Shinar spoke as she listened to the Dragonkin.
"He's re-inputting and reviewing the grammar."
It was a process of repetition, like recalling an old memory.
He was pulling out forgotten memories one by one, things he had once learned and mastered but hadn't used for a long time.
It was like heating a dull blade in the fire to set a new edge.
For those who live an eternal life, it could be called an essential skill.
An eternal life without oblivion would be a hellish pain.
Among the elder-class elves in the city of Kiraheis who did not easily show their faces, there were such individuals.
They were beings who hadn't shown their faces even when the city was on the verge of being devoured by a demon.
It wasn't because they were apathetic, but because they had already half-entered a state of eternal rest.
Very rarely, one of those elders would awaken, and what he was doing now was similar to what she had seen then.
The Dragonkin, as Shinar had guessed, recalled his memories and spoke again.
"Flee. It is fine to run away. I will block it."
A sharp edge had been put on the dull blade.
His grammar was clear, and his sentences made sense.
No one reacted to the Dragonkin's words.
They all just glanced at their commander.
Even Shinar waited for his command.
Enkrid had just fought this being.
A conversation of swords, should he call it?
In doing so, he had faintly sensed something, and whatever the Dragonkin said, he would just say what he had to say.
"You're a bit peculiar."
You were fighting me just a moment ago, and now you're suddenly going to block it?
Weren't you the one who blocked my path to kill the Salamander in the first place?
The weight contained in his sword had been too heavy to be called a light whim.
This opponent was not a man who spouted lies.
That's how Enkrid saw him.
Even if his intuition wasn't always right, he was confident in this part.
Themares, judging that there was still time, responded to Enkrid's words.
"Am I?"
It was a question in return.
Themares knew he was special because he was a Dragonkin.
But at this moment, he thought that the man who had just spoken was even more peculiar.
Look at this steadfast will.
Enkrid wasn't the only one who had sized up his opponent by crossing swords.
Moreover, a Dragonkin possessed extraordinary senses.
'A unique human.'
That's how Themares saw Enkrid as well.
That human is unwavering.
He is like a ship that is moored without a single anchor.
It seems he would endure even if a storm raged.
It was mysterious.
And that mystery stimulated the very core of the Dragonkin.
A grand dream, an intelligent being imbued with will—he was a human who was truly a delight to watch.
He was interesting, brought enjoyment, and created a sense of expectation.
What is this man's duty, and what is the foundation upon which this will is built?
It was the first time in his life that the Dragonkin had felt such curiosity, and for anyone, the first time is always intense.
It is something you can tell by looking at the expression of a child who has eaten a sweet cookie for the first time in their life.
He had seen beings with a steadfast will before and had shown them favor, but this was the first time it had been this stimulating.
Was it the feeling of having seen only small ponds and lakes before, and now facing the ocean?
A pleasure of that magnitude welled up in Themares's heart.
That is why he wished even more for him not to die.
A human who could evoke such an emotion in a Dragonkin was truly rare.
Exceedingly rare.
In front of him, whatever the vertically slit yellow eyes were saying, Enkrid's mind was processing thoughts on its own.
One of them was briefly reviewing the fight from a moment ago.
There were two reasons he had called him peculiar.
One was his personality, and the other was his skill.
To be precise, should it be called his changing skill?
'Was he hiding his skill?'
A single train of thought branched off, replaying the situation.
Enkrid recalled what his opponent had shown.
The white longsword had bent and parried his sword, and before that, he had exerted a coercive force with a Word of Command.
'No, more than that, wasn't the fight itself awkward?'
It was.
It had been.
How should he put this more simply?
If he were to replace it with a single, very simple sentence...
'His skill at judging distance steadily improved.'
In the first blow, his sense of distance was terrible.
He had made up for it with his unbelievable athletic ability.
Judging the distance is the basis of a fight.
It's the same whether you hold a sword in your hand or throw a punch.
His technique for judging that distance had changed.
And starting from that point, everything began to change.
'The position of his feet and the way he extends his shoulder.'
After the distance, his posture had changed.
