He'd closed the distance, intending to end it in one blow. As he swung his sword up, something struck Enkrid's face. A heavy blow, it felt like being hit by Rem's fist.
Enkrid, who had fallen on his rear, felt another heavy impact above his head. Enkrid instinctively tucked his chin and rolled to the side.
Thwack.
Then, something invisible again, an intangible shockwave, slammed into the spot where he had been. It was a spot with no dirty sewage. Instead, a clump of damp earth shot up and splattered on his face.
Enkrid, squinting one eye, his gaze darted around.
‘I can't see it.’
It must be a spell. A natural assumption. He had seen the disembodied head, its mouth opening and closing.
Who else could make such a thing possible?
“You dodged. You're just making it harder on yourself. If you stay still, it won't hurt.”
The male mage said, waving his hand. Since he couldn't see it, there was no way to block. Enkrid rolled to the side again.
A blade of wind or something similar zipped past where he had been. Of course, Enkrid didn't 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 many fencing instructors over the years, and they all said the same thing whenever mages were mentioned.
“A mage? There's only one way to deal with them.”
“Run. Don't look back, just run.”
“Don't fight them. Unless you want to suffer for the rest of your life, neither dead nor alive.”
“If you're lucky, you'll die. If you're unlucky, don't even imagine it.”
Considering some of these men were quite renowned, their words underscored the danger of mages and their spells. On the other hand, the troublemaker squad members had a slightly different view on mages.
“Shoot them dead with an arrow.”
That was Rem.
“Kill them when they're not looking.”
That was Jacksen.
“If we must fight, isn't it enough to get close, brother?”
A typical answer from Audin. As for Ragna.
“They die just the same if you cut them.” ...he had answered.
Anyway, the conclusion he drew from all this was. It was best to avoid mages. But if he had to kill one, he should refer to Ragna's words.
‘They die just the same if you cut them.’
So that's what he would do. The option of running away didn't exist. If left alone, this guy would keep doing the same thing.
People would be torn like old clothes and strewn about like rags. He thought of the shoemaker and his daughter. If he did nothing, those two would be the first to die.
The craftsman and his daughter. He had watched over them for dozens of days, even if it was one-sided. Even though they had no interaction, they had prepared a meal for Enkrid who loitered at the crossroads and left their worries for him.
Not that they knew of Enkrid's hardships. Yes, they probably didn't know. But that wasn't what was important.
Even if no one knew, if there was something to protect, he would protect it. That was the dream Enkrid had dreamt, the path he had decided to walk, and the destination pointed to by the signpost.
“Now, now, don't run away. Be a good boy, it's alright.”
The mage said, snapping his fingers. With a flick, a light appeared above the sewer. It was a light source far brighter than a torch.
Thanks to the light floating above his head, a shadow spread out at his feet. The mage wasn't smiling, nor was he angry. To him, this was just a job.
Watching the mage, Enkrid focused with all his might and threw open the Gate of the Sixth Sense. The mage paid no mind to Enkrid's movements. His opponent was merely an experiment, a bug, a piece of meat.
That was how Enkrid appeared in his eyes. As his hand moved again, an intangible shockwave flew out.
Boom!
‘He's lucky.’
That's all the mage saw. Because Enkrid had simply hopped to the side to dodge the spell. And Enkrid was moving based on a strange sensation.
‘I can't see it.’
Just because I can't see it, doesn't mean it's not there. With that small realization. Then can't I feel it?
Just like how concentration and the Sixth Sense combined to predict the wolf monster's movements. This time, he watched the corpse-loving mage's hand gestures, predicted the next move, and tried to feel whatever it was. And so Enkrid did.
The mage sculpted the wind into a blade and threw it. It was a blade of wind that curved and flew from three directions at once. A spell sharper than the Grim Reaper's scythe, one that would slice through his flimsy cloth armor if it connected.
Enkrid dodged it by rolling to the side.
“Dodged again?”
