Chapter 469

Clothes soaked in purple blood. A dagger in hand. The high sky still full of drifting clouds and a cool wind.

And in between, three grotesquely out-of-place Giant corpses.

It would be dangerous. His instincts warned him.

That’s why they couldn’t turn back.

“Alright, let’s go,” Enkrid said.

It might have sounded abrupt, but the meaning was clear. He was saying he’d go with her.

“If you’re going, I’m going too.”

Lua Gharne said.

“Hoo, fine. I’ll come along too.”

Dunbakel added with exaggerated generosity.

Rem looked at Enkrid.

Would that man go along with someone else’s will? No—he wasn’t that kind of man.

When it came to stubbornness, he was the most unyielding on the continent.

Could that stubbornness ever be broken?

Not a chance.

Rem reached a conclusion in a flash and responded.

“Yes. Thank you.”

They set off again.

After discovering the three Giants, Rem found traces of a village.

“Shit. What the hell is this…”

Rem muttered.

Torn tents, dented cooking pots, and wide, flat stone slabs caught their eyes.

There were barely any bloodstains. Hardly any smell of blood either.

The place, once a village, sat slightly elevated—like a small highland.

At the center were the remnants of a large bonfire.

The remains of a burned campsite.

Nearby were scorched tents, fragments of belongings, and dry wood piled up. In the center sat a large cauldron.

Inside it were bones and tufts of hair—clearly human.

Rem’s expression didn’t change in the slightest.

He crouched and sifted through the remains with his hands, observing the surroundings.

“No other traces.”

No shattered palisades, no snapped bowstaves or broken spear shafts.

For a battlefield, it was strangely devoid of signs. That was Rem’s assessment.

There were a lot of things that didn’t sit right. But this one—he felt he could be sure of.

Looking at a lump of soil with tree-like grain patterns—evidence of something being buried there—Rem spoke.

“There were people I knew here. Or should’ve been.”

“So they’re gone now.”

Enkrid replied, scanning the ground.

Then who—or what—was the “Prophet” the three Giants mentioned?

No signs of anything besides those three Giants.

“Right. And the three Giants—something’s off about them. Their blood’s weird, and there’s barely any monsters around here. That’s weird too.”

Rem said, almost to himself. His arms were crossed, his axe resting at his side.

Just because it’s the West doesn’t mean there are no monsters.

In fact, this region often had unique creatures rarely seen elsewhere on the continent.

Sandwings.

White-furred beasts that smelled like soil and mimicked human voices.

Retmen.

Rem had said such creatures were common around here.

Perhaps due to the dry climate, things like Lizardmen or Crocodile-types were rarely seen.

Still, a few wild Benteltas had been spotted.

They had short snouts, scales instead of fur, short front legs, and long hind legs.

When they ran, they were nearly as fast as horses.

Though… it was hard to imagine taming creatures like that.

Still, in the West, some people did ride them. There had to be techniques for it.

“They’re being watched.”

Rem dusted off his hands.

Could the Giants have attacked the village?

Possibly. But the people who had lived here weren’t the type to be taken down so easily.

That meant there was some unknown variable.

Rem stepped forward again.

The group resumed their march.

Even if one village had gone silent, nothing about the road ahead had changed.

The path was the same.

As he walked, Enkrid lifted his head. For a moment, it looked like the clouds were moving faster.

He’d heard that in this region, when the wind blew, it poured in wild gusts—but most days there was hardly any breeze.

Right now, it was hard to imagine any rain coming in this kind of air.

Scratchy might be the word.

Based on his experience, there wasn’t even the faintest scent of rain.

Lua Gharne, following behind, spoke up.

“Too dry.”

In truth, the conditions were ideal. But for Lua Gharne, it might have been uncomfortable.

She kept drinking water.

“Drink all you want. We’ll arrive by tonight.”

Rem said. Lua Gharne nodded.

Occasionally, dusty yellow winds would blow through, only to be followed by clean, crisp air.

