Chapter 820

Chapter 820

After the three meddlesome entities failed in their missions and vanished into thin air, Enkrid shifted his attention to the firmament above.
Strictly speaking, Rem and Dunbakel also cast their gazes toward the clouds.
Dunbakel reacted because of her keen sense of smell, while Rem responded to a lingering pulse of divine energy that had briefly inhabited his body.
So—what occupied the heavens? To the casual observer, nothing.
There was nothing palpable to the human eye. And yet, they caught a ghost of a movement—something with a trailing tail, sliding through the currents.
Knights are walking calamities, capable of splitting the very sky, but they lack the innate gift for seizing formless, ethereal things that drift through the blue.
‘If I had been just a moment faster, I might have reached it.’
This thought crossed Enkrid’s mind as he considered the unique properties of his blade.
Was it a strange phenomenon, or merely the order of things?
The dawn possesses a specific strength to cleanse the foul. If an intangible essence, rooted in truth, flowed along his steel in harmony with his Will, then perhaps such spiritual entities could be severed.
‘Regardless, the opportunity has passed for now.’
Even a knight is bound by gravity.
Rem’s brow furrowed for a second before his expression returned to its usual mask.
“If that thing shows its face again, I’ll be the one to strike it down.”
Hearing this, Dunbakel interjected.
“Wouldn’t it be more efficient to handle it before it returns?”
Rem retorted with his characteristic lack of interest.
“That just means I’ll clean up your mess if you miss, you overgrown furball.”
Dunbakel was quick to correct his insult.
“For one of the beastkin, our fur is a badge of honor, not a source of regret.”
“Is that so? Should I start plucking that pride away?”
“Ha, I’d like to see you try.”
Her journey through the East had hardened her spirit. The submissive Dunbakel of the past was gone. She was now more than capable of holding her own in a verbal spar with Rem.
Kraiss stepped between the two bickering companions.
“Why would a minion of a demon venture to this place?”
With that simple inquiry, he neutralized the tension between Rem and Dunbakel. Even for those two, the motivations of demonic servants were a matter of significant concern.
They had to understand the purpose behind these visitations.
Why had they approached Enkrid with such grand offerings—eternal life, vast territories, and the status of a demi-god?
Kraiss scanned the group with his wide eyes and pressed the issue.
“Shall we begin our investigation there?”
Ignorance brings pain. Knowledge often brings the same.
Because of this, Kraiss, the self-proclaimed coward, was prone to imagining the worst-case scenarios. His deep-seated anxiety fueled a mind that never stopped spinning theories and dark possibilities.
He balled his hands into fists and struck them together in front of his chest, creating a sharp thud.
“Perhaps there is internal strife among their kind.”
His forearms, visible beneath his short sleeves, rippled with tension. He strained against his own strength, neither arm giving an inch. Remaining in that stance, he continued his thought.
“What if the balance of power is perfectly poised, with only a tiny weight needed to tip the scale?”
Kraiss possessed a spark of brilliance. Demons, in their supreme arrogance, never imagined a mere mortal could decipher their machinations.
And even if a human did—so what? What could they possibly do? Such was the demonic perspective.
“But what if one side desperately needs that scale to fall in their favor?”
Balrog had represented that unpredictable variable. Countless bribes must have been dangled to sway that variable to one side or another.
Yet, a creature that had spent its entire existence wandering the world for the sake of combat alone had turned them all down.
‘And then, that very Balrog was brought down by a human warrior.’
A new, perhaps more pliable target had appeared in the wake of Balrog’s fall.
‘Does this mean other knights haven’t been subjected to these same lures?’
Naturally, they had. Those who succumbed were reborn as Death Knights, pledged their swords to the Demon Realm, or were twisted into unique abominations and true demonic horrors.
The fairy said to have been corrupted within the walls of Thorn Fortress was a prime example.
Enkrid had shared these details with him. Using only a few scattered threads of information, Kraiss began to weave together an understanding of Enkrid’s strategic importance.
His theories might be entirely unfounded, but preparing for the worst was his survival mechanism.
‘He is far too tempting a prize.’
To the demons lurking within the Demon Realm, wouldn’t Enkrid look like a magnificent feast?
Kraiss opened his left palm and buried his right fist into it.
“Or it could be that this is their true objective.”
One entity consuming its peer. Tipping the balance, shattering the equilibrium, and absorbing the rival’s strength entirely.
Did those three servants appear because their masters were in league? Or was it a temporary alliance of convenience?
Speculation only birthed more questions.
“Why do demons even bother fighting one another?”
Rem’s intellect was sharp. He aimed his question directly at the flaw in Kraiss’s logic.
Dunbakel blinked, trying to process the nuance of the conversation.
“I haven’t the slightest clue.”
Kraiss gave a noncommittal shrug. He couldn’t explain what he didn’t understand.
His theory was based on the simple observation that, much like the human kingdoms vying for land across the continent, demons also engaged in perpetual conflict.
The motive? A mystery. The ultimate goal? Equally obscure.
One thing was certain: even if the truth were explained, it likely wouldn’t be in a language or concept a human mind could grasp.
Attempting to fathom the will of a demon was a fool’s errand. This truth extended even to Esther, who was currently resting in Enkrid’s protective embrace.
While she was busy thinking about what to eat for dinner, Dunbakel offered a thought.
“Maybe they are just looking for a meal?”
In the rugged lands of the East, most conflicts started over food.
“Your perspective is certainly… unique.”
Rem teased her. Eventually, the two drifted back into their usual physical sparring.

