Chapter 630

Chapter 630

The silver-haired fairy remained a total enigma; his expression provided no window into his inner thoughts. For a long moment, he simply kept his eyes fixed on Enkrid. While Frokk possessed a natural intuition for recognizing raw potential, the fairy race had an almost supernatural ability to sniff out a fabrication. Enkrid had been entirely transparent, and the silver-haired elder sensed the truth in his words. Even so, the tactical advice Enkrid had offered seemed utterly nonsensical.

Resting against the stone wall, the fairy shifted his weight and straightened his posture, continuing his silent study of Enkrid. Through the circular pane of glass behind the elder, Enkrid noticed several adolescent fairies peering inside, their eyes wide with fascination. They hovered a short distance from the window, engrossed in the scene. Being young, they clearly hadn’t mastered the art of hiding their feelings; their faces were open books of wonder.

Before long, a group of grown fairies—smaller in stature but possessing a more controlled aura—approached and spoke to the youths in a tongue Enkrid couldn’t decipher. It sounded like a series of “Pulluu-s” and “dekedo” sounds. It struck Enkrid as peculiar that they were even conversing in his language at all. Despite having their own native dialect, these fairies were speaking his tongue with perfect clarity. Whatever the elders said, the children retreated, their interest dampened by a stern reprimand. It was easy to assume they’d been told to stop prying.

However, the moment the children were gone, the three adults who had dismissed them stayed behind, their ears twitching as they took up the very observation posts they had just cleared. They only chased the kids off so they could listen in themselves, Enkrid realized. Their stoic faces didn’t betray them, but their lingering presence made their curiosity undeniable.

The Nature of a Swordsman
“It might be a good idea to offer an apology,” Pell whispered from his position behind Enkrid. This was the same man who had recently proposed that Enkrid’s mouth be stitched shut, so Enkrid saw no reason to heed his counsel.

“But I was being serious,” Enkrid muttered back.

“Just take a sip of the tea. Swish it around, but for heaven’s sake, do not swallow it yet,” Pell groaned, exhaling a frustrated breath. Pell looked at Enkrid and saw a man who believed himself to be a simple, socially inept woodsman from the frontier. To Pell, that was a complete fantasy. The man was a genuine eccentric.

When asked the secret to slaying a demon, Enkrid’s only answer had been to strike with maximum power and keep cutting until the life left the creature. No sane person gave such an answer. Pell began to wonder if this was a side effect of Enkrid’s specialized genius. Perhaps his overwhelming mastery of the blade had come at the cost of every other cognitive function. It reminded him of Ragna, a man capable of staring directly into the blinding sun while walking in the opposite direction without a second thought. It was a bizarre comparison, but there was no one present to argue against it.

Regardless, Enkrid’s sincerity was real. He hadn’t forgotten how to be social; rather, he felt a deep obligation to match the honesty he felt coming from the silver-haired fairy. If he needed to elaborate on his “technique” later, he would.

The Hierarchy of House Ermen
The silver-haired fairy eventually broke the silence, shifting the focus of the meeting. “Our society is governed by a collective council drawn from the prominent lineages,” he explained.

Enkrid followed the change in topic, sensing its importance. Every person in the room turned their attention to the elder as he spoke with a steady, educational tone. He explained that every major family had a patriarch or matriarch, and these leaders comprised the council. From their ranks, a Speaker was elected to serve as the final voice and decision-maker. This was the blueprint of their civilization.

While they did have a central lineage that humans would classify as royalty, the fairies viewed them not as monarchs, but as eternal protectors.

“I am the current patriarch of House Ermen,” the fairy stated. Enkrid was unaware that House Ermen was one of the cornerstones of the city. Their prestige hadn’t been won through conquest, but through generations of specialized talent that had made them indispensable. “With the council currently reduced to just myself, the burden of choice for our entire race rests on my shoulders.”

The elder leaned forward, his metallic-gray eyes locking onto Enkrid’s. He then made a heavy, definitive statement: “We shall go to war alongside you.”

