Chapter 629

Chapter 629

A tree puffing on a cigarette—this was, without question, a sight Enkrid had never encountered in his life. Before he could even find his voice, the wooden colossus addressed him. “Ah, a human. I imagine this is your first time crossing paths with one of my kind.” Its eyes, a deep shade of brown that looked as though they had been carved directly into the bark, shimmered with an intense curiosity. They blinked slowly, never leaving Enkrid’s face. He had heard legends before of spirits born from the timber. “…A Woodguard?” Standing just a half-step behind him, Lua Gharne tilted her head as she posed the question. “Precisely,” the white-haired fairy responded with a small nod of confirmation. The Woodguard—a lineage of the fairy folk established in the distant past by a deity of the woods to serve as the protectors and caretakers of the Great Forest. It seemed that not every member of the fairy race shared Shinar’s specific traits. The term “Fairy” was a broad classification. It encompassed the Dryads, the Woodguards, and the Wing Fairies alike. Dryads were said to possess the appearance of fresh, pale green leaves, while the Wing Fairies were minuscule creatures, no bigger than the span of a man’s hand. Enkrid was well aware of these facts. He simply hadn’t anticipated meeting one who was such a dedicated smoker. Between lips formed of rough bark and dried foliage, a cylinder of tightly rolled brown leaves glowed with a dull red ember before fading. Puff. Translucent clouds of smoke drifted upward, lingering in the still air. Enkrid wondered at the mechanics of it. Even the roughest mercenaries he had known—men who seemed to live with a cigarette permanently attached to their faces—could only manage to blow simple rings at their best. If that one soldier he knew, the one who lived for smoke tricks, were to see this, he would likely be kneeling at the giant’s feet, begging to be his disciple. “Care for a drag?” The wooden giant extended the offer. “Bran, you’re being incredibly discourteous to our guest,” another voice scolded. “Discourteous? What are you talking about? This isn’t that garbage humans roll—this blend is actually restorative.” Bran the Woodguard grumbled as he shifted his massive frame to the side, his bark joints creaking audibly with every movement. “I don’t partake,” Enkrid finally managed to say. He was, in the end, still a human, and if there was ever a moment to be truly bewildered, this was it. What exactly was that creature? Why was a being made of wood playing around with fire so casually? Shouldn’t a tree be terrified of flames? And yet, there he was, inhaling deeply from his leafy cigarette and walking with an air of total contentment. What would happen if he accidentally ignited? Perhaps Shinar hadn’t been overreacting when she expressed such extreme caution regarding fire. Enkrid’s thoughts began to drift in a dozen different directions. When Bran stepped out of the way, the path ahead finally became visible. None of the inhabitants seemed to pay the smoking giant any mind. Instead, every gaze was fixed firmly on Enkrid and his companions. Enkrid instinctively began to scan the area. “Regardless of whether a blade is drawn, your first duty is observation.” That was a lesson from Lua Gharne, and Enkrid followed it with religious devotion. They stood in a wide clearing at the city’s threshold, hemmed in by colossal trees. Brilliant sunlight poured down from the unobstructed sky above. The atmosphere was serene. The entire settlement seemed to pulse with a profound sense of tranquility. The chirping of birds and the drone of insects reached his ears, but even these sounds felt like a deliberate, harmonized background melody rather than random noise. Enkrid sharpened his perception, taking in every detail of his environment. There was much to see. A fairy peeked out from a hole in a tree like a curious squirrel. More of the tree giants—beings like Bran—were positioned beneath the ancient boughs. Their scale was deceptive, playing tricks on one’s sense of depth. Some were comparable to Audin in size. Others were twice the height of a grown man, and one loomed nearly three times that height. The largest among them remained perfectly still with its eyes and mouth clamped shut; if it didn’t move, it would be impossible to distinguish from a natural tree. Absorbing these sights, Enkrid expanded his field of vision once more. The architectural plan was straightforward: a central plaza surrounded by structures made of living wood. However, this wasn’t the full extent of the city. Had they