Like brown feces, stubborn and persistent!
"You!"
Esther grabbed her opponent's forearm and snapped it.
Galaf panicked when he saw his shield break.
The pain that struck his brain came next.
"Urgh."
That was the end of it.
A wizard's duel might be a clash within the world of spells, but with the physical body present, damage to the body also had an impact.
Simply put, pain made it hard to focus.
Especially when there was a significant difference in the amount of mana being drawn from the spell world. Yet, the fight had been progressing on seemingly equal terms.
This only meant that the opponent knew how to cast and use spells much more efficiently than he did.
Galaf gritted his teeth through the pain, cold sweat running down his face.
The way she attacked earlier had been truly absurd.
He had cast a defensive spell, but this cunning witch, Esther, had ignited flames in her hand and simply tore through his shield.
Her movement had carried an immense amount of force.
Ssssshhhhh!
Suddenly, steam clouded his vision.
It was a result of the combination of her heated hand spell with his Blue Lake spell.
Though flustered, Galaf barely managed to prepare a few spells in response, only for his arm to be grabbed and broken.
Why is this witch so strong?
His mind was full of questions.
Was she always this good at fighting?
Was the nickname 'Fighting Witch' not because of her temper, but because she truly excelled in combat?
Few wizards had as many nicknames as this witch before him.
Galaf had always thought it was some kind of trick.
A method to spread multiple names to obscure her true identity.
Regardless of whether it was a trick or not, one thing was clear.
The nickname 'Fighting Witch' was genuine.
"You're not getting away easily."
The witch with hair like black silk spoke expressionlessly.
His two disciples had already fallen to a summoned creature, which now stood still to one side, seemingly stitched together like a Flesh Golem, its craftsmanship impeccable.
The stitch marks on one side of its face and the vacant eyes revealed its true nature.
It looked like something someone had dedicated their entire life to creating.
"Ughhh!"
Galaf struggled in resistance.
Of course, he had considered fleeing, but the difference in skill was clear from the start.
Esther had not intentionally earned the nickname 'Fighting Witch'.
It had spread gradually through word of mouth thanks to her relentless fighting.
Galaf, on the other hand, had settled into a life of establishing his base and training disciples.
The gap was significant.
Esther had sensed the difference from the beginning.
It was a fight that never should have happened.
The density and solidity of the spell world?
Galaf was superior in that regard.
But every spell had to be used in the right place, at the right time, to have meaning.
Especially in a fight.
Esther had done that, while Galaf had not.
This was the result.
"Farewell."
Her voice carried a freshness, almost pleasant.
Thump.
Instead of casting a spell, Esther drew a knife and stabbed it into the wizard's heart, then pulled it out.
Galaf, struck in the heart, spat blood from his mouth, gasping before collapsing to his knees with a heavy thud.
"Sh... Shit... damn it..."
Galaf, his head turned to the side, mumbled something under his breath.
Esther gently pressed her foot down on his mouth.
A wizard's mouth is not something you can just leave unchecked.
Then she crouched down and drove the knife through the back of his hand.
Thud!
The blade pierced through Galaf's hand and embedded itself into the ground.
A wizard's hands, like his mouth, couldn't be left alone either.
"Mmpph!"
Galaf's body twitched.
That was the end.
One of the more impressive wizards had met his end.
In other words, one of Avnair's trusted cards has died unexpectedly.
Esther briefly examined the body, just in case there were any lingering tricks.
There was no movement of mana.
She then swept her long hair back, gathering it with her hand.
It would have been nice to have a hair tie.
Blood had splattered all over her hair.
It was the same for her black velvet coat and the pale skin concealed beneath it.
Blood trickled from her chest and dripped down.
Most would have thought that the first thing she'd want to do is wash away the unpleasantness, but Esther's thoughts wandered elsewhere.
"I wonder what Encrid is up to."
She muttered to herself.
She wondered what trouble he might be getting into.
Perhaps he was getting beaten up somewhere.
Galaf, who had once controlled the flow of this river.
Even she had heard his name in passing.
If there was a wizard of this caliber here, there might be more of them elsewhere.
Esther rummaged through Galaf's belongings, taking everything she could, then unsummoned her summoned creature, returning it to her spell world, before walking away.
She could still control the Flesh Golem, Bonehead, but using it for long periods wasn't feasible since her body was far from normal.
The mana conduits were damaged, limiting its operational time.
Though the fight seemed easy on the surface, she had used up most of the mana stored in her spell world to maintain her human form.
'I'll have to live as a panther for a while.'
Without hesitation, Esther transformed into a panther.
* * *
The Aspen unit, marching in formation, saw a madman charging at them alone.
'What is that?'
'Is he insane?'
'Should we stab him?'
He had broken through the front line and quickly taken a position at the rear.
