Chapter 660

Chapter 660

“They refer to me as the Ragged Saint in certain circles. I apologize for the delay; I was occupied with the youngster.” He used the word “playing,” though in reality, he had been instructing Seiki on the management of divine power. This energy had manifested within Seiki spontaneously, without any prior guidance. Without immediate training in its regulation, the power threatened to cause her physical harm. It was out of this concern that Audin had sought his foster father—the man known as the Ragged Saint. That specific duty was what had stalled his arrival; to him, the safety of the young Seiki was the most pressing matter. Standing beside the self-titled saint, Seiki lifted her hand and remarked, “Your monstrous quality seems even more pronounced now.” Seiki had displayed a singular gift since their very first encounter. Her talent was rooted in a preternatural sharpness of perception, and once again, she had identified the shift within Enkrid. Even without her intuition, the change was hard to ignore given the constant chatter surrounding it. “I heard the crazed squad leader broke the hearts of hundreds of ladies and reached enlightenment because of it.” “No, the story is that the fairies collected blood for him to consume.” “Is it actually possible for a person to transform like that just through grueling practice?” Absurd rumors were proliferating everywhere, but while Seiki possessed an air of innocence, she was far from dim-witted. She was perfectly capable of filtering the truth from the tall tales. “That suggestion about me becoming a holy knight… you were joking, right?” The man—Audin’s foster father and the supposed saint—spoke once more. His manner was straightforward, his grin gentle and without pretension. He gave Audin’s sturdy arm a light pat, a movement that suggested a deep, ingrained bond. Audin offered nothing but his characteristic quiet smile in return, his lips curving slightly. To Enkrid, Seiki’s aura felt different than it had previously, but his attention was primarily fixed on the arrival of the saint. Despite the moniker “Ragged Saint,” his clothing was the height of opulence. Clink. The man offered a hand to be shaken. Around his wrist sat a heavy gold band, and every finger was decorated with rings set with precious stones—rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. A pendant hung from a chain around his neck, housing four gems within a gleaming silver-finished disc. His attire was crafted from silk-like, smooth fabrics—luxuries that even mid-ranking aristocrats would hesitate to buy. ‘That is an ensemble a struggling noble couldn’t manage even if they spent their last coin.’ Andrew, who was of noble birth, still wore rough, utilitarian clothes. At least, he had when Enkrid last saw him. He had only ever purchased formal wear once, specifically for an event requiring a tailcoat, with no intention of using it again. “By cutting back on my own food or clothing, I can provide an extra portion of meat for the people of my lands. Luxury has no place here,” —that was Andrew’s constant refrain. It was a logical stance, considering he was dedicated to restoring the Gardner family. The true challenge lay in actually upholding that standard. Naturally, Andrew had developed his sense of self-denial by observing Enkrid, and he was now making steady progress toward his ambitions. The Ragged Saint blinked his clouded eyes. The lack of clarity in his pupils made it evident his sight was failing, even without a verbal confirmation. “One ought to have faith in the Creator, regardless of whether they choose the path of a holy knight. Faith is a vital thing.” The day was stunning—a brilliant, luminous spring morning. As the winter chill faded, new green growth was emerging among the splintered remains of trees broken during sparring sessions with Rem. Enkrid could feel the presence of Rem and Ragna watching from the quiet periphery. They had glanced over to investigate the commotion, identified the Ragged Saint, and promptly lost interest. Jaxon had departed at dawn for some private business, and Esther remained in her leopard form for the day. Enkrid had intended to head into the city early, but after his morning exercises, the saintly figure had obstructed his way. “That girl, and you as well—do neither of you hold any belief in the Creator?” Then he added, “Not particularly.” Enkrid delivered the reply flatly. He wasn’t being rude; he was simply being direct. The man’s speech and behavior weren’t inherently grating, but they weren’t particularly pleasant to endure either. His voice had a gravelly quality, and his skin was marked with age spots. Yet, looking at his finery— ‘If he stepped into a cathedral dressed like that, he’d be mistaken for a high-ranking bishop living off the tithes of the poor.’ As Enkrid considered this, the saint spoke again. “Audin.” “Yes.” “If I commanded you to slay this man this instant, what would be your response?” The Ragged Saint asked this while maintaining that same pleasant grin. Enkrid remained silent. This wasn’t a question of whether Audin would obey. ‘Kraiss.’ The saint possessed that specific kind of character. Much like Kraiss, or Abnaier, or Ermen. Such individuals laced every word with subtext. Every sentence was a knot of various intentions. The saint was so adept at masking his thoughts that Enkrid was unable to identify a single, honest motive. ‘He might be even more elusive than Kraiss.’ He seemed to be concealing even more than Ermen did. Regardless, Audin kept his smile in place as he answered. “Have you finally lost your mind?” The saint erupted into a fit of laughter. “Not quite yet.” “If you are feeling unwell, there is a divine healer nearby. Or perhaps an alchemist who can provide a tonic,” Enkrid interjected. The saint gave another small laugh and signaled his disagreement. “I told you, I am perfectly fine.” “This old man is more proficient with divine power than I am,” Seiki pointed out from the side. Audin brushed off the saint’s provocations with ease. “He has always had a fondness for speaking in riddles. I suppose you could call it a divine-style joke, brother.” First there were fairy-style jokes, and now divine ones? Enkrid decided to let it pass, but then the Ragged Saint stepped closer and made a request. “You are on your way to the blacksmith, I assume? Do you mind if I join you? Seiki, you must practice the lessons I gave you every morning and evening.” “Praying? It’s so dull.” Seiki pouted. “You have to learn to tolerate that boredom. It is the only way to wield that power correctly.” The Ragged Saint rested a hand on Seiki’s shoulder, stroking it with a grandfatherly touch. A moment ago, he had looked like a greedy prelate. Now, he projected the image of a learned elder. The gems hanging from his neck even caught the light, creating a shimmering effect like a halo. “I’ll be going then, Audin.” “I don’t recall giving you my leave to come along,” Enkrid noted calmly, remaining unswayed by the man’s aura. The old man’s words began to flow in a rapid stream. “If you refuse, I simply intended to shadow you from a distance. Would you really be so heartless to a sightless old man? Have I misread your character? Or do the youth simply find joy in pestering the elderly nowadays?” He had shifted from a sage to a petulant old man having a minor tantrum. “You certainly have a lot to say,” Enkrid remarked. “How else do you think a lowly wanderer like me has survived all these years?” “Divine magic?” “Aha, you got me there. You’re not wrong—I certainly used my fair share of that.” He spoke as though he hadn’t been caught in a contradiction at all. “I was told you only pretend to be blind?” “Audin, have you been running your mouth about me?” The Ragged Saint turned a mock-scolding look toward Audin. “Was I meant to keep it a secret?” “Not particularly.” It wasn’t quite a comedy act, but the exchange was becoming lengthy. Enkrid saw no real reason to say no—and he did want the opportunity to study this saint more closely. He finally agreed. “We can go together.” “Don’t be too hard on him. He can actually be quite useful if you find yourself in a bind, brother.” Audin dipped his head in a gesture of appreciation. From the distance, Rem shouted, “Are you heading to see that fellow Aitri to get a shield? Ensure it’s built to last!” “I’ll keep that in mind.” Enkrid replied casually and started to walk away. “If you spot any assassins attempting to take my life, be sure to handle them as well,” the Ragged Saint chimed in. “What exactly did you do to have assassins after you?” “Well, it’s because my movements were recently brought to light. Officially, I perished in Legion. But now the word is out that I’m alive and well. Naturally, there are several people who would prefer I stayed dead.” “It sounds like you’ve accumulated a fair number of enemies.” “Not that many. Perhaps ten or so.” “You consider ten to be a low number?” “It really isn’t much.” Recognizing that everyone has their own scale for such things, Enkrid didn’t press the issue. Audin watched the pair as they walked away. He was well aware of his foster father’s true nature. He wasn’t a man who would cause actual harm. There was no risk in letting the two of them depart alone. At worst, the old man might play a few harmless pranks. Audin thought back to the first time his foster father had come to the Border Guard to find him. “I have lifted the seals and pulled your divine power back to the surface. I’ve found a place for you to rest. Are you feeling more like yourself?” “I am recovering, bit by bit.” “Do the apparitions still appear?” “They stop by for a conversation every now and then.” Audin had already revealed the truth about the apparition of Pildin—the boy who had been brought here and executed as a “Holy Child.” At Audin’s response, his father had smiled and gripped his shoulder. The query he had posed in front of Enkrid earlier was entirely in line with what he had previously told Audin. He never truly intended for Audin to strike down Enkrid. He simply wanted to send a message to the captain: That Audin’s loyalty no longer belonged to the Church, but to the Mad Knights. ‘He understands even without the explanation.’ There was no need to labor the point with Enkrid.

