Chapter 854

Chapter 854

Pure exhilaration radiated from the intensity of the sprint. It felt as though his mind was surging with electricity. For a fleeting interval, he abandoned all other thoughts and surrendered to the sensation.
“Enjoyable.”
Having hewn through the lead opponent and surged past, Odd-Eye performed a turn so complex no standard rider would even contemplate it—executing the feat with effortless grace.
He caught the gale with his left wing, leveraging that momentum to tilt his frame and pivot sharply to the right. Simultaneously, he drove his left rear hoof into the dirt.
Each movement possessed the surgical precision of Rem hurling a hatchet.
Enkrid adjusted his weight perfectly to synchronize with Odd-Eye’s agility. Their limbs seemed to lock into a single, cohesive unit. Is a steed not truly realized only when the rider provides the final piece of the puzzle?
Together, the pair operated with a singular consciousness as they veered. If the opening strike was a blade that trimmed the outskirts, this follow-up was a spearhead shattering the heart of the foe.
Dawn occupied his right hand, Penna his left. A significant amount of time had passed since he had last wielded dual swords.
The swarm of creatures bared their fangs. Were they screaming in defiance?
He remained deaf to it. Enkrid accelerated. The fibers of his forearms rippled and tightened. Odd-Eye moved at a velocity that surpassed even the standards of a knight. A single moment of laxity would cause his arms to snap like brittle twigs.
“That challenge is exactly what makes it thrilling.”
With his perception expanded by high-speed cognition, he gathered every detail of his surroundings. He dove headlong into the monstrous ranks. The twin blades chopped, rent, and shattered every obstacle that crossed their path.

—

Fweeeet.
Rem let out a sharp whistle. Engagements of that caliber were rare, even as a mere observer.
“Did he sprout wings?”
Rophod shouted, his eyes fixed on Odd-Eye. The others shared his astonishment, though the shock was fleeting.
What followed was the spectacle of Enkrid operating in total harmony with his beast.
Ragna cracked his heavy eyelids. Audin maintained his characteristic thin smile while invoking the Almighty.
“Blessings upon him, and blessings again.”
Teresa spoke with a melodic tone. Her mind drifted to the accounts of the holy knight from the ancient wars.
When the demonic legions blocked the path, there was a champion who sat upon a horse granted by God and charged without fear.
Bang! Boom!
With every thunderous impact, dark ichor and fragments of centaurs were propelled into the sky.
Wherever Enkrid advanced—rather, wherever Odd-Eye carved his path—the atmosphere fractured and circular ripples of force erupted.
Even from their distant vantage point, the rhythmic tearing of the air reached their ears like a series of heavy thuds.
“He’s in a state of bliss,” Temares remarked.
The gap was too wide to actually read his mind, but at this skill level, the truth was written in his movements.
“It looks dizzying to me,” Pell whispered. He tried to imagine himself in Enkrid’s position. Could anyone maintain composure at such a velocity? To lunge, strike, and penetrate with that kind of force—what was the prerequisite?
“One’s immediate reflexes must be instantaneous.”
And the physical vessel must be exceptionally resilient.
Furthermore, one would need to engage all five senses to absorb and process environmental data in real time.
“High-speed cognition.”
Pell possessed that gift as well. He was a knight, after all. However, if he were tasked with emulating Enkrid—
“…The only path is tireless practice,” Pell muttered. Unconsciously, his innermost thoughts escaped. Rophod found the display equally compelling, though his perspective differed from Pell’s. He didn’t imagine himself in the saddle; instead, he analyzed the battlefield as if observing a map from above.
“If there is no need to target a specific vulnerability, you simply cleave through the central mass.”
If the kinetic energy is sufficient, it works. From a tactical view, it made sense.
“No, even without such brute force, one can still navigate to the critical point.”
Enkrid pierced through the very core of the centaur group and reached the massive leader at the vanguard. The creature fought back, drawing a long implement and swinging.
The distance obscured the details, but the consequence was clear. Enkrid flashed past—and another monster disintegrated.
“If he weren’t using an engraved weapon, that blade would have shattered,” Rophod concluded.
The kickback from such a strike would be immense. It was a physical law when swinging a sword while galloping at those speeds. Even during a standard lance charge, if the point of impact shifted, it was common for the rider’s arm to snap or ribs to fracture. Naturally, for a knight who had surpassed human limitations, the rules were different.
“It is because he has never neglected his physical conditioning,” Audin remarked softly.
Could Audin miss what Rophod had noticed? He felt a sense of fulfillment, knowing he had passed his knowledge to Enkrid.
“From the time of Heart of Beast until now—it has been a long road.”
Rem crossed his arms and chimed in. He felt a sense of pride similar to that of the bear beastmen, while simultaneously believing that he, more than anyone, had been the primary architect of the Captain’s prowess.
