Chapter 858

Chapter 858

## Chapter Paraphrase

“Sister, it would be wise for us to retreat for a moment.”
Audin spoke these words while scanning the area. There were numerous spots nearby that reeked of decay. The task of greeting the monarch and dealing with those in command—that was a burden for their captain to shoulder as he saw fit. Audin had identified a more pressing concern. As a cleric, he was not one to neglect his calling.
‘Never turn your back on those who are infirm or in pain.’
He lived by the mandates of his Master and Father.
“I agree.”
Teresa gave a small nod. She, too, lived according to the dictates of the Scripture. While many viewed the Apostles of War as nothing more than bloodthirsty zealots, their foundation was built upon faith in God and adherence to His commandments.
“Brother, a word if you please.”
Audin beckoned to Enkrid. Ingis watched as the man, who possessed the stature of a bear, turned his attention toward the cleric.
Enkrid gave a nod of assent. He also perceived that the atmosphere permeating this place was far from ordinary. The tension he had sensed during their journey seemed to have funneled and collected here. Though the rainwater flowed away through the channels, the dark premonition carried by the storm pooled in the hollows, forming a metaphorical lake.
A reservoir of ill omens, restlessness, and leaden gray.
“Follow your instincts.”
Enkrid recognized the divine essence the two of them carried. He could scent the air himself.
Dunbakel had been holding her nose shut for quite some time.
“At thith rate, my thmell will go numb.”
Because her fingers were pinching her nostrils, her words were slightly muffled.
“She meant to say, ‘My sense of smell is going to fail me if this continues.’”
The Dragonkin provided the translation.
“We were capable of figuring that much out on our own,” Lua Gharne remarked.
“Understood,” the Dragonkin replied. He then inquired if this service counted toward his friendship dues, to which Lua Gharne informed him it did not.
Ingis stole a glance behind him, working to steady his faltering resolve once more.
‘If the core of the body is unstable, how can the limb hope to strike true?’
That was the fundamental rule of the blade. It was the lesson he had mastered. If the spirit is straight, the path of the sword is straight. If one remains unshaken, the strike remains precise. The mind that had been momentarily distracted by trivial talk settled back into its proper, disciplined state. Ingis began to study the Mad Order of Knights.
‘They are distinct.’
It almost seemed as though the oppressive air refused to touch the space they occupied.
To put it more plainly:
‘The vibration they give off is unique.’
It was light. Even if a person were ignorant of recent events, a knight should be able to gauge the severity of a situation simply by the feeling in the air.
Yet Enkrid remained unperturbed. And he wasn’t alone—the entire group shared that same indifference.
“Why are you so oblivious to your own stench?”
Enkrid teased the beastwoman. He spoke without any real malice.
“Creatures of the wild never notice their own scent. That’s exactly why we use animal musk to mask ourselves when we’re out tracking,” Rem explained, drawing from his history as a veteran hunter.
“Are you suggesting you’re going to cover me in my own waste?”
Dunbakel let go of her nose to speak. She was a knight in her own right and knew how to dampen her heightened senses; it simply took time because her beastwoman biology was so sensitive.
“No, I’m suggesting I’ll crack your head open and paint you with your own blood,” Rem retorted sharply to her nonsense.
