Chapter 666

Chapter 666

Enkrid’s attention turned toward Esther. Her eyes glowed with an intense heat, and her locks swayed as if caught in a breeze that didn’t exist. What has come over her this time? “I’ve never been one to skip my turn. Eyeballs, fill it up again.” The scent clinging to Esther’s breath had shifted. The crispness of the evening air was gone, replaced by a thick, sugary smokiness. “Right away, right away.” Kraiss had already produced a container that smelled cloyingly sweet, tipping its contents into Esther’s waiting vessel. The fragrance was gentle, yet the sting of the spirit was undeniable. “This is the brew gifted to us by the Fairy City.” As Kraiss spoke while pouring, Shinar interjected with more detail. “It is pressed from five distinct fruits and blended with the first light of dawn. They call it Tingtillus Yir. In our common tongue, that translates to something like ‘Seeping Poison’ or ‘The Silent Creeping Mist.’” So it’s lethally potent, then. “Alcohol doesn’t touch me. Relax. The Glint enchantment is a secret of the craft—a sorcerer doesn’t just show their inner sight to the world. Shinar, it’s good to see you back.” She was definitely intoxicated, Enkrid noted. “Drunk? Me? I don’t get drunk. Why are you staring at me like that? The sky is spinning in circles. Is the world ending tonight? Are the stars falling to crush the dirt? If they are, we shouldn’t be lounging. Enki, get up. We have to find a place to hunker down.” Beyond a doubt, she was wasted. “Is there no room for me?” Kraiss chimed in with a grin. It seemed he found Esther’s state rather charming. “You thieving bird of prey.” Suddenly, Esther balled her hand into a fist and threw a punch. Kraiss, never one to let his reflexes dull, snapped his torso back to evade. The sound of her fist cutting through the air was sharp and distinct. Had it connected, a bone would have surely snapped. Esther appeared slender, but her limbs moved with the explosive power of a jungle predator. She had mentioned it herself once—it was a lingering trait from her time transformed into a Lake Panther. “Watch the face!” Kraiss’s plea as he dodged was the most ridiculous part. So he’s fine with being hit anywhere else? “What’s wrong with the face?” Rem asked, having just finished a massive piece of roasted meat. One might expect him to be covered in grease, but Rem’s manners were surprisingly meticulous. Looking back, there were many things about the man that defied expectations. He was sharper than his appearance suggested. He took pleasure in orchestrating subtle traps for others. Even when he was making someone’s life miserable, it was done with cold calculation. He didn’t slaughter the nobility indiscriminately, either. He chose the untouchable tyrants to build his dark reputation. That way, only those with genuine darkness in their hearts held a grudge against him. Even his tidy way of eating was likely a courtesy he reserved only for the members of this brotherhood. At least, that was how it appeared to Enkrid. “Unlike Rem over here, I have a reputation to maintain with these looks,” Kraiss teased, drifting further away from Esther’s reach. Did he even realize what he was implying? That was the paradox of Kraiss. He was usually so measured and wary, yet he could be an absolute moron in moments like these. He had to know what kind of reaction a jab like that would draw from Rem. Yet he said it anyway. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” Rem’s question hung in the air. The grin on his face was bone-chilling, the kind of look that could make a fire go cold. “…That you are the most handsome stallion the West has ever seen, sir.” Kraiss fumbled to backtrack. “Too late for flattery, you dog. I think I’ll give your face a bit more ‘character’ tonight.” Rem pulled a blade carved from bone. Its origin was a mystery, but it radiated a foul, dark energy. “Wait, stop! Ragna! Audin! Captain! Captain!” Kraiss scrambled behind the fire pit, where the flames reached out like swaying limbs. Watching the rhythmic movement of the fire, Shinar whispered to herself with a distant look. “It’s alright now. It’s over.” The demonic blaze had vanished. But a wound etched into the soul doesn’t heal just because the fire stops. “Where is Bran?” Enkrid inquired as the chaos began to level off. Shinar was quick to reply. “He won’t put down the pipe. Isn’t that ironic? A Woodguard who can’t get enough of smoke?” It wasn’t funny. Not when one knew the reason Bran inhaled those specific herbs. “I need to clear my head. Eyeball, a couple of scars won’t kill you.” Ragna rose to leave, and Kraiss barked back in frustration. “Easy for you to say, you don’t have a scratch on yours!” “That’s because nobody has been good enough to leave one.” Ragna was typically reserved. He moved through the world as if every action was a chore. But