Chapter 816

Chapter 816

It is often remarked that practitioners of magic are, by their very essence, calculating and frigid architects. They engage in combat with intellectual precision, exerting pressure on their foes only after every variable has been measured. For such a person, passion is a distant concept, while stoicism remains their closest companion.

The individual clad in the dark headpiece was a master of these arts. He was a sorcerer whose physical form had remained frozen in time since the period Esther first encountered him. It was evident that his life had spanned many generations.

Now, thick veins throbbed across the mage’s features, a physical manifestation of the adrenaline coursing through his veins as his excitement mounted. In stark contrast to this display of emotion, Enkrid remained still, merely tapping the earth with the point of his ethereal, sky-colored blade—the weapon he called Dawn. He observed his adversary with a gaze devoid of any particular feeling.

Their clashing perspectives represented polar opposites.

The sorcerer in the black hat was consumed by a deep-seated fury, yet he maintained his grip on sanity; his was a rage tempered by logic. He understood that acting on raw impulse was unwise. Nevertheless, he questioned if he could truly remain silent in the face of such presence.

“To be without knowledge is to be in state of sin.”

This was a frequent proverb among those who manipulated the flow of mana—a realm that operates on a frequency entirely separate from the logic of common men.

“Those who lack understanding are doomed to suffer the consequences of that void.”

In his view, they were unlearned, and therefore they were transgressors. Given that perspective, surely it was acceptable to pair a biting lecture with a minor correction?

—

Enkrid watched his opponent with a detached air, his mind preoccupied:

“Rem’s reaction speed has reached a new threshold.”

The details of their previous exchange played back vividly in his consciousness—the raw power surging through the lead foot, the application of Heart of Might, and the devastating Giant Cleave. It had been a masterclass in various supernatural disciplines.

“And the way that axe lunged during that sequence—”

It surpassed the speed of what he once defined as a mere flash. Moving faster than the crack of displaced air, it had descended with the ferocity of a lightning strike, leaving nothing behind but a ghostly trail.

An uninitiated observer, or someone of mediocre talent, might claim the move looked exactly as it always had. They lacked the perception to see the nuance. However, at the echelon where Enkrid and Rem existed, the distinction was clear.

“A marginal refinement.”

That tiny sliver of difference is the thin line between triumph and ruin, between survival and the grave. He wondered how such an increase in velocity was achieved.

“The streamlining of every motion.”

Rem had pruned the trajectory of his movements to the absolute minimum, then unleashed a concentrated burst of power at the precise moment of impact.

“Density followed by eruption.”

Ultimately, it was a manifestation of Will. While it was impressive to master the body through raw instinct, once a person achieved the status of a knight, such techniques could be replicated through observation alone. Even Enkrid—who had spent years being mocked for a perceived lack of natural ability—felt he could likely mimic the feat after a day or two of effort.

Having attained the rank of a knight, he now possessed a level of power, speed, and physical coordination that existed outside the realm of ordinary humans. Naturally, he would need to commit a full day to focused practice, but for someone like Enkrid, such dedication was second nature.

Regardless, the crucial element was how the Will was being applied.

“It was the principle of Endure.”

For a fleeting moment, there must have been a fundamental change in the nature of the Will flowing through Rem’s frame. To be precise, he had utilized sorcerous energy rather than pure Will, but hadn’t Esther explained that both shared the same origin?

“Like a bolt of electricity falling from the heavens.”

Whether it was Will or mystic force, Rem had tapped into the essence of lightning itself.

How had he accomplished this?

He must have activated a specific technique—Spirit Summoning. He had reached out to one of the Eight Gods who stand watch over the West, bypassing personal training by temporarily adopting their vast experience through magical means.

“When the stakes are life and death, I am unparalleled.”

Rem frequently uttered those words; it was his signature boast. The source of the power might be identical, but the outcome shifted based on the wielder’s intent.

Consider a simple branch. One man attaches a line to it to provide food, while another uses that same branch as a weapon for theft.

“And a third might adorn it with gold and call it a scepter of royalty.”

The potential for imagination was limitless. Enkrid allowed his mind to wander, even as he sensed his thoughts circling back on themselves.

