Chapter 838

Chapter 838

Ten days had gone by since the struggle with the Salamander, a period during which Temares had integrated into the group with a natural ease. It raised the question of whether dragonkin simply possessed a high capacity for adjustment, as he lived with a surprising lack of friction. He showed no pickiness regarding his diet or his quarters. He consumed the same rations as the knights and rested for the same duration. More specifically, he mirrored Enkrid’s schedule exactly, eating when he ate and sleeping when he did. He remained a constant shadow at Enkrid’s side, a proximity that soon felt entirely routine.

“Is this dragonkin trying to usurp my position?”

Shinar tossed out the joke, but it failed to draw much attention. In the words of Rem:

“He’s going to do as he pleases. Why should I care?”

That sentiment captured the general mood. The group had settled back into their usual patterns. The only notable change was a shift in their physical training; whether in mock combat or drills, they had ceased pushing their bodies to the point of total exhaustion.

The midday sun beat down mercilessly. Perhaps as a lingering effect of the Salamander’s presence, the ambient heat remained stifling. Occasional rain showers did little to cool the air, instead creating a heavy, humid atmosphere that spiked everyone’s discomfort.

Lua Gharne, however, found this damp heat quite agreeable. While she had displayed a passing interest in the newcomer, she didn’t dwell on it. As usual, the Frokk’s focus remained entirely on Enkrid. Her curiosity was a compass that never changed its heading. Even so, at this hour, she had departed to focus on her individual training.

On that tenth day, during one of their many exchanges, Enkrid’s blade found Temares’s throat. Crimson blood sprayed across the path of the morning light. Despite his neck being half-ruined, Temares lunged forward, driving his own sword toward Enkrid’s heart. Even with a mortal wound to the neck, the counterattack lacked nothing in terms of momentum or precision.

With a sharp thud, the pale steel bit through the defensive layers forged by Will, piercing both muscle and the heart beneath. In a standard battle, one would be shielded by dragon scales and the other by the hide of a Balrog, but they had set aside such protections. They were testing pure tactical execution.

As for who won, it was impossible to determine. The engagement was born of mutual enjoyment. Of course, the severed neck and the pierced heart were merely projections—a shared illusion. In a physical reality, both would be corpses. A knight cannot survive a direct heart puncture, and even a dragonkin cannot endure the loss of his head.

Their every twitch, the glint in their eyes, and the shift of their grips served to both signal and mask their intentions as they clashed within this shared mental space. It was essentially a psychic duel. To ensure the highest level of detail, they incorporated physical movements and weight shifts just enough for the opponent to register the intent.

Sweat poured down Enkrid’s spine. Initially, Temares had felt like someone he could manage, but the dragonkin had rapidly evolved into a formidable rival. If they were to draw blood for real, could Enkrid prevail? Could he actually kill him? He wouldn’t know without a true life-or-death struggle. In a mere fifteen days, the dragonkin had closed the technical gap. Simultaneously, Enkrid had gained significant insights of his own.

“This is fascinating,” Temares remarked, his eyes blinking. Those vertical, reptilian pupils—the Dragon Eyes—still radiated a sense of camaraderie.

“I agree. It’s quite curious,” Enkrid replied. “Is that level of perception a natural gift of your people? That final strike—it seemed as though you saturated your entire form with Will and allowed the thrust to happen as a pure reflex, didn’t you?”

The dragonkin’s perception was indeed formidable, but Enkrid’s was equally sharp. By observing within the theater of the mind, he had already deconstructed the core of the technique Temares had utilized. He was as generous in sharing his own knowledge as he was eager to learn, constantly watching and internalizing new concepts with a transparent spirit. These qualities had clearly defined his path as a knight. His level of discernment was now on par with that of the dragonkin, though their innate abilities remained staggering.

When a human achieves knighthood, they develop the foresight often described as “the eyes that see the next step.” Dragonkin, however, are born with this trait. Consequently, trickery is largely ineffective against them. By perceiving the flow of Will, they possess a talent that borders on telepathy. It was an incomparable advantage in a fight.

‘Standard fencing techniques are useless here,’ Enkrid thought.

Every feint he attempted was immediately read by Temares. Conversely, Enkrid’s own traditional style—founded on flawless basics—functioned as its own kind of misdirection. He practiced a fluid style that identified gaps and struck at vulnerabilities. His foundation was ironclad, but he had moved beyond it to forge something unique. The insight granted by his eyes was masterful at locating flaws.

Their practice was as much a dialogue as it was a duel. Through these sessions, Enkrid came to understand why the dragonkin had remained.

