Chapter 472

The middle-aged woman’s warning made it clear that this sparring match wasn’t going to be all fun and games.

The concept of a “warrior” existed in the West, too.

Rem was one. Owl was another.

They fought with axes, spears, and wide, single-edged blades. Double-edged swords weren’t commonly used here.

If you needed something long, you used a spear. For something short, axes or falchion-style weapons were more convenient.

Spears were good for hunting, while axes or crescent blades worked well for chopping wood or cutting grass.

Double-edged swords, on the other hand, were more trouble than they were worth.

It was a matter of practicality—no one here survived just by the sword.

Besides, not all warriors were cut from the same cloth.

They might all have the spirit of not backing down in battle, but their fighting styles could differ.

These twins, for instance, were more hunters than soldiers.

Not that Enkrid knew any of that.

All he saw were the weapons in their hands.

Spears.

They held spears connected to some kind of rod-like device at the handle.

Enkrid wasn’t familiar with them, but he knew what they were.

He’d seen mercenaries use them from time to time.

“Atlatls,” he recalled.

Throwing aids.

A tool designed to transfer more force to the spear than you could with just arm strength alone.

You whipped the atlatl, and the energy would launch the spear.

A spear, being heavier than it looked, could pierce even a whale if thrown with enough force and precision.

Three spears stuck out over each of their right shoulders.

Rem, and the woman puffing on a smoke in front of him, had both warned that this wouldn’t be much fun, but Enkrid found it enjoyable all the same.

Was a fight only entertaining when someone died?

Not necessarily.

And this was only a spar.

“Fine. Then go ahead,” the middle-aged woman said.

The moment she finished speaking, the twins sprang backward, kicking up dirt as they moved. Their movements were light and nimble.

Enkrid watched the final moments as they withdrew and settled into position.

Even after stepping back, they shifted their weight to their heels—fully prepared to dodge at any moment.

Nothing wrong there.

Enkrid’s gaze left their weapons and scanned their eyes, arms, legs.

“Good balance.”

Their calf muscles, exposed below short pants, looked like they were packed with coiled energy.

Those legs could explode with power on command.

Not raw strength exactly—more like the product of experience.

They’d likely fought this way many times before—using ranged weapons before the enemy could get close.

Whether it was hunting or fighting, their style remained the same.

But what would they do if their throws failed?

Falchion-like wide blades hung loosely at their hips.

“If you can’t dodge, you’ll die.”

The woman who brought the twins said this as she exhaled smoke.

Enkrid could’ve closed the distance before they threw, maybe even bound their limbs in one fluid motion.

He decided not to.

“Wouldn’t be as fun.”

So he waited—purely out of curiosity.

It wasn’t a life-or-death fight. Just a spar. So why not wait?

It wasn’t arrogance—it was composure.

The way the twins bounced back, they looked like grasshoppers.

Like quick, tough insects, they hopped back and lowered their stances.

This area of tents had no walls, no fences—nothing to get in the way.

Still… if they missed, a tent could get torn to shreds.

With that in mind, Enkrid sidestepped.

Step by step, slow and steady. The twins adjusted their distance in kind.

Was this their maximum range? Or maybe their sweet spot for maximum force? There had to be a distance where lethality peaked.

They probably knew it from experience.

He could feel it. So he spoke.

“You’re too far.”

One of the twins frowned.

“You’ll get hurt if we move closer.”

“It’s fine to move closer,”

Lua Gharne said from behind.

The Frokk’s ability to read talent was generally reliable, but the twins still didn’t move.

“Give him what he wants,”

the middle-aged woman said. Only then did the twins take two steps forward.

Still a bit far. Well, once he blocked their first throw, maybe they’d change tactics.

Enkrid ran through a few scenarios in his head.

Naturally, his foresight kicked in.

The position of their feet. The direction of their toes. Their grip. The tension in their thighs. The awkward bend of the knees.

He took it all in, processed it, and predicted their next move.

Dunbakel, head poking out of the tent, watched blankly as the twins made their move.

Thunk.

They twisted their torsos and snapped their atlatls forward. Two spears flew—one from each side.

