Chapter 757

Chapter 757

Disarray. Trepidation. Turmoil. A tempest of raw feeling swept through the crowd. In the midst of the panic, several villagers began to suffer from vivid delusions. “I will come to collect you personally.” That was the decree of the demon god. A few burst into tears. Others crumbled, overwhelmed by hopelessness. This was the grim reality they were forced to inhabit. Yet, they remained human. Being such, they were easily swayed by the prevailing energy around them. It has long been understood that a single remarkable individual possesses the power to shift the entire collective spirit. A champion on the front lines can kindle a fire in the souls of soldiers. A charismatic speaker can stir the hearts of a massive audience. In this instance, it was the unshakable poise of the madman that transformed the environment. The feeling was no longer one of sheer misery. Although the path ahead was undeniably dark, not a single person could bring themselves to believe that ruin was truly inevitable. The reason? It was the sight of the serene expressions on the faces of those standing at the vanguard. The local people, paralyzed by shock, could only watch the scene unfold like silent observers. Among the throng, a group of small children began to hum a soft melody. It was an ancient tune handed down through the ages—a song whose verses described the world’s destruction… and the quiet tranquility that would follow.

“Practice. I require more practice.” Pell whispered to himself while driving his blade through the air. The lunatic—who had been quiet for a long time, previously notorious for his obsessive rants about nothing but training—had finally snapped out of his trance. “Uoooooh!” A powerful, solitary roar erupted from his lungs, a fierce ki-shout that echoed through the area. His behavior was far from ordinary, yet his composure was absolute. Pell’s mindset was straightforward. The creatures were his foes. The people required his shield. That simple truth was all he needed to know. With a sharp light of resolve in his eyes, Pell gripped the Idol Slayer and began a rhythmic, deadly dance to the side. “You are creating quite a stir. Roman, isn’t it? Approach me for a moment.” Rophod, rattled after witnessing Enkrid’s swordsmanship and that frantic display, felt a flicker of internal hesitation. His greatest asset had always been his capacity to analyze and judge his own state with total impartiality. By applying that logic now, Rophod reached a conclusion. “What I lack currently is the sensation of triumph.” Venturing out to slaughter a wandering beast was one way to achieve this. Alternatively, providing Roman with a necessary duel could yield a similar effect. However, more than just the victory, Rophod hungered for the feeling of being useful—the satisfaction of contributing to a cause. “How does one construct the momentum required to put true weight behind a lone strike?” Rophod inquired, using the question as a subtle lure for Roman. Roman blinked, moving toward him with measured steps. Are we truly going to focus on swordplay at a time like this? His bewildered look made the question clear. Yet, even he was pulled in by the gravity of the moment. Rophod refined his focus. Enkrid would eventually find his own clarity regarding his recent actions. Therefore, Rophod would attend to his own duties. He needed to maintain his peak state. The objective was to align his physical form and his mental resolve. He narrowed his field of vision, concentrating solely on Roman. Having engaged in countless duels with Pell, he was intimately familiar with his strengths and flaws. He also grasped the psychological profile of those who gambled everything on a single, decisive blow. Furthermore, he had once commanded the elite unit known as Enkrid’s personal guard, a role that had allowed him to gather immense tactical knowledge and combat experience. He would channel all of that expertise now. If one wishes to conclude a conflict with one hit, one must first master the intricate steps that make that hit possible. Hadn’t Enkrid remarked that Roman required a brutal, refining process above all else? “To put it bluntly, he needs to endure suffering as if his very survival depends on it.” And Rophod was perfectly prepared to deliver that hardship. Some villagers let out sharp gasps when Enkrid destroyed the holy icon—but none lost consciousness from the trauma. The more perceptive individuals among them were quick to pivot, aligning themselves with the shifting tide of power. The speed of their transformation was unsettling. But in truth, they had no alternative. What path was left to them if they didn’t submit at this very moment? The demon god’s executioner had been slain. The reach of the demon was distant and abstract, whereas this warrior—this madman—stood directly in their path. A simple movement of his hand could result in their total annihilation. Faced with this cold reality, their survival instincts took command. Their heads bowed low. They pledged their fealty to Enkrid. “Ooooh…” Naturally, some likely had their own private motives for doing