Chapter 848

Chapter 848

Extinguishing the coals is merely a development of Wavebreaker. Its core lies in severing the current. Enkrid spent every waking moment of his travels reflecting on the art of the blade. This mental exercise was fruitful—comprehending the theory with the mind before engaging the flesh. Because he understood this logic, Enkrid applied a similar philosophy when instructing others in the way of the sword.

“Logic first.”

For those who had attained a certain mastery, this method was effective. For those still beneath that threshold?

“Run first.”

Physical endurance is the bedrock of all capability. In the context of raising a fortress, it is akin to leveling the earth before a single stone is placed. Therefore, honing one’s stamina is a form of self-cultivation, a discipline that yields benefits regardless of one’s path. Enkrid held to these principles as firmly as he held to his own personal code. In his estimation, anyone steeling themselves for a challenge should already be in motion.

When he entered Cross Guard, Enkrid encountered a man ahead of him sprinting with intensity, his body slick with perspiration. The sight caused him to speak instinctively.

“So, you’ve been staying here?”

There are individuals who simply cannot be erased from memory. Reflecting on it, the impact this man had made might not have been overwhelming, yet the recollection remained sharp.

“The first time our paths crossed, he charged at me like a defenseless child clinging to his father.”

In the dialect of the West, he would be called a “pup.” The term refers to a newborn, a hound less than a year old. In a more nuanced sense, they used the same word for someone who had only just started to live with purpose.

“It carries a double meaning—that a person starting a proper life is effectively reborn.”

That was how Rem had explained it. Western terminology frequently held dualities. The phrase “dark-dawn” could signify the shadow obscuring the sun, while simultaneously referring to the dawn, that deepest gloom preceding the break of day. Others referred to it as “dark-sky.” If one said “dark-dawn,” the focus was on the coming morning; if it became “dark-sky,” the emphasis shifted toward the shadow. Regardless of the term, if the speaker intended it positively, even the “dark-sky” represented the moment before sunrise.

He wasn’t sure why that intricate Western idiom surfaced now. It had emerged uninvited while he was contemplating swordsmanship.

The runner came to a halt. At the sound of Enkrid’s voice, he shifted his attention. A few bystanders recognized Enkrid’s features. The man who had stopped paid no mind to the growing crowd of onlookers.

“I just ended up here.”

He replied. To Enkrid’s perception—how should he phrase it—the man’s eyes looked truly alive.

The man’s name was Edin Molsen. He was the offspring of Count Molsen, the man who had once harbored a creature of the Demon Realm and orchestrated the civil strife that had earned Enkrid the title of the realm’s protector.

A bead of sweat fell—*splack*—from his damp blond hair. It hit the precisely laid stones and vanished. Visually, his frame was significantly thinner than in the past. Had he abandoned the blade?

It was the perspective of a knight. The man’s physical equilibrium was superior to before, there was no wasted weight, and his posture suggested deep stability, but—

“He did set down the sword.”

Technically, he still held a weapon for the sake of health and protection, but his true dedication to the craft had ceased. He was maintaining it only as a basic necessity. The muscles visible beneath his short sleeves appeared rugged and compact, yet—

“He refined the body, not the art.”

He must have run without fail every single day. Through storms or frost, no matter his location. There was a fresh mark on his face—a scar running from his left cheek down to his jawline.

“Not a sword wound.”

It appeared to be a tear from catching on something sharp. Had he tumbled on a rocky slope? Simply from his physique, his stance, and his gaze, Enkrid saw flashes of Edin’s recent history. He had not lived a life of pampered comfort.

Enkrid thought back to the last time he had seen Edin. He had departed with his younger sister, seeking a life of quietude. Though these observations and reflections seem extensive, they occurred in a heartbeat. The mental processing speed of a knight cannot be compared to that of an ordinary person.

“You look better,” Enkrid remarked.

Edin Molsen studied him for a moment before speaking.

“It is thanks to you, Sir.”

He bowed his head. That movement was the essence of nobility. He was a different man now than he had been under his father’s shadow. That was how it appeared to Enkrid. As for the dragonkin, the Frokk, and the fairy, they displayed interest in their own fashion regardless of whom Enkrid addressed. The fairy remained indifferent because the subject was a man; the dragonkin watched with a detached gaze, whispering, “Startled, but regained composure rapidly”; and the Frokk, lacking idle curiosity, merely echoed the name, “Edin Molsen?”

