Descent, it means calling a God to this land.
If you say such a thing in the continent, especially in the Holy Kingdom, the inquisitors will chase you immediately.
And they'll extract your teeth so you can never chew meat again or rip out your fingernails and toenails, all while saying:
"Admit you are a heretic."
From the perspective of some fanatics, the West itself could be considered a gathering place of heretics.
If it weren't for the Cult of the Demon Realm, there might still be a war raging between the continent and the West.
According to historical records, the West and the continent waged war in the past due to differing ideologies.
Conflicts between religions, languages, and approaches to life often led people to impose their will through battle.
If rulers share this mindset, such things will easily happen.
Of course, those rulers might have started wars in the name of religion for their own gain, but thankfully, we do not live in that era.
Waging war to punish heresy in the West while the Cult of the Demon Realm is present?
You'd be called insane for even suggesting it.
And no one would agree with you.
Over time, even the West has come to be respected as its own culture.
'Heretic' and 'barbarian' are merely derogatory terms used against them.
Of course, Geom Nares didn't care whether people called him a heretic or whatever else, he only served the God he believed in.
"Tear, bite, and rip them apart."
It was a curse.
From the charred wooden piece Geom Nares was holding, black smoke rose.
The smoke didn't disperse but instead formed a shape in front of Geom Nares.
Sharp pointed ears were white, and the rest of the figure was completely black.
Amid the jet-black smoke, the white ears stood out.
"Go."
As Geom Nares' mouth opened, it revealed a red interior. Blood dripped from the corners of his mouth.
The moment Geom Nares finished speaking, the legless wolf-shaped smoke moved forward.
Its body undulated up and down, making it seem as though it was running despite lacking legs.
The two white ears traced two streaks of white in the air.
Awoo!
Along with a wolf's howl that resonated in their guts, the black smoke wolf slipped between the tribesmen in an instant and bit a Giant's thigh.
It was a Giant that had slipped past Rem's axe.
No matter how powerful Rem was, he was still just one man. Without sorcery, he couldn't fend off dozens of Giants on his own.
As a few Giants slowly retreated, the wolf appeared at just the right time and bit into the Giant's thigh.
The smoky fangs pierced the thick skin of the Giant.
It was a strange sight. Through the smoke, one could clearly see flesh being torn and bitten.
Crunch!
Purple blood splattered through the smoke.
Guaaah!
The Giant screamed and swung its hand wildly. The smoke briefly scattered but then reformed its shape.
Crack.
The wolf Geom Nares had summoned ignored the Giant's gestures without a care.
It bit once, then twice, continuously tearing into the flesh.
Chunks of flesh were torn off, and blood splattered everywhere. The wolf buried its head between the tattered pieces of flesh. The Giant's screams became even more horrific.
Whaaa!
It was only natural. Being bitten by a regular wolf would be painful enough, but the fangs of the Wolf God inflicted a special kind of pain.
Being bitten felt like having a needle shoved under your fingernail, far worse than anything else.
It was a pain similar to having an already festering wound poked and prodded with fingers.
When the Giants attacked before, the curse had been blocked as if by some trick of the Sky God.
It was likely due to a sorcerer, perhaps from the Fortune-Teller Tribe or one of those damn wizards from the continent, but this time there was nothing to stop it.
There was no interference.
Of course, Geom Nares had prepared for any interruptions from the enemy, but in this situation, even if Geom Nares himself were the opposing Commander, he would have stepped back for the moment.
How could anyone predict and respond to such a situation?
"Shit, damn it."
"Hey, you."
"This..."
The enemy leader couldn't even speak properly as he constantly dodged sword strikes aimed at his face.
His body blurred as he deflected the sword strikes, but how long could that last?
The foreigner called Encrid didn't seem to tire.
How could he swing his sword so calmly?
'Did I really pick a fight with the wrong guy?'
Even a brave Westerner would find this situation absurd.
"Ugh."
Geom Nares, despite his idle thoughts, couldn't hold back the nausea rising within him and vomited blood.
It felt like someone was gripping and squeezing his stomach.
Summoning the Wolf God had twisted his insides.
In the past, he would have tried harder to hold back and appear unaffected, but now there was no need.
"Don't overdo it, hey. Just sit back and watch, will you? Why's the patient out here?"
Rem's voice could be heard from up ahead.
Even in the midst of the chaos, had he noticed Geom Nares vomiting blood?
His words were harsh, but strangely enough, they were also comforting.
"Worry about yourself."
Geom Nares wiped his mouth and replied. Rem didn't seem to hear, nor would he have cared.
Geom Nares had already taken the stage, blood and all. The tribal warriors raised their spears high.
