Chapter 654

Chapter 654

The fairy who had stepped forward to lead the way had a history as a scout within the Information Guild. During his tenure there, he had acquired a vast amount of knowledge. His vision was constantly in motion, darting from side to side—a lingering professional trait that forced him to commit every detail he encountered to memory.

An armored figure clad in black, sprawled lifelessly upon the earth, arrested his attention. The silhouette was one he recognized.

Black Serpent Ele?

They had crossed paths only momentarily in the past, but the singular design of that plate mail was impossible to mistake. Its craftsmanship was far too distinctive to slip from his mind. Etched clearly onto the dark metal were several names; though the suit itself pulsed with a malevolent aura, the carvings suggested a deep, personal devotion.

Olivia. Sophia.

Truly, it was a sight that stuck with one. Assessing the wreckage of the area, it wasn’t difficult to reconstruct the sequence of the struggle. The fairy, chosen to take up Ermen’s mantle, now functioned as their scout, his eyes lingering on the scars of the conflict.

He had managed to defeat them all without any help.

It would have been impressive enough had the trio combined their strength to bring down Black Serpent Ele, but the physical evidence pointed to a different reality.

“He served the cult. He was an Apostle of Rebirth,” Lua Gharne remarked in that moment.

The fairy gave a heavy nod and redirected his focus.

The corpse clutching the staff topped with a circular iron ring must have been the second perpetrator.

An Apostle of the Rebirth Church—a blight upon the lands, the mouthpiece of the underworld. These were the titles belonging to the creature Enkrid had struck down. He wasn’t a true devil, but a mortal man whose atrocities surpassed them. Stories claimed he had wiped a whole metropolis off the map single-handedly, condemning hundreds to exist as lingering spirits through his hexes.

Had he survived another ten years, the man likely would have become a figure of dark myth. That was the fairy’s private conclusion.

“He put up a fight, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle,” Peld interjected, chest expanded with false bravado.

The fairy, having fully processed the gravity of the scene, found himself shaken. He was so taken aback that his typical composure slipped away.

Could this truly be real?

“You actually took the life of an Apostle?” he questioned, his voice thick with wonder.

“I suspect he was an imitation,” Enkrid answered with a profound, genuine stillness. The fairy could sense that Enkrid honestly held that conviction.

In a strange reversal, it was the warrior rather than the fairy who seemed to possess total emotional mastery. The guide’s eyes were wide with disbelief, while Enkrid remained perfectly poised.

“A fraud?”

The fairy didn’t share that sentiment. He moved to press the issue, but Lua Gharne shook her head, calling out to her companion.

“Enki.”

“What is it?”

“Once we return, you must test your skills against Rem.”

“That was already my intention.”

“Good. Then the truth will be clear to you.”

She didn’t elaborate on what he would discover, but a certain intuition took hold of him.

“If that man was a fake, then whoever hired him employed the most talented actors in existence. Failing that, they are master thieves who have stolen souls. Even that suit of armor and the staff carried by the apostle are artifacts of immense rarity.”

The one who succeeded Ermen possessed many talents, yet he harbored a notable quirk: for a fairy, he was exceptionally long-winded. He delivered that entire observation in a single, hurried breath before refocusing on Enkrid.

“Is that the case?” Enkrid queried, offering a small nod.

The fairy drew a deep breath and began a rambling explanation.

“Indeed, that was the heraldry of Black Serpent Ele, and the apostle’s weapon was a tool fashioned from enchanted ore. Are you familiar with enchanted ore? Ah, it brings to mind my inaugural year as a scout for the Information Guild. The woman managing the front desk was named Emily. She treated me quite sharply at first—I was convinced she despised me. As it happens, she didn’t. I simply hadn’t adjusted to the customs of humans yet. I eventually realized she was fond of me, even if her words were like ice. She taught me a great deal about human social cues and communication. Specifically… intimacy. Oh, I didn’t sire any mixed-blood offspring or anything of the sort. Emily helped me secure my opening contract, and—”

It was rare for fairies to be so loquacious. This was a byproduct of his integration into human society. Since fairies are inherently unable to speak falsehoods, and working for an information syndicate often requires withholding the truth, he had developed a strategy: he would speak in circles, burying the truth in a mountain of trivial anecdotes to baffle his listeners. Over time, this had become his natural state.

