Chapter 470

The ground trembled under the wind and red haze.

It was because the opponent moved.

In a world washed in gray, she alone glowed with a rich brown light.

There was a vicious liveliness to her.

Put another way, even the way she drew the axe from her belt had a lightness to it, like a dance.

Then came the vertical axe strike.

Enkrid’s eyes followed the arc of the blow.

No hesitation.

It wasn’t overflowing with killing intent, but the will to split something—anything—was clear.

Like splitting firewood, the axe carved a long, unwavering line.

The axe sliced through the air with one clear purpose: to crack open Rem’s skull.

"Hey, bastard—" The curse left her mouth just as the axe came down.

There wasn’t even a breath of time, but naturally, Rem responded.

The axe in his hand met his partner’s in mid-air.

Clang. Krrrk.

Lua Gharne and Dunbakel’s eyes whipped back and forth.

Every time the blades collided, their expressions changed. Their gazes were drawn to the dance of the two axes.

Enkrid remained calm. He saw everything clearly.

As the axes clashed, they rebounded off each other.

Rem had subtly twisted his wrist to deflect the blow.

"Hmph."

Rem’s wife snorted.

She tugged her rebounding axe back with arm strength.

It seemed to be secured by a leather strap coiled around her forearm. Her muscles swelled, and the tendons dug in like cords.

The axe leveled horizontally, aiming for Rem’s jaw.

"Owl."

Rem casually slipped aside and murmured the name.

The woman called Owl pulled her axe back and thrust it forward.

Rem received it as if practicing a drill and shoved back with a smile.

No one had told him.

But that woman instantly recognized it. The technique Rem had just shown was a variation of body-shifting movement.

And he blocked it barehanded.

Enkrid might be able to defeat Rem—but to see something like that once and mimic it instantly? That was something else.

It was the difference in talent. To grasp the form and have a body that could immediately replicate it.

Enkrid could stop a blade barehanded now too. But to pull it off so intuitively in the moment? That would be difficult.

It wasn’t something Rem calculated—he did it by instinct.

Even so, Enkrid didn’t feel anything particular.

No deep admiration, no grand emotions. Just… the technique caught his eye. It was worth practicing later.

A gesture that was half-strike, half-sweep.

"I chose my partner. I swore on my axe. I haven’t laid roots anywhere else."

Rem said calmly.

As his axe glimmered, the woman—Owl—slowly returned hers to her belt.

"Fine. I’ll let it go for now."

"Smelly beastkin. And a Frokk. The one I shared a night with is a man."

Rem added.

A response to the unspoken accusation—had he been with another woman?

The context made it clear.

It sounded like a clumsy excuse, but it was the truth.

"If testimony’s needed, I can provide it."

Enkrid interjected.

It was the power of friendship. A single word, born from the bond of fighting side by side through life-or-death.

"I don’t know who you are, but maybe don’t butt in? Unless you want an extra ornament in your skull?"

Enkrid chose to respect her opinion.

Dunbakel was about to say “Now’s not the time to defend Rem,” but closed her mouth.

The woman in front of them didn’t seem like the type to make empty threats.

Lua Gharne watched with interest.

“So that’s Female Rem.”

That’s how she saw it.

Dunbakel interpreted it the same.

“Two dumb axes.”

Enkrid, too.

“She’s Female Rem.”

Owl, with her hand on her axe, stared at Rem. Her eyes were thick with quiet killing intent.

"We’ll talk later."

Rem’s expression darkened slightly.

"Yeah."

There were always things in life you couldn’t avoid.

Like a husband who’d left home—he owed his waiting wife an explanation.

Once Owl’s axe swing, her "symbol of wrath," had ended, a few more people from the West approached.

They didn’t show the slightest sense of danger.

They must’ve known Rem.

One of them, a man with a lotus-like pattern carved on his face, came forward.

It looked like a sharp thorn or spike design.

“Man… why does this always happen with you.”

He looked truly startled.

That kind of design was called a shadow beast mark—a mythological symbol from Western lore.

Enkrid watched him silently, observing with intent.

“Record everything I see. Understand it.”

It was a habit from his earliest days learning the sword.

His gaze swept the man.

The skin was dark, likely sunburned—but the natural tone underneath leaned red.

You could see patches of that reddish hue at the border between sleeve and hand.

He had high cheekbones, narrow eyes—but didn’t look sinister. If anything, he looked gentle.

Handsome, too.

Owl was the same—clearly a beauty.

Behind him, Lua Gharne let out a puff of air, cheeks bulging.

Frokk liked attractive humans.

That was likely her way of expressing satisfaction.

It must’ve been a cultural trait of this group.

By contrast, Rem had more of a continental appearance.

Why? Because he was born differently.

Just by seeing a few Westerners, Enkrid had pieced together part of Rem’s secret heritage.

It was a guess—but a solid one.

Rem clearly looked different from the rest.

"Yo. Been a while, huh?"

Rem put away his axe and raised a hand.

"Was about to forget how many times the flood came."

"Six."

Owl replied flatly from behind. The man nodded.

"Yeah, been a while. What the hell have you been doing?"

"Started with traveling. Then conscripted. Then fighting. Now I’m back to take a break."

Some words were hard to understand, but Enkrid grasped the gist.

"What’s he saying?"

Dunbakel tilted her head, confused.

Lua Gharne, who understood the Western dialect, seemed to follow it.

"Well, there’s only one thing to say in times like this. Welcome back, Rem."

One of the men said.

"Thought you’d croaked somewhere, but you made it back."

Owl offered her blessing—blunt as ever.

Only then did the stoic man finally look toward Enkrid.

"Are you with Rem?"

He asked, three steps away. A subtle caution flickered in his tone.