Lua Gharne delved into her memories. When she had served at the queen’s side, the most persistent nuisance had been Count Molsen. The man standing here was his son. Frokks did not form opinions based on lineage, so she held no specific bias. She simply noted, “Better than I anticipated.”

That was the extent of it. He bore a scar, but he was quite striking. Perhaps because he had stripped away the excess weight and replaced it with lean muscle, his jaw was defined, and his overall appearance was sharper than before. it made his features stand out. Not exactly a delicate youth, but certainly handsome. If Kraiss encountered him, he would at least consider whether to extend an invitation to the salon.

A person’s countenance does not shift easily, yet his spirit had transformed and his presence along with it. The man must have endured various trials to reach this point. Curiosity stirred within her, but not enough to prompt her to speak.

The final member of the group, Odd-Eyes, was simply wandering through the town off to the side. He did not neigh; with his mismatched eyes, he observed the city and its inhabitants, familiarizing himself with the streets. No one realized the depth of it, but Odd-Eyes committed the layout and geography of every place he visited to memory. It was a lingering habit from his time as a wild horse.

Many were taken aback to see this strange assembly. The most shocked of all was the governor of Cross Guard.

“U-uhk, wha—no—why—here—greetings!”

The governor rushed out, failing even to secure his footwear. The four guards trailing him as an escort widened their eyes in disbelief. Why on earth was the leader of the Mad Order of Knights present?

“An inspection,” Enkrid said, shifting his focus from Edin and answering briefly.

“If it were only the two of us, it could have been a romantic outing,” the fairy interjected, never tiring of the joke. At this rate, no matter who they encountered or what was discussed, she would find a way to use that line.

“Shock. Stress. Confidentiality. Confusion,” the dragonkin remarked, observing the governor’s agitation. He monitored the shifts in people as they reacted to Enkrid.

“Why do those who remain at this man’s side undergo change?”

For a dragonkin to pose such a question was an exceptionally rare occurrence. Naturally, no one was privy to a dragonkin’s internal monologues, so no one expressed surprise. In any case, he interpreted the governor’s state of mind and spoke.

“Eh? Wh-what?”

The one with the reptilian eyes had suddenly uttered something bizarre. It was difficult for the governor not to feel unsettled.

“Unease. Pressure,” the dragonkin repeated.

“That is enough,” the Frokk intervened.

The governor of Cross Guard was a decent man, though not one of remarkable talent. He was, rather, a man prone to anxiety. His appointment had been influenced by Abnaier. This governor, as much as he fretted, was also kind-hearted and knew how to value people. In Abnaier’s estimation, he was precisely the type of man Enkrid would appreciate. Even if he didn’t specifically earn the favor of the Mad Order, he wasn’t the type to do anything untoward in Cross Guard. Abnaier had stationed him here with those variables in mind.

“Eh? I—um. What is the purpose of your visit?” the governor asked again.

“A check-up that failed to become a date, mortal,” Shinar replied on his behalf.

In the interval, Edin had slipped away and resumed his run. Enkrid watched the departing Edin. His attire was drenched. It was the sign of a man who ran without pause, and many people in the vicinity recognized him and offered greetings. It was clear he hadn’t just arrived a day or two ago.

“Edin has been residing here?” Enkrid inquired, keeping his eyes on Edin’s retreating form.

The governor’s face turned even paler. He took several sharp breaths before answering.

“I am aware. That he is the son of Count Molsen. I also understand that this could present a complication.”

So why harbor such an individual? People act for specific reasons. Especially a governor—even a virtuous one—understands the nature of politics. And currently, the matter Azpen cares about most is the Border Guard. An entire, functional knightly order was stationed in a city that shared a boundary. If the monarch lost his mind tomorrow or the commander lost his—if either scenario occurred and conflict broke out—Azpen would, at best, be turned into a subordinate territory.

The governor of Cross Guard understood at least that much. If his intellect didn’t function to that level, Abnaier would never have granted him this seat.

“I have been given a great deal of assistance. In exchange, all that man requested was a modest home and a place to reside with his younger sister.”

Did Edin still crave tranquility? Was his only desire to live in a world separate from his father’s treason, free from his father’s legacy?