Several Aspen soldiers subtly turned their spears toward him.
Formation or not, the guy who had gotten behind them looked dangerous.
Three soldiers exchanged glances.
Let's kill him quickly and return to formation. The Squad leader nodded in approval.
They were about to rush in when—
"Hold."
One of the nearby Platoon leaders saw the man's face and stopped them.
To be precise, the distinctive appearance caught his eye.
'Blonde hair, pale skin, red eyes.'
It was one of the descriptions Avnair had personally shared with all the commanders.
"Leave him."
The three soldiers nodded in silent agreement.
It was an order from above.
They froze in place.
The Platoon leader's eyes turned to the enemy soldier.
The man, not even wearing a helmet, strode confidently inside, as if there was no need to hesitate. He moved to one side without a second thought.
He wasn't running, but his steps were incredibly fast.
Sword in hand, he advanced swiftly.
It was as if he compressed two steps into one.
Ahead of him stood an Aspen soldier with a short sword.
To be precise, it was an ally wearing hardened leather armor, different from the uniform of the soldiers.
The man scratched his head through his helmet with his fingers and said.
"You're really following me all the way here."
Ragna, instead of responding, took another step forward.
Ping!
The Aspen soldier in leather armor threw a dagger.
Ragna tilted his head slightly, dodging it.
The thrown dagger embedded itself in the ground.
Without even glancing back, Ragna continued walking.
The flying dagger didn't stop his stride for even a moment.
"If you're going to greet me, you should see it through to the end."
He followed the man's back.
There was no chance he would lose track of him.
The opponent never really got too far, always staying just within reach.
The fact that he had pierced through enemy lines didn't register in Ragna's mind at all.
Encrid had once said that members of the Madmen Platoon could do crazier things than Rem depending on the situation.
Ragna himself had once cut down hundreds of enemy soldiers simply because he got lost.
This was nothing to him.
No one ever asked Ragna for strategy or tactics anyway.
"All you have to do is fight."
Krais had said.
Encrid had also said,
"Fight however you want."
So Ragna fought however he wanted.
And so far, that had worked well enough.
But this time was a bit different.
There was something more than just the usual fight.
Motivation.
"Hey, are you going to keep following me?"
The enemy soldier said, scratching his head again.
Despite his words, his pace didn't slow.
He wasn't an ordinary soldier.
Ragna recognized that at a glance.
'I'm going to catch him.'
Why did he want to catch him?
If asked for a clear reason, it would be hard to explain.
But there was one thing—Ragna felt like if he chased this man, he would see something he had been anticipating.
That was all the motivation Ragna needed to keep moving.
His red eyes, fully committed to a singular purpose.
The enemy soldier deliberately distanced himself from the main force.
Specifically, he moved out of both Naurillia's and Aspen's line of sight.
He had run far enough to be out of breath.
'He's really keeping up, huh.'
The enemy soldier thought to himself.
Among those around him, he prided himself on his speed and agility, yet this was the result.
And still, that guy kept following him relentlessly.
His chest rose and fell, but his breathing hadn't even become labored.
'Wow, this is humiliating.'
His original affiliation was with the Aspen Royal Knights.
He was a Squire.
When it came to running, he was confident he was the best among the Squires.
Even if his opponent was of Junior-Knight rank, this was still an affront to his pride.
The opponent was less winded than him and looked far less tired.
"What the hell are you?"
The Squire asked, bewildered.
Ragna stared at him and asked,
"You're not alone, are you?"
The Squire didn't nod.
What difference would that information make?
Ragna felt a surge of the ambiguous will he had earlier.
Motivation, desire.
What could he call it?
The urge to fight pounded in his chest, though not because of the single opponent before him.
Definitely not.
Ragna raised his sword.
The enemy soldier, the Aspen Royal Knights' Squire, took a step back.
From the tall grass, the opponent who had stirred Ragna's fighting spirit emerged.
"I warned you, but are you really surprised?"
The newcomer spoke to the Squire.
Her skin was dark, and she was tall.
Her long hair was tied back, and she wore a custom-made helmet.
It was a strange helmet with the front visor raised, and the back of it was open to allow her hair to pass through, with spikes on either side, jutting out like the ears of a beast.
Her speech had a peculiar accent, suggesting she wasn't from this continent.
Her skin color and features also indicated that.
She seemed to be from the East.
And she was a woman.
"You really don't know fear, do you?"
She said.
She stretched out her long arm, which seemed to be about the same length as Ragna's.
Ragna, sword in hand, calmly regulated his breathing.
His breathing had already become steady.
Seeing this, the Squire furrowed his brow in frustration once again.
What is this guy, with such stamina?
In truth, it made sense.
Ragna constantly got lost.
Wandering had become his routine.
What might take someone else a month-long journey could turn into a year for Ragna.
