CHAPTER 654: CHAPTER 654 - SPARRING AND REAL COMBAT

Chapter 654 - Sparring and Real Combat

The fairy leading the way had once worked as a mercenary for the information guild, learning much in the process.

His eyes scanned the surroundings, a habit ingrained in him to remember whatever he saw.

His gaze fell upon a knight in black armor sprawled on the ground. A familiar face.

’Black Serpent Ele?’

He had met him by chance, merely passing by, but the sight of that armor had stuck with him.

It was too distinctive to forget.

The engraved names on it stood out clearly. The black armor exuded an ominous aura, yet the names etched into it carried a deep sense of affection.

’Olivia, Sophia.’

Unforgettable details.

Considering the situation, he could piece together what had happened. The fairy who had become Ermen’s successor was now their guide.

His eyes continuously read the traces of the battlefield.

’He took them all down alone.’

It would have been shocking enough if three had ganged up on Black Serpent Ele to take him down, but the reality seemed to be the opposite.

"They’re cultists. They called him the Apostle of Rebirth," said Luagarne.

The fairy nodded cautiously, shifting his gaze.

The body wielding a staff with a round iron ring at the end had to be the one.

An Apostle of the Rebirth Church.

The evil of the continent.

The devil’s representative.

There were many names for the entity Enkrid had slain.

Not a demon, but a man who had committed acts even worse than one. It was said that he had singlehandedly massacred an entire city. That he had turned hundreds of people into wraiths through a curse. Given another decade or two, he might have become a figure of legend.

That was the fairy’s assessment.

"He was strong, but not unbeatable," Fel boasted.

Now that he understood the situation, the fairy couldn’t hide his shock.

It was an event too surprising to keep his composure.

Was this real?

"You killed an Apostle?" he asked.

"It’s probably a fake," Enkrid answered nonchalantly.

He genuinely meant it.

The fairy judged his words to be true.

While his own eyes widened in shock, Enkrid remained calm, as if it were nothing.

"A fake?"

That didn’t seem right.

When the fairy asked again, Luagarne shook her head and called out to Enkrid.

"Enki."

"What?"

"When we return, have a spar with Rem."

"I was going to do that anyway."

"Then you’ll understand."

Understand what?

The fairy wasn’t sure, yet he had an inkling.

"If this is a fake, then the ones who staged it deserve to be called the continent’s greatest traveling theater troupe.

Otherwise, they must be thieves living with their souls pawned away. That armor and the Apostle’s staff are both incredibly valuable artifacts."

Ermen’s successor had many strengths, but he also had a flaw—he talked too much for a fairy.

After spouting his observations in one breath, he looked at Enkrid.

"That so?"

Enkrid only gave a slight nod, but the fairy inhaled deeply and then, as if settling in for a long tale, began to speak.

"Yes, that’s the symbol of Black Serpent Ele, and the staff in the Apostle’s hands is made of magic metal. Do you know what magic metal is? Ah, this reminds me of my first year as a mercenary in the information guild. Back then, the guild’s receptionist was a woman named Emily. She was always curt with me, and at first, I thought she disliked me. But no, I was just unfamiliar with human customs at the time. My instincts told me she liked me, yet her words were sharp. Thanks to her, I learned a lot about human speech and behavior—especially bedroom manners. Ah, not that I fathered any mixed-blood children or anything. Anyway, because Emily looked out for me, I was able to take on my first mission..."

Fairies weren’t naturally talkative.

His habit of rambling had developed as a coping mechanism while adapting to human society.

Fairies couldn’t lie, yet as an information guild mercenary, he often needed to fabricate things.

After days of deliberation, he found a workaround: drowning his audience in unrelated stories to confuse them. It had become second nature.

Among fairies, this wasn’t a problem.

They were patient and adept at picking out the important details from his words.

Enkrid also understood him, but that didn’t mean he liked listening. The monologue had gone on too long.

"Summarize," Enkrid interrupted.

The fairy had just begun talking about his second date with Emily.

"Huh?"

He was obedient.

After all, this was his idol speaking.

"Condense it."

"Uh, well..."

Realizing he didn’t need to embellish, the fairy finally gave a straight answer.

"It’s expensive."

Enkrid observed him and thought, Not Ermen, but this guy—he’s more like Krais.

That single, compressed remark reminded him of the way Krais spoke about trade.

Perhaps it was the weight of experience.

Then again, it made sense.

As someone involved in commerce on behalf of his kin, his mindset had naturally developed this way. It wasn’t a bad thing.

Living in the continent meant interacting with humans and other races. Isolation wouldn’t work; communication was essential. And trade—the exchange of goods—was the most natural form of interaction.

It was far easier to argue over profits than to start with mutual understanding and respect.

Of course, Enkrid didn’t dwell on such thoughts. He left that to Krais and Abnaier. He simply asked what he was curious about.

"Why is it expensive?"

"That staff is made from a metal that can absorb and retain magic. Over time, it becomes attuned, which is why it’s sometimes called a living stone. Some even call it a Philosopher’s Stone. Actually, let me rephrase. It’s not just expensive—it’s valuable enough to buy a small castle."

I see.

Who should I give it to? Esther? Krais?

Enkrid simply nodded, lost in thought.

No more obstacles blocked their return.

The death of a cultist would ripple across the continent—not as a storm, but as a drizzle spreading far and wide.

After all, he hadn’t been one to act openly. He had lurked in the shadows, pulling strings from behind the scenes.

If Enkrid hadn’t been this much of a threat, the Apostle of Rebirth wouldn’t have needed to step forward. In other words, Enkrid had thwarted countless schemes by the cult so far.

On a smaller scale, he had destroyed the Gnoll colony. On a larger scale, he had ended Naurilia’s civil war.