“I see.”

Enkrid gave a small shrug. The motion indicated: I understand, I will overlook it. The governor possessed at least that much intuition. It meant Enkrid would let it slide for the time being—what the future held, no one could say.

“I shall escort you inside.”

Even in the best of times, Cross Guard was not a prosperous locale. It was more of a garrison town that monitored the Border Guard.

“Regarding that, however—”

It wasn’t on the same scale as the Border Guard, but it was a sturdy, balanced city. It hadn’t been so previously; it was now. Enkrid noted that a Temple of Plenty had been constructed where the slum he had once scouted had formerly stood.

“Not bad.”

If this was the governor’s doing, he had to be quite a capable administrator. Destitution had been the long-standing ailment of Cross Guard. Enkrid wasn’t aware, but several minor criminal organizations had taken root in those slums and become a nuisance.

Why had a Temple of Plenty been erected there? He didn’t have to ponder long.

“The Temple of Plenty needs to atone for their past actions.”

Recently, a new faith—specifically, someone claiming to be the Gray God—had emerged, and a high-ranking member of the Plenty priesthood had been implicated. Following that, in the holy city of Legion, their influence would have been severely curtailed. Simply put, Plenty had lost its standing.

From where does a temple derive its power? Naturally, from its congregants. Their devotion is the temple’s very fountain of strength. The Temple of Plenty held fast to the doctrine that they would lift up those at the bottom and provide for the destitute.

“No—now they were forced to hold fast to it.”

It was exactly that moment. Regardless of their own wealth, they had to endure even if they depleted all the riches they had stored in their vaults.

“Was it Noah’s idea?”

Likely. In any event, these temples gathered and looked after the poorest of the poor—the orphans, the helpless. By doing so, they effectively removed the environment where slums could exist. No matter how severely they had been diminished, they would still possess enough influence and assets to revitalize a single city.

“A few of those Rusted Chain members were a nuisance, but they have been handled as well. We had the Border Guard accept the contract.”

The governor continued to provide details that hadn’t been requested. It meant he had effectively utilized even the mercenary system of the neighboring city, the Border Guard. Kraiss noted Enkrid’s mental agility. Just by hearing the governor’s words, he visualized how the city had been transformed.

“If necessary, utilize strength from any source.”

Utilize Legion’s influence to eradicate the slums and reach out to the Border Guard to cut away the city’s internal rot.

“The influence of the merchant city reached here as well.”

He spotted several of the financial houses and boutiques they were known for. The city streets were neatly surfaced, and a Lockfried trade wagon moved along them at a relaxed pace.

“That thoroughfare was a contribution from the leader of the Lockfried Caravan.”

Leona was a brilliant merchant. She wouldn’t pave roads if it resulted in a loss. What had she sought from this city?

“So you established commerce with Azpen.”

Lockfried’s growth wasn’t merely because it was situated at the crossroads of the Stone Road from the West.

“From the merchant hub outward, they extended their reach everywhere.”

Was commerce with Azpen truly so lucrative?

“She must have been considering what would follow.”

Azpen had connections to the Empire. She intended to forge trade routes in that direction. Leona’s motivations were transparent. However, who had orchestrated all of this so perfectly? Who had made this city so resilient? Was the governor standing before him the architect of this achievement?

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Seated in the reception hall, Enkrid rubbed his chin. The escort had been narrowed down to two—a man with sharp, narrow eyes and another whose right arm was remarkably developed. That physical discrepancy indicated long periods spent wielding a weapon and practicing.

“Both of mercenary background.”

Enkrid had spent a significant amount of time in the world of mercenaries as well. He scanned the two who had come in as the governor’s detail; regardless of their raw talent, they appeared to be men of integrity. To recruit mercenaries of that caliber, one required a discerning eye. That, too, was a form of competence.

The reason the governor was speaking so excessively was that he was aware he had committed a potential offense. He had provided refuge to the son of a man who had incited an uprising in Naurillia. In one light, it was an act for which he could be executed without trial. And just now, the commander of the Mad Order had appeared and crossed paths with him—misfortune of the highest order. That was the root of his anxiety and dread.

“Did you receive aid from Edin?” Enkrid asked.

The governor swallowed hard. From this point forward, a single error in judgment meant a descent into ruin.