Chapter 821

Chapter 821

Kraiss sought refuge from the scorching midday heat beneath a patch of shade, lost in contemplation. He recalled a story of a man who vowed to plant an apple tree even if the world were to meet its end the very next day. What was that fellow’s name? Martin? Spiza? The exact detail eluded him.

However, he was certain of the name of the man before him: Enkrid. Rem, standing nearby, had just uttered it.

“Good grief,” Rem remarked. “They claim the Devil’s servant has made an appearance, yet the boss remains as unshakeable as ever.”

It was the afternoon following the arrival of the Devil’s emissary. During the scheduled training session, a lone figure with a blade stood at the forefront. With raven hair and piercing blue eyes, he was the heart of this assembly: Enkrid, the leader of the Mad Order of Knights.

Across the lands, he was known by a litany of titles—the Devil-Slayer, the savior of the kingdom, the protector of the Border Guard, the monarch’s confidant, the demon-knight, the heart-render, and the slaughterer of beasts.

“Honestly, he deserves the title of Balrog Slayer on top of all that,” Kraiss mused.

Curiously, the first to react to that monumental achievement wasn’t the people of the continent, but the denizens of the Demon Realm. Rumors of such a feat were bound to spark a localized upheaval. Kraiss vividly recalled the sight of Abnaier, his jaw practically hitting the floor upon hearing that Enkrid had finished a Balrog. Even a man who prided himself on unflappable composure had been utterly stunned.

What about the rest of the world? Kraiss wondered if he should subtly leak this information to the mercantile hub he had recently befriended. They were already showing signs of cooperation, but the weight of the name “Balrog Slayer” would likely force concessions far greater than anything they had secured thus far. Traders were always quick to pivot when the winds changed.

He didn’t actually intend to bleed them dry, so there was no urgent need to spread the word. If pressed on why he held back, he would simply point to the man standing out there. All of this existed because of a human named Enkrid—his ethics, his benchmarks, and his ironclad principles.

“It’s a noble ideal,” Abnaier noted bitterly while watching the scene, “but for this structure to hold, the trade city must be of the same mindset.”

Kraiss gave a firm nod. “Indeed.” He was well aware that if their partners turned treacherous, they were essentially playing the part of fools.

“But as long as the commander remains resolute…” Kraiss started.

If he stood firm, then the merchants or any other faction wouldn’t find it so easy to act out of line.

“Yet, what if the Devil manages to claim the captain?”

The mere thought sent a wave of dark apprehension through his chest. The current reality felt like a sharpened edge pressed firmly against his windpipe, causing Kraiss’s head to throb with tension. Was this sustainable? Under normal circumstances, he should have gathered his belongings and fled long ago. But that impulse didn’t surface. Even with the phantom sensation of a blade drawing blood from his neck, he found the strength to stay.

Why? He tried to tell himself it was because he had invested too much capital here, but he knew the truth was deeper. Kraiss had been genuinely moved by the captain’s character. Still, he wasn’t about to start spouting sentimental nonsense about heroism. There are moments when a person recognizes they’ve changed but refuses to voice it.

“Men are just children who grew tall,” his lover often told him. Kraiss simply didn’t want to sound cliché. Actions, after all, spoke louder than flowery prose.

“Doesn’t this feel a bit perilous?” Nurat asked from his side, her voice tinged with genuine worry. There was no doubt that from this point forward, chaos would descend without interruption.

“It does,” Kraiss replied calmly.

“Are you still committed?” she asked, knowing him better than anyone.

“Yes,” he answered briefly, his mind already racing through the logistical nightmares ahead.

“Are all those of the Devil’s ilk identical?” he pondered. Not necessarily. There was Frokk, who spent his time carving delicate trinkets, and a massive giant who had found a place within a church. Individuals often transcended the stereotypical traits of their species.

“The Devils will likely be even more idiosyncratic,” Kraiss reasoned. Since their numbers were few, their shared racial traits were likely overshadowed by personal whims. Some would be obstinate, some would harbor deep-seated grudges, and some would be impulsive in their vengeance. Others might simply watch the world burn from the sidelines.