Along the way, he had even slain the Apostles of Curse and the one controlling the Walking Fire.

From the perspective of the Apostle, this was intolerable.

It had become a problem that had to be dealt with, even if it meant postponing other tasks and mobilizing all available power. Objectively speaking, it was reasonable to step in personally. In fact, the real question was why he hadn’t acted sooner. But the reason for that was Enkrid himself.

No matter what was done, he refused to die.

Curses didn’t affect him, and even the walking fire couldn’t kill him.

Even when the most infamous assassins on the continent were sent after him, their severed heads returned.

Well, in truth, Enkrid had died countless times—but that was something only he knew.

"It’s raining."

Fel, who was walking ahead, remarked.

As he said, raindrops started to fall. Instead of snow, it was rain—perhaps the sky was signaling the end of winter.

And after a few more days, when they returned to Boder Guard, Luagarne clearly felt the change in Enkrid.

"...This is insane. What the hell did you do?"

Rem had been defeated.

The result of a one-on-one spar with Enkrid.

But Enkrid, standing there somewhat awkwardly, merely asked in return.

"Don’t mess around. Go all out. There’s no need to hold back."

"Heh, fine. Let’s put our lives on the line, you crazy bastard."

That day, Rem went all out.

***

If the battle wasn’t about killing but purely sparring, few sword styles were as formidable as the Wavebreaker Sword.

It was a technique honed through hundreds of duels—perhaps it was only natural for it to be exceptional.

A moment ago, Rem had subtly shifted his footing—swinging his axe at Enkrid’s head while simultaneously stepping down on Enkrid’s foot with his right leg.

If Enkrid dodged the axe by moving his foot back, Rem’s foot would land where Enkrid’s had been, allowing him to secure an advantageous position and continue his attacks without pause.

It was an impromptu maneuver—one that couldn’t be easily read and countered in a tactical exchange. If his opponent dodged, they’d be forced onto the defensive.

If it had been the old Enkrid, he would have relied on his sturdy body, deflecting the axe with his sword while allowing his foot to be stepped on.

Or he would have withdrawn, momentarily falling into a defensive position before finding a way to break free.

But this time was different.

Enkrid lifted his foot and kicked Rem’s away while simultaneously using the short sword he had received from the Fairies to deflect the axe.

Neither of these movements lacked power compared to Rem, and the timing was flawless.

It was only possible because two separate thought processes were occurring simultaneously.

For a brief moment, Rem was shocked that his attack had been broken. But that didn’t mean he hesitated.

Thud.

The clash of sword and axe wasn’t particularly loud.

Yet at that moment, Rem felt an immediate sense of danger.

And that danger quickly materialized.

Using the recoil from deflecting the axe, Enkrid drove his short sword downward.Rem had neither the time to dodge nor the means to block it—his only option was to grab Enkrid’s wrist with his left hand.

Just as he thought he had secured the sword-wielding wrist—

Thunk.

A headbutt.

Tactics and strategies meant nothing at that moment. Rem stumbled backward.

Dazed by the sudden impact, he swung his axe in front of him—but of course, there was nothing there.

That was the end of it.

Enkrid didn’t press the attack further. Instead, he simply looked at Rem with a curious gaze.

Even though it was just a spar, even though he couldn’t go all out, this was unsettling.

He didn’t say it aloud, but one undeniable fact remained.

Did I lose?

Rem’s pupils trembled.

Even when fighting that bastard Ragna, he had never been so overwhelmed.

Of course, if he used every ounce of his spiritual power through Invoking or Descent, this wouldn’t have happened.

And losing just because of a single headbutt?

That wasn’t right either.

But this was a spar.

Given how things had unfolded, it wouldn’t be wrong to call it a loss.

What if Enkrid had continued his attacks after the headbutt?

Speculating on things that hadn’t happened was meaningless.

I... could have lost.

Rem revised his thoughts.

If victory and defeat were measured in probabilities, he was now at least 80% likely to lose.

Shocked, he asked Enkrid what he had done.

Enkrid dismissed it as a joke.

So this time, Rem got serious and swung his axe with real intent—

"Damn, you’re blocking everything."

But Enkrid blocked everything.

"I call it the Wavebreaker Sword."

"My axe should be more ferocious than the waves."

"That so?"

Their words lacked humor.

They were both too serious for that.

And yet, Rem couldn’t overpower him.

No—if anything, he was slightly being pushed back.

This is absurd!

Enkrid’s Will was like an unending, bottomless well.

Rem wouldn’t go down easily, but if this dragged on into a war of endurance, he knew he wouldn’t win.

Even in a real fight, I’d lose.

His natural talent told him as much.

How could he not be shocked?

Especially since the weapon in Enkrid’s hand wasn’t even his primary one—it was just a short sword.

Granted, that sword was undoubtedly a treasure.

But it wasn’t enough to give him an advantage.

In fact, its short length should have been a disadvantage.

"Let’s go again."

A brief spar followed.

A very brief one.

"That’s enough."

With those words, Rem twisted his wrist and swung his axe four times before retreating.

It was a technique he had recently used against Ragna, one that had once caused Ragna’s grip to falter.

By channeling divine energy through his body, even these small movements carried enormous power.

But Enkrid simply angled his sword and deflected every single strike—despite their tricky angles.

Clang, thud, ting, clang!

The clash of their weapons was like a melody.

When their spars finally ended, Audin—who had been quietly reciting prayers and scriptures—was now standing and watching.

Meanwhile, Ragna, who had been dozing under the warm sunlight, had also risen, resting a hand on his sword’s grip.

Up on the rooftop, Jaxen had leaned forward, resting his chin on clasped hands, eyes gleaming.

All three of them had seen it.

And they had all felt it.

***

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