Chapter 445

It was an arm wrestling match.

“Reuben! Reuben! You bastard, Reuben, you son of a bitch!”

The man named Reuben lost. His wrist slammed down with a loud thud.

Some of the crowd who’d bet on him shouted his name like they were coughing up blood.

The match was happening outside. A few tables had been dragged out in front of the tavern, and the owner, red-nosed and drunk, was shouting.

“James wins!”

Someone else shouted in the rising commotion.

“Hey, let me join!”

Oara barged into the crowd without hesitation. Enkrid, standing idly by, turned his head to glance at Aisia.

“She’s always like that. You’ll get used to it.”

With that, Aisia started walking toward the group too.

Didn’t seem like she minded being part of it.

Enkrid stepped forward toward the tavern.

Whether the tavern owner was selling booze or drinking it himself was unclear—he was thoroughly drunk. But even then, he recognized her.

“No way! That’s cheating. Oara!”

Knights were respected by all, but they didn’t force that respect onto their friends.

It’s not like knights didn’t have friends.

The tavern owner seemed like one—Oara’s friend, acquaintance, someone who knew her.

He huffed out through his nose and protested, and Oara pushed back.

“Come on, why not!”

With her playful tone, she looked like some mercenary with a bit of sword skill, but everyone here knew—she could kill the lot of them in a few slashes.

“Oh, come on, how would that be fair? It ruins the bet.”

The winner, James, chimed in. He wiped his flushed head, looking like an angry octopus. There was no clear line between his forehead and his scalp.

“Look at these dainty wrists—how can you say that?”

Oara kicked the chair out from under James and hopped up onto it.

The man who got kicked rolled to the ground but quickly got back up.

“Why’d you kick me?”

“You’re annoying!”

That curt reply made him nod.

Did he seriously accept that?

Enkrid wondered silently and kept watching.

Now that the drinking ban was lifted, the tavern had a completely different energy from before.

Not quite a festival, but people were letting loose, having fun.

“I mean it! Look at these wrists! No one wants to challenge me, huh?”

“No, ma’am! Not at all!”

“Oara, you’re a knight. Did you forget that?”

The tavern owner jumped in again. Oara turned her gaze, scanning the crowd like a hunter looking for someone to say what she wanted to hear.

And there he was—the same soldier from before, the one who’d been delivering drinks. The guy who’d been groveling without a krona to his name. Looked like he’d been working at the inn, now doing a shift here too.

“Hey, what about you? What do you think?”

Oara pointed him out. The soldier rolled his eyes a few times, then answered.

“I think we should respect Dame Oara’s wishes.”

Slick.

He played the part well, even looked like he was pledging his loyalty with utmost sincerity.

Oara, still smiling, said:

“Drag his ass over here and seat him.”

She gave a little hop and landed back in the chair with a thump.

At her command, a few nearby guys grabbed the soldier.

“Huh? What—what are you doing?!”

“Shut up and sit, you bastard.”

Oara smiled as she said it, and the soldier found himself seated across from her.

“It’s a bet. If you don’t want to, don’t. If the person I pick beats yours, I win three gold coins. If your pick wins, you get three gold. But if I win, you’re at the front of the next wave.”

“……Excuse me?”

The front lines in a monster wave—coming out of the Demon Realm—sounded like a death sentence.

Everyone around them burst into laughter.

The soldier regretted not taking up Jack’s offer to desert when he had the chance.

Not that he’d take it now, even if he could.

He was in love with a woman working side jobs in the alleys. Planned to take her away and marry her.

So what if she sold her body?

He knew she was only with him now.

“Come on, you’re a man, right? You only die once. And didn’t you say you wanted to marry Rowena? Thought you were broke?”

Oara grinned and prodded him.

“Yeah, do it! Just do it!”

“You coward! If you’re scared, forget Rowena!”

The jeers lit a fire in the soldier.

“Can you all shut up?”

He shouted, then composed himself and asked carefully:

“Will you be using someone from the knighthood?”

“No.”

Oara shook her head.

“You’re not entering yourself either?”

The soldier asked again.

“Absolutely not.”

This time, Oara nodded.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

The soldier was playing cautious. Or pretending to be. Enkrid could tell he’d already made up his mind.

Still, he acted nervous, hesitant, like he was mulling it over.

Some people were just like that.

Didn’t mean he was bad.

If anything, he was almost see-through. You could read his thoughts like a book.

Oara crossed her arms, smirking as she waited.

“I choose Sir Oliver.”

At that, a few soldiers booed and hissed.