so. Rem let out a sharp breath and smirked at the display. “Watch them trade allegiances like a famished Bellopter pouncing on a bit of rat meat.” Bellopters were known to go wild for rat meat—which explained why rats were so scarce in the West. Though, that scarcity might also be attributed to the mimic-type beasts that often haunted the territory. Cats hunted rats with ease—in fact, they killed them faster than they could consume them. “A duel?” Ragna walked toward Enkrid, who was just catching his breath after the clash. Rem’s eyebrow twitched as he watched the interaction. This incredibly lazy fool. What is he rambling about now? “Have you completely lost your wits?” This wasn’t his typical annoyance. Rem sounded as though he had just endured a personal insult to his lineage or his kin. People of the West were notoriously defensive regarding family honor. Without a second thought, Rem unsheathed his axe and clarified the source of his irritation. Enkrid had assumed Ragna must have offended Rem in some way. But he was wrong. “I made the request first. Therefore, I get to duel first.” …That was the cause of the tension? “Brother, the Lord never instructed us to tolerate unfairness. Why must you always take the lead?” Audin intervened. “He is my betrothed. Naturally, I should go first.” Even Shinar chimed in. Though, in reality, was Shinar even capable of using her full potential here? In a territory devoid of spiritual essence, fairies found it impossible to manifest their true power. Ever since their arrival, Shinar had frequently teased that she felt lightheaded and that spending a night in Enkrid’s company would be the only cure. Those jests were merely a cover for her genuine exhaustion. “Are you even capable of an Imbue?” Ragna asked, his gaze sweeping over the group. Are you able to pour your Will into your blade? Can you forge a weapon that radiates pure light? If you cannot, how can you expect to participate in a duel of this caliber? Essentially, Ragna was stating: From this point forward, our combat will be of a superior level—so the weak should step aside. “Hey! Now you are mocking the traditions of the West!” Rem’s anger remained white-hot. His fury took physical form as he exerted his internal pressure in a distinct fashion. Rem’s shadow began to stretch and darken, defying the natural light of the moon. He started to rise, his presence expanding. If they engaged now, that shadow appeared capable of wielding an axe of its own accord. “The Lord proclaimed that nothing is out of reach through holy divinity.” Audin continued to interject. In the meantime, Enkrid felt the onset of a hidden attack from his rear. To put the feeling into words—it was as if someone was standing several paces away, gently swaying a willow branch. Yet, his instincts caught the subtle vibration. His perceptions were honed to a razor’s edge following the previous fight. Enkrid’s body reacted without a thought. CLANG! He spun around and parried with Duskforge—just as the point of a hidden blade grazed the steel. It was a strike from Jaxon. Sparks cascaded. Jaxon immediately leapt back three full strides, his eyes locked on Enkrid. In terms of striking and disengaging, his velocity exceeded even that of Rem. “You little wild cat brat!” Rem’s temper flared once more—but Jaxon paid him no mind. “I am satisfied.” That single exchange was sufficient. Based on Enkrid’s reaction, Jaxon had successfully gauged the man’s alertness and precision. For Jaxon, that was the only data he required. ‘Catching him unaware will be nearly impossible now.’ A basic ambush would no longer be effective. That was a certainty. ‘What then?’ Whoosh. Jaxon slipped past a thrown hand axe, his mind working quickly. ‘I will have to exhaust every trick in my arsenal.’ Only then would he stand a ghost of a chance. Even in that scenario, he would need to secure a superior position first. Otherwise, the kill would remain out of reach. This was the assessment of the leader of Geor Dagger, the most renowned guild of assassins on the continent. If even they deemed Enkrid immune to assassination—then the matter was settled. “That is enough.” Enkrid, seeking peace for the first time in a while, called for order and beckoned Rem. He wanted to test their synergy briefly—a light sparring session. “I thought as much.” Rem gave a curt nod and gripped his axe. It appeared as though a thick, black vapor had congealed around the metal. Even though he had exhausted his Will against the Minotaur earlier, the lingering essence and the physical conditioning gained through the Isolation Technique were not so fragile as to fail him now. “Strength of muscle is a beautiful sight.” Audin’s comment got straight to the point. Teresa watched the scene in silence—as did those standing with her. ‘Is this what people call courage?’ Or perhaps it was merely insanity. At the sight of these tainted souls—those who could only be described as Infected—the veins in Teresa’s hands began to throb. Her fingers tightened around her weapon by instinct. She felt the urge to swing her massive sword right this second. To shatter and destroy. They were loathsome. Repulsive. Like a swarm of insects scurrying over her skin. She felt a desperate need to tear them apart and cleanse this soil. The impulse resonated through Teresa’s entire frame. However, a steady hand came to rest on her arm. It was broad, comforting, and capable of emitting a holy white glow. “If the Lord ordered you to execute them all, would you obey? The Lord’s intent is perfect, but we who translate it are flawed.” Audin was simply reinforcing the lessons he had always preached. The half-giant drew in three long, shallow breaths and let them out slowly, then gave a solemn nod. Sending them to the afterlife might grant them serenity—but these people had their own wishes to consider. Regardless, Teresa had already formed her judgment. In truth, she had decided long ago. ‘There is no saving them.’ Redemption was impossible. There was no cure. “Incredible! Truly incredible!” Lua Gharne’s voice rose beside them, filled with relentless admiration. Indeed, a madman of a different caliber possessed an entirely different perspective. His logic operated on a wholly unique frequency. Teresa had witnessed it. Enkrid toppling the idol. Audin using holy power to obliterate the hidden relic. ‘He will find a way to shield them.’ And somehow—he would rescue them as well. ‘Perhaps the title of Salvation, rather than Iron Wall, is more fitting for him.’ Just a few moments ago, she had believed that showing mercy to these people contradicted the Lord’s path. But now—the feeling had shifted. The deity of war she followed granted her a sense of inner peace. ‘Lord…’ Teresa bowed her head in a quiet prayer. She was uncertain how they would defend this territory. That burden rested on the shoulders of the man who had set this in motion. Would Enkrid call upon Kraiss? But would that wide-eyed fool even show up? Even if the summons came from Enkrid, that man likely wouldn’t set foot in the Demon Realm. So—what was the strategy? These thoughts flitted through her mind… but again, it wasn’t her problem to solve. Teresa wasn’t the only one who saw the reality of the situation. Rem understood as well. He recognized the immense difficulty they faced. And yet, he chose to ignore it. Even now, with the icon destroyed—wasn’t the presence of predators and monsters already closing in? The outcome was obvious if one bothered to think. ‘How enticing has this location been until this moment?’ It was equivalent to dropping a fresh rat in front of a Bellopter and demanding it refrain from eating. A disciplined Bellopter might resist. It might hold back. But if the owner suddenly commanded, “Eat”? ‘If it does not strike, it is not a Bellopter.’ Instinct demanded action. Rem contemplated this as he put away his axe. They were still in the middle of their exchange. If the intensity increased even slightly, one of them was going to be severely wounded. The dark residue on his axe dimmed, then wafted away like smoke. “What was that?” Enkrid inquired. It bore a resemblance to Will, yet it was distinct. It was a method that didn’t follow the standard logic of focusing and injecting Will into a blade. It wasn’t exactly a skill or a refined art. It was more like a raw expression of shamanic gift. “Spirit-binding.” It was a power that couldn’t be tapped without a manifested weapon. Rem had channeled spiritual energy into the axe and projected it outward. This was no simple feat. There were countless obstacles to master before reaching such a level. Rem gazed at Enkrid without speaking. He had no further inquiries. The technique for concentrating Will like Enkrid had done? He didn’t require it. As for the rest—he had seen and grasped enough. ‘Weapon mastery and shamanic practice are separate paths.’ To reach the status of a Knight here—or a Hero in the Western lands—one had to be a master of both. Honing the physical body and honing shamanic power were different tasks… yet they were intertwined. What were the odds of an individual being proficient in both? ‘Minimal. Extremely minimal.’ Without innate brilliance, one couldn’t even hope to achieve this status. ‘But I now see how to pass this on.’ He had simply followed the framework Enkrid had established and performed. “Fine then… I have gained something valuable today.” He spoke with a hint of reluctance. Enkrid blinked twice and replied: “Where is the real Rem? What are you, some kind of malevolent spirit?” “…You little—” Why is he acting this way after I offered my gratitude? “Should I perform a purification on him?” Audin asked immediately. Perhaps his holy strength was required. “Was he under a spell?” Teresa added her thoughts. Jaxon already had his blade in hand, poised to strike. “The rising sun incinerates all.” Ragna remarked flatly. Rem could only laugh. “You son of a—” The curse was never finished. “It is time to get to work, Rem.” Enkrid interrupted him sharply. He had teased him enough for now. The gates to the heavily guarded food stores—the lure—had been thrown wide. The moment had arrived. The beasts and monstrosities were already starting to converge. They could see the movement. And they could hear the approach.