“Oh, honestly. You have to turn everything into a threat. Every single time,” Dunbakel fired back.
“Quiet down. You’re all too loud,” Ragna intervened.
“Fine then, let’s just all drop dead,” Rem replied with a twisted smirk, and the conversation descended into its usual chaotic mess.
“We’re tied on the ghoul tally, aren’t we? Let’s finish the count here. The one who loses has to stay behind with the Red Cloak Order.”
Standing nearby, Pell began to wag his tongue.
“Being part of this order is a high honor, you backwater peasant,” Rophod countered.
“In that case, you stay. You moron.”
“Excellent. Let’s just arrange it so only one of you makes it out of here alive today.”
Ingis’s eyes flickered with a slight tremor once more.
‘Is being stationed with the Red Cloak Order considered a sentence?’
A profanity he had used only a handful of times in his life nearly escaped his lips.
What he failed to realize was that, to Enkrid, this situation didn’t even register as a true emergency. And a knightly fellowship shaped by such a leader would not flinch in the slightest.
The things that truly troubled Enkrid did not look like this.
Unsettling atmosphere? A military camp drowning in ash-gray?
It was grim, certainly. It felt claustrophobic and dreary, like engaging in a conflict where the conclusion was already written. It felt as though a massive pair of jaws was poised to crush his skull at any moment.
Nevertheless, they held weapons in their grip, and they possessed the power to fight back.
Was he meant to stand idle and watch a youth perish because he lacked the power to intervene?
Hardly.
Was he supposed to remain motionless while his comrades fell because he was too weak to strike down a single beast?
Not that either.
Years of failing to save those he cared for had culminated in this present moment.
Even if his connection to it was thin, the engraved blade known as Dawn Tempering hung at his hip, and his band of lunatics stood by his side.
If there was an action to be taken and the strength to execute it—
If there was still a path forward that didn’t involve surrendering—
Then a situation like this would not break his spirit.
“You cannot engage in combat here,” Ingis commanded, attempting to halt the order.
‘Cheng.’
The sharp, vibrating ring of unsheathed steel cut through the air. Regardless of whether the rain chilled the world around them, the Mad Order of Knights always burned with an internal heat.
No one paid Ingis any mind.
A disturbance rippled through the Southern ranks. Because the vice-commander had mentioned pooling their power to execute them all, several nearby infantrymen mistook them for victims of a malevolent spirit, and the confusion intensified.
When possessed by a dark entity, people often babbled nonsense.
For instance, a soldier might suddenly proclaim himself the savior of the realm, order everyone to follow his lead, and then immediately draw his blade to take his own life.
On rare occasions, such possessed individuals did surface.
“Still as boisterous as ever, I see.”
The tent wasn’t the largest in the camp, but it was certainly the most well-kept. Standing before the entrance, which was propped up at an angle to deflect the downpour, a blond man looked at Enkrid and spoke.
A long wooden post supported the flap of the tent, and the rain cascading off the canvas dripped steadily onto the earth below.
“Would it not be odd if things were silent?”
Enkrid replied, only half-heartedly attempting to restrain his knights.
Crang chuckled and remarked,
“It’s good to see you, Enki.”