designed the entire forest to serve as the city’s foundation? This was a place where hundreds—perhaps more than a thousand—fairies resided. It was far too expansive to grasp in a single glance. To traverse the entire area would likely take several days. The city was immense—larger even than Border Guard. There were no cobblestone streets, but distinct paths had been worn into the earth between the roots of the trees. After noting the broad layout, Enkrid zoomed back in on the details. His focus landed on the base of one of the wooden structures, which appeared to be a residence. It looked like a home a squirrel might construct if it had been trained by a master architect. The roots delved deep into the soil, providing a firm anchor. The entire building maintained the organic silhouette of a tree. But something about the sight bothered him. He searched his mind for the reason, asking himself why it felt off. His intuition whispered that this was no static building. It bore the appearance of a tree rooted in the dirt, but that was merely a clever disguise. If the need arose, that entire structure could move. That was the conclusion his instincts reached. The way the buildings were distributed around the clearing in such a precise, calculated pattern felt intentional rather than natural. Even the color of the earth surrounding the roots was slightly off-kilter. It was an impressive bit of deduction. Perhaps it wasn’t just combat skills that Jaxon had instilled in him. Jaxon had always emphasized the necessity of reading a situation accurately. As for analyzing an environment before a conflict? Lua Gharne had hammered that into him through sheer repetition and physical discipline. Enkrid was simply applying what he had been taught. He might be slow to grasp new concepts, but once a lesson was learned, it was etched into his soul. What a genius might master in an afternoon, Enkrid would struggle with for a week. But once he had it, he never lost it. Especially when he applied himself with everything he had. That was the secret to his retention. The houses can move. That was his final assessment. Beyond that, he saw nothing but rows of blank, glassy, and emotionless eyes. Enkrid’s heightened senses could detect faint traces of confusion and wonder in those eyes, but only just. To anyone else, they would appear entirely unreadable. “What is it with those eyes?” Pell’s previous comment rang in his ears. Eyes that showed no soul could trigger a deep, instinctive dread. It wasn’t exactly terrifying, though. Pell had said it as if it were a joke, but his tone had remained perfectly flat. Perhaps he had seen enough strange things by now to take this in stride. Or maybe it was the inevitable result of spending so much time in Enkrid’s company. Pell had managed to survive among madmen for this long; very little could rattle him now. His mental resilience had developed far beyond what anyone could have predicted. “A visitor of the human race. Truly a rare event.” One of the residents stepped forward to speak. She was a Dryad—a member of the forest clans famous for their mastery of restorative arts, where males were a rarity and the feminine form was the standard. This particular Dryad was no exception. Her hair was the color of deep moss, and her skin had the soft, vibrant hue of a young leaf. She didn’t possess a conventional human beauty; instead, she radiated the crisp, revitalizing energy of the deep woods. She was draped in green fabric embroidered with fine gold thread—a material Enkrid didn’t recognize, which only added to her ethereal quality. Her eyes, resembling polished jade leaves, swept over the group before she spoke again. “You aren’t quite like the little seedlings, are you?” Her voice was soft and composed, but her words carried the sharpness of a blade. It was the sheer presence she projected. Enkrid decided to let his guard down and relax his mind. It is said that a full cup cannot receive more water. If he abandoned his preconceptions, he could process whatever came next. In a heartbeat, his entire mental state shifted. The white-haired fairy sensed this transition with the uncanny perception of her race—and she was quietly moved by it. His spirit is straight, true, and immovable. She was impressed, but she didn’t let it show. Accepting others exactly as they are was a rare trait. There was a certain kind of courage in that level of tranquility. “This isn’t the season we usually receive visitors,” the white-haired fairy noted. “It has been an age since a human walked these paths,” another Woodguard added. His voice had the quality