Chapter 862

Chapter 862

The winged stallion glided down from the heavens, making its landing on the solid earth. It was a Pegasus, its silhouette framed by a radiant crown of light against the washed-out blue of the post-storm sky. As Audin raised a palm in a welcoming gesture, the surrounding troops—who had collectively transformed into a mob of fervent believers—erupted in a unified shout.
“Look, a celestial creature!”
“The mount of the gods, the Steed of Heaven!”
“A true Pegasus!”
In reality, the beast had simply gone for a spirited run through the clouds, but to the observers below, it appeared as a holy messenger descending from above. From an objective standpoint, their assessment wasn’t entirely off the mark.
The moment the soldiers grasped that this was no threat, their entire demeanor shifted. The sacred glow, mingled with the pale, citrus-tinted sun, seemed to physically rip away the oppressive gray fog that had smothered the camp.
*Neigh—*
Odd-Eye touched down and trotted to Enkrid’s side, tucking its expansive wings neatly against its flanks. Once retracted, the appendages resembled a heavy, folded rug draped over its back. Without a focused inspection, a person would struggle to even identify them as wings.
The plumage shared a nearly identical hue with its coat, though the texture differed from that of a common bird—it was thicker and far more resilient. Such was likely the nature of feathers sprouting from the hide of a horse.
How exactly had Odd-Eye developed these wings?
It had been a considerable amount of time since Enkrid first noticed the growth. Even without a pressing need to know, he’d had ample opportunity to ponder the mystery.
Primarily, the horse was a statistical anomaly from birth. While its own stubborn spirit had allowed it to resist the corruption of demonic blood, Odd-Eye carried the lineage of a Pegasus—the ancestry of a legendary beast. It was impossible to think that such a pedigree hadn’t played a role.
‘A body of a divine animal fused with the essence of a monster, then.’
Then there was the second factor:
‘That peculiar substance it consumed.’
Technically, it wasn’t peculiar at all, but holy spring water. It had been a token of gratitude from Viscount Harrison, the ruler of the lands south of the Border Guard. Odd-Eye had lunged forward and drained every drop of it.
Shortly after that incident, a mark had formed on its spine. Usually, Odd-Eye displayed no greed for sustenance. It never demanded a better stable or extra room to exercise while in Enkrid’s company. Yet, on that specific day, it had scrambled forward to gulp down the sacred liquid.
Enkrid held both these memories in mind, but he felt no shock, nor did he regret letting the horse drink from the spring.
If he had intended to reprimand the creature, he would have done so at the time.
Ultimately, did it matter that wings now sprouted from Odd-Eye’s frame? Not in the slightest.
Even if a pair of horns suddenly erupted from Rem’s skull, Enkrid wouldn’t bat an eye.
“Fine. I always suspected he was a devil.”
He was entirely certain he would utter those words and continue on without losing his cool.
While Sir Cypress, the knight with the silver hair, maintained a pleasant smile rather than showing astonishment, his personal aide—his squire—stepped forward to murmur a secret into his ear.
Standing just a few paces away, Enkrid found the words completely unintelligible; this subtle skill proved the squire was well-versed in conveying her master’s intelligence through whispers.
As the knight listened, a spark ignited in the eyes of Sir Cypress. His attention pivoted—not toward the man, but toward Odd-Eye.
It was a look of such intense fascination that it felt almost intrusive to witness.
Why was he projecting so much Will through his gaze?
*Neigh—*
Odd-Eye sensed the scrutiny. The horse shifted, looking as though it might snap its teeth or lash out with a hoof.
“Easy now.”
As Enkrid ran a hand down its mane to soothe the beast, Odd-Eye leaned in and gave his ribs a sharp shove—somewhere between a nudge and a physical rebuke. It was a clear display of annoyance.
“Do you take me for a toddler?”
Temares interpreted the horse’s internal state and spoke the sentiment aloud.
Sir Cypress, realizing his stare had become far too piercing, dimmed the intensity of his eyes and spoke up once more.
“Does your companion permit others to mount him?”
“He does.”
To be precise, the horse only tolerated a single rider, but the act of riding was technically permitted.
“In that case, allow me to borrow him—just for a day or two.”
Odd-Eye grasped the human tongue and signaled his response immediately. He thrashed his head from side to side, letting out a sharp, vibrating snort. Even a novice could tell that the gesture meant “absolutely not.”
“He comprehends our speech? Then there is no point in asking twice. He has made himself clear.”
Sir Cypress observed Odd-Eye, essentially holding a conversation with himself.
