Encrid did his job, regardless of whether or not the eldest sorcerer woke up.
His work began with the Isolation Technique, tightening his muscles and oiling his body, and having Luagarne hit him with a blunt club.
Thud!
Even though the strike was of moderate strength, it knocked the wind out of him. It was just right.
Getting hit to the point of pain. Without pain, you don't get tougher.
After getting hit so many times, it seemed like the Will of Rejection was activating in the places he got hit.
It wasn't certain yet.
He figured he'd know after repeating it consistently.
As he continued his strike training—
"Do you have a hobby of getting hit?"
The twins approached and asked.
"I'm training to take hits to the sides."
Encrid answered half-jokingly, and the twins furrowed their brows simultaneously.
Was this really effective training?
It was understandable to have doubts.
"If anyone else tried it, they'd get seriously injured."
Luagarne gently scolded them.
"So, how does the honorable warrior train?"
This time, another Western warrior spoke. He had three deep scars running from his forehead, across his eyes, down to his cheeks.
Hadn't he once said that he'd been deceived and attacked by a monster copycat as a child?
Since then, his name had become Three Claws.
"At first, I started with something like cotton balls and gradually switched to harder things."
Encrid straightened up as he answered.
There was nothing secretive about it.
When Audin had taught him, he hadn't talked about some mysterious secret technique. It wasn't something that could even be considered a secret technique.
Though he said 'cotton balls', they weren't real cotton balls.
You couldn't exactly call Audin's moderately thrown punches cotton balls.
In hindsight, it really was a reckless thing to do.
If asked to do it again?
Of course, he would. He'd gained something from it.
But if asked if he wanted to?
Even Encrid would hesitate over such a training method.
It hurt like hell, and you couldn't even tell what you were gaining from it.
It was only because Audin had urged him that he'd gone along with it.
Later, when he felt the effects, it was fine.
"But it still looks painful."
The twins, having said something trivial, added something even more trivial.
Geom Nares was their father.
They said Encrid had saved Geom Nares.
"Thank you so much."
Despite their large frames, built as if they could punch oxen with bare hands, the two seemed genuinely humble in their gratitude.
Encrid didn't know, but it was truly something for which the twins were grateful.
In fact, every Western person felt the same way.
If Rem hadn't returned, if Encrid hadn't been there, if Frog and the others hadn't come together…
In the worst-case scenario, Geom Nares would have burned his life force to perform a sorcereristic ritual.
For a brief time, he would have fought like a hero, and soon after, he would have shriveled up and died like a mummy.
That was the price of going against the natural order.
If he'd died that way, it would have been said that the agonizing pain followed him into the afterlife.
They were grateful he didn't have to face that fate and also for the fact that Encrid had saved the West.
"I see."
Encrid remained indifferent. There wasn't much else to say.
What, should he now ask them to repay him for saving their lives?
That's not why he had done it.
In fact, Encrid had received help first.
After finishing the Isolation Technique that morning, he'd trained in swordsmanship, spent time with Luagarne, sparred with Dunbachel, and even had a duel with Geom Nares.
He wasn't bad.
He fought using an axe in one hand and a spear in the other, wielding both at a high level.
"Who do you think taught Rem?"
"I heard he taught himself."
"That bastard."
"I agree with that assessment."
During the sparring, they shared a moment of camaraderie over their mutual disdain for Rem.
It was fun to insult Rem.
Geom Nares was generally a cheerful man, as were most Westerners.
After the fight was over, everyone had witnessed the bowing and the titles of 'Honorable Warrior' or other thanks.
There were many who, like the twins, expressed their gratitude.
There were even a few women who said they'd marry him if he just spoke the word.
Luagarne shook her head at them.
"Forget it."
When she explained that there was already a dark-haired beauty and a Fairy waiting for him back home, they all gave up.
Though Ziba still showed an indomitable spirit, it wasn't of much significance.
Since hearing that the eldest sorcerer had awakened, Rem hadn't been seen.
With nothing else to do, Encrid focused on his training, but the Westerners crowded around him.
Some were training their bodies, others were watching, sparring, and so on.
"Hi-ya!"
"Hah!"
"Yah!"
Among them, children were playing with wooden sticks, mimicking a fight.
Nearby, a group of girls sat demurely, playing what looked like a version of house.
"Husband, where have you been all this time?"
One girl playfully smacked a gray-haired boy on the back. Though it didn't look much like a game of house, the content fit.
It seemed like a reenactment of Rem and Ayul's story, one that would likely become a legendary tale passed down orally.
The story of a man who survived returning home after eloping and then living happily with his wife again.
That's a good title.
Maybe it could even become a full story. If he were an aspiring bard, he might have fulfilled his calling as a storyteller, but since he wasn't, Encrid swung his sword.
Then, he stopped for a moment.
He'd been distracted by random thoughts.
Encrid planted the end of Aker into the ground and let the fragments of his thoughts flow freely.
'What was that hallucination back then?'
It had happened when he fought the Apostle.
"You're just going to try and cut down an intangible opponent? You're pretty reckless."
He had heard those words.
In the heat of battle, it wasn't unusual to hear voices or see things.
He once saw a guy next to him scream for his mother and charge forward, only to be impaled by an enemy spear.
Fear and terror made people see visions and forced them into action.
Dunbachel had shown something similar when they fought in the Gray Forest of the Demon Realm. She had panicked and ran.
So, was that a hallucination? That?
'No.'
Encrid had never seen visions or heard hallucinations. His mind had never broken under stress.
The solid mental wall he had built through sheer will had never crumbled.
So, unless it was some kind of spell, there was no way he'd fall for a mere illusion.
Then what was that hallucination?
He didn't know. It hadn't happened again since then.
