Chapter 88 - Bonehead

He had closed the distance, so he intended to end it with a single strike.

Just as he swung his sword upward, something struck Encrid's face.

It was a heavy blow, as if he had been hit by Rem's fist.

Falling backward onto his rear, Encrid felt another heavy impact just above his head.

Encrid reflexively tucked his chin and rolled to the side.

THUD!

Then, something else invisible—an intangible shockwave—slammed into the spot where he had just been.

It was an area free of filthy sewage. Instead, a clump of damp dirt kicked up and splattered against his face.

Encrid's eyes, one of them squinting, darted around rapidly.

'I can't see it.'

It had to be a Spell.

It was an obvious assumption. He had seen the disembodied head with only a face, its mouth gaping open and shut.

Who else could make something like that possible?

"You dodged. You're just making yourself suffer more. If you stay still, it won't hurt."

The male magician said this while waving his hand.

Since it was invisible, there was no way to block it. Encrid rolled to the side again.

*SWOOSH! * Something like a blade of wind sliced right through the space he had occupied.

Of course, Encrid didn't even know what it was. He only knew it was some kind of Spell.

'What do I do in a situation like this?'

He had met a great many swordsmanship instructors over the years, and they all had something to say whenever magicians were mentioned.

["A magician? There's only one way to deal with them."]

["Run. Don't even look back, just run."]

["Don't fight them. Not unless you want to spend the rest of your life caught between life and death, suffering endlessly."]

["If you're lucky, you die. If you're unlucky, well, don't even imagine it."]

Considering that some of those instructors were quite famous, their words served as a stark reminder of just how dangerous magicians and their Spells truly were.

On the other hand, the members of his troublemaker squad had a slightly different perspective on magicians.

["Shoot them to death with a bow."]

That was Rem.

["I kill them when they aren't looking."]

That was Jaxon.

["If you absolutely must fight, shouldn't you just get in close, Brother?"]

That was a very Audin-like answer.

And as for Ragna.

["If you just slash them, they die all the same."]

That was her reply.

Anyway, the conclusion drawn from all this was:

It was best to avoid magicians.

But if he absolutely had to kill one, he could refer to Ragna's words.

'If you slash them, they die all the same.'

So, that was what he would do.

There was no option to run away.

If left alone, this bastard would just keep doing the same thing.

People would be torn apart like ragged clothes and left sprawled out like mops.

The Shoemaker and his daughter came to mind.

If he left things as they were, those two would be the first to die.

The craftsman and his daughter.

Even if it was one-sided, he had watched them for dozens of days.

Although they hadn't directly interacted much, they had prepared meals and worried about Encrid as he paced back and forth in front of the fork in the road.

Not that they would ever know the hardships Encrid had gone through.

Right, they would never know.

But that wasn't what mattered.

Even if no one knew, if there was something he had to protect, he would simply protect it.

That was the dream Encrid had dreamed, the path he had chosen to walk, and the ultimate destination pointed out by his signpost.

"Now, now, don't run away. Be a good boy, it's alright."

The magician spoke and snapped his fingers. *SNAP! * With that sound, a light flared up near the ceiling of the sewer.

It was a light source far brighter than a torch. Thanks to the light floating above, shadows stretched out from beneath their feet.

The magician neither smiled nor showed any anger.

To him, this was just work.

Encrid looked at the magician, layering concentration upon concentration, and threw open the door of the Sixth Sense.

The magician paid no mind to Encrid's movements.

The opponent was merely a test subject, a bug, a slab of meat.

That was how Encrid appeared in his eyes.

As his hand moved again, another intangible shockwave flew forward.

BANG!

'He's got luck on his side.'

That was all it looked like to the magician.

Because Encrid had just casually hopped to the side, dodging the Spell.

In reality, Encrid was moving by leaning on that strange sensation.

'I can't see it.'

Just because he couldn't see it didn't mean it wasn't there.

It came with a small realization.

'Then, can't I feel it?'

Just like when his concentration and his Sixth Sense had merged to predict the movements of the demon wolves.

This time, he would watch the hand gestures of this corpse-loving magician, predict what was next, and try to feel everything.

And so, Encrid did just that.

The magician shaped the wind, forming it into blades, and hurled them.

They were blades of wind that curved inward from three different directions simultaneously.