“We occasionally swap jests,” Enkrid noted.
“Remarkable. Based on that reaction, I take it he just gave me a flat refusal?”
“That is correct.”
A direct question met with a transparent answer. The squire standing next to Cypress saw her expression cloud over, and Enkrid’s attention drifted toward her.
She was a woman characterized by short-cropped hair and large, circular eyes. Her face possessed a gentle roundness, with her features—eyes, nose, and mouth—perfectly balanced in their spacing. Her tresses glowed with a soft brown tint, reminiscent of maple syrup caught in the light.
Judging by her looks alone—
‘Is she perhaps on the level of a fairy?’
She possessed a more vibrant emotional range than Shinar; yet she lacked for nothing—she was truly that striking.
Had she resided in the capital, her name would be as famous as the daughter of Kin Baisar.
‘The mark on her skin only highlights her grace.’
A jagged, finger-length scar traced across her brow, yet it failed to diminish her beauty.
It functioned more like a deliberate ornament—a tattoo would have seemed no more out of place. Such was the power of her appearance.
“Where are your eyes wandering? What are you searching for?”
For a being like a fairy, tracking Enkrid’s line of sight was elementary—she was perpetually monitoring him.
Shinar inquired, leaning in so close that he could feel her breath. It carried the scent of wet timber and rain-soaked grass.
“Is your mind on the gryphon?”
Enkrid had the foresight to remain silent when cornered. This was a survival tactic he had mastered long before the start of these repetitive cycles.
Though he lacked a natural gift for the blade, he had been gifted with a silver tongue.
Part of that skill involved the art of redirection. You couldn’t just throw out a random topic, but if you aimed for the heart of the matter, a natural transition would follow.
“The news has reached you?”
Cypress gave a slow nod. He had been informed that the situation was quite grim, yet he remained entirely unruffled.
He seemed like the sort of individual who could receive a death sentence for the following dawn and simply nod in acceptance.
This deep-seated stillness was the defining trait of the knight known as Cypress. There was nothing else visible beneath that surface, which carried a subtle, haunting quality.
“I was briefed during the journey.”
Crang nodded in agreement. He had mentioned as much, as had his old comrade Burnion. Enkrid shifted his gaze back, and the squire, after a fleeting moment of eye contact, looked away. The encounter lasted only a second, but Enkrid detected a cocktail of emotions—social discomfort mixed with a tiny spark of expectation.
“First my fiancé, and now you’re flirting with others?”
Shinar spoke up, her voice dripping with a theatrical sense of shock. The words were sharp, but she wasn’t actually paying attention to the strategic talk. Her focus was locked onto her own observations. Her power of concentration was formidable. Her proficiency with a sword had grown lately, and her mental focus had sharpened along with it.
“There was no flirtation—I simply noticed that the squire appears to be a contemplative sort.”
Enkrid replied without emotion. Regardless of Shinar’s antics, he had his own priorities.
Truthfully, beautiful women did not cause his head to spin. Her physical charm had failed to spark any internal fire.
If simple aesthetics could manipulate him—or if they ever had—he would have long ago succumbed to the allure of the Golden Witch or the Black Flower.
No matter how much she resembled a fairy, the ethereal mystery held by true fairies was impossible to feign.
The supernatural grace of the Golden Witch acted as a passive spell, pulling the eyes of every soldier she passed.
Even in this place, many were still unable to look away from her.
Shinar was aware of this. She knew Enkrid was not the type of man to be derailed by a pretty face.
She merely enjoyed pestering him. Though, this time, there was a genuine edge of caution in her voice regarding the other woman.
She was truly a fairy who could warp the truth as easily as she drew breath.
“Don’t forget the offspring we share.”
“……Have you turned lying into a full-time hobby?”
*Fwoosh—*
Shinar extended her palm, revealing a miniature lizard composed of living flame.
“Witness our child. The evidence glows right before your eyes.”
It wasn’t a human child, but a fire lizard—a remnant of a flame beast that had once terrorized the world, now a spirit dwelling within the fairy realm.
Shinar had never been pregnant nor given birth, but she claimed the spirit she had claimed—by finishing a task Enkrid had initiated—as her own child.
It was a massive distortion of reality.
She had even taken a solemn vow to guard it with the devotion of a mother. In that sense, it wasn’t a total fabrication.
Her phrasing was always meticulously twisted—she never claimed the child was “born to them,” but rather a “child they possessed.”
Those accustomed to her wit and her penchant for bending the truth would follow her meaning, but those encountering a fairy for the first time would be utterly lost. Enkrid, however, saw no point in trying to correct the record. What would it achieve?