“My instincts are quite powerful,” Temares explained. “They suggest that by staying near you, I will eventually cross paths with them.”

Dragonkin were beings of deep intuition, capable of a vague sort of prophecy. They were shrouded in a certain mystical quality, which explained their ability to transition between sexes and exist as dual-natured beings.

“Cross paths with whom?” Enkrid inquired.

“The one who obstructed my sacred mission.”

The response held no overt malice or sudden surge of anger. Temares spoke with the detached clarity of a scholar reciting a list of facts, as if he were describing a holy obligation that had to be fulfilled. That very lack of emotion made the statement feel more ominous. He spoke of absolute truths with a terrifying casualness, yet there was a deep, silent threat beneath the words.

Enkrid, of course, found nothing strange in this. He was a man dedicated to the total erasure of the Demon Realm. To him, “ending the war” wasn’t just about a treaty; it meant the absolute annihilation of the demonic plane. Given his own goals, he could easily accept a dragonkin’s resolve to hunt down a demon.

“Your instincts are likely correct,” Enkrid agreed with a nod. Considering the demonic agent that had already tracked him down, they were bound to return. And if they didn’t, he intended to seek them out himself.

“We do not overlook those who hinder our purpose,” the dragonkin added.

To his kind, duty was the sole justification for existence. While it was odd that he found such interest in humans, Temares still required a sense of mission. He needed a new objective to follow, as was his nature. But before he could find a new path, he would collect the debt from the one who had blocked his old one. That took precedence over everything else.

Temares stayed because his curiosity had been piqued. He even found his own attachment to the place unusual. However, no one else in the group shared that surprise.

“They don’t call him Enchanting for no reason,” some would say.
“Even Lady Luck herself would lose her heart to him.”

In the eyes of Rem and Audin, Enkrid was simply that magnetic.

As the afternoon began to fade, Kraiss—who had been observing the duel—asked, “Are you trying to collect a representative from every race under the sun?”

The order was now a mosaic of half-giants, Frokks, beast-men, dragonkin, fairies, and humans. While the dragonkin wasn’t an official member, Kraiss noted how he seemed to be absorbed into the unit like water into parched earth.

‘If only he’d absorb into the social circles as easily,’ Kraiss mused. Well, things would either happen or they wouldn’t.

“Maybe we should rename ourselves the Order of the Mixed Bloods?” it was a lighthearted remark. “Also, I received some word from Esther…”

Kraiss was a busy man; he wouldn’t spend this much time here without a specific reason.

“Go on,” Enkrid prompted.

Esther had warned of an impending crisis. Furthermore, she had predicted the timing of the visitors with unsettling accuracy. This information had cost Kraiss three nights of sleep. Regardless of how he tried to push it aside, a deep-seated dread kept resurfacing. Even when he managed to drift off, the anxieties he suppressed during the day haunted his dreams.

In those nightmares, he saw the city engulfed in flames while sorcerers in dark robes herded the population into hidden laboratories. The vividness of the imagery was agonizing. In his sleep, he even discovered the purpose behind the atrocities and witnessed a future fifty years away. The Border Guard had been turned into a breeding ground for a second demonic entity. From that darkness, a new horror emerged.

‘A demonic version of Enkrid.’

A being that had evolved beyond a succubus—one who could enslave the mind simply by being seen. It was a repulsive vision. Driven by this fear, Kraiss had taken every possible precaution. His current report to Enkrid concerned those very measures.

“I’ve briefed everyone on their specific roles and locations. Esther spoke with absolute certainty, but if things go sideways, you’ll have to use your best judgment on how to react.”

He thumped his own anxious chest, earning a reprimand from Lua Gharne for the display. But he had fulfilled his responsibilities.

Three days later, a second dark omen settled over the Border Guard. Most of the civilians and the rank-and-file soldiers remained oblivious, but the threat moved toward the city nonetheless. In many respects, this was an even more elusive enemy than the Salamander had been.

Since his return to the city, Enkrid had avoided overexerting himself. Even during his mental duels with the dragonkin, he was secretly husbanding his energy. The rest of the group followed suit. To an outsider, it might have seemed like a lack of discipline, but for Enkrid, it was calculated restraint.

He was currently absentmindedly touching a small scab on his cheek—a souvenir from a graze by Temares’s blade, Baika—when he was approached by a mage from Esther’s detachment.

“They have arrived.”

The tone was calm, yet the gravity of the message was clear even without naming the enemy.

“Where is Jaxon?”

“Sir Jaxon is already in position.”

