Chapter 763

Chapter 763

“He’s significantly more entertaining than that wretched Hawk Talon.” Rem grumbled. Hawk Talon—the handle given to the prick who had rained arrows upon them during the conflict against Azpen. It was a title that remained etched in Enkrid’s mind. At that time, those projectiles had carried the weight of inevitable doom. However, comparing their current situation to that past ordeal was futile. The world had shifted too much since those days. ‘This is manageable.’ That was Enkrid’s assessment. None of their company would fall to such an arrow. Lua Gharne stood the highest risk of being struck, but even a direct hit wouldn’t prove fatal. She was a Frokk—a sturdy warrior-woman of a race that could ignore most lacerations. Frokks who underwent rigorous training possessed healing capabilities that rivaled those of trolls. “Heh.” Rem let out a dark, rattling laugh. That perilous smirk played across his features once more. The jagged curve of his mouth and the intensity in his gaze were saturated with murderous intent. He seemed genuinely eager to slaughter every marksman within his field of vision. Regardless, when Rem described something as ten times more fun, it was synonymous with saying it was ten times more lethal. Enkrid focused on the barrier obscured by the thicket. ‘What is the range?’ He had caught the sound, but pinpointing the source was difficult. Nevertheless, it couldn’t be far. The attacker needed a distance an arrow could traverse and a vantage point suitable for firing. Those two requirements were essential. Consequently, the sniper was likely perched on elevated terrain. The tactical combat principles of Lua Gharne—now integrated into Enkrid’s own refined style—triggered his analytical process. ‘Flawless anticipation is a fantasy.’ It was nearly impossible to deduce the enemy’s precise location or their exact plan. But it was irrelevant. This was the Demon Realm. Even if the unexpected occurred, there was no reason to be caught off guard. “I struggle to intercept them because the darkest possibilities are always at the forefront of my mind.” That had been Abnaier’s response when Kraiss once questioned the mechanics of his logic. That dialogue had taken place right in front of Enkrid. It had been a strangely pleasant memory, offering a window into how vastly different those two legends thought. Enkrid interpreted Kraiss’s philosophy in his own manner: ‘Adaptability is everything.’ To maintain a vast internal vessel—allowing various lines of thought to branch out, yet remaining ready to receive whatever arrived. No matter how much poured into that wide bowl, it must never overflow. ‘It feels as though the Sword of Chance is merging with me.’ He felt as though he was soaking up every tactical possibility within his reach. Though styles were categorized by titles like Precision or Fierce, they were ultimately just different ways of driving a blade. And the one holding the hilt was always the master of the motion. Was it truly necessary to partition everything into five distinct paths? Was classification the only solution? He lacked the answer. It was a mystery that couldn’t be solved in this moment. Even so, his pulse quickened at the fleeting thought. It felt as if a new realization was beginning to crystallize. Regardless of what it was, the present demanded his attention. The Demon Realm warped human perception. Though he was slowly acclimating, it remained fundamentally different from the world outside. Orientation, sensory sharpness—everything was distorted. His ability to taste and smell felt muted, and the sights before him twisted in disorienting patterns. The entire environment felt inherently malevolent. The adversary surely understood this. ‘Are they trying to buy time?’ Likely. With enough time, the group would synchronize with the environment. The enemy would anticipate that. The arrow hadn’t been launched to kill, but to halt their movement. To keep them pinned. But did the foe truly believe a single arrow could tether them? “Tch!” A sharp noise broke his concentration. Only a few heartbeats had passed, but in real time, the reaction was nearly instantaneous—just as Rem finished speaking. Every eye pivoted toward the same spot. Toward the position held by Pell and Rophod. The pair, sheltered behind a massive trunk, stared down at the roots snaking around their limbs. Enkrid noticed it as well. Roots, coated in purple grime, wiggled like serpents—though they were more rigid. Yet, they were far too mobile to be ordinary flora. The roots coiled and squeezed around the ankles of Pell and Rophod, intent on crushing bone. They were tightening, strangling. Simultaneously, the overhead branches snapped downward with a splintering sound, lashing out at their throats. Dark brown, heavy limbs warped unnaturally as they swung—moving with startling speed. They weren’t as swift as arrows, but