Even as he spoke, the mage's hands moved ceaselessly. In response, invisible shockwaves and blades targeted Enkrid one after another. Enkrid dodged them all.
It wasn't luck. It was the realm of sense, of the Sixth Sense that transcended the five senses. His half-lidded eyes, his twitching ears, the goosebumps rising on his skin.
Everything hinted at the tricks the mage was playing. All the while, he looked for a way to kill his opponent. Thinking calmly, throwing a single Whistle Dagger could end this.
If cutting them kills them, then a hole in the neck or head should kill them too.
‘No, that won't work.’
It was pure instinct. His Sixth Sense told him a throwing knife wouldn't be enough to kill him. Then what was the best choice?
He didn't know if this was natural. He was dodging the magic purely on instinct. His opponent used spells to do wondrous things.
‘If I just think of them as arrows or blades...’
If he thought of it as an enemy soldier swinging a club or sword.
‘Is it threatening?’
No. He could dodge it. In fact, Mitch Hurrier's sword was sharper. So he dodged.
He could dodge. If the Whistle Dagger wouldn't work, it was time to recall Audin's advice.
‘Getting close is enough.’
He dodged and kicked off the ground in a single breath. He saw the mage's eyes widen.
“This bastard!”
The mage was shocked. The man had dodged invisible magic and closed several paces in an instant, raising his sword. The soldier's blade had reached a threatening distance.
Enkrid's range, a swordsman's range.
Swoosh.
As the longsword's blade fell towards his head, the mage urgently shouted.
“Devour!”
Powerful mana and incantation merged and manifested in the world. The mage's words became reality and exercised their power. It was a spell only a mage who had experienced the deep, dark world could cast.
And so the spell manifested. Normally, the mage's spell should have carved out a part of Enkrid's internal organs. This wasn't a spell that could be dodged with instinct.
But nothing happened. No, something did happen.
“Blech.”
The mage was flustered. The spell that should have manifested had been reflected, returning to his own body as a shock. His eyes caught sight of the inside of the cloth armor, torn by the blade of wind.
Black leather armor, an item reeking of the scent of magic.
“You, you, what are you wearing?”
“Something good.”
Enkrid replied, seeing the mage's eyes fixed on his armor. It seemed to have blocked whatever trick the opponent had used. Enkrid was quick-witted.
And his hands were as fast as his wits.
Hwoong!
The blade swallowed the air. The descending piece of metal was an object called a sword, created by those called blacksmiths with the spells of hammer and flame.
Crunch, crack!
The head was split and burst. He felt a resistance blocking the sword midway, but he crushed it with brute force. As the mage died, he inwardly lamented his misfortune.
‘I still had so much prepared! Vamilo! Vamilo!’
He tried to awaken his child, named Vamilo. Of course, it all failed. A dead person can do nothing.
That was no different even for a mage. His post-mortem delusions couldn't affect reality.
“You look disappointed.”
Enkrid kicked the dead mage's body. Afterward, Enkrid took off his tattered padded armor. He couldn't possibly wear it any longer.
It wasn't even fit to be a rag. He didn't feel a surge of satisfaction. He felt almost no relief at having survived.
A threat to his life? There was one, but he overcame it. He only felt that he had done what needed to be done.
He killed a man who deserved to die. That was it.
‘Before cleaning up.’
Wasn't this the guy who had set up all sorts of spell traps? Figuring he might have some things stashed away here and there, he searched the inner area. He was quite cautious, in case another trap might be triggered.
What he found was a thick brown book, a krona pouch with five gold coins, a black wooden staff, a few blue and white stones, and a pair of chestnut-colored gloves. Enkrid took everything. The rest were unknown herbs and other unidentifiable items.
They all looked so unsettling that he didn't feel the slightest desire to take them. Enkrid, intending to head back now, was wiping his sword to sheathe it when the middle of the blade snapped with a clang.
“Damn.”
A sigh escaped him. It probably wasn't because he had used the sword too roughly. He did feel a strange resistance when he cut down the mage at the end.