It was a Spell sharper than a grim reaper's scythe, one that would slice right through that flimsy cloth armor if it connected.

But Encrid dodged it by rolling to the side.

"You dodged again?"

Even as he spoke, the magician kept his hands moving non-stop. Accordingly, invisible shockwaves and blades continuously targeted Encrid, but...

Encrid dodged every single one. It wasn't luck.

It was sensation—the realm of the Sixth Sense that transcended the five senses.

His half-lidded eyes, his ears twitching and reacting, the goosebumps rising sharply on his skin.

Everything painted a picture of the tricks the magician was pulling.

All the while, he searched for a way to kill his opponent.

Thinking about it objectively, it would end if he just threw a single Whistle Dagger.

If they died when slashed, they would surely die with a hole in their neck or head, too.

'No, it won't work.'

It was pure intuition. His Sixth Sense told him so. A mere throwing dagger wouldn't be enough to kill him.

Then what was the best choice?

He didn't know if this was natural or not.

He was currently dodging Spells using intuition alone.

The opponent was using Spells to pull off wondrous feats, but...

'If I just think of them as arrows or blades anyway.'

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. In fact, Mitch Hurrier's sword was sharper than this.

So he dodged. He was capable of dodging.

If the Whistle Dagger wouldn't work, it was time to recall Audin's advice.

'I just have to get in close.'

He dodged and instantly kicked off the ground. He could see the magician's eyes widen.

"You little—!"

The magician was shocked. In just a few strides, the bastard had dodged the invisible Spells and charged in with his sword raised.

The soldier's blade had reached a threatening distance.

Encrid's distance. The distance of a swordsman.

SWOOSH!

As the blade of the longsword fell toward his head, the magician shouted desperately.

"Devour!"

Powerful mana and the Spell combined to materialize into the world. The magician's words instantly manifested to exert their power.

It was a Spell that only a magician who had experienced a deep, dark world could display.

The Spell manifested in such a way.

Normally, the magician's Spell would have carved out and eradicated a portion of Encrid's internal organs.

This wasn't a Spell that could be dodged with intuition, either.

However, nothing happened.

Actually, something did happen.

"Ghk."

The magician was flustered. The Spell that should have manifested had been reflected, returning to his own body as a physical shock.

Through the tear in the cloth armor sliced by the wind blade, his eyes caught sight of what was underneath.

A black leather armor—an item that practically reeked of magic.

"Y-You, what are you wearing?"

"Something good."

Encrid replied, seeing the magician's eyes land on his armor.

It seemed that it had blocked whatever trick the opponent had just pulled.

Encrid was quick on the uptake.

And his hands were just as quick.

WHOOSH!

The blade swallowed the air. The descending chunk of iron was a tool known as a sword, crafted by blacksmiths using the Spells of hammer and flame.

CRUNCH! CRACK!

The head was severed and burst apart. He had felt some resistance blocking the sword midway, but he crushed through it with brute force.

As the magician died, he internally vented his sheer sense of injustice.

'I still have so much prepared! Bamilo! Bamilo!'

He tried to awaken his child, whom he had named Bamilo.

Of course, it all failed.

A dead person can do nothing. Being a magician didn't make him any exception.

A post-mortem delusion could not affect reality.

"You look disappointed."

Encrid kicked the dead magician with his foot.

Afterward, Encrid took off his gambeson, which was torn here and there. He couldn't possibly wear it anymore. It was so ruined it couldn't even be used as a mop.

No sense of reward welled up within him.

He hardly even felt the relief of surviving.

The threat to his life? It had been there, but he had overcome it.

He only felt that he had done what needed to be done.

He had killed a bastard who deserved to die. That was exactly it.

'Before cleaning up.'

This was the guy who had laid all sorts of Spell traps, wasn't he?

Figuring the man might have stashed some things here and there, Encrid searched the inner area.

Taking great caution, just in case another trap triggered.

What he found was a thick brown book, a coin pouch containing five gold krona, a black wooden staff, a few blue and white stones, and a pair of chestnut-colored gloves.

Encrid took everything.

The rest consisted of unnamed herbs and other unidentifiable objects.

Every single one of them looked disturbing just to look at, so he didn't feel the slightest desire to pack them up.

