Chapter 755

Chapter 755

Long before they were known as the Eroded, the history of their people stretched back to the time of their distant forefathers. If one sought the reason for their service to the Demon God, it lay in the fact that their first settler had been saved by that very deity. Their loyalty was built upon a foundation of ancient gratitude that left little room for doubt.

It was true that the Demon God demanded blood and tribute. However, by this era, those offerings had become a grim necessity for their continued existence; they had wandered too far down this path to ever turn back.

O Demon God.

In truth, they did not even possess a name for the entity they served. They directed their prayers toward a symbol etched into a stone monument, though they remained ignorant of whether the icon bore any resemblance to their master. A scorched, circular piece of timber fixed to a tall staff—this black sun—was said to represent the god who would eventually extinguish the world’s light to claim this territory for his own.

This was the doctrine provided by the priest. He was the one who dictated the rhythm of their lives.

“Worship.”

The priest commanded, and the people complied. Disobedience meant certain death, for there was no other power in this desolate land to offer them sanctuary. Furthermore, given their current twisted forms, there was no hope of being accepted back into the ranks of human civilization. Without a master to serve, they would simply perish.

Even if, year after year, their companions and kin were swallowed by the Demon Realm… Even if the priest arrived to carry away their newborn children… It was a burden they felt they must carry. They had long since abandoned the act of thinking for themselves. Having settled for the mere state of breathing, they surrendered every judgment and life-altering choice to a higher authority.

That level of psychological surrender could not be vanished with a single word. In fact, it was essentially permanent. They were a people who had lost the ability to stand without a crutch. A fish cannot survive on dry land, and a soul hollowed out by decades of subservience cannot find independence in a day. The village of the Eroded stood as a grim antithesis to the hidden mountain community Enkrid had encountered in the Pen-Hanil range.

Occasionally, travelers had attempted to bring the Eroded to justice in the name of righteousness. Those crusaders had all met their end. The terrors unleashed by the priest had always ensured their judgment was swift and final.

If the protection of the Demon God was a reality, what were its limits? Did it act if a predator crossed into their territory? Was his gaze fixed upon them at all times? The reality was far less grand.

“There is a relic buried beneath this soil,” Jaxon remarked.

Even before the scout spoke, Enkrid had noted an unsettling energy. Shinar had been nursing a persistent ache in her temples since their arrival.

“My head is throbbing. Fiancé, I require a shoulder to lean on,” she complained.

The pain wasn’t actually severe enough to incapacitate her, but Shinar wasn’t deterred when her usual displays of affection failed to move him. Instead, she focused on identifying the source of the disturbance Jaxon had flagged. Beyond Jaxon’s keen instincts, Shinar’s nature as a fairy gave her a unique sensitivity to the flow of spirit and the hidden depths of the earth. Moreover, having once been an intended sacrifice for a demon, she possessed an intimate familiarity with their foul energy. She was perhaps the most effective demon-sensing instrument among all fairies.

“It is of demonic origin,” she stated with absolute certainty. She wasn’t claiming the object was a living entity, but rather a tool forged by one.

“I concur,” Jaxon added with a nod.

When Audin was led to the site, his skin began to radiate a soft, white luminescence—a reflexive surge of divinity.

“A repulsive presence lingers here,” the priest noted. He didn’t offer a complex analysis, but it was evident that the weight of the air was becoming a trial even for him.

He wasn’t the only one affected. They all felt the cloying pressure. They simply possessed the fortitude and discipline to remain composed. Looking at them now, one might forget that these same people often swung lethal steel at one another for sport; their patience was a reserved strength.

Enkrid paced the perimeter of the settlement, surveying the terrain. Lua Gharne’s assessment had been accurate. As a strategic position, this village was a perfect staging ground for purging the local monsters and minor demon realms. The village sat upon a level plain, offering wide lines of sight. A forest bordered the rear, and in the far distance, the jagged silhouettes of black mountains, stained with a bloody hue, loomed over the horizon.

Most critically, the local beasts avoided this place. The buried relic functioned like the scent of a dominant predator—a powerful, invisible boundary marker. Now, the path forward was clear and uncomplicated.

“There is no reason for us to remain in a single group, is there?” Enkrid asked.

