Chapter 638

Chapter 638

Enkrid gave a composed nod, behaving as though the entire situation were perfectly ordinary. Beside him, the assembly of fairies—Bran included—had been reduced to stunned observers. They could hardly process his preceding words.

“My desires were simple,” Shinar began again. “I wanted to enjoy an apple under a clear sky. I wanted to pilfer something from Kraiss’s bag just to see his reaction. And I wanted to spend more time mentoring Seiki.”

“I see,” Enkrid answered. His tone was supportive, providing a steady rhythm to her confession without interrupting her flow.

Shinar added a few more details. Her aspirations were remarkably humble—nothing more than the small joys of a quiet life. To any bystander, they were the most modest of dreams, yet every single one of them was tied to the days she had spent in Enkrid’s company.

The things the monster had stripped away—peace, laughter, and a sense of tomorrow—had slowly begun to return to her. As that inner void filled, Shinar had finally mastered the art of mana control. It was only natural that her heart’s desire was woven into that brief, flickering existence she shared with him—the life of an Igniculus. To a fairy, a spark is the sum of their experiences, and she had gained all of hers by this man’s side.

“Coming back was a mistake,” Bran grunted. The massive tree giant exhaled a cloud of herbal smoke, his voice heavy with a rare, suffocating remorse. “You should have stayed in that world.”

“He’s right,” Arcoiris added, her voice soft. Brisa’s face paled as she listened; she grew so distracted that the glowing stone in her hand dipped toward the floor, its light forgotten.

“So, because we need more time, we just accept a sacrifice? Is that the rule for everyone?” Zero challenged them. Having seen many fall for the sake of their city, his perspective was different. He refused to demand Shinar’s life for their safety.

You are a strong one, Zero, Enkrid thought. He could sense the young fairy’s resolve. Zero didn’t want a shield; if a monster stood in their path, he was prepared to face it himself. He would fight until the very last moment before surrendering to fate. It was a mindset uncharacteristic of most fairies, but perhaps expected of one born into a cycle of demonic predation. He wasn’t raised among peaceful groves, but on a battlefield, learning to kill instead of how to play.

Shinar, too, was more than just a tragic figure. She had risked everything for the city of Kirheis. Every fairy present understood this; it was why they remained. They were also aware of their status as collateral. If they fled, Shinar would bear the weight of the demon’s wrath.

They knew, and so did she: if she vanished, the demon would systematically execute every fairy left behind. As long as that creature drew breath, that reality was absolute. It would simply select a new victim, torment her, and then present the broken remains to Shinar to ensure her guilt never faded. It was a trap designed to chain them all together—shackles that bit into the bone and drew blood, never letting go.

Enkrid relaxed his posture, listening with absolute focus. His silence spoke volumes of his sincerity. As she spoke, he began to read the unspoken truth behind her words.

“I want to stay with you. I want to spend the rest of my days just being part of the knighthood, watching the world go by,” she said.

Her true wish was nestled between those lines. People might call such things small, but Enkrid believed no dream was small—only precious. And Shinar’s dream was very precious to him. If a knight couldn’t protect a child who only wanted to bake bread, what was the point of the title? If one couldn’t safeguard those standing right next to them, what were they even fighting for?

If this elder fairy wanted her dream to become reality, he would ensure it happened. That was his purpose here. His questions about why she left were merely a pretext for his interference. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he was here to meddle. He thought of the knight who had died for her city; he had lost Oara in the Grey Forest, and he refused to let Shinar follow that path. His resolve was unshakable.

“Have you heard of the deer with the blue nose? That is what I am,” Shinar said.

For a long time, the demon had been a constant whisper in her ear, telling her she was a blight and that her soul belonged to him. He had tried to bargain with her: If you want to survive, bring me another sacrifice. Ever since the day she believed her presence had caused the deaths of her kin, those whispers had been her shadow.

Painful memories flooded her mind. “If you weren’t here, everyone would still be happy,” her sister Nyra seemed to ask from the depths of a nightmare.

In reality, it had been a calculated move by the demon, and the young, fire-touched fairy was innocent. She understood the logic, but her heart couldn’t accept it.

“Go. You owe us nothing,” Bran urged.

There were those who had shielded her from the demon’s influence, and she wanted to return the favor. She felt her own happiness was a price she wasn’t allowed to pay. “A blue-nosed deer has no place among the herd,” she whispered, trying to steady her resolve.