"It is the shaking earth, it is the shaking earth. Mother of the earth, watch over us, watch over us."
Two sorcerers shook their bells, chanting as they did so.
The sound of the bells was like a child's toy.
For their allies, it was a pleasant and almost ignorable sound, but not for the Giants.
Guoooh.
The Giants shook their heads, their eyes losing focus. Some began to stumble.
It was a curse that concentrated sound waves on their heads.
The Wolf God, the bells, and in between them, the brave warriors of the West charged. Fighting like this, even the Giants seemed manageable.
Of course, the most overwhelming presence on the battlefield was still Rem.
"Don't get yourselves killed stepping in. Ayul, take command."
He spoke while continuously swinging his two axes. Even in the midst of the Giant horde, Rem remained composed.
"Sooth, Maru, Tamu, Altan—use projectiles. Ge, Naran, Gute, Tan, Hun—use spears."
Additionally, Ayul served as the Commander of the Western warriors.
Who would have led the warriors when Geom Nares collapsed?
It was Ayul.
She was one of the pillars holding up the trembling tribe.
Everyone listened to Ayul and adjusted their formation.
They spread out wider, and those who were told to use projectiles took out their slings. Four stood in front, two in the back, maintaining their distance, while the remaining warriors raised black-tipped spears.
The spear tips were wrapped in black obsidian.
Though the durability was poor, there was no better weapon for aiming for a critical strike.
Everything was prepared to face the Giants.
The Western tribes weren't fools. They had prepared for battle and combat.
Even without Rem, they would have fought. It would have been a fierce struggle.
But now, it had become a battle they could comfortably watch from straw beds.
"Whoa!"
On one side, a beastwoman fought fiercely. She weaved through the Giants, her movements divine.
She stepped on a Giant's thigh, leaping up, then grabbed the greasy hair on the Giant's head and drove her elbow into the crown.
Crack!
The sound of a skull breaking inward echoed. The struck Giant tried to remain standing but soon collapsed as the beastwoman's claws tore into his skull and leapt aside.
With a grotesque groan, the Giant fell over.
The blood and other matter spilling from his crown proved he would not rise again.
* * *
The chieftain almost rubbed his eyes but stopped, thinking that if this was a dream, it would be a waste to wake up.
Of course, it wasn't a dream. He knew. He was well aware.
The chieftain was no fool who couldn't distinguish reality.
It's just that everything felt so surreal.
In one part of the battlefield, there was a man constantly shifting like smoke, dodging sword strikes.
The owner of that sword was the foreigner, Rem's companion.
"All cultists are my enemies. I will kill them all."
Frog muttered repeatedly as if possessed, her cheeks puffed up.
Just listening to it, one could feel the murderous intent.
There was also a beastwoman fighting the Giants.
Well, those three were foreigners, so such feats were possible. Even the chieftain couldn't gauge their full strength.
But one of them was different.
Rem, the warrior candidate who had brought the foreigners.
The chieftain's gaze fixed on one spot.
There, the prodigal son was chopping wood.
"Axes."
As soon as one axe broke, he would receive a new one and continue chopping wood without a care.
The only difference was that what was being split by his axe was not fresh or dried wood, but Giants.
The Giants threatening the tribe were being chopped up and slain like they were less than firewood.
It would be a lie to say that it didn't feel satisfying.
The chieftain had been holding on while pissing blood out of sheer fear.
The pressure he had endured could have withered a person.
He couldn't sleep, his chest felt tight, and his heart would pound uncontrollably.
His anxiety had worsened, making him lose his appetite.
He had become thin and gaunt, day by day, his face becoming hollowed out. If not for the markings on his face, it would be clear he was a sick man.
That's how difficult it had been. The chieftain knew reality better than anyone.
'We're doomed.'
The dark clouds over the West had covered the sun and shrouded the sky.
He did anything and everything he could, regardless of whether it was possible or not.
Looking for minor tribes? That was a priority even before Rem returned.
But no one responded.
He even secretly tried to make contact with the Fortune-teller Tribe.
Why?
If they wanted to become a larger tribe, he would help, grant them everything they desired, beg them to stop this madness.
But they wouldn't listen.
He even considered seeking help from powers beyond the continent, beyond the frontier.
But nothing went according to plan.
No help from outside the continent came.
No minor tribes responded. Nothing went as he had hoped.
Day by day, the situation worsened.
The curse descended, the eldest sorcerer collapsed, and the best warrior, Geom Nares, was bedridden.
"Damn it."
The chieftain knew that fleeing was an option. It was a solution.
But how could they run?
The West was their homeland, the land where they were born, where they would be buried, and the land they were meant to protect for their entire lives.