of dry leaves being crushed under a boot. It was a crackling sound, yet remarkably clear—every syllable reached Enkrid with ease. The voices of Bran and the other Woodguards were fundamentally strange. Enkrid looked at the wooden giants and realized he would have a hard time telling them apart based on looks alone. Compared to them, even someone like Frokk would be easy to identify. And identifying Frokk was no simple task. “A long, long time indeed,” the Woodguard repeated with that same leafy rustle. Their vocal anatomy was clearly distinct from humans. The way they shaped words was unusual, but still perfectly intelligible. Enkrid had dealt with enough shocks today; this was just one more thing to accept. They say that the capacity to accept the extraordinary is a form of power. If that were true, Enkrid might be the most powerful man on the continent. He was the one who managed to lead the Mad Squad, even when Rem and the rest were being absolute nightmares. He could deal with “strange.” No matter how bizarre the Woodguard appeared, they couldn’t possibly be more erratic than Rem’s personality. Enkrid looked directly at the wooden colossus standing in the center of the clearing. It was time for formalities. Just because this was a city of fairies didn’t mean they communicated any differently than other sentient beings. The vibe of the place made that clear. “Enkrid of Border Guard,” he announced in his typical, steady voice. A moment of quiet followed. “He is the one known as the Demon Slayer,” the large fairy who had traveled with the white-haired one explained to the crowd. The fairies began to whisper among themselves. “The Demon Slayer?” “The Knight of Iron Walls?” “The Enchanted Knight?” “The Heartbreaker?” Their voices remained monotone, as if they were reciting text from a ledger—but for them, this was a display of genuine shock. Their glassy eyes widened by a fraction of a millimeter. Of all the titles they listed, the final one caught Enkrid completely off guard. Heartbreaker? He had never heard that name associated with himself. Why would such a title be known here? He was honestly baffled. However, a faint sense of warmth and affection seemed to follow the murmurs. “I will escort you inside,” the white-haired fairy said. And so, Enkrid was ushered further into the city, bathed in an inexplicable feeling of welcome. As they moved through the clearing, the inhabitants never looked away. It could have been a distressing experience, but Enkrid projected an air of calm indifference. Even so, he felt their eyes watching him with something bordering on awe. There was no more whispering. Just a vast, silent vigil. Fairies, Dryads, and Woodguards—they all watched with the same intensity. If the act of gazing were a symphony, this was a hushed orchestra of curiosity and evaluation, underscored by a soft note of friendship. It was so subtle that one would miss it if they weren’t looking for it. “This way,” the white-haired fairy directed. She led the party into a residence carved out of a massive tree—the second one on the left of the plaza. The doorway was higher than he expected. The interior, while not massive, felt intimate and cozy. The air was perfectly balanced in terms of warmth and moisture. They walked down a brief hallway where the walls were formed by interwoven roots. The room they entered featured a table covered in a vibrant green cloth that gave off a refreshing aura. Given that they were inside a living organism, the scent of fresh vegetation was everywhere. “It smells like midsummer,” Pell whispered. “Even though we’re in the heart of winter.” He was right. The scent was a masterful harmony—fresh grass, seasoned wood, and the smell of rich, healthy soil. Perfume would be useless here. The fragrance reminded Enkrid of Shinar. Though, in truth, Shinar’s personal scent had been something more complex and elevated. Pell and Lua Gharne followed Enkrid inside, looking around with clear admiration for the fairy craft. The tree had been hollowed out—furniture and walls were all part of the same living entity—yet each piece had its own character. The chair by the table was barely a chair in the traditional sense; it was more like a growth of wood that happened to be perfectly shaped for sitting. If someone found it on the side of a road, they’d think it was just an interestingly shaped piece of kindling. It looked like a naturally twisted log. “You mentioned you were looking for Shinar of House Kirhais?” The white-haired fairy asked as she took her seat. “I am,” Enkrid answered. That was the sole reason he had traveled