Chapter 839

Chapter 839

“What exactly is the function of a knight?”
Kraiss never restricted the solution to that query to a single definition.
“Each individual possesses a distinct area of expertise.”
Consider the scenario of assigning Audin to a covert infiltration.
“Wouldn’t that inevitably devolve into a full-scale frontal assault?”
The man can move silently if the situation demands it, but his sheer physical presence is impossible to hide. The moniker “bear beastman” was earned for a reason.
“And what if you tasked Ragna with a long-range tracking operation?”
Eliminating the target is one thing, but whether he could successfully navigate his way back is an entirely different complication.
Pell is a master of dueling, while Rophod excels at maintaining combat effectiveness while leading a battalion.
Naturally, even if their duties were shuffled, they would manage to find a way. That is the caliber of person who becomes a knight.
“Is it merely a matter of skill? Personal temperament is just as vital.”
For instance, what if you commanded Enkrid to slaughter a thousand hostile troops before dawn?
He would refuse. The capability to perform an action and the internal drive to execute it are disparate concepts.
“He will search for the route that results in the lowest body count, regardless of the circumstances.”
This does not imply he is a coward or that he ignores the grim realities of conflict.
The path Enkrid has traveled is far too grueling for such naivety.
He is intimately acquainted with the sharp edge of existence. He understands how that blade can plunge into your frame when you least expect it, carving through muscle and separating vital organs.
If the situation demands it, he strikes. If the cause is right, he draws blood. Enkrid will fulfill his duty.
One must evaluate both talent and character. Kraiss applied this exact logic.
“Then, what if we narrow the objective to assassination rather than a fair fight, regardless of whether the foe is a sorcerer or not?”
In an honorable duel, Jaxon might not be the guaranteed victor against every opponent. But if you give him an order to kill, the dynamic shifts entirely.
He never reveals his full potential. It is a reflex ingrained in him since his youth as a professional killer. What occurs when a man like Jaxon fixes his focus on a mark and commits to their end?
While not everyone answers with total candor, none of them truly underestimate him.
“Intelligence. I require every available scrap of data regarding the adversary.”
Kraiss outlined the specific function he required from Jaxon, and Jaxon posed that question as if it were the most fundamental requirement.
“I am in the dark. I don’t have those answers, which is precisely why I need you to find them.”
Kraiss possessed only the most superficial understanding of their enemies.
“This is what I have gathered. Within that particular circle, there isn’t a single member who hasn’t dabbled in human experimentation. I was informed it was quite a trend among them for a period.”
“A trend?”
“An initiative to graft stars into living subjects.”
The mere mention of it is enough to turn one’s stomach.
“They take artifacts saturated with Will or mana and physically fuse them into a person. To put it more bluntly: they attempted to treat the human frame as a mere tool, transforming it into a living Spell Object.”
To what end? Esther understood the motivation perfectly. Kraiss echoed her explanation.
“It follows the logic of the kitchen. They were using the human body as a piece of cookware.”
They performed these acts on adults, the aged, and even toddlers, without any sense of discrimination.
Was this the extent of their depravity?
Astrail—an arrogant title for a faction that refuses to view sentient beings as people. In many respects, they are more sadistic than demons. Is it because they are human that they can be more monstrous to their own kind? Because humanity is the species most adept at adaptation?
“Occasionally, as you go through life, things that defy logic will brazenly stare you in the face.”
Jaxon signaled his agreement with Kraiss’s sentiment with a silent nod. When confronted with things beyond the reach of reason, Jaxon dealt with them in a singular, unwavering manner.
Kraiss wished to witness that unwavering efficiency once more.

—

“So you anticipated our arrival. It couldn’t have been simple mana sensing. How did you manage it?”
A garment of white, woven with threads of gold, shimmered. The energy stored in those fibers represented the sorcerer’s readiness.
With the enchantments integrated into his attire, dispatching a handful of knights should be trivial. At least, that was his conviction. He had never actually put it to the test.
He simply assumed it was a foregone conclusion because he understood the underlying theory.
Consequently, leaving the Child of the Star standing before him, he felt it was a nuisance that he had to slaughter the remaining rabble first. Keeping the Child of the Star unharmed during a skirmish—now that was a genuine irritation.
Their eyes locked. Esther, the girl with the blue eyes, spoke.
“It is indeed mana detection.”
“You managed to stretch your sensory field across the entire city to this point?”
It defied his understanding of the craft. The sorcerer’s brow furrowed. Simultaneously, a radiance erupted from his robe.
This was because the apprentice—his subordinate—standing directly behind him suddenly made a move.
The sorcerer’s head snapped back. He witnessed a blade emerge from beneath a drab gray cloak.