—

Audin gazed at the scales perched atop a wooden staff—the emblem of the goddess who maintains the equilibrium.
“Is there no member of the clergy assigned to this outpost?”
Audin questioned a passing combatant. The man was a soldier carrying a battered helmet tucked under his arm.
The soldier turned with a hostile expression, but his demeanor quickly softened at the sight of Audin’s massive frame and heavy fists. Unless one was possessed by a demon, there was no other way to react.
“Who are you people?”
The soldier was simply performing his duty. They were inside the camp, so they were presumably friends—but these were faces he didn’t recognize.
Audin didn’t use the rank insignia on his mantle to identify himself. Even if he mentioned the Mad Order of Knights, this man wouldn’t know what that meant.
“A servant of the God of War.”
“Ah, a warrior-priest.”
His physical size made that obvious to anyone. The same could be said for Teresa, who stood behind him.
The soldier assumed the pair were reinforcements dispatched by the capital. However, that thought brought a question to mind. At this stage, was a combat-oriented priest really what they required? Wouldn’t a cleric capable of channeling holy sanctity be more useful?
With that thought, the soldier replied.
“If you’re searching for priests who can work with sanctity, they’re all confined to their beds, incapacitated by illness.”
Audin and the soldier continued their conversation in front of the Holy Relic mounted on the pole.
“And furthermore.”
The soldier clicked his tongue, hesitating as he searched for the right words. Audin waited patiently for him to continue.
It brought back memories of hearing confessions. He thought of those who had truly committed crimes; those who only believed they had; those whose spirits were heavy; those who felt a literal weight on their chests; and those whose hands shook after they had cast the first stone.
He had encountered so many different souls. One specific memory of a man he had met back then surfaced. Specifically, a servant of the Divine who was masking his true sincerity.
“They have a month to live, at the very most.”
The soldier’s words were blunt, but his features were contorted with grief.
“Is there something more you want to say?”
“No. Not really, but…”
Teresa watched Audin’s reactions in silence.
“Tell them to leave. They aren’t the kind of people who deserve to perish in a place like this.”
The soldier turned his back. Holding his dented helmet, the man named Lapild trudged away.
As he walked, Lapild’s thoughts turned to the bedridden priests.
“If our assistance is required here, then here is where we shall remain.”
It was an anonymous group of clerics. Only five of them possessed the ability to channel sanctity; the other five were merely ordinary men.
They had been the ones dedicated to nursing the wounded and the ailing.
“Is your sibling unwell? It’s your lucky day; I happen to know a merchant of herbs nearby. Use my name, and you’ll get the medicine you need.”
Lapild had left a sick younger sibling back in his home village. Everyone else he called kin had passed away long ago; that sibling was his only remaining family. He had signed up for the Southern Front specifically to send half his wages home.
His only desire was for his sibling to survive.
Even if the body never fully mended, even if the sounds of suffering persisted, he just wanted them to keep breathing.
“Is there nothing for us to eat?”
His sibling had frequently asked that question.
The place Lapild called home was a destitute city. The slums were sprawling, and the local ruler was far from a benevolent man.
It was a small settlement situated right on the edge of the southern woods of the Jaltenbuck Domain—a forest where monsters emerged constantly.
A slain beast provided valuable resources. Most of the people living in that city were trackers. To be precise, they were known as monster hunters.
That was Lapild’s world. He had looked after his sibling there. It was a place where expecting a helping hand from others was a foolish hope.
Because of that, he had become hardened; deep lines were etched into his forehead; he found it difficult to trust; and he was unskilled at offering prayers for the benefit of others.
‘Lord.’
He lifted the hand holding his helmet and pressed it against his chest. Standing in the shadows next to a tent, Lapild began to pray.
‘Take my life instead.’
O goddess of the balance. I beg you, place my existence on the other side of the scale.
In place of the priest who rescued my sibling—please, take me.
He was one of the men who had arrived with the priest-band despite having no divine power. He had personally settled the debt for his sibling’s medicine. Was that priest a man of wealth? His tattered robe and worn-out boots suggested otherwise.
Lapild recognized a scent similar to his own upbringing. The smell of destitution.
He recalled a specific day when the priest had stepped on a jagged stone and torn a hole in his foot because his boots were so thin. Even then, the priest had simply smiled.
He didn’t actually know an herbalist. He had simply used everything he had earned from traveling through war zones and serving others to pay the cost.
“Why would you do that?”
Lapild had asked. The priest’s only response was a smile.
“It is the will of the Divine. The care of the Lord. It is the result of the grace the goddess of the balance placed on the opposing side of the scale.”
It was all a series of accidents. That the priest crossed paths with Lapild; that Lapild happened to mention his sibling.
It was also by chance that the priest was familiar with the specific herbs needed for the cure and happened to have the means to provide them.
So he helped. It was as simple as that.
“Does a human being truly need a justification to help another?”
Lapild felt a surge of warmth in his chest. He dropped to his knees and began to cry. He sobbed, his face wet with hot tears.
“The Lord shall keep watch over you.”
His sibling had survived. The sickness had faded. As time went on, from the moment the priest fell ill until now, Lapild had consistently volunteered for scouting missions, searching every corner of the land for medicinal plants.
“You’re out of your mind, stop this. There are more beasts out there now. If you wander too far, you’ll be caught. Going out there alone is suicide.”
Those were the words of a fellow soldier. But he couldn’t simply wait around. Just a moment ago, he had been searching through the foliage near the Demon Realm.
The aid coming from the capital wasn’t sufficient. In reality, even if he managed to find the right plants, they might not even work. This was a desperate struggle. He only did it because he couldn’t bear to stand by with idle hands.
‘When I wake…’
I will head back out.
He refused to let his savior die. If the situation demanded it, he would trade his own life for the priest’s.
The rainfall from the Demon Realm drew out the darkness in people’s hearts. Everyone became quick to anger, and the entire world seemed to fade into a miserable, ash-gray hue.
The rain of the Demon Realm hammered down, and the drowned began to manifest within the military lines. It was the corrupting power of the gray.
Yet even in these dark hours, not every spark of human spirit was extinguished. The light that the anonymous band of priests had sparked was still burning.

