Chapter 818

Chapter 818

The individual possessed a silver tongue, an expert at weaving narratives. Enkrid found the performance reasonably amusing, almost tempted to toss a few coins his way as if he were a common minstrel. After all, every chronicler requires a benefactor. Of course, this traveler hadn’t arrived to make a living through folklore. The essence of his message was unmistakable.

In the Demon Realm, every inhabitant had established a seat of power. Rather than utilizing their birth names, they adopted grand titles. These monikers were designed to broadcast their authority, yet they also functioned as designations bestowed by those who lived in their shadow, drenched in a terrified reverence. The Burning Raven, the Promiser of Plenty, the Companion That Holds Heat, the Pure-White Annihilator, and the Loner of Distrust. These represented five of the six entities that governed that hellish domain.

“And finally, there is the Father of the Dead.”

The merchant’s polished voice seemed to slide into the ears of every listener.

“He is also known as the Door That Ends Life. His reputation is likely the most pervasive throughout the lands, wouldn’t you agree?”

In the past, an ambitious group attempted to unite sorcerers under an organization called the Tower of Wisdom—a venture that collapsed. Due to that ruinous end, they were infamously labeled the Womb of the Demon. It was through their interference that demons and the twelve Balrogs surged into the mortal world. It was a disaster that scarred the lands as deeply as the time the Demon Sanctuary Church invoked a salamander, that fire-breathing monster from an alien plane.

All six of these high demons had now turned their gaze toward humanity. Balrog had been a fanatic, a pariah among his kind who pursued a different path. And that Balrog had fallen, slain by a mortal. This was the reason the denizens of the Demon Realm were captivated by the individual who had ignited such a fire in their world.

Kraiss had visualized dozens of catastrophic outcomes the moment Balrog perished—but this specific turn of events was actually quite mild. Kraiss spoke up, focusing on the merchant whose eyes were nearly hidden by the heavy folds of his plump face.

“So, you’ve traveled here to present the Captain with a tempting proposal, is that it?”

The merchant signaled his agreement instantly, his reaction sharp.

“Indeed, that is precisely why I am here.”

His nodding carried a certain cheerful rhythm. Kraiss pulled his eyebrows together in a deep frown. A person doesn’t make such declarations unless they are missing their wits.

‘But why?’

If his theories were becoming reality, he needed to grasp the core of the situation. He had to deduce the motivations of the opposition. He needed to comprehend why a creature defined as a demon would take action.

‘Even if they exist beyond the limits of human understanding…’

There had to be a logic. Kraiss thought back to the primary reason these figures had traveled this far.

‘Balrog’s demise sent shockwaves even to those demons secluded in the Demon Realm.’

The Demon of Strife, the war-hungry collector of spirits. Those were the types of titles Balrog carried. He was an anomaly who would sever portions of his own essence to tear souls apart, dispersing fragments of himself to wander and reap. That was the hidden meaning beneath the merchant’s flowery speech.

‘And that specific Balrog is gone.’

Even though Enkrid hadn’t publicized the victory, what remained unknown to the general populace had, through some dark channel, become common knowledge within the Demon Realm.

‘A monumental event.’

Regardless, was this a typical response from them? No.

‘Even if the person who started the fire is powerful, does that justify seeking an alliance?’

He analyzed the idea repeatedly. He weighed the merchant’s words against his own deductions and the furthest reaches of his intuition. He stitched the pieces together to map out the past and future. This entire mental process concluded in a heartbeat.

‘They are at war.’

The demons in that realm didn’t coexist peacefully just because they shared a border.

‘Each rules a territory, and each is at odds with the others.’

If they were engaged in a conflict similar to the struggle between Naurillia and Azpen—and in the middle of that strife, a force they had overlooked in some minor settlement suddenly appeared, someone capable of shifting the momentum of a war—

‘If the Captain had aligned with Azpen instead of Naurillia…’

The conclusion of that war would have been altered. A conflict among demons was likely no different than one among men. The direction of a battle is dictated by a handful of exceptional individuals—those outliers who break the standard rules.

“Mm.”

Kraiss nodded as his logic solidified. For these specific reasons, they had arrived to offer Enkrid a position. They intended to bring the killer of Balrog into their coalition entirely.

‘Perhaps not just the Captain—they likely want the whole Order.’

As he sat with that thought, the merchant spoke again.

“The life of a human is fleeting. By the decree of my superior, you will be gifted with immortality. There is an old proverb: even a life of hardship on earth is better than the afterlife. Eternal life—I suspect that is a highly enticing lure.”