they moved faster than a man’s punch. And they looked resilient. The rough grain of the wood suggested as much. The forest had woken up, initiating a violent reprisal. The one who let out a sharp breath—tch—was Pell. It wasn’t through any failure of theirs that they were snagged. The Demon Realm clouded the senses. Nobody could have foreseen tree roots slinking through the mud to grab their feet. So, they were caught. But what of it? That was Pell’s internal retort—and in that same heartbeat, he unsheathed his blade and swung in a continuous motion, down and then back up. The steel traced a sweeping circle. The initial descent was heavy and loose; the returning arc, a rising crescent, was fast and vicious. A blow designed to sever both the lower roots and the descending branches. Pell cut through them all. Thock! Crack! Two distinct impacts merged into one. The Idol Slayer was a magnificent blade, and the man gripping it was no amateur. No matter how sturdy the wood, it couldn’t hold against the focused strike of a knight. Liberated from the trap, Pell surged forward. Rophod reacted with equal certainty. His blade bore no special engravings, but it was just as lethal. The edge was honed with True Silver and cast with a heart of Valerian steel. It was a masterpiece of dwarven smithing, refined over a three-month period. He also carved a wide path through the roots and limbs. The distinction lay in his rhythm—his swing moved with a perfectly steady, unwavering tempo. Power was not an issue. Had Roman witnessed that strike, he would have been floored. Rophod had recently found his stride, and though he was a quiet man, he was a knight known as a Calamity. His Will surged through his muscles, granting him unnatural strength. Crack! Wood and fiber were torn apart. A spray of black sap filled the air. Pell and Rophod lunged in opposite directions. As if perfectly timed, two more dark arrows came singing through the air. Both were aimed precisely at the spots where they had just repositioned. Bang! He hadn’t intended to act as a shield, but Enkrid’s body moved on instinct. Since Pell was nearer, he lunged in that direction. A flurry of insights hit him. ‘The foe has us in sight.’ ‘If they can see us, they know we are interlopers.’ ‘They realize we need time to breathe in this demonic atmosphere.’ The logic clicked into place. The goal was simple. Combine arrows with forest monsters to fix them in place and execute them. Force them to perish here, exhausted by endless evasion. But he wasn’t about to permit that. Crack! Boom! The earth beneath Enkrid’s boot shattered as he lunged—moving as if he had pierced through the thick air. Then, Duskforge collided with the arrow. A sky-blue radiance slammed into the black projectile like a lightning strike. Boom! A thunderous eruption followed. He didn’t parry or catch it. He smashed it. Enkrid’s strike hammered the arrow into the dirt, causing it to tumble several times through the air. The second bolt, targeted at Rophod, was intercepted by Audin. A sphere of white radiance coalesced in his palm. That light swatted the arrow aside. Boom! This impact also resonated through the woods. The white light in Audin’s hand unspooled like a chaotic ball of yarn, dividing and shimmering before fading away. It had neutralized the arrow’s momentum. It resembled the shattering of a divine halo—a roar of celestial power. It was almost a proclamation that this terrain did not belong to the heavens. “A cunning adversary, brother.” Was that a taunt? Audin wore a look that was out of character for him. His mouth was curled into a smile, but the warmth in his eyes had evaporated—leaving behind pale yellow irises. Enkrid felt a vibration travel through his hand and checked the edge of Duskforge. If the impact stung that much, had the steel been nicked? He ran a finger along the metal for a second. ‘Incredible.’ The sword caught the dim light with a sky-blue shimmer—identical to the day Aitri had handed it over. Even a collision like that couldn’t leave a mark? The blade hummed with a metallic resonance, as if offering a reply. That it would never shatter—regardless of the foe. Enkrid was deeply satisfied with the assurance his named weapon provided. “It will not break.” Aitri had spoken those very words. Perhaps those words weren’t born of hope or trust—but of objective truth. Aitri, as a master smith, manipulated Will. Anyone who poured their very essence into their craft utilized Will without conscious thought. And when directing Will, there was nothing more vital than self-assurance. The certainty that you would not falter, the refusal to concede. All of that was the bedrock of Will. Thus, it was only logical that the blade, forged from Aitri’s life force and saturated with Enkrid’s Will, radiated such poise. A sword that would endure, no matter the circumstances. In the tongue of the fairies, they named it Infrates—a