The arm continued.
"Warrior's leg, rise!"
Another cannibal stepped forward and spoke.
He seemed weaker than the one who had just cast a spell.
The cannibal had a colored band wrapped around his head and messy patterns painted on his face.
His filthy leg turned black and then crumbled.
Crack, crack.
It was the backlash of sorcery.
"Grhh..."
The cannibal clenched his teeth and tried to endure the pain.
His muscles, bones, and skin twisted.
A chilling sound echoed as his leg below the knee detached and transformed into a black lump, forming a puddle from which a new muscular black leg emerged.
After making one arm and two legs, one cannibal collapsed, bleeding from his eyes and nose.
His body caved in and soon turned into a pool of black blood, from which a black figure was born.
A thin figure with arms and legs but no head appeared.
One newly formed arm and two legs attached to the torso.
It was ultimately a human-shaped figure, formed from black soot.
Only the left hand remained, and in it was a long stick.
The stick was longer than a sword, more suited to be called a spear.
It was a warrior with a black body.
Born from the black pit, one could call it a black warrior or a warrior who had crossed back from the river of death.
The odd thing was that it had no right arm, only a left arm.
It was one-armed, and its head was just a round lump.
A Knight risen from death is called a Death Knight, the pinnacle of necromancy.
A monster with the strength of a Knight.
The sorcery the cultists had used was of a lower level.
It began by capturing a skilled warrior, tearing out their heart, and using forbidden sorcery to prevent them from dying.
The warrior would be kept in a limbo state for seven days, unsure if they were dead or alive.
Since the heart had been removed, they were dead.
But the forbidden sorcery made the warrior believe they were still alive.
'Whose heart is that?'
The body was dead, but the mind was kept alive.
In that state, the warrior was killed by necromantic sorcery.
A warrior born from death was created in this way.
'I'm not dead yet. Therefore, I can fight. If I win, this nightmare will end soon.'
Since it was dead, it couldn't hear the living. The Death Warrior couldn't speak either.
It had to communicate telepathically, but it had no will to do so. Only the desire to fight and kill remained.
It fought. It killed. It would pierce its opponents with its spear.
It didn't matter who or what stood in front of it.
The whip of Luagarne struck the black warrior's head.
Smack!
The warrior raised its spear and blocked the whip with a spinning motion.
The whip coiled around the spear shaft.
At the same time as the whip was swung, Luagarne rushed forward, slashing with her loop sword.
The blade flew horizontally.
The heavy blade, imbued with Frog's strength, seemed like it would soon split the enemy in half.
The black warrior blocked the blade with the spear shaft.
Clang!
The black rod wobbled as it blocked the blade of the loop sword.
It pulled the spear shaft wrapped in the whip toward itself, overcoming Frog's strength.
The single hand of the black warrior slid down the spear shaft, gripping the bottom and then thrusting the spear wrapped in the whip forward.
Luagarne let go of the whip handle, gripped the loop sword with both hands, twisted it, and deflected the spear shaft with the flat of the blade.
Clang, scratch, screech!
The black spear shaft and the blade of the loop sword scraped against each other, veering left and right.
Luagarne took advantage of the recoil from the push to step back.
A Death Warrior is the creation of a necromancer. Its skill depends on how well it's made.
How skilled was this one-armed spear wielder?
At least a Junior Knight.
If it were alone, she could barely manage it.
It felt like its skill was halved due to its missing arm.
As she wondered where its missing arm was, a thought naturally came to mind.
It was the arm of that bastard from before.
She had killed one of the cultists when she beheaded Knoll before.
The cultist who had cast the spell of the warrior's arm.
It was the same bastard whose right arm had been left intact.
It was the one Encrid had cut down.
Afterward, she had looked around to find the owner of that arm.
Turns out it was here.
Luagarne stepped back and flicked the whip handle off the spear with her sword, catching it again.
At the same moment,
"Burn."
Her voice invoked the spell inscribed on the whip.
The easiest way to deal with such an enemy was to use a magical tool. The whip caught fire from the middle.
The blazing heat made the surroundings swelter.
Even so, victory was not guaranteed.
Her combat instincts, honed through experience and talent, warned her of the danger.
It was because of those glaring eyes watching from behind the Death Warrior.
And that wasn't the end.
A group of humans appeared from behind the gathered enemies in the gorge.
Most had various patterns painted on their faces.
Among them, two stood out: a half-blood Fairy and a half-blood Giant.
They weren't from the western region. It was clear at a glance.
Their race and clothing were different.
The half-blood Fairy had one ear mangled, leaving only a hole where the earlobe had been. The half-blood Giant had a flat nose and a square, rock-like jaw.
Encrid kept chasing the enemy sorcerer.
Rem and Dunbachel were gleefully slaughtering the Giant horde.