It was an unfamiliar form, but it was followed by movements that followed the logic of battle.
Swordsmanship is what has developed to fight, to win, and to kill.
His opponent had faithfully followed that aspect.
'The last three attacks were all sharp.'
Especially the last third one, which Enkrid had also dodged by a hair's breadth.
The blade, bent like a white snake, had been aiming for his forearm.
'Parrying the blade while cutting.'
It was a movement like a textbook, but half a beat faster.
He played with the rhythm and mixed in techniques.
It was as if he were a person who had read through a swordsmanship textbook, trained each part properly, and then mixed them back together.
'Is this assessment correct?'
He was that peculiar.
Where did that peculiarity come from?
Was he out of practice in fighting, just as he was out of practice in speaking?
So, was he in the middle of rehabilitation?
If so...
"Let's have one more match after this is over."
Everyone heard their conversation, but no one said anything.
It wasn't the first or second time Enkrid had acted like this.
Showing unprovoked favor, his capabilities went beyond being hard to gauge and were changing in real time.
Just as Themares felt intrigued, Enkrid felt the same.
He wanted to probe the depths of the Dragonkin.
"I must fulfill my duty."
And the Dragonkin also said what he had to say.
Because duty comes before anything else.
If a Dragonkin has no duty, they have no reason to live.
To them, duty is that kind of thing.
The anchor of life, the will that lets them moor in today.
A presence similar to intimidation could be felt from the speaking Themares.
It was a matter that could not be compromised, so his words were imbued with will.
Of course, on the outside, his tone was calm and ordinary.
The reason he felt the will contained within was because he possessed keen senses.
Enkrid could even sense an elf's emotions.
This was no trouble at all.
Enkrid, who felt an interest in the duty the opponent spoke of, asked back.
"And what is that duty?"
His tone was friendlier than ever before.
In truth, he had not been able to feel any malice or killing intent while fighting.
All there was was enjoyment and goodwill.
He was a strange one.
If the opponent's duty was reasonable, wasn't it worth listening to?
It was similar to when he had accepted Dunbakel.
He was acting on a whim.
Perhaps it was because he had intuitively known that the being before him would not attack the city or harm civilians with malice.
"My duty is to protect the being behind me," the Dragonkin said.
His tone was impassive.
There was no intense emotion.
Nor did it seem like he had any convictions or principles.
All that could be seen was a single sense of duty.
'And yet his Will is full.'
He was a truly strange opponent.
The word he had chosen resonated in his chest.
It was what Enkrid had been doing.
If the opponent discussed duty, he too could discuss duty.
And if duty and duty conflict, whose should take precedence?
The truth is decided by the law of the continent.
In other words, the stronger one is right.
However, was killing this man and the Salamander the best option here?
That was the thought that came to him.
Enkrid knows the way of the world.
There is completion, but there is no perfection.
If you obsess over perfection, you will be trapped in today.
If you wish to go to tomorrow, you must not linger on the element of perfection.
But then, is there value in a day that is simply sent away?
A day of doing one's best.
Because he wanted such a today, he deliberated.
For that best, Enkrid asked.
"Protect?"
Who protects whom?
As if in answer to that question, something flew down from above.
Enkrid's sixth sense reacted.
Even though he wasn't fighting, his thoughts accelerated.
Something unseen was falling.
To be precise, it wasn't that he couldn't see it, but that he had felt something that hadn't happened yet.
His body, having sensed death or a threat equivalent to it, reacted.
A red line fell from above his head.
It was as if someone were wielding a very long and thin whip.
Because his sixth sense had activated, his body moved three steps to the side, leaving an afterimage.
The red line drew a line on the ground where Enkrid had dodged.
There was no roar or explosion.
Only a
pssssh
sound and a thin hole of unknowable depth was created.
A haze-like smoke rose from the hole.
In the path the red line had passed, a hot air that distorted even the warm air remained.
A hot wind brushed Enkrid's cheek.
If he had been hit, any part of him would have been instantly severed.
'As much as Ragna's Sunrise.'
It was sharp and hot.
