Chapter 743

Chapter 743

“So. You have butchered every monster and at last escaped the day you spent so long organizing.”

The churning currents, the glow of the purple lantern, and the presence of the Ferryman confirmed that this reality was no hallucination. Enkrid rested at the vessel’s flank, gazing into the vastness before shifting his focus.

Regardless of where he cast his sight, no boundary existed. Or, to be more precise, the boundary was all that was visible. It felt as though every path was obstructed. Even the movement of the river and the stretching ribbons of radiance gave off that impression. If pressed for a reason, he could not provide one—it was simply an intuition.

“I offer my praise. You were born to die, yet you shall find yourself craving the eternal, human.”

The voice carried the weight of an academic. On this occasion, the Ferryman spoke with a flair for the poetic, or perhaps like a philosopher hunting for hidden truths.

“I never had a desire for endless life.”

“You shall.”

“You think you can decide my future for me?”

After all the trials I have already endured? That was the unspoken challenge beneath his reply.

The Ferryman’s mouth twisted into a jagged smirk. He was actually smiling—a distinct shift in demeanor from their initial encounter.

“The second you are locked within the cell of remorse, you will plead for it. You will beg. Naturally, you won’t trust my words. You will reject them. I am aware. Because of that, I shall provide proof.”

The Ferryman lifted his hand—the one not occupied by the lantern. His dark vestments billowed upward, and the interior was more than just shadowy; it appeared as if it had been saturated with the deepest black ink.

Enkrid found his gaze pulled toward the void within the cloak. In the heartbeat it took for his focus to slip, the world shifted. The boat was gone.

On a landscape of charred earth, Enkrid was down on a single knee, cradling a body.

“Get out of here. Finish what you started. Dammit…”

The hair, normally gray, was now a dull, matted mess of crimson. Rem was fading away. There was no medicine or magic that could save him.

“The path ahead is fluid, certainly. Yes, this is likely a moment from the far-off distance.”

The Ferryman’s words seemed to vibrate from the very air around them. The tone wasn’t malicious or spiteful; it was level-headed. It was merely a forecast of high probability, delivered plainly. That clinical delivery made the scene feel disturbingly authentic.

Rem passed away. Enkrid was forced to witness the exact moment his comrade’s final breath escaped him.

“That shall be the inaugural ‘today’ you manage to claim.”

Deprivation. It suggested the act of losing. The Ferryman’s goal was transparent.

Hold tight to your suffering. Why persist in carrying such a burden of pain?

Enkrid saw through the manipulation, but he had no desire to follow the script being written for him. Furthermore—

It hasn’t taken place yet.

Nothing was set in stone. Consuming himself with dread now wouldn’t alter the outcome. Therefore—stand up, brush it off, and focus on the task at hand.

Enkrid snapped out of the vision and pulled himself awake. The scent of moisture hung heavy in the room. A dampness had been creeping in since the previous evening, and now a soft rain was pattering down.

“Hup.”

Enkrid stood up from the mattress with a light spring, appreciating the sturdy support it offered. The bed was a gift from Shinar, who claimed she had stuffed it with a specific variety of restorative leaves.

Bare-chested and clad only in thin trousers, Enkrid walked out into the morning.

“You’ve joined the living, brother.”

Audin, built with the proportions of a great bear, offered a welcoming grin.

“You’re starting early.”

“It is the week of devotion.”

As a cleric dedicated to the God of War, Audin maintained his spiritual practices with unwavering strictness. Even within the sacred walls of Legion, few could match his level of piety—perhaps only that tattered saint whom Audin regarded as a mentor.

There were rumors that the saint was traveling toward Legion, having accepted a mission while on the road. A missive from Lord Overdeer had confirmed as much.

If Lord Overdeer vouches for him, then the man must be truly devout.

Aside from him, there was perhaps Noah. Upon his return to Border Guard, Enkrid had discovered a pile of correspondence from Noah. Most of it was small talk, but the underlying message was undeniable. If Enkrid was in trouble, if there was any way to assist—Noah would be there. It wasn’t about settling a score; it was simply what a friend would do.

What a lot of trouble over nothing.

If the Empire had actually taken him prisoner, the situation would have turned catastrophic.

Audin spoke from beside him. “I see you haven’t gone soft.”

Even during his stay at House Zaun, Enkrid had never missed a workout. It was second nature.

“You think so?”

“It’s obvious.”

In the middle of the early morning mist, the two men repeatedly hoisted and dropped heavy boulders. Afterward, they reclined on the ground with massive iron globes balanced between their ankles, lifting them using only their core muscles.

A bystander would have been terrified. If one of those iron weights slipped, it could easily shatter a skull or cause a permanent injury. Neither man seemed concerned; they simply continued their regimen, completely composed.

“I was actually hoping for a clash with the Empire. This is a bit of a letdown.”

Pell walked up, making the comment while Rophod, standing next to him, gave a dismissive shake of his head.