He laid out the prize before mentioning any obligations or tasks. In normal circumstances, one would mock such a claim, but when the reward is incomprehensible, people falter. The merchant understood this—it was his entire strategy. The sorcerer decided it was time to intervene, but Kraiss moved faster.

“Is that the extent of it?”

The momentum generated by the merchant’s speech vanished instantly. Kraiss effectively doused the fire with a bucket of ice water. Eternal life, and a chance to lead the charge in some supernatural civil war? Of course, the merchant hadn’t realized that Kraiss had already mapped out the entire situation to that degree.

“…Immortality is hardly ‘the extent of it.'”

The merchant responded, momentarily stunned, his voice carrying a hint of a frustrated pout. The thing he prized above all else was being dismissed as worthless by the other party. It stung his pride.

“Hm.”

Kraiss remained unimpressed. With his arms crossed, he gave a dismissive shake of his head. He was not satisfied.

“If that is your wish, naturally, there are gifts beyond eternal life. If required, we could fill an entire chamber with gold for you, however…”

The merchant’s poise began to crack, and his words lost their strength. If he could have bought them with simple currency, his presence wouldn’t have been necessary. Why do mortals bow to demons? Because they provide what is otherwise unattainable. Eternal youth, or a face of perfection, and things of that nature.

In this room, money held little sway. At least, that was how it seemed to the merchant. Can a mountain of gold buy more time? It cannot. Therefore, it has no true worth. His own desire was to reclaim the strength of his youth and live forever.

But then—

“Mm.”

The man with the large eyes saw his expression soften. His attention sharpened. What prompted that change? Though confused, the merchant felt forced to continue, letting the instincts he had developed through years of commerce take the lead.

“What is a single room? If you desire it, we could construct a residence made entirely of solid gold bars.”

He wasn’t speaking literally about building a house of bullion. He was signaling that he could provide that level of wealth. No one in the room misunderstood the metaphor. Kraiss uncrossed his arms, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Oooh.”

Kraiss’s face reddened as if he were feeling the effects of strong ale. At that price point, wouldn’t it be sensible to participate in a small-scale war once or twice as hired blades? No matter how much the Border Guard had evolved into a hub of commerce and attracted wealth, the expenses were just as massive. The defense budget alone, required just to maintain the standing forces, was enough to cause a migraine. And the golden house offered by the man with the friendly face—that would be pure, unadulterated profit.

‘A single contract for a house of gold.’

Demons or otherwise, a contract is a contract—it was worth a thought, wasn’t it? Heh.

Nurat, who was both his partner and his protector, nudged Kraiss firmly in the ribs. Captain Garrett, their former superior, had been a strange man—but their partner here was even more unpredictable. Just look at him—his expression suggested he was actually contemplating a pact with demons.

“Ahem.”

Kraiss cleared his throat into his hand and stole a look at Enkrid. There wasn’t a trace of fascination on his face at the prospect of wealth. Kraiss found that regrettable.

‘We could simply play along, drain them of every cent, and then discard them.’

Wouldn’t it suffice to pretend to take the bait? Act as mercenaries, but perform with just enough restraint. It would be even better if they could sow a bit of chaos among the demons while they were at it.

Naturally, demons weren’t enemies to be underestimated. If one charged forward blindly, making guesses based on a limited human perspective, the price would be heavy. Kraiss was aware of that. It was merely a passing daydream—a small sense of loss as the golden house in his mind crumbled.

“You are well aware he isn’t the type to be moved by such things, so why even mention it?”

Abnaier had deciphered Kraiss’s internal monologue and whispered to him.

“This is not a poor deal for you. If not eternal life, then what? Territory? Do you crave the continent? We will provide you the entire world. The power of a god, to rule as you see fit.”

This time, the warrior carrying the massive blade spoke up. A massive undertaking. If they meant the entire continent, it meant elevating him to the absolute peak of status and strength—perhaps even crowning him as an emperor.

But Enkrid remained largely indifferent. Did becoming a ruler mean anything if it was only because they allowed it? Were the creatures of the Demon Realm truly that conceited? Or was their martial power so overwhelming that the human world was trivial to them? Both, Enkrid concluded.

“What value is there in immortality or land?”

This time, the sorcerer spoke. He understood completely that the offers from the other two were meaningless. Those known as demons viewed themselves as nearly divine. They were entities on the trek toward godhood.

‘What they truly hungered for was the Truth.’

And to attain it, they craved the status of a deity—to be all-knowing and all-powerful.

