WeTried Translations

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Chapter 770: The One Who Builds an Iron Wall, a Wall

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Will surged wildly through him. There could be few things more exciting than this, and that was probably why.

Enkrid sometimes felt that Will moved as it pleased, slipping free of his own intent. This was one of those times.

But if anyone asked whether that was a bad thing, he would say not at all.

'Something the unconscious desires.'

That was what Will reflected. In terms of structure or principle, it could not be far from that.

His wandering thoughts had spawned a dozen or so notions, but soon gathered into one.

'Cut.'

He gathered even his surging Will into a single point. Will responded to his intent, circulating through his entire body, passing through his arms and fingers, riding the sword grip into the blade.

'An Inscribed Weapon is an extension of my hand.'

That was how it felt. It felt natural for Will to flow toward Duskforge and remain there.

His measured breathing stopped. He half-lidded his eyes as he looked at the wall.

Ragna, gripping Ilchul far away, watched his commander.

He could see the Will enveloping Enkrid's Duskforge gathering and gathering, thickening without end.

"Interesting thing to try," Ragna murmured.

Sinar had been watching Enkrid dash forward and stopped casually swinging her arms and legs.

She was much like Ragna. Since she had already been paying attention, it would be fair to say she looked toward Enkrid even sooner than he did.

The air of the Cursed Ground was poison to an elf by its very nature. Only because she possessed vital energy on the level of a Knight could she endure it. Otherwise, an elf could not even set foot in the Cursed Ground.

This was a place full of foul air, a place that naturally made one's chest feel tight.

Yet as Sinar watched Enkrid grip his sword, it felt as though the vital energy of a forest was drifting in from somewhere.

It might have been a trace of the power she herself had poured into that sword when it was forged. Or perhaps an elf's sensitive senses had foreseen what was about to happen.

Whatever the reason, it did not matter much to Sinar.

An ordinary person might have recoiled at the sight of Enkrid now and demanded to know what he was doing. But Sinar was filled only with the desire to cheer on the madman leading the way. Was that not the proper attitude toward one's beloved?

More than anything, Sinar believed in him.

Where he went, a path opened. Where he turned, there was light. Surely his sword held the vital energy that would protect the child of forests and flowers.

She almost wanted to hum an elven song. Instead, she murmured words that resembled her heart.

"Cut, my betrothed."

No one heard her. Fell, who had been blocking arrows, and Ropord, who had been fighting Demon Creatures, could not help having their attention pulled toward Enkrid.

'Is that madman really about to do what I think he is?'

Fell and Ropord shared the same thought.

Even amid the charging Demon Creatures, part of everyone's attention turned toward him.

Knowing his sword would not break, Enkrid poured his inexhaustible Will into it with all his strength.

The formless power born from his intent seemed to flow through the veins of his entire body. All of it entered the sword. Duskforge accepted it with ease.

It was nearly enough to cause depletion. He controlled himself to avoid it. Then Enkrid pressed his Inscribed Weapon against the wall.

Scraape.

The blade, held parallel to the ground, sank one knuckle deep into the thorn-wood wall.

He gripped the handle with both hands and steadied his breathing. There were no stray thoughts. His focus was so intense that it seemed a blue ring had formed within his pupils.

RRGH, URRGH, AAAGH.

The wall let out all manner of terrible cries, pushing out awl-like thorns to stab him and extending thorn-vines like whips to bind the madman before it. Enkrid set off as though avoiding them.

He ran while leaving the sword embedded in the wall. In other words, the blade carved along the wall. But it was not merely carving it, for Will still coated the sword.

With every step Enkrid took, the wall burst apart with a thunderous roar. The vengeful spirits that had been struggling screamed.

KRAKAKAKAKAKAKACRUNCH!

The sound continued for as long as he ran. Duskforge carved along the base of the wall in the direction Enkrid ran.

Black blood sprayed as the base of the thorn-wood wall was cut, ruptured, shattered, broken, and crushed. Something like pale smoke rose from it. Whatever it was, anything with a beginning had an end.

Enkrid stopped running. Something like steam rose from his shoulders.

With a flutter, his dark green cloak stretched of its own accord, billowed in the wind, then wrapped around his shoulders and back.

The distance he had run became a long trail carved into the thorn-wood wall. A moment later, the ground trembled faintly, the wall shook, and then began to lean backward.

Rruuuumble.

The earth groaned as part of the wall fell backward.

It was a magnificent sight, one that made people wonder whether human hands could truly accomplish such a thing.

The fallen wall looked unreal, but its vibrations and impact proved it was no dream. When it struck the ground, it declared that the weight it carried was no trifling matter.

With a tremendous boom, a sound and pressure strong enough to burst an ordinary person's eardrums swept through the surroundings.

The vibration shook everything around it. It felt like an earthquake. The ground trembled. Of course it did. A section of the wall in the direction Enkrid had swung had collapsed and fallen backward.

The stones embedded among the thorns to form the wall cracked and broke, raising gray dust.

Being in the Cursed Ground did not mean even the dust was black or purple. Rock was simply rock.

Over the purple earth of the Cursed Ground, night had fallen. Even in the pitch darkness, where colors could no longer be distinguished, dust rose into the air.

Something pale blanketed everything in every direction as though painting over the darkness of night.

Amid the roar and dust, a brief silence drifted through the air. Even the attacking Demon Creatures looked ready to retreat at the sound and tremors.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, too stunned to speak.

Could the one who built an Iron Wall cut down a wall as well?

Eyes filled with surprise turned toward Enkrid.

They were the Madman Knights, though. They were surprised, but not so shocked that they lost their senses.

"He cut it down instead of breaking through?"

Fell muttered that. Even through the flying dust, Fell had seen it, and his pupils kept trembling.