The question was directed at his companions. He was currently flanked by Shinar on his left and Lua Gharne on his right. Rem, meanwhile, was darting around the edges of the village, driven by an unusual excitement regarding the strange magical signatures he was detecting. Audin and Teresa had decided the oppressive atmosphere required spiritual cleansing and had settled into a state of deep meditation.

“Indeed,” Lua Gharne agreed.

During their stay of several days, they had extracted vital intelligence regarding the nearby demon realms. Despite their status, the villagers were well-informed. Any area they labeled as a “death zone” was inevitably home to a colony of high-ranking monsters or a localized rift. Even with their perceived divine protection, those who wandered into such zones rarely returned, so the borders of safety were well-mapped by tragedy.

To Enkrid, the ecosystem here seemed to have reached a dark equilibrium. Monsters and beasts existed in a state of mutual avoidance, never overstepping their bounds. The creatures that migrated from the South were a constant plague on the continent. This was why Viscount Harrison, the lord of the southern farmlands in the Kingdom of Naurillia, had spent his life treating monster incursions like seasonal floods or droughts. Many of those horrors likely traced their lineage back to places just like this.

Given that their group was essentially a localized army of elite knights, there was no need for caution.

“We will split. Rophod and Ragna will form one team. Lua Gharne, Teresa, and Pell will form the second.”

Enkrid didn’t arrive at these pairings through logic; he spoke from the gut. On the field of battle, Enkrid’s greatest weapon had always been an intuitive grasp of his surroundings. That instinct, sharpened by years of blood and steel, dictated the groups. It was a spontaneous decision, yet perfectly balanced.

“A sound arrangement,” Lua Gharne noted.

The following days were a repeat of their previous successes, though the scale of their efficiency had increased. Even if the tasks had been difficult, these individuals were the sort to grind forward until their objective was shattered. The Mad Order of Knights immediately began their purge of the local blights. They would depart at the first light of dawn and return before the sun touched the horizon.

“We encountered a nest of Scalers. They lacked magic, but their hides were remarkably resilient,” Rophod reported one evening.

They had dismantled a demon realm in less than half a day. Ragna’s Sunrise had swept through the wetlands like a wildfire, incinerating and cleaving anything in its path.

“I imagine Sir Kraiss would have valued those scales for his forge… a pity we couldn’t bring them,” Rophod remarked, but Enkrid merely gave a disinterested nod.

The weight was impractical. However, if they could find a way to transport such materials, the benefits would be immense. Such scales could be turned into superior plate for the Border Guard. Looking at the villagers, Enkrid noticed they had already mastered this to a degree; their clothing, fashioned from monster hides, was surprisingly well-crafted.

“We found a curious predator—a winged serpent with a triangular skull that launched venomous barbs,” Lua Gharne shared upon her return.

Apparently, Teresa had simply raised her shield against the toxins, closed the gap, and torn the beast’s head from its neck with her bare hands.

“She is leaning heavily into her raw power lately, but the results are undeniable,” Lua Gharne added.

It was clear that Teresa’s growth was accelerating. If she possessed the strength of a giant, it was only logical to fight like one. Her style was evolving into a display of overwhelming physical dominance.

Audin had paired with Jaxon. They spent two days tracking a roaming apex predator before finally cornering it. It was a massive centipede that reportedly possessed telekinetic abilities, though against those two, such a gift was useless.

“Did it pose a challenge?” Enkrid asked.

“Not in the slightest, Brother,” Audin replied with a shake of his head, while Jaxon merely shrugged.

The inhabitants of the village were paralyzed with shock. It was impossible not to be, witnessing such casual destruction of the horrors that defined their world. These knights had systematically dismantled the surrounding threats. They had slain hidden demons that mimicked humans, cleared five separate ghoul-infested rifts, and banished numerous spirits.

They even targeted the Twilight Witch, a legendary figure who controlled the Maiden of Plague. She was a being on the cusp of ascending to true demonhood, a name that had appeared on the high-priority hunt lists of the Red Cloak Knights. Yet, three massive warriors and one grim youth had ventured out and snuffed her out in a single afternoon. To the villagers, even Frokk—who seemed the least imposing—was a figure of terrifying mystery. They could only watch in silence, unable to comprehend the power on display.