“It isn’t what you think.”
He addressed the group firmly before pivoting back to the primary concern.
“I was told they are dropping enchanted scrolls and launching boulders from the sky.”
He had gathered the specifics from Burnion. Crang had also arrived during the storm, though he hadn’t personally witnessed the gryphon cavalry in action.
“A companion made of fire and a horse that sails the winds… are you even a mortal man?”
Cypress whispered to himself.
“It isn’t what you think,” Enkrid repeated, meeting his eyes.
The corners of Cypress’s eyes crinkled. Was he mocking him? He certainly was.
“Well, it matters little.”
Cypress offered a smile and returned to the heart of the crisis.
“We were being dismantled without any way to strike back.”
He continued to speak with that same eerie calmness—a blend of total poise and relaxation.
Looking at him, one might find it hard to believe this man was truly the premier knight of the realm.
No spark of rivalry ignited within Enkrid, yet he didn’t feel he would be defeated if they crossed blades. He was a fascinating individual—reminiscent of a still pond or a gentle breeze, seemingly benign.
Even Ingis had found himself stealing glances at Shinar’s face, yet Cypress hadn’t turned his head toward her even once.
From the start of their meeting, he had focused on only three entities:
first, Enkrid; second, Crang; and third, Odd-Eye.
“Regardless of the circumstances, Sir Cypress will not be riding that horse.”
Enkrid stated it without hesitation.
Odd-Eye was far more than a beast of burden. To call him a comrade was an understatement.
Enkrid was a man of singular intent. His words were a perfect reflection of his thoughts. He honored the autonomy of his friend, Odd-Eye. If the horse refused, that was the end of the matter.
Cypress perceived that quality in him. He was aware of the feats this man had achieved, the status he held, and the stories attached to his name—he had studied the reports.
If even a fraction of the tales were accurate, the man was already remarkable—and in the flesh, he seemed even more impressive.
“It is no wonder the world knows you as the Mad Knight.”
Cypress grinned as he spoke. Enkrid felt a surge of interest, and he saw no reason to hide it.
“Are you truly the most powerful in the kingdom?”
The inquiry was sharp, cutting through the air like a challenge.
Asking if the title was legitimate was the same as asking for a demonstration of that power.
It was a question Cypress hadn’t been asked in nearly two decades—but for Enkrid, it was a question that demanded an answer.
He had traveled this far with one specific goal in mind.
‘A clash with the greatest knight in the land.’
He could think of nothing more exhilarating. Yet the man standing before him showed no sign of such lethality.
Perhaps that was why Enkrid’s excitement only intensified—he refused to believe that this placid exterior was the full extent of the man.
He wanted to see the razor’s edge hidden beneath the calm.
“Yeah, he’s a bit of a letdown, isn’t he?”
Rem chimed in. They had already felt out each other’s aura, and this Cypress character hadn’t projected the weight of even a novice warrior.
Instead of an intimidating presence, there was only a sense of wonder and curiosity.
“Is my appearance that much worse than the captain’s? He practically started a feud over a face.”
Rem continued.
Lua Gharne hadn’t expected to say such a thing, but she felt the observation was necessary.
“You have no pride.”
It was a rare thing for a Frokk to discuss matters of the heart. Rem had achieved something unique today.
“In any case.”
Rem trailed off and glared at Cypress.
He was the kind of person you’d expect to simply offer up his head if you swung a weapon at him.
He had survived on the southern front for years. There were marks of battle on his skin, but his aura remained soft.
For Enkrid, who was an expert in reading intent, to perceive him as gentle meant that his posture, his spirit, and his very soul radiated that same softness.
“True. Like a blade that has lost its edge.”
Enkrid answered. The mood grew heavy. Within that sanctified, clean air, the hunger for combat began to stir.
“The kingdom’s strongest? I passed that burden to Sir Lien a long time ago.”
Cypress spoke with the relaxed chuckle of a friendly neighbor.
“The Bulwark of the South”—that was the title Sir Cypress carried.
The man in front of them was famed as the knight who could find a way through any obstacle.
“You remain as constant as ever, Sir.”
Crang remarked.
“When a man loses his core, he might as well be in the grave, Your Majesty.”
To Enkrid, who was watching the exchange, one thing became very apparent.
‘A man who knows exactly how to command the room.’
Was this the hallmark of a leader of knights?
Watching Cypress, Enkrid couldn’t help but pick up a few insights.
He hadn’t arrived with the intention of starting a real war today, so there was nothing left to do—except to process what he had witnessed and learned.