Chapter 765

Chapter 765

Beneath the towering spire of timber stretched a wall choked with brambles, extending endlessly to the horizon. The exterior of the barrier pulsed with the shimmering, resentful wails of trapped spirits.

Aaaaahhhh—! Indistinct murmurs layered beneath a low, melodic drone were suddenly shattered by high-pitched shrieks. It was a symphony performed by a choir of the damned. This chorus of souls, draped in shrouds of thorns, vibrated in the ears and struck heavy against the chest. It was a harmony of pure misery, dread, and grief.

The sound was profoundly sinister. It carried a resonance that seeded despair in the hearts of listeners, tempting them to either surrender to the darkness or welcome death. Of course, such psychological pressure only worked on the weak. It held no power over the Mad Order of Knights.

“Man, that’s obnoxious.”

Rem had already woven a protective sorcerous field around himself. Even without it, he wasn’t the sort of man to be bothered by the cries of minor ghosts. He dug into his ear with a pinky, blew away the imaginary dust, and tossed a casual glance at the wall.

“Mind keeping it down?”

Rem’s magic was centered on the manifestation of form. His talent lay in conjuring exactly what was required for a situation and tailoring it instantly. Before his request had even fully echoed, a massive black silhouette reared up behind him.

None of the observers realized that this construct housed the soul of a tiger beast that had prowled the Pen-Hanil Mountains for a century. It was a predator that fed on spirits—the natural nightmare of malevolent ghosts.

Aaaa—ah, ah. the cacophony from the bramble wall began to dim. The ghostly eyes embedded in the wood flickered and drifted away. Though they were mere carvings without pupils, they seemed to recoil in genuine terror. The very wall appeared to shrink back.

“Shhh.”

Rem pressed a finger to his lips in a mocking hush. While Enkrid watched the scene with a cold gaze, Teresa started to speak but then thought better of it. She had been ready to intervene, but she realized now her help wasn’t necessary. Rem’s display was impressive, yet no one in the group showed shock. It was simply what was expected of him.

Inevitably, all gazes shifted upward.

The massive tree functioned like a man-made tower. Its wide, sturdy branches acted as vantage points—the same platforms the navy-skinned fae had utilized to evade Enkrid’s thrown spear. The figure clad in obsidian armor loosened his hold on his shield. That shield, which had intercepted the projectile, now bore a shallow scar from the impact.

Woo-ooong—ooong. A strange vibration hummed from behind the knight’s visor. It sounded like speech, though the syllables remained indecipherable. The fallen fae pushed himself off the ground and stood firm, his eyes locking onto Enkrid.

“You.”

There was a flicker of genuine surprise behind that glare.

“You’re making me blush, staring like that,” Enkrid remarked with a shrug.

From his side, Shinar added her own sharp commentary in a low tone. “Does a piece of rot, too foul even for compost, really think it has the right to look at anyone?”

Nearby, Lua Gharne stepped forward. With a practiced snap of her whip, she snared the fallen relic-spear and tossed it back to its owner. Enkrid caught it with a solid thwap, depressed the mechanism to collapse it into its rod form, and secured it to his belt.

“Well, that was a loud entrance,” Rophod grunted.

“What are we looking at?” Pell asked, gesturing forward. The intent to slice through whatever stood in his way was rolling off him in waves.

“Just an ancient, dusty fae,” Shinar insulted, ignoring the fact that Pell and Rophod weren’t even looking at her.

“Fruit is only worth eating when it’s ripe,” Shinar continued calmly, whispering to Enkrid that things aged to their limit are the most delicious. Regardless of any hidden temper, she was always one to speak her mind.

They were standing in the heart of a demon realm, facing the legendary Thorn Castle—a structure rare even in this hellscape—yet the group remained unfazed. They weren’t just calm; they were relaxed. It was a jarring dissonance that didn’t fit the lethality of their surroundings.

