Chapter 815

Chapter 815

‘Will is the strength of the spirit.’
In its simplest form, that was the truth. Ragna had grasped that concept as well.
Yet, were those searing plumes of fire discharged from Sunrise truly a reflection of his own intent?
‘Or did they belong to the blade?’
The sword was a legacy, an ancient object saturated with the collective thoughts of many generations. Were the miracles it performed his own achievements, or merely the sword acting through him?
These questions had been circling in Ragna’s mind ever since his clash with Balrog. They were accompanied by a sharp pang of dissatisfaction.
‘I shouldn’t have relied on that heat at the final moment.’
At the peak of that encounter, Ragna felt a sense of failure regarding his concluding blow. The fight deserved to end by his steel alone. A strike that should have shattered three distinct crystals had been halted.
‘But why?’
Ragna possessed an innate sense of where his edge was traveling—it was almost like witnessing a future event. He had clearly envisioned the trajectory of his sword as it pulverized Balrog’s three cores.
That outcome was a certainty. And yet, he had fallen short. Was he lacking in skill? No. If the path had been visible to him, it meant the act was possible in that specific window of time.
While a person might lose their direction countless times during a search, Ragna never faltered once a hilt was in his palm.
During that same period, he had observed Enkrid shattering his own limitations and moving into a new realm—he had seen the technique Killing the Embers manifest right before his eyes.
The captain was progressing.
‘So, what about me?’
Had he actually moved backward?
The realization hit him, and strangely, it caused his heart to race and his soul to tremble; a whirlwind of feelings merged into a single point. Peculiarly, it wasn’t a bad feeling at all.
‘This is actually enjoyable.’
Finally, the sense of delight and thrill that his captain had mentioned so many times had reached him.
What had once been a dull chore because the result was fixed now felt entirely different.
He wasn’t in pain during this realization. He was simply appreciating it. However, enjoying the moment didn’t mean he planned to stand still. The culmination of these sensations was a fierce desire to advance.
Ragna was a prodigy. He didn’t overlook the core truth: this joy would only persist if he continued to grow.
Monsters, Balrog, the heat of battle, the captain, Killing the Embers, Balrog once more, Sunrise.
His thoughts pursued one another in a steady rhythm, searching for the dim glow in the distance. Not once during this internal journey did he feel a hint of boredom.
And so, he practiced his forms in isolation, walking through his own mental world regardless of his physical surroundings.
Initially, he believed he was traveling alone. But within his psyche, the captain and the other fanatics began to appear one by one, until the light that had seemed unreachable was suddenly right in front of him.
“Have you only just figured it out?”
Inside his mind, Sunrise spoke. It was a relic, not a sentient blade, so the voice was undoubtedly a hallucination. Nevertheless, the weapon gave off a subtle tremor.
“Now you will finally use me as I was meant to be used.”
To be exact, it wasn’t the metal speaking, but the residual will carved into the weapon.
‘If I let Sunrise consume me, I will never be more than average.’
Of course, “average” was a term used strictly from Ragna’s own viewpoint. It meant he couldn’t find peace with his current level of power.
There had always been a valid reason why the Zaun family avoided handling a weapon of this caliber.
If used incorrectly, the blade would devour the user. Only those with immense talent could even hold it—and even they had to constantly validate their right to do so.
It wasn’t a holy weapon; it was a cursed thing.
Indeed, it was far more like a demonic blade.
“The edge.”
That was why he had to control it with his fundamental will, not through heat. He had to be the master of the sword, not its servant. Through willpower. That was the resolution he reached after eternal reflection.
Not the fire, but the blade.
A sword constructed of pure Will—Ragna’s innate genius located the light, grabbed it, and internalized it completely.
“…What on earth is this madman mumbling about?”
The individual in the dark hat spoke up. He had only just managed to withstand the crushing aura. The man carrying the massive greatsword seemed prepared to engage in combat immediately.
“What is his status? An intruder? Shall I strike him down?”
From the outside, Ragna seemed the same. But internally, a subtle wave of excitement washed over him. The sensation of absolute power he had felt when he first achieved knighthood returned to his limbs. However, he wasn’t so lost in the feeling that he would lash out without reason.
Quite simply—
‘If we fought a second time.’
If he were to stand before Balrog again, he was certain the fight wouldn’t be as pathetic as the last.
