Chapter 872

Chapter 872

“That cunning, uncivilized prick,” Ragna muttered under his breath.

Before taking to the skies, Enkrid had met with Lua Gharne to establish a basic protocol for their defense. The directive was clear: “Act as you see fit, but ensure Crang is never left without a protector.” This was a formal command. If one person broke formation, another was required to fill the void.

Ragna had been just a beat slower than Rem. The moment the captain ascended, that barbarian had sprinted off, abandoning his post. Following his lead, the beastman, Pell, and Rophod had disappeared into the fray as well. Every single one of them possessed more speed than Ragna.

The others had actually dispersed even before Rem’s departure, a move orchestrated by Lua Gharne. Just before Enkrid climbed onto Odd-Eye, she had addressed the Dragonkin.

“The hour has arrived to settle your accounts once more, Temares.”

“I take it that means my combat prowess is the price of admission if I wish to remain,” Temares replied, his eyes fixed on Enkrid’s ascending form.

“Rectum est!” Lua Gharne responded. She chose a term from the high ancient tongue—a word signifying a perfect, just conclusion. Having lived through the eras preceding the Empire’s linguistic unification, Temares found the old language far more natural. He gave a sharp nod of understanding.

Though he looked like the sort of stubborn soul who would never take an order, he surprisingly acquiesced without a fight. It was a peculiar quirk of the Dragonkin. Of course, his compliance was entirely rooted in his desire to stay close to the phenomenon that was Enkrid.

Lua Gharne, reading his motivations perfectly, had manipulated the Dragonkin into the heart of the allied forces. Specifically, she stationed him near Audin and Teresa. While the two were channeling divine power, they were effectively helpless. They were humans serving as living vessels for holy relics.

Had the citizens of the holy city of Legion witnessed this, there would have been mass hysteria and prayers of divine intervention. Even Noah, the current Pope, would have been stunned by the sight. This was precisely why the Wandering Priests were currently weeping in a state of collective, ecstatic prayer.

Consequently, only Ragna and Lua Gharne remained at the King’s side. Lua was a Frokk, occupied with analyzing the shifting tides of the entire field, which left Ragna as the sole guardian Enkrid had requested. He watched the combatants and occasionally tracked the captain’s flight overhead. He felt a bit sluggish; the enemies seemed distant, his allies were nearby, and there was no immediate vibration of danger.

It was the classic trap of a peaceful moment.

In that lull, Galluto of the Amethyst Order launched a surgical strike using gryphons.

“Is such a ploy truly necessary?” Elma, a knight itching for a direct confrontation, had asked before the engagement began.

“It is a shortcut to victory,” Galluto had answered simply. “There is no logic in ignoring an easy path to the end.”

They didn’t even need a confirmed kill. Simply wounding the knight known as Cypress would grant them a massive tactical advantage. Even targeting a high-ranking commander would suffice; the Naurillian forces were already drained and emotionally fragile. A successful ambush would shatter their resolve instantly. Galluto understood the mechanics of a collapsing army.

To facilitate this, he had pressured the beast controller to deploy a pack of gnolls capable of masking their presence. Being a handler didn’t mean one controlled all beasts; they specialized. These five gnolls were rare, nearly impossible to break, and had been kept in reserve as prized assets.

“Deploy them,” the knight ordered, his tone as cold as a guillotine.

The handler swallowed his resentment and did as he was told. The five creatures moved out, testing the air to ensure they approached from downwind. They took a long, circuitous route around the primary conflict to reach their quarry. They were natural-born predators from the Demon-lands, where they considered themselves hunters serving their dark deity.

As the Naurillian troops turned their attention to the sky and the front lines to cheer, the monsters exploited the gap. They were experts at striking when focus wavered, having studied human military lapses. In a way, Galluto’s plan worked. He had hoped the gnolls would slip in during the chaos of the gryphon attack. Though the mood was one of triumph rather than fear, the resulting lapse in security was the same.

The Naurillians were intoxicated by their perceived win, leaving a fatal opening. The striped predators unsheathed their talons.

*Swish.*

Ragna had been staring into space, mentally cursing Rem, when he suddenly whipped his head around. He recognized this sensation. It was the same feeling he’d had when an assassin tried to take his horse on the journey here. His instincts were sharp.

‘There’s more than one.’

Their stealth was high-tier, far superior to the creature that had jumped him previously. The moment the realization hit, his hand closed around the grip of Sunrise.

The next to sense the coming blood was the leader of the Royal Guard. Regardless of the chaos, he never let his attention drift from the King. The parting words of Marquis Marcus echoed in his mind: “The King is on the front lines. Understand that if you fail, he is lost.”

Neither Enkrid nor Cypress were the official protectors of the crown. The man in the ash-gray helm knew the burden was his alone. ‘I am the shield.’ He was prepared to sacrifice his life. He could not afford to be rattled. Because of his iron self-discipline, his breathing remained steady even as the atmospheric pressure of the battlefield shifted. This was the reward of his stoicism.

Thus, despite not being a knight of legendary standing, he was the second to detect the threat after Ragna. But before either of them could strike, Cypress spoke.

“Lien.”

As he called the name, Cypress used his left hand to pull his granddaughter into the safety of his chest. The threat was at their backs. He would allow nothing to cross that line, making the space in front of him the only secure zone. Aurelia didn’t panic; she leaned into her grandfather’s strength, having performed this drill countless times during their training.