An imagination unshackled from discipline can sometimes pierce through the limits of the subconscious and expand one’s internal capacity. It widens one’s understanding and offers fresh vantage points.

The afternoon was strikingly bright. The heat from the sun felt intense, and the soil of the practice grounds was parched, releasing wisps of heat into the air. A few stray clouds drifted across a sky of vibrant azure.

A shaft of brilliant light fell between Enkrid and the man in the dark hat. One stood bathed in that radiance, while the other seemed to dwell beneath a localized storm cloud—even though the sky had not changed, the tension in the air made it appear so.

“A fine day for it, hmph,” Rem grumbled.

Just as Enkrid felt a surge of anticipation, Rem was equally energized. Since joining the Border Guard, he had done little else but focus on his physical recovery.

Thud.

Enkrid gripped Dawn, which had been resting in the dirt, and held it forward as if marking a boundary.

“That is enough,” he stated.

The barbarian with the silver hair spoke up next: “Hey, don’t even try it.”

Then the beastman with the amber eyes chimed in: “You give off a foul stench.”

The mage in the black hat remained silent. He had merely intended to agitate his mana as a subtle threat. His killing intent had surged, and he was on the verge of manifesting his power when all three men spoke in succession, as if they had read his magical intent before it even formed.

“Their perception is that sharp?”

Occasionally, one encounters warriors whose senses are unnaturally attuned to the world. But to find three such individuals in one place?

Esther looked toward him and advised, “It would be wise to state your business first.”

Her tone carried a heavy implication: if he caused trouble, they would kill him where he stood, regardless of his mission.

“The audacity,” the mage thought.

How many souls in this world would dare treat him with such lack of respect? Certainly not these outcasts on the fringes of civilization, especially when they weren’t even within the borders of the Demon Realm.

“If I truly desired it, half of your number would perish with a simple gesture,” the man declared.

At those words, the knight with the massive blade shifted into a combative stance. Every fiber of the warrior’s being went taut. He understood that pure tension could be utilized as a weapon.

The three figures before him—two humans and a beastman—had not changed their outward demeanor, yet the air was heavy with the threat of imminent violence. It was a warning from his gut, amplified by a searing heat radiating from an entity deep within his soul.

The representative from the Rengadis Caravan was completely out of his depth. He looked around nervously before retreating several paces. He hadn’t arrived seeking a physical confrontation; his role was strictly to facilitate diplomatic talks and present offers.

The man in the black hat tipped up his brim. By this point, his eyes had transformed into voids of total darkness, the whites entirely eclipsed.

“I shall settle for one eye. A wish granted for a man who seeks a new perspective,” he proclaimed.

Watching this, Esther felt a touch of cynical recognition.

“He hasn’t changed at all.”

This was a foe she was already familiar with. The way his mana flowed, the mechanics of his spellcasting, and the rhythmic structure of his chants were identical to the past. Esther was a prodigy in her own right; she possessed the rare ability to perfectly recall the signature of any mana pattern she had ever encountered.

The adversary began to weave a notorious hex: a spell designed to cause parasites to erupt from a victim’s ocular cavities.

“I deny it.”

With a subtle shift of her own mana, Esther neutralized the curse. She wasn’t the only one who moved.

“Away with you, you disgusting creature,” Rem growled, lifting his axe in a vertical sweep. The mass of magical malice was shattered by the physical force, dissolving into harmless particles.

Dunbakel recoiled from the lingering magical odor. She moved to position herself behind Rem’s massive frame.

“Who gave you permission to use me as a shield? You’ve picked up some lazy habits, haven’t you? I’ll have to work that Eastern sloth out of you later.”

“Ugh, couldn’t you just block it without the lecture? You never stop talking.”

“Listen to this cub talking back to his elders,” Rem retorted.

The two continued their bickering, ignoring the enemy in front of them. The mage’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

“How is this possible?”

They had dismantled his hex? And with such casual ease?

Furthermore, Enkrid hadn’t even attempted to defend himself. He had accumulated vast experience in dealing with diverse magic and had practiced curse-breaking extensively with Esther. He had reached a point where he realized most common hexes simply failed to take root in him. He no longer needed to rely on his sixth sense to survive such attacks.