—

The entity known as the Companion of Heat had humble beginnings as a parasitic wretch, evolved into a monstrous lingering threat, and finally ascended to the status of a true demon.
By its very essence, it possessed the ability to fragment its consciousness into hundreds of individual thoughts.
Balrog’s technique of splitting his soul had actually been mimicked from observing the innate talents of the Companion of Heat. This was the origin.
One such mental fragment drifted over a jagged mountain range, carrying a singular, focused intent.
‘If I am denied this feast, then no one shall partake.’
The logical conclusion was to destroy the prize. The thought-form manifested as a crimson-hued serpent and descended toward the world below.

—

“That cursed woman.”
The sorcerer formerly recognized as the Guide of Black Waves felt the weight of new age lines on his face as one of his duplicates was extinguished. A vessel created through the sacrifice of vitality and youth had been wiped out.
“Assemble at once.”
He issued a call to his followers and thralls. A bound slave appeared, bowing low to receive his instructions.
While mages and practitioners of the dark arts are often solitary, they are not above forming temporary alliances or working to sabotage one another when the situation demands it.
“Deliver word to the beast packs. Tell them a Child of Stars has surfaced—the very quarry they thirst for.”
Slaves required absolute clarity to function. Thus, he specified both the message and the intended audience with surgical precision.
Once the command was given, the sorcerer rhythmically tapped his thumb against each of his fingers, lost in deep contemplation.
Mages are not creatures of conformity. They do not bend to the natural order of the world. Instead, they envision a reality that stands in defiance of the heavens and the cosmic laws.
“Only the ultimate truth is worthy of divinity.”
They proclaimed this without hesitation.
Because of this philosophy, their perspective differed from that of common merchants or soldiers. Even when serving demonic masters, they held a part of themselves back.
The world is a complex tapestry, as are the relationships between men.
‘To think that a Child of Stars was standing right there…’
That revelation could prove to be quite advantageous.
He attempted to establish a mental link with the entity he served as master.
“The initial attempt was a failure, but we still have cards to play.”
After sending his report, the sorcerer brooded.
‘A truly insane individual.’
Immortality, dominion, the ultimate truth.
If he rejects all of these, what could he possibly want?
It was a riddle for which he had no solution.

—

A high-ranking demon of the Demon Realm acknowledged the report. Being unable to manifest physically, it relied on a multitude of agents. Among them, the one possessing the most formidable servant—‘Purewhite’—prepared to act.
In that moment, the artifact used for mental communication pulsed, transmitting a question:
“Do I have permission to proceed as I see fit?”
Purewhite had taken liberties, offering promises of land and suggesting that, should it ascend, it would secure the demon’s place as the supreme sovereign of these lands.
The demon gave a silent gesture of approval.
Proceed.
Upon receiving the signal, Purewhite’s servant bowed in acknowledgement.

—

“It is time.”
The South is often referred to as a formidable power. The Great King of Rihinstetten received confirmation that the internal rot that had plagued his borders for a decade had finally been excised. The time for hesitation had ended.
He wore the pelt of a legendary beast, once known as the apex predator of this territory, draped across his broad shoulders.
A crown sat atop his head, completing his regal and intimidating silhouette.
In the world, there exists a specific tree regarded as a sacred relic. Its name is Yggdrasil.
Legends claim it bestows profound insight, offers a shield against death, and reveals the paths to altering one’s destiny.
It is an artifact from a forgotten era of gods and heroes.
However, for the King, the tree held one very specific, practical utility:
The absolute cancellation of all mental enchantments and the total neutralization of any curse.
His royal crest was a circlet adorned with the living wood of Yggdrasil and golden thorns.
It was an item he never parted with, even in the depths of sleep.
“I shall impale those miserly lords of the mainland and use their corpses as my war banners.”
He and Naurill had engaged in skirmishes for years. There was no need for a formal declaration.
While it might not escalate to total war immediately, the time had come to strike with the weapon they had spent years sharpening. The Great King was certain of his victory.

