Chapter 837

Chapter 837

The admiration for the pale stone was short-lived, as was the sincere admission regarding Shinar. Kraiss inquired,
“Who did you recruit this time? You traveled to the Pen-Hanil Range, engaged the Salamander, and emerged victorious, correct?”
The permanent military of the Border Guard had also clashed with that fire-born monstrosity. Kraiss had been briefed on every detail. In response, Enkrid gave a stoic nod. It was a fact that he had returned with a newcomer, just as it was a fact that he had triumphed over the Salamander.
Was that a relief for the moment? Likely so. Kraiss entertained the thought, but when he was formally introduced to Temares, his shock returned—reaching a peak upon discovering the man was dragonkin.
Taking in the stranger’s features, he whispered,
“I wonder if he is destined to be a fixture at the salon.”
It was a classic Kraiss observation. On the surface, Temares possessed a beauty as striking as Shinar’s. His pupils, shaped like vertical slits, projected an aura of mystery, while his finely sculpted nose and mouth earned him a place among the exceptionally handsome. Though his frame seemed lean, he was quite tall with elongated limbs. Ragna noted that his arms were built perfectly for the mastery of a longsword, and Audin remarked on the balance of his physique. Then there was his hair—a lemon-tinted blonde that shimmered with a white glow under the sun’s rays.
He radiated a luminous warmth, yet his gaze remained distinctly non-human.
‘This is a guaranteed success.’
Should he make his entrance at the salon, his fame would surely rival that of Enkrid or Jaxon. He might appear slender, but the defined musculature of his forearms would serve as another draw. Merely observing such a harmonious body was a delight.
‘Looks and physical form are talents in their own right.’
Kraiss lived by that philosophy. His only regret was that those blessed with such natural advantages almost always focused their ambitions elsewhere.
‘If he would only debut, everything would fall into place.’
That was Kraiss’s perspective. Predictably, Temares displayed zero fascination with the idea.
“My obligations do not involve such things.”
He ended the conversation and looked away. Being dragonkin, he possessed the ability to read minds. He felt a sharp, untainted longing coming from Kraiss—but he had no desire to fulfill it. Kraiss clicked his tongue in disappointment.
“Weren’t you just fretting over the possibility of demon vengeance?”
Abnaier questioned from behind, observing the exchange.
“I was,” Kraiss admitted simply. His eyes darted between Enkrid, Jaxon, and the dragonkin before landing on Rem and Audin. Those two also had their own singular appeal.
“And at this moment?” Abnaier pressed.
“I still am.”
“You certainly don’t look the part.”
“When a more pressing matter arises, I can compartmentalize that stress for a while.”
The dread was still there. However, Kraiss had learned to digest his fear before letting it speak. They say that anxiety is like gripping a cup of water and never putting it down. Since the path forward was already set, he chose to simply perform his duties and, for a time, set down that heavy glass of worry. That was his method. The salon served as a pretext that allowed his spirit to find peace.
There was a second reason his nerves had settled so significantly.
‘Every one of them returns whole.’
He had once again witnessed the capability of those who were labeled calamities.
‘The fabled Salamander.’
The thought of turning this triumph into a ballad to be performed at the salon gave him a sense of ease. Kraiss had completely reevaluated the collective strength revolving around Enkrid. No one could predict how the power of this knight order would manifest in the days to come.