This indicated only one thing: Ragna was currently overflowing with a craving for conflict.
He was like Frokk on the verge of success, a titan drunk on the scent of slaughter, a spirit protecting a sacred grove, a subterranean crafter finding a legendary stone, or a beast-man finding a captivating mate.
But the truly exceptional members of those races always knew how to transcend their natural boundaries.
Even a lone Frokk, nearly satisfied, could hold back despite being intoxicated by his urges.
The same applied to others: the frozen titan, the disciplined beast-man, the volatile spirit, or the crafter who looked past material wealth.
By choosing not to cut them down instantly, Ragna demonstrated that very same discipline. Esther saw this. She had traveled a similar path through the study of sorcery.
She reflected while observing Ragna:
‘And all of this stems from that man, Enkrid.’
It was the lesson she had gathered by following his lead. Just as it had happened for her, it was now happening for Ragna.
“No. They are visitors. For the time being, treat them as guests.”
Esther picked her words with precision.
The man in the black hat felt his logical mind start to simmer like boiling water. He wanted nothing more than to unleash his full power and force these people into submission.
But he refrained. Identifying as another’s subordinate meant that orders took precedence over personal desire.
“Eliminate him.”
The greatsword wielder, however, allowed his intent to leak out. Regardless of whether it was refined, the pressure was heavy. His posture, his focus, and his aura all signaled a man who understood the art of killing.
By Ragna’s criteria, anyone who truly knew how to fight was at the level of a knight.
But the man wasn’t truly satisfying. At most, it would take a couple of swings.
It was far more productive to train with the captain. It was more vital to keep processing the realization he had just reached.
So, if they weren’t hostile, they could be disregarded.
Ragna took in Esther’s words, turned around with heavy footsteps, and departed. The man with the greatsword didn’t give chase. Even with his aggression visible, he was still just a servant.
“…What exactly is that creature?”
The man in the black hat whispered. He had lived a long time and encountered many bizarre individuals.
A moment ago, that man had stood out even among the strangest. A flash of insanity had been visible in his eyes.
Esther thought of Ragna and gave her reply:
“A swordsman who has lost his way.”
“Beg pardon?”
She provided no further explanation. Regardless, these people were here for an audience with Enkrid.
The merchant with the round face pulled out a cloth, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and then took a small pill from his pocket and swallowed it, whispering to himself:
“It brings peace and settles the nerves.”
The medicine worked—his shaking legs grew firm once more.
“Phew. Surely there won’t be another fright like that?”
The merchant gave a nervous laugh and continued forward. They hadn’t gone far before they crossed paths with someone else.
And it wasn’t just a passing encounter. It was different from before, yet carried a similar weight.
“Who are you?”
The merchant felt a cold, lethal pressure against his neck. He couldn’t perceive what had occurred, but his survival instincts screamed a warning: stop moving and stay quiet.
He complied immediately.
The man in the black hat shifted only his eyes. His pupils moved in an unnatural way, confirming the person standing beside them.
A man with hair the color of rust—a rare sight. He had appeared between them without making a sound, gripping two short daggers no longer than a hand’s span, pressed against their throats with the grips hidden.
One slight twitch and they would be decapitated. The man in the black hat knew this instinctively.
The greatsword wielder was a second slow, stepping back with his hand on his weapon.
Jaxon’s gaze didn’t flicker. He had asked for their identity, but his eyes remained locked on Esther. He wasn’t looking for a fight without cause.
From the second he spotted the trio, his intuition had flared. Skill aside, they gave off a putrid aura. They weren’t here for honorable reasons. If it came to it, ending them here was the logical choice.
If Esther hadn’t been there, he would have already struck.
Killers hunting Enkrid, spies—Jaxon was always the one tasked with removing them. For him, this was a daily chore. For those he caught, it was a nightmare.
“They are still our guests.”
Esther replied in a neutral tone.
She didn’t view them as a significant threat. That was why she was conducting them to Enkrid.
“Hmph.”
Jaxon stepped away. He saw no reason to keep talking and went about his business. Today was his scheduled meeting with his lover.
He had only interfered as one might move a piece of clutter out of the path—not because he intended to do anything more.
Once Jaxon had left, the merchant whispered:
“This is worse than the Demon Realm.”
Esther shot a look at him. The merchant looked like the kind of person who wouldn’t survive ten seconds in the Demon Realm.
