Chapter 770

Chapter 770

Enkrid’s Will surged with a violent intensity. There were few sensations as exhilarating as this, a raw power that occasionally seemed to move beyond his own conscious direction. Enkrid felt as though his intent and his actions were becoming two separate entities, with the former trailing behind the latter.

Yet, he didn’t view this disconnect as a flaw. He believed that such moments simply mirrored the deepest yearnings of the unconscious mind. His Will was a reflection of that truth, and while his thoughts were loose and scattered a moment ago, they suddenly coalesced into a single, piercing objective:

‘Strike.’

The trembling energy within him stabilized. It surged through his limbs, down his fingertips, and into the hilt of his weapon, eventually saturating the metal itself. He felt a profound connection to his blade; an engraved weapon was essentially an extension of his own flesh. It felt entirely right for his spirit to inhabit Duskforge.

He held his breath, eyes narrowing as he faced the massive barrier. From a distance, Ragna—gripping Sunrise—watched the commander. To Ragna’s perception, the energy gathering within Duskforge was becoming incredibly dense, folding over itself again and again.

“How fascinating,” Ragna whispered.

Nearby, Shinar ceased her chaotic movements. Like Ragna, she had been focused on Enkrid from the start, her senses attuned to him faster than anyone else. To a fairy, the very atmosphere of the Demon Realm was toxic; she survived here only through the sheer strength of her spiritual energy. The air was thick, suffocating, and vile.

Yet, as she watched Enkrid, it felt as though the refreshing scent of a deep forest was wafting through the gloom. It might have been the resonance of the magic she had used to help forge the sword, or perhaps her innate intuition sensing a coming miracle. Regardless of the cause, she didn’t care. While a normal spectator might have called Enkrid’s actions suicidal madness, Shinar’s heart swelled with pride for the man leading the charge. To her, this was the only way to love someone so extraordinary.

She had total faith in him. He was a man who carved paths through the impossible and brought light to the darkness. She whispered a name softly, a secret known only to her heart.

“Vera, my beloved.”

Her words were lost to the wind. Pell and Rophod, though busy fending off projectiles and beasts, found their eyes pulled toward Enkrid. They both shared the same silent question: Is he actually going to attempt what it looks like he’s attempting?

Enkrid, certain of his blade’s resilience, funneled every ounce of his spirit into the steel. He felt the power coursing through his veins like a second circulatory system, all of it pouring into Duskforge. The sword accepted the massive influx without resistance. For a heartbeat, the sudden drain made him feel as though he might faint, but he braced himself and shoved the weapon into the fortress wall.

Click.

The blade bit into the jagged, thorny surface, sinking a finger’s depth into the structure. He gripped the hilt with both hands, his focus so absolute that his pupils seemed to glow with a faint blue light.

The wall itself seemed to react, let out a hideous, living groan. Thorns lashed out like spears and vines whipped through the air to crush the intruder. Enkrid ignored the assault and began to move.

He sprinted.

He didn’t pull the sword out; he dragged it. Because of the Will infused into the metal, the blade didn’t just scratch the surface—it tore through it. As he ran, the sound of the wall shattering was like a series of explosions. The spirits bound within the structure shrieked in agony.

KRRRAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKANG!

With every stride, the destruction continued. Enkrid hauled Duskforge through the base of the wall. Black ichor sprayed from the gash as the foundation was pulverized and crushed. A thick, pale mist began to rise from the wound in the fortress.

Eventually, the run ended. Enkrid came to a halt, steam rolling off his shoulders. His dark green cloak, which had been snapping violently in the wind of his passage, finally settled against his back. Behind him lay a massive, smoking rent in the barrier. Then, the earth began to shudder.

KUGUGUGUGUNG.

The ground moaned as a massive section of the fortress tilted and began to fall away. It was a staggering sight—something that defied the known limits of human strength. The impact of the collapsing wall proved it was no illusion.

KWAAAAAANG!

