Chapter 745

Chapter 745

“A knight is not the conclusion.”

At Enkrid’s statement, Pell raised his gaze. His face was marked with purple welts, and his arms dangled uselessly. He had sustained blows to his joints and upper arms, causing his muscles to ripple with uncontrollable tremors. Lifting them was an impossibility.

The outcome of the duel between a wooden practice blade and the idol killer had been absolute.

‘Evade and strike.’

That was the cornerstone of swordplay. Footwork was the key. Pell understood the theory—yet after being on the receiving end of Enkrid’s steel, he began to doubt every shred of his previous knowledge. Enkrid hardly moved his feet at all. He simply anticipated the trajectory and lunged with superior speed and force to shatter Pell’s momentum and return the blow.

Why had it concluded this way?

A flower of bewilderment blossomed vividly within his mind. Along with it, Enkrid’s philosophy began to echo.

A knight is not the end, but the commencement.

In the world beyond these walls, Pell might have been viewed as a paragon among the wilderness shepherds—but not in this place. Enkrid still lashed out with his blade like a possessed man every single day. And everyone caught in his wake pushed themselves to the brink. Pell witnessed this transformation daily. After a single bout, Pell’s delusions of divinity had shriveled to a grounded reality, and he finally began to separate his capabilities from his fantasies.

“What’s the status of that wretch Rophod?”

Among the tasks he felt confident in now, pummeling Rophod into the dirt felt entirely achievable. Pell went in search of him, but it wasn’t until the following morning that Rophod appeared in the practice hall. Predictably, he too had shattered a personal limit.

The distinction between them was simple: while Pell had drowned in his own arrogance, Rophod had bypassed that stage entirely.

‘There are too many freaks in this place.’

Every member of the Mad Knights—Enkrid included—served as a formidable benchmark and a target to chase. Rophod had observed them. He had calculated their weight. Consequently, he never fell prey to conceit. It was a matter of temperament, not talent. After all, Rophod still hadn’t fully grasped the extent of his own potential either.

Regardless, both Pell and Rophod had naturally grasped the manipulation of Will. Thus, they continued to regard one another as their primary rivals.

“Barely hanging on, are we?” Pell remarked with a predatory smirk.

“Who’s the one trailing who?”

“You’re the one following me?”

“Who am I following?”

“Ah, does it help your ego to lie to yourself?”

“Who am I following?”

Their verbal sparring felt oddly heartwarming. Watching their blades clash moments later was equally satisfying. One messenger who had arrived to deliver a missive looked startled by the intensity of their combat—but if one had gained entry to the Knights’ training hall, such sights should no longer be a shock. They had all grown accustomed to the duels between Rem and Ragna, Rem and Audin, or Rem and Jaxon. Eventually, one becomes desensitized to the violence.

The message came from the Pioneer King in the eastern lands.

—Dunbakel went without a bath for an entire month and broke through his bottleneck.

What sort of update was this?

The letter contained various details regarding the East, but the focal point was Dunbakel. Apparently, the locals had begun referring to him as the “Golden-Eyed Lion.” The report suggested he was refusing to budge, so if anyone intended to seek him out, they should prepare for a struggle.

That was the essence of the news.

‘I never planned on restraining him.’

If Dunbakel had chosen to remain in the East, his autonomy would be honored. Unless Anu was holding him against his will, there was no cause for a rescue. Of course, Enkrid would inquire about the details eventually.

“Are you occupied?”

Having finished the letter, Shinar appeared.

“If you’re free, come amuse me.”

She didn’t mean it in a literal sense. It was the characteristic fairy tendency to bend the truth. The Fairy Village had requested Enkrid’s presence. They claimed to have a gift for him.

Before departing, he cast a glance back and saw Pell and Rophod still locked in a balanced struggle, testing each other’s limits. Now that they were true knights, their unique characteristics were surfacing. They likely wouldn’t end each other’s lives now. This was the training ground of the Knights, after all. Even in his absence, a bystander would intervene before a killing blow landed.

“Let us depart, then.”

“You have grown into quite the fascinating mortal, my betrothed.”