The low sky, the high sky, the sun-shielding clouds, the great lake, the canyon of sand, the Miro hills.
The chieftain loved all of it.
If this was the end, he would accept it.
Despair had gnawed at him, leaving him an empty shell, waiting for death.
When Rem returned, when the curse was lifted, when two Giants were killed, he saw glimpses of hope, but nothing compared to now.
The chieftain felt a sense of peace.
It was when he saw Rem kick the Giant's ankle.
Rem was half the size of the Giant. Ordinarily, such a kick wouldn't even budge a Giant.
But no.
With one kick from Rem, the Giant lost its balance. With a crack, its ankle bone broke beneath its leather skin, and it toppled as Rem's axe met its neck.
Thud!
The sharp sound of impact was followed by a geyser of purple blood. Covered in the Giant's blood, Rem smiled.
"Hey, you're down to less than half now."
Rem spoke.
The prodigal son had returned.
This was not the same Rem from before. He fought without relying on sorcery. Even without the ancestral weapons given to him, he fought well. So incredibly, incredibly well.
The chieftain felt relieved.
This battle was won.
Tonight, he wouldn't piss blood.
His heart, which had pounded uncontrollably when that foreigner, Encrid, had suddenly charged forward, was now beating steadily once more.
The peace and comfort brought relief.
Up ahead, blood splattered, bones broke, and screams rang out, but the chieftain remained calm.
Even though Geom Nares had coughed up blood, his condition seemed to be one that a few days of rest would heal.
The chieftain muttered.
"We've won."
Naturally, it was a premature judgment.
* * *
Luagarne, despite hating the cultists, knew that there was no joy at the end of this battle.
'Can I kill all the cultists?'
No.
'Can I uproot the cult?'
No.
After her second lover died, Luagarne had wandered for a while, almost aimlessly.
At that time, killing cultists was all she cared about.
She could have made it her sole goal to kill them, but she didn't.
'Because it was pointless.'
She knew that if she made it her goal, it would never be achieved.
So, she shifted her desire.
She chased the unknown, sought to understand it, and that was fitting.
It was enjoyable, and it made sense.
From the outside, it might seem like Frog's desires came from some primal or unfathomable source, but what she truly felt was different.
"If there is will, desire follows."
True Frogs, therefore, forge their own desires. They know exactly what they want and why. They aren't dragged around by aimless desires.
"Aha."
The realization came suddenly.
A nightmare that revisited the worst moments.
A faint sense of the cult's lingering presence.
In the end, she would have to face her lifelong enemies.
Being by Encrid's side wasn't unenjoyable.
Walking toward the unknown was also enjoyable.
One day, she wanted to step foot in the East. She would even draw the map that her late lover had dreamed of.
Luagarne watched Encrid swing his sword.
She had observed his life for a long time.
Watching him live his life gave her a revelation.
'Explore the unknown.'
And hunt down the cultists.
How?
By doing your best, relentlessly, wherever you find them, whether there's an end or not.
Even if the end is unhappy, as long as you enjoy the journey, that's enough.
There's a man who swings his sword with a smile.
There's a man who swings his sword tirelessly.
There's a man who wakes up at the same time every day and trains his body.
Croak.
Despite her anger, Luagarne laughed.
Of course, the cultist horde couldn't tell whether Frog was laughing or raging.
"Mad frog!"
"Crush the heart!"
"Tear the heart out!"
The barbarians and cannibals shouted continuously.
They were reacting to the word 'heart'.
Luagarne's resolve was firm. She let the annoying words pass through one ear and out the other.
One of the cultists stomped on the ground with his boot. Sorcery flowed from the boot, and the cultist's body shifted beside Luagarne.
It was an item enchanted with a high-speed movement spell.
She had encountered it once before.
When was it again?
It was when they were facing the Knoll colony.
Back then, she had been with Encrid as well.
That memory surfaced, and her battle cry burst forth naturally.
Croak, croak!
It was Frog's battle cry.
At the same time, Luagarne's Loop Sword slashed upward from the right, cutting through the air. It was where a cannibal sorcerer had just appeared.
Swoosh!
The powerful strike forced the cannibal to retreat in shock.
"Tch!"
Then, the leader of the cannibal horde, a woman, made a hand gesture.
One by one, the cultist forces gathered around her.
In the meantime, a one-eyed Fairy attacked to buy time.
It wasn't a formidable opponent. But it wasn't easy to subdue quickly either. It was a well-played strategy to stall for time.
"Summon the arm of the warrior."
One of the cannibals muttered while extending a hand forward. A black droplet formed at his fingertip and dripped down.
The single drop of black liquid expanded into a dark pool, and from within, a black hand emerged.
It was a cultist's spell.
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