Moving forward again, Rem muttered:

“People around here don’t much like change.”

He said it while scanning the area.

He wasn’t looking for more Giant tracks—he was just navigating.

They used landmarks—ridges, boulders, massive trees.

Things that didn’t change.

Things that stayed rooted even in storms.

It was a grand, awe-inspiring landscape.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

If people lived here, every day would pass like a timeless moment.

In one part of the yellow earth, occasional patches of grass grew. Elsewhere, there were stretches of gray stone.

Sandstone hills formed from clumped grains dotted the land, worn down and cracked by time.

These won’t make for good landmarks, Enkrid thought, taking in the surroundings.

“What do you mean by that?”

“There’s war, and we fight among ourselves too. But in the end, no one wants real change.

Even if we fight, raise our voices, and die on this land, that’s all it is.

They want to believe it’s all fate.”

When Rem spoke about things he truly hated, he often became oddly calm.

Whether he realized it or not, Enkrid did.

Like with Jaxon or Ragna—if he raised his voice at them, it was nothing serious. Just regular anger.

But when his voice dropped and he drew his axe—

That meant danger.

Lately, after getting thrashed by Ragna, he’d heard that tone more often.

“I don’t get what’s fun about that kind of life.”

Rem said.

Enkrid didn’t hesitate to answer. The meaning was serious, but his tone fluttered lightly.

That was fine.

He had conviction in what he believed, and that’s why he moved forward.

If he’d lived caring about others’ opinions, he wouldn’t be here now.

It was a line that compressed his entire life into words—

So even if it sounded light, it wasn’t meaningless.

“Who the hell cares?”

Rem suddenly stopped.

“…Yeah, true.”

He muttered to himself and walked on.

Just because one way of life is called the right one—just because everyone says so—

Does that mean you have to live that way? That it’s the answer?

If there’s such a thing as a correct life…

No.

If you know what you want—then go out and claim it.

That’s who Enkrid was.

And Rem… wasn’t so different.

That’s why he left the West.

To live a life of claiming.

For joy.

To move forward.

He didn’t want to become some lump of desert worn down by the western wind.

He had once run from duty and responsibility. That was a fact.

But because he acknowledged it—

He could return now.

That’s how Rem had defined his own happiness.

Mind. Mood. Will.

When learning spells, you often had to internalize certain patterns. This was similar.

Rem remembered a mindset—one he’d forgotten—

A feeling he’d pulled out sometime after leaving the West.

“Tonight we’re going to eat something good. If anyone’s too exhausted… let them rest. Dunbakel was whining earlier.”

“Nah, leave him. He’s just itchy with pride.”

Dunbakel was either sluggish, dry, or indifferent. Truly a dull beastkin. All he had to say about the wide land was that it made him uncomfortable.

Maybe it was because it resembled the open plains where beastkin usually lived.

“Try washing once in a while.”

Rem threw the comment his way, but—

“There aren’t many beastkin who wash as well as I do.”

Dunbakel answered confidently.

Naturally, Enkrid didn’t believe him. Neither did Rem, nor Lua Gharne.

“If anyone’s tired, hop on someone’s back.”

Rem said indifferently, continuing to march forward.

They walked from what looked like wasteland, across dirt paths and patches of short grass, heading toward a ridgeline on the left.

The ridge was full of pitted rocks.

Perhaps it had once been a volcanic zone—muted ash-gray surfaces pressed down by sheets of basalt.

From afar, it might look like a lava giant stomped across this place.

Thanks to his conditioned senses and trained spatial perception, Enkrid could guess the shapes and indentations just by examining the terrain.

They marched through the night.

Along the way, a few monsters jumped out.

Retmen.

Rat-headed beasts with long claws. Dunbakel sliced them apart with her curved blade like it was nothing.

“My turn, huh.”

She °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° knew that if monster blood got on her, she’d have to wash.

