Chapter 861

Chapter 861

“Merciful Lord.”
A priest, who had only just regained consciousness after succumbing to the sweeping sickness, began to sob. This miraculous shift occurred at the very moment he believed his life had reached its end.
“Rest now, brother. Cast your worries aside.”
The Apostle of War stood at the center of the transformation.
“Divine Judgment!”
The nearby infantry, moved by his presence and the power of his hymn, had practically converted on the spot. They hoisted a timber pole, elevating a fresh Holy Relic—a fist-shaped icon crafted to honor the God of War.
“A—ah.”
Pure divinity radiated from that object. To a casual observer, the feat seemed to be accomplished with impossible lightness.
“Right here? Without any formal ritual or prolonged liturgy?”
The recovered priest was too stunned to find his voice. Was such a thing even feasible? It was, for it was unfolding before him. His senses were sharp enough to know this was no fever dream.
Was he trapped in a hallucination, listening to the deceitful whispers of a demon?
No. He looked at the woman singing at the base of the relic. She possessed the stature of a titan, but her voice was an undeniable blessing from above. The priest dropped to his knees, weeping once more.
Enkrid moved past the sobbing cleric and walked toward Audin.
“Are you pushing your limits?”
The camp was expansive, a sprawling network of tents and trenches. With the constant flow of personnel, nearly a thousand soldiers were stationed here.
A thousand men living in close quarters is a massive undertaking.
If ten soldiers shared a single tent, that meant a hundred tents for sleeping alone.
Furthermore, living spaces were only part of it; dozens of additional structures were required to house the army’s rations and equipment.
Supply caravans arrived and departed regularly, requiring their own lodgings. Since the Southern Front depended entirely on these lifelines remaining open, the footprint of the encampment was considerable.
Audin and Teresa together had established the new relic, draping the entire site in their personal sanctity. They had purged the corruption staining the rain of the Demon-lands and literally purified the atmosphere. It was a staggering feat of endurance, and Enkrid could see the toll it took.
“It is a burden, brother.”
Audin confessed without hesitation, nodding slowly. The feat was only possible because Teresa had not ceased her singing at the camp’s heart.
“We cannot sustain this indefinitely.”
He offered a faint smile.
“If the time for battle arrives, we will likely be too drained to join the fray.”
Lua Gharne interjected. As a member of the knightly order, she served as the strategist, weaving plans and calculating odds. She was keenly aware of the sudden deficit in their combat power.
“You speak the truth, Sister Lua.”
By substituting their own spiritual essence for a permanent relic, Audin and Teresa were burning through their reserves. It was a temporary solution at best.
“How much time?”
Enkrid’s question was blunt, but its meaning was understood: how long could they hold the line?
“Two weeks, at the absolute most.”
Enkrid turned away. He hadn’t commanded this sacrifice; Audin had chosen this path himself.
“It’s a significant loss of our primary strength,” Lua Gharne noted correctly.
“I agree. Yet, I find it heartening. These are the kind of people who understand a mission without needing orders.”
The dragonkin sensed Enkrid’s internal approval. While Shinar watched on in silence, Crang surveyed the base. Even when he had led the Royal Guard and the main army through these struggles, the very air had remained stagnant—until now.
“You have my gratitude.”
The king spoke softly. Clad in a cream-colored mantle and flanked by five elite Royal Guards, his voice nevertheless carried a strange weight.
The surrounding soldiers caught his words clearly.
“You have accomplished the duty that should have been mine.”
Crang’s sentiment was genuine. He wanted nothing more than to spare his men from death and to bring a swift end to the conflict.
He desired a world where the tremors of war didn’t shatter the lives of those simply trying to survive the day.
Whether it was his own subjects or the people of the South, he held them all within his concern. It was the defining trait of a true monarch.
“What brings you here in person?”
Enkrid asked casually, addressing Crang. Among the king’s retinue, the captain of the guard looked particularly displeased.
Enkrid recognized the man’s face. Dissatisfaction was etched there—a subtle flicker of emotion that only someone used to reading the nuanced expressions of fairies would catch.
“I refuse to let this war drag on,” Crang whispered, his voice dropping so low it was almost lost. Yet, Enkrid and his team heard it perfectly; a knight’s hearing could pick out such a confession even in the middle of a shouting match.
Then, Crang spoke louder for the benefit of the nearby troops.
“Besides, everyone else seemed to have their hands full.”
Enkrid and Lua Gharne exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them.
“We’ll get the full story later,” Lua Gharne murmured. Enkrid nodded. They knew Crang well enough to speak plainly behind closed doors.
“I will take over the duties Sir Audin cannot perform,” Pell declared suddenly, his voice thick with resolve.
