Chapter 747

Chapter 747

Enkrid recognized that the Ferryman’s peculiar method possessed a unique quality. However… did it not feel like being shoved forward while simultaneously being cautioned against ignoring the beauty of the moment? Or perhaps it served as an instruction to gather power through stillness? “Is he suggesting I tie up my loose ends?” While the Ferryman’s advice held weight, Enkrid processed it through his own lens. A resolution formed. “I am going to hunt the Balrog.” The desperate plea from the city of Oara remained vivid, etched into his soul. Suddenly, as if manifesting from his thoughts, an echo of the Ferryman’s voice rang out—not a physical sound, but a sharp projection of his own mind. “You absolute maniac. I told you to exist in the now, not to sprint back into the fire.” The real Ferryman would likely offer the exact same assessment. Enkrid had made his intentions clear beside the flames. He wasn’t departing this second—but the time was near. Snap, pop. His resolve flared brighter than the embers before him. Just as he had once vowed to achieve knighthood, he now swore to bring down the Balrog. This wasn’t some fever dream. Every trial he had overcome was a testament to his capability. Under the vast starlight, amidst the warmth of the fire and the rhythmic hum of crickets, insects danced into the heat of the summer evening. Lua Gharne’s tongue lashed out, snatching a bug from the air. “Uncooked prey has a charm all its own.” While fairies might survive on vegetation and fruit, the Frokk thrived on the protein of the insect world. “Lua Gharne mentions it so often it’s become an intrusive thought,” Enkrid mused. The companions were spread out around the campfire under the glow of the moon. Everyone had found their own comfortable spot. Rem reclined, idly spinning his heavy axe with a couple of fingers. Ragna sat nearby, clutching the sheathed Sunrise to his chest. They were warriors, both restless despite the tranquility of the night. The Mad Order’s encampment at the edge of the grounds remained hushed. Those who were usually boisterous had fallen silent, allowing a peaceful stillness to settle over them. Rem let out a quiet laugh as his weapon spun. Ragna, still gripping his blade, let out a massive yawn. Perhaps he intended to resume his lazy habits since their departure wasn’t immediate. Audin composed himself as if entering a trance of prayer, while Teresa hummed a soft melody. Rophod and Pell exchanged a silent, knowing look. In their midst, Shinar wore a smile. The sun was long gone, leaving only the gentle touch of moonlight upon her features. Her otherworldly grace seemed to shift the very atmosphere when she smiled. Noticing Enkrid’s attention, Shinar spoke in a voice that sat somewhere between a poem and a lullaby: “If you disappear without me again, the city of fairies will pursue you—a spectacle the world rarely sees.” Through the balmy air, a metaphorical blade of frost struck Enkrid, sending a shiver down his spine. Even when facing the multi-layered incantations of the famous alchemist from Zaun, Enkrid hadn’t felt this level of apprehension. “This is…” A warning. And while fairies might obscure the truth, they never spoke falsehoods. The delivery was beautiful, but the underlying threat was unmistakable. Rophod blinked, visibly baffled by the contradiction between her sweet tone and her words. However, he caught the underlying meaning. “…The city itself?” “Because of our history with relocation, City Kirheis has developed the ability to detach and transport segments of itself.” Shinar spoke casually, though a trace of vanity colored her tone. Enkrid tried to decipher her layered emotions, wondering why she found such a thing worth bragging about. Nevertheless, he knew that if he snubbed her, the forest city—governed by Woodguard—would quite literally tear itself apart to follow his trail. “Join me,” Enkrid requested. Shinar gave a small nod. In that moment, the leopard Ester performed a fluid roll in the air, shifting into her human form. Even observing it directly, the transition defied belief. Her spotted fur stretched into a dark cloak, her pale skin visible for a heartbeat before being shrouded again. Only Enkrid, standing right in front of her, saw the transition in full. To anyone else, it looked like a pelt merely draping over a woman’s shoulders. “My apologies. My schedule is full—I cannot attend,” Kraiss stated. “That’s alright,” Enkrid replied. Kraiss had previously grumbled that Enkrid should give fair warning before acting. That was the reason Enkrid had assembled everyone—though he never planned on traveling with a small army. He simply wanted to display his conviction. And perhaps… it was a sudden impulse. “Three companions, at most?” He was capable of navigating the path himself, so a massive force wasn’t required for the Balrog expedition. He then locked eyes with Kraiss. “…You aren’t considering taking me, surely?” You haven’t lost your mind that much, have you? Kraiss’s eyes pleaded for a ‘no.’ Irritated, Enkrid flicked a piece of dried meat toward him. It was a simple snack—but it was launched by a knight. The jerky struck Kraiss squarely on the forehead. “Ouch!” While Kraiss checked his head for a wound, Rem tossed his axe upward and declared: “Count me in.” Lately, Rem could be described by one word: restless. If Rem’s specialized assault squad were here, they would likely be kneeling at Enkrid’s feet, pleading: “Please, take us with you.” “Sunrise begins to sear its master if it isn’t tasted in battle regularly,” Ragna added. Since he wasn’t a fairy, he was clearly making things up. “I wish you were even half as blunt as your father,” Enkrid whispered. Ragna ignored the comment. He was going, regardless of the logic used to get there. “Will this be my debut mission as a knight?” Pell asked. “It seems so. Quite a thrill. And against a Balrog, to top it off,” Rophod noted. “My duty is to remain by my Lord’s side,” Audin stated, his voice carrying the weight of a sermon. “And if the Lord is watching over you, brother, then I must be there as well,” Teresa said, stopping her humming. “I’m coming too.” Lua Gharne smiled, her cheeks rounding as she listened to the group. There was no question—the Frokk was joining the party. Previously, she had stayed back to refine her talents and support Teresa. She had later described that time as both a regret and a fascination. “Returning after a long time to see how things have evolved is incredible. But nothing beats witnessing the change as it happens.” A Frokk is driven by their internal cravings. To deny that hunger would be to stop being a Frokk. Naturally, those desires varied by individual. Meelun—who now held a major role in the Gilpin Guild—practiced hard but had no taste for the brutal, self-destructive style of training. Balanced practice. Balanced dueling. Balanced contentment. That defined Meelun, and Enkrid appreciated that about him. But Lua Gharne was different. She welcomed and overcame agonizing training solely to stay at Enkrid’s side. She never flinched at exhausting drills or the sting of discipline. From their previous bouts, Enkrid was aware that her prowess had skyrocketed. “The Frokk don’t possess a tradition of knighthood.” Despite that, they were viewed as a race of natural combatants. Because the Frokk knew no ceiling. This was a concept Lua Gharne had recently been exploring. She believed that if a typical Frokk could just strip away the mental layer of what they thought was their maximum potential, a new horizon would appear. Shedding old limits, stepping into the unknown— “That might be the thin line between me and the true prodigies,” she had once remarked, her face pale. In any case, she was definitely coming. Looking around, it was obvious—the entire group planned to move out. This departed significantly from his original idea. “The garrison at Border Guard is formidable. Even without our order, it won’t buckle easily. There are no pressing dangers. Even if the Empire acts, Zaun is essentially an ally now. We can withstand an imperial push.” Abnaier spoke with his typical logical precision. “Still, one never knows. What if a rogue cultist appears with elite warriors?” Kraiss countered. “If we only focus on what might happen, we’ll never move. But look at the foundations we’ve laid, Kraiss. We’ve established a rock-solid intelligence network centered on Border Guard.” They monitored every rumor that flowed through the region. The Gilpin Guild had transformed into a primary information center just outside the gates. From minor city gossip to scandals buried deep within Naurillia—those two missed nothing. After further debate, Kraiss and Abnaier agreed that Enkrid and the others could depart safely. If Kraiss represented caution, Abnaier represented the danger of overconfidence. Together, they covered every vulnerability. Enkrid gave a nod of approval. “Then we go as one.” As the decision was finalized, his mind drifted back to the beast he had once encountered in Oara. A creature designed to wield a flaming blade and a whip of fire. The mere memory sent a tremor from his feet to his spine. The Knight Oara had sacrificed everything just to stop a mere portion of that entity. And yet Enkrid sought to challenge the source, not a shadow. To