So the moment she struck, she immediately slipped away to the side.

It was like lightning—strike and retreat.

She handled the monsters without letting a single drop of blood touch her.

Dunbakel had improved a lot since before.

At least, that’s how it looked to Enkrid.

How would she have fared against those Giants earlier?

He’d managed to hold his own, but…

Dunbakel would’ve won. Odds were much better on her side.

Of course, in a real fight, odds meant little.

Diligent training increases your chances of survival, but it’s no guarantee.

Am I overestimating Dunbakel’s skills?

Should I suppress that instinct and balance it out with caution?

Dunbakel didn’t seem to be thinking too hard.

She had definitely changed after the radiant baptism on the previous battlefield.

Still, it’s her path to walk.

Enkrid didn’t think it was his concern. Dunbakel would carve her own way forward.

“They’ll get eaten by hyenas or Surina.”

Rem said, glancing back at the dead monsters before continuing forward.

As they moved on, they passed by jagged, blade-like rocks.

A natural fortress—sharp, solid stone formations.

Enkrid scanned the area.

To the right were scattered meadows—patches of short grass. A few sheep were grazing leisurely there.

Sheep?

Sheep here?

There were cattle too.

And a few people moving among them.

Thanks to their all-night march, dawn was beginning to break.

The sunlight mixed with clouds and the uniquely dry air of the West to light up the land.

The region, painted in gray and yellow earth tones, was now bathed in gentle sunlight.

There was peace in the air.

With almost no fog, visibility was perfect.

Sunlight added color—

To the gray and ochre came light browns, pale green grasses, and a natural harmony of shades.

Between the sheep and cattle, four people were moving.

One of them stepped forward.

They might’ve shown caution, but the figure only glanced at their group before striding forward without hesitation.

“When the clouds pass overhead, they never said enemies would come too.”

The figure was tall, broad-shouldered—massive. But the voice was unexpectedly thin.

At first glance, it seemed like a beastkin covered in thick fur.

But that was just clothing for insulation.

Hair was braided and hung down behind. The color was a light brown.

Strangely, the figure’s footsteps made almost no sound.

As if something had been attached under the boots.

Enkrid could tell just by looking.

A hunter.

At the very least, someone used to hunting. That’s how they appeared.

The person’s eyes scanned each of them—excluding Rem.

It wasn’t quite suspicion, nor simple observation—somewhere in between.

But there was a calm, quiet intensity in the air.

Like flowing lava.

What you saw was slow and steady, but if you touched it by mistake—

You’d be burned alive instantly.

A person who had carefully wrapped their raging heat in silence.

Their gaze landed on Enkrid, Dunbakel, and Lua Gharne—and moved on.

It didn’t linger on Enkrid’s face either.

Even though he was dusty and travel-worn, his face was still striking—but she didn’t care in the slightest.

Then she asked—

“Which side?”

It was a blunt question.

“What do you mean by that?”

Rem’s answer came, surprisingly subdued.

Rem—intimidated?

It wasn’t surprising that they knew each other.

What was shocking was that Rem looked small.

Enkrid glanced around.

Maybe this was all a dream, something conjured up by Fatbelly Boatman.

But there was no ferryman. No mirage.

This was reality. His senses said so.

“I’m asking why you left home.”

The tall woman spoke again.

Rem didn’t answer right away.

The moment Enkrid took them both in—Rem and the warrior woman—his instincts clicked.

His mind spun, piecing together everything.

“You really coming with us?”

“You could stay behind.”

“You’d get there faster alone, why take the long way?”

Why Rem had hesitated.

“If I go now, I might die. No—I'll die.”

Why he refused to leave with his injuries.

Why he showed a rare glimpse of fear.

Why he was oddly reluctant, even when saying he was going to “retrieve something left behind.”

The answer stood right in front of them.

“Hey. Bastard. I said talk.”

The western warrior toyed with the axe at her waist.

She—

Was Rem’s wife.