Lien, the Red Cloak knight, was already positioned between two gnolls that had closed in from the rear. Even Ragna hadn’t seen the man move. Lien reached out and placed his hands on the shoulders of the two monsters, looking almost as if he were pulling two old friends into a huddle.

“Going somewhere? Stay a moment, let’s talk.”

Ragna and the Royal Guard captain had only managed to react. Cypress had already set a counter in motion, and Lien was already ending it.

*Grrrk!*

The gnolls tried to lash out, but Lien applied pressure first.

*Crack crack.*

His raw power rivaled that of Audin or Rem. He pulverized the gnolls’ shoulder blades instantly. The muscles beneath his reinforced leather armor surged, his forearms visibly expanding with the effort.

*Kraaah!*

The monsters shrieked. Having disabled their arms, Lien withdrew his hands and snapped two simultaneous punches outward.

*Thunk!*

The skulls of the gnolls collapsed under the impact. His movements were fluid, efficient, and perfectly timed—faster than the enemy, yet controlled enough to avoid wasting energy. Lien wore specialized gear: thin iron gauntlets and metal greaves, paired with light, layered leather. It was his signature kit.

Leaving the two broken corpses, he lunged for a third. He dropped into a low crouch, moving with the predatory grace of a serpent. The monster tried to stomp down with its left leg, but Lien contorted his body at an impossible angle, avoiding the blow like a creature without bones. He wrapped himself around the gnoll’s leg. It was a terrifying display of grappling. He wrenched the knee in the wrong direction.

*Crack!*

As the gnoll screamed, Lien scaled its body, drove a palm into its jaw, and then locked his right arm around its torso while gripping its hip with his left. With a violent twist, he shredded the monster’s spine.

*Crunch.*

Ragna watched the display while drawing Sunrise. He swung in a blind arc toward a gnoll that had been playing dead, waiting for a chance to pounce. The blade found its mark, splitting the creature’s head vertically with surgical precision.

The final beast fell to Ingis. With his usual stoic expression, he parried the gnoll’s claws and transitioned into a single, devastating horizontal cut that bifurcated the monster. It was a masterclass in the fusion of power and technique—the hallmark of a true elite.

Despite the collective effort, Ragna couldn’t take his eyes off Lien. That specific style of combat resonated with him.

‘The Eilkaraz martial arts.’

Through his various duels with Enkrid, Ragna had been exposed to many styles. This was one of them—the specialty of Finn, the scout leader. For a brief window, he had seen Lien’s ceiling. He wasn’t just a soldier; he was a combatant of the highest order.

“An assassination attempt,” Crang noted flatly. Whether he was the target or not didn’t matter; he had survived far worse to be shaken by a few gnolls. “The end is near.”

Crang began to walk forward. As Ragna sheathed Sunrise, he turned to Cypress. “How did you spot them first?”

His tone was blunt, lacking the deference usually shown to a high-ranking noble and knight. Some of the Red Cloaks, like Ferdinand, bristled at the disrespect, but they held their tongues when they saw their master didn’t care.

“You’re asking a veteran to give away his trade secrets just like that?” Cypress joked.

Ragna paused. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“Then why bother asking?” Cypress was genuinely curious. In terms of sheer, unadulterated potential, Ragna Zaun was the most striking individual on the field. He was a prodigy of the northern Zaun line, possessing a level of genius Cypress had rarely encountered. He was lazy and perpetually bored, but his talent was an ocean that filled those gaps.

“The captain always gives me an answer, so I’ve grown accustomed to it,” Ragna said.

Cypress found this fascinating. ‘He hides nothing?’ It implied a culture of open exchange and mutual growth. ‘Even among rivals? Even when they hate each other?’ It was unheard of. As an experienced leader, Cypress knew people weren’t naturally that generous.

‘There must be a focal point,’ he realized. That obsessive man, Enkrid. He was a sponge who absorbed everything and then squeezed it out for everyone else to drink. He did it relentlessly, driven by a passion that bordered on insanity. Cypress recalled seeing him train—it wasn’t just practice; it was a violent, desperate pursuit of perfection.

And the others had followed suit, exposing their own techniques without reservation. Even without formal lessons, they were all sharp enough to reverse-engineer each other’s moves simply by watching. This battlefield was the result of that collective obsession.

‘They’ve pooled their strength to a terrifying degree.’

They weren’t just allies; they were a self-reinforcing loop of growth. It was a chilling realization. The Red Cloaks were built on a traditional hierarchy of master and student; they competed, but they didn’t evolve in this chaotic, communal way.

Cypress kept these thoughts to himself. He was a master of the internal poker face. “It’s just experience,” he finally answered. “I’ve spent decades fighting southerners. I simply anticipated their tactics.”

It was a modest lie—prediction alone wouldn’t allow for that level of reaction—but it held a grain of truth. He knew how they operated and had kept his senses tuned to that specific frequency. Ragna gave a slow nod of acknowledgement.

Looking at Cypress, Ragna realized the man was far more dangerous than his frail appearance suggested. He was a fox who could mask his lethality even from the sharpest instincts.

“I’m moving out,” Crang announced. He didn’t spare a glance for the fallen monsters. The battle was winding down, but the tension remained thick.

“Ooooh!”

The roar of the soldiers was tinged with a dark hunger for retribution. It was time for the debt to be paid in full. Crang looked ahead, watching Pell continue his acrobatic dance through a hail of projectiles.

“Go on, keep at it,” Pell taunted as he swatted away arrows and shields alike. His sheer defiance was the final hammer blow to the enemy’s breaking spirit.