He saw no reason to change. His fellow fairies didn’t mind; they were patient enough to sift through the noise for the essence of his message.

Enkrid understood the logic, but he found no joy in the process. The wandering narrative was becoming tedious.

“Focus on the essential part,” Enkrid intervened.

He cut the story short just as the fairy was preparing to recount the details of his second outing with Emily.

“I beg your pardon?”

The fairy stopped immediately. This was, after all, a man he held in high regard.

“Give me the short version,” Enkrid commanded.

“Ah, of course.”

The fairy paused, realizing there was no deception required here, and condensed his thoughts.

“It is worth a fortune.”

Observing him, Enkrid found himself thinking not of Ermen, but of Kraiss. He was like a fairy iteration of Kraiss.

A single, blunt statement centered on coin. Was this merely the result of being worn down by the world? Not entirely. This fairy had acted as a merchant for his people, so this pragmatic worldview had become second nature.

It wasn’t a negative trait. Since they had stepped out into the wider world, they needed to learn the art of interaction rather than remaining apart. Commerce—the trade of assets—provided the most straightforward bridge. Mutual understanding and empathy would follow in time, but it started with negotiating value.

Enkrid didn’t dwell on the philosophy. He assumed Kraiss or Abnaier would manage the logistics. He simply asked what he wanted to know.

“Why does it hold such value?”

“That staff is forged from a substance capable of drinking in mana. As it consumes energy, it forms a metaphysical link. This is why it is often called living stone. Some even refer to it as a sage’s stone. Let me rephrase: it isn’t just costly—you could trade it for a small fortress.”

Is that so? Enkrid wondered who would value such a thing. Perhaps Esther or Kraiss? He nodded as the thought crossed his mind.

No further obstacles hindered their journey back.

The demise of the cultist would not strike the continent like a sudden bolt of lightning, but rather like a slow, soaking rain. The man had never operated in the light, preferring the safety of the dark.

Had Enkrid not become such a profound risk, the Apostle of Rebirth would never have appeared in the flesh. Conversely, it proved that Enkrid had dismantled a significant portion of the cult’s agendas. From the destruction of the gnoll tribes to the resolution of the conflict in Naurillia, he had been a constant thorn in their side.

He had already claimed the lives of the Apostle of Curses and the Apostle of Alchemy. To the remaining Apostles, he was a disaster that could no longer be brushed aside. They were forced to pause their other machinations and direct their full might toward his elimination. It was logical. The mystery wasn’t why they were moving now, but how Enkrid had managed to stay alive this long.

Hexes failed against him. Scientific toxins were useless. Even the most legendary bladesmen from across the world were sent back as headless trophies.

In reality, Enkrid had perished a thousand times over, but that was a secret he carried alone.

“The rain is starting,” Peld called out from the front.

True to his word, droplets began to fall. It wasn’t the frozen snow of winter, but liquid rain—the sky’s way of signaling the change of seasons.

A few days later, upon their arrival at Border Guard, Lua Gharne finally saw the full extent of Enkrid’s evolution.

“…You absolute bastard, what kind of training did you do out there?”

Rem had been defeated. A direct duel with Enkrid had ended in his loss.

Enkrid stood there looking confused, responding, “Are you being serious? Put some effort into it. You don’t have to let me win.”

“Hah. Fine. Let’s do this for real, you crazy man.”

Rem held nothing back that day.

For a friendly duel—rather than a struggle to the death—there were few disciplines more effective than the Wavebreaker Sword. It was a style forged in the fires of countless mock battles, making its effectiveness almost a given.

