Chapter 721 - Interesting
Ragna, who had played along with Enkrid’s move, looked back on the current situation and concluded that he had accomplished his goal to some extent.
’If everyone’s attention is focused here, no one can target Anne.’
This was one of the reasons he had gone after Medusa. Who would redirect their forces to kill some girl just crushing grass in the back while a fierce sword dance is cutting down monsters and a giant beast like that is falling?
He intended to make sure no one had even a moment to think of it. That was his intention. In the end, you could say this was also a way to protect Anne.
Maybe only a madman would think like this, but it worked. Right now, those guys aren’t even thinking about the girl. With just two swordsmen, a situation worthy of being told in future songs, their expressions had darkened.
Well, since their skin tone is already somewhat dark, it might be hard for a human to notice that change in complexion.
’As long as I believe it, that’s what it is.’
Ragna concluded with a light heart. All that’s left now is making it out alive and finishing the rest of the fight.
"Can you fight?" Ragna whispered.
Enkrid clenched and then opened his hand before answering.
"I can fight as well as gentle Rem."
It wasn’t exactly a coded phrase, but it could easily sound like one. Of course, Ragna understood immediately.
There was no such thing as a gentle Rem in this world. Which meant Enkrid couldn’t fight properly right now. He probably couldn’t muster even half of his usual strength.
Seeing how he’d gone a little out of it after beheading Medusa earlier, it made sense.
"That was quite a reckless tactic."
"That one’s from your mother."
"I meant it was brave—brave to the point of being reckless."
No matter how much she was his stepmother, Ragna never used his own mouth to insult his mother; he would never commit such disrespect.
Quickly rephrasing, Ragna just shrugged and stepped in front of Enkrid.
"When we get back to the unit, I’ll have to say I stood in front of my commander to keep him from becoming a burden."
"And you’ll just leave out the part about beheading Medusa?"
"It’s up to the storyteller to decide how the tale begins, isn’t it?"
Dmule found the two bantering up ahead fascinating.
Were they just fearless?
Or had they resigned themselves to death?
If that was the case, there was something he needed to tell them.
"Even if you want to die, you can’t."
His tone was calm, but the person speaking was half a rotting corpse. You might expect it to sound eerie and chilling, but whether it did or not depended on the listener.
"Ah, I agree. I don’t intend to die, either."
Enkrid replied without even taking a breath.
"That’s not what I meant..."
"We didn’t gather here to have tea and chat, so why so many words? Tsk."
He even curtly cut off Dmule’s attempt to speak. Seeing that, you could say the nickname "the knight with a sharp tongue" would suit him perfectly.
The way he spoke, what he said, and his attitude—all three came together.
Ragna was impressed all over again.
Anyone who could understand his words would have a hard time not getting riled up.
And sure enough—
"Kill them."
Dmule burst out in anger.
The rotting, ruined flesh above his eyes moved up and down. Where his eyebrow should have been, a lump of blackened, mashed flesh jutted out like a tumor and quivered.
At his command, his top disciple raised his right hand.
Judging by his actions, he must have been the one manipulating that black mass earlier.
He was the guy with an extra eyeball on his forehead. Ragna knows how to handle a mage. He had picked it up by watching over Enkrid’s shoulder, but for him, that was enough.
It’s simple: always strike before a mage can cast a spell. A straightforward proposition. So, all he had to do was put it into practice.
He planted his feet firmly on the ground, raised his greatsword, and brought it down.
If you looked only at the speed of the swing, it didn’t seem particularly fast. Of course, that was just by knightly standards— to the old man with three eyes, it would be extremely fast. Ragna even mixed an extra step into the straightforward downward slash.
He advanced as he brought the sword down, knowing perfectly well, even without any calculation, the exact reach of his blade. At the speed he was swinging, the tip of his greatsword would split the old man’s head vertically, drawing out whatever hideous thing lurked within.
As Ragna swung, pushing off the ground, a heavy force slammed into his chest even faster than his strike. It happened just as the sword was halfway down toward its target.
Wham!
Ragna’s body was lifted about a span’s length into the air and flung backward. He wasn’t sent very far. He caught himself in midair, managing to steady his balance, and the moment he felt the pressure against his chest, he twisted his waist to absorb the force, so he didn’t take much of a hit.
"My eyes see through even the laws that govern the natural world. Do you really think a mere swordsman could possibly evade my gaze?"