The declaration was so sudden that Enkrid felt he had missed several steps in the logic of the conversation. “…Against what?” he asked, perplexed.

“I assumed you were already aware of the situation,” the fairy said, tilting his head back slightly.

“I’m completely in the dark,” Enkrid replied.

“Then what was your purpose in coming here?” the elder asked, his posture becoming more rigid.

“I came to find out why Shinar departed,” Enkrid said.

“You traveled all this way just for that? Did she leave you with no explanation regarding her obligations or the peril facing our people?”

She hadn’t said a word. “No,” Enkrid confirmed.

The elder—Ermen—closed his eyes for a moment, lost in a memory. He sighed softly, “You attempted to carry the weight of the world on your own, didn’t you, Shinar? That was always your way.” Though his tone remained even, there was a deep sense of weary resignation in his voice. “A very reckless choice,” he added with quiet bitterness.

To Enkrid, the conversation felt like a puzzle with missing pieces. He lightly rapped his knuckles on the table—a gesture to pull the fairy back to the present. It worked; Ermen’s focus returned to him.

“Please, explain what is happening,” Enkrid requested.

The Shadow in the Cave
“It is a grim tale. More unpleasant than the taste of a rotting tuber. But if you truly wish to know, I will explain,” Ermen began. “Deep within our city lies a cavern that serves as a gateway for horrors. Inside that abyss dwells a demon.”

He described a fairy society that was withering away like a dry leaf. The situation had become so desperate that even the youth were pressed into service making weaponry. Many fairies had even left their homes to work as mercenaries across the world. In any healthy culture, children represent the future, but here, the future was being spent just to survive the present.

The demon in the cave was the catalyst for this slow death. While there had been other troubles—pressure from the imperial fairy realms and internal religious schisms—the demon was the root of the rot. It had arrived with a deceptive warmth before turning into a consuming fire.

“Shinar took it upon herself to hunt the beast. To us, it seemed a miracle, but for her, it was a death sentence,” Ermen continued. Her task was to enter the lair and confront the entity. The demon’s terms were simple and horrific: it demanded a bride.

Shinar was not the first to attempt to end this cycle. Many champions, known as fairy knights, had entered that cave before her. None had succeeded; all had perished. Whenever a champion failed, waves of monsters would spill out to ravage the city, leaving the streets stained with blood. The demon didn’t rely on brute force or sorcery alone; it used attrition. It slowly bled the city dry, sending endless minions from the depths. Spirit-talkers, wizards, and elite warriors had all been claimed by the abyss.

Finally, the demon repeated its demand for a bride. The first time the fairies complied, the monster stopped its assault. It was a hollow, temporary peace. Decades would pass, and then the monsters would return. The fairies used those years to prepare, but their efforts were always in vain.

“To be the demon’s consort is to be a toy until you are broken. That is the reality of the peace we bought. It is a tainted existence,” Ermen said. His voice was monotone, yet Enkrid could hear the underlying layers of grief and fury.

Despite the growing darkness and his own hunger, Enkrid didn’t move. He absorbed the information. “So, to be clear,” he said, “Shinar went into that hole to offer herself as this thing’s bride?”

“She went to negotiate for more time. But she could not break the underlying hex,” Ermen nodded. The demon had placed a mark upon her very soul. She had been plagued by its whispers since her childhood. If she ever tried to find happiness or a husband, the curse would merely transfer to her partner.

Enkrid finally understood why she had joked about marriage but never let him get truly close. The demon had told her she was tainted since she was a girl, and the villagers, out of fear, had treated her like a leper. Many had eventually abandoned the city entirely just to escape the shadow of her curse.

The Rage of the Captain
Suddenly, Enkrid detected a new scent cutting through the forest air: the metallic tang of blood and iron. It was a smell that felt entirely out of place in this ethereal city.

“Pardon me, I must attend to this,” Ermen said, standing up. As the elder walked away, Enkrid’s mind worked at a feverish pace, cataloging everything he had learned.

