Chapter 867

Chapter 867

“Do you intend to plummet from the heavens, burst your skull, and perish?”
Rem was the one to ask.
“Ha ha, brother, if seeing the War God is your goal, there is no need for such a difficult path. There are many simpler ways to die,” Audin chimed in.
“Mm, even for you, that is a bit…”
Even the pupils of Crang’s eyes were shaking.
“He is someone who will descend eventually, so why rush it?” Ragna remarked with a yawn. He was curious about Enkrid’s actions but rarely interfered; he had always possessed that temperament.
“If he were the type to stop when told, I never would have fallen for him,” Lua Gharne stated. She puffed out her cheeks with a soft *kuruk*—a cheer from a Frokk. Regardless of what the others thought, Enkrid took her sounds as encouragement.
“Are we taking turns?” Shinar asked, wanting to join Enkrid on his aerial stunt.
“You are truly serious. Completely earnest. Your Will is exactly as it appears,” Temares noted, marveling once again.
Historical records speculated that Dragonkin were a frigid race who rarely displayed emotion—but observing one in person proved otherwise. He frequently did socially clumsy things like reading people’s inner thoughts, showed a deep fascination with humanity, and often voiced his respect. Of course, all of that was reserved exclusively for the human known as Enkrid.
“That creature has a pleasant scent.”
Dunbakel ignored Enkrid’s words entirely. She walked up to Odd-Eye and sniffed him. Odd-Eye stood his ground, unbothered.
Was Enkrid the only person who viewed Odd-Eye as a true partner? No. The rest also considered Odd-Eye a legitimate member of the Order of Knights. Consequently, Odd-Eye viewed them as his brothers-in-arms as well.
“Impressive wings, kid,” Odd-Eye responded to Dunbakel with a loud *Neigh—*.
“May the Lord watch over you,” Teresa offered in prayer.
“You speak of things that would get anyone else labeled as a lunatic, yet you say them as if they are trivial,” Pell grumbled, letting the matter go.
“Rem was snatched away by a bird once and survived, so it should be fine, right?” Rophod expressed his confidence.
“Captain. If you think it is fine because of what happened to me, you are mistaken. I survived by summoning the Eagle’s Soul. You have no knowledge of that.”
Since he had never studied shamanism, that was a fact. Rem said his piece and locked eyes with Enkrid.
“Tsk, those eyes aren’t the type to obey orders.”
That was also a fact.
Enkrid wasn’t bothered that they failed to see his brilliance. If anything, he seemed entertained.
“You can never know what you can achieve until you attempt it,” Enkrid offered as a proverb. At those words, the group stared at him blankly. There was no judgment or anger in their eyes.
Despite their words, they showed him conviction. What they revealed, in their silence, was total reliance.
In truth, Enkrid had calculated the risks, and because the trajectory was set, he believed it was possible. But to a bystander, his words sounded like nonsense.
Because of today’s endless loops, the day when people shook their heads at his recklessness felt like a distant memory. Having survived all those trials, Enkrid gave a smile.
“If I perish, make sure the funeral is magnificent.”
A fairy added a comment to the line that pushed the limits.
“If you die, I will die with you, so we shall have a joint burial,” the Dragonkin added, his eyes gleaming.
“I am serious as well.”
Between them, the specter of the Ferryman spoke.
“He is merely bragging because he knows death only leads to a reset.”
Was that a sliver of genuine concern leaking out? Or was the Ferryman struggling to assert his own Will?
Regardless, the Ferryman’s assessment was flawed. If Enkrid lived his life with the Regression in mind, he could never dream of a future. He could not have progressed a single inch. He would have remained stuck in whichever “today” the Ferryman desired. Thus, he didn’t give the apparition’s words a moment’s thought.
“Well, if it is what you wish, do it.”
Ragna’s voice dripped with apathy. Resting against a convenient wall, he absentmindedly toyed with the hilt of Sunrise.
Despite his expression, he seemed to harbor a thirst born from a craving for conflict.
They had spent so much time together that they could now read each other’s internal states not just through faces, but through their posture.
“If he won’t listen to our warnings, we might as well root for him. If you die, I will go up to those people floating in the sky and smash every one of their heads, one by one,” Rem added with a chuckle.

—

“What is your name?” Simlak questioned.
Even with the heavy *whoom, whoom* of the gryphon’s wings echoing out, a knight could easily hear his rival’s voice. Knowing this, he threw out the question.
Enkrid had been speaking softly to stay in sync with Odd-Eye. Even so, he heard the man and raised his gaze.
“Enkrid of the Border Guard.”
Simlak recognized the name. To be fair, among those on the continent who considered themselves skilled with a blade, it would be odd not to know it.
“The Madman?”
The man who had gathered fame in a brief window, as much as Cypress, the one known by the title “Madman.”