The party had returned, and the Salamander—unbeknownst to the world—had made its home in the fairy city.
Shinar, whining about her exhaustion, begged several times for a piggyback ride, but Enkrid paid her no mind, instead suggesting that the dragonkin take a day to recover.
“Combat is the only thing on your mind, isn’t it?”
Shinar offered a pained complaint, yet she was ignored by everyone. This behavior from Enkrid was nothing new. It was a familiar routine to the group. The dragonkin found nothing strange in it; by his very nature, he lacked interest in anything outside his mission. And yet, he found himself intrigued by this specific human. He eventually voiced his thought.
“You truly do find joy in battle.”
It was visible on the surface and even clearer through his mental reading. As he spoke, the dragonkin realized the man didn’t just love “fighting” for its own sake.
“It appears you value the trial more than the conflict itself.”
Reading the mind—perceiving the heart. This was the unique gift of the dragonkin, rooted in profound intuition. He felt what Enkrid truly craved.
This realization made the man even more captivating.
‘His Will is towering and brilliant.’
At its core lay a psychological fortitude capable of enduring endless hardships without shattering. It was a spirit unlike any he had encountered in humans or any other race.
‘How is such a spirit possible?’
The man must have hit countless walls that required every ounce of his soul to bypass—and he had lived through them.
‘Provided he does not perish.’
Conceptually, it was achievable.
Indeed, the dragonkin’s perception was extraordinary. He did not know that Enkrid was living through a repeating cycle, but he had touched upon the truth of it. He had no urge to pry further or expose secrets. He observed the outcome rather than the steps taken. That alone held his interest.

—

The dragonkin lineage was defined by several inherent traits, categorized primarily as: Dragon Speech, dragon scales, and dragon eyes.
While Dragon Speech was the ability to suppress an enemy through sheer Will, dragon scales involved hardening one’s skin into a defensive layer that mundane steel could not pierce. Dragon eyes, however, were the organs that could perceive the Will of others.
Their eyes did indeed resemble those of reptiles, granting them a strange look, but they were named for dragons because of their insight, not their shape.
Temares could interpret an opponent’s intent and the very beginning of their physical movement the moment he looked at them. Dragonkin were born with this innate perception.
At the first light of dawn following the Salamander incident, the dragonkin woke early to silently observe Enkrid as he pushed through his training.
That radiant Will stirred something in the dragonkin’s heart. Although he remained expressionless, Temares found a quiet joy in just watching this human.
Standing nearby, also watching the morning drill, Lua Gharne the Frokk felt as though she had found a kindred spirit.
“Dragonkin typically don’t concern themselves with the business of others, do they?”
She asked while watching Enkrid, Audin, and Teresa strain their bodies against heavy iron training implements.
Enkrid’s usual dawn companions were Audin and Teresa, though Peld and Rophod joined on occasion. Other members drifted in as they saw fit.
“Yes, brother,” Audin grunted, swinging a weighted iron sphere. The movement caused the dense muscles of his torso to shift and ripple.
‘A perfected body.’
Even to a dragonkin, that physique was impressive. Between the major muscle groups, smaller fibers filled every space—a mass of meat as tough as tempered steel.
Enkrid’s frame was naturally just as remarkable, though different in build.
Audin’s comment was a reflection of the fact that Enkrid always trained with purpose. After the previous day’s struggle, this dawn session was meant to be a light recovery to ease the muscles.
Lua Gharne waited for an answer to her question, and after a long silence, Temares finally responded in the language he had recently acquired.
“That is correct.”
A bit slow to respond, Lua thought, but she didn’t mind. Frokks were just as detached as dragonkin when it came to things that didn’t interest them. If they shared a bond, it was their habit of accepting others without judgment.
“Then why are you watching?” she asked again. Inquiry was the primary tool of a Frokk.
“He is interesting.”
A concise, firm answer.
Hearing this, Lua mused, ‘Even a dragonkin can be captivated.’
Enchanting Knight—it was a fitting title, she decided. All those other names like Demon Slayer or Balrog Killer should be discarded. It suited him perfectly, considering even the demons were now pursuing him.
Of course, that kind of attention from demons was far from welcome. They had attacked without hesitation and triggered the Salamander. If the group’s strength had been even slightly lower—
‘A dark fate would have unfolded.’
To prevent that, Enkrid would continue to push himself today. Lua Gharne understood once more why Enkrid endured this daily grind.
‘He can only defend what he loves and reach his goals if he never squanders a single moment.’
He knew this in his logic and in his soul. That was the essence of it.
As Enkrid worked up a heavy sweat, Temares also began to warm his own blood. It was a specific dragonkin technique. By remaining still and alternating between tension and relaxation, he kept his body in a state of constant readiness. His blood heated and his muscles became supple—the state of combat prep.
“I am prepared,” Temares announced. Enkrid nodded and took his position. Just one day later, the two stood across from each other in the courtyard. There was no need for further talk.
They unsheathed their steel. In an instant, the pale morning light met the flash of the blades.
Clang!
The weapons, infused with their owners’ Will, collided, sending a shockwave through the air.
Enkrid attempted several thrusts and slashes at the dragonkin’s guard, but the defense was immovable. Loosening his stance, Enkrid asked,
“What is that blade made of?”
It was a sword that had faced the dawn many times but showed no wear. It didn’t look like common steel.
“I extracted one of my own bones and had it forged,” Temares replied. Dragonkin weapons possessed a naturally volcanic essence.
“Does the bone regenerate?”
“There is a vestigial one near the base of the tail.”
When Enkrid asked if such bone-forging was standard for his race, Temares nodded.
The conversations they had while sparring were never boring. They spoke in brief bursts as they traded blows over the following days. It was the kind of training that left both Enkrid and Temares feeling fulfilled.
Still, they never went too far; by the intense standards of the Mad Order, this was considered a light workout.
“He’s got talent,” Rem remarked after seeing their first exchange.
On the second day, Ragna watched with interest and noted, “He’s getting better.”
Jaxon remained a silent observer, his expression unreadable, while Rophod and Peld looked on with a sense of rivalry.
“Maybe I should show him what I can do with my axe,” Rem joked, sounding like a common brigand, and eventually, Peld, Rophod, and Teresa all took their turns.
“He lacks any scent. It’s odd. Is that a dragonkin trait?” Dunbakel wondered, finding it strange that someone with such a heavy presence had no smell at all.
Eventually, Temares had tested his metal against every member of the order.

