Chapter 739

Chapter 739

“Enter the hole.” Enkrid offered no further explanation. He didn’t find it necessary to physically break them one by one as he had with Harkventyo. There were more efficient tactics. “Where exactly?” Jerry questioned him. Though he was typically a man of strong resolve, his words were now laced with a slight tremor. The weight of the atmosphere was crushing. To Jerry’s eyes, Enkrid appeared far more lethal than his usual self. The silent message was undeniable: Step out of line, and you will be cut down. Harkventyo watched Enkrid with a limping stance and a heavy gaze. However, it wasn’t malice that burned in his eyes. It was a raw, desperate effort to mask his own terror. Before the group lay an expansive excavation. It was a pitfall trap designed to ensnare the massive predators of the region. The jagged wooden spikes had been pulled out, but the drop remained formidable. Even with a boost from Harkventyo’s shoulders, it was doubtful Jerry could reach the rim. The walls had been carved at an angle rather than a straight drop, but that didn’t make scaling it a simple task. The villagers exchanged uncertain looks. Was the foreigner truly serious? What had possessed this outsider so suddenly? Had he not arrived as an ally? Wasn’t the plan for Harkventyo to go and negotiate for his assistance? Enkrid shifted his weight, silent and imposing. He possessed the presence to dominate them without moving a muscle—but that would have been an excessive display of force. Unfiltered killing intent could cause a man’s knees to buckle completely. What this moment required wasn’t paralyzing dread, but a palpable, looming danger just within reach. As he squared his shoulders and pivoted slightly, the hilt of the Three Iron fastened at his waist became visible. In that instant, the entire group grasped what Harkventyo already knew: The monsters in the woods were a distant threat— But the blade in front of them was an immediate reality. There was no question as to which posed the greater risk. Jerry was the first to descend into the hollow. A length of rope was tossed down from the edge. Positioned directly above, Enkrid commanded, “Scale it.” Even if one exploited the territorial disputes between various monsters and beasts, surviving such a harsh environment required a special kind of grit. Living in this wilderness naturally forged a strong physique even without formal drills. Nevertheless, hauling oneself up a rope from the depths of a pit was an exhausting feat. “Gah! Hrrgh!” Jerry struggled upward with every ounce of his strength. The exertion was so intense that even the muscles in his palms throbbed with fatigue. “Dash. That way. Move.” Enkrid gave a dismissive gesture toward a specific path. The oppressive aura didn’t lift. His posture suggested he was ready to strike at a moment’s notice, and that doing so would cost him no sleep. Jerry panted heavily as he broke into a run. “This way! Pivot here, then move there!” The village youth stood along the route, calling out directions like human markers. After sprinting a circuit through the trees, Jerry eventually stumbled back to the start. The world above seemed to shimmer with a sickly yellow hue from his exhaustion. “One lap complete. Next.” Enkrid’s voice was cold and clear. The next participant was a sturdily built woman—someone more powerful than Jerry, a skilled archer with a blunt temperament. Yet, she was equally unnerved. She offered no protest and asked no questions, simply dropping into the pit. Next was a cautious man who had been present at the earlier gathering. He attempted to be subtle. He was terrified, but he reasoned that this wasn’t the sort of task he’d be punished for if he didn’t give it his absolute all. Once he cleared the pit, he maintained a steady, moderate pace, feigning a deep lack of breath. He had been a fast runner since his youth, so he figured he could coast through this. Enkrid’s boot connected with the man’s leg. Thud. A precise, low-impact kick. The man hit the dirt hard, his hands clawing at the earth in agony. “Ungh… ah…” The cry of pain was genuine and guttural. “If you attempt to slack off…” Enkrid left the threat hanging, unfinished. Every individual capable of holding a weapon was forced to climb that rope and run those laps. The cycle repeated more than ten times. By the end, their legs were like jelly, and their arms felt too heavy to move. Had a beast struck then, they would have been defenseless. “Dig a second pit.” Enkrid stated flatly, then turned his attention to Brunhilt and the children who had been observing from the sidelines. Resuming his usual routine, he began instructing them on the mechanics of the spear and the proper grip for a throwing axe. “This child actually has a better feel for the weight than I do,” He remarked casually while demonstrating an axe throw. What was the purpose of this? What was his ultimate goal? The villagers were too intimidated to ask. And even if they found their voices, it didn’t seem like he was interested in explaining. Even Harkventyo remained uncharacteristically silent. This grueling pattern persisted for three days. “Are you some kind of monster?” The cautious man asked, his voice cracking with tears of frustration. He was far beyond the point of caring about the consequences of his words. Enkrid offered a faint smile and answered, “Believe what you wish.” Had he worn that particular expression in the grand salons of Naurill, it likely would have caused many high-born women to swoon. Even in the bustling markets of the Border Guard, his looks would have commanded attention. If Leona Lockfried had witnessed it— That grin is far too dangerous. Stop it. I’d rather not be executed by a fairy’s sword because of you. She might have teased him with such words. But to the man on the ground, Enkrid was a demon in human skin—lacking only the horns. Who else could maintain such a pleasant expression while pushing people to the brink of collapse?