“Then we go.”

Enkrid pulled a heavy hood over his shoulders and departed from the city. He moved past the training grounds, through the inner fortifications, and along the well-maintained road until he reached the outer gates in a single, focused march. He kept his features obscured, offering only silent nods to those he recognized.

“The perimeter is secure, you may pass this way.”

Only a handful of people were aware of Enkrid’s exit. The officer on gate duty was Venzance, one of the few who knew the nature of the mission. He greeted Enkrid as he passed. Venzance was there under the guise of an inspection, but his true purpose was to facilitate Enkrid’s departure.

“Is your child doing well?” Enkrid asked as he walked by.

“Very well,” Venzance replied, a genuine smile breaking through his professional mask. Enkrid’s eyes briefly rested on the thought of the child. What kind of future would that boy have? To protect children like that, and the people behind these walls—Enkrid understood his purpose perfectly. With a final nod to Venzance, he stepped out into the open world. The dragonkin was right behind him.

“Your pulse seems to be racing, Enki.”

Temares used the shortened version of his name for the first time in several days.

“I’ve mentioned this before, Temares—you don’t need to narrate everything you notice,” Enkrid said.

The dragonkin’s understanding of social boundaries was virtually non-existent. He tended to verbalize every observation that entered his mind.

“That beast-man avoids bathing because he doesn’t want to expose the scent of his own fear,” he might say, casually poking at Dunbakel’s hidden insecurities.

“You little lizard brat—” Dunbakel would usually roar in response.

“That fairy has been alive for an immense period. If we actually tallied the years…”

“Have you ever seen a dragonkin who was such a nuisance?” was the typical retort.

He had even directed such observations at Esther, noting her human lifespan, only for her to silently cut through his wind magic with Baika to shut him up. Esther preferred physical demonstrations of silence over verbal arguments. Nevertheless, he was slowly learning to coexist.

At their meeting point, the senior witch Esther was waiting. She was younger than Shinar, but significantly older than Enkrid. The moment her eyes met his, she remarked:

“You have a strange look in your eyes.”

Enkrid brushed the comment aside and asked neutrally, “Do I?”

Rem, who had arrived at nearly the same time, chimed in, “I’ve told you before, the boss gets that look sometimes.”

Ignoring Esther’s scrutiny, Enkrid turned to Rem. “Is everyone in their designated spots?”

Rem gave a firm nod. “Everyone is ready.”

Kraiss operated on the principle that the one who prepares most thoroughly before the first blow is struck will be the victor. Esther was of the same mind. Mages and witches are, by their very nature, planners. A spell that has been meticulously prepared is vastly more lethal than one cast in the heat of the moment. Through Esther, the entirety of the Mad Order had embraced this philosophy.

Kraiss, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, had once told Enkrid:

“If you can strike from a direction the enemy hasn’t even considered, the blade you pull will be sharper than any other.”

Preparation is the bridge between prediction and reality. A mage’s intuition allows them to perceive these possibilities almost as if they were premonitions.

“Esther is more powerful than the ones who are coming, correct? That’s the basis of our plan.”

Kraiss was a brilliant strategist, a fact Esther silently acknowledged once more. He had even accounted for the specific scale of her powers when drafting the plan.

“Shall we go out to meet them?”

They were positioned on a vast plain beyond the Border Guard, far from the main road. It was a desolate stretch of land where small clouds of dust kicked up in the wind. In the distance, an elderly man in a magnificent white robe decorated with gold thread began to speak. He was followed by a group of twelve individuals dressed in grey.

Esther had already anticipated the movements of the sorcerer who was hunting her. Kraiss, wary of demonic plots and retaliation, had learned of the rogue mages pursuing her and made his preparations.

“What are they capable of?” Kraiss had asked, and Esther had shared everything she knew. Having encountered them in the past, her knowledge was extensive—far beyond what Kraiss had even thought to ask.

“Commander.”

Kraiss had immediately summoned Enkrid and Abnaier for a war council. He then turned back to Esther and asked:

“What is the fundamental weakness of a mage?”

The Astrail—the ones who “chase the stars.”

Esther’s answer was simple: Mages, by their very essence, do not understand how to live as equals with others.

“They are consumed by their own pride.”

This meant they could never conceive of being brought down by a simple sword. Esther had predicted this mindset, and upon hearing it, Kraiss’s eyes had grown dark and focused. The light left his gaze as he processed the information. Driven by his own inner turmoil, the strategist had identified the fatal flaw of the sorcerers.

The very first person he had gone to see after that realization was Jaxon.