Chapter 863

Chapter 863

When they had once requested assistance during the uprising of Count Molsen, Cypress had dispatched Ingis. Even back then, he realized he was stretching their resources thin—for the Southern Front was perpetually understaffed.

It was during that period they had exchanged those particular words.

“One of my own warriors has transformed from a mere surface wound into a gangrenous limb. Therefore, in a way, this burden rests on my shoulders as well, Your Majesty. Do you truly believe I brandish my blade solely for the benefit of the crown?”

The statement delivered by Cypress—the bedrock of the realm, the guardian who sustained it—carried immense gravity.

What takes precedence over the monarchy are the people standing in my shadow. A warrior, gifted with natural skill and power, pledges to dedicate them to the state and its citizens. If, during that journey, the royal house chooses a path that diverges from his internal morals, then the royal house will forfeit his allegiance.

His delivery had been soft, yet if one analyzed the message alone, it bordered on a threat.

Cypress possessed no malice or intent to intimidate, and his speech remained gentle until the conclusion. It was simply a proclamation that even if he found himself in opposition to the throne, he would remain faithful to his personal principles and his pledge. However, Crang had not felt any shock at the time.

“Those are nothing more than honest words.”

He had concurred, for he held the conviction that such was the honorable path.

The South relied upon the monarchy for both reinforcements and logistics. Theirs was a mutually beneficial bond. If Cypress was determined to protect this border to the bitter end, it was because of that arrangement.

Nevertheless, he had always prioritized his own resolve and ethics—which was precisely why he was known as the Southern Sentinel.

“Listen, you two. Ease up on the insolence. If you’re looking for a duel, I’ll gladly accommodate you.”

The voice emerged from the ranks of the infantry, though it certainly didn’t belong to a common grunt.

The Red Cloak Order consisted of three knights. No—still three. At one point, there were three; then the number dropped to two; now they were a trio once more.

Oara had perished, leaving behind the settlement that took her name, and Ingis had ascended as a new knight to fill the void. Now, the third member of the trio stepped forward.

“Come on, step aside. Don’t clog the path.”

The manner of speaking was relaxed. His metal boots rang out against the ground, gauntlets held at his hip as he pulled on hide gloves and wove through the gathered soldiers.

“Sir Lien.”

Cypress acknowledged him with a nod and a greeting.

“So this is the infamous Mad Order? Try not to be so rude to the Commander. He was holding this territory together while you lot were still in swaddling clothes. Learn some deference.”

The individual identified as Lien offered a brief nod and spoke his mind.

“So you’re implying he’s an old-timer?”

Rem toyed with his ear as he threw the comment back. As was his custom, his phrasing and tone were specifically designed to provoke. Within their ranks, he was second only to Enkrid when it came to being a nuisance.

Lien handled the jab without losing his cool.

“I am saying I have spent that many years gripping a sword to ensure this land stays safe.”

He stood a bit taller than Rem, with hair that grew long enough to obscure his ears and brow. Since he hadn’t bothered with a trim, the edges appeared ragged and unkempt.

Rem offered a thin smirk at the knight’s statement—the kind of look that suggested he was moments away from unholstering his axe.

*Clap!*

A solitary, crisp palm-strike shattered the mounting pressure.

Even that simple sound was infused with Will—Enkrid could sense it instantly. Without a doubt, every member of the so-called Mad Order picked up on it too.

The noise had originated from Cypress.

“Now then, rather than causing a scene here—the storm has passed, so let us find some food. We lack a camp cook, but since the King is present, surely the royal chef is nearby?”

Cypress clapped once more, drawing every eye to himself.

Enkrid gave a slight shake of his head. The signal was clear: Stand down, Rem.

“Hah, lucky dogs.”

Rem let out a grin as he conceded.

They put their lives on the line for others, and though they had once been part of a notorious rabble, their spirits hadn’t mellowed. In this environment, he wouldn’t actually strike down a comrade—but they remained abrasive, volatile, and aggressive.