“I was looking for no such thing.”

Conflict brings only grief. Rophod understood that truth. Pell understood it as well—he simply held the conviction that if a fight was necessary, one must dive in headfirst.

Enkrid watched them both. They were different men, yet they shared a similar core. Both were willing to bleed when the time came, but they arrived at that conclusion from different perspectives. Consequently, their paths to growth would be distinct.

A thought he had entertained before resurfaced.

Can a knight be manufactured through a rigid process?

These two had been pushed to their breaking points for that exact goal. Audin had explained the situation the day before.

“I’ve been driving them hard. They’re both starting to show real progress.”

Enkrid could see the evidence. Their Will is reacting.

Just by observing them, he saw how they instinctively tightened their posture. It wasn’t because an enemy was present. It was a conditioned response.

Behaviors carved into the mind through constant repetition.

The training regime that had brought them to this point—Enkrid was the architect of it. Is it possible to produce knights through a system? What was the verdict?

A superficial system won’t do the job.

Certainly, if you punish a body enough, even a novice can learn to ignite their Will with incredible speed. But that alone doesn’t make a knight.

Utilizing Will without conscious thought.

That was the next milestone.

This wasn’t a choreographed moment. He simply observed them, saw the way they steeled themselves, and felt an impulse. He had witnessed the power of Zaun and stayed in humble hamlets. Since arriving at Border Guard, Enkrid had gained much wisdom, particularly through the act of instructing others. His dialogue with Valphir Valmung had also been a catalyst.

A knight must be forged from within.

It wasn’t merely a matter of physical power.

The entire being must move as one.

Might, reflexes, and awareness must merge into a single force, guided by the Will. Rophod and Pell were unique individuals, meaning they required unique catalysts. One might call it fortune—half was a lucky break, the other half was Enkrid’s own strange evolution.

Enkrid felt a sudden, intuitive grasp of how to shove them toward their awakening. The moment the realization landed, his body reacted. It was always this way. He dropped the iron weight and reached for Three Iron.

“Pell.”

Then he lunged.

Three Iron cleared its sheath, rising in a vertical line before plunging downward. Between the shift of his weight and the extension of his limb, a crushing force descended upon Pell. To an onlooker, the movement didn’t even seem particularly fast.

It cannot be stopped.

Rophod realized it the instant it began. His perception was sharp. Looking a split-second into the future, he smelled the scent of the grave. Not for himself, but for Pell.

Lua Gharne, who had wandered out to observe, felt her pupils dilate. The veins in her eyes became visible as she tapped into the raw biological potential of her Frokk physiology.

If that connects, he’s split in two. Even a partial dodge will mean losing a limb.

The weight of the strike. The steel. The action was devoid of any preparatory motion or tell.

Pell’s hand flew to the Idol Slayer. Before Enkrid had even shouted his name, Pell’s survival instincts had already screamed a warning. Like a wild creature sensing a predator at a watering hole, Pell’s nerves ignited the moment he laid eyes on Enkrid. He caught the subtle change in Enkrid’s presence and moved.

The Idol Slayer hummed as it was unsheathed.

Cling—

Deflect it or meet your end.

He needed to summon his Will, but there was no luxury of time for contemplation. That was why the reaction was so pure. The drive to stay alive is the most primal force in any human. And Pell? He was a product of the wilderness. They do whatever is required to keep breathing. That had been his reality since he was a boy.

Before a single thought could crystallize, he summoned his Will.

Vring—

The Idol Slayer thrummed in response to that internal fire. His musculature, his nervous system, and his senses all locked into perfect alignment, and he lashed out to intercept Enkrid’s blade.

Whish.

There was no sound of metal meeting metal. Three Iron stopped dead in the air and pivoted away. The Idol Slayer merely carved through the breeze.

Pell turned his gaze toward Enkrid, but his focus was elsewhere. He was looking at a horizon far beyond their surroundings.

Thump.

The sword that had met nothing but air slipped from his fingers and hit the dirt. Pell stood there, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides, frozen.

The group stood in stunned silence, trying to process the exchange.

“Quiet.”

Enkrid pressed a finger to his mouth. Pell had traveled into his own soul. His physical form and his mind, hardened by the brutal methods of Audin and the Mad Knights, were now on the threshold of true knighthood. Enkrid had provided the final shove.

The training protocols of the Empire. It was likely something similar to this.

The bond of apprenticeship.

The concept felt natural. A mentor and a pupil—a method of passing down the flame. If that was the case, it was a sustainable way to ensure a lineage of knights. That was the hidden meaning in Valmung’s words.

Rem emerged late, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and then let out a chuckle.

Well, look at that.

Enkrid had accomplished in a heartbeat what the Mad Knights had failed to do. That specific strike he had unleashed—it was exactly the pressure needed.

Precisely fast enough.

Enough to make death feel certain, but not enough to actually deliver it. Enough to strip away the ability to think. It was a feat easier to describe than to execute.