"Still deciding whether I should confirm that or explain why we came instead. Mind if I delay the answer?"

Enkrid replied, and the man laughed.

Seemed like it was his kind of joke.

“Interesting guy. I’m Juul.”

“Enkrid. From the Border Guard.”

“Enkrid? Hard to pronounce, and the name’s long.”

Though the Empire had spread its language across the continent, subtle differences in accent were common.

The way this man—Juul—spoke was just like that.

Saying the name was hard to pronounce was part of that, and regional dialects had formed for the same reason.

“Is that so?”

Enkrid brushed it off without much concern.

Rem cut in, asking,

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“What about the village we saw outside? It looked like it was attacked. We ran into some giants.”

It wasn’t that he had just remembered it. Their reunion had simply delayed the question.

“That’s a long story. For now, let’s head into Great Wing. Owl?”

Juul looked to her, but Owl just stared silently at Rem. The other Westerners simply looked on blankly.

Enkrid glanced around at them and inferred the hierarchy.

“Female Rem holds the authority. Juul’s probably a squad leader or something.”

He was mostly right.

They’d been out herding livestock and scouting the surroundings, and among them, Owl was the most formidable fighter.

“Alright.”

Rem had returned.

Owl felt both happy and angry. Either way, his return at this time was something to welcome.

Something guided by divine favor, perhaps.

“We’re heading to the Great Wing chieftain.”

Soon, the remaining Westerners whistled and began driving the sheep and cows forward.

They tapped the ground lightly with long staffs, lining up the livestock. Even a seasoned herder from the Wastes could’ve learned a thing or two watching them.

Enkrid made that comment aloud, and Lua Gharne chuckled softly.

“Kurrk. That’s not how a herder in the Wastes does it. You’ll see later. Ask Pen when we get back.”

“If he’s alive, sure.”

Enkrid nodded.

The phrase “if he’s alive” might’ve sounded jarring in another context, but neither Lua Gharne nor Dunbakel batted an eye.

In fact, a newcomer from One-Man tilted his head.

Was this some kind of dry Continental humor? Or perhaps simply a matter-of-fact acceptance of risk?

Both, really.

As they walked, Rem drew closer and whispered just loud enough that Owl wouldn’t hear.

“Yao, I nearly died back there.”

“Would’ve been better to take the hit, maybe?”

Enkrid whispered back.

Sometimes it was better to just get hit.

“If it had been a gentle swing, sure.”

Enkrid agreed. That axe had enough force to lop off a forearm.

“Rem? Are you… the Rem? The one who left home a while back?”

A nearby Westerner, who had been quietly observing, asked.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Was it the Curse of Bloodfate that made you leave?”

“Who told you that?”

“Owl said it.”

“And you are?”

“I’m Irem.”

His skin was scorched, but his eyes were clear. His body, shaped by controlled meals and hard labor, was solid like river-stone.

The way he tapped the ground with his staff as he walked suggested he knew how to fight.

It wasn’t that he lacked fighting spirit—his trained physique was unmistakable.

Enkrid’s eye for skill had grown considerably. Just a glance was enough for him to estimate someone’s level.

That was something he was actually better at than Rem or Ragna.

Like the difference between someone who watches thigh movement while hiking up a mountain, and someone who just charges straight up.

Because of that, Enkrid saw Irem’s ability most clearly.

“He’d be considered a top-tier soldier in the Border Guard.”

In an actual fight, who knew how things would go—but at a minimum, he had the fundamentals.

He’d held a sword before, and there was no unfamiliar scent about him.

It was the same kind of feeling you’d get from someone who had nearly become a Juhi or had been a low-rank soldier once.

Anything could happen in a battle where your life was on the line.

But through that lens, Female Rem’s ability was far beyond his.

At a glance, she was probably somewhere around Skry level.

Rem answered the younger man.

“It wasn’t anything like that.”

Explaining what had happened # Nоvеlight # back then would take too long—and wasn’t something to tell someone who knew nothing.

“Hmph.”

Owl snorted from the front.

She probably didn’t hear the whispers, but she definitely caught the rest of that conversation.

Female Rem had sharp ears.

They continued walking past groups of Westerners herding livestock.

The people looked up as the party approached.

It was obvious that outsiders were passing through—there was no blending in.

Some of the glances recognized Rem.

As they walked, a smoky, acrid scent wafted over from somewhere. Not a pleasant smell.

Enkrid glanced sideways and saw Dunbakel twitching her nose.

If he had noticed, Dunbakel would’ve picked it up first.

“What do you think that is?”

“Smells like someone’s burning a bunch of plants together.”

Rem seemed to notice it too and looked up.

Far ahead, a column of gray smoke was rising.

“So something did happen.”

Rem muttered.

“We’ll find out once we’re inside.”

Owl answered tersely. She still sounded mad.

Would that anger ever cool down?

Enkrid wondered as they walked on.

A gently sloped mountain blocked their path.

Once they crossed it, a wide clearing came into view.

“It’s been a while since we had outsiders. Welcome, foreigners who crossed the boundary.”

Juul said.

The clearing was filled with tents—round ones, angular ones, all sorts.

Too many to count.

And with that, a crowd of people.

Easily hundreds. A massive settlement.

In other words—a Western city.

“In Continental terms, you could call it ‘Elder Bear’ or something like that. We’re said to be descendants of the goddess who became a bear.”

Rem had explained before they came.

There was a myth of a bear-god that slew a serpent bigger than a city.

One about animals gathering in a cave and turning into humans.

And one about a human merged with a bear—the first of the Western people.

Each tribe had their own myth.

Now Enkrid saw it with his own eyes.

The Western city Rem had spoken of.