Encrid, intending to return now, wiped his sword and sheathed it, but *CLANG! * The blade snapped right down the middle.

"Damn it."

A sigh slipped out naturally.

It probably wasn't because he had used the sword too roughly.

He did feel a strange resistance when he made the final slash against the magician.

Was that the cause? He couldn't be sure.

In any case, it looked like he would have to buy another sword using the krona that crazy magician had stashed away.

'Should I try reattaching it?'

Since it was supposed to be Valerian steel, it might still be usable if repaired.

Encrid turned right around and walked out.

Having taken several shockwaves, his stomach throbbed and his head rang, but it was bearable.

Encrid, who had been walking away, came back before he had even taken ten steps.

"It's not turning off?"

He thought the magician had played some trick with a Spell.

The light source above his head was still there.

Frowning in wonder at what exactly the man had done, he looked up and saw a stone emitting light floating in the air.

'A floating magic tool.'

Didn't that strongly reek of krona?

'What a thing.'

It was a stone barely the size of a fist. He jumped up slightly and snatched it, and it continued to emit light even inside his hand.

For now, it seemed like it would be a good substitute for a torch on his way out.

As Encrid crunched his way back along the path he had come...

Quite some time later, a Lake Panther that looked like a black cat landed on the ground.

'He saw the magic and dodged it?'

Esther was utterly astonished. She had never once imagined that there could be someone in the world capable of pulling off such a stunt.

Of course, the opponent magician's skills were rather pathetic, but still.

Then she came to a sudden realization.

'I suppose it's natural that I didn't know.'

She hadn't exactly lived her life wandering the world. Rather, she had lived a life of seclusion.

So, a guy with this kind of talent must exist out there somewhere.

Anyway.

'What a windfall.'

Esther delved into magic and indulged in knowledge.

There was a time when she had been so curious about other magicians' grimoires that she stole a few to read.

Esther poked around the belongings with her claws and snorted.

'This level.'

It was crude.

At least, it was in her eyes.

The windfall wasn't garbage like this; it was over here.

Bamilo, was it?

A being stitched together from the corpses of demonic beasts, monsters, and humans.

A guardian designed to compensate for a magician's physical limitations.

Magicians commonly referred to such things as flesh golems.

While it was a being that stimulated a primal disgust from a human perspective.

To a magician, it was an incredibly useful monster.

Esther squeezed out what little strength she didn't have, raised her claws, and carved a magic circle into the flesh golem's forehead.

The world of black earth and fire.

It was an incantation formula to pull the stitched monster beyond the Spell world she possessed.

The dead magician had been impossibly stupid.

If he had awakened the golem from the start, Encrid's chances of winning would have plummeted.

Of course, she wouldn't have just stood by and let that happen.

Soon, the task of carving the magic circle was finished. As the formula connected one world to another...

The flesh golem's entire body began to fragment and shatter. It crumbled to dust and vanished.

It was the process of transferring it over to the alternate dimension connected to Esther's inner world.

Where the golem had been, nothing remained except the impression of where it had sat.

Seeing that, the panther panted heavily.

Esther was utterly exhausted. She had depleted every last trace of her remaining mana.

All she wanted to do was return to the quarters and rest properly.

Still, she couldn't just leave without leaving a final mark.

In honor of the magician who made the flesh golem, Esther bestowed upon him an unforgettable name.

"Bonehead."

Out of all those she had seen delving into Spells, he was the biggest moron.

* * *

"A magician in the sewers beneath the city?"

"Yes."

"And you killed it?"

"Yes, I did."

Encrid was nonchalant, and the Company Commander was nonchalant.

Afterward, she stepped out to confirm the situation, while Encrid washed up and inspected his gear.

He had intended to apply for a monster disposal commission right away, but his sword had snapped. For now, acquiring a sword was his top priority.

"... What have you been up to?"

Dropping by the quarters, Rem asked upon seeing Encrid.

"I fought a war with boots."

"What, does that craftsman make ego boots or something? Since when do boots fight so well?"

It was half a joke, half an expression of surprise.

Ego boots were a comparison to ego swords, which referred to swords that could think for themselves. It was, of course, the stuff of legends.

Not just Rem, but everyone else was staring intently at Encrid, silently demanding to know what had happened.

