Chapter 633

Chapter 633

He held True Silver within his right grip and Firebrand in his left. Shink! From the left side of his belt, True Silver slid out, emitting a gentle radiance. The edge sliced through the atmosphere, traveling perfectly parallel to the floor. Simultaneously, Firebrand was pulled from the right, lashing forward in a sharp lunge.

A horizontal sweep and a focused thrust. These were basic actions—and yet, when executed with extreme velocity, even the most fundamental movements become a harbinger of death. Enkrid performed the cycle once more: his cuts and stabs were executed with surgical consistency, aiming for the neck with unwavering accuracy. Within the gloom, four aggressive servants had lunged at the trespassers, only to be intercepted by blades that tore through their windpipes.

An invisible current of Will flickered across his vision, heightening his ability to see in the dark. The primary distinction between a trainee and a true knight lay in this very thing: the deliberate manipulation of Will as opposed to its raw, unchanneled presence. Currently, Enkrid was tapping into his Will without conscious thought, allowing it to sharpen his perception within the total absence of light. He lacked the thermal infrared vision of a fairy, but his intuition was sharp enough to bridge the gap.

Four waterlogged cadavers sagged, their bloated frames giving way. Schlop. The noise of collapsing weight echoed. He felt the mud yield beneath his soles. The air was heavy with moisture and a cloying, disgusting odor that triggered every instinctual alarm.

Water? The tunnels were soaked. Beyond the dampness, a heavy pressure weighed upon his frame. It was a force of suppression. An external power was bearing down on his Will, attempting to smother it. The very oxygen felt contaminated. This malicious aura clung to him, heavy and demanding his departure. This environment was a synthesis of irritation and dread; more importantly, it was designed to neutralize Will.

However, Enkrid remained largely unaffected. As a knight, he instinctively activated the Will of Rejection. While it might not have been a perfect shield against the atmosphere of this domain, it provided more than enough fortitude to withstand the pressure. All that remained to bother him was the foul smell, the humidity, and a lingering sense of malice.

Once he had finished dispatching the four waterlogged corpses, Pell, Lua Gharne, and the rest of the fairy contingent caught up. “The stench is unbearable,” Pell hissed. As a nomad of the Wastes, he was used to the smell of animal waste, but this was a different level of rot. The corruption Enkrid had sensed was clearly affecting Pell as well, whose hand drifted toward the hilt of the Godslayer. “It feels both poisonous and cursed,” Lua Gharne remarked, her eyes darting across the shadows.

Even in a darkness that surpassed a night without a moon, they could navigate without torches. This wasn’t due to their eyesight, but because their other senses remained sharp. Eventually, one of the fairies produced a small pebble that emitted a dim, soft light. It wasn’t powerful, but it sufficed. Fairies were naturally endowed with superior night vision, and some were even born with the ability to detect heat signatures. A few members of the squad had that innate gift. Regardless, a physical light source provided a reassuring sense of clarity. Based on how quickly they produced it, the stone was a prepared tool, brought specifically for this excursion.

“You’ve already started the cleanup?” Bran grunted, retrieving another medicinal herb from his gear. Click-click—he struck his flint, and the end of the stick began to glow. A few sparks danced in the dim light of the luminous stones. The aroma of singed herbs clashed with the stench of the Demon Realm, though it managed to push back the foulness slightly. “Have you been down here?” Enkrid inquired. “Once before.” “I see.” “I am the one showing the way.”

The interior of the tunnels wasn’t as cramped as one might have guessed. Even Bran’s massive, sturdy frame could navigate without issue. Though Enkrid hadn’t originally intended to explore this place, being here didn’t change his objective. The cavern was slick and wet, with rough limestone walls defining the path. This was the gateway to the labyrinth—the heart of the Demon Realm.

“Lady Shinar would prefer if you turned back even at this moment,” a female fairy commented. She carried a blade at her waist that looked quite similar to Firebrand. Whether she was echoing Shinar’s wishes, testing Enkrid’s resolve, or expressing genuine concern was difficult to determine, as her voice was perfectly level. “She’s always been too headstrong to take advice,” Pell replied on Enkrid’s behalf. It was an accurate assessment. “Let’s move,” Enkrid commanded, stepping further in. The thick, ominous air tried to block his path, but it was a feeble barrier at best.