“If he lost his concentration for even a second, he would have been thrown,” Ragna added. He fiddled with the hilt of his own sword as he spoke.
Their gazes didn’t meet, but the aura surrounding the three shifted. Their competitive spirits clashed in the air.
“All three are convinced of their own importance. Each is waiting for a chance to strike the others if they get arrogant. The three are perfectly aligned in their stubbornness,” the Dragonkin observed.
Those words only served to make the atmosphere between the three more volatile.
“Aligned? In what way?”
“To compare me to these two is a lapse in judgment. You should study etiquette, Dragonkin.”
“Lizard-brother, the Creator wishes to speak with you.”
The Dragonkin simply nodded. He said, “I see.” He felt no hostility or envy. His people were not prone to emotional displays.
He merely accepted the murderous intent directed at him by the three as a simple matter of fact.
Lua Gharne, who had been keeping him in check, said nothing. She only shifted her eyes back and forth. Regardless of their bickering, her focus was entirely on Enkrid’s display. For her, nothing else held weight.
“Remarkable,” Shinar whispered quietly. Without Enkrid around, she seldom joked. She naturally had no interest in the friction between the men or the Dragonkin’s remarks. Was this not a time for observation? Thus, the Frokk and the fairy remained as silent witnesses.
Dunbakel was the most stunned by the appearance of the wings. She had been exiled from her village, but her youth was spent in the lands of the beastmen.
“When the blood of a monster is integrated, a beastman is born.”
And when touched by the divine, it becomes a holy beast.
“Offspring of Creamhalt.”
Creamhalt was the deity of the beastmen, a symbol of combat and fertility who aided in the renewal of all things.
While some human or foreign academics might label Creamhalt a god of the spring, to the beastmen, he was the singular deity, rendering such titles irrelevant.
He oversaw the cycle of the seasons; the firmament, the soil, the dawn, and the nocturnal moon were all merely different aspects of Creamhalt.
A holy beast was a creature that inherited the divine essence Creamhalt had distributed. This was fundamental beastman lore. Since a holy beast was the stuff of myth, this was her first time encountering one.
“A steed that navigates the heavens—you possess the lineage of Pegasus,” the Dragonkin said, looking at the three who had ultimately decided not to draw their steel. Having existed apart from the modern era, he felt as though he had stepped directly out of the past.
A creature that only existed in continental fables was not alien to the Dragonkin.
He had even associated with one in the distant past.
Of course, witnessing wings manifest so abruptly was a first even for him. A typical Pegasus would have been born with them.
With a series of explosive sounds, the centaur troop was completely decimated and scattered, bringing the skirmish to a swift conclusion.
During the chaos, one creature broke away to escape, but Odd-Eye leaped mid-stride—effectively taking flight.
Catching the currents with his wings, he performed a graceful glide. He soared upward before plunging down toward the earth.
From his aerial position, Enkrid struck downward, severing the head of the final centaur on a sharp angle.
Left to their own devices, these creatures would have plagued the region like a spreading infection.
While they weren’t exactly natural predators, they would have been a nuisance for the group to handle—yet a single horse and rider had wiped them out.
Odd-Eye retracted his wings and, with Enkrid still mounted, trotted back. A pale pink mist rose from the horse’s coat upon his return. From the sheer heat radiating from his frame, sweat and gore were turning to vapor. Enkrid was in a similar state, steam rising from his own body as he spoke.
“Too fast.”
He then added, “That’s what made it so fun.”
It was a level of speed impossible to experience in an ordinary human form. In truth, even a capable knight’s body would struggle under that pressure.
He had somehow managed to execute his swordplay.
Enkrid reflected internally.
“How did I manage that?”
Enraptured by the moment, he had simply acted. He knew, however, that it was the years of discipline and combat that had made it possible.
Prrrrk.
Odd-Eye gave a sharp shake. It was a signal to dismount. Enkrid patted the horse’s head with his left hand, braced himself against the back, and rolled off to the side.
His leg muscles spasmed. He had gripped the horse’s flanks with immense force to stay seated. Only his rigorous training had kept him from falling.
“I would have been unseated long ago otherwise.”
Frrrruff.
Odd-Eye’s pulse had not yet slowed. He had endured the discomfort of the growth on his back for a long time. Now, as a wild horse who had conquered his monstrous lineage, he felt liberated.
The entire world seemed to belong to him, and he felt capable of any feat. A blocked path had been cleared; a tangled knot had been untied.
“Do you wish to run more?”
Enkrid perceived the horse’s desire before the Dragonkin could even comment. Their connection had been strong before, but now it felt as though their spirits were truly intertwined.
Odd-Eye looked at Enkrid, their mismatched eyes—one crimson, one azure—meeting.
“Go ahead. I won’t restrain you.”
Enkrid did not view Odd-Eye as a mere animal. This horse was a comrade and a member of their group. Odd-Eye struck the earth in a show of joy.