A wolf created through sorcery tore through the Giants, protecting the allied warriors who were thrusting spears and throwing stones.
A few westerners approached Luagarne, armed with obsidian-tipped spears.
'This isn't going to work.'
Her battle instincts told her she was doomed.
To be more precise, it would be a meaningless death.
Especially when she saw the one with black hair and blank, white eyes.
Under the left eye, a teardrop pattern dripped, while under the right eye, a dagger with its blade pointing upward was drawn.
The moment she saw him, Luagarne felt an overwhelming sense of dread.
'I'm going to lose.'
If it were just her and the western warriors, it would be certain.
Although usually dull, her combat instincts, honed by Frog's power, were incredibly sharp in battle.
From her perspective, that was the truth.
But so what?
The ones in front of her were cultists.
The cult is an enemy.
So she'll just kill them.
Whether it works or not, the premise of fighting remains the same.
With the enemy before her, her rage was justified.
Grgrggrk.
Half delight, half anger.
Luagarne puffed her cheeks.
Honestly, she didn't think she would lose either.
Her assumptions had all excluded the existence of Encrid, the wild card.
* * *
'Do you think Giants are all I've prepared?'
The one whose words were cut off by the flying blades was the Apostle of the Cult of the Demon Realm.
'I divided the west and created Giants. Do you even know how many seeds I've sown? This has been years in the making.'
How do you plan to stop it?
The cult will sprout here.
Specifically, he planned to summon demons and create something akin to the Demon Realm.
He intended to gather the westerners in one place and kill them all.
Their blood, flesh, fear, despair, and broken hopes.
All of it would serve as material to create something like the Demon Realm in this land.
The Apostle sought to create a new Demon Realm here.
The sword's strikes sealed his mouth. Mana couldn't flow where it should.
Even trying to form hand signs was blocked.
'This bastard.'
The Apostle grew angry.
He knew, however, that acting in rage wouldn't help.
So he calmed himself and began to pray silently.
'Our god slumbers within the Demon Realm.'
'I will wake him to rule this land.'
'Let divine punishment befall all fools.'
'I will hang those who claim to be kings.'
'I will tear the hearts of those who blaspheme the one true god who slumbers within the Demon Realm.'
'All shall die and be reborn.'
'And thus the world will answer the true god's call.'
Meanwhile, the Fortune-teller Tribe joined the battle, and two hidden warriors began to approach him.
The warrior who kept swinging his sword toward his mouth and hands would be dealt with by those two.
Once they restrained him, the Apostle would make him kneel, then say,
"Why waste your power on a false path? Stand beside me, feel true joy, and praise the god of the Demon Realm."
If you refuse, you shall die and be reborn to stand at the Apostle's side.
Whether you wish it or not, he will make you.
That is his duty, the path he walk for his god.
Many thoughts swirled within the Apostle. He was a talkative man by nature.
But every time he tried to speak, a blade would fly toward him.
If not for the intangible spell that allowed him to pass through physical attacks, he'd already be dead.
Still, it was frustrating since he couldn't fully manifest his sorcery in this state.
But surely there was a way to utter a word? He thought it might be possible.
Thirsty for conversation, the Apostle found a loophole.
All he needed was to get his message across.
And if he could convey a message, why not cast the prepared spell?
Yes, that could work.
The Apostle opened the loophole.
* * *
"You!"
"Bastard!"
"Listen!"
"To!"
"My!"
"Words!"
Not bad.
Since he couldn't speak properly, he was uttering one syllable at a time.
Encrid kept the pressure on the sorcerer with just his sword, Aker, and the occasional jab with Ember.
Even that was enough to prevent the sorcerer from casting spells or playing with hand signs.
"If you block their incantations and hand signs, they have to cast spells through sheer willpower, which no sorcerer can do easily. So, cut off their mouth and fingers."
Esther's teachings were invaluable.
Encrid followed them precisely.
The sorcerer still couldn't cast a proper spell.
But how long could this go on?
Would this sorcerer retreat if he slashed at him for three days and nights?
Who knows.
With the sorcerer's mouth sealed, he started trying to communicate through his eyes.
He uttered syllables and rolled his eyes incessantly. At this point, it seemed like he could cast spells just by glaring.
Audin would probably have a similar look if he lost his mind.
'Is this an insult to Audin?'
If so, he take it back.
Encrid's sword slashed through the sorcerer's body.
It felt like cutting through air, as if there was no resistance at all.
He was slicing through smoke.
But Encrid didn't stop.
"Be!"
"Re!"
"Born!"
After a few more slashes, the sorcerer's tactics changed.
Instead of uttering nonsense, he began doing something else—casting a spell.
The ripple of mana entered Encrid's sixth sense.
Even as he was blocked by sword strikes, the sorcerer chanted his spell, one syllable at a time.
What sort of people were the Apostles of the Cult of the Demon Realm?
