WeTried Translations

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

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Chapter 773: Faking It

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The corrupted spirit possessed combat strength on the level of a Knight, and this was the Cursed Ground. Just as elves drew on the vital energy of the forest, she treated the air of the Cursed Ground as her own vital energy.

This land, this place, was both a battlefield and an environment that favored her.

The corrupted elf who had been firing Black Lightning was confident she could cut down several of them on her own.

True, they had just sliced through the castle wall and one of the witches was dead, but that was a different matter from fighting people directly.

Moreover, one-on-one combat was her specialty.

The corrupted elf had been startled a moment ago, but now she displayed a calm momentum founded on that confidence. Though angered by a few insults, she showed no sign of wavering.

All of it hinted at the extent of her martial prowess. Anyone who had held a sword and seen real combat would find it difficult to miss such clues.

"I'll handle this alone. This is my obligation."

Even so, Sinar told everyone that she would do it herself.

Ragna had never been interested to begin with, and Audin and Teresa knew how to respect someone else's intentions.

Enkrid glanced at Sinar, then shifted his gaze to the blue-eyed witch.

Is she hiding more tricks somewhere?

It seemed likely. Judging by what they had done so far, it felt all the more plausible.

The Apostle would not remain idle either.

The corrupted spirit took in the others standing beyond the lesser kin before her.

There were many opponents to deal with.

Behind them, some were fighting the modified Demon Creatures. The bear beastfolk was tearing apart the crystal-armored golem with his bare hands, then crushing even the grotesque mass of flesh that burst out from within it.

"The Lord will welcome you all!"

Madness rang in the beastfolk's shout.

There was also a man calmly crossing the battlefield toward the Apostle.

The others were all skilled fighters as well.

'More than three at once would be difficult.'

So what should she do? Gather magical power from afar, fire arrows, and deal with them one at a time. Apart from one-on-one combat, swift feet were another of her strengths.

In an instant, the corrupted spirit decided the order in which to deal with them.

'One arrow for the one approaching the Apostle. Two for the bear beastfolk. Find an opening to kill the half-breed mongrel with the shield, then target the backs of the two fighting the Demon Creatures.'

In the meantime, the remaining witch would buy her time.

It was a tactic devised in an instant to secure victory. She was clever, and in a way, it was a reasonable plan.

But making a plausible plan and having it unfold as intended were different matters.

"You're thinking."

Sinar spoke as she watched the corrupted spirit's eyes move.

Though angered by Sinar's insults, the corrupted elf had coolly assessed the situation. She was no simple fool.

What irritated Sinar, however, was that she herself was not in that gaze at all. She could tell the corrupted elf before her saw her as a weed not even worth pulling, something that would die on its own if left alone.

"Ah, right. There was some lesser kin here."

At Sinar's words, the corrupted spirit's focus returned to her.

Sinar's instinct had been right. The corrupted spirit did not consider an elf who merely spat insults to be a dangerous foe. They had split apart long ago, to the point that they could be called different races now, but corrupted spirits and elves still shared many similarities.

Their roots lay with the elves, after all.

In other words, she knew full well how pathetic an elf without the protection of vital energy could be.

She would slit Sinar's throat as she passed and move on to the next enemy.

It would not be a bad idea to tear apart that mouth and make it wider while she was at it.

That tongue had been especially sharp.

Sinar read the momentum her opponent displayed, and the corner of her mouth rose slightly. A faint smile settled on her face.

As though there was no more need for words, the corrupted spirit approached and swung her sword. Her footwork and movements were simple and unadorned. Yet its speed and unexpectedness were not so different from what Jaxon had shown a moment ago.

There was no sound of feet kicking off the ground, nor was there any sound of the sword cutting through the air. Every motion, from approaching head-on to swinging the blade, was utterly natural.

Just as one could not stop the wind with a hand, it felt as though the corrupted spirit's blade could not be stopped either.

The blade fell, and Sinar's beautiful, inhuman-looking face appeared to split in two.