The Ferryman squinted through the gloom. He observed Enkrid’s current actions with focused interest. The progress the man had made over these seventy-two hours was nothing short of remarkable. This fellow. Under normal circumstances, if Enkrid had desperately attempted to play the savior, the Ferryman would have mocked him, Do you honestly think they will follow your lead? And perhaps added, Do you believe a few drills will change their fate? But such criticisms were unnecessary now. Enkrid had rendered them moot. With minimal dialogue, he had assessed the environment and moved several steps ahead of the curve. He had always possessed great initiative—but now he was operating with a calculated, intuitive precision. This was the fruit of that growth. He had anticipated the Ferryman’s skepticism and acted to preempt it. You clever bastard. Despite this, the Ferryman was not yet ready to intervene. When he summoned Enkrid to the water that night, he had only a single question: “Do you truly believe things will go according to your plan?” They would. The Ferryman could not divine the future, but he had survived long enough to recognize the patterns of destiny. It would work. Watching the man operate brought a specific phrase to mind: A sovereign of the present. Enkrid blinked, his response simple, “Yes.” “Depart.” “Yes.” “Then begone.” With those two curt affirmations, he stepped away from the raft. The Ferryman shut his eyes. He didn’t necessarily enjoy the direction of events—but he couldn’t deny a growing sense of curiosity. Would the outcome truly align with the man’s vision? An internal voice echoed within him, but he chose to ignore it. Success or failure is only revealed at the conclusion. You’ve grown soft to even entertain such hopes. The Ferryman conceded that point. The endless repetition of this day would remain Enkrid’s burden—that reality was fixed. And yet, did he still perceive a flicker of hope? No. It was merely a different flavor of entertainment now. The Ferryman let out a low chuckle. The sound of his mirth traveled across the dark water and bounced back from the distant shore. Captives are restricted by the walls of their cells, after all. His laughter would always be met by a boundary that reflected it back to him. — * * * — Follow orders, or perish. During this chaotic period, the village had already repelled three separate beast incursions—one involving a pack of wolf-creatures. “You still haven’t learned, have you?” During every skirmish, the ruthless swordsman had hacked, torn, and pulverized the invaders. He didn’t rely solely on his steel; he used his limbs with the ferocity of a primal spirit. His movements were a blur, and by the time anyone could blink, the beasts’ skulls were shattered. Admittedly, the defensive line was easier to hold now that the population was concentrated. Even so, his performance was staggering. He alone possessed the lethality to decant entire packs of monsters. “Ah…” A bystander let out a sharp intake of breath. Was it admiration? No—it was a sound of weary resignation. The slaughter ended far too quickly. Currently, he used that edge to protect the village from beasts, but the moment the blood stopped flowing, that same edge was used to prod the backs of the exhausted survivors. And Enkrid, the taskmaster, did exactly that. He poked the ribs of those who collapsed from fatigue. He didn’t cause wounds—but the contact sent a freezing shiver down their spines. “Giving up?” He would murmur such things. It was almost like a spell. That sharp poke and a single, quiet question—and somehow, life would return to their failing limbs. “Hah!” Only three days ago, the mere mention of a beast attack sent everyone into a state of shock. That had changed. As the metallic scent of blood hung over the settlement, Jerry finally found the nerve to speak up. “We need to clear the corpses and secure the area.” Enkrid gave a simple nod of approval. This signaled a brief reprieve for the group. But should anyone attempt to shirk their duties, he would see it instantly. And he would approach them with that terrifyingly calm smile. Then the break was over—and the nightmare resumed. Despite the overwhelming stench of death, the labor continued. Then, once the work was done, they cleaned the site and started again. They had always been a hardy people, but now? Now they were becoming sharp, honed instruments. Inevitably, a hierarchy began to form. And naturally, Harkventyo moved to the center to facilitate communication and organization. After three days of this relentless pressure, Enkrid issued a new directive. “Everyone, take