They, too, were known as geniuses.
The Apostle began to move his mana, factoring in that Encrid's slashes were interfering with his incantations.
A long spell wasn't necessary. Something had already been prepared here.
"Be!"
"Re!"
"Born!"
The six-syllable incantation was complete.
The sacrifices buried beneath the ground responded to the Apostle's spell.
Thanks to Rem and Dunbachel, the number of Giants had already significantly dwindled.
But the fallen Giants began to rise again at the Apostle's command.
Gwoooarrr!
The burst flesh reattached itself, and severed heads regrew atop their necks.
The flesh wriggled, reforming eyes, noses, mouths, and ears.
It was a grotesque sight, nauseating to look at.
The dazed-eyed Giants moved again, just as they had before death.
What in the world?
Not even a troll or Frog could mimic this level of regeneration.
"Come!"
"Forth!"
The sorcerer continued his summoning spell.
Suddenly, in front of Encrid, a red rooster's comb appeared.
It was as big as an average adult's head.
Below it was the head of a chicken, with a body covered in steel-like feathers.
Yellow feet and sharp talons that could tear through a person in an instant.
Lastly, a snake-like tail slithered across the ground.
Encrid recalled what he had seen moments ago.
A red magic circle had appeared on the ground, and from beneath it, the rooster's comb had risen as the creature emerged.
It was a Cockatrice, a monster that could shoot petrification beams from its eyes.
As soon as it appeared, the creature was ready to petrify with its gaze, peck with its beak, and claw with its poison-laced talons.
It intended to start by pecking at the human before it and savoring his flesh.
Just as the Cockatrice was about to move its neck, a streak of light flashed through, severing its head before it could lower it.
It almost seemed as if the Cockatrice had offered its neck to be cut.
Of course, that wasn't its intention. It was just the result of a difference in speed.
Slash!
Thud.
The head shot into the air, and the light in the Cockatrice's eyes faded.
The summoned creature died without even emitting a cry or casting its petrification beam.
But that gave its master a brief window.
"Chains of Gulak!"
The Apostle canceled his intangibility and immediately cast the spell.
Green chains shot up from the ground, wrapping around Encrid's calves and forearms.
They coiled tightly around his limbs.
"Trying to cut down an intangible opponent? You're a brute, aren't you?"
At that moment, Encrid heard something akin to a hallucination.
He ignored both the chains and the strange voice.
What is willpower?
It is the desire to act.
Encrid's Will was to move forward and cut.
The chains tightening around him and the hallucinations were irrelevant.
Snap, boom!
The chains couldn't withstand the force and exploded.
The muscles in his thighs were built from endless training.
Encrid shattered the spell with sheer strength.
If Audin had seen this, he would've prayed loudly for his father's help.
"You bastard!"
The Apostle, having just dropped his intangibility and preparing another spell, shouted in disbelief.
Who wouldn't be shocked? What kind of person breaks a spell with brute strength?
As the astonished Apostle watched, a half-blood Fairy and a half-blood Giant, his subordinates, rushed forward.
Both intended to hold Encrid down.
They did manage to grab hold of Encrid's feet.
But only for half a breath.
Encrid, seeing the two blocking his way, moved both arms simultaneously.
He split the single tempo into halves.
With half-tempo strikes, he slashed and stabbed with off-beat precision.
Boom, crack! Thud!
The half-blood Fairy had a talent for hiding two daggers and then striking with them unseen.
His hands were as quick as a magic trick.
That's why he could react when Encrid's heavy blade came down between his crossed daggers.
His judgment was correct, it was too late to evade.
The half-blood Fairy crossed his daggers and braced his arms.
The heavy blade pressed down on the daggers, splitting the half-blood Fairy's skull halfway.
A loud boom echoed as the head cracked open.
The sheer force caused a shockwave, driving the half-blood Fairy's neck downward.
At the same time, a hole appeared in the half-blood Giant's face.
Of course, it was Encrid's skill. He brought down Aker while stabbing with Ember in his left hand.
He executed two strikes simultaneously in half-tempo. It was a technique he had practiced countless times and mastered recently.
It was a variation of his dual-wielding swordsmanship, originally blocking with Aker and stabbing with Ember.
The half-blood Giant raised his war hammer, but even as he swung it down, his face was gushing blood, and he died.
Even in death, the hammer continued moving with inertia.
Thud.
The hammer crashed uselessly into the ground.
In the meantime, Encrid slashed at the sorcerer's barrier, which had just released its intangibility.
There was no room to breathe between his strikes.
Whoosh, crack!
With one slash, the barrier cracked.
The Apostle's pupils began to tremble.
'What is this guy?'
How is he so skilled at fighting?
The Apostle wondered, feeling a sudden and overwhelming fear of death.
No matter what he did, the dreadful thought of inevitable death flooded his mind.
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