“They will reveal the path for you to become a demi-god.”

The sorcerer declared. No offer could be more significant. Strength of that magnitude, the audacity to strike down Balrog—everything led to the same result.

‘That man is destined to ascend.’

The higher he climbed, the more intense his craving would become. And if a voice whispered of a shortcut during that ascent…

“I arrive by the command of the lord known as the Burning Raven, the crowned sovereign.”

The sorcerer’s voice vibrated with an artificial depth, giving his words a heavy, ritualistic feel. It was a minor illusion, but when used correctly, it could unsettle the soul. Enkrid shifted his gaze toward the man with the greatsword.

“One serves the Burning Raven, the other mentioned the Worshiper of Gold, and what of you?”

“The Companion That Holds Heat is my patron.”

Enkrid gave a slow nod, then posed a different question.

“Why should I permit you to remain alive?”

The meaning behind that blunt inquiry was singular.

“…A rejection?”

The sorcerer was stunned. At the very least, shouldn’t there be a moment of doubt? And what about Esther? She was a practitioner of magic; surely she saw the value here. But Esther was merely preoccupied with her own internal calculations, not even bothering to look at them.

They didn’t understand Enkrid. They were ignorant of his motivations and his ultimate goal. To be a knight. To serve as the blade and the buckler that protects his people. And through that service, to stop all conflict and dismantle the Demon Realm itself. Even while trapped in the endless cycle of a single repeating day, his will never faltered. That stagnant, unbreakable determination—that was the man who stood before them. And they failed to see it.

Enkrid heard the ghostly, mocking chuckle of a ferryman from some distant place.

“Immortality? Divinity? Ah, I believe the saying is ‘a bounty of horse-piss,’ isn’t it? A bit of Western slang.”

The laughter of a beastman experiencing true eternal life—the grueling repetition of the same twenty-four hours—was naturally laced with fury.

“Can I end them now?”

Failing to restrain himself, Dunbakel made his request, and the sorcerer shouted out.

“I am not the true self! What you see is merely a shadow. Destroying me accomplishes nothing. You will spend your life in regret!”

He spoke, beginning to weave a spell—then he stopped cold. A beastman had moved into his space without a sound. With a sharp grin, he swung his leg upward, his heel slamming into the sorcerer’s jaw. His palm struck the earth, his body rotating in a fluid, instinctive motion.

Crack!

The head disintegrated above the shoulders. Dark blood sprayed out, only to transform into a swarm of crawling insects. It had all occurred the very second Enkrid gave the sign.

—I will ensure your regret!

The sorcerer’s voice echoed in the air. Just another illusion. Esther made a casual motion with her hand. She had previously placed various wards throughout this area. Among them were patterns designed to prevent other mages from using such distractions. One of these patterns ignited now, severing the sorcerer’s connection to mana. A charm on Esther’s wrist cracked and turned to dust.

‘Her proficiency remains as high as ever,’ she noted to herself.

—You, Child of the Stars. Do not lose sight of how many hunters wish to find you and tear you to pieces.

A warning, but little more than a desperate parting shot. As the sorcerer’s form dissolved like ash, the swordsman raised his heavy weapon—but it was a futile gesture. Pell and Rophod had arrived in the interval, flanking him.

“See, I told you he was defective.”

“Who argued with you?”

Pell spoke first, followed by Rophod. Then, both executed a strike that took an arm from the man. One swung upward from below, the other downward from above. Two cuts, mirrored yet distinct. Their mastery was evident in the tiny details—and the warrior with the greatsword had no defense against it.

While Enkrid and the others had faced Balrog, these two had been battling the horrors and the trapped souls the demon had collected. They too had risked everything, fought, survived, and reached this point. Naturally, their capabilities had evolved.

The warrior, now armless, spat out blood. That blood flared like a bonfire in mid-air, forming the shape of eyes and a mouth as large as a human torso.

—You… are you truly serious?

Enkrid’s perception caught a flash of the entity behind it. This was not the minor trickery the sorcerer had employed. It was a weight of power one only expected from true demons. The atmosphere turned thick, as if a single breath could set the entire area ablaze—people and structures alike. A truly magnificent and terrifying force. Something worthy of being called a demon.

“Yeah.”

Enkrid replied with a bright, cheerful tone.

—Very well. We shall meet again.

The demonic presence dissolved and vanished. The merchant looked around, his eyes twitching with anxiety, and then his expression shifted. Whispering words in a forgotten tongue, his form began to emit smoke as black soot rose from his skin.