The old man with three eyes revealed his pride. Enkrid was secretly impressed.
"He’s calling us mere swordsmen again."
By now, you’d expect him to be more cautious after all that taunting.
In any case, the three-eyed old man cast spells incredibly quickly. There wasn’t even an incantation, making it impossible to tell when he’d activate a spell.
"You people really know so little. Is that why you charge in swinging swords, without even understanding the ranks among those who use magic?"
As soon as he had a chance to boast, Dmule couldn’t hold back and jumped in—at least, that’s how it looked to Enkrid.
He could only imagine how much Dmule must have shown off back when he was teaching alchemy.
While Dmule was speaking, Ragna thrust his greatsword forward. His opponent wasn’t a knight—if he could just stab straight through, it seemed like he could finish it in one blow; but things didn’t go as he hoped.
Whoosh!
This time, a thick plume of black smoke exploded right in front of Ragna. The smoke transformed into dozens of hands and feet, and into things like swords, spears, and hammers, all blocking his path.
Ragna quickly redirected his thrust, swinging his greatsword up, down, left, and right without hesitation. The blade moved so quickly that raindrops seemed to chase after it as it cut through the air. It looked as if he was conjuring a miniature tempest with his sword, and the hands, feet, and weapons formed from black smoke were swept up in the little storm, smashing apart against his greatsword as though they were solid objects.
Bang! Crash! Crack!
When the noise finally stopped, Ragna blocked something heavy aimed at his knee with his greatsword.
Screeeech!
Something invisible became faintly visible in the rain—it was a blade made by compressing air.
A long scratch appeared on Ragna’s greatsword, and part of the guard covering his knee was torn. If he hadn’t been wearing greaves—shin guards made of iron—he might have suffered a serious wound, but Ragna simply retracted his greatsword and aimed it forward again with his usual calm demeanor.
"Not afraid at all, are you!"
The three-eyed old man shouted angrily and thrust out his hand. This time, lightning struck. Light gathered in his hand, then shot toward Ragna, forking like the jagged branches of a tree.
Ragna lifted his greatsword above eye level, almost tossing it upward as he retreated.
Crack-BOOM!
The lightning smashed into the greatsword, sending it flying far into the distance.
Seeing this, Dmule spoke again.
"One who has only just glimpsed the world of spells is called an ’onlooker.’ That’s the level of someone who’s just begun to understand what a spell is. The next stage is ’one who speaks.’ That refers to those who borrow spells from beings of other worlds and recite incantations."
Is he trying to say that nothing we do matters? That was the feeling he seemed to want to convey.
Dmule waved his decayed hand, his tone implying he was completely unconcerned with the chaos happening beside him. It wasn’t a particularly intentional gesture—just something he did as he spoke. With that motion, a foul stench spread through the air. Enkrid reflexively raised his hand to cover his nose.
Now that he thought about it, the source of that sickly-sweet smell wasn’t Dmule, but the old man with the eye embedded in his forehead—a bizarre look he clearly prioritized.
Dmule turned to teach the two fools standing in front of him. Enkrid couldn’t truly know what was on Dmule’s mind, but going by his gestures and the tone of his voice, that’s what he figured.
Was that the kind of personality that made him teach alchemy on the continent? Did he do it just to show off rather than any noble intention?
Half luck, but Enkrid felt he’d glimpsed Dmule’s true nature.
Dmule spoke again, still using his explanatory tone.
"If you’ve watched and then spoken, what comes next?"
Meanwhile, Ragna had charged in bare-handed, only to leap back in retreat when he found himself facing a golem made of black stone.
Naturally, the old man had summoned the golem.
No matter what Dmule said, Ragna didn’t give any sign he was listening.
Enkrid looked over at Dmule and protested.
"Unlike that delinquent over there, I’m an exemplary listener. Please continue, legendary alchemist Dmule."
He even raised the level of politeness in his speech.
The Luagarne-style Tactical Sword gleamed in his hand. When your body isn’t in its best condition, lulling your opponent into complacency and buying time is a fine tactic too.
Boom!
An explosion erupted where he’d just been standing, tongues of fire flaring up, but the rain quickly snuffed them out.
"Huff, huff."
Ragna was breathing heavily, clearly exhausted to anyone watching.
"You’re like an insect. Just an insect."
The three-eyed old man repeated "just" several times.
Whether he was pleased or not, Dmule’s voice suddenly softened.
