As he decapitated the mutant, the summoned entity swung its pitch-black sword, the one held in its hand, in an attempt to strike.

This was the cultist's final, desperate effort—a lethal move.

The Phantom of Valor was a one-hit kill summon, one that would disappear after delivering its blow. It was the kind of spell used when someone was determined to kill.

Enkrid, seeing the creature charge forward on its emaciated legs, raised his sword.

The black blade came crashing down from above, moving too quickly to dodge—an unexpected burst of speed. There was no way to avoid it.

Having already planned to kill the mutant and block this attack, Enkrid readied his sword.

He blocked and deflected the blow.

Just as the cultist had hoped, the Phantom of Valor ignored the physical defense and delivered a strike that would cause fatal damage to any human spirit.

Even though blood flowed from both the cultist's mouth and arms, his eyes gleamed with anticipation.

"Die."

The moment he spoke, the swords of Enkrid and the Phantom of Valor collided.

"Hmph."

Esther observed the battle from atop the walls.

The cultist's spell was futile. However, for someone unprepared, such a clumsy spell could be deadly.

Knowing this, how could she simply watch and do nothing?

She tore the worn leather armor from her body and added her magic to it. This was her offering in exchange.

"A gift, for him."

Esther split part of her magic and imbued it into Enkrid's sword, ensuring it would react to any similar tricks the enemy might attempt.

Enkrid saw a faint blue glow emanating from his sword.

It was a crack in time.

The glowing blue blade shattered the black sword and cleaved the mass of blackness in two.

If it had been a human, it would have been as if the sword had sliced through their chest.

The sensation of the cut lingered in his hand.

Was there something like flesh in there, despite its appearance?

The severed mass of black began to ooze black smoke, wriggling before it scattered and vanished.

The cultist's eyes widened, as though they might tear.

"…What is that!"

Enkrid responded honestly, though with a bit of bewilderment. It wasn't exactly confusion, but he took a few more seconds than usual to think, before answering.

"I don't really know."

The cultist's head seemed to boil with anger. His lips parted as if to say something, but then faltered, unable to form words. The strike to his psyche was palpable, and suddenly, the world before his eyes began to spin.

His breath caught in his chest.

The man who had overexerted himself finally collapsed as his heart seized.

"Ugh…"

Sometimes, death felt tragically meaningless.

The cultist clutched his chest, gasping several times before collapsing forward, his head slamming against the ground with a sickening thud.

At that moment, the fog that had clouded the minds of the surrounding beasts and monsters lifted.

They too had instincts.

The moment they saw their kin slain by a human, they fled in every direction.

The colony had been destroyed.

Meanwhile, Enkrid continued to examine his sword closely.

'Was this a magical sword?'

If so, was the blacksmith from Border Guard a mage?

It didn't seem likely—such a combination didn't fit at all.