There was no sound. Only a faint afterimage remained.

Assimilation, blending into the surrounding environment in an instant, was originally an elven technique.

Though it was the corrupted spirit displaying it now.

The split head blurred and vanished.

It was Sinar, who had leaped sideways while leaving a faint afterimage behind. Still smiling, she moved the Leaf Blade.

Known as the Four Seasons Sword, it passed through spring, summer, and autumn before arriving at winter.

Thus, the leaf-shaped Naidhl, which symbolized spring, became the Needle Blade, the pointed thorn that symbolized winter.

All of it was possible because it responded to the vital energy an elf possessed.

The Naidhl in Sinar's hand had already changed into a pointed shape. It was now the narrow, long-bladed form of the Needle Blade.

The Needle Blade shot forward in a thrust.

The corrupted spirit raised her mottled black and dark-gray sword and blocked it.

Tang.

With the small sound, Sinar stopped with her sword extended. The corrupted spirit held her sword horizontally to block, the blade covering the corner of her mouth as she looked at Sinar.

Her black pupils and gaze boiled with intense desire. Bloodlust, the desire to tear and cut flesh.

Black light slowly began to flow from her eyes, which were filled with demonic energy. Green light also flowed through Sinar's eyes, while pale green light began to run along the Needle Blade in her hand.

Soon, amid the unpleasant fishy stench of the Cursed Ground, a crisp and refreshing scent of grass began to spread.

"......"

The corrupted spirit's eyes above the blade widened. Surprise was plainly visible on her face once more.

Keeping the smile at the corner of her mouth, Sinar murmured, "Did you think I came all the way here without any preparation? My name is Sinar Kirhaise. On behalf of all children of flowers and trees, I will claim the life of the one who betrayed our kin long ago."

With their blades pressed together, Sinar savored the vital energy contained in her sword. As she said, she had not come here without preparation.

She simply had not had enough to use it twice, so she had conserved it. Her sword was filled with the forest's vital energy.

That was why, when she had complained that the air of the Cursed Ground gave her a headache and leaned her head on Enkrid's shoulder, she had not been faking it.

'Faking it.'

Of course, Enkrid, watching from afar, had every reason to think that.

'With something like that hidden, she pretended to be sick?'

Sinar had whined so much that he could turn that thought over twice.

Enough to make him wonder whether she was truly several centuries old or merely twelve.

Yet now that she had stepped forward, she looked not only fine but overflowing with energy.

Then the two women of different skin colors began crossing swords. Their two-colored blades traced lines as they met and parted.

Thunk.

The sound was small, but the aftermath was not.

A gust surged between them.

A strange wind, half carrying a fishy stench and half the scent of a forest, swept through the area.

At a glance, Enkrid did not think Sinar would lose.

Of course, every battle had to be seen through to the end, and a difference in skill did not guarantee victory.

Even so, Enkrid trusted Sinar. He respected her decision to step forward alone and settle it herself.

The embers that had crackled and bounced in the sky had already faded. The flickering lights went out.

It was just before every trace of those embers vanished completely.

"I'll chew every last one of you up and swallow you whole!"

It was the remaining witch.

The red-eyed one's death had ignited the blue-eyed witch's fury. Chasing Jaxon's trail, she repeatedly flung her hands in his direction.

Telekinesis gathered where her hands pointed, and blade-shaped gusts of wind swept out.

Jaxon used the foremost strategy for fighting a spellcaster.

He immediately widened the distance and moved in a curve to escape the Mage's line of sight.

In other words, he ran until his feet were drenched in sweat.

The spellcaster did not let Jaxon escape. Instead of tracking his movements with her eyes, she simply manifested a spell throughout the area.

"You cannot stand proudly alone among the crows."

It was not a Borrowed Spell that borrowed the power of another being, but a Creation Spell.

As the spell spread, Jaxon realized there was no point in hiding himself. He could probably force his way through it if he pushed himself, but there was no reason to do so here.