Enkrid observed her, piecing together the fragments of the situation. He realized Shinar intended to die alongside the demon to buy the others time. She was preparing to trade her crown of flowers for one of thorns. She wasn’t acting out of hopelessness, but out of a calculated plan to weaken the beast.

Enkrid saw the end of her logic but gave nothing away. It didn’t change his mission.

“That doesn’t matter to me,” he declared. His words were sharp with conviction.

Lua Gharne struck her palm in agreement. “Of course it doesn’t,” she said.

“You knew he wouldn’t listen,” Pell added.

Hearing this, Shinar’s composure finally broke. Her resolve shattered like a boat in a gale. But Enkrid’s life was proof that when the boat sinks, you swim; when your legs fail, you crawl. She had been moved by that stubborn will once before.

“If you rescue me, the responsibility for all my kind falls on you. That is my price,” Shinar said, her voice turning cold and flat.

Enkrid’s polite mask dropped instantly. “I refuse,” he snapped.

“You won’t?” she asked.

“Not if it’s a price. I’ll do it because I choose to,” he replied.

The ruins were suffocatingly dark, the light stones failing, yet Enkrid seemed to radiate a brilliance of his own. Whether it was his spirit or his words, he was the only thing visible in the gloom.

“Then Enki… will you save me?” Shinar whispered.

“I will,” he promised.

Because he had been so focused on her, no one had noticed that Enkrid’s hand had never left his hilt. His eyes snapped toward the shadows behind the throne. A heavy, rhythmic step echoed through the chamber.

The demon that had haunted Shinar had discarded its voice to merge with the silence. It wasn’t hiding; it was waiting.

“That is Onekiller,” Shinar identified it. The creature of fire was gone, replaced by something forged through sheer will and time. It had split its essence into two—a creator and a destroyer. The entity before them was the latter: a being made for nothing but slaughter.

Enkrid felt a terrifyingly focused aura coming from the beast. It wasn’t chaotic; it was pure. It was the physical manifestation of the intent to kill. If one could distill ‘Murder’ into a single form, this was it.

The creature had no face, only hollow sockets filled with a faint orange glow. Its metallic skin was etched with glowing runes. It stood like a man but possessed long, integrated blades where its forearms should be. It shed a warm, soft light that illuminated the area without glare.

Enkrid knew exactly what this was: the fundamental enemy of life.

It looks like a Heartless, he noted. In the dark realms, those who trade their souls for power become these monsters, fighting with blades instead of hands and living until their heads are severed. He targeted the neck as the likely weakness.

Onekiller glided forward, its orange light cutting through the dark. The movement was disorienting, but Enkrid tracked it with more than just his sight. He watched the demon’s feet, seeing the shift in weight and the tension in the joints—it moved with the precision of a master duelist.

The demon lunged, its blade whistling down. Enkrid met the strike with his silver sword. He calculated that a full-strength block would leave him open to a follow-up, so he used a half-measured parry to deflect the momentum upward.

The collision rang out like a thunderclap. Despite its thin frame, the demon possessed strength equal to Enkrid’s own—and he could tell it was holding back. Enkrid retreated three steps to bleed off the kinetic energy. Onekiller mimicked the movement, resetting its stance with a vertical blade.

“Stay back!” Enkrid barked at Pell and Lua Gharne. “This one belongs to me.”

The demon had no mouth, yet Enkrid felt as though it were grinning at him. It was likely a projection of his own excitement. This was his first true battle with a demon—not a fragment like the Balrog or a puppet like Molsen.

A true demon slayer, he thought. If he won here, he would earn that title.

The creature’s glowing eyes locked onto his. The killing intent was so thick it felt like a physical blade at his throat. He countered it with his own Will of Rejection, activating the Phantom Slash technique—a high-level adaptation of Valen-style combat.

This was the most dangerous opponent he had ever encountered. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of dark joy.

“This is madness,” Enkrid whispered, his voice carrying in the silent hall.

“This is wonderful,” he added with a low chuckle.

The onlookers were horrified. To find joy in a duel with a demon seemed like the height of insanity.

“…He really has lost his mind,” Bran muttered.

Enkrid, however, remained convinced that in a world of monsters and sacrifices, he was the only one thinking clearly.