this far. He decided to pack away his curiosity and surprise for the time being. He could process the wonders of the city later. Initially, he had assumed that once he arrived, finding her would be a simple matter. He’d heard she was performing some vital task for the city’s benefit. Naturally, he assumed she would be present. But she clearly wasn’t. If Shinar had been nearby, she would have burst out to meet him with her usual lines: “Did you come all this way because you couldn’t stand to be away from your fiancé?” or “Have you finally come to accept my hand in marriage?” The fact that she hadn’t appeared meant she wasn’t there. It was a conclusion reached through both logic and gut feeling. “A guest we did not expect,” the white-haired fairy remarked. As she spoke, a fairy with silver hair appeared from the hall, bringing tea. The cups were much like the chairs—simple blocks of wood with a hollowed center rather than porcelain. The tea, however, was excellent. If this were a formal tea house, Enkrid would have had nothing but compliments for the brew. “Shinar isn’t here, is she?” he asked, even though he already suspected the truth. Sometimes a question must be asked even when the answer is known. He didn’t see the point in using flowery language; he liked to get straight to the point. “She is not,” the white-haired fairy confirmed with a nod. “Is she dead?” No. He knew that wasn’t the case either. But he needed to hear the confirmation aloud. He needed it validated by another person. The white-haired fairy shook her head. “For the next several years, even if she desired death, it would not find her.” Her words were heavy with a sense of burden. There was regret and sorrow there. It was the first time Enkrid had detected such a clear, sharp emotion from her. Of course, by human standards, it was still quite subtle—just a slight shift in the resonance of her voice. He began to piece things together. He didn’t have the specifics, but… was she imprisoned? Bound by some seal? “Would you tell me the whole story?” he requested. They had been treated with nothing but hospitality, and he saw no reason to be anything other than respectful in return. The fairy in front of him and the one who had served the tea both radiated a genuine kindness. “I have a question of my own first,” the white-haired fairy said. A trade of information. This time, her emotions were even closer to the surface. She tried to keep her voice level, but the intensity of her curiosity was plain. Enkrid waited. He understood the situation—Shinar was alive, so his task was simply to find out how to get to her. Could she be lying to him? Shinar had once told him that fairies found it nearly impossible to deceive. Perhaps some fairies who lived among humans had learned to lie, corrupted by the world’s chaos. But among those who lived in a society where truth was an instinctual force, there was no room for falsehood. There wasn’t even a word for “lie” in their tongue, or so the story went. After a long silence, the white-haired fairy finally spoke. Her voice was firm, yet it carried a great weight. It was calm on the outside, but there was a desperate urgency underneath. “Do you know the method for killing a demon?” Enkrid didn’t respond immediately. He could feel the gravity of her question. This wasn’t a topic for casual conversation. He took a moment, his lips moving slightly as he organized his thoughts. Only after he was sure of his answer did he nod, speaking with total sincerity to honor her honesty. “You slash them with everything you have.” Silence fell over the room. No one uttered a sound. The only noise was a soft rustling from the adjacent room, which seemed loud in the absolute quiet. “…I’m so embarrassed,” Pell whispered, breaking the tension. Lua Gharne hesitated, looking nervously at the fairies, before adding: “He really isn’t trying to be rude.” Enkrid replayed his words in his head—and realized how they must have sounded. This was the fault of Rem. And Ragna, Jaxon, and Audin too. He had spent so much of his life among men who spoke only in the blunt language of the battlefield that he had forgotten how to use nuance. There were so many complexities he couldn’t put into words, even if he tried. That old habit had just failed him again. Trying to fix the situation, he added: “Slash with everything you have… until they stop moving.” “…Someone should really just sew his mouth shut,” Pell muttered again. “He wasn’t always this blunt,” Lua Gharne whispered to herself, before looking at the fairies and saying clearly: “I promise you, he isn’t mocking you.”