In a flash, Rem shifted his stance, aiming a heavy axe strike at Enkrid’s skull while simultaneously trying to crush Enkrid’s toes with his boot. If Enkrid moved to save his head, his foot would be pinned, allowing Rem to follow up with a lethal combination. It was a cunning maneuver designed to force an opponent into a desperate defensive posture.

The Enkrid of the past might have relied on pure muscle to parry the axe, accepted the injury to his foot, or jumped back to reset the fight.

This time, however, he reacted differently.

Enkrid raised his leg, kicking Rem’s foot aside, while using the short sword gifted by the fairies to turn the axe’s momentum. Both actions were executed with perfect power and synchronization. He had handled both threats at the exact same moment.

Rem was stunned for a second, but he didn’t let his limbs go idle.

CLACK.

The impact of the blades wasn’t deafening, yet Rem felt a sudden chill of peril. That intuition was validated instantly. Borrowing the energy from the deflection, Enkrid swung the short blade downward with intent.

Rem had no window to retreat or parry. He lunged forward, catching Enkrid’s wrist with his free hand. Just as he believed he had neutralized the threat—thud—Enkrid’s forehead slammed into his own.

Whether it was a tactical choice or raw instinct, Rem was sent staggering. His vision swam with light as he swung his axe blindly, but his weapon found only air.

The exchange ended there. Enkrid didn’t press the advantage. He simply watched his friend with an unreadable expression.

It was merely practice, and neither man was fighting as if their lives depended on it. Even so, the outcome was jarring. Though he didn’t voice it, a single realization took root in Rem’s mind.

Did I just lose?

Rem’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. Even during his bouts with the formidable Ragna, he had never been dominated in such a fashion. Of course, had he utilized his full array of spiritual enhancements, the result might have shifted. A single headbutt didn’t define a whole war.

Yet, by the rules of a spar, he had been beaten. What would have happened if Enkrid had continued his assault after that headbutt? Speculating on alternate realities was a waste of time, but the thought remained.

I likely would have fallen.

He refined the calculation in his head. If he were to give it a percentage, he was eighty percent certain of his defeat. He had been so shocked that he had asked what Enkrid had done, and when Enkrid told him not to play around, Rem had engaged with total sincerity.

“Damn it, you’re like a stone wall. Nothing gets through.”

Every attack had been neutralized.

“I’ve named it the Wavebreaker Sword,” Enkrid explained.

“My axe is supposed to be mightier than any wave,” Rem countered.

“Is that so?”

The levity vanished. They were both intensely focused now. And yet, Rem found it impossible to gain the upper hand. If anything, he was slowly losing ground.

He is relentless…!

Enkrid’s spirit was like a bottomless chasm. Rem might be difficult to take down, but in a test of endurance and Will, he knew he would be the one to break first.

Even in a life-or-death struggle—I wouldn’t win.

His gut told him the plain truth, which explained his lingering shock. Furthermore, Enkrid wasn’t even using his primary weapon—he was wielding a short sword. It was a fine blade, certainly, but its reach was a major drawback.

“Once more.”

They engaged in another quick sequence. In the truest sense, it was a lightning-fast exchange.

“That’s enough.”

With that declaration, Rem rotated his wrist and unleashed four rapid slashes before jumping back. It was a technique he had recently employed against Ragna, who had lost his balance trying to counter it. With sacred power surging through his muscles, even these small movements carried the force of a landslide.

But Enkrid simply angled his blade, meeting every unorthodox strike. He parried every single one.

CLACK, THUNK, PING, CLANG!

The two weapons sang together like instruments in a dark symphony. When the final strike rang out and the two men paused, they realized they were no longer alone in their focus.

Audin, who had been softly murmuring his holy incantations, was standing nearby, watching with intent. From a different spot, soaking in the sunlight like a cat, Ragna had sat upright, his hand resting instinctively on his hilt. Even Jaxon had moved to the edge of the roof, leaning his chin on his hands, his eyes sparkling with interest.

All three of them had witnessed it, and all three felt the same shift in the air.