Enkrid sharply turned his head. It was a reflexive action, driven by his sense of evasion, as his body moved instinctively.
In an instant, he took in his surroundings and assessed the situation.
'Krais, staff, chest, sword?'
Enkrid's eyes caught sight of something murky spilling out from the sword stuck in the pedestal.
The grayish substance spread around and enveloped the space, surrounding the tunnel.
Esther's body slammed into the ground with a thud—toward the exit, the way they had come.
The gray veil just barely blocked Esther's path.
Thwack!
The leopard's body hit the veil and bounced back, and Enkrid reached out, catching the leopard in his arms.
It was a movement as swift as the wind.
Enkrid gently cradled the leopard, scanning the area, his other hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
It was the kind of atmosphere where something could leap out at any moment.
"Finn."
With those words, Finn stood behind Enkrid.
Luagarne had taken care of Krais, pulling him away from the staff he had been holding in a daze. She too had become alert.
Enkrid didn't have time to check on Esther; his danger sense instinctively kicked in.
This was the unique danger detection ability that only Enkrid, someone who had died countless times, could possess. And...
'Hmm?'
Nothing. There was nothing.
"...What's going on?"
Meanwhile, Krais's muttering reached Enkrid's ears.
Enkrid's gaze shifted toward him.
"Ugh."
Esther, seemingly uninjured from hitting the veil, spoke.
Enkrid gently set the leopard down and approached Krais.
It appeared Krais had opened the chest with his staff.
Inside the chest, there were no poison darts—only dust and a small letter.
As Krais unfolded the letter, he muttered, "Has it already been looted? Or did that fool Dolph go mad?"
"Let me see."
Enkrid stepped forward and examined the letter.
*Only those who claim the treasure may leave.*
Did we enter through the back door? Sorry, but the traps here are only for those who enter.
Whoosh.
With the sound of the torch crackling, Enkrid let out a small groan.
He could almost hear the sound of the letter's owner chuckling.
That fool Dolph, with his terrible taste.
Treasure? The chest was empty. What about the other chest?
Just then, Krais, with his staff, opened the other chest.
"There's nothing."
That one was empty too.
"It seems in this era, they called sneaking out 'backdoor escape.' Damn it. Treasure, my foot."
Krais held his head in frustration.
A wealthy ancient noble had caused a sharp-witted soldier of the present day to fall into despair.
A wealthy ancient noble had caused a sharp-вitted soldier of the present day to fall into despair.
It was inevitable.
The trap had been laced with magic, and such tricks were impossible to predict.
"No one could have avoided this."
Finn said the same.
Enkrid turned away from the eager look in her eyes. He noticed the sword that still stood on the pedestal.
The sword, which had been covered in moss and dust, had changed.
The blade now shimmered with a faint bluish hue. While the hilt was still so rusted that it looked ready to crumble and the blade was dull, something about it had changed.
'The blade color has changed.'
Could it have been maintained in a place like this? Who would have taken care of it? Did they plant a skeleton soldier here to oil the blade?
The sword was clearly not in pristine condition—it was worn. But it had somehow survived the ages.
That was unusual.
Weapons like swords, if not maintained, would naturally become useless. Normally, a weapon made of metal would have become rusted and shattered if found in an ancient dungeon after all these years.
It was only natural for a sword found in an old dungeon to shatter after one swing.
Over time, the core would have been damaged.
To a mercenary, a weapon was life itself. The less confident they were in their skill, the more they relied on their weapons. That was why Enkrid had always paid close attention to his weapon over the years.
Thus, he had a keen eye for swords.
Even though the blade wasn't sharp, and the hilt was so worn it looked like it would crumble, there was something about the sword that caught his attention.
'The core is still intact.'
It was a decent item. Of course, it needed some maintenance.
If there was anything to be called a treasure, it would be that sword.
"For how long has that bastard Dolph been building this?" Enkrid asked.
"At least fifty years, I'd say," Krais answered, his face still grim as he turned away. With only the sword left, naturally, everyone's gaze focused on it.
A sword that had been stuck in place for over fifty years and was still in such good condition? If that wasn't treasure, then what was?
It was the only thing left.
"I'll pull it out," Krais said.
His discomfort was brief. He quickly stood up, muttered a curse about Dolph, and moved forward.
It was kind of strange.
He had an innate talent for hiding and running away, yet couldn't ignore the messes he made himself.