“So you are the fellow who, whether with fairies or whatever else, is busy charming every woman in sight? The demonic playboy, correct? They say you lose your mind the moment you see a lady?”
Rumors are often warped.
Particularly since southern Rihinstetten and central Naurillia are rivals who engage in constant skirmishes and keep each other suppressed. It isn’t a peace, but an active conflict—would the reputation of an enemy ever be portrayed accurately?
Malice was enough to rewrite the truth. However, having experienced several similar situations, Enkrid made an incorrect guess.
“Is that a story the fairy started? That can’t be right, but surely it isn’t a rumor from the mages’ side?”
The Golden Witch and the Black Flower.
Even within the Border Guard, envy toward Enkrid—who had secured the two beauties—was widespread.
Certain reckless nobles, watching Esther and Shinar enter and leave the city, fell for them and concocted wild stories about Enkrid.
Meanwhile, he had often seen Shinar and Esther enjoy those tales and distort the rumors even further, and he knew Jaxon secretly assisted them for his own amusement.
“What are you rambling about? Is that creature a female as well?”
Simlak spat out the first thought that entered his mind and felt pleased with his insult. With this, the enemy’s mind would be in turmoil. It was that kind of slur—that he craved animals if they were female. A biting mock: are you a fool who feels lust even for beasts and is driven by desire?
Now—show me your eyes shaking.
With anticipation, Simlak stared directly into Enkrid’s eyes. His talent was detecting the opponent’s wavering spirit.
‘No shaking?’
There wasn’t even a minor twitch, let alone a collapse. The man named Enkrid stroked Odd-Eye’s head and spoke.
“Whoa, no. I know you are a male. If you react to every word coming from that side, you are a novice. Calm your heart. Apply that energy when you fight.”
Simlak squinted. He brushed it off so easily? That level of composure was impressive.
It was a ruse of pretending to talk to a horse while steadying his own spirit.
It sounds ridiculous, but when knights engage in combat, it is rare for them to remain silent and only trade blows. Verbal attacks to gain even a minor advantage are standard tactics. He spoke again.
“You are talking to a horse? Attempting to mimic the legendary Dragonkin?”
It was another perfect jab. If he asked, “What is a Dragonkin?” he would be labeled an uneducated fool; if he knew, he would be mocked as a pretender full of weak bluffs.
The strategy was flawless. Generally, everyone creates a logical strategy. Until they get hit.
Enkrid spoke.
“I don’t particularly have a desire to imitate a Dragonkin.”
He was being honest. There weren’t many who would want to live the life of Temares.
He couldn’t relate to people and was frequently insulted for it. Of course, Temares the Dragonkin was always unperturbed even when insulted. It was rare for feeling to reach those eyes with vertical slits.
Only when he felt awe did light enter his eyes; usually, they were no different from the eyes of a dead fish.
No energy and a dim sense of purpose. You could call him the polar opposite of Enkrid.
“As I thought, not my style.”
Enkrid continued to deny it and watched the opponent intently. It was their first encounter. When you don’t know someone, insults aren’t easy. In those moments, simple is better. You must speak based on what you see.
The rival wore a helmet. A helmet with wings rising up by the ears. It shielded the head, but the ear areas were left open. It seemed like a tool to prevent the dulling of senses that happens when wearing headgear.
Any knight would have felt their senses fade when a helmet covered their ears, so it appeared crafted with that in mind.
Was it a knight’s unique equipment? From the craftsmanship and design, it didn’t look like a mass-produced item. Then again, a knight usually possessed custom gear.
“Do you wear that on your head out of a longing to be a fairy?”
The wings on the helmet brought to mind pointed ears. It was a mild insult. If it didn’t stick, he would move on, but it was a topic worth testing.
“…What?”
Observing the response, Enkrid went on.
“With that face, it is impossible. I visit the Fairy City often, so I know—completely impossible. Not going to happen. Give up on being a fairy. Try for a Frokk instead. That much you might manage.”
Rem and the entire Mad Order of Knights all claim Enkrid’s way of talking uniquely irritates people.
The reason? His demeanor is so steady and his tone so serious that if you listen without thinking, it sounds like he is stating objective truth.
Even when you know it is an insult and know it is garbage, it creates a clean little tear in your composure. That was the essence of Enkrid’s psychological warfare.
“This helmet is the glory of the Amethyst Order,” Simlak stated. He tried to appear calm, but his brows twitched just slightly.
High above, at a gap you’d barely bridge with two long spears, he could still see clearly. Furthermore, didn’t he have the habit of instinctively noticing a fairy’s tiniest facial changes?
Compared to Shinar, reading the facial shifts of the opponent on a gryphon was much, much simpler.
“Right, you are desperate to be a fairy, so you are wearing it.”
“When did I ever say that?”