The shockwave was deafening, enough to damage the hearing of anyone nearby. The world shook as if gripped by an earthquake. Enkrid had effectively cut the feet out from under the fortress. The masonry crumbled into gray powder, proving that even in the Demon Realm, stone followed the laws of nature. As the dust rose into the dark sky, it obscured the purple twilight of the realm like a ghostly shroud.

A heavy silence followed the roar. Even the attacking monsters hesitated, unnerved by the devastation. The knights stood frozen. Was the man who specialized in defense now capable of felling fortresses?

Pell stared, his eyes wide. “He didn’t just break through… he cut the whole thing down?” It wasn’t just shock; it was a total re-evaluation of what was possible.

“Did you want to see what we can do?!” Lua Gharne’s scream pierced the air, perfectly echoing the surge of adrenaline they all felt.

Frokk let out a booming, guttural cry that served as a challenge to the enemy. Audin, too, paused his assault.

‘Brother,’ he thought with genuine reverence. Enkrid had sliced through a fortress with a sword. There was no jealousy in Audin, only a desire to match that greatness. He turned his attention to a section of the wall he had already weakened.

“Lord!”

Audin lunged into the heart of the structure—a chaotic mess of writhing vines and jagged stone.

“That’s insane,” Rophod muttered.

The wall attempted to heal itself around Audin, the vines knitting together with unnatural speed to trap him inside. Light began to seep through the cracks of the rapidly closing hole. The beams grew brighter and more numerous until the entire section of the wall exploded outward.

The holy radiance was silent, but the structural failure that followed was not. The ground groaned as another massive chunk of the thorn-choked wall came crashing down, crushing a ballista-beast that had been preparing to fire.

Audin stepped out from the wreckage, his golden armor shimmering. If Enkrid was the blade that sliced the wall, Audin was the hammer that shattered it.

“Hahaha! This is a joy, brother!” Audin shouted, his face lit with a pure, satisfied grin. He looked up at the grotesque, screaming faces embedded in the remaining wall and smiled even wider. “The Lord is waiting for you in the afterlife.”

At his words, the horrific wailing of the wall ceased. The vines lost their vigor and went limp.

“You absolute lunatics… what are you?”

The speaker finally revealed himself—a corrupted being followed by a magic spirit. Enkrid noted how wide the spirit’s eyes were; it was a creature that had once been a fairy but had been twisted by the Demon Realm’s energy. It carried a longbow and a needle-thin sword.

Shinar glared at the creature with a look of profound loathing that Enkrid now recognized.

“You are a rotted, decayed insult to your kind,” Shinar spat.

The magic spirit glanced at her, but it was still reeling from the sight of the collapsed walls. Humans shouldn’t be able to do this.

“You people…” the castellan began, unable to find the words.

Lua Gharne looked on with a smug expression, while Frokk chimed in, “There’s your answer. That’s what we can do.”

The castellan surveyed the battlefield. His monsters were falling, and his elite scouts were silent. Despite the shock, he regained his composure. He had seen walls fall before.

“Kill them all,” he commanded.

As the order left his lips, two shadow-assassins materialized behind Enkrid and Audin. They were masters of stealth—purple-skinned killers with jagged daggers, moving without a sound or scent. Jaxon, watching from the periphery, recognized their skill.

A third shadow rose—Jaxon himself.

With a swift motion, Jaxon opened the throat of the assassin targeting Audin. Simultaneously, a dull thud echoed as a Silence Dagger, thrown by Enkrid, buried itself in the skull of the second assassin. The creature collapsed before it could even strike.

“Did you really need to step in?” Enkrid asked, looking back at Jaxon. He had already moved his hand to Penna, ready to finish the job himself. He hadn’t exhausted his Will yet.

Audin laughed. He was still bathed in holy light; the assassin’s blade likely wouldn’t have even scratched him.

“I just felt like getting involved,” Jaxon shrugged.

The castellan, the servant of the Red Foot, stopped being surprised. He finally accepted the reality: none of these people were ordinary.