Observing him stand without a second thought, Shinar’s eyes crinkled. Whatever the motivation for her mirth, a fairy’s grin was a predator—quietly stealing the souls of men. Enkrid, however, remained stoic. Attaining knighthood altered one’s psychological armor. When the spirit falters, the physique follows. Once this truth is mastered, the habit of maintaining an iron mind becomes second nature.

As Shinar led him into the hidden fairy settlement, the Woodguard Bran was the first to provide a greeting.

Puff.

A cloud of pale smoke drifted from his lips. A tree-man cradling embers between his teeth.

“Still indulging in that?”

“It is a demon herb. Once ignited, the craving is relentless.”

They walked past the smoking wood spirit at the threshold and entered. A member of the fire-manipulating clans trailed them in silence after offering a curt, distant nod. The journey didn’t end there; every set of fairy eyes was fixed upon him. Enkrid was their savior. The individual who had preserved the Fairy City. Their icon. They had congregated simply to catch a glimpse of him.

“They possess keen eyes,” Shinar remarked, surveying the crowd. There was an unmistakable note of vanity in her tone.

“Do they not have chores to attend to?”

A small assembly of fairies trailed them from a distance, peering from behind foliage and thickets, creating a soft rustling sound. To a stranger, it might have felt predatory, but Enkrid was unbothered. It was far preferable to being cornered at a gala and smothered by noblewomen. At the very least, these watchers maintained their distance.

Soon, the spokesman for the fairy tribes stepped forward. Enkrid found he had slipped on the name once more. It had happened before, right after he regained consciousness from slaying the One-Killer. He caught the name just in time to speak—

“Ermen?”

“On this occasion, you remembered correctly.”

With a contented grin, Ermen nodded.

“Do you lose track of my name that often?”

Shinar commented casually, and Enkrid was suddenly struck by a wave of nostalgia. This fairy had always been a trickster. But he had matured. Now, he could handle such jibes with grace.

‘A significant amount of time has truly passed.’

He had more to defend now—and he had successfully defended more. It would be a falsehood to say he felt no gratification.

“Was it Shinar?”

“Ouch, that hit the mark.”

Shinar laughed at the retort. She was smiling with increasing frequency lately.

“Accept this.”

Ermen had called Enkrid to present a reward. The tribal head passed him a bundle of folded fabric. When he shook it out, it billowed in the breeze—a cloak of the deepest forest green.

‘Is that… the essence of life?’

From the weave, Enkrid detected a vitality akin to that of growing flora.

“The moment we took root here, the dryads dedicated months to spinning the thread, lacing it with their very essence.”

The garment shimmered with a soft luster, as if it were drinking the sunlight. Enkrid fastened it around his neck. It adjusted its dimensions to suit him, lengthening from his thighs down to his heels.

‘A magicked mantle.’

The aroma of dew-kissed grass wafted from the folds. Simply donning it felt like standing in the heart of a sanctuary. Cloaks weren’t originally intended as weapons, but knights frequently utilized them for utility. The Red Cloak Order even employed theirs as barriers against sorcery. Even a cursory glance revealed the craftsmanship and devotion poured into this gift.

It brought to mind the footwear he had received from the local cobbler. That man had offered the pinnacle of his craft within his means. Much like these fairies were doing now.

“It suits you. Particularly the hue.”

Thus, the primary color of the Knights’ heraldry transitioned—from sea blue to verdant green. Regardless of their specific goals, the crest of the Border Guard had already been embroidered into the fabric.

“What’s the meaning of this? A change in uniform?”

On his return trip, Kraiss noticed the new gear and questioned him. Enkrid gave a nod of confirmation.

“It would appear so.”

Even then, Shinar followed three paces behind, her eyes shining with pride.

“Green represents devotion.”

She beamed, clearly heartened that he wore the colors of her people.

Later that afternoon, Esther requested his company to visit the marketplace. It was a rare invitation, so he consented and joined her for a walk.

“Joy flourishes on their countenances. It is peculiar,” Esther noted as she studied the townspeople. Concepts she had never encountered in the deep woods were now clear to her. To her eyes, this settlement was a fountain of plenty.

“Hey, make a purchase!”

They passed a massive giant who had established a trading stall.

“And what brings you here?”