“Don’t you—”
Brilliant white light flared from the sorcerer’s garment as his defensive enchantment activated. That spell carried a triple effect.
Initially, gravity intensified within a three-step radius. Second, a mirror ward: if he were struck by a blade, a matching blade of light would manifest to strike back; if hit by an arrow, it would be returned in kind.
Finally, the third component was a magic called Restoration of Light—as long as the damage wasn’t immediately terminal, it would sustain the caster’s life.
It was a magical domain modeled after the divine. He was certain this barrier would preserve him at least three times over.
Then, a dagger the length of two palms tore through the carotid artery where the neck meets the jaw, slicing through the vertebrae behind it.
*Schk.*
Even as it cleaved through bone, the sound was barely a whisper. The blade that decapitated him wasn’t exceptionally swift, nor did it create a vacuum that whistled through the air.
His head detached; a fountain of crimson erupted; the partially severed neck slumped to the side.
No one refers to a decapitation as a critical injury. It is simply the end. The finality of death. A touch from the Grave-keeper, delivered in one motion.
At some point, Jaxon had taken the place of the gray-robed henchman, and with a single strike, he had claimed the life of an Astrail sorcerer.
Kraiss’s directive was to take a mage’s head the moment they crossed paths. That initial strike, fueled by the enemy’s arrogance, was Jaxon’s responsibility.
The flap of skin holding the head in place was fragile. The head itself was heavy. The remaining tissue gave way, and the head hit the floor with a dull thud. The torso, which had been venting blood, swayed and collapsed.
*Bzz—bzz—bzz.*
The glowing runes on the dead mage’s robe went dark. A spell requires a living consciousness to sustain it. A magical world had just ceased to exist.
Some of the subordinates could only blink at the impossible scene. Something they had never conceived of had taken place.
What was this? Their master had perished in an instant. Their reality had been shattered.
“They are all the same.”
Esther spoke, her hand cutting through the air. In the wake of her movement, blades of freezing wind materialized. It was a manifestation spell that channeled the lethality of the frozen tundra into Drmul’s scythe.
“Cutting Gale of the Frozen Waste.”
At her command, mana surged and interacted with the magical realm. The phenomenon known as a spell carved through the necks of the remaining followers.
A few raised their staves in a desperate attempt to resist, but it was futile. Barriers of light, radiating intense heat, flared up, yet they could not halt the blades of the icy wasteland.
*Schk, schk, schk.*
The same wet sounds echoed repeatedly, and the remaining underlings all fell, their heads or necks cleanly severed.
“Well, I suppose we didn’t even get a chance to converse,” Enkrid remarked.
Rem followed up on his comment.
“Whatever talking is left, we can save it for the next group that shows up.”
Astrail is a syndicate. They do not operate in isolation. However, it is also true that for such a group, their internal cohesion is quite brittle.
Esther had calculated that there would inevitably be someone who acted prematurely out of avarice. Overconfidence? If you analyzed it, this wasn’t even about being overconfident.
Jaxon was simply that skilled. Cleaning his blade, he took his place beside Enkrid. The feat he had just performed was quite remarkable.
He had observed the opponent’s barrier activate and modulated the velocity of his swing; he evaded the reflected blade aimed at him, timed his strike for the precise window when the ward was discharging—a moment when the reflection would not trigger again—and targeted only the neck.
To an observer, it appeared as a solitary slash, but in reality, it was three distinct maneuvers. Naturally, only Enkrid, Rem, and the Dragonkin truly understood the complexity of what had occurred.
“He used his left hand to analyze the structure of the spell.”
The blade was in his right. Jaxon had used his left to perceive the mechanics of the ward. Then he struck, perfectly adjusting his timing.
It seemed simple on the surface, but the outcome was devastating. At least from the victim’s perspective.
Without even a hint of exhaustion, Jaxon stood relaxed next to Enkrid. The blood of the fallen mage stained the ground a vibrant crimson.
Shortly after, a second sorcerer approached. He moved forward as if sliding upon a black platform, hovering about two hand-spans above the earth.
He was directly ahead, in Enkrid’s path. To the right, another sorcerer made an appearance.
This one was a female. She wore a wide-brimmed hat, and slender serpents were coiled around her arms.
Then, from the left, a third sorcerer emerged. He was quite diminutive, not even reaching half of Enkrid’s height, encased from head to toe in shimmering silver plate armor.
All three were familiar faces to Esther.
“It seems every man I ever rejected has decided to visit,” Esther quipped.
She made the joke intentionally so that Enkrid would overhear.
“There’s a woman there as well,” Enkrid noted, playing along.
“It feels as though everyone I ever turned away is gathered here. The Enchanting Witch—that would be me.”
“…Is that Rem speaking, or Shinar, or did I misunderstand the situation?” Enkrid asked.