“Well, aren’t you a curious bunch.”

A man suddenly appeared above the bramble wall, perched beneath the spire, looking down at them with a vacant expression. His skin was dark but clearly human, and his features were remarkably ordinary. He had brown hair and matching eyes. His only defining physical trait was his sturdy build, though he was still smaller than the likes of Audin or Teresa.

Enkrid met his gaze. The man seemed to immediately identify Enkrid as the leader of the intruders. Since Enkrid didn’t expect to find many humans in this realm, he voiced his suspicion.

“Sanctuary Church?”

He was aware of the cult that worshipped the demonic forces. It made sense that some of its followers might have migrated here from the continent.

“Sanctuary Church? Why would you mention those idiots? I am a follower of the Red Foot.”

Enkrid was drawing a blank. Red Foot? The name meant nothing to him. There was a clear chasm of information between them, but neither man felt inclined to bridge it. Another oddity was the man’s speech; he used the imperial tongue, but his accent was bizarrely skewed.

“Blah, blah, blah,” Rem interrupted.

“What is that?” Pell asked again.

While the conversation stalled, Lua Gharne and Rophod were busy scouting the perimeter of the bramble wall, searching for a breach. They worked in silence, finding nothing. There was no visible gate. Did the inhabitants simply climb the thorns every time?

The magic spirit above gripped her longbow, her eyes fixed on Enkrid. Shinar stared back, her gaze heavy and predatory.

“What exactly is the Red Foot?” Enkrid asked, ignoring the tactical movements of his comrades.

The man didn’t answer the question directly. Instead, he scanned the group and declared, “A being destined for godhood.”

Enkrid realized instantly that he wouldn’t get a straight answer from this fanatic. “Right. Sure you are.”

The man on the wall sneered. “This is Thorn Castle. And I am its master.”

“You certainly look the part,” Enkrid replied as the man paused for breath. Their voices projected across the clearing, echoing off the wood. The man’s calm, superior tone was grating. There was something inherently infuriating about someone acting so composed in a situation like this.

“So, what is it you think you can accomplish?” the man asked. His voice had dropped to a near-whisper, yet it carried with unsettling clarity, as if he were speaking directly into their ears.

The group fell silent for a heartbeat. Rem was the first to break it, whistling in mock appreciation. “Wow, check out the ego on this one.”

The man tapped his foot against the parapet, a silent boast of the defenses at his command. Enkrid felt a grin tugging at his lips. This was the kind of moment that made his pulse quicken.

In his past, Enkrid had been too weak to protect those who relied on him. He had learned the hard way that power was the only currency that mattered if one wanted to achieve their goals. That was why he carried a blade. He remembered being trampled and cast aside when he lacked strength. But those days were over.

He was genuinely curious to see the man’s face when his precious wall came crumbling down. He didn’t know the details of the “Red Foot,” but it clearly occupied the same space as the Sanctuary Church. He recalled Zoraslav’s warning.

“Watch out for the priest.” Zoraslav had only known that the man frequently abducted villagers.

“You’re the priest, aren’t you?” Enkrid asked.

The man’s smile widened unnaturally, the corners of his mouth stretching toward his eyes. It was a grotesque, inhuman expression. It confirmed Enkrid’s suspicion: anyone living in the demon realm in a castle like this couldn’t possibly be sane.

“Did you think surviving the Grumrut swarm was your final test?” the man chuckled. Behind him, black vapor began to coalesce into a massive, muscular shape. Despite being made of smoke, the form was thick and imposing.

“Not a chance. Marcante Burta Han—”

The man turned his head toward the woman on the spire.

“Bur,” the magic spirit replied, lowering her bow. She looked directly at Enkrid. “Try to stay alive. I want to be the one to end you.”

Her voice carried perfectly despite the distance.

“Don’t you worry. I’ll keep you safe,” Shinar told Enkrid.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve been the one protecting you this whole time,” Enkrid joked, glancing at her. Shinar gave him a small, warm smile.