—

‘How many days has this been going on?’
The rain showed no signs of stopping.
‘Try to count the days.’
The soldier, suffering from a headache that felt like his head was being split open, did the math. A week. It had been only seven days of relentless, pouring rain.
‘It feels as though we’ve been enduring this for decades.’
It felt like someone had placed a blade against his skull and was striking it with a mallet. If he were able, he would have sliced open his head just to remove the source of the pain.
Many others were complaining of similar headaches. Another soldier was being tormented by nightly terrors. It wasn’t the work of a succubus; if it were, the knights would have detected the magic.
Between the pain and the nightmares, many began to feel that their efforts were pointless.
They had sunk into a state of deep apathy, drifting off while on watch or staring blankly into the distance. Despite this, the unit remained standing.
“Sir Cypress.”
A few of the men whispered the name of the man who commanded this post.
He was a barrier and a shield that, although aged and scarred, refused to break.
“Ensure the safety of the priests.”
Another soldier thought back to the kindness he had been shown. Because those who had been shown mercy did not forget, they continued to hold the line—at least for now.

—

If a person craves combat, they should seek it out. If you are a man of arms and a warrior, that is your nature.
But before that—what about the common people who inhabit this land?
Enkrid had never actually met the monarch of Rihinstetten. Even so, if he were to meet him now, he felt a genuine urge to land a punch right in that man’s face. He truly meant it.
In the distant future, once time had passed and the scars of this conflict had begun to fade, when they looked back on this day, they wouldn’t want to live with the regret of the choices they made now.
Enkrid focused on Crang’s address.
What a remarkable individual.
His spirit was so vast that it had practically burst its seams to grow even larger. Trying to gauge its depth was a waste of time. That was the reason he chose to serve this man as both a loyal companion and a king.
Those who walked onto the field of battle did so at the risk of their lives. They took lives and they lost their own. That was the natural order. Crang, however, did not view that cycle as something to be accepted. He wasn’t just dreaming of a post-war era.
He explained the necessity of concluding this conflict as swiftly as possible, with the absolute minimum amount of bloodshed.
“Very well. Let’s proceed with that.”
Enkrid was a knight, the weapon of the king.
He was more than willing to serve as Crang’s blade.
“That is all I have to say.”
Crang was well aware that he wasn’t a master tactician. His role was to provide a path and a purpose. And that is exactly what the king did.
Outside, as the drowned continued to appear one by one, the Royal Guard that Crang had brought with him moved into action. They leveled their spears, brandished their swords, and hoisted their shields.
Had Sir Cypress mentioned that he would rather be out there slaying even a single extra drowned than sitting around?
Some of the knights argued that rest was the most critical priority, so they were taking time to recover. Thanks to the constant threat of the Gryphon Riders, they hadn’t slept for an entire week.
“Rem.”
“I’m listening.”
“Take Dunbakel with you. Clear the perimeter of the camp.”
They had encountered plenty of beasts on their way here. Now that they had reached the front lines, they understood why.
The concentration of monsters was even higher here. It was a task suited for Dunbakel’s nose and Rem’s professional hunting skills.
“On it.”
Rem stood up with a fluid motion.
If Sir Cypress and the rest of the order required rest, then they had to address the immediate obstacles first. Currently, sleep was impossible because of the lingering monster threat nearby.
Then, as Enkrid sent Rem off and began to survey the camp, he bumped into someone he had never anticipated seeing.
“Enkrid?”
The person spoke his name first. A face like Enkrid’s was difficult to erase from memory once seen. It stood to reason; a man as striking as him, with dark hair and blue eyes, was a rarity.
The man who had spoken furrowed his brow and continued.
“I convinced myself it couldn’t be you.”
A ghost from his past had appeared.