Before anyone could say anything, Krais grabbed the sword's hilt, only to release it immediately.
"Ugh!"
It seemed he was startled.
Everyone watched him in silence, and Krais continued.
"No, seriously, some crazy guy is chasing me with a sword!"
How could a crazy person be chasing him with a sword just from grabbing the hilt?
"Alright, I'll try it too."
Finn stepped up. Bravery and, at times, recklessness—another word for a ranger.
Those who are brave but reckless, the first to walk ahead, that's exactly what rangers are like.
Before anyone could stop him, Finn grabbed the sword hilt and immediately let go.
"Holy crap, this is real."
Enkrid's gaze lingered on the sword's hilt.
"A cursed sword?"
Luagarne stared at the sword, her hand swiping through the air as she puffed her cheeks.
"A cursed sword, huh?"
She stepped forward. As soon as her hand touched the hilt.
Slurp, whoosh.
"...Huh."
Enkrid made a small noise. Luagarne tried again.
Whoosh.
Her hand couldn't grip the hilt and slid off upwards.
"Wait, I almost saw something."
Frogs had slippery skin, that's why they use loops to hold weapons.
For her, a cursed sword was too smooth and slippery.
There wasn't even a proper pommel at the end of the hilt.
"That's the only treasure here." Krais muttered, glancing at the sword. It seemed he'd have to pull it out.
"Do you trust what Dolph left behind?" Enkrid asked. If they judged it as treasure and pulled the sword, but it turned out to be a deadly trap, there would be no way out.
"Yeah, well, we have to trust it, right? He's a bastard, but Dolph lived his life with honor. They say he never lied. It's probably trustworthy."
If someone like that were to lie, it would be catastrophic, but for now, it seemed they had no choice but to trust him.
Enkrid thought about it, then shook his head subtly as he stood before the sword.
Whoosh, whoosh.
By then, Luargarne had tried several more times to grip the sword.
"I can see it, someone's holding a sword," she said, her eyes half-closed, as if concentrating.
"A cursed sword?" Krais clicked his tongue and fiddled with his fingers. They had to pull out the sword, but every time they touched it, some crazy guy seemed to appear, chasing them with a sword. For a brief moment, he didn't want to meet that person again. He didn't want to see them at all. Cold sweat dripped down his back.
Luawgarne gave up trying to grip the sword and shook her hand, speaking.
"A cursed sword, or more precisely, a sword possessed by an evil spirit."
An evil spirit?
Enkrid, too, had wandered the continent for quite some time, but he'd only encountered an evil spirit once.
It had been a creature called Raithe. An evil spirit that thrived on human anxiety and fear.
He had been hired to deal with it, but there was nothing he could do in that place.
The entire village had been wiped out, and its residents had turned into evil spirits.
It had been horrific.
Mercenaries, armed with steel, had been powerless against them. A priest had to be called in—one who could wield divine power.
'How much did that cost me again?' Enkrid thought.
He had paid from his own pocket. After all, he had been hired, so he had to resolve the issue. That was his mindset.
What was ironic was that the one who hired him was a ghost.
The remnants of a human soul that hadn't yet become an evil spirit, constantly crying and wishing for something.
The child's wishes had been so earnest that she had disguised herself as a street urchin to make the request.
And, as promised, Enkrid had eradicated the evil spirits from that village.
'I think I lost my entire fortune on that one.'
Calling a capable priest, one who could use divine power to banish evil spirits, wasn't cheap.
This was to say that evil spirits were entities that regular mercenaries could not handle.
While Enkrid was lost in these old thoughts, Krais mumbled to himself.
"Oh, then if I kept holding onto it...?"
Luagarne quickly answered.
"That would crush your skull."
That was a chilling response. As Krais absentmindedly rubbed his arm, Enkrid nonchalantly placed his hand on the sword.
Pull the sword out, take it, and then leave. It was a simple proposition. Besides, he was curious.
Enkrid gripped the sword's hilt.
Without even blinking, he could tell that the surroundings had changed.
The air density itself felt different.
It was like standing on thick, sticky mud.
Mud that pulled at his feet.
And from above, something began to fall. A sword. A blade falling vertically down toward him.
His body reacted. Instinctively, he drew the sword and swung it, meeting the falling blade with a horizontal strike.
Clang!