Kraiss decided he needed to be ready for every contingency. “Post an additional guard at every vital corridor and—”

He paused, and Nurat prompted him, “And then what?”

What else could be done? Predicting the whims of a Devil was a fool’s errand. If he let his guard down for a second, the anxiety would return to strike him down. His eyes drifted back to Enkrid. There he was, refining his craft with every swing of the steel. He was a pillar of stability, as unyielding as a fortress wall. He hadn’t wavered since the day he took his knightly vows. Even the arrival of the Devil’s puppet and whatever poison he spoke hadn’t left a single scratch on Enkrid’s resolve.

“I will shield those who stand in my shadow,” he had declared, making the cessation of conflict his life’s mission and the cleansing of the Demon Realms his sacred duty.

“Hey—how about a match?” A gray-haired barbarian nearby stepped forward, brandishing an axe. He seemed completely indifferent to the news of the Devil’s messenger. For him, it was just another day at the office.

“Is there a line?” Squire Rophod and Peld stood at the rear, while Dunbakel, sensing the shift in energy, moved ahead of Rem to challenge Enkrid. Without a word of warning, she launched a strike, which Enkrid effortlessly deflected with the side of his sword.

*Clack!*

The sound echoed as the two began to circle one another. As Dunbakel utilized her agile, multi-dimensional movements, Enkrid’s footwork became a fluid dance. To an observer like Kraiss, the speed was almost too much to track.

“Knights are a walking disaster,” Nurat whispered.

“If that disaster is on our side, perhaps we should call it a blessing instead,” Kraiss countered.

Shortly after, Audin and Teresa emerged, having returned from an overnight devotional.

“Are they finished?” Jaxon asked, appearing suddenly to inspect the scars left on the earth from previous bouts. By “finished,” he clearly meant “dead.”

“A blade that resists the forge’s heat,” muttered the eccentric genius who often lost his way, arriving alongside Lua Gharne. His focus was immediately captured by Enkrid’s duel.

“Try to skip the line and I’ll bury this axe in your skull,” the barbarian growled at the beastwoman, but the directionless swordsman paid him no mind.

Lua Gharne’s eyes darted frantically, taking in every detail. Frokk watched with puffed cheeks, analyzing the exchange between Dunbakel and Enkrid. The fairy and the witch were currently sequestered in the Fairy City for convalescence.

“I heard a Devil’s cur showed up?”

While not a direct replacement for the missing members, the tree-giant who despised the very mention of Devils had arrived. Bran, the Woodguard, let out a plume of smoke. Kraiss still couldn’t wrap his head around the sight of a Woodguard smoking a rolled leaf.

Seeing them all gathered caused Kraiss’s tension to ebb away. It was a strange sense of relief. He hadn’t anticipated the Devil sending a herald, but he had prepared for the unknown by pouring immense resources and time into the Border Guard’s professional forces. It was a secret investment that even the central government in Crang remained unaware of. Most spies were too busy watching the famous Mad Order to notice the rising strength of the standing army.

The funding funneled into these troops was staggering, and their training had been overseen by the elites of the Mad Order. Those soldiers would become leaders, spreading that same influence through the ranks.

“If the captain is a carrier of an idea, the rest of the Order is the resulting plague,” Kraiss thought.

“Now, this is getting interesting,” Enkrid said, landing a heavy kick to Dunbakel’s side that sent her sliding back. He stood perfectly balanced on one leg, his posture as steady as ever.

The beastwoman contorted in the air to land safely, bouncing back to regain her footing. She had used her incredible physical intuition to soften the blow, her body moving with the fluidity of a flexible blade. It was a style of movement distinct from Audin’s evasive techniques.

“Saying that after hitting me is just rude,” she grumbled, a trickle of blood escaping her nose. Even her robust beast-kin physiology couldn’t completely negate the power of Enkrid’s strike.

“What was that last move?” Dunbakel inquired.