"I need to go finish my report first."

The Company Commander would be back soon, so it was best not to leave his post and give her an excuse to reprimand him.

"Where's Esther?"

Before stepping out, Encrid looked around and asked. Audin, who was in the corner, replied.

"She often wanders off. I'm sure she will return to your arms by evening, Brother."

It was a way of telling him not to worry.

True, she was a panther who seemed less clever and more wickedly sharp. No one would be able to harm her easily.

He headed straight back to the Company Commander's office, and shortly after, the Company Commander returned.

"It was there. The Spell traps, and the dead magician."

"Yes."

"It was a potential threat resting beneath the city."

"Is that so?"

"Good work."

Wary of the Company Commander making a joke, Encrid simply offered 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 squadmates, surprising everyone.

"Why would a magician be down there?"

"Mm, as expected, you just need to slash them to death."

"In the sewers?"

"You punished a wicked sinner, Brother."

As to why a magician was down there, Encrid hadn't the faintest idea either.

Though not injured, fatigue had built up, so Encrid rested thoroughly for two days before trying to get his sword reattached, only to get an earful of nonsense from the blacksmith.

"It's completely ruined. No can do. What the hell did you even do to it? What? You slashed a magician?"

The blacksmith looked at Encrid with a strange expression. He clearly didn't believe him.

He had decided to bury the matter of the magician. There was no good in letting the civilians know about it.

There was a threat, but now it was gone.

Even if no one knew, Encrid found meaning in the fact that he had protected them, so he had no major complaints.

"Let's say that's true. Do I look like a great man capable of forging weapons to stand against Spells?"

A blacksmith well-regarded within the Border Guard, but not exactly an artisan famous across the continent.

He was exactly that level.

When Encrid shook his head, the blacksmith replied.

"I suggest you don't pull stunts like that from now on. This can't be used again. A decent sword? I don't have any right now. Should I make you one? I don't have Valerian steel, so it'll have to be regular iron."

Valerian steel wasn't exactly something you could easily get your hands on.

"That's a shame."

"Wait a few days. The schedule got a bit tangled up because of the monsters, but an acquaintance of mine said he's bringing some Noir soft iron this time. You know it's expensive, right? You better come with deep pockets."

The blacksmith said this while holding his palm out flat.

It was mouth-watering news. Noir soft iron was several times stronger than ordinary soft iron. While it might not make a legendary blade, a weapon forged from it would easily be one of the most expensive and top-tier weapons in a smithy.

In a way, it was even harder to acquire than Valerian steel.

So naturally, he couldn't help but look forward to it.

It was on his way out after stopping by the blacksmith's shop.

"Hey, hey! Hey, soldier!"

A familiar voice caught Encrid's attention.

It was right in the middle of the market. The man who had stopped him while crossing the street practically half-ran over, holding out an old pouch toward Encrid.

It was quite a bulky pouch. Large enough to easily fit a pair of boots.

"Here."

"What is this?"

"Shoes. Yours are all worn out, so wear these."

It was the Shoemaker. Though the man didn't know it, he was the owner of the cobbler's shop with the hole under it, whom Encrid had been watching for dozens of days.

"Why give this to me?"

"If I give it to you, just take it."

The craftsman grumbled as he turned away, likely feeling embarrassed. And Encrid let out a soft chuckle.

The craftsman didn't know what Encrid had done. He was probably just feeling grateful that his commission had been handled.

A single pair of boots.

For killing a magician with a grotesque hobby, one might say it was nothing much.

But the boots were brand new.

The finishing touches were exceptionally meticulous, leaving not a single flaw to be bothered by.

That was more than enough.

Encrid took the boots and returned to his quarters.

And the next day.

Encrid strapped an arming sword to his waist—an emergency spare belonging to Ragna that his hands weren't quite used to yet—and set off to kill monsters.

Real combat. He had no doubts that what he needed right now was real combat.

He was also feeling a little impatient.

Because he wanted to quickly melt all the experience he had gained from exploring the magician's den into his body.

He was more motivated than ever.

"Am I imagining things, or do you look way too excited about going to kill monsters?"

Rem, who was accompanying him, smiled and said as they headed out.

"No. You're right, I am excited."

Encrid parried Rem's words smoothly, just like always.

And it was the absolute truth.