A demon had arrived, scarred the land, and made a permanent nest in a cave. It slept there, waking only to demand a sacrifice every few decades. The fairies had sacrificed their best warriors and their own dignity to keep it satiated. The demon was a glutton for misery, enjoying the sight of a once-proud race rotting from within.

Enkrid could almost see it: the demon mocking Shinar, holding her captive while she remained a shell of herself. It wasn’t just a guess; his mind had constructed a vivid, accurate picture in the seconds it took Ermen to take three steps. This was Enkrid’s true gift—not just his lethal skill with a sword, but his ability to process complex data and reach the heart of a problem instantly. It was why Kraiss and his other peers had looked at him with such awe.

He understood the tragedy perfectly. He knew how suicidal the mission was. But Enkrid was the type of person who, once he decided on a path, could not be moved. He was, in many ways, a madman.

The demon is the source, but the demon realm itself is the anchor, he thought. Another Maegyeong. He had already lost Oara to such a place. He refused to lose Shinar as well. He felt a surge of cold fury, but his face remained a mask of absolute calm. He wasn’t panicking; he was simply preparing.

“What did you mean when you said we would fight together?” Enkrid called out to Ermen’s back.

“We are going into that cave,” Ermen replied without turning. “We are going to execute the demon.”

This wasn’t just about Shinar; the fairies were making a stand for their own survival. They had reached a breaking point where they would rather die fighting than continue the cycle of sacrifice. “We should have made this choice a long time ago,” Ermen added.

Enkrid was already on his feet, walking alongside the patriarch. “Your name is Ermen, then?”

“Once you lead a house, your personal name is discarded,” the fairy replied.

“Then why is this place called Kirhais?” Enkrid asked.

Ermen explained with a sense of dignity that there was a glimmer of hope Shinar had never allowed Enkrid to see. “Kirhais is the name of the ancient bloodline that has protected this realm for an eternity. What your people would call a royal family.” He clarified again that they were guardians, not queens.

A queen? Enkrid felt a strange sensation in his chest. Shinar was royalty. He imagined teasing her about being an “old queen” if they survived this. She’d likely blast him with magic for the insult, but that was a future he wanted—a world where she was back and able to be angry at him.

“Where is this cave?” Enkrid demanded.

“If you aren’t here to stand with us, I cannot let you proceed,” Ermen said, his silver eyes showing a rare flicker of emotion. Even with their legendary discipline, the weight of the moment was breaking through.

Shinar had entered that abyss to save these people. Crang had urged her to run, to save herself, but she had stayed. Enkrid respected her too much to ignore her sacrifice. He wanted to see this city of Kirhais and its nightmare-cave for himself. He wanted to stand at the mouth of that hole and demand she come back out.

As they followed the elder, Pell leaned toward Lua Gharne. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” he whispered, his pride momentarily forgotten.

“You’re not scared of the monster, are you?” Lua Gharne asked, sensing his unease.

“No,” Pell replied. “I’m terrified of what the Captain is thinking.”

Enkrid was radiating a silent, freezing wrath. It was a cold fire that felt sharper than any blade. Yet, beneath that anger, there was a lethal sense of anticipation.

Ermen led them through a dense thicket where massive roots broke the surface of the soil. The environment seemed to warp as they moved; though they were only walking, the trees blurred past as if they were traveling at high speeds.

“We are here,” Ermen announced.

They emerged into a clearing, and the smell of decay immediately hit them. It wasn’t the smell of a wild animal, but the sickening stench of stagnant, rotting meat—the kind that lured flies and maggots. If demons had a specific scent, this was surely it.

A massive gathering of fairies had already formed—hundreds of them, standing in silence. Ermen stepped before his people and raised his voice so all could hear.

“The demon’s time of peace is over. We are the ones ending it.”

Shinar had tried to save them through sacrifice, but the people had reached a different conclusion. They would rather face the demon in open combat than lose her to the dark. It was a sincere, collective will.

Enkrid found himself in total agreement. They were serious, and so was he.