The angle was such that even if he didn’t dodge, they’d just graze him and bury themselves into the ground behind.

In that instant, Enkrid read their intent.

They didn’t mean to kill. It was a sparring match, and they showed respect—but injury was still possible.

He swung his sword.

Whack!

The twins couldn’t even see the blade move.

Their spears didn’t snap.

Enkrid had struck the shaft near the base with the flat of his blade, deflecting it.

“Ooh,” the middle-aged woman let out a small gasp.

Even before the sound fully left her lips, the twins sprang backward.

They retreated over six steps in an instant.

They had already shifted their weight so far back that such a withdrawal came naturally.

Enkrid didn’t chase.

What was the point?

They weren’t his real opponents. But their tactics and fighting style were fresh.

“If they’re pushed, they just throw and don’t close the distance.”

It was a strategy that required fast feet.

Meaning these two were very, very fast.

Come to think of it, Rem was absurdly quick too.

When he got serious, there were only a few who could even think about catching up—Ragna, Jaxon, Audin maybe.

“Is that all you’ve got?”

If that was it, then maybe Rem was right. It was a bit underwhelming.

“Not bad. Summon your guardian spirit,”

the middle-aged woman said, exhaling another puff of smoke.

A slight hitch.

As she spoke, the twins closed their eyes and began murmuring softly.

Enkrid waited again.

What would they show this time?

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Would something rise from the earth to their arms, or descend from the sky?

He listened closely.

Their murmurs mixed in hints of regional dialect and foreign phrases. Enkrid couldn’t make out everything.

When they finished whispering, a change came over them.

Nothing changed outwardly.

“Oho.”

Lua Gharne sounded impressed.

“Hm?”

Dunbakel tilted her head.

Enkrid sensed it too.

Something had shifted. But what?

Their gaze? Their presence?

No… the power in their forearms had changed.

“Hah!”

One of the twins shouted and moved.

Enkrid’s reflexes activated—a moment of absolute focus.

To his eyes, everything slowed down.

One of the twins slammed his left foot into the ground and launched his whole body.

He became a human atlatl.

Ankles, knees, hips—everything followed, momentum pushing forward, unleashing his arm.

The movement was the same as before—but now, the strength was different.

Ping.

There was a sound—then a small dot appeared in the distance. Though it was farther than before, it was twice as fast. The spearhead blurred like a streak of light as it flew toward him.

Anyone would’ve believed it was thrown by a seasoned knight.

It wasn’t something Enkrid could deflect lightly this time, so he tensed his arm.

Thwack!

The spear sliced through the air. Enkrid struck the shaft, not the tip, and felt the strain in his forearm.

In that split second, another dot came flying in.

The other twin.

But this time, it wasn’t a thrown spear—he was charging in, gripping it with both hands and lunging straight ahead.

It almost looked like Enkrid would be struck.

But he extended his left hand and grabbed the shaft.

Smack!

The ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) charging spear froze mid-motion, all its kinetic force gone.

At the moment the spear was caught, the twin drew the sword from his waist.

Tching— the blade began to slide free of its sheath.

But Enkrid didn’t just stand there and watch.

In the blink of an eye, he lifted his foot and stomped on the twin’s drawing hand.

Tching.

The half-drawn sword scraped loudly against the metal lip of the scabbard.

Enkrid then seized the twin, who was slumped over his shoulder, grabbed his waist, and—

Wham—left, right.

He whipped him side to side in one swift motion.

A full-grown man’s body swayed like a heavy sack.

“Urgh!”

A startled groan escaped.

If your body gets shaken like that, your brain rattles with it.

The twin couldn’t hold out.

The other one, who had circled around and adjusted his angle to strike Enkrid, had to abort—Enkrid yanked the twin in his hands sideways like a shield.

If he threw that spear now, he’d hit his own brother.

Would he really have done it in a real battle?

Maybe.

But this was just a sparring match.

“We lost,”

said the twin who had thrown the spear.

“…What the hell, have you spent your whole life fighting? That was incredible,”

the middle-aged woman with the smoking stick said, eyes wide.