Rem chimed in, “What are you talking about, you mangy cat?”

Audin, however, looked genuinely startled. “Was that the Sacred Infiltration?”

Ragna’s expression shifted as well. For a brief moment, the nature of Enkrid’s Will—his Indules—had transformed. It wasn’t a solid barrier anymore; it had become like water, seeping into the gaps of his opponent’s defense.

Enkrid lowered his weapon and spoke softly. “Enkrid-style martial art: The Seeping Strike.”

Rem stared at him flatly. “Don’t just make up names on the fly.”

He had, in fact, just made it up. Enkrid gave a wide, cheerful grin and beckoned the others forward. “Next.”

The Devil’s lackey had come—so what? Were they supposed to cower? To waste away in anxiety? No. The proper response was to use that time to sharpen their skills and swing the sword once more.

“How many people actually get that?” Kraiss asked himself.

“More than a few,” he concluded. They were all standing right here.

As he watched them, Abnaier thought of the politicians back in Azpen who had recently suggested turning against the Border Guard for the sake of “sovereignty.”

“I should recommend they all be executed,” he thought. He wasn’t serious about the executions, but he couldn’t abide those who would oppose people capable of casually training for a war against the depths of hell.

—

The sun provided a comfortable warmth.

In Enkrid’s mind, that made it a perfect day for training. Of course, he felt the same way when it poured rain, so there were never truly any bad days. Nonetheless, the sunlight today felt particularly pleasant. The sky was a brilliant blue, decorated with clouds that looked like scattered islands.

After the clear starlight of the previous night, he found himself enjoying the brightness. It was the kind of day where the light seemed to warm the soul.

Enkrid moved through his drills, focusing on the Isolation Technique to engage every specific muscle group. He could feel the improvement. Ever since he had fortified his Will through Indules, turning his spirit into a rampart, his physical form had responded by becoming more resilient and dense.

“I’ll never be a giant, though,” he mused. Lua Gharne had explained that giants practically carved their Will into their very flesh, manifesting their emotions—like fury—directly through their skin.

He let his mind wander as he moved, keeping his body in constant motion. He didn’t dwell on the Devil’s messenger. He simply gave his absolute best to the present moment.

While the other knights went about their various duties, Bran the Woodguard remained, watching like a stoic spectator.

“Your growth is staggering every time I see you,” Bran had remarked upon hearing of the Balrog’s defeat. “And yet, you never waste a single day.”

Enkrid thought he saw a flash of respect on the bark-covered face of the Woodguard, though it was always hard to tell with fairies.

“We fairies have learned to suppress our feelings and live dispassionately, but perhaps even we must evolve,” Bran had said before taking his leave.

Later, Lua Gharne stopped by for a brief chat, and Rem came over to give a status update on his group. It sounded more like he was bragging about their progress.

“Does that wandering idiot actually teach those ten recruits anything?” Rem asked, referring to Ragna.

The truth was, Ragna didn’t do much teaching beyond the occasional duel. Most of the instructional burden fell on Rophod. Peld mentioned he was working on a new combat theory, and Anne complained about Ragna’s lack of initiative.

“I wish he’d visit me on his own for once,” she lamented.

Enkrid had to correct her. “He literally cannot find his way there without help.”

“Ah,” Anne realized, feeling a bit better as she headed back to her workshop tucked away in the fortress walls.

As the day progressed, the training continued until the sky began to turn a deep, burnished gold. The sunset was slow and magnificent, casting long shadows across the landscape and splitting the world into regions of fire and darkness. This was the “hour of the dog and wolf,” when the fading light made it hard to tell friend from foe. It was Enkrid’s favorite time.

He ceased his movements and looked up at the horizon. Perhaps today it was simply the hour of gold.

“The sky is beautiful,” a voice said.

“It is,” Enkrid agreed.

It was Esther, coming to stand quietly by his side.

Would you like me to continue paraphrasing the next chapter of the novel, or perhaps help you develop a specific character’s backstory based on this scene?