If he had a map or a guide, it would've been better, but Ragna's travels were far from luxurious.
Maps weren't cheap, and he never felt the need to hire a guide.
After all, for someone without a destination, there was no such thing as getting lost — he was just living each day.
Therefore, Ragna never thought of himself as being lost.
On particularly unlucky occasions, he could go over three months without passing through a village, continuing his journey on foot.
Running and endurance naturally developed to an extreme degree.
"If you're Junior-Knight rank, shouldn't you at least be comparable to me?"
The Squire fiddled with the grip of the sword at his waist and said,
"I'm above you."
The dark-skinned woman answered immediately, her eyes still fixed on Ragna.
"Are you sure about that?"
"Are you asking because you don't trust my eyes, or is it just stubbornness? Neither is good."
"...My mistake. I just didn't want to lose in terms of leg strength. But he's an oddly irritating opponent."
"He's more than Junior-Knight level, he's practically a full-fledged Knight."
As Ragna listened to their conversation, he naturally started looking for openings in the woman's defense.
It wasn't a deliberate act but something that came to him instinctively.
In his mind, he had already imagined four attacks.
A wide horizontal slash from left to right.
A downward strike using the Middle Sword Technique.
A thrust, pushing forward with force.
A sweeping arc from the bottom right upward.
In Ragna's mind, this imaginary woman easily parried all four of these attacks.
Then, her counterattack would strike his shoulder or abdomen.
'Could I dodge it?'
If he moved his feet quickly, he could avoid it, but then he'd be put on the defensive.
Once on the defensive, it would be difficult to regain control of the fight.
No matter how he analyzed it, the odds weren't in his favor.
With his sharp insight and natural talent, Ragna was already mapping out the outcome of the fight.
Of course, all of this could just be a futile illusion.
You can never truly know the result of a fight before it begins.
Without any change in his expression, Ragna wiped the sweat from his palm on his thigh.
Sweat had formed.
"Still, you're not a true Knight yet. You seem to know a bit of swordsmanship, though. Hmph, they told me to kill you, but..."
The female Knight took a few steps forward before speaking again.
"I am Aya of the Aspen Royal Knights. Ever considered switching sides?"
A Junior-Knight of the Royal Knights, with the Squire beside her.
Aya was brimming with confidence.
She had been a Junior-Knight in the Royal Knights for four years.
Aya knew better than anyone that not all Junior-Knights were the same.
The Royal Knights were where people of similar talent and skill gathered.
The difference between a Junior-Knight who had trained there and one who wandered the continent was clear.
The intensity of their training and duels was on another level.
Since Aya wasn't even considering defeat, she made the offer.
Ragna wiped the sweat from his right hand twice, then wiped his left hand.
Then he gripped his sword with both hands and raised it, holding it in front of his face.
A cold winter breeze cut across the sharpened blade.
Even the sunlight seemed to slice through.
The weather was good.
His heart was racing.
The surge of motivation that occasionally welled up when Ragna looked at Encrid now struck him harder than ever before.
Why?
Why was his willpower rising so intensely?
Was it because he wanted to cut down his opponent?
Was it the urge to kill?
No, it wasn't that.
It was because his opponent was strong.
It wasn't just that the woman moved with a skill far beyond average—it was also her affiliation.
The Aspen Royal Knights.
One of the reasons Aspen dared to wage war, even though Naurillia had the Red Cape Knights.
They were a symbol of power.
And now, one of them had appeared before him?
Of course, it wasn't just that.
Ragna's will had been provoked for some time now.
The impulsive desires he had gotten through Encrid left him thirsty.
That's why, on occasion, he threw himself into training with zeal.
But once that thirst appeared, it could not be quenched by mere practice alone.
Even if one follows a set path, they cannot foresee everything that will happen along the way.
That's when Ragna realized.
'Ah.'
A small gasp escaped him inwardly.
He needed a trigger.
Something that would push him forward, beyond where he was now.
There was something that sheer willpower alone couldn't solve.
He couldn't kill Encrid or the half-wits around him, so he could never give his best.
But what about this Knight here?
She was someone he could give his all against.
A true opponent to face on the brink of death—a perfect trigger.
The idea of defecting never even crossed his mind.
All he wanted was to fight, right now.
So provoking his opponent would be useful.
Ragna had learned a thing or two from Encrid, and now he put it into practice.
"What are you saying, you brown piece of crap?"
[T/L: Please support me AND read further chapters here: https://ko-fi.com/revengerscans.]
[T/L: Subscribe for a membership on my Buy Me a Coffee page and receive 15 extra chapters upon joining, along with daily updates of one chapter: buymeacoffee.com/revengerscans ]
[Additional Info: If anyone is facing the issue of payment on Ko-Fi, please contact me on revengerscans1@gmail.com]