He even spotted Seiki retailing medicinal plants. A woman possessing the holy power of a saint, selling weeds she had gathered herself. But Seiki had been a ranger; identifying and curing herbs was second nature.

“I won’t live as a parasite just because my health has returned. Everyone requires a purpose.”

A life of stillness, prayer, and stargazing might offer tranquility—but if one abandons industry, stagnation takes root. Her perspective held a quiet wisdom.

“Wait? Uncle?”

Then Enkrid encountered a figure from his past.

“Eek.”

He had failed to recall the name. The man’s image had shifted. His beard was groomed, his hair shorn, and he had thinned out significantly. But that look was unmistakable. Eyes drifting out of focus, jaw slackening. This was the man who once touted his status as the uncle of the “Iron Wall Knight” merely because Enkrid was an associate of Leona, the leader of the Lockfried caravan—and who had been soundly beaten after harassing Enri’s group.

It was ironic how he remembered individuals like Malton but struggled with names like Ermen.

“Iron Wall Knight,” the man whispered, and Enkrid acknowledged him.

“A pleasure to see you. You’ve transformed. Do you have any coin to spare?”

Malton was leading a different existence now. He was no longer the man who lived like a venomous pest.

“Indeed, as much as you require,” he replied with clarity in his eyes.

A true change had occurred. Enkrid observed this and nodded to himself. People do evolve. It is possible. Apparently, Malton now served the Lockfried caravan as a merchant captain in charge of a logistics team.

“I even traveled to that hidden village.”

Enkrid passed on information from the secluded hamlet he had once visited.

“They expressed that you are always welcome. Your mercy has not been forgotten.”

It wasn’t a thrilling tale, but it was a warm one. From Dunbakel’s progress to the news from the hermits—today was a day of pleasant narratives.

“Hot apple pie just left the oven—grab a slice!”

He exchanged words with the tavern keeper, Allen. Vanessa, her face now a map of deeper wrinkles, called out to him from her seat on the porch. Fruit sellers offered cheerful greetings. The shoemaker laughed, noting how long it had been.

He had fantasized about a day like this.

The apple merchant who removed the rot and offered the rest anyway. The elderly server who roasted tubers in the hearth. The jagged old woman who once sold herself and cursed like a demon. Mercenaries who fled the front lines in search of stillness. And in this sanctuary where they could all find a reason to smile, Enkrid wandered and offered his greetings, living a day like any other.

Even the act of training with his sword felt more lighthearted today. Even trading barbs with Shinar was enjoyable. Esther, through her witch’s perspective, noted many novelties and had much to share. Could this be described as gossip? She was certainly more talkative than usual.

“I’ve got a moment today. So, behold—my vision for the salon!”

Kraiss looked prepared to make his ambition a reality. He argued that the aristocrats congregating in the Border Guard would require a venue for networking. Enkrid even crossed paths with Leona during his walk.

“That item we retrieved from the village… no, I’ll explain another time.”

Beside her was Kin Baisar.

“Many women felt a pang of regret today, assuming you were already taken.”

Strolling with Esther, Enkrid felt the weight of many gazes—likely the source of the comment.

The sun shone brilliantly, the clouds were sparse, and the firmament was a deep blue. Back at the Border Guard’s training grounds, Ragna was instructing a group of ten. Enkrid had laid out the foundation for knightly training, and Ragna was implementing the curriculum.

“No instinctive brawling today. Let’s engage with full intent.”

The dusk duel with Rem had also been invigorating. He was soaked in perspiration, and Rem’s flashes of ingenuity constantly threw his tactical predictions into disarray. And even those disruptions—he learned to integrate them into his combat flow.

“That is the way,” Lua Gharne remarked, impressed. After the bout, he and Enkrid spent hours in deep conversation.

In this city brimming with the things he had fought to save—flanked by those who marched at his side—this was the life he had desired.

And then, in the realm of his dreams, the Ferryman materialized. He presented a choice.

“Ahead of you lies no longer a path of deprivation, bitterness, or misery—but a current of contentment and bliss. End your own life before the sun sets on this night. That is all that is required.”

Yes. The Ferryman’s proposal… even to Enkrid, it now carried the weight of logic.