Chapter 740

Chapter 740

In the hermit village, the concept of private ownership did not exist; every resource was shared among the inhabitants. Because they lived in constant anticipation of calamity, they had squirreled away a wealth of provisions in hidden spots. Secret hoards were tucked away beneath the gnarled roots of trees or stashed in small cellar pits concealed by dirt and timber near the village entrances. Enkrid noted that these shaded, subterranean spots served as effective natural refrigerators, keeping the goods chilled even during the height of the summer heat.

They had strategically placed these storage pits in areas where the sun never touched the ground. For those who lacked the coin for magical preservation enchantments, survival required such practical ingenuity. With the summer season looming, the village had prioritized stockpiling non-perishable items. While the variety wasn’t as vast as their winter stores, the communal table was still laden with a generous spread of smoked proteins and various exotic dried fruits.

“If we keep eating like this, our larders will be bare before we know it,” one villager grumbled. Even in their current predicament, the deeply ingrained instinct to conserve was hard to shake. However, they had never truly known the bite of starvation. Through a combination of fortune and foraging, they gathered wild herbs and forest berries, while also maintaining a tenuous trade relationship with wandering merchants. They hunted local wildlife with moderation and, in dire straits, would even prepare the meat of dangerous beasts. As long as the impurities were properly drained and one wasn’t picky about the gaminess, beast flesh provided all the sustenance necessary for survival.

“Just follow the instructions,” a soft-spoken man urged, darting nervous glances at his companions. Harkventyo, who usually acted as the group’s representative, remained silent as he focused on the task of arranging the meal. The energy in the village had shifted; their daily activity had increased ten-fold. They had already been consuming more calories than usual to keep up with their labor, but today’s feast surpassed all previous meals.

As the dishes were laid out, the children were the first to dive in. Soon, the entire village was preoccupied with the act of eating, leaving no room for conversation. Some likely adopted a fatalistic mindset—if death was coming, it was better to face it with a full stomach. Others held onto a fragile, unexplained optimism that things might actually turn out fine. This shift in morale was directly linked to Enkrid’s presence. Anyone who wasn’t entirely self-absorbed could see that his calm demeanor was infectious.

Harkventyo tore into a piece of salted pork loin that was seasoned heavily enough to burn his mouth, washing it down with massive gulps of water. He contemplated the reality of their situation: they were undergoing training. But for what purpose? To combat the beasts. A more cynical mind might wonder if practicing spear thrusts and standing in back-to-back formations would truly make a difference against such monsters. While some had stopped thinking altogether, Harkventyo’s mind remained restless. He felt as though he were sheltering under a fragile roof of loose earth—hoping it held, yet fearing the collapse.

However, every time he looked over at Enkrid, who was quietly eating in the distance, his anxiety lessened. There was something peculiar about the man that invited trust. Whether it was his speech, his movements, or his overall aura, he projected a sense of stability. Seeing him sit among them, sharing a meal with a child by his side, allowed a small flicker of hope to permeate the village air.

Enkrid tossed a piece of fruit into his mouth, working the flesh away from the pit before spitting the seed onto the ground. The discarded stone rolled across the dirt. The fruit was shriveled on the outside with a firm, chewy interior and a seed the size of a fingernail. It possessed a complex profile—sour, sweet, and dry all at once—making it addictive. It had clearly been preserved through a specialized aging technique.

“It’s tasty, isn’t it?” the child next to him inquired. Beside the boy sat Brunhilt, who now bore a prominent bruise on her forehead where her “third eye” had been thwarted.

“It tastes a lot like a plum,” another young boy remarked with an air of intelligence. This was the same boy who had called Brunhilt a fool earlier when she had tried to attack Enkrid, only to be stopped by a single finger. “She’s physically talented, but she hates using her head. Once she locks onto an idea, she can’t pivot. That’s the main weakness of the great Brunhilt. It’s all just a big misunderstanding.”

The boy appeared no older than fourteen, possessing a slight build and slender limbs that didn’t suggest a warrior’s prowess.

“What do they call you?” Enkrid asked.

“Airik,” the boy replied.

Enkrid had organized the villagers into the pits much like Kraiss would have. He wasn’t just looking at the immediate conflict; he was calculating several steps ahead. He drove them with the intensity of Rem, but with the strategic foresight of Kraiss.

“You organized the groups based on similar body types for the formations, didn’t you?” Airik asked, having deciphered the plan. “It’s to ensure they don’t die easily—to help them hold the line.”

A refreshingly cool summer breeze passed through, ruffling Airik’s pale, almost white-blond hair. Enkrid found the child intriguing. While chewing on a sandwich of salty meat and herbal bread, Enkrid probed further: “And what do you think about the decision to use spears in a circle instead of shields?”

“It’s to maintain distance,” Airik answered confidently. “By keeping the beasts at bay, we buy ourselves time. Only those with the most strength should be burdened with shields. You could call it the ‘Wary Hedgehog’ strategy. If we tried to hide behind shields completely, we might stay safe for a moment, but if our endurance fails, we’re all dead anyway.”

“Wouldn’t long-range weapons like bows be more effective?” Enkrid challenged.

“No,” the boy countered. “Bows have a lethal delay during the reload. If simple stones and arrows were enough to stop them, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Airik’s eyes burned with the same intensity Enkrid had seen in Brunhilt. His pale blue eyes were like twin mountain lakes reflecting the sun. Where Enkrid’s gaze was a deep, dark blue, the boy’s was light and clear.

“Was my assessment incorrect?” Airik asked. He hadn’t been a leader among the children, nor a standout in the adult drills.

“No, you were right,” Enkrid confirmed.