“Who was the one just a moment ago, the one who questioned if I mistook him for a child?”

Cypress glanced toward Enkrid, pointing back to Temares’s earlier remark—a well-timed shift in the conversation.

‘The atmosphere, the momentum.’

Enkrid was often sensitive to such shifts, but Cypress had steered the mood with deliberate precision.

Everyone recognized the way he manipulated the social energy—and they allowed him to do it. Enkrid observed this clearly.

Why did they permit it? Primarily because of his kind demeanor and his steadiness. Secondly, because everything he had achieved and validated made his guidance worth following.

Even if Cypress hadn’t intervened, Enkrid would have. The downpour had ceased, but waterlogged corpses still bobbed in the distance.

Because Audin and Teresa had sacrificed their sanctity as a power source, a holy shield now blanketed this territory, preventing most foul creatures from infiltrating the camp.

To bypass this barrier, one would need to carry the mark of a fiend.

The circumstances were grim. Enkrid thrived on combat and dueling, but he understood how to read a room.

“A Dragonkin.”

That was Enkrid’s reply to Cypress’s inquiry. His attention then shifted to the wild barbarian.

“Rem.”

“Do I look like that brat Pell who can’t tell his left from his right?”

Rem was capable of logic as well. When it came to rapid strategy and action, he was the quickest mind in the unit.

“…Why bring me into this?”

Pell grumbled at being used as a comparison, but he was ignored.

Enkrid understood the motive but remained silent—Rem kept referring to him as “that nuisance Rem,” so the barbarian had simply shifted the target. Truly, the man’s intellect was sharp.

He was likely also testing the mettle of their new allies.

‘If he has already evaluated Sir Cypress and found him lacking…’

They would be fighting as brothers-in-arms on the field starting tomorrow. Before analyzing the foe, one had to understand their own ranks. Rem was acting as a proper strategist.

He provoked dialogue and friction to measure the caliber of others. His technique was simply… a bit too aggressive.

After reaching this conclusion in a heartbeat, Enkrid set the thought aside.

At the mention of a Dragonkin, Cypress let out a soft “Ho—” of respect. Even elite knights would find that startling. He had shared the information specifically to see that reaction.

“A Fairy, a Frokk, a Colossus, a Beastman, and now a Dragonkin—are you aiming to collect every race in existence?”

Cypress asked with a steady voice.

“Pure chance.”

Enkrid’s answer was detached, as if the matter were trivial. Cypress gave a small smile and remarked,

“You are a fascinating individual.”

“I have to agree.”

Temares chimed in. Rem might act with calculation, but this Dragonkin did not. He truly followed his own whims.

He brushed off inquiries directed at himself but responded the moment someone addressed Enkrid.

“Strange. Completely unique.”

Cypress whispered. At this stage, whoever had assembled such a collection of people and dubbed them the Mad Order earned his respect.

He had heard rumors of the person who had unified these individuals—and had since discovered the timing and reasoning behind it.

Consequently, he understood the roots of the so-called Mad Squad and was familiar with much of Enkrid’s history.

He had also gathered the details regarding how the other warriors had been recruited.

And so, a thought occurred to him,

‘That man is worthy of a domain to call his own.’

Was it random luck or destiny?

In the sacred texts, it was written that a string of accidents eventually forms the inevitable.

The Creator weaves the tapestry of fate; it is up to mortals to endure it.

If the scales of justice lean too far, the Creator Himself might place His hand upon your side of the balance.

As things progressed, Lua Gharne spoke up.

“Let them gossip. It’s not as if he’s going to suddenly turn into a great drake and start torching the gryphon riders.”

“Dragonkin lack the ability to shift into dragons. We can alter our essence, but our physical shape is fixed.”

Temares corrected her solemnly.

“Stay exactly as you are. I forbid any changes.”

The fairy snapped.

Enkrid provided Cypress with a formal, yet blunt, introduction.