It was none of them.
“Why do you keep dragging me into this? Are you looking for a fight? Is that it?”
Rem let his weapon hang loose as he spoke. For Esther, the comment was a blend of apology and appreciation.
She might be known as the cold-hearted witch, but she is still human. Anyone can fumble their words.
The second the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back.
From Enkrid’s perspective, Esther had no reason to feel regretful. Based on her descriptions, the members of Astrail were all individuals who deserved nothing but death.
The star-seekers.
Some of the sorcerers who had caused the catastrophe that summoned a demon in the Tower of Wisdom were part of this organization.
These were people who would sacrifice an entire continent for their research. People who would ignite wars to achieve their goals.
Enkrid spoke up, putting his sincerity into a lighthearted jab.
“You just wanted to emphasize how many suitors were chasing you, didn’t you? If you were jealous of that ‘enchantment’ title, I should tell you it’s not exactly a name to be proud of.”
A bit of color rose in the face of the witch who usually relied on icy calm.
“The Enchanting Witch—that’s me,” Rem mocked, repeating her line.
“Enchanting Witch, eh? Maybe I should have the information brokers start some rumors?” Jaxon suggested helpfully.
“The witch is currently experiencing deep embarrassment,” the Dragonkin observed, reading Esther’s internal state.
These lunatics only seem to harmonize this well when it’s time to tease someone.
One who rambles, one who mocks, one who pretends to offer a favor while poking fun, and one who bluntly points out her shame as if it were a clinical observation.
With her cheeks slightly flushed, Esther faced the three approaching sorcerers and declared:
“I am right here.”
Meaning the witch they were hunting was present. She tried to ignore the ribbing, but were these men simply born this way?
“The Enchanting Witch—that’s that woman over there.”
“I’m right here.”
“It’s not a title I particularly like, but if you insist, I suppose it’s only fair for me to call you that as well.”
“Shame. Intense shame. It seems that is the mantra she is repeating to herself.”
Rem, Jaxon, Enkrid, the Dragonkin—in that exact sequence.
*Honestly, should I just wipe them all out?*
Esther briefly considered whether she should include her allies in the radius of her next spell. She felt no sense of impending doom. If one were to ask why—
“If any of you three happen to be occupied with the task of saving lives, feel free to speak up.”
It was because of this man.
As Enkrid spoke, he locked eyes with each of the three sorcerers in turn.
There is a truth that only Esther fully appreciates: Enkrid is a killer of magic. Standard spells have almost no effect on him.
Jaxon retreated several more paces.
From the spot where he had just stood, the earth erupted, and four thin, snake-like threads reared their heads.
“You actually avoided that?”
The witch on the right smiled thinly as she spoke. she was a master of serpent manipulation and had constructed her magical domain around them.
Furthermore, she had infused her own body with the blood of a Medusa from the Demon Realm. A touch of insanity flickered in her expression.
“If you value these people, I will let them live. Just come with us.”
The sorcerer on the floating disc spoke up. His expertise was in black aggregates. He manipulated dark iron filings and fused them with enchantments.
He was not a simple foe.
Finally, the skills of the small mage born with a physical curse were also formidable.
Enkrid charged. Esther signaled to the right, and Rem shifted his stance.
Every action happened at the same time.
How can a sorcerer track the movements of a knight with their natural sight?
They cannot—which is why they had prepared for every eventuality. However, their preparations were slightly lacking. To be more accurate, they had drastically underestimated the intensity of the Border Guard knights.
A wall of black iron rose in front of Enkrid, attempting to seal him inside.
“Rot in the black sarcophagus!” the mage bellowed.
An elite sorcerer had committed to a full incantation—that was how much Enkrid’s speed had rattled him.
Even though this was exactly the situation he had planned for.
Seeing the wall closing in, Enkrid accelerated yet again. The spell was physically unable to track his position. Curiosity piqued in the Dragonkin’s gaze.
“So this is a tactic he has never displayed before.”
A move that hadn’t appeared in any of their previous duels was revealed. It wasn’t the move itself that was fascinating, but the sheer intent of a human whose Will burned so brightly. The Dragonkin, nearly finished watching, slammed his foot down.
*Thoom.*
With that single strike, the serpents tunneling toward his feet were crushed within the earth. It was a method of focusing Will and projecting it outward. It had been more than two weeks since his revival.
The Dragonkin was currently in the process of reclaiming the skills and knowledge he had partially lost.
With a burst of double acceleration, Enkrid bypassed the spell’s reach, and Dawn Tempering cleaved through the magic.
The prepared enchantments—those masses of black metal hurtling toward him—were sliced apart like tangled hair. Spells that were designed to explode and fill the air with toxic shards failed to even activate.
He executes magic. It was a sight that perfectly embodied that description.