Enkrid spotted the man in the crowd—his forearms were nearly twice the size of everyone else’s.

Short, but stocky. Thick neck. He was built like a brick.

He wasn’t taller than Oara, but in terms of strength, everyone agreed: he was the best in Thousand Brick. A squire in the knighthood, named Oliver.

“That not allowed?”

The soldier looked around nervously. Technically, he wasn’t picking someone from the knighthood. A squire was close, but not quite.

Oara shook her head.

“I accept the challenge. Now, who should I put up?”

She pretended to ponder like a soldier would.

The squire named Oliver placed a hand on the poor man’s shoulder. The soldier stood, and Oliver took his seat.

He looked like someone born to wield power.

Oara rested her chin on her hand, acting like she was still thinking. Then she looked at Oliver and asked:

“Oliver, is it okay if you lose?”

“I won’t lose.”

He answered without a beat. Oara nodded, as if that sealed the deal.

“You shall be my champion. Come forth!”

She pointed beside Aisia.

Right at Enkrid.

“Me?”

Enkrid, who’d been quietly watching, paused before responding.

Oara didn’t flinch at the perfectly timed deadpan question.

“Should I send Aisia instead? Don’t you see those dainty wrists?”

She seemed to really like that phrase about delicate wrists.

“If you’re scared, feel free to back out. You might get hurt.”

Oliver spoke up. His reputation as a demon-slayer preceded him, but when it came to raw strength, he wasn’t going to lose.

That’s what his eyes said—full of conviction.

Enkrid looked at him for a moment, then stepped forward.

Oara stepped aside with a soft smile.

Enkrid sat and faced Oliver.

“No need to worry. No one’s getting hurt. Well, not you—because I’ll go easy.”

“Easy?”

Oliver’s face hardened at the slight provocation.

“I just meant I won’t injure you.”

Enkrid clarified.

“Is that so?”

Oliver’s forehead bulged. The veins on this guy were no joke.

Same with his arms—thick as logs.

Enkrid rolled up his sleeves. Under the light shirt, compact muscle rippled into view.

They weren’t as thick as Oliver’s, but these were refined muscles, sculpted and compressed through Isolation Technique—Audin’s teachings made flesh.

“Alright, let’s place your bets!”

Oara shouted. The crowd had doubled. Trainees, loafers, gamblers—they all gathered.

“Still betting on Oliver, right?”

“His opponent’s just a knight-in-training! Sure, he’s a demon-slayer, but—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Even Oara says Oliver’s strength is unbeatable!”

“So what? If it’s arm wrestling, Oliver could crush a demon’s hand! Don’t you know Giant Arms Oliver?!”

All the bets piled onto Oliver. Enkrid didn’t care.

Someone placed two mugs of beer down beside them. The pewter mugs were filled with golden liquid, topped with foam.

Oliver chugged his, exhaled with a huff, and slammed his elbow onto the table.

Thud.

At a glance, he looked like some deranged wizard had sculpted a stone golem in human form.

Enkrid took the mug beside him and drank. The beer was bitter but had a rich aroma. It was fresh, too.

After finishing, he placed his hand up just the same and gripped Oliver’s.

Just as he’d guessed—it really was like holding the forearm of a stone golem. Stupidly solid and heavy.

Oliver locked eyes with him. Enkrid lowered his gaze.

In silence, he observed himself—focused.

Was it because he didn’t have a competitive streak that he didn’t mind losing? Because he lacked drive, or was just easygoing?

No. It was the opposite.

Enkrid was the kind of man who would sink his teeth in and never let go until he won.

In short, he hated losing.

He just reserved all that power, all that will, to ensure the next win.

So if he could win now, he had no intention of losing at all.

As the noise around them began to fade, Oara called out:

“Begin.”

Oliver and Enkrid poured strength into their grips at the same time.

Crrk.

The table groaned in protest, but it didn’t collapse.

Oliver unleashed what could only be called brute strength.

As expected.

With that grip, you could believe the stories that he could crush a demon’s hand.

But across from him sat a man who’d learned the Isolation Technique through days of repetition under someone far more monstrous than Oliver.

Enkrid ignited the Heart of Might—and summoned his Will.

The power exploded through every muscle in his body.

He’d ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ rarely pushed himself like this in his entire life.

Giant’s Blow.

He even drew upon a sword technique he'd learned.

As Rem might say, it was “a giant’s last ounce of milk-fed strength.”

“Ggghhh...!”

A strained groan escaped from Oliver’s lips.

Craackk...

The table shook. Though carved from solid timber, fractures split along the grain.

Oliver’s arm tilted—barely, just slightly.