Could that be the cause? There was no way to know. In any case, it looked like he would have to use the krona stashed away by the mad mage to buy another sword.
‘Should I get it repaired?’
It was Valery Mountain Steel, so it might be usable again if fixed. Enkrid turned and left. His stomach ached and his head was ringing from taking several shockwaves, but it was bearable.
Having walked not even ten steps, Enkrid turned back.
“It's not going out?”
He thought the mage had created it with a spell. The light source above his head was still there. Frowning, wondering what on earth the mage had done, he looked up and saw a glowing pebble floating in the air.
‘A magical tool floating on its own.’
Didn't it reek of krona?
‘What's this.’
It was a stone just the size of his fist. He hopped up and snatched it, and it continued to emit light even in his hand. For now, it seemed like a good item to use in place of a torch on his way out.
Enkrid once again walked back the way he came. A long while later, a Lake Panther that looked like a black cat landed on the ground.
‘Dodging magic by sight?’
Aster was extremely surprised. She had never imagined someone with such a skill existed in the world. Of course, the opposing mage's skills were pathetic.
Then she had another realization.
‘It's only natural that I wouldn't know.’
She hadn't lived her life traveling the world. On the contrary, she had lived a life of seclusion. So, there must be someone with such a talent somewhere.
Anyway.
‘What a windfall.’
Aster explores magic and indulges in knowledge. She had once stolen and read a few grimoires from other mages out of curiosity. Aster rummaged through the items with her claws and snorted.
‘The quality.’
It was crude. At least, in her opinion. The windfall wasn't these items, but this.
Vamilo, was it? A being stitched together from the corpses of monsters, beasts, and humans. It was a guardian meant to supplement the mage's physical abilities.
Mages commonly called such things a flesh golem. To a human, it was a being that would stimulate a primal sense of disgust. But to a mage, it was a very useful monster.
Aster squeezed out what little strength she had, extended her claws, and carved a magic circle onto the flesh golem's forehead. Black Earth and the World of Flame. It was a ritual to place the stitched-together monster beyond the world of sorcery she possessed.
The dead mage was incredibly foolish. If he had awakened the golem from the start, Enkrid's chances of winning would have been extremely low. Of course, she wouldn't have just stood by and watched that happen.
Soon, the work of carving the magic circle was finished. Through the ritual, world connected to world. The flesh golem's entire body began to fragment and crumble.
It crushed into dust and disappeared. It was the process of crossing over into the otherworld connected to Aster's inner world. Where the golem had been, nothing remained but the mark of where it sat.
Watching this, the panther panted heavily. Aster was exhausted. She had used up all of her remaining trace amounts of mana.
The only thought on her mind was to return to their lodgings and rest deeply. Still, she couldn't neglect the finishing touch. In memory of the mage who created the flesh golem, Aster gave him a name she would not forget.
“Bonehead.”
He was the most pathetic bastard she had ever seen among those who explored the world of sorcery.
“There's a mage in the sewers under the city?”
“Yes.”
“And you killed him?”
“Yes, I did.”
Enkrid was stoic, and the company commander was stoic. Afterward, she left to confirm, and Enkrid washed up and checked his equipment. He had thought of immediately volunteering for a monster disposal request, but his sword had broken.
For now, getting a new sword was the priority.
“... What have you been up to?”
Back at their lodgings, Rem asked upon seeing Enkrid.
“I've been at war with a pair of boots.”
“What, does that craftsman make Ego Boots? Are boots that good at fighting?”
His words were half-joke, half-astonishment. Ego Boots was a play on Ego Swords, and Ego Swords were swords that could think for themselves. Of course, they were the stuff of legends.
It wasn't just Rem; everyone was staring at Enkrid, their eyes asking what had happened.
“I'll go make my report again and come back.”
The company commander would be back soon, so it was best not to be absent and give her a reason to reprimand him.
“Where's Aster?”
Before heading out, Enkrid looked around and asked, and Audin, who was in the corner, replied.