“The Madmen.”

He felt no need to include the word “Order.”

After a momentary pause, the knight with the short hair, Lien—who had earlier dispersed Rem’s killing intent—took his place behind Cypress, with Ingis standing nearby.

Those three constituted the heart of the Red Cloak Order.

There were several other junior warriors and over a dozen apprentices, but it was common knowledge that without those three, the Order would lose its foundation.

At the center stood the veteran knight who had held the South together and guided the Order to the present day—Sir Cypress, who let out a deep laugh.

“Highly entertaining.”

The Red Cloak Order, despite having had virtually no rest for days, showed no signs of exhaustion.

From the lowest apprentice upward, every person had honed their spirit and flesh to the absolute peak. They were a unified force of elite skill.

In Enkrid’s view, the Red Cloak Order was like a solid block of steel forged around Cypress.

Following that, the genuine war council commenced.

“Since the skies have cleared, those pests will be returning shortly.”

They congregated within a single tent, rolling out a tactical map across the main table.

Inside were Enkrid, Lua Gharne, Shinar, and Temares.

Facing them were Cypress, Ingis, and two others—his notably attractive aide-de-camp and a pair of battalion leaders.

Even in the presence of Cypress’s elite knights, the leaders showed no signs of intimidation.

That was due to the fact that Sir Cypress always sought out and valued their professional input.

‘A warrior who is neither blinded by ego nor dismissive of skills that fall outside of raw power.’

Enkrid was aware that the man conducting the meeting so effortlessly had achieved knighthood decades before he ever did.

Recognizing that, he centered his focus more than ever on Cypress’s speech and movements. If there was wisdom to be gained, he would never stop seeking it. That was his routine, his way of life, and his greatest strength.

“Until today, I’ve been racking my brain for ways to seize the sky. As it turns out, I simply need to mount a Pegasus.”

That was the outcome they were anticipating.

However, Odd-Eye would never permit a different rider, even if the firmament cracked and the world crumbled. Perhaps if Enkrid persuaded him, he might allow a single passenger, but now that wings had sprouted from his back, there simply wasn’t space for two.

“He won’t accept another rider.”

Enkrid replied.

“Then take to the air in my place.”

Sir Cypress spoke as though he had predicted that response, and Enkrid gave a firm nod.

Cypress’s aide-de-camp stepped into the space between them.

“Being direct isn’t going to be enough. Just because a knight is on a winged horse doesn’t mean the problem is solved. Among those gryphon riders, there is a knight who successfully parried the Commander’s own throwing spear.”

The two battalion leaders nodded in agreement.

Even for riders on gryphons, consistently intercepting a knight’s thrown projectile was a massive accomplishment.

They had already stationed a knight on the back of every beast—that was why the spears were being stopped. Perhaps they were better described as gryphon knights.

Otherwise, there was no way that even three high-level knights—Cypress, Ingis, and Lien—would have been forced to wait or be pushed back.

A spear thrown by a knight was equivalent to a bolt of lightning. Dismissing it as an unfamiliar combat style was nonsense.

With the exception of Enkrid, all the knights in the room were geniuses in their own right.

After throwing just a few spears, they would master the mechanics; after ten tries, they would begin projecting their Will into the flight path.

“The issue isn’t that knights are piloting them. It’s that if we simply charge, we will waste our energy chasing dispersed targets until the fight is over. What has been their objective thus far?”

Lua Gharne provided the answer. The Frokk’s eyes were incredibly sharp.

Curiously, despite being a Frokk and an outsider, neither the battalion leaders nor the Red Cloak apprentices showed any signs of bias.

That was one reason this meeting was so productive.

If Cypress and Enkrid sketched out the grand strategy, the finer details were left to those who relied on their intellect.

One of them was the woman with hair that shone like autumn syrup in the sun, and the other was the Frokk who was prone to pouting.

“Ah, my granddaughter.”

Then Cypress suddenly moved to introduce the master strategist of his Order.