“And that’s exactly why I’ve enjoyed it.”

Enkrid had no real comeback for such a blunt display of affection.

AaaaAAAAAAA— As the priest finished his decree, the wall erupted in noise again. The chorus of thorn-wrapped souls grew deafening. At this volume, even seasoned knights would struggle to maintain their composure.

“Hmph,” Rophod snorted, feeling the vibration of the scream rattle his bones.

“They’re here,” Jaxon announced. Even without special tracking abilities, the threat was obvious.

From the flanks of the wall and the shadows behind them, dark shapes began to spill out like discarded filth. It was a tide of ghouls. These were different from the common variety; their skin was stained an abyssal black.

“Scream all you want. I’ll sleep like a baby to that sound,” the priest mocked. He was genuinely curious to see how long these intruders would last. He hadn’t had entertainment like this in a long time.

Enkrid tilted his head, calculating his next move as he stared at the wall.

KyaaaaAACK! Three massive black birds, large enough to snatch a grown man, circled overhead. Feathers the size of a man’s forearm drifted down—products of dark biological experimentation.

Looking at the encroaching monsters, Enkrid was struck by a certainty: if they hadn’t come here, no one would have survived. He thought of the Eroded village they had left behind. They had cleared the surrounding threats to protect that small pocket of life, but the horrors inside this castle were on an entirely different scale.

The ghouls closed in. They were hideous, covered in surgical scars. Their mouths were stitched shut, and their craniums looked as if they had been dismantled and sewn back together.

Jaxon was the first to strike. He vanished, reappearing behind a ghoul in a heartbeat. He drove a stiletto into its spine and snapped its ankle with a precise kick before blurring back to safety, leaving a trail of afterimages in his wake.

The wounded ghoul’s neck began to bulge with black and yellow fluid. The growth swelled until it was larger than its torso, then detonated.

Boom! The explosion sprayed putrid pus in every direction. Jaxon’s intuition had been correct; he had engaged just enough to reveal their defensive mechanism. These things were biological bombs.

“The stench is unbearable,” Shinar remarked, drawing her Leaf Blade just enough to release a scent of fresh forest air, though it did little to mask the rot.

The ghouls were numerous, and their deaths would saturate the battlefield with plague. While the knights could resist the toxins for a time, the sheer volume of the horde was a problem.

The priest’s laughter echoed through the air. Enkrid watched the ghouls bound forward on all fours, closing the distance rapidly.

“Audin,” Enkrid called out.

“Not my turn yet, brother,” Audin replied.

“Right. Teresa, then?”

“Yes.”

The half-giantess stepped forward, her expression focused and unwavering. She slammed her massive shield into the earth and stepped onto its rim, using it as a raised platform. Just like that, she took her place on her own makeshift stage.

*** Long ago, Count Molsen had commanded a unit of chimeras, attempting to turn failures into knights. The roots of that dark science led back to this very priest.

He wondered if these newcomers would make good test subjects for his plague-carriers. They seemed to be the finest warriors the continent had to offer, so they should at least provide good data. He had spent years perfecting these ghouls, infusing them with evil spirits and alchemical rot.

He had his modified crows, his armored knights, and his wall. He hoped they would survive long enough to show him something truly unique before they succumbed. He retreated to his inner sanctum to review his notes, confident the night would do the rest of his work for him.

In the demon realm, the sun provided no warmth and the moon rarely pierced the gloom. Night was a shroud of absolute darkness, a time when humans were at their most vulnerable.

A short while later, just as he was preparing to check on the slaughter—

Kugugung. A tremor shook the floor. It wasn’t a minor vibration.

Kyaaaaah. The song of Thorn Castle shifted from a taunt into a scream of genuine pain.

Kugugugugung. The shaking intensified until the entire fortress groaned. It wasn’t an illusion; the very foundations were under assault.