Crack!

The table gave way at last. The section under Oliver’s elbow buckled and dropped.

Even as it fractured, Oliver kept resisting.

“Is it... a draw?”

One of the soldiers murmured.

Enkrid froze in that position.

Oliver breathed heavily. For a while, he held on—and then slowly let go.

Enkrid released his grip as well. The surrounding soldiers were watching closely.

“I lost,” Oliver said.

“Noooo!”

One of the soldiers cried out. The guy who’d been pining for Rowena.

But the ones who had bet against him burst into laughter. They cheered.

“Damn, he’s strong!”

“Hey handsome, you just as strong at night?”

A few soldiers joked.

“What’re you gonna do, bite him?”

Someone else shot back.

“Soldier,” Oara said, turning to the man who’d lost. “I’ll give you another chance. Want to try winning with booze instead?”

It was a lifeline. But the poor man couldn’t tell if it came from a demon or an angel.

“Let’s do it.”

Fire burned in his eyes. Enkrid nodded.

They were all in now—might as well see it through to the end.

They brought out the hard liquor.

Enkrid drank something he couldn’t even name.

The soldier made it to his fourth shot before his eyes went glassy, and he shouted, “I love you, Rowena!” before collapsing.

The other soldiers burst out laughing.

Enkrid smirked, set down his glass, and said:

“Next.”

He had no intention of losing—not even to alcohol.

“I’m up.”

Oliver returned to the ring. He was out after just one glass. Strong arms, weak liver.

Oara knocked back the liquor, and Aisia sipped on a light fruit wine.

Someone nearby started playing dice games. Someone else dove into raunchy jokes.

Enkrid overheard two women trading filthy stories and couldn’t help but curl his lip in amusement at how raw they were.

Eventually, Rem joined in.

“Why’s everyone having fun without me?”

He ended up blending in with the soldiers just fine. Before long, Lua Gharne and Dunbakel joined too.

The front of the tavern turned into a full-blown party.

“Having fun?”

Oara asked.

Half-drunk, Enkrid answered:

“It’s... warm. Familiar.”

Exactly how he felt.

As the sun set, bathing the city in crimson light, the soldiers kept hollering and laughing.

One on guard duty shouted, “Damn it, why’s everyone partying today?”

“Bad luck, loser!”

Another soldier teased.

A commander who led a hundred men sighed beside Oara and voiced his complaints.

One squad leader started praising Enkrid, and when Oara snapped back with, “So I don’t deserve respect?” he fumbled awkwardly.

Someone confessed love at first sight to Aisia and got the crap beat out of him.

It was all... genuinely endearing.

The sunset, the city, the soldiers—everything.

Oara wandered among them, drinking and listening to their grievances.

She even left the city briefly to grab a huge tree trunk as a replacement for the broken table.

“Get me a planer!”

She started shaving it down herself, though it wasn’t exactly high craftsmanship.

Then a small-built female squire—one Enkrid had seen back at the log house—appeared and took over. Her skill was solid.

Everyone drank and laughed together.

“I love this town,” Oara slurred.

Enkrid, who had spent only a few days here, found himself agreeing.

Deserters kept leaving, but those who stayed—truly loved this place.

“The last bastion protecting the Demon Realm’s edge. Isn’t it glorious?”

They had pride.

“If we fall, the villages behind us die. You understand that? If the Demon Realm spreads any further, this whole region is done for.”

They had duty.

“This is my job, so I do it. What’s the problem with that?”

They had responsibility.

The Demon Realm frontier was a place where danger always loomed. If you weren’t strong, you didn’t survive.

And that meant strength of mind as well as body.

“Damn, this feels good!”

Oara shouted, and Enkrid clinked his glass with hers, his face flushed with alcohol.

And so the night of drinking passed.

Enkrid returned to his quarters and fell asleep. Rem, who had joined the fun midway, had already passed out.

Lua Gharne enjoyed a special dish made of bugs and drank as well.

“Phenomenal taste,” she said.

She was satisfied. Dunbakel, too, was curled up in a corner, snoring softly.

Enkrid closed his eyes.

In his dream, the Ferryman asked:

“Having fun?”

It was a thousand times more unsettling than any omen.

He opened his mouth to reply—

And woke up.

Waking at the same time was routine now.

He stepped outside, warmed up, broke a sweat. Lua Gharne followed. A little later, Dunbakel came out as well.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” she muttered.

Around noon, Oara showed up again.

She was dressed similarly to yesterday—but this time, she had a long, slender sword in hand.

“Rest day’s over,” she said.

Finally—some good news.