The witch's spell scattered a faint dust-like substance throughout the surroundings, and anyone who moved left a trail.

No matter how well one concealed their presence, a physical body could not avoid leaving such traces.

Thus, Jaxon had no choice but to focus on evasive maneuvers.

So he did.

When an armored skeleton obstructed his path, he broke several of its bones. He tripped it and threw it aside while continuously evading the spells.

Then, just as light flashed from the witch's hand, Jaxon sensed danger. He grabbed an armored skeleton soldier, used it as a shield, and rolled across the ground.

The light that began in the witch's hand burned through a Demon Creature, leaving only a flickering afterimage in the eyes.

Bang!

As several bone fragments blasted apart by the light came flying toward him, Enkrid began walking.

He had not coordinated directly with Jaxon, but they had spent no small amount of time together.

While Jaxon drew the witch's attention, Enkrid steadily approached from behind her.

It formed a pincer attack from the front and back.

'Not a bad setup.'

Jaxon's position and his own were good.

They were well placed to divide the witch's attention between front and back.

His physical condition was fine as well.

He was not injured anywhere, and his Will had begun to recover somewhat. It could not be called a perfect state, but Enkrid, who had lived by the sword for a long time, knew that his current state was always the best available one.

No, he knew that he had to believe it was.

If one could not always eat well and rest well before a fight, then it was right to recognize that the present was always one's best condition.

It was one of the principles he had heard, learned, and grasped while pouring Krona into training.

That mindset itself also greatly helped in using Will.

The fact that a Knight's vow influenced Will was proof that one's usual state of mind mattered as well.

His steaming forearms ached, but he could simply regard that as having finished warming up.

"How dare you, how dare you, how daaaare youuuuu!"

The blue-eyed witch shouted as though she had gone completely mad, moving her hands and feet wildly.

Then she chanted a spell again in a calm voice.

She seemed to be a textbook example of a split personality.

"Hound of Hualin."

With such distinct duality on display, she certainly looked insane. Wind rose from beneath her feet, scattering her hair and puffing out the robe draped around her.

As she extended a hand, thick black liquid dripped from her fingertips. Then black hunting hounds rose from the ground.

They were magical lifeforms made of soot.

It was also a spell Enkrid had seen many times before.

Had he seen it in the west? It was one of the spells Cultists often used, and she used it skillfully.

The only difference from those he had seen before was that these were a dark crimson-black, making them look even rougher and fiercer.

Even so, Enkrid remained calm.

That was only natural. He simply had to swing his sword as he approached, strike them aside, cut them down, and sever them.

The Magic Beasts forged through magic lunged at him with their black fangs bared, and Enkrid swung his sword.

Graceful lines were drawn countless times as he cut and cut again.

Everything cut by Duskforge scattered like dust and vanished.

The blue-eyed witch was no fool either. She continuously used spells that struck with physical force.

Chunks of rock rose into the air with a grinding rumble through the gaps in the ruined castle wall, then flew toward him.

The problem was that they were far too slow compared to the Black Lightning arrow.

He had recognized and deflected even that arrow, so avoiding mere chunks of rock was no difficult task.

Enkrid stepped aside, skillfully placed a hand on the rock, and pushed it with force.

Unable to fly despite their wing-like appendages, the human-faced dogs were struck by the flying rock. It rolled through them, crushing seven or eight Demon Creatures.

"Kraaak!"

The witch saw it, and her gaze darted wildly in every direction as she grew agitated. Even so, there was nothing she could do.

Enkrid cut through spells as he approached, and whenever an opening appeared, silent daggers flew in.

The witch used every means at her disposal against the two closing in from front and back, but she could not stop their advance.

Then she did something similar to what the dead red-eyed one had done.

Crack.

Her bones twisted, and her body changed. Black bloody foam rose from her swelling torso, and six more hands burst from her back.

Those hands formed hand seals again and again, manifesting a new forbidden art.

More precisely, it was a spell that summoned a portion of a demon's power.

Footnotes:

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