The fairy carrying the glowing stone held it aloft. The four bloated corpses and the manticore they had faced earlier were clearly just the beginning. They weren’t alone for long. As they progressed through the wide stone corridor, monsters manifested continuously. Grahhhhh. A mixture of decaying flesh and a warped, bestial growl reached them. From the darkness beyond the light, another creature pounced. They hadn’t traveled far—merely rounded a single bend—before the next assault began. “A combination of waterlogged corpses and man-faced hounds,” Lua Gharne observed, utilizing her Frokk instincts to identify the threats. Her commentary wasn’t strictly necessary; the creatures were hideous and easy to identify. Their forms were distended by water, their skin peeling away in wet strips. Scores of four-legged beasts with human-like faces scrambled toward the group, their dark eyes twitching in their sockets.

Was it a genuine danger? Not quite. “We will deal with this,” Bran stated, moving to the front. The group was composed of seasoned warriors who had prepared for the labyrinth. These fairy combatants had honed their physical bodies into lethal instruments to compensate for their lack of spirit energy. Enkrid folded his arms, choosing to observe the skirmish. It was a good opportunity to gauge the capabilities of his companions.

Fairy warfare was the pinnacle of efficiency. There was Bran, the Woodguard, and the three others: Brisa, Arcoiris, and Zero. Zero was the massive fairy who had approached Enkrid about a sparring match when he first arrived in the city. Aside from Bran, Zero was clearly the most skilled of the trio. “He is quite capable,” Lua Gharne whispered. Enkrid gave a silent nod of approval.

Zero lunged forward and unsheathed his weapon—a naide, the traditional curved blade of the fairies—cutting through the gloom. He drew and struck in one fluid motion, transferring kinetic energy from his feet through his joints and out through his wrists. His naide traced a deceptive arc in the air. In the pale glow of the stone, the blade sliced a man-faced hound clean in half. Spurt! Even in the dimness, the monster’s oily black blood sprayed across the stone. The already damp floor became even more treacherous. “He is imitating your style,” Lua Gharne pointed out. The strike was reminiscent of how Enkrid had dealt with the manticore. It wasn’t an exact replica, but the underlying mechanics were very similar. Does he possess a natural affinity? Enkrid wondered. Fairy strength usually originated from spirit energy, yet Zero had neutralized the beast using nothing but pure, unadulterated technique. The other two fairies were nearly as proficient.

Enkrid felt a sensation akin to having heavy weights attached to his limbs. It wasn’t the foul air—which his Will of Rejection handled—but rather the general weight of the atmosphere. The others were likely feeling a similar burden. He is incredibly quick. Zero’s footwork was nimble and his blade was sharp. His style was centered on overwhelming power—cleaving and shattering. The other two fairies focused on a strategy of attrition, landing multiple smaller strikes without leaving themselves open. Without needing to speak, they operated with perfect synchronization. One would turn their back as bait, and when a creature lunged, the other would strike its throat. Lure them in, trigger their predatory nature, and hit the blind spot. That was their method. They engaged the front and forced the opponent to reveal its flank. It was a simple strategy but required immense skill to pull off.

Bran’s approach was different. His combat style was far more direct. Snarl! A man-faced hound jumped and latched onto Bran’s arm. Its teeth failed to penetrate his thick hide. While the beast was attached, Bran’s massive wooden hand descended like a hammer onto its head. Crunch! The blow wasn’t exceptionally fast, but it possessed the momentum of a falling tree. The hound’s skull was obliterated. Bran’s style was fundamentally simple: endure the strike and deliver a heavier one in return. As a Woodguard, his body was essentially living armor, more durable than steel plate. Even his internal components were shielded. Do Woodguards even possess traditional organs? Enkrid mused. If one couldn’t pierce the hide, one would have to target the internal structure. It was a reflexive tactical thought, even if he wasn’t currently the one fighting.

Soon, Zero fell back into formation with the others. More than twenty man-faced hounds had been dispatched, and Enkrid hadn’t needed to intervene once. He had simply watched. And in that observation, he realized something. Zero… That fairy was fighting with pure instinct rather than calculated logic. He suppressed his feelings and locked away his heart, leaving only the act of killing. And yet—he was still calculating. Usually, instinctive battle and logical deconstruction don’t happen at the same time. But Zero was managing to bridge that gap. How does he achieve that?