Enkrid caught Rem’s eye and mouthed a silent message.

Later.

He had sensed his own Will vibrating, leaking through his presence, and he was acknowledging it. Jaxon had also stepped out from his quarters and could feel the change. Enkrid’s awareness had evolved significantly. Now that he thought about it, Enkrid had known Jaxon was there the moment their paths crossed.

Jaxon’s eyes sparked with interest. Their games of tag were about to become much more difficult. Sneaking up on Enkrid would no longer be a simple task.

Everyone except for Ragna began moving toward the practice fields. Ragna was still dead to the world.

Only after they had moved away from the motionless Pell did Rophod find his voice.

“Why only him?”

What happens if he reaches the goal before I do?

Enkrid turned to him. “Swing your blade without a single break for three days. No water. Treat every block as if your life depends on it.”

If Pell required a sudden shock to the system, Rophod needed the time to internalize and fortify his progress. Rophod went quiet for a moment, then gave a firm nod.

“I will be gone for a period of time.”

He had already handed the new recruits over to Squire Clemence, so his schedule was clear. Just like that, Rophod disappeared. He would come back a different man before Pell even finished his meditation. The fire of his resolve was plain to see.

“You came back with some interesting new tricks, didn’t you?” Rem commented.

Ragna had already witnessed the shift in Enkrid, but the rest of the group was just catching on.

“I picked up quite a bit.”

“Is that so?”

Rem was clearly itching for a fight, but Enkrid looked at the sun breaking through the rain clouds and shook his head.

“Not now. I have matters to attend to.”

“…You’re turning down a fight?”

Rem looked genuinely stunned. Enkrid’s reply was flat.

“My control over Three Iron is a bit loose. If we’re going to do this, I want to be at my best.”

“I’ll be waiting, brother,” Audin added.

“And what about Teresa—she’s already crossed over, hasn’t she?”

At Enkrid’s inquiry, Audin smiled and nodded. She had reached that state faster than Rophod or Pell, though her journey had been unique. It had occurred while Enkrid was away. Audin had been her mentor, offering the right words and showing her a different door to open.

“I suggested she might join the Paladin Order,” Audin mentioned.

“This is where my life is. This is my home,” Teresa had replied, without a second thought.

Why was everyone so attached to this place? It was because of the man who was currently nodding and donning his waterproof cloak.

“I’m heading out for a while.”

Aitri was expecting him. Three days had passed since his return. On the first night, he hadn’t arrived until well after dark. The following day, he had spent his time recounting his travels to the group.

“The Captain’s versions of the stories are much better,” Rem had noted. Even though Ragna had already given his account, he had a tendency to leave out the interesting parts. Anne had been present as well, but she was never one for long-winded tales.

Enkrid had spent so much of his life paying for stories in taverns that he had naturally absorbed the skill. If you listen to enough masters of the craft, you eventually learn how it’s done.

Jaxon had concurred. “It makes me want to hear what happens next immediately.” His expression was as stoic as ever, but the sentiment was real.

Aitri had taken Three Iron back and told Enkrid to give him four days.

“I’ll balance it and have it ready. Even though I’ve got the True Steel, the finishing work on the engraved blade will take a bit more time.”

The finalized engraved weapon wasn’t quite there yet, even if Three Iron was already halfway to becoming one.

“Understood.”

Enkrid stood up to leave. There was no need for further questions; he trusted Aitri’s craftsmanship. Frokk, the smith, gave him a brief look of acknowledgment, and Enkrid gave a subtle nod in return.

The rain had almost stopped, and the sun was making a cautious appearance. Back at their camp, Rem was juggling three small hand axes. He was tossing them in a rhythm, catching them with alternating hands. It looked like a carnival act to anyone else, but Rem was focused.

“What’s the point of that?”

“Can’t you see for yourself?”

No matter the topic, Rem’s responses were always bitingly sharp. Perhaps it was a family trait. Watching him, Enkrid realized the remnants of his dream were still lingering. No one had actually entered or left his life, but like the thin layer of dust that settles on an unused room, the memory of the vision was stuck to him.

So he spoke up. “Try not to die easily, Rem.”

Clack.

Rem caught one of the spinning axes mid-air. A shimmer appeared in his gray eyes—the manifestation of the power he called sorcery surging through him.

“You want to go right now?”

Rem always twisted words to suit his own temperament. He was a wild soul who took an expression of concern as an invitation to battle.

“Hold on.” Enkrid held up a hand.

He had a plan in mind. Something he wanted to perfect before showing it to the others. Until that was ready, the sparring matches would have to wait.

“What, do you think I’m a pet?” Rem snarled at the hand gesture, but this was just another typical interaction for them.

And that evening.

“Well. What are your thoughts on this?”

The Ferryman had constructed a fresh scene. The setting was the same, but the people had changed. This time, the person dying in Enkrid’s arms…

Was Jaxon.