With a series of cracks, he bolted away. As he gathered momentum, he blurred into a single streak toward the horizon. Carried by the velocity of a winged steed beneath the bright sky, he took to the air.
The sound of beating wings seemed to reach them, though he had already traveled beyond the range of hearing.
Odd-Eye ascended into the blue. Enkrid, having briefly experienced that hovering sensation earlier, watched with wonder. Odd-Eye soon dwindled to a speck and disappeared.
“Amusing,” Rem said, summarizing the event.
Temares and Dunbakel began pestering Enkrid with talk of him being a child of Creamhalt, how he was favored, and how the horse was a Pegasus. Enkrid gave a simple reply.
“Odd-Eye is just Odd-Eye.”
The Dragonkin found the man’s perspective increasingly fascinating.
“Are you comfortable letting him just vanish like that?”
“I expect he will return, but if this is what he desires, then so be it.”
He wouldn’t interfere. This philosophy applied to everyone. It was a characteristically blunt answer.
A typical human would lack that level of earnestness. The Dragonkin recognized this.
“So you’re saying if I decided to wander off to the West, you wouldn’t bother looking for me,” Ragna remarked.
“And you—why don’t you head back to Zaun, bury your head in your mother’s lap, and have a good cry,” Rem fired back, refusing to yield.
“Perhaps you should return to the Red Cloak Order? We are traveling South regardless.”
He must have been observing the bickering of the others.
Pell initiated a verbal jab at Rophod. Rophod merely stroked his horse’s mane and replied,
“The words of a peasant who tends sheep in the wilderness—I can scarcely hear them.”
“…Peasant? Me?”
Pell had once gotten the better of Rophod in an argument, but now Rophod held the advantage. Dynamics were always shifting.
The tension among them began to simmer. The reason was simple.
“That was a fine show, Enki,” Lua Gharne whispered. The combat Enkrid displayed had stirred their fighting blood. Only the Dragonkin, the fairy, and the Frokk remained composed.
The group resumed their journey. Despite the harsh insults, no blades were drawn.
“Let us move.”
The brief diversion was over. Encounters with monsters were a common occurrence when traveling through these lands.
It was only in this specific region that such sightings seemed rare, thanks to the security provided by the Border Guard’s Safe Road.
A day went by, and heavy clouds began to congregate in the sky. Odd-Eye had not come back, and whether due to Enkrid’s performance or their own restless natures, the party’s adrenaline remained high.
As if giving voice to that lingering tension, Dunbakel said,
“I wish a swarm of monsters would appear from somewhere.”
Compared to the Eastern regions, the continent was relatively calm. The Border Guard had significantly thinned the ranks of both beasts and outlaws.
It seemed a deity might have heard her plea.
“In the West, they say that words have a way of taking root,” Rem noted. He had been arguing with Ragna since daybreak and felt bored.
“Why would words take root?” Dunbakel asked.
“It’s a figure of speech, you dense beastman,” Rem replied, drawing his axe. Up ahead, a pack of creatures was charging toward them. What was leading them?
Hounds with human-like faces. Among them was a group of wolf beastmen—no, these were not typical.
“They are massive,” Ragna said as he dismounted. He briefly considered charging in like Odd-Eye had, but he knew it would be fatal for his horse. He abstained.
“They aren’t beastmen, they are monsters. Dire wolves,” Lua Gharne identified. She had extensive experience fighting both. The Dragonkin didn’t join the fray, choosing to remain an observer. For some reason, Enkrid pulled up beside him.
“Fiancé. You seem lost in thought.”
Because of Odd-Eye’s departure, he and Shinar were sharing a horse, with Shinar positioned in front.
Sitting before him, Shinar could feel Enkrid’s mental wheels turning. As a fairy, she was likely the most perceptive of her kind.
“That blade.”
The approaching monsters were a non-factor to her, so she gave them no attention.
The others, whose blood was up, would naturally rush out to meet the threat.
Enkrid, looking toward Shinar’s right hip, asked,
“How long have you carried it?”
Shinar ran a hand over her sheath. To her, the sword was a steadfast companion. It had never failed her.
“More than four hundred years.”
Recalling the day she first obtained the weapon, Shinar realized she had made a slip.
“Not four hundred—forty years.”
Claiming it had been over forty years wasn’t a falsehood. She had said “over forty.”
Whether it was four hundred forty or four hundred fifty, saying it was over forty remained technically true.
Enkrid chose not to acknowledge the discrepancy.
“Communion.”
He focused on a single concept. His synchronization with Odd-Eye had presented him with a mental puzzle. Enkrid placed his hand on the hilt of Dawn.
A magical, engraved weapon is an extension of a knight. Thus, despite being inanimate metal, a connection exists.
“It has been more than forty years, Fiancé. I am correcting my statement. Please disregard what I said earlier,” Shinar insisted once more.