In terms of raw experience, no one on the continent could match Enkrid. His mind began to accelerate, tearing apart and analyzing the fairy’s movements. This wasn’t mere curiosity; it was a deep-seated compulsion to understand. It was the same way Ragna used to operate. The only difference was that Ragna understood the mechanics the instant he witnessed them. Enkrid didn’t have that luxury; he had to break down the process step by step.

It didn’t take him long. His thoughts moved at an incredible pace, even if only a few seconds passed in the real world. Enkrid finally grasped the fairy’s tactical logic. My method is accelerated thought. To an outsider, it seemed like he was thinking a thousand things at once, but internally, it was just one very fast sequence. However, the fairy was using a distinct technique. Right hand: True Silver. Left hand: Firebrand. It was the mental equivalent of dual-wielding. The fairy was splitting his consciousness. Parallel processing.

Now that he had seen it, Enkrid believed that with enough practice, he might be able to replicate it. Not immediately, of course. Understanding a concept didn’t grant instant mastery. He hadn’t been gifted with that level of genius. In the past, he had craved that kind of natural talent. But he didn’t anymore. Not today. Even if he couldn’t master a skill instantly, a seed of the technique had been planted within him. Knowledge gained through struggle doesn’t vanish easily. You remember every pebble on the road you traveled. Put simply: what the body learns through tireless repetition, the mind eventually understands on a fundamental level. Enkrid preferred this path. This was why he no longer envied the naturally talented.

“Our objective is to locate the descending stairs,” Bran announced after the area was secured. The monsters continued to swarm. Drowned corpses were a constant presence. Two more manticores even made an appearance. There was no opportunity for rest, though none of the enemies posed a fatal threat yet. They were hardly worth the title of monsters compared to what stood at the gates—not even colony-rank. The fairies dispatched them with ease. But their stamina will eventually run thin. The problem was the sheer volume of enemies. Even the easiest task becomes exhausting if there is no end to it. Pell and Lua Gharne began rotating their efforts. Enkrid stayed vigilant as well. As the pile of carcasses grew and the floor became slippery with black gore, the group continued their descent.

Along the way, smaller nuisances like blood-drinking flies and massive leeches appeared, attempting to latch onto their legs. The flies were particularly troublesome; their stings caused wounds that wouldn’t stop bleeding. This meant avoiding even a single bite was mandatory. The fairies used surgical precision with their blades to swat them, but the swarm seemed infinite. “These were a nuisance last time as well,” Bran remarked. He wasn’t concerned for himself—his bark-like skin was impenetrable to them. He didn’t even bother actively hunting them, simply swatting the ones that got too close. Thwack! He crushed one against the cavern wall. Dark fluid and crushed parts slid down the limestone. It was a gruesome sight. Enkrid didn’t bother with his swords either, simply using his fists to knock the pests away.

“These vermin…” Lua Gharne hissed, sparking a flame along the length of her whip. The corridor brightened significantly. She lashed out with a wide arc, creating a wave of heat that turned the flies into ash mid-flight. The fire trailing her weapon looked more like a high-level elemental spell than a physical tool. Seeing Enkrid’s inquisitive look, she offered a brief explanation. “Relic weapons change their properties based on the user’s intent.”

After clearing the insects, they pressed on. “This place is unnervingly vast,” Pell grumbled. Bran nodded. “It can take three days if we are unlucky, or two if we find the shortcuts.” It was a true maze. Navigating it was a challenge in itself. Without Bran’s guidance, they would likely have wandered in circles. Eventually—after what felt like twelve hours— “I’ve found it,” Bran stated. He hadn’t memorized a map. He hadn’t followed landmarks. He had been watching the behavior of the monsters to pinpoint their destination. “Those creatures ahead are the ones tasked with holding the staircase.”

In the distance, several drowned corpses stood waiting. They were clearly unique variants, far more powerful than the ones they had encountered previously. And there were many of them. “Even if you cut them down, they won’t stay quiet,” Bran warned. The fairies tensed up immediately. Enkrid saw the issue as well—these wouldn’t be simple kills. Hovering over the shoulders of the bloated corpses were shimmering, translucent shapes. These weren’t solid monsters. They were incorporeal entities. Drowned corpses possessed by wraiths.