Of all of them, Pell was the furthest from divinity and miracles. He was a child of the wild plains; the wilderness was a place where sanctity didn’t reach and pilgrims never trod. There is a reason three specific regions are whispered about across the land.
The Wilderness, the Glacier, and the Black Mountains.
Those who inhabit these realms live in places the gods have turned away from.
Pell observed the fruit of Audin and Teresa’s labor. He saw the people changing. He saw sparks turning into a hearth. He had never imagined himself as a savior.
Even now, in the core of his being, his primary focus was the perfection of his own blade.
And yet—
“If I am capable.”
Could he perhaps find a higher purpose?
When he studied under Enkrid, had he only absorbed techniques and mental discipline?
“Is there something that outweighs mere talent and sweat?”
Audin and Teresa were consuming their very souls to shield these men. They were prioritizing something above the art of the sword.
“How far can my own blade reach?”
He searched for an answer. It didn’t come instantly, but Pell found a new clarity within himself. He stepped forward to make his vow.
Rophod, witnessing the shift in his rival, was stirred. He stepped up as well.
“I shall compensate for any deficiencies.”
It was a bold claim, implying he would ensure Sir Audin’s absence wouldn’t even be felt.
Seeing the two of them step up provided a sense of security. The bond between them was genuinely warm, which was a comfort to witness.
“…Deficiencies? We’re perfectly fine without your help.”
Pell bristled at Rophod’s choice of words, but Rophod remained composed.
“No, there are gaps. One person cannot do it alone. I am not even half the man Sir Audin is. Furthermore, we are missing Sir Teresa’s contribution as well.”
He was looking at the cold facts.
“Listen to you, you fussy little brat who probably cries into a red cloak every night. Know when to stay out of it.”
Pell resorted to a personal jab.
“That is exactly why I am involving myself. Just follow my lead: if I tell you to strike left, strike left; if I tell you to strike right, strike right. Just do that. I’ll handle the rest.”
Their bickering was a constant. Enkrid placed a steady hand on each of their shoulders.
“Keep your energy in reserve.”
He offered a word of caution. It would be a waste to exhaust themselves here before the Southern conflict had even truly commenced.
If anyone was truly staggered by Audin’s display, it was Ingis of the Red Cloak Order.
Rainwater matted his hair to his face, but he stood frozen, looking from Audin and Teresa to Crang, and then to the gathered ranks of soldiers.
‘If they act as the relic, we lose two of our strongest fighters. I must talk them out of it. This war against the South will be decided by the elite—by the knights. The death of common soldiers is a necessary sacrifice. I must end this foolishness at once.’
One must discard the few to save the many. That was the only way to gain an edge. Sidelining two knights was insanity.
That was what Ingis’s mind told him. But the words that actually left his lips came from a different place entirely.
“Is this… truly allowed?”
What could he call it?
The men guarding the Southern Front were his brothers-in-arms. He saw them daily. They shared meals and hardships.
There was a scar on Ingis’s own torso, a reminder of a wound that a common soldier had sewn up for him on the field.
Ingis couldn’t simply throw them away. Southern Rihinstetten knew this; their strategy relied on killing the rank-and-file to wear down the knights’ resolve.
To the South, the Red Cloak Order was like soft butter—vulnerable, easily melted by the heat of war, and quick to crumble under pressure.
“If there is a way to save them.”
Ingis was ready to die for his men. Yet, almost as if to make his martyrdom unnecessary, two holy knights were already standing as their shield.
Was the danger gone? No.
But beneath his iron mask, Ingis felt a surge of raw emotion.
“It is.”
A voice answered his quiet musing. It was the man with black hair and blue eyes, the leader of the Mad Order and the king’s confidant.
It was the same man Ingis had seen briefly at the conclusion of the internal war.
The man answered and then shifted his focus toward the edge of the camp. The veteran who had held this territory since the beginning was approaching.
“So, the rumors that he was remarkably handsome were actually true.”
The newcomer had light brown hair streaked with white and a face that seemed entirely ordinary.
You could mistake him for a traveling merchant or a farmer hauling a cart of produce.
There was no obvious aura of greatness about him. Yet, this man was the primary blade that had protected Naurillia for years.
The very unit Enkrid had once served in bore this man’s name.
“Are you Enkrid?”
He asked simply as he stepped forward. Beside him, Rem wore a lopsided, predatory grin—a look that radiated lethal intent.
Dunbakel stood nearby, his guard fully raised.
“Sir Cypress.”
Enkrid spoke the name with respect. Crang acknowledged the veteran with a silent nod.
Their eyes locked. Even during Enkrid’s days as a wanderer, Cypress’s reputation was legendary. Enkrid had always hoped for a meeting like this, wanting to seek guidance and ask the questions that burned in his mind.