Esther hadn’t brought these companions along by accident. It wasn’t because she viewed them as a threat to her; fighting both of them simultaneously would be a nuisance, certainly. But Enkrid? He was more than capable of handling them alone. Her concern was that if they were left to their own devices, they would cause chaos in the city, leading to collateral damage.

In that moment, Esther was struck by a peculiar realization.

“Am I actually concerned for these people?”

Or perhaps she was beginning to value them.

This settlement, the Border Guard, and the people within it had slowly integrated into her own existence. The girl who once cared for nothing but the mechanics of the stars and the study of ancient spells was discovering the weight of human connection.

“Having someone to guard your back.”

The depth of that phrase now resonated within her so profoundly it was almost painful. She had no desire to see a simple soldier perish in a futile skirmish. She thought of a soldier named Marco, who was in love with one of her subordinates and dreamed of serving as a squire for the Mad Order of Knights.

“Is this information irrelevant?”

Her logic dictated that it was. To a scholar of the arcane, such mundane details held no value. Yet, her heart disagreed. Can a person who is disconnected from the reality of living truly find the ultimate truth?

“No.”

Esther withdrew into her thoughts, organizing her perceptions, while Enkrid kept his eyes on her.

The man with the darkened eyes was a sorcerer. The woman he knew was also a practitioner of the dark arts, often called a witch. Yet, her sapphire eyes possessed a clarity that the man could never hope to achieve—they were like a pristine mountain lake, untainted by corruption.

“What is the purpose of your visit?” Enkrid inquired.

The mage was merely a subordinate, a courier for another’s message. He had a job to finish.

“Is it not obvious? I came seeking my own end.”

“The smell is sickening. Maybe a good thrashing will clear the air,” the barbarian and the beastman added from the side.

The mage took a steadying breath, struggling to remain rational. He sighed. A thrashing to remove a smell? That beastman wasn’t just eccentric; he was completely unhinged.

“You are the one who slew Balrog, correct?”

Enkrid had never made a secret of it, but he hadn’t boasted about it either. It wasn’t the sort of topic a stranger should be bringing up so casually. He remained silent, waiting for the man to continue.

“He was an unusual entity. Despite having the strength to rule his own territory in the Demon Realm, he chose to wander. But that is beside the point. Because of your feat, my superior has developed an interest in you.”

As he finished, the representative from the Rengadis Caravan wiped his brow and cut in.

“The terms offered by my master are quite favorable as well.”

Before Enkrid could provide an answer, the warrior with the greatsword spoke.

“My master feels the same. However, I must see for myself if your reputation is earned.”

He didn’t just speak; he acted. He swung his massive sword as the words left his mouth. The blade was descending toward Enkrid’s head before his lead foot had even fully planted. With a subtle bend of the knees, he had instantly bridged the gap.

The distance between them had been enough for a conversation, requiring several steps to close, yet that space vanished in a heartbeat.

Enkrid raised Dawn.

Neither the mage nor the caravan representative could track the exchange. They missed the movement, seeing only the conclusion.

**BOOM—**

The sound was like a massive percussion instrument shattering under extreme force.

“Nngh.”

The greatsword wielder used his weapon to prop himself up, driving it into the dirt. The ground vibrated from the impact. He doubled over as Enkrid’s fist struck his midsection and retracted in a blur.

The single blow sent him to the ground. He released his grip on the sword, leaning on his hands as he coughed up a significant amount of blood.

The witnesses stared in shock. The mage’s eyes returned to their natural state. The man from Rengadis immediately resumed his pitch.

“Everlasting life. We can guarantee you immortality.”

The mage gave a derisive snort. “Immortality? A joke.”

Enkrid found their offers incomprehensible.

Then, a surge of heat flared across the back of the greatsword warrior, and a mouth-like orifice manifested on his skin to speak.

“I shall grant you sovereignty over vast lands.”

Rem, observing the spectacle, cleaned out his ear with a finger and grumbled, “What are these lunatics even talking about?”