"When someone possesses power, they become intoxicated by the thrill of casting spells, growing indulgent. That stage is called Immoderantia. Beyond that is Viliss—the Manifestor. Someone who can bring their own world into existence. And if you transcend even that, do you know what it’s called?"
Judging by the well-timed pause, he could have been a bard. Of course, there probably aren’t many with nerves of steel who could sit in front of that face and listen to him like it’s a friendly chat.
"Tacitus, it’s Muk-in. That’s a rank that grants you the right to break free from the laws of the world. That’s why you’re no longer bound by incantations."
Enkrid knew that even if Dmule wasn’t exactly virtuous, he had still been an excellent teacher. He might have resorted to underhanded tactics, but when it came to teaching, he did it properly. Even now, he took pains to start with basic concepts, gradually expanding, explaining each term one by one. He was considerate. Some humans from certain city knight orders could stand to learn a thing or two from him.
"You just do it like this. Go ahead, give it a try."
After a single demonstration, that was all the "explanation" he gave.
"My student is at Muk-in’s Stage," Dmule added. Muk-in, he’d said, was the rank where you could cast spells without incantations.
Ragna, retreating, turned to Enkrid and asked,
"Are you still so meek?"
As soon as Ragna moved back, invisible shockwaves repeatedly slammed into the ground where he’d been standing, tearing it up.
"It’s a bit irritating, but not enough," Enkrid replied.
He knew that, at best, he could only manage a few sword strikes. Then shouldn’t I do it properly? Would it be enough to cut down that monster? There was no way to know without trying.
"Finish it."
At Dmule’s command, the three-eyed old man raised his hand. Immediately, a horn shot up from the woman’s head beside him. Next, rough scales emerged up her arms, and her snout jutted forward.
"Behold, when I become a god, this will be the new being that rules this land."
She looked like a cross between a Scaler and a human, as if the two had been merged halfway.
Screeeech.
She let out a piercing shriek, then lowered her head, letting her arms hang limply.
Huff, huff, huff.
The monster was catching its breath.
With every inhale, her shoulders and chest heaved, and just from that alone, the presence of this creature—whether beast or Chimera—was overwhelming. The monster writhed, her eyes rolling upward as she cautiously lifted her head. Her gaze was like one peering up from below. The instant those eyes met his, an intangible pressure washed over him. It was telekinesis.
"It will feel as if a hundred strong men are holding you down."
That was the three-eyed old man speaking. If this was how strong it felt just by looking at it, then using it in earnest would be even more terrifying. Ragna reached out to the side.
"If things go wrong, both of us could die here."
"Then who’ll go back and tell the story about you protecting me?"
"You should, boss."
Enkrid handed Penna back to him as he spoke.
"If I’m the only one who makes it back alive, Anne will poison me."
"...Well, there’s nothing we can do, then."
They’d cracked a joke and tried to stall for time, but the danger was still very real. If you die, today just repeats—so is it really fine? No, that wasn’t it. Enkrid couldn’t accept that. If he intended to glide through life complacently, he wouldn’t have struggled this much in the first place. The words the boatman said when he passed out echoed in his mind. You were lucky—nobody died and you made it this far, but do you really think that luck will hold out?
’If it doesn’t work, you just keep going until it does, right?’
He steeled himself. Enkrid pulled together the willpower rising from his battered body.
If things went wrong, he’d have to dance his final blade-dance too, Ragna gripped Penna and took a few deep breaths.
How many times in his life had he fought with someone at his back?
This time, there was someone behind him he absolutely had to protect.
Ragna held Penna tightly, fixing his gaze on the monster standing motionless and the old man behind it.
"No one standing behind me is going to die."
He was learning once more how to fight while protecting someone.
He took what he’d learned from Enkrid and added his own touch.
Ragna was a genius.
He had watched what Enkrid did, and he more or less knew his mother’s techniques too.
He’d only seen them once, but, as he confirmed by smashing the golem’s head just moments ago, he could imperfectly imitate them.
Now, Ragna mixed in his own style as well.
If he failed, well, he’d die.
But did dying really matter?
No—achieving what he wanted was more important.
Right now, Ragna’s wish was to protect those standing behind him.
Given the circumstances, was it a dream that was hard to achieve?
Then he would just have to enjoy it.
"This is fun."
Ragna stole Enkrid’s line.
"Hey, that’s my line."
Enkrid complained.

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