"To cut a tightly stretched rope, one snip of the scissors is enough."
There's a saying that to tip a balanced scale, all you need is one appropriate stone.
Enkrid thought that Dremül might have predicted this situation before him.
Heskal might have advised him, or he might have just had an ominous feeling.
If not that.
'Just two swordsmen and one girl.'
Why did he say such words and desperately try to kill Anne?
'If he didn't know something, he wouldn't have made such a fuss about it.'
That's what he thought.
If Heskal had been determined to act, it would have been quite difficult to keep Anne alive.
That was the conclusion he reached looking back in time. No matter how much Ragna guarded her day and night, if it were Heskal, he could have found an opening to stab her.
But that didn't happen.
Those small stones gathered and piled on one side of the scale, and the pebbles of just two swordsmen and one girl tipped the balance.
* * *
After the thrill from seeing the head of house's sword passed through his body.
Enkrid didn't have the talent to prophesy the end of battles, but reflecting on situations after seeing results wasn't difficult.
Alexandra had accelerated her Will to utilize muscle strength, five senses, and dynamic vision stronger than usual. That's how she achieved a line explosion.
To explain more easily, it was like lighting a candle and fighting until that candle completely burned out.
And Tempest changed the form and exploded his Will.
A point explosion. Betting everything on just one sword strike.
This wasn't a candle but a flint's spark. It was a spark that only burst at the moment of striking.
However, its firepower was several times more intense than a candle. It was like instantly bursting the firepower that would burn a candle.
'Not a sword strike one can make with a sick body.'
The reality that he had momentarily forgotten due to too much joy crept into Enkrid's mind.
Dremül still reeked even with his body half-severed. Thick black water flowed between his half-crushed organs, and rainwater poured into his cut torso.
Yet he still wasn't dead. As if to prove that.
"Die."
Dremül's left hand, attached to his relatively intact side, rose. Simultaneously, will and magical power filled his muttered words, transforming them into a spell.
Black mist gathered in front of his hand, then transformed into a long stick and flew forward.
It wasn't much different in form from what had been in the Scalers' hands until now.
Anyone could tell it was full of poison without being told.
Whoosh.
Since the stick manifested through the spell gained substance, the sound of tearing through air was vivid.
Would the head of house die from such a mere stick? That wouldn't happen. It wouldn't under normal circumstances.
The head of house's eye capillaries had all burst from that single sword strike, and blood was seeping out.
Because of this, everyone looking at him could see the head of house's eyes turning bright red.
It wasn't just his eyes. Blood began flowing from his nose, mouth, ears—every opening on his face.
It was amid this that the spell flew in.
Ragna couldn't block it even while watching. He too was in a state where it was admirable he hadn't fainted. Violent movement was too much. Still, his body honestly reacted and he half-rose, but there was someone who stepped forward before him.
It was Enkrid. It was thanks to moving immediately upon recognizing reality from his joy.
Didn't he already know from experience that such demons always prepared something final?
Even after killing the Circle Killer, he had almost lost Shinar. How could he forget that vile act of trying to stuff everything of his, including his soul, into Shinar through the blade he thrust out at the end?
Yes, he hadn't forgotten that moment.
Enkrid was able to stand in front of the head of house even though his entire body creaked.
It was a series of simple motions. He squeezed his muscles to lift his feet and reached the head of house just before Dremül moved his spell.
After securing that position, he twisted his wrist and spun Tri-Iron to strike the middle of the black rod, and with a clang, the rod broke and scattered in pieces on the ground.
Since he lacked the strength to swing properly, he had only rotated his wrist to use the sword's weight and centrifugal force, but it could be said he had managed to block it well.
If he hadn't properly struck the spell's grain, he would have gotten a hole in his chest instead of the head of house.
'My body really.'
There was nothing he could do about his body being in terrible condition.
Even blocking the spells that fellow had been shooting until now had been barely managed.
Honestly, if he hadn't made the bold move of deflecting some of the pouring spells midway, he would have gotten several holes in his body.
As Enkrid caught his breath and looked ahead, the half-dead Dremül glared at him fiercely.
Even without moving his tongue, his voice seemed audible.
Well, he actually opened his mouth too.
"Hateful. I hate you."
