Chapter 824

Chapter 824

Could it be an apparition?
“Evil spirit” was the blanket term for things that blades couldn’t bite into—entities that preyed on the human psyche or sought to inhabit a physical vessel rather than trade blows.
‘As long as we avoid the breath of flame…’
Nearly half the squad shared that thought. These were men who spent their days in the high peaks, doing nothing but culling beasts.
For this lot, such encounters were routine. Their collective knowledge hadn’t been codified into a formal manual yet, but they had developed an instinctive, sharp eye for danger.
Creatures of that ilk tended to follow predictable patterns.
“Hey, grit your teeth. If you so much as flinch once, you’re looking at three sessions of Captain Rem’s mental-armament drill.”
A soldier’s low murmur snapped the entire line into focus.
Jaws clamped tight, muscles bunched, and thick veins pulsed across the backs of their hands.
Rem’s mental-armament drill essentially meant being thrashed until one was a hair’s breadth from unconsciousness.
They say a true warrior is forged when pushed to the absolute brink.
“Just short of blacking out,” they called it—but anyone who had endured it would scoff in disbelief.
A man whose skill completely eclipsed yours—who could spot a gap in your defense before you even made it—wouldn’t even grant you the mercy of passing out.
If your knees started to buckle, he’d trace a line on your neck with the edge of his axe and speak with chilling clarity:
“Do you want me to finish the job? If you drop here, you’re dead.”
Everyone present knew Captain Rem was the type to follow through—a man who gave and took life on a whim. How were they so sure?
When someone hauls you to your feet by pressing an axe-blade into your windpipe, skepticism vanishes. If you don’t stand still, your head is coming off.
“Let me help you up—aren’t I being helpful?”
That was the man.
Naturally, their concentration hit its peak.
There wasn’t a man among them who hadn’t survived that drill. It was the entry fee for Rem’s personal guard.
While they were psyching themselves up, the creature made of flame struck a nearby tree with its paw.
*Bang!*
Fresh wood exploded into splinters. The air hissed as shards embedded themselves in the soil, and a trunk so massive a man couldn’t reach around it began to tilt.
“…That’s a bit unfair.”
The officer muttered the thought. If a blade was supposed to pass through it like smoke, why did its physical strike have the weight to move a giant log?
A direct hit would have sheared the tree in half. In terms of raw strength, they were facing something on par with a giant.
But were they going to just take it?
Rem was a merciless leader, but standing your ground under his command paid off. It wasn’t just about becoming a better fighter; there were real prizes.
Like enchanted steel.
Dwarves are masters of smith-magic, capable of forging the foundations of magical gear.
One particularly talented dwarf had pledged his service to the Border Guard.
Furthermore, the unit housed a witch—and a mystical division she had personally trained.
They were more than capable of carving runes into dwarf-forged iron.
That was why all twenty men were armed with so-called spell weapons—magic arms.
Technically, you’d want a dedicated enchanter for the job, but Esther was a prodigy.
In the realm of magic, she was a polymath; there was nothing she couldn’t handle.
These weren’t the flashy types of weapons that summoned hurricanes or firestorms with a flick. Their purpose was narrow and practical: they could slice and crush intangible spirits.
They drew axes that shimmered with a pale blue radiance. The lengths of the handles varied, but the glow emanating from the blades was uniform.
“That should do it, shouldn’t it?”
Rem remarked, observing his men. It was plenty.
The fire beast only exhaled flames about the length of a human arm. Its physical strikes were heavy, but—
‘Easier than a bear.’
A frenzied grizzly—or a bear beastman—would actually be a tougher mark.
If you lacked the means to cut that body, it was a nightmare; with the right tools, it was just a hunt.
Two soldiers drew its attention, three circled to the rear. The rest spread out to form a loose perimeter.
The hunt began in earnest. When one of the charging beast’s limbs was met with an axe, there was a muffled *poof* as flames surged.
The soldier who delivered the blow jumped back instantly, evading the flare-up.
“Hey, if your hair catches fire, that ugly mug of yours is going to get even worse.”