“She often leaves. She will surely return to your arms by evening, brother.”
He was saying not to worry. True, the panther was not just smart, but cunning. No one would be able to harm her.
He went straight back to the company commander's office, and she returned shortly after.
“He was there. The spell traps and the dead mage, too.”
“Yes.”
“He was a potential threat beneath the city.”
“Is that so?”
“Good work.”
Enkrid, who had been wary of the company commander's jokes, gave a military salute. He pressed down on the hilt of his sword with his left hand and bowed his head. Afterward, he returned to their lodgings and explained the situation to the squad members, and everyone was surprised.
“Why would a mage be down there?”
“Hmm, so cutting them is enough to kill them after all.”
“In the sewer?”
“You have punished a wicked man, brother.”
As for why a mage was there, Enkrid had no idea either. It wasn't an injury, but fatigue had accumulated, so Enkrid rested for two full days. He then tried to get his sword repaired, only to get an earful from the blacksmith.
“This thing's completely wrecked. No good. What did you do to it? What? You cut a mage?”
The blacksmith gave Enkrid a strange look. He clearly didn't believe him. It was decided to keep the matter of the mage quiet.
There was no good in the citizens finding out. There had been a threat, but now it was gone. Even if no one knew, he found meaning in the fact that he had protected them, so Enkrid had no major complaints.
“Let's say that's true, do I look like someone who can forge a weapon that can stand up to a spell?”
A blacksmith who was quite well-known in the Border Guard, but not a craftsman famous enough to be known across the continent. That was about the extent of it. When Enkrid shook his head, the blacksmith replied.
“It'd be best not to do that kind of thing from now on, eh? This can't be used again. A decent sword? I don't have any right now." "Want me to make you one? I don't have any Valery Mountain Steel, so it'll have to be regular iron.”
Valery Mountain Steel was indeed a difficult material to obtain.
“That's a shame.”
“You could wait a few days. The schedule's a bit messed up because of the monsters, but an acquaintance of mine said he's bringing some Noir Mountain wrought iron." "You know it's expensive, right? You'll have to bring a hefty sum.”
The blacksmith said, holding out his palm. It was a mouth-watering proposition. Noir Mountain wrought iron was several times stronger than ordinary wrought iron.
A weapon made from it might not be called a legendary sword, but it would be one of the most expensive weapons in a blacksmith's shop. In some ways, it was even harder to obtain than Valery Mountain Steel. So he couldn't help but feel expectant.
He was on his way out after stopping by the blacksmith's shop.
“Hey, hey! Oi, soldier!”
A familiar voice stopped Enkrid. It was the middle of the market. The person who stopped him as he was crossing half-ran over and held out a worn pouch towards Enkrid.
It was a rather bulky pouch. Big enough to easily fit a pair of boots.
“Here.”
“What is this?”
“Your shoes are all worn out. Wear these.”
It was the shoemaker. He didn't know it, but this was the owner of the shoe repair shop with the hole, the one Enkrid had watched for dozens of days.
“Why this?”
“If someone gives you something, just take it. What's the big deal.”
The craftsman turned away, grumbling as if embarrassed. And Enkrid let out a small chuckle. The craftsman didn't know what he had done.
He was probably just grateful for having the request handled. A pair of boots. One might say it was nothing much for killing a mage with a grotesque hobby.
The boots were new. The finishing was especially meticulous, without a single flaw. That was enough.
Enkrid took the boots and returned to his lodgings. And the next day. Enkrid strapped an arming sword Ragna kept for emergencies to his waist—it wasn't familiar to his hand—and left to kill monsters.
Real combat.
There was no doubt that what he needed now was real combat. He was also a little impatient. Because he wanted to quickly assimilate the experience he had gained exploring the mage's den into his body.
He was more motivated than ever.
“Is it just my imagination, or do you look way too excited to be going to kill monsters?”
Rem, who was with him, said with a laugh on their way out.
“No. You're right, I'm excited.”
Enkrid bantered back at Rem, just as usual. And he meant it.