—

Child of Stars.
That was the title she had once carried. The moniker of the Witch of Strife had been earned much later in her life.
“You possess a rare gift.”
Those were the words spoken when she first channeled the arcane. her tutor was a person devoid of any distinct scent—a man who seemed to lack any worldly ambition.
“Some find their bliss in a well-cooked meal. For me, I am satisfied merely spending my days observing the celestial bodies.”
He was less a traditional sorcerer and more a stargazer, someone who charted the paths of the heavens while remaining detached from the struggles of men.
Regardless of his title, he would often provide aid to injured woodsmen or offer guidance to those lost in their own troubles.
Whether it was luck, a divine favor, or a simple twist of fate, Esther viewed her master as a benevolent presence.
“A vision of the past.”
Esther was aware she was reliving a fragment of her history. The stream of time rushed by, illuminating her early years.
Those were the days when she began to grasp the fundamental laws of magic and learned how to pursue the truth of the world.
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
Her mentor would ask, and she—with beads of perspiration on her face—would simply look at him.
“Hm?”
Her expression always suggested that the answer was too obvious to state. In those moments, her master’s eyes would betray a hint of lingering concern. As a young girl, Esther had been blind to it.
Time moved on, bringing with it an encounter that felt like a stroke of pure calamity.
“Child of Stars.”
A title of reverence. A phrase meant to exalt one born with a magical capacity as vast and brilliant as the night sky.
To those who obsessed over the arcane, such a talent was a prize beyond compare, often referred to as the very heart of mana.
If processed, it could become a panacea more potent than any mythic potion.
That was the dark reality behind the title Child of Stars.
“You concealed it masterfully, but you cannot hide from me.”
The image of that man was burned into her memory. He was a mage whose pursuit of knowledge had gone awry, leaving him devoid of any human emotion.
He was known by a single name: the Blade Without Affect.
His instincts were razor-sharp; he had seen right through the multiple layers of protection her master had woven to shield Esther’s true nature.
He launched a cold, calculated attack on her mentor.
The man who had been content to simply watch the stars expended every ounce of his power to ensure Esther’s safety.
“Go and live, Esther. Live a life of your own choosing.”
Those final words became a weight she carried. Esther struggled to understand what it was she actually wanted.
“The Truth.”
The pursuit of magic—that was her chosen path.
The means soon replaced the end. In her quest to expand her understanding of the arcane, she decided that any sacrifice was justifiable.
She was slowly transforming, not into a reflection of her master, but into the likeness of the man who had murdered him.
The only difference was that she didn’t sacrifice others; she merely threw herself into the jaws of peril in the name of magic.
“It has been quite some time.”
Eventually, she tracked down the emotionless mage who had taken her master’s life. When they finally met in combat, the look of twisted joy on his face was unmistakable.
“You’ve come to be consumed!”
In response, she used his own signature technique to tear his face apart.
Drumuller’s Scythe was the very spell he had been most proud of.
It was in that moment that the world began to call her the Witch of Strife.
“Child of Stars!”
She fought against anyone who recognized her true nature, honing her skills through constant battle and studying magic in the quiet moments between conflicts.
She walked a path without knowing where it led. There was a trail beneath her feet, but no destination in sight.
Eventually, she was overtaken by a spell gone wrong, trapped by a curse within the form of a leopard.
At the time, she viewed it as a disaster, but in hindsight, it might have been a hidden blessing.
“What I truly desire is—”
She still wasn’t sure. She continued her journey in the dark. Her only real wish was to become one of the stars in the sky—the very stars her master had loved so much. He was the one who had rescued her from a wretched life on the streets.
But that wasn’t her own dream; it was her master’s dream that she was living out.
And now?
“You are returning to us.”
The voice was as soft as water dripping from a leaf.
The voice of a fairy was a thing of pure beauty.
Esther found herself unclothed, submerged in a pool of steaming water. The fairies maintained many such springs. This was the Warm Spring, renowned for its healing properties.
The pool was ringed by carefully placed stones, creating an atmosphere of absolute peace. From the edge of the water, a fairy with vibrant green eyes watched her.
Esther managed a small sound.
“Mm.”
The fairy spoke again.
“You were carried back once more, weren’t you?”
Esther found a strange sense of humor in the situation.
“Mm.”
As she confirmed this, the fairy gave a subtle nod. Her face remained a blank slate. Then, without any lead-in, she noted:
“You appear to be burdened by many thoughts.”
The fairy continued her observation.
“You do not have to carry the weight of the world on your own shoulders.”
The wisdom of a creature that had lived for centuries was a comforting thing.
Slowly, Esther was beginning to understand the kind of life she wanted. She finally understood what her master had truly wished for her.
“Tranquility.”
And to that, she would append her own goal.
“Happiness.”
She would eliminate the sources of her distress. If the cruel experiments that cost human lives bothered her, she would stop them. If the meddling of the Demon Realm caused her grief, she would end it.
And furthermore—
“Even if a greedy horde comes seeking what they cannot have—”
She would sweep them away.