Through these battles, Enkrid was reminded of the sheer brutality of the southern demon realm. It was a territory fundamentally hostile to human life. Yet, people persisted here. The village of the Eroded was the living manifestation of that struggle.

The Ferryman of his internal landscape continued to ask the same question he had been posing for days:

“What is your verdict?”

It was a demand for a choice, a reflection of the knight’s burden. Were these villagers a people to be saved? Were they heretics to be purged? Or were they simply a tragedy to be ignored? Regardless of the path, the knight’s vow remained. Oaths were not merely words; they were constructs of internal logic and will. To falter in one’s conviction was to invite a collapse of the self.

Valphir Valmung, the great Imperial Knight, had once lectured him on the difference between those who wore the armor and those who lived the code.

“The continent is crawling with ‘flower knights’ who treat their vows like fashion. They compromise when things get difficult. Those men never reach the peak,” Valmung had said.

History corroborated this. A knight who betrayed his own word suffered a literal weakening of his Will. Enkrid had to find an answer that satisfied the Ferryman.

The villagers, though terrified, did not push Enkrid away. They had no reason to. Just as they had feared the eyes of the Demon God, they now feared the “cleaner” that the relic had seemingly summoned to their gates.

Mmm-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The sound erupted from the edge of the settlement, where the defenses were weakest. A colossal bull-man trampled through the cultivated fields. Sheep scattered in a panic, and the village dogs retreated with whimpers of terror.

“A Minotaur?” Jaxon was the first to identify the intruder. A thick, musky scent of predator mixed with a metallic tang had preceded its arrival.

The beast announced its presence with a roar that shook the very ground. The intent behind the sound was primal and clear: a challenge to mortal combat. The sound was too powerful to be ignored.

It was the hour of the fading sun—a thick, murky twilight. As the roar echoed through the humid air, the monster’s shadow stretched like a dark stain across the village. It was so tall that a man had to strain his neck to see its head. Its sheer presence made it appear even more mountainous than its physical dimensions suggested.

“When the mind is clouded, there is no better remedy than the dance of steel,” Enkrid said, stepping forward. He signaled that this was his fight alone.

“You always claim the most entertaining ones for yourself,” Rem complained, though he made no move to interfere.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the two moons began to emerge in the darkening sky. Under their pale light, the Minotaur stood with its hands on its massive hips, tilting its head back to let out another deafening cry.

Umm-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The vibration traveled through the earth and into their very bones. It was a concentrated burst of murderous intent. Enkrid responded by unleashing his Will of Rejection, meeting the beast’s pressure with his own. His focused aura became a physical barrier—a wall of absolute defiance.

“Well, that is unexpected,” Rem whispered, his interest piqued.

The beast carried two broad-bladed swords at its waist. They were shaped like glaive heads but possessed shortened grips—highly specialized, modified weaponry. Where a creature of the wilds had obtained such refined steel was a mystery. The Minotaur drew both blades and settled into a combat stance.

Could a beast truly master the art of the sword? Usually, the answer was no. But this was no ordinary animal. In a land of armored Scalers and telekinetic insects, a martial monster was almost expected. It was a swordsman born of the demon realm. Its physical power likely dwarfed that of an ogre, and its danger level was akin to a medusa—and now it held twin blades.

With its legs braced wide and its blades held at staggered heights, its posture was unmistakably that of a trained combatant. Enkrid drew Dawnforge.

So, the bull knew how to swing a sword. Enkrid found himself wondering if its final breath would also be a low, guttural moo. Beyond the beast’s skill, the weapons themselves were extraordinary. They were likely relics—perhaps even demon-tainted blades.

Facing the monster, Enkrid settled into a deep, rhythmic breathing pattern. Dawnforge hummed in his hand, a restless vibration that seemed to urge him to strike. Enkrid decided to satisfy the blade’s hunger.

Without a sound, he blurred forward, erasing the gap in a heartbeat. The Minotaur’s muscles surged as it swung, its heavy steel whistling through the air.

BOOM!

A violent explosion of sound followed, a clashing of metal that pained the ears. But by the time the sound reached the onlookers, the man and the beast had already traded their first lethal strokes.