“I am well aware that Audin is committed to the Mad Knights now.” Enkrid spoke as they exited the barracks, acknowledging the guard’s salute as they passed. “I was just being thorough.” The saint admitted that he knew Enkrid had caught the subtext of his earlier question to Audin. He had been fully aware of his own actions. The saint tapped his walking stick against the ground as they progressed, and Enkrid was reminded of two figures from his past. The first was the sightless old man who had claimed to be an apostle. The clothes were different, but the cunning was the same—a man who kept his true thoughts behind a mask. ‘However, they are distinctly different.’ Their presence felt entirely different. That self-proclaimed apostle had oozed a sense of peril, whereas this old man did not. If he truly were concealing that much malice, he would be even more formidable than Jaxon—but Enkrid’s gut told him that wasn’t the case. And the second person? ‘Why does he come to mind?’ For a reason he couldn’t quite name, the old man evoked memories of King Anu of the East. Though their lives and statuses were poles apart. “Go on, attend to your affairs.” The saint said. Enkrid had every intention of doing so. They walked at a leisurely pace through the marketplace, making their way toward Aitri’s smithy. Clang! Whoosh, whoosh! The rhythmic strike of hammers on metal filled the air, accompanied by the dry heat of the forge bellows hitting their skin. “I’m here.” Aitri was standing to one side of the workspace. His apprentice was the one currently tending the fire. “I take it you have something to discuss,” Aitri remarked. He hadn’t touched a hammer in several days. He had simply been waiting for Enkrid’s arrival. “I had a stroke of luck. That luck is why I’m still breathing.” That specific luck had deflected the trajectory of a blade thrown by a demon at the critical moment. Because of that, Shinar had lived. Had Shinar died then—what would his reaction have been? Would he have ended his own life to reset the day? No. Enkrid would not have done that. Even if his heart were breaking, even if he were consumed by sorrow, he would have continued to move toward the future. That was the life Enkrid had committed to. He refused to repeat the same day. No matter the cost, he would press forward to the next. So, it was a reality that Shinar could have died. He believed it was unlikely, but the possibility was there. The demon had attempted to seduce him with the vision of an entire alternative life. It was trying to force him into demonic submission, to make him someone else entirely. If Shinar had been lost to that delusion, Enkrid would have done whatever was necessary—a slap to the face or knocking her unconscious—to pull her back. Even without the ability to repeat time, he would never surrender. That was the path he walked. Therefore, he was simply filled with gratitude. That blade—“Luck”—had closed the door on a multitude of potential tragedies. “It truly was a matter of fortune.” “I’m pleased it served you well. I also received the items you sent.” Enkrid had delivered all the gear and weaponry he had scavenged from the cultists to Aitri. He had delayed his own visit while he focused on honing his blade skills. Aitri had also needed the interval to study the properties of the new materials. The time apart had been necessary for both. “Well, then.” Aitri spoke, setting out a table and a pair of tea bowls. After taking a drink, Enkrid gazed outside the shop for a moment. There was no door, only a wide opening through which he could see the Ragged Saint pacing back and forth. Across the street, the trees were beginning to show their first blossoms. A spring breeze tried to enter, but was held back by the heat radiating from the forge. Looking out at the street, Enkrid shared a brief summary of what he knew. It had felt like a massive story, but in the telling, it was relatively concise. After hearing the details, Aitri sank into a silent contemplation before replying, “Return in one month.” “I will.” There was nothing left to discuss. Even the news regarding the shattered silver plate didn’t seem to faze Aitri. His apprentice continued his work with the hammer, never missing a beat during their talk. Enkrid respected that. The apprentice was clearly focused on his own journey. “Where is Frokk?” “He is away, hunting for supplies.” “I see.” He would simply have to see him another time. As Enkrid walked back out, the Ragged Saint spoke up. “Are you not hungry? I’ve been told there’s a stall nearby with excellent spiced jerky.” “There is.” “Buy some for me.” “Very well.” The two of them immediately set off for the row of jerky vendors. Under Kraiss’s direction, the city had been zoned so that lodging and food were on one street, while craftsmen and smiths occupied another. In the heart of the city, there were four primary inns where the stagecoaches made their stops. Anyone with a few krona could secure a ride. Large donkeys, rather than horses, pulled the heavy wagons. The wagons were open-topped and could accommodate about ten passengers. However, there was no need for the two of them to take a carriage. The Ragged Saint walked with a steady pace, and Enkrid, naturally, had no difficulty keeping up. “Are you eager to see the results of the smith’s labor?” The saint asked during their walk, referring to Aitri. “Yes, quite eager.” That was the extent of their brief conversation. Moving at a good clip, they soon arrived at the shop where the jerky was being grilled. A marmalade shop sat right next to it. “The scent alone is enough to make one’s mouth water.” They enjoyed their meal and had some drinks at the establishment next door. As they walked through the city streets, several people offered nods of recognition to Enkrid. And through it all, the saint observed everything in silence.