Only then did Enkrid release his grip on the twin’s collar. The one he'd held stumbled down, coughing harshly.

“Was that sorcery?”

Enkrid asked.

He was surprised—just a little.

And intrigued.

He’d heard about magic through Rem before.

“It was,”

the woman nodded.

Still holding her smoke, she stared at Enkrid without blinking.

Rem had told her to knock some humility into this arrogant bastard—but arrogant? This guy?

He didn’t seem arrogant at all. And in combat? He was terrifying.

Could he fight better than Rem?

She didn’t know.

Was this a sign of hope? A gift from the Sky God?

She pondered for a moment but didn’t jump to conclusions.

Whether this man would fight for them or walk away was still unclear.

In this world, everyone cared most about their own life—and they had nothing to offer a stranger.

They didn’t have surplus corona, or useful goods.

So should they offer up someone?

Even if it was just one?

No. That wouldn’t happen.

There wasn’t a single Westerner who would hand over another person as payment.

They’d rather die than throw away their pride. That was what they held sacred.

The woman with the smoking stick didn’t know it, but this was what they’d always lived by.

“One more round,”

Enkrid asked, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

He’d seen everything they could throw at him.

They’d fought like men obsessed with dueling.

During the earlier summoning of the so-called guardian spirit, the twins had shown power that surpassed all expectations.

He’d clearly seen everything—but they broke past limits.

What you saw with your eyes wasn’t all there was. That made it even more fascinating.

The twins nodded.

They probably weren’t satisfied either.

“Let’s do it,”

one of them said behind him.

“As you wish,”

the woman nodded.

Another match.

Same as before.

They kept their distance, darting around and launching attacks from range.

“Again.”

“One more time.”

“Just once more.”

“You can do it.”

After every round, Enkrid cheered them on.

And like that, they sparred six more times without rest.

Eventually—

“We can’t.”

“We’re gonna die if we keep going.”

Both twins shook their heads. One was panting like a dog, tongue lolling out.

They’d used too much sorcery—couldn’t even lift a finger anymore.

The middle-aged woman—the shaman—let her hand fall, smoke stick dangling limply.

She was so shocked, she forgot to even smoke.

‘Rem brought a lunatic.’

A lunatic obsessed with fighting.

Still, that wasn’t a bad thing.

Not even half a day had passed, and the two best warriors in her vicinity had been completely worn out.

And their opponent?

Perfectly fine.

Just a bit of sweat.

Now he was off to the side chatting excitedly with Frokk like nothing happened.

And what they were saying…

“That sorcery was fascinating.”

“Cool, but not quite satisfying, huh?”

“Still, it was fun. No one fights like Rem.”

“Think he’s got more like that?”

“Could be one more, at least.”

“You dream big.”

“I always dream big.”

From Enkrid’s perspective, there were at least three more like him in his platoon, but the shaman had no way of knowing that.

By that point, their conversation had gotten so offbeat it was hard to follow.

“Hey, how long is that smoke going to keep burning? What are they burning, anyway?”

As they watched, the beastwoman nearby walked over and finally spoke up.

The woman—the shaman named Hirason—was also a healer of the current Feline Tribe Union.

Meaning: there were few who knew more about that smoke than her.

“It’s for someone who’s dying.”

“Who’s dying?”

“It’s a curse.”

A curse cast by corrupted shamans—the traitor group of the West.

“It’s a long story. Want to see for yourself?”

With her invitation, Enkrid nodded without thinking.

Even though he’d been swinging his sword here, that didn’t mean he wasn’t interested in this strange nomadic city.

If Rem came back, they could explore more—but seeing the place with someone else wasn’t a bad idea.

“I'm curious too.”

Frokk’s curiosity was piqued.

“Yeah, what are they burning?”

Even the beastwoman, who usually only cared about herself, agreed.

“The twins’ father is in that tent. He used to be the top warrior in my camp.”

“And now?”

“He’s sick.”

Enkrid was curious about the man.

He only planned to take a look—just to see what kind of illness it was.

And with that, the shaman Hirason led the three of them toward a tent.

It was the one where all the cursed victims had been gathered.