Its length was such that it would have been fine to line up five ordinary men.
Deep and long.
If he hadn't dodged, he would have offered up an forearm.
Of course, no one was hit by that long whip-lash.
It was as they were watching, wondering what was happening.
It was not difficult to figure out the origin of the whip.
It had shot out from between the mass of the flame cloud, which had now lowered and was closer to the party than before.
"A tongue," the Dragonkin said briefly and pointedly, and Enkrid understood him well.
"You're saying that was the Salamander's tongue?" he asked, glancing at the ground.
The Dragonkin nodded.
He didn't know what 'protect' meant, but Enkrid understood one thing.
"As long as I don't kill it, it's fine, right?"
The Dragonkin had told him to retreat, and in the middle of a fight, he had shown his back and tried to protect the party by cutting through the fireball.
Enkrid grasped the situation with his intuition.
The opponent was protecting the Salamander while also preventing that fireball from causing harm to the surroundings.
At the question that came at the end of that entire thought process, the Dragonkin answered.
"Correct."
Then is what the Dragonkin is trying to do now discipline?
He understood that it was something similar to that.
'A terribly misbehaving brat.'
Is he trying to lay a hand on him because he's the kind of kid for whom the rod is sometimes the only medicine?
"Then let's do it together."
Enkrid proposed a temporary alliance.
The Dragonkin nodded.
This man's will is supremely pure.
It couldn't be for nothing that the elf who knows no lies was with him.
"You're not going to take him out and go?" Rem asked from behind.
The 'take out' Rem was talking about was probably directed at the Dragonkin.
Was his name Themares?
He was a Dragonkin whose name he had come to know from hearing him mutter it.
If Enkrid had the will, it would not be impossible to subdue the Dragonkin.
The fight would be easier if even one member of the party joined in, but...
"All units, prepare for battle."
Enkrid ignored him and said.
The interesting thing was that no one showed anything like rebellion.
They were men who had followed his stubbornness well even in the days of the madmen squad.
It was the same now.
They do not question what their commander does.
They just do what they have to do.
In truth, it was a confidence shown because subdueing one Dragonkin and even killing the Salamander if things went south was something easily achievable.
The parasite demon of fire, who had entrusted its thought-form to the Salamander, sneered at them.
'If I can't have it, no one can.'
Among the ascetics of the demon realm, this was something only he could do: waking the Salamander that had entered a state of hibernation or dormancy.
He intended to burn all the bastards who had gotten on his bad side to a crisp.
The fact that a part of the continent would burn in the process was none of his business.
Other beings who wielded influence on this continent would complain, but he could just ignore them.
Now that the Salamander had opened its eyes, this area would probably be destroyed to the point where reconstruction would be impossible for some time.
'But it always comes back eventually.'
A new vitality blooms in the places the Salamander has burned and passed through.
Because it has the power of regeneration.
Though countless would be burned to death in the meantime.
The parasite of heat chuckled, even though it was only a thought-form.
"Die, all of you."
He led his thought-form and stimulated the Salamander.
Agony, pain, and suffering were transmitted through the thought-form to the main body.
He rather enjoyed it.
The parasite of heat knew that if he could not shake off this enjoyment, he would not be able to achieve what he wanted, but...
'How can I give this up?'
It was thrilling.
If he were human, his eyelids would have trembled at the pleasure that was several times stronger than the pleasure felt in a sexual act.
'Now, die, all of you.'
Let's add some more seasoning to this.
By adding human screams, pain, and suffering.
The thought-form could not control the Salamander, so it watched.
It savored the sight of the otherworldly phantom beast swinging its two forelegs after having swung its heat-ray tongue.
The thought-form perceived them as forelegs, but to those directly facing them below, it would look different.
The Salamander's forelegs were fireballs themselves, which would crush and burn the gathered men.
'How will you burn to death?'
Unfortunately, the demon's expectations were not met.
A sky-blue light shot out and cut through one of the fireballs, and the other was met by a white light that did not back down, and the flames died down.
'Hmm?'
The Salamander's two feet were pushed back.

Comments

Loading...