“Becoming a fairy is difficult. Even if you plead like that, it is impossible. With that face, impossible.”
“I have never desired to be a fairy.”
“If you want to fix your face, I can introduce you to a talented witch, but no matter how much magic seeks the unknown, hmm.”
Simlak’s appearance was not remarkable. But it wasn’t the kind that made you grimace at first sight either.
If he tidied himself up, he was acceptable. In one light he was average, in another he was awkward. If you pushed it, within the Order he was on the better side.
“I have never wanted a fairy’s appearance,” Simlak repeated. He had never done so. It was true. But it is human nature to seek out beauty. When one sees a fairy, one recognizes beauty. Simlak was no exception to that rule.
He found the rival difficult to understand. Suddenly speaking such nonsense? Flying in on a horse with wings?
“Failure.”
Next came words without context. He was just staring intently at Simlak’s face while saying it.
The rival’s hair gleamed even as the wind pushed it back. A natural face. He detested the eyes, nose, and mouth of the man who was critiquing his appearance.
Why was he furious? Was there any reason to analyze it?
“I will cut you to ribbons.”
There was no subject, but the intent was clear.
“My face? No. That won’t work.”
Enkrid used a dramatic tone, aggravating the other’s spirit once more. A blue vein stood out in the middle of Simlak’s forehead.
“Hey, your vein is popping.”
Enkrid spoke up again. If Rem saw it, he would marvel that yes, that man really was the Madman leader.
As he said that, the one who truly moved first was Odd-Eye.
Odd-Eye flapped its wings, tilted its head forward, and closed the gap with the gryphon. Enkrid squeezed his legs, stabilized his stance, and swung Dawn. It was an upward strike. If things went south, he intended to slice the gryphon’s beak in two.
Independent of the horse, within accelerated perception he read the enemy’s movements. The enemy did the same.
Even as rage boiled, Simlak opened cold, frozen eyes. He stilled his heart in a heartbeat. He should indeed be considered a dangerous foe.
At the moment where the two perceptions met—Clang!—metal struck metal with a massive explosion of sound. What Simlak pushed out was a long, thin spear.
From the spot where the edge and the spearhead collided, a shockwave erupted. A violent wind surged, blowing Enkrid’s hair as if trying to rip it out, and the dark-green cloak shortened and pushed away the air.
*Flutter!*
“Wearing a cloak on top of that—you are far too relaxed, aren’t you?”
“Cloaks complement my face.”
No matter what you say, he concludes with his face. Simlak stabilized his breathing. If he fought with words, he would lose. If he succumbed to insults, he would start by losing the advantage. So he closed his mouth.
Instead, Simlak gripped the spear in one hand and a sword in the other.
He utilized various weapons—sword, spear, axe, and more. Simlak’s title was the Knight of Variability.
He could handle any weapon at a high level, and in any setting he showed consistent fighting skill. In flexibility alone, he exceeded everyone. Thus, he was called “Variability”—a knight who adapted himself to the style or the situation.
That was why he flew atop a gryphon. Even if the rival targeted him in the air, in this setting there would be no one who fought better than he who had already mastered the environment.
If there were more time, perhaps, but if today was the rival’s first battle in the sky, Simlak had the upper hand.
He knew it, the leader stressed that fact, and the three below knew it as well.
In short, Simlak’s conviction was right. If the opponent hadn’t been an absolute madman, that is.
The man on the winged horse swung his blade exactly twice, then created space.
Simlak evaluated the opponent’s reach. He recognized the difference in their steeds.
‘Higher mobility than a gryphon.’
To be precise, it was quicker. The winged horse flapped less and moved in circles.
The gryphon was different. It was more adept at moving in all directions, but in return it lacked the ability for sudden bursts of speed.
On the other hand, the constantly moving wings themselves acted as a barrier that hindered the enemy’s approach.
‘A horse is open to my spearhead, but a gryphon’s wings act as shields that stop a blade.’
Alongside a knight’s perception, he had superior adaptability. As Simlak was identifying each side’s strengths and weaknesses, Enkrid suddenly soared above the man’s head.
“What are you—? You insane fool?”
Simlak’s mouth opened on its own.
It was the move that, upon hearing Enkrid’s plan, everyone had called crazy. Odd-Eye soared over the gryphon’s head, and Enkrid leaped. In other words, he plummeted as if to land directly on Simlak’s head.
Simlak had every reason to be stunned. There was no time to command the gryphon to dodge. Firstly, this creature wasn’t the type of beast that followed orders well. It was not like a warhorse that functioned like an extension of the rider.
Simlak made an instant choice and shoved his spear upward.
What he missed was this: the strength behind a spearhead thrust from a sitting position with no lower-body power is significantly different from the weight behind a sword that carries, entirely, the momentum of a body falling from above combined with the launching force of a horse.