“Look who’s talking!”
They traded barbs. These men weren’t the type to freeze up once the blood started pumping.
The one with the “scary face” actually kept his hair quite long and well-groomed, though his skin was a map of old scars; the second man had a head as smooth and bald as a polished stone, and when he tapped his scalp, a few nearby chuckled.
The engagement was brief. The fire creature collapsed quickly.
Six heavy axe-strokes tore its form apart, and it dissipated.
“First time seeing one of these?”
“Yeah. Even if the Pen-Hanil Range is a breeding ground for monsters and beastmen, this is unusual.”
The Pen-Hanil Mountains were famous for an endless tide of creatures; people called it the Monsters’ Treasury.
They immediately headed back to report.
They weren’t the only ones in the mountains. To be specific, the standing forces of the Border Guard were there on a mercenary contract secured through Kraiss’s partner, Nurat.
The soldier-mercenary system remained a lucrative way to fill the coffers with krona, and Kraiss promoted the practice.
They encountered a similar foe. This time, it was a long-necked entity comprised of fireballs.
“Who’s carrying magic gear?”
While Venzance commanded the militia, the scouts who prowled the range were led by Finn.
Having once run missions alongside Enkrid and trained relentlessly since, she was now a seasoned Ranger captain.
At her signal, four soldiers stepped forward, equipped with wrist-mounted arrows. These bolts were tipped with single-use banishment spells.
This was Anne’s work. The arrowheads were soaked in specific reagents designed to neutralize spirit-type entities.
“Fire.”
*Puh-buh-bung.*
The fire-woven body burst, scattering embers.
‘Impressive.’
Finn couldn’t recall seeing anything quite like it. She maintained her distance, dismantling the creature with ranged attacks.
The final standing monster took five daggers to the head, slumped, and flickered out, leaving only scorched earth behind.
“Put out those fires.”
At Finn’s command, the troopers began dousing embers and clearing away dry brush before a forest fire could take hold.
They were mountain specialists, used to this kind of labor. Their reaction was seamless. Once the area was secure, Finn spoke:
“We can’t push further.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to,” replied the client.
The man they were escorting shook his head, looking visibly shaken.
“I thought they said the monsters in this range were thinning out?”
“They were.”
“Were?”
“Seems that’s changed.”
As for the cause, Finn didn’t have an answer.
The client was a man of education. He could tell these weren’t just standard pests.
His name was Garett Gyro, a former battalion commander of the Greenperl Reserves who had once harbored dreams of being a bard.
Having hit a wall with his creative output, he had decided to gamble on this journey to find some spark of inspiration.
“You walk into a monster-infested mountain range just to write a song?”
An outsider might find it absurd, but the artist’s struggle is a private agony.
To compose a masterpiece, a man might be willing to trade a piece of his soul.
Of course, Garett was relying on the strength of the Border Guard. He wasn’t on a suicide mission.
He wanted a controlled amount of inspiration at a manageable level of risk.
Regardless, Garett was a traveler and a lover of lore.
“A beast that exhales fire,” Garett whispered, lost in thought.
There was a legend of a creature like that which had once scorched the continent.
A catastrophe summoned by the Demon Sanctuary Church—the greatest disaster humanity had ever brought upon itself.
Garett muttered the name:
“Salamander?”
The legendary lizard-shaped fire beast. It was said to be ten times the size of a man, and standard magic weapons were useless against it.
The only strategy was to survive until its internal fire burned out. For Garett, these were just tales—stories from books or oral histories.
The fanatics of the Demon Sanctuary Church had been a nightmare even in those old days.
A bard’s duty is to carry stories, so researching these legends was Garett’s hobby and his trade.
And now, he believed he saw a shadow of those legends in the creature that had just perished.
No way… could it be? No, that’s impossible.
But could he really just ignore the thought?
In a soldier, complacency is a death sentence. And though Garett was a bard now, he had been an excellent soldier.
He knew when to choose caution over comfort, and he had the wisdom to prefer a bit of mockery over being caught unprepared.