What should he do?
He decided to ignore it. That was the plan.
Instead, he recalled the things he had gathered after the fight.
The things planted by the Apostle and the items retrieved from its body.
There was one peculiar item among them.
A cup made of silver.
The outside was engraved with the image of tree roots, so intricately detailed that it seemed as if a tree should be growing from the cup.
But there was no tree.
Instead, the inside of the cup was stained a deep purple.
The color matched that of Giant's blood.
"It smells rotten."
As Dunbachel had noted, it had a musty smell. It was an unpleasant scent, but strangely, it lingered in your thoughts.
"Can I smell it one more time?"
Dunbachel had asked that several times.
Given that she spent all day daydreaming and suddenly wanted to smell it again, it was clear to anyone that either Dunbachel or the silver cup, or perhaps both, were strange.
"Have you lost your mind?"
Encrid gave her some firm advice. And while he was at it, he used his hands and feet.
He kicked Dunbachel's shin with his left foot while slapping her on the forehead with his right hand.
It was a variation of the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique's dual hand thrust.
Dunbachel avoided the kick but couldn't dodge the slap and recoiled with an "Ow!". She must've realized something was wrong.
"That thing's strange. I keep thinking about the smell, like I need to smell it again. I want to take it and run away."
"Resist it."
"Yeah. Okay."
Encrid persuaded Dunbachel without resorting to other tools, using his good old fists, and she was surprisingly easily convinced.
The silver cup with the tree root engraving had come from the Apostle's body.
Being the possession of a cultist, it exuded a sense of nobility on the surface.
In other words, no matter how you looked at it, it wasn't an item from the Demon Realm.
"We should meet a proper priest to deal with this. It's not something related to sorcererism. Best to take it with us."
Rem had also said the same thing. Naturally, Encrid ended up keeping it.
It wasn't because Dunbachel lacked self-control.
"Sometimes there are items that ensnare people just by existing. This seems like one of those."
Even Luagarne, who had gone wild at the sight of the cultist but had since calmed down, said as much.
A corrupted relic, perhaps?
Maybe he could hand it over to a temple when they returned to the continent.
Or maybe he needed to find a particularly holy priest.
A holy priest...that wouldn't be easy.
Finding one would be as rare as finding an honest thief, a kind bandit, or a king who truly cared for his people.
But a priest who could use Divine Power? That might be doable.
'Audin might know someone.'
That guy was always praying.
He did seem to avoid priests whenever they came to town, but he might know someone.
Encrid figured it wouldn't hurt to ask Audin later.
There were other items that looked like magical tools as well, and he shoved them all into his backpack.
It seemed like he had more luggage than when he started, and that wasn't just his imagination.
There were also items they'd received in the city of Oara.
And spoils gathered after the fight in the West.
Could he even call them spoils? It felt like he had only picked up troublesome items.
There was also the Carmen Collection with the transparent blade that he had to give to Jaxon.
'At this rate, after a year of traveling, I might need a cart instead of a backpack.'
That wasn't an exaggeration.
"Good fortune is necessary for long journeys."
Ziba's mother, along with several other women, gave him bracelets woven from leather, cloth, and hair.
They were bracelets that prayed for good fortune, but they also served as a magical charm to ward off insects.
For it to work as a magical charm, it had to be crafted with a heart full of goodwill, and it seemed that had been achieved.
Everyone who made it had prayed with one heart, elevating it into a magical tool.
To the outsider, the Honorable Warrior, they wished good fortune.
Encrid now had a colorful bracelet tied to his arm.
It was large enough to be fastened above his elbow.
In addition, he received a strangely dried fish, though it was so tough it felt like it could be used as a blunt weapon.
While examining it and wondering if it could indeed be used as a club, the friend who gave it to him explained.
"It's a fish from a large lake, dried like this. It looks strange, doesn't it? If you break it like this, it's easier to carry."
As he spoke, he snapped the head and tail off and tucked them into a small cloth pouch.
Then, he split the flesh open, pulling out the dried bones with a flick of his fingers.
With a few simple motions, the opened body revealed a method of preparation Encrid could grasp.
The head, tail, and guts had been removed, leaving only the dried flesh.
It didn't seem to be smoked.
'The wind blows well here.'
It was air-dried, known as 'wind-dried'.
If they had been near the sea, it would've been salted and dried in the sea breeze, but they had developed their own method.
Perhaps it could be called sand-drying? He didn't know the specifics and didn't care.
"You tear it like this."
The man showed how to tear the flesh.
It was dried food meant to be carried, with the meat torn into pieces and stuffed into a pouch.
"When you boil it in water, it makes a nice broth."
Even though it was dried fish, it barely smelled.
The little scent it did have was not fishy at all.
"It smells good, doesn't it? We sprinkle herb powder on the outside. It makes your mouth water."
The man rubbed his nose as he spoke.
Encrid just listened.
In any case, since it was given to him, he tore off a piece and tried it. It had a unique taste.
It was food that softened as you chewed, rehydrating with your saliva.
Though tough at first, it became more manageable with each bite. By the end, it was tender and easy to swallow.
The more he chewed, the more flavorful it became.
He learned that not everyone carried such food, it was a delicacy in these parts, typically eaten by hunters.
There was a tradition behind the food, and it was quite an interesting story.
The friend who gave it to him was also an entertaining storyteller.
[T/L: Please support me AND read further chapters here: https://ko-fi.com/revengerscans.]
[T/L: Subscribe for a membership on my Ko-Fi page and receive 15 extra chapters upon joining, along with daily updates of one chapter.]
[Additional Info: If anyone is facing the issue of payment on Ko-Fi, please contact me on revengerscans1@gmail.com]