claim he wasn’t thrilled would be a lie. Rem glanced at Enkrid and remarked, “He’s wearing that creepy grin again.” Kraiss tilted his head in thought. “The Balrog is called the God of Combat? That seems like a mistake. That title belongs to the captain.” Shinar smiled as she added her own thought, “If everyone wasn’t tag-along, this would have been a lovely trip for just the two of us.” The night concluded. Enkrid intended to set out within two days—at least, that was the plan. That changed when Aitri called for him the following morning. When Enkrid arrived at the forge, the obsessed blacksmith’s eyes were glowing. “I have acquired superior iron.” He blurted it out immediately—no greeting, no pleasantries. “…True iron?” “I already used that up. It didn’t work. What I have now is a legendary metal I have never encountered.” Where did he find it? “The Lockfried caravan delivered it.” The raw ingot looked unremarkable, but Enkrid felt it. It was the same substance as the metal he had been given once before. However, it didn’t radiate that same pure, clean energy. Instead— “It has been altered.” He felt it in his gut. To put it harshly, it was polluted. To put it kindly, it had been enhanced. “I was stuck, but the second I saw this, I worked the forge for three days straight. I felt the connection.” He looked like a man in the throes of a first love—or a child with a rare treat. His expression told the story. In his excitement, Aitri muttered technical details Enkrid couldn’t follow. Then, hammer in hand, he sat down and looked Enkrid in the eye. Enkrid saw a conviction there as solid as any knight’s. Aitri spoke firmly. “I need you to pour in your Will.” A true engraved weapon was a vessel for a knight’s spirit. That was the essence of the “engraving.” “I am going to craft your blade.” At those words, Enkrid sat across from him and replied. “You stayed true to your word.” Aitri answered simply, “Let us start.” The smith didn’t even realize he was smiling until he forced himself to go stoic and gripped his tools. He pumped the bellows, and a wave of intense heat filled the room. The assistant readied the gear and exited. Even the Frokk artisan who handled the detail work left the forge. “Four hours each day.” That was the duration Enkrid had to remain in the heat, constantly projecting his Will. A masterpiece isn’t finished in a night. That was why Enkrid postponed the journey. He quickly deduced the metal’s origin. He had sent supplies to the hidden village, and they had returned the favor with a priceless gift. He hadn’t sought a reward for helping them—so the symmetry of it felt profound. Four hours a day. As the rhythmic clanging of the hammer met the metal in the fire, Enkrid watched—and flashes of his previous life began to emerge. Where did it begin? “Enkrid, you possess a gift.” A low-rent mercenary had told him that. That was the spark. “Why do you even care about being a knight?” A question he’d heard a thousand times. “Just give up.” “Stop trying.” Endless voices had told him to walk away. “Do you really think your presence changes anything?” He had once been consumed by fury, desperate to protect someone. “Damn it all.” He had screamed at the sky in his failure. Even when he looked stoic, his heart was often a furnace of rage. Clang— The hammer’s ring echoed through his thoughts. The rhythm of the work wove through his memories, tangling and then releasing them. Enkrid’s mastery of Will was exceptional. Compared to knights who lacked discipline, he was in a different league. In Zaun, he had mastered both the art of restraint and the art of the explosion. He used Will as an extension of himself. Even so, he worked with unpolished Will. “It isn’t enough, so I’ll need you to repeat the process again and again.” Aitri spoke as if it were a law of nature. And Enkrid complied. Four hours daily with Aitri. And in the aftermath, Enkrid found himself preoccupied with what would happen during his absence—a concern that drew him back to the training fields. Finding himself with unexpected downtime, he felt drawn to the drills. Rem looked at him and joked, “Are you just here to torment someone, Captain?” Clemence, who had been knocked to the ground, stood to greet him. She was the only official squire in the Mad Order. Others were at that level, but none had the formal title. “Just observing for a moment.” Enkrid said, inspecting Clemence. Her form was solid—a credit to her time in the regular army’s basic training. Additionally, Clemence served as the unofficial instructor for the high-ranking guards. Yet, she had gaps. Enkrid’s eyes could see exactly what she was missing in her training.