'How is something like that even possible?'

That was the meaning behind the words. Yet it was not merely shock. More precisely, if someone asked how it felt to see such a thing...

"Did you ask what we could dooo-?!"

Ruagarne's cry spoke for that feeling.

Thump.

Hearts pounded, and excitement rose of its own accord. Damn it, he could do something like that? Something like that was possible?

Those thoughts continued, and everyone grew thrilled.

In place of a battle cry, Frog's Cry burst from Frog's mouth and thundered in every direction. The question Frog's vocal cords put to the enemy echoed all around.

Audin paused his punching.

'Brother.'

Admiration welled up in him, and an involuntary exclamation escaped him. Enkrid had cut down a wall with a sword. Rather than competitive spirit, Audin wished to praise the feat Enkrid had shown and demonstrate something himself.

Before him was the part of the wall his fists had just punched through.

"Lord."

He threw himself into the wall he had split and broken open. Inside was a place that could fairly be called a thorn jungle, full of writhing, tangled growth.

"Insane."

Ropord muttered in shock at the sight.

Audin had thrown himself into the thorn-wood wall, which was already squirming as it repaired itself. The moment Audin entered, the wall seemed to pour all its strength into recovering, and its restoration sped up severalfold.

On top of that, thorn-vines tangled together and sealed the entrance Audin had gone through.

After the time it took to exhale twice, the hole Audin had entered was sealed with thorn-vines. Then light began leaking through the gaps in the wall formed by distorted faces of vengeful spirits, thorn-vines, and crumbled stones.

The beams of light flowing through the roughly blocked hole grew thicker. Their number began to increase, and the scattered rays gathered before exploding.

The white sacred light itself made no sound.

Only the thunderous collapse of the things seared by that light followed.

Rruumble.

The earth trembled as the damaged section of the wall collapsed, dropping thorn-vines and chunks of stone onto the ground.

A ballista Demon Creature Jaxon had not finished dealing with was swept away in the collapse, falling with a thud and spraying black blood in every direction.

The eyes of those avoiding the falling debris turned to Audin this time.

If Enkrid had cut down the wall, Audin had made a massive hole in it.

"Ha, ha, ha! This is delightful, brother!"

The gleaming armor over his natural physique was his symbol.

The thick thorn-vines covering him and the stones etched with vengeful spirits were frozen in the very pose of mouths thrown open in silent screams.

Grotesque as it was, Audin looked at it with a broad smile, beaming with utter happiness and satisfaction.

"The Lord awaits you in the heavens."

The cacophony of curses and screams the wall had been making stopped completely. The thorn-vines that had resisted until the end went limp as well.

"These crazy bastards, what the hell..."

Only then did the one who had repeatedly taunted them before come out. A corrupted spirit followed behind him, and Enkrid realized for the first time that an elf's eyes could grow that wide.

'Ah, has it become a different species to the point it can no longer be called an elf?'

They fed on vital energy, so they were elves. They lived in the Cursed Ground, so they were corrupted spirits.

With a longbow in its left hand and a needle-like sword at its left hip, the corrupted spirit fixed both eyes on Enkrid. Meanwhile, Sinar glared at it.

Someone unfamiliar with her might have called it a steady gaze. But Enkrid had grown familiar enough with an elf's expressions to know it was a glare.

"You thing, rotted and decayed until even your shape has changed."

The corrupted spirit glanced at Sinar when addressed, but the scene unfolding before it was simply more absurd.

What kind of lunatic human cut down a wall with a sword and smashed another apart with bare fists?

There were lunatics like that here.

"You, all of you, really..."

The man who was said to be the castellan, Sorcerer, or Apostle of the Red Foot could not bring himself to continue.

What kind of bastards are these?

Ruagarne puffed out her cheeks as she watched. She was satisfied. With her cheeks puffed out, Frog opened her mouth.

"Well? That is the answer to your question about what we can do."

The castellan swept his gaze around. Seeing the Demon Creatures lying dead and no summons or signals, he assumed the three corrupted spirits that had been on the wall were dead as well.

It was absurd, but that did not mean he had forgotten what he needed to do. Besides, this was not the first time a wall had collapsed.

"Kill them."

The moment he finished speaking, dark forms rose from behind Audin's and Enkrid's shadows.

They were corrupted spirits specialized in assassination, with purple skin, curved daggers in hand, and remarkable skill at concealing their sound, scent, and presence.

Looking at the two, Jaxon judged that they could easily claim positions in Georg's Blade.

Two shadows rose. Another shadow, that of an ally, rose behind the assassin-type corrupted spirits. Jaxon drew his Stiletto across the neck of the one reaching for Audin from behind.

As its neck was cut with a slicing sound, a thwack rang out from the head of the one targeting Enkrid.

It was the sound of Jaxon's silence dagger flying in and embedding itself in its head.

The one with a dagger planted in its head made a motion of stabbing at empty air with its curved dagger, then collapsed.

"Was that necessary?"

Enkrid turned and asked. He had left Duskforge where it was, with his left hand resting on Penna. He could have blocked it himself. He had been focused, and although he had poured Will into cutting down the wall, he had not completely exhausted himself. In other words, he felt no depletion.

"No need to thank me, right?"

Audin was much the same. He might have taken a slash, but sacred light still covered his entire body.

What covered him was not some Will-formed blade like the one Ragna had shown, but armor made of sacred light that no ordinary metal could easily pierce.

"It felt like my job."

Jaxon replied nonchalantly. The true resident of the Cursed Ground who served the Red Foot, whether he was a castellan, a Sorcerer, or something else entirely, was no longer even surprised.

Right, so none of you are pushovers, is that it?

Footnotes:

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