term Lephratio, the elven smith, had once used. It had come up during a talk about mythical armaments. When translated into the dialects of the East or the South, the word became Unchanging. It signified more than just being indestructible—it meant being constant, eternal, and steadfast. That was why he treasured this blade. No, he loved it—he felt a profound connection to it. It felt as natural in his grip as his own limb. He had no need for the legendary divine relics of myth. The trees began to move like the Woodguards he had encountered in the elven settlement. Branches extended like grasping fingers, lunging and swinging down. “Do I look like an easy target to you?” Pell remarked, standing his ground beneath the canopy. He had halted his retreat halfway. In truth, he hadn’t actually needed anyone to step in and stop that arrow for him. Fine, perhaps there had been a brief vulnerability. He could admit that much. But it wasn’t a death sentence. He was more than capable of dodging, parrying, and winning. ‘Am I a burden?’ He refused to accept such a thought. This was simply the result of a lack of preparation. A burning flame of ambition and rivalry flared within him. Will mingled with that fire, spiraling violently through his frame. The dark, wooden behemoth rose, utilizing its root system as legs. Soil and rocks tumbled away from its base. “Yeah, I feel the same.” Rophod’s voice echoed from the opposite side. Even if his thoughts weren’t an exact match for Pell’s, he was in a similar state of mind. His dignity was bruised. These damn trees—did they think they could look down on them? Both men bared their steel and charged, piercing and hacking. The exterior of the tree giant was dense, but not dense enough to repel the blade of a knight. Thunk! Crack, snap. With those sharp reports, the wood split open and dark sap geysered out. Enkrid, observing the wooden titan crumble, looked toward Shinar and inquired, “Is that a relative of Bran’s?” The appearance was different, but the movement was reminiscent of the Woodguards—the forest spirits. Were they kin? Or were these merely another breed of monster? There were too many trees in the vicinity to count. The very boundary of the forest began to shift and churn. A tide of timber surged toward them. Roots tore through the earth with sickening, wet cracks, dragging themselves across the ground. Above, jagged limbs cut through the air, greeting the intruders. The issue was that this greeting wasn’t a friendly gesture—it looked designed to skewer a man through the chest and drain his life. A small furrow appeared between Shinar’s eyebrows. She unsheathed her Leaf Blade. Shrrrrrng. The sound was like the steel slicing through the very atmosphere of the Demon Realm. Perhaps it was just the effect of her Will being woven into the metal. Shinar held her weapon with a loose, relaxed grip and noted, “So that is why this place smelled so putrid.” She whispered this and locked eyes with Enkrid. “It seems something I recognize is waiting past that point.” Enkrid didn’t press for details. They would find the truth soon enough once they arrived. For now, they had to manage the surge of wooden giants nearing their position. How? Slice, pierce, and bring them down. Hadn’t Rophod and Pell just demonstrated the method? If you cut them with steel, they perished. “It looks like we each need to handle about ten of them.” That was Rem, who had been gauging the number of incoming tree spirits. “I’ll take thirty. That’s the responsibility of a vice-commander, isn’t it?” Ragna chimed in. He didn’t sound boastful, but something about the way he said it was irritating. It was the emphasis on the title “vice-commander.” Ever since he’d started showing off that glowing sword, he’d been acting like this. Rem’s eyes darkened. His bloodlust began to boil over. “Is your head just an ornament? I knew you were full of it ever since you started acting like you were on your deathbed. Do you ever process what you say? Who said I couldn’t slaughter thirty? Read the room, you idiot. I was just giving a head count, that’s all.” “Understood. Just a standard soldier.” Grrk. Rem’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding. “And I’m the vice-commander. Don’t start preaching about duty as if it fits you. Duty? Duuuuutyyy~?” “You’re a headache. I might just kill you before I fight them.” “Go ahead and try.” The two lapsed into a tense silence. Not even a draft could have passed between them. The air turned frigid and heavy, and dust settled in the stagnant tension. The approaching wooden monsters faltered for a second. Why are these two attacking each other instead of us? If they possessed the capacity for speech, they might have asked. Of course, the monsters weren’t actually confused. It was simply that the crushing aura emitted by the two men radiated outward, causing the creatures to recoil instinctively.