"What's so hateful?"
Enkrid asked back. Gentleness was embedded in his questioning tone. Was he planning to grant the monster's wish before death?
While everyone was thinking that, Enkrid opened his mouth again.
"Is it because I'm young-looking?"
It wasn't. Enkrid scratched Dremül's pride until the very end. Of course, it wasn't because he found pleasure in mocking.
This involved several calculations. To be precise, it was a conclusion reached by combining Luagarne-style tactical swordsmanship with Krais's cunning.
'Dremül still has strength left to pull tricks.'
To use that properly, he would need to gather his mind. Then it was advantageous to upset him.
He shouldn't be allowed to stay calm.
That's how he gained even small advantages. Enkrid was confident. If it weren't for Luagarne-style tactical swordsmanship, there would be no reason to do this. This was all thanks to the teachings of Frog, whom he knew.
Well, if his opponent had spoken of honor and attacked, he wouldn't have gone this far either.
Wasn't he originally a specter hiding in the back, pulling dirty tricks and targeting Anne?
Then wasn't it okay to mock him a little?
Dremül couldn't continue speaking.
"You, this. This, this."
Even in this state, if he had found enlightenment from the words mocking him, he might have experienced a miracle.
If he achieved that level of enlightenment, it would be fair to say he became a god.
He didn't become a god, but when his anger surged at everything he desired being thwarted and crossed a certain line, Dremül's reason and emotion became one to create a purpose.
Never mind what happened to that head of house who cut his body—he would definitely kill that bastard. He would kill him by any means necessary.
And Dremül wasn't stupid.
'No, I won't end it with just killing.'
He wouldn't leave the Zauns alone just to kill that one bastard. Was only the one stepping forward and running his mouth the problem?
No. Zaun, the head of house, all those holding swords—they were all objects of resentment.
There was also something he realized only now.
'Heskal, you bastard.'
He had been deceived. Looking back, things became visible. That fellow's goal wasn't usurping divinity. His target would have been life after usurping divinity.
So he had something to do by surviving to the end. He couldn't end things as dead Heskal wished.
'I'm dying.'
Was it because he had struggled not to die for such a long time?
Dremül knew he was dying, and he clearly knew the scope of what he could do before dying.
Death was a foregone conclusion.
'Zaun comes with me.'
When he died, the seeds of disease he had spread would immediately sprout and grow.
Then most of those belonging to Zaun would die. Eight out of ten would die—the hunters' village, the brokers' village, even the retirees' village.
This was a secret he hadn't even told Heskal. If he knew this, he would beat the ground even in death, that Heskal bastard.
It had been decades since he established himself here. Most of that time he had been in a vegetative state, but not the recent few years.
He had prepared this much.
However, this was everything.
'And it ends.'
That bastard barking in front would survive to the end.
'Will he spread word of killing me everywhere and receive praise?'
From childhood, he had lived with the word "snake-hearted" attached to his ears. Dremül was strongly jealous. He often heard that a snake had become human.
He hated that bastard Enkrid would receive praise. Moreover, the very fact that bastard would survive was too detestable.
Just before death, Dremül put everything he had on the scale.
How should he kill both Zaun and that bastard?
Though things had gotten twisted and he ended up like this, Dremül's intelligence wasn't low either.
He quickly thought of a means to kill that disgusting fellow.
"I will die."
Dremül's mouth opened.
"Even a passing human-faced dog could tell that."
Enkrid interjected, but Dremül didn't get excited.
"Head of house of Zaun, listen."
His voice overlapped once again. Enkrid saw this as his final trick.
Whatever spell came flying, he could block it one more time.
Though his body creaked a bit, his sword work to sever spells had become somewhat more mature based on Esther's training and the practical experience from just before.
There was also something he had realized while deflecting spells at the end.
'Even if fifty black rods like before came flying, I could somehow block them.'
He might get several holes in his body, but if he got pierced skillfully, he wouldn't become disabled.
"I won't let you do it alone."
Rynox approached and said.
Looking behind him, there were several Zaun swords including Anahera and Riley.
Their resolve would be no less than his own.
This fight was Zaun's through and through. They had drawn their swords to protect themselves.
The head of house watched only Enkrid's back with his dimly blurred eyes, then felt his vision darkening.