And what was the mood in the city during this period?
Tranquil. It was as if the massive battle had never happened.
The reason for this calm was simple. The standing army had fought the flame aberrations, but they didn’t view it as an extraordinary event. That was all there was to it.
The Pen-Hanil Range was a place where monsters were a daily occurrence. If ice-dwellers swarmed the walls tomorrow, the soldiers would just shrug. In the winter, Yetis would wander down from the peaks. They were few enough to be a minor nuisance.
Years ago, a single drake would have sparked a city-wide panic, but those days were gone.
The quality of the standing army had improved drastically, and the Mad Order of Knights was now a permanent fixture. If a drake showed up now, the only concern would be whether they could harvest the hide without damaging it—a testament to the power now concentrated in the city. Even without the knights, the elite squads of the regular army could handle such a threat.
Naturally, the market value of monster parts was a concern for Kraiss and the accountants, but the soldiers focused only on the fight.
“Still, the fact that you actually brought down a Salamander…”
Only Garret Gyro, who understood the magnitude of the feat, remained in awe.
‘It’s a different world here.’
The Border Guard was nothing like other settlements—nothing like the prosperous trade hubs under Naurillia or Octo that prioritized comfort.
Was it just because they hadn’t fought Azpen?
‘Or is it because of that wide-eyed man, Kraiss?’
When analyzing a situation, the cause is never singular. The world is complex. But there is usually one primary driver.
‘Enkrid.’
Now the leader of the Mad Order, he took pleasure in passing on his knowledge. He made those brutal “hell runs” for endurance feel like a natural part of life.
Combined with Kraiss’s administrative efforts and the geography of the region, the result was clear.
‘They have endured countless trials, adjusted, and conquered each one.’
An old saying of the continent rang true here.
‘Survival breeds strength.’
Whether you were a mercenary or a shopkeeper, the rule applied.
‘This city…’
It had survived and become as unyielding as a mountain. The vibe was entirely different from the past.
‘It isn’t my place to offer critiques now.’
Garret Gyro was a man of the wilds. He was no statesman, no soldier, and no true poet.
Though he composed a song about the Enchanting Knight who felled the Salamander, his experiences hadn’t magically gifted him with musical genius, and his ballad failed to gain any traction.
“What a pity. I should have been the one to immortalize the legend.”
Ultimately, Garret moved on, and the Border Guard integrated yet another unique soul into its ranks.