here, with his comrades, he was more vocal. His usual lethargy seemed to fade. That was Ragna’s own internal contradiction. “That’s an irritating thing to say. Try that line on the rest of the squad sometime. Everyone’s getting soft.” Rophod chimed in as Ragna walked away, while Pell, sitting nearby, grunted and proceeded to drain the rest of the fairy liquor bottle in one go. “If you finish that by yourself, I’m going to cut you open and take it back.” Rem offered the threat casually, and Audin went as far as to seize Pell by the throat to pry the bottle away. Pell tried to fight him off—and received a heavy blow for his trouble. “A righteous judgment.” No, Audin. That was just a mugging. Rophod, not wanting Ragna to wander off alone, got up to follow him. Meanwhile, Enkrid took a sip of the drink Kraiss had provided. It was potent. Yet, beneath the aggressive burn of the alcohol, there was a rich, tart sweetness that sat pleasantly on the tongue. It earned its name, the Seeping Poison—the flavor took hold before the heat arrived, spreading a warmth through the mouth. With a drink this fierce, it was no wonder Esther had collapsed. “I’ll protect you… don’t worry, you idiots…” Esther muttered from her spot on the ground. At some point, her garment had unfurled like a heavy rug, but she still appeared to be shivering. He decided he would find a cloak to cover her properly in a little while. “A powerful vintage. Shall we toast to success?” Shinar approached and took a seat across from him. “Success in what?” He braced himself for a joke, but her tone surprised him. “For finally realizing the shape of what it is you truly want.” Perhaps it was the way the firelight played across her face, but Shinar wasn’t teasing. She was being sincere. Enkrid had once spoken of a world at peace won through the edge of a blade, thinking of its worth. He had also believed these people represented the fellowship he had sought for so long. But in truth, it wasn’t even that complicated. He simply… enjoyed this. He enjoyed standing alongside these madmen. He enjoyed being the shield for those at his back. He enjoyed the freedom to move by his own choice in the heat of a strike. He cherished all of it. “Sometimes, you have to set down the weight in your mind and just breathe.” Shinar told him. She followed it with, “In my arms,” but he chose to ignore that bit. Enkrid ate his fill, drank his share, and finally slept. And he saw a vision. “The sky is clear today. I’ll share an old legend with you. It’s a good one. It’s about a fairy who loved to play pranks.” A woman who had once endured a life of hardship by selling herself now sat in peace, recounting tales to the grandson resting on her lap. “The market is tough, but seeing my little one makes the work worth it.” A fruit merchant pushed his heavy cart, his mind filled with thoughts of his wife and child. In the shade of the gardens, a quiet young couple shared whispers of affection. A city watchman complained about his belt getting tighter now that there were no alarms to answer. The local baker teased him for not being up early enough to exercise, and the watchman retorted that his father should take his own advice. The baker, who was indeed the guard’s father, joked that if he hated the flour so much, he should just quit and take over the shop. In this dream, no one lived in fear of the shadows beyond the walls. No one looked at the horizon expecting the smoke of war. There were no thieves to take the little they possessed. The ruler of the province even wondered if the walls were still worth the upkeep. And Enkrid gripped his hilt. Not within the safety of the town—but just outside the gates. Because quiet and peace are never granted to those who simply wait for them. A warrior who will bring the conflict to a close! A warrior who colors the dusk with the final shade of battle! They shall name him—The Knight of Dusk! The Knight of the Truce! The Knight of the Conclusion! As the song of the dream-bard faded, Enkrid awoke. He stood at the break of dawn and began his drills. By the time the sun was up, Esther was letting out a silent, pained groan as she tried to piece together the previous night—and then she vanished from the camp for two whole days. According to the sentries at the pass, weird wails were heard coming from the peaks. Some claimed they were the cries of monsters or mountain cats. “Well, damn. That’s a hell of a way to vent some frustration.” Rem noted. Enkrid gave a soft laugh. A few days later, Aitri sent word for him to come to the smithy. He requested his presence immediately. Enkrid’s pulse quickened. It wasn’t an engraved weapon yet, but it was the final stage before that transformation. There was no way to stay calm. As soon as his morning training ended, Enkrid hurried through the streets to the forge. “You’ve arrived.” Aitri