The moment their swords met, Enkrid pushed back with force.
With a heavy noise, the sword, floating in the mist, was pushed back.
He used both strength and recoil, stepping back in the moment he had created. The sticky ground made it difficult to move his feet.
Thud thud.
He stepped back, kicking the ground.
Whoosh!
A breeze blew, and the mist-like fog disappeared behind the floating sword.
Beyond the vanishing fog, his opponent appeared.
The figure was clad in a helmet and plate armor, with blue flames in place of eyes behind the visor.
'What is this?'
There was no speech, no breathing. He couldn't sense any signs of the sword being swung. There was nothing the opponent should have had as a human.
Then, the sword began to move.
Clang, clang
The strikes followed, and Enkrid realized something was wrong with his own body.
'My strength isn't there.'
He had lost something. His reaction speed was about the same, but his body was stiff.
Most importantly, his opponent's swordplay was shockingly structured, with a style that seemed to predict the next few moves.
Whenever Enkrid struck instinctively or reflexively, it was as though the opponent had anticipated it—his sword flowed past Enkrid's and then continued into the next attack.
This time, it was a thrust.
Hiss.
Enkrid inhaled and pulled his body back. He had to retreat. He would need to redirect his focus outward immediately.
Instinctively, he recognized the way out of the situation.
The problem was that his opponent was too close.
'If I hesitate, I'll be cut.'
It was an obvious truth.
Despite his physical abilities, it seemed the opponent could read all of Enkrid's moves.
That was the result.
Thud.
He was struck in the abdomen by a gauntlet wrapped in iron.
But Enkrid didn't back down. With a forceful swing, he struck the enemy's shoulder with his sword.
He aimed for the neck, but it was blocked by the shoulder guard.
'They saw that coming.'
Afterward, the swing he made was barely avoided, but the elbow that followed hit his cheekbone.
Crack.
There's something you learn after experiencing having your neck snapped several times.
It's that you're about to die.
Snap.
Enkrid spat out a final breath. He thought it was the end, but when he opened his eyes, he found himself back to normal. He had escaped either a mental world or a demon's playground.
"Captain?"
He saw the big eyes of Kries looking at him.
Beside him were Finn, Ruagarne, and Ester.
"Are you alright?"
"How long has it been?"
His throat felt strangely dry. Enkrid asked while rubbing his neck.
The pain was still vivid, and he could feel it clearly. His neck felt cold, but it hadn't twisted in a direction he couldn't return from.
It was just the lingering pain and the moment of death.
"It feels like less than a minute."
Enkrid frowned. This was rare. He had died, but hadn't really died?
It was like fighting with bare hands in there, a feeling of fighting without using everything he had, speaking only with the sword.
To Enkrid, it felt like fighting with limbs that weren't even his own.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah."
Enkrid nodded at Krais's words and looked thoughtfully at the sword.
It hadn't been drawn. It was still the same. It looked like a noblewoman watching with pride. Of course, inside the sword was just a lump of metal.
"Did you take the hit?"
Ruagarne asked from the side.
"My neck snapped."
"From inside?"
Enkrid nodded.
At that, Ruagarne fell into thought.
He couldn't physically fight an evil spirit, but the evil spirit hadn't been able to harm him either. It had been the same during his earlier commission.
So, was it the same now?
He didn't think so.
The feeling of death was real. Even though he knew it was fake, it felt just like actually dying.
Being a seasoned expert at dying many times, Enkrid understood that.
Meanwhile, Ruagarne was inspecting the gray curtain. She was feeling it with her fingertips and tapping it.
On the opposite side, Ester was scratching the curtain with his claws.
"What does that leopard know to act like that?"
Finn muttered, seemingly perplexed.
'Maybe?'
Enkrid knew that the Lake Panther near him wasn't normal.
For now, they were all busy assessing the situation.
The answer came from Ruagarne. She tapped the curtain, examined the sword, and despite slipping several times due to the sword's slickness, she tried to grip it a few more times before speaking.
"It's more of a guess."
"What is it?"
Enkrid asked.
She spoke in a serious tone—though reading a Frog's emotional state was difficult, and she wasn't entirely sure.
The words of the Frog, who was standing with his arms crossed, sounded plausible.
"You have to die at least several dozen times. Only then will you see something that might be called treasure."
For Enkrid, this was an easy task, but Ruagarne couldn't know that.

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