Had he gone blind? That might be the case.
The sword strike he had made earlier was something he hadn't done even in his prime.
It could be called a sword strike where he threw everything he had. In reality, it was something he had done with the thought that he could die immediately after swinging his sword.
Due to harshly using his Will, a sense of exhaustion gnawed at his entire body and he only wanted to sit down and rest, but wasn't the fellow he had cut still moving his mouth?
Drip, blood flowed from his ear canal. Because of this, his ears were somewhat stuffy, but he could still hear.
"I'm listening."
When the head of house answered, Dremül began cursing in an all-too-calm tone.
"I'll let you decide. There are only two choices."
Wondering what choice nonsense this was as he listened, the owner of the rotting body that had managed not to die kept moving his filthy tongue.
"If I gather my remaining strength and explode it, everyone in Zaun who contracted the disease I spread will die. The seeds of that disease originally grow over time, but when I die, they'll grow instantly and take lives. I originally planted them in that form. But!"
The fellow paused while speaking. His tone was full of strength.
Listening, Ragna felt his head throbbing.
The fellow's voice was heard in multiple layers. It was the voice of a monster who wanted to become a god, squeezing and gathering his last remaining strength to explode.
"Instead of that, I'll give all the curses I possess to that one fellow. Then the curse of the disease spread in Zaun sprouting instantly will disappear."
Dremül raised his remaining finger and pointed at Enkrid.
Did he hate him so much that he only needed to kill Enkrid?
No, Dremül knew people. Not just knowing—he had manipulated human hearts.
Hadn't he made Heskal his sword that way?
Thinking again, it seemed like he had been deceived, but initially bringing him in by enticing him was certainly due to touching human desires and hearts.
'I know humans.'
Dremül was confident.
Enkrid would refuse this proposal. There was no one in the world who wanted to die. That was truth.
'Moreover, there's even less chance of someone dying for others.'
There might be parents who die for their children.
But someone who dies for complete strangers? Would such a person exist?
Because of the words he threw, the head of house would have to put Zaun and an outsider on a scale, and it was clear which way that scale would tip.
Enkrid would resist. And the head of house would try to capture and subdue that resisting fellow.
'Even if I die, you must fight.'
That was the first aim.
There were more hidden aims here.
What if the head of house and Zaun captured Enkrid?
He said the seeds of disease wouldn't sprout instantly, but he didn't say the disease would disappear.
Even if all this went awry, it would only be the difference between dying early or dying late.
"You expect us to believe that?"
Rynox interjected.
"Now, behold."
As Dremül spoke and waved his hand, a rectangular golden border appeared in the air behind him, and golden letters floated up.
"You must have heard of it? The Covenant's Golden Scripture. I will write my will in this Golden Scripture."
A precious relic appeared.
Words written in the Golden Scripture would definitely come true. And the price was the soul of the dead.
It was widely said that the owner of that brilliantly golden scripture was one of the demon gods ruling the demon realm.
Did he have the nickname of master of covenant spells?
Rynox also knew of the Golden Scripture's existence. That was an unavoidable death sentence. No, it was something that mortgaged even the soul.
"It's real. That Golden Scripture."
Schmidt, who had somehow joined in and confidently played his part in battle, stepped forward and spoke.
He had trained in both magic and swordsmanship simultaneously. His magical knowledge saw that what Dremül had just said was true.
He too had fought fiercely, as one side of his cheek was torn, showing a blackened, discolored wound.
Schmidt spoke again. It was words spoken with logic after recognizing the situation.
"It doesn't make sense to say it was prepared to deceive someone. There's no one with magical knowledge in Zaun, and my staying here wasn't particularly predetermined either."
If Tempest or others said they didn't believe it, truly terrible things would happen.
Schmidt didn't want that.
He couldn't lose his half-brother and close friend in one go.
"There's no lie in my words. If you won't believe it, do as you please. But all of this is truth."
Leisure oozed from Dremül's tone.
Should it be called truly bold for someone about to die?
Those standing behind chattered about what the Golden Scripture was, whether this was real, whether it could be trusted, but soon began to close their mouths.
No matter how you looked at it, the atmosphere seemed to say all of this was real.