“…Can we go deeper?” Garett asked.
Finn briefly considered if she should just break the former commander’s legs to talk some sense into him.
Perhaps physical pain would make him realize he was being a fool.
“It’s not about inspiration. I have an ill feeling.”
Garett was dead serious. Instead of hitting him, Finn turned to two of her men.
“Return to the main unit. Report the situation.”
If things turned sour, securing an exit wouldn’t be impossible.
Finn knew these mountains like her own home. Though, if she actually treated them like a home and let her guard down, she’d end up as monster fodder.
‘We can push a bit further.’
Finn was well aware of her own capabilities. She never aimed for knighthood.
Instead, she found her purpose in the mountains. she had memorized the paths, learned survival, and perfected her craft.
Seiki, the rogue Saintess, was a Highlander who lived and breathed the mountain air, and Finn had followed her, learning the way of the mountain-dwellers.
That experience had formed the Pen-Hanil Rangers. Her choice to proceed was the measured judgment of an expert.
“What are you looking for?” she asked curtly.
Only a madman walks into danger without a reason.
Garett recognized Finn’s expertise and answered despite her sharp tone.
“It might just be a feeling, but—do you know where the Salamander was last seen before it vanished?”
Long before Greenperl was established, a massive fire had ravaged the land. Grass eventually grew over the ash, becoming the Greenperl prairie.
It was a matter of history. Before it was the Green Pearl, it was the Ash Field.
“Theories vary on where it came from, but everyone agrees on where it went. Some scholars think it’s just sleeping, like a bear in winter.”
The location mentioned in every text was the peak of the Pen-Hanil Range—a basin of solidified black ash.
It was rumored that only “young dragons”—drake-like monsters—resided there.
After a brief explanation, Finn nodded.
“I see.”
The doubt lingered—Could it be? No.—but that meant they had to see for themselves. Finn led the way.
They had started at daybreak and killed the fire beast by mid-morning. Only three hours later, Finn stopped.
She found deep gouges in the earth, as if someone had used a blade as wide as a floorboard.
The grooves were so deep they seemed bottomless, and they stretched as long as a fallen redwood.
The scent of scorched earth was thick. The air itself felt heavy and boiling.
“No normal beast did this,” Garett said, his voice grave.
The death toll from the Salamander’s original appearance was beyond counting.
Entire cities had been wiped off the map.
And then—
“Captain.”
One of her scouts pointed into the distance.
‘More of them.’
Three fire-bodied monsters were rising in the distance, heat shimmering around them. Each was the size of a bear—as large as Audin.
They hadn’t noticed the scouts yet.
“Retreat.”
Finn bypassed the fight, returned to the base, and delivered her report. The news went straight to Enkrid.
Enkrid’s blue eyes sharpened.
“Captain Garett?”
“Just Garett will do now, Sir Enkrid.”
“You’re saying something has surfaced?”
“Nothing confirmed. Just… the Salamander.”
The details Finn provided were summarized quickly. Enkrid’s eyes flashed as he spoke:
“Then tell them I’ve already left.”
“…What? Tell who? Me?” Garett was bewildered.
“Everyone who arrives.”
Enkrid wiped the sweat from his forehead, tightened his harness, and began to walk.
“Where are you going?” Garett shouted, his old military bark returning. But the answer was obvious.
“For a walk.”
A walk? Going out in full battle gear looked a lot more like a direct charge at a legendary monster.
“Captain, they say these fire creatures are popping up everywhere,” Finn said, catching up to him.
Rem’s squad had seen them, and even the outposts on the safe roads were reporting sightings.
“Go inform Kraiss.”
Enkrid wasn’t worried, for two reasons.
First, he had confidence. He was the one who had trained these troops; they could handle creatures of this caliber.
Second, he knew exactly how Kraiss had prepared.
By now, almost every soldier in the Border Guard and the specialized units possessed a magic weapon.
At the very least, they had spell scrolls.
They weren’t going to be defeated by simple manifestations of fire.