But if he had actually been there, there must be a reason for it. His tone suggested genuine experience.
“If you’re already panicked, we’re going to have a problem.”
Esther spoke bluntly. The Mad Order of Knights contained people far more terrifying than the two they had just encountered.
The path to the practice grounds was turning out to be more grueling than they anticipated.
A simple job—deliver a message, show some muscle—and instead, they were the ones being intimidated.
“Arrogant bastards.”
The man in the black hat grew resentful.
They continued on, and this time they stumbled upon two men who looked ready to kill each other. Knights, judging by their presence.
Their swords weren’t drawn, only their voices raised, but the pulse in their temples suggested it might turn bloody at any moment.
“Well now, a fresh face. Let’s get her opinion. That would be objective.”
The one speaking was Peld. He had been a shepherd in the wilds before joining the Mad Order of Knights. He was a man who lived for the gamble, obsessed over talent, and practiced with a frenzied focus.
Standing across from him, Rophod merely shrugged.
“As you wish.”
Peld looked toward Esther, then at the three strangers behind her.
“You! Of the two of us, who is the more handsome?”
What sort of ridiculous question was that?
The man in the black hat wasn’t even shocked. He just looked dazed, as if he were suffering from extreme sleep deprivation.
There wasn’t a single normal person in this place.
“Do I look like someone you can joke with?”
The man in the black hat muttered under his breath.
He had once led a massive army of beast-men. In those days, warriors would tremble just seeing his silhouette. He had been known as the Guide of the Black Tide.
And now? They didn’t even know who he was.
Choking down his frustration, he maintained a neutral expression. He was a servant for now. His options here were restricted.
“This one.”
He gave a submissive answer.
Pfft.
The faint sound of a snort seemed to ripple through the air. His eyes shifted unnaturally again, looking at Esther. One eye slid completely to the side of the socket. It was a gruesome sight.
Her face remained like stone. But that laugh just now—he was sure it was hers.
“See? With eyes that broken, it’s no wonder you can’t see the truth.”
Peld wouldn’t accept the verdict. He gestured at the man’s deformed eye and turned his back.
“Naturally, you can’t face the reality.”
Rophod remained calm. He had carried himself like the winner from the beginning.
“It was never going to be a fair vote. You spend every day with the grunts; I don’t. When judging looks, they’ll obviously choose the face they’re afraid to punch.”
He had posed the same question to the troops earlier and gotten the same results.
Sometimes the more a person talks, the more desperate they sound. That was Peld’s current state.
“Let’s move.”
Esther brushed past them and kept walking.
The man with the greatsword debated whether or not to draw his steel. Was this the moment? Should he act? It was confusing.
They moved further and next encountered a pair who looked like siblings, both built with massive frames.
“You are overflowing with a profane shadow.”
“If your spirit wishes to meet the God of War, do not hesitate to speak.”
That was the extent of their greeting before they stopped. Esther again identified the trio as guests. The siblings walked on.
“Today’s service is at the sanctuary.”
A bear beast-man said as he lumbered past.
The man in the black hat contemplated the phrase.
‘To meet the God of War?’
That was common phrasing for the followers of the War God. It meant that mercy belonged to the deity, and their job was to facilitate the meeting. Pure insanity.
In short: let us know if you want to die.
“Those lunatics?”
He was beyond being offended now.
Esther, the sorceress he called the Child of the Stars, had finally brought them to their destination. There stood a man with dark hair and blue eyes.
“There’s a stench in the air.”
And a beast-man with golden pupils and a vulgar mouth.
“Oh? What’s this ghost you’ve brought along? New toys for the recruits to hit?”
And a northman who spoke with even more vitriol.
The beast-man held his nose. The northman let out a low laugh and gripped his axe.
“Would anyone mind if I cracked one of them open?”
Perhaps it would be allowed. But that wasn’t for Esther to decide.
“Guests.”
She stated simply, then shifted her attention to Enkrid.
Two sets of blue eyes locked onto each other. Esther had a specific intent for bringing them here.
“You absolute madmen!”
The man in the black hat let out a sound that was half-shout, half-laugh. he was genuinely amused by the way he had been treated throughout the journey.
Enkrid watched him with a steady, unblinking gaze.
The difference was obvious. One side was boiling with frantic energy. The other was so calm it was almost eerie.