‘If you ever meet him, why not ask if you actually have any talent?’
A former traveling companion had once mocked him with those words, sneering at his knightly ambitions.
That had been back when Enkrid was just a dreamer, wishing to meet someone who had already reached the pinnacle of the craft.
“Have you come to join the battle?” Sir Cypress asked.
“We have come to provide aid,” Enkrid replied. The two stood in silence, their dialogue beginning in earnest. A crowd began to gather, drawn by the gravity of the meeting.
Members of both the Red Cloak Order and the Mad Order, along with the soldiers who had been clamoring for combat, all turned to watch.
Despite the lack of a formal stage, the camp felt like an arena. With the eyes of the army upon them—
“If you follow this path to its absolute conclusion, do you believe you will emerge victorious?”
Cypress’s question was sudden and cryptic.
Was he referring to the immediate war, or something much deeper?
“I cannot say,” Enkrid admitted.
“If you reach the end and find that your efforts were for nothing—if everything is gone—what will you do then?”
“I won’t know until I arrive there.”
“Does the prospect not terrify you? Do you not feel the weight of doubt?”
Enkrid was suddenly reminded of his encounter with the Ferryman—those persistent voices that had begged him to quit.
Cypress’s questions felt like an extension of that test. Because of that, the answer was easy. These were the principles he had forged through fire and repeated to himself a thousand times.
“If I quit because of fear, doubt, or hardship, what is left of me? So, I simply move forward. I walk toward my goals, guided by what I believe. And if I can no longer walk, I will crawl.”
The simplicity of his resolve seemed to carry a physical weight.
The rain finally ceased. Through the heavy, dark clouds, a single beam of sunlight pierced the gloom.
It was a pale, lemon-colored light that mingled with the white aura of Audin and Teresa’s sanctity. The warmth spread across the camp. It caught the glint in Temares’s hair, touched Rem’s face—whose annoyance had finally cooled—and brushed the lips of Shinar, who wore a microscopic smile.
The soldiers watched in a heavy, respectful silence. Even the sound of dripping water faded away. Beneath that golden light, Cypress extended his hand.
“You are welcome here.”
Enkrid took it.
This was a moment he had once only dared to dream about.
“To stand alongside Sir Cypress and guard his flank.”
A sharp whinny echoed from above.
In the now-clear sky, a winged steed soared through the air.
Several startled soldiers raised their bows and crossbows, aiming at the heavens. The silence broke into a frantic chatter.
“Is that a gryphon?”
“No, it’s a horse!”
“Winged horses now?”
“Get the heavy weapons ready!”
As Ingis moved to calm the panic, Enkrid spoke up.
“He is a friend.”
“You count winged horses among your companions as well?” Cypress asked, glancing upward.
“Yes, in a manner of speaking.”
“Well then.”
Cypress knew that the people of the West and the beast-kin were formidable. He had seen enough on the march.
“He is one of us. Every knight in the Order will treat him with the respect due a comrade.”
Cypress laughed. At his command, a younger knight who had been staring murderously at Rem immediately bowed his head.
“My apologies. I am Junior Knight Ferdinand.”
The shift in tone was instantaneous. Rem narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but the knight remained bowed, all hostility gone. Then, Ragna spoke up.
“Are we finally going to get a hot meal? I’d give anything for a decent camp cook right now.”
Rem smirked. “I’m Rem. That one over there is a bottomless pit who can’t find her way out of a paper bag.”
Naturally, another argument began. The Red Cloaks were the type whose mood followed Cypress’s lead, but the Mad Order followed their own chaotic rhythm.
“That’s enough. Save the brawling for later,” Enkrid intervened.
“So, are those two just living statues now or what?” Rem asked, nodding toward Audin and Teresa.
“They are Holy Relics, brother. If you aren’t using your ears, feel free to lop them off,” Audin replied as he walked over to check on everyone.
“He’s just a loudmouthed drifter from the West. If you engage him, you’ll only end up with a headache,” Ragna added.
“The rain has stopped, and the air is finally breathable. Who designed this camp layout? When do the commanders meet?”
Lua Gharne spoke over the noise, ignoring the banter. She knew they would bicker regardless of what she said, so she focused on the mission.
“This man is my betrothed,” Shinar announced, her voice surprisingly clear for a fairy.
“Shock, bewilderment… they’re wondering if we’re actually monsters in disguise,” Temares noted, reading the lingering thoughts of the soldiers.
“Hahaha!”
Cypress watched the chaotic group and laughed heartily. He wasn’t bothered in the least. He, too, was a man who stood apart from the rest of the world.