greeted him as if he hadn’t moved from that spot. The roaring heat of the coals met the crisp, blue morning air. Aitri sat near the furnace, his cowled assistant standing by his side. “Are you familiar with the three legendary metals of the world?” Instead of a hello, Aitri went straight to the craft. “I am not.” Enkrid shook his head. People usually only know what they need to know. He had heard of Valerian steel, true silver, and black gold in passing—but that was the extent of it. The assistant provided a seat, and Enkrid sat. Two cups of tea were steaming on the workbench. Aitri pulled back a cloth covering a long object and placed it down. “From the golden iron pits of the East comes black gold, and from the depths of the Lewis mines, we get true silver. You realize they aren’t actually gold or silver, don’t you?” He knew that much. He nodded. Aitri went on. “From the Valerian veins, they occasionally pull true iron. It has a deep blue hue. Usually, the harder a metal is, the more likely it is to shatter—but true iron doesn’t have that flaw. And when you refine a star that has fallen from the sky, you get meteoric iron.” Enkrid could see the direction this was heading. “The armor I acquired contains traces of meteoric iron. The other component is the Philosopher’s Stone—the living metal.” Enkrid’s very first blade had been black gold. His next was true silver. And now, the sword currently at his hip—Penna—had been crafted from moonlight silver by a fairy smith, shaped by her own magic. Aitri’s gaze was burning with a feverish intensity. Scholars die for the truth. Knights lose themselves in the way of the sword. What about the men who build things? Especially those who reach for the impossible? Their goals might change over time—but right now, Enkrid knew exactly what Aitri was after. “You want me to find you true iron?” “I do.” Aitri’s answer was instantaneous. It was like watching a blade leave its sheath before the eye could track it—fast and certain. What the smith wanted more than anything right now was the raw material. “You could have just led with that.” “I will. Next time.” It wasn’t that Aitri was trying to be difficult. He’s just having the time of his life, Enkrid thought. The entire journey of creating an engraved weapon was something Aitri was savoring. He didn’t see it as a burden or a struggle. And that was exactly how it should be. A fanatic who swings his mallet while finding joy in every strike. That’s you, Enkrid concluded. If Aitri had heard that, he probably would have glared. Having made his point, Aitri returned to his composed self. He fully unwrapped the cloth on the table. “The way forward is clear now. This is, in a sense, my first true trial. Does the shape suit you?” The “way forward” meant the technique for the engraving. And the “trial”—asking about the shape—meant he was ready to commit to this design. The sword was a single-edged short blade. Even so, it had served him well. The grip was perfect. And once he had mastered it, its keen edge became a terror of its own. Even Rem complained when his axe met it. “Do that again and my axe is going to start acting up.” Ragna had flatly stated it was time for a new blade. “I think I’ll go find a sword.” “Where?” “Oh, I have a place in mind.” He had departed alone without saying where—a sign of a final goodbye. “We weren’t going to call that a journey. That’s a farewell, Ragna.” Kraiss had voiced exactly what Enkrid was thinking. In the end, Ragna stayed. “Well, I’d probably get lost on the way back anyway.” That only proved how important it was to keep him from leaving. Ragna—the strongest among them—claiming he’d lose his way? The man could end up at the bottom of the ocean by accident and no one would be shocked. Regardless, Penna was a magnificent tool. Finding an upgrade would be nearly impossible. Enkrid reached out and took hold of the hilt on the table. It was bound in supple brown hide, with a pommel shaped like a sharp, simple diamond. There were no fancy carvings. The crossguard was a clean, straight line. “The point is black gold, the edge is alloyed with true silver, and the spine is meteoric iron.” The Philosopher’s Stone had been used to bind all three into one. The blade was substantial—more akin to a heavy greatsword than a standard sidearm. The handle was long to match. Its width reminded him of a spatha, carrying more weight than most swords. It had the silhouette of a heavy weapon—but for a knight with his power, even a club made of five iron maces could be wielded. And Enkrid was strong, even by those standards. “I love it. More than I can say.” He meant it. There was a saying about seeing a face from a distance and losing your heart instantly. That was Enkrid in this moment. The design alone was flawless. Even without feeling how it moved, it was the exact ideal he had envisioned.