up a spear and assemble.” His word was now absolute. Obey—or prepare for the worst. Even Harkventyo, the most stubborn among them, fell in line without a word of dissent. The cautious man nodded beside him. “I’d rather die than take another one of his kicks.” Strangely, the man had developed a peculiar type of bravery. Even after being struck, he still tried to find small ways to rest while hauling beast remains. Enkrid had kicked him several more times for it. The man would weep and writhe—yet, miraculously, his bones remained intact. No, not a single break. After the pain faded, despite the bruising, he didn’t even have a limp. He knows exactly how to strike, the man realized. And that bastard smiles every time he does it. He could do this forever. Inflicting pain without causing permanent damage. Those who have never known suffering have no immunity to it. To this man, Enkrid’s corrections felt like a refined form of torture. “Do not play games. Execute the task.” He warned the collective. Harkventyo, in truth, saw the method behind Enkrid’s madness. There were two primary objectives. First: To strip away the paralyzing fear of the wild. Start by replacing that fear with a more immediate terror, then acclimate them to the presence of death until they were no longer shaken by it. Second: To forge them into a singular unit. There were fewer than seventy able-bodied fighters. And none had ever stood in a formal rank. Harkventyo was strong, but he lacked the discipline of a soldier. A title of leadership doesn’t automatically grant the skills of a commander. But he could watch and learn—perhaps because he already carried the weight of the village on his shoulders. They began to synchronize their breathing. With simple glances, they could gauge the stamina of those standing next to them. Only after this foundation was laid did Enkrid gather them with their spears to teach the basics of formation. They were quick to learn. The preparation had worked. How could it not? They had spent seventy-two hours being driven to the edge of their existence. Aside from the pits and the sprinting, all they had done was move in unison and find their collective voice. A military veteran would have recognized this as the fundamental conditioning of a recruit. — * * * — Intriguing. As he pushed them, Enkrid found a bizarre sense of satisfaction in molding these new soldiers. It was difficult work, but in its own way—it was fulfilling. The Ferryman had been correct. The time spent in Zaun had significantly expanded Enkrid’s perspective. He was now thinking several steps ahead. He understood that while the Ferryman could not see the past, he could analyze the present to anticipate what was coming. They are isolated—but they must be defended. The unrelenting waves of predators. The surrounding peaks. The available supplies. Brunhilt’s raw potential. The total lack of formal combat experience. All these factors swirled in his mind, crystallizing into a single necessary path. He no longer felt the need to struggle against the Ferryman. A month was a brief window—but if utilized with absolute intensity, it would suffice. Perhaps the Ferryman had hoped he would become lost in their lives, trapped in this loop forever. But that desire was flawed from the beginning. After a fortnight, a new fire began to glow in the eyes of the villagers. Up until that point, Enkrid had governed them through sheer intimidation. Brunhilt, despite her youth, was perceptive. Her eyes betrayed her skepticism, but she poured her energy into mastering the spear. She had always been curious—but once the formal training began, that curiosity turned into a fierce obsession. She could sense it. The timeline Enkrid had set was drawing to a close. However, she misinterpreted the situation and viewed him as the antagonist. “Stop tormenting them.” The young prodigy leveled her spear at Enkrid. The moment felt strangely nostalgic. When he had first departed from the village, this very girl—hardly half his size—had bested him. The world had changed since then. “Hah!” Brunhilt lunged with her spear, striking out for the sake of her people. Enkrid caught the shaft and delivered a sharp flick to her forehead. Snap! “Ow!” She hissed, clutching her brow as she tumbled to the ground. “Know your place.” Regardless of her genius, there was a chasm of experience she could not yet bridge. Still, her intuition was spot on. The end was approaching. It was time to transition from drills to the reality of war. “Unseal all the grain and dried meat.” At Enkrid’s command, Harkventyo simply nodded in agreement.