Airik breathed a sigh of relief, despite his earlier confidence. Enkrid realized then that this boy wasn’t like Kraiss, who possessed an unshakable certainty. Airik was plagued by genuine self-doubt and anxiety. He was worried about what this stranger truly intended for his people. This conversation was a test of confirmation, much like Brunhilt’s earlier outburst. It was like observing a young Kraiss.

Talent is an uneven gift; it tips the scales of fate. Sometimes it manifests as Brunhilt’s physical genius, and other times as Airik’s extraordinary mental acuity.

“Commit that formation to memory,” Enkrid warned. “If that line breaks, everyone perishes.” They had chosen a method that eliminated the safety of distance, because in their case, distance was a luxury that led to death.

“What is the next phase?” Airik asked. Clever as he was, he was still a child whose imagination was limited by his small world.

“Anticipate. Reason. Think it through,” Enkrid replied. “Determine what must be done next.”

“If your plan is to relocate us…” Airik began, trying to gauge Enkrid’s goals. Such boldness might have been viewed as insolence by some, but Enkrid wasn’t bothered. He didn’t hold it against Airik any more than he held Brunhilt’s temper against her. Airik was trying to weigh Enkrid’s compassion.

The boy spoke with a gravity that suggested he was risking his life for the sake of the community. “We won’t go. We’ve come this far because we would rather die as a group than live as subjects again. We won’t abandon what we’ve built here.”

They preferred death over returning to the shackles of a city lord. This was their collective resolve. Whether they called it a foundation or their roots, this land was their home. Enkrid was reminded of the words spoken when he departed Zaun. Someone had told him they belonged there—that they would rather be a slave in Zaun than a free man named Riley Zaun elsewhere.

He understood the boy’s fear, just as he understood Harkventyo’s frequent, wary glances. They weren’t looking at him with affection; they were trying to figure out if they should push him away or what he truly wanted from them. If a simple speech could have solved their anxiety, Enkrid would have given it, but he knew words wouldn’t suffice.

Enkrid reached out and patted Airik’s head. “How old are you, really?”

“Seventeen,” the boy answered.

“…Seventeen?” Enkrid was surprised.

“Yes. I’m small, I know. It’s always been a source of shame for me. I’ve been frail since birth.”

“But you have a sharp mind,” Brunhilt added, chiming in.

“That’s obvious,” Airik said. “You should pay more attention to what I say.”

“I do, I do,” Brunhilt muttered. She wasn’t dim-witted; she had come to realize that the stranger teaching them wasn’t their enemy.

The Night of the Hunt had concluded, but the terror and uncertainty remained in their souls, even if the shape of that fear had evolved.

“Beasts!”

Just before the dawn, as the two moons began to fade, a pack of over fifty creatures—wild dogs and wolves—swarmed the village. They bypassed the frontal traps and emerged from the shadows of the trees, their eyes glowing with a predatory red light. The villagers clutching spears felt their hearts race. In the past, the mere scent of these predators would have paralyzed them with fear.

But things had changed. For the last fifteen days, they had endured a much more terrifying threat: Enkrid himself. He had been relentless, striking at them whenever they faltered and keeping them in a state of constant, sharp alertness. He had treated them with a harshness that appeared sadistic, but it had forged them. Their nerves were now made of iron.

“Begin the defense!” Harkventyo roared.

“Hah!”

The villagers moved into circular units of ten. These human rings, bristling with outward-facing spears, met the charging beasts. The non-combatants were shielded in the center of these circles. Airik, standing at the heart of one, watched the lines hold. He finally saw Enkrid’s intent, even if he didn’t fully grasp the “why.” Was the man a monster who wanted to watch them struggle? Or was he preparing them for something worse? Regardless, the weak had no choice but to fight for their lives. Enkrid hadn’t tried to make them individual heroes; he had raised the collective floor of the group and unified them.

“Rotate!”

“Hah!”

Their bodies screamed with exhaustion, but their focus was absolute. Four hounds lunged at one circle, but the spearmen knew exactly how to react, reclaiming their territory with disciplined thrusts. Brunhilt moved between the gaps, providing support where needed under Enkrid’s direction. The adults finally grasped the extent of her talent.

The defense relied on the person to your left and right. With their spears moving in synchronized harmony, the formation became a lethal barrier. The beasts, possessing hides much softer than true magical monsters, found no way through. The villagers didn’t even need to focus on the kill—they only needed to hold.

From the high branches of a tree, Enkrid watched. They were no longer easy prey. A spectral image of the Ferryman appeared in the air beside him. “You’re a cunning one.”

It wasn’t cunning; it was the Valen-style mercenary tactic known as Feigning Defeat. It was a sophisticated style that relied on coordination and using an ally to exploit an enemy’s opening. Many dismissed it as mere trickery, but its tactical depth was profound. Enkrid had mastered this “phantom” style, though he knew that even the best tactics required physical strength to execute.

He remained perched in the tree, his senses sharpened, until he decided the lesson was over. He leaped down, his blade blurring as he cut through the beasts and sent the survivors fleeing into the woods.

The villagers stood gasping, drenched in sweat. But as they looked around, they realized the impossible: no one was dead. Not a single person was even bleeding. They had stood their ground.

“Rest for the remainder of the day,” Enkrid announced.

This had been a drill, but it was as close to reality as possible. Because he had been there to intervene, it still fell under the category of training. A true test of survival would only happen once.

“Uwoooohhh!”

A thunderous cheer broke out—a sound of genuine triumph that the village had never known. This wasn’t the relief of being rescued; it was the roar of people who had claimed their own survival with their own hands. And in that moment, the hardship of the last two weeks was entirely justified.