Chapter 878

Chapter 878

Riding atop Odd-Eye wasn’t what anyone would call a luxury. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop him from shutting his eyes to catch some rest. A warrior, by necessity, must learn to find repose even when resting upon a bed of needles.

‘I should probably sleep.’

He wondered how much longer the flight would last. Perhaps half a day? A few hours of unconsciousness would ensure he was in peak form by the time he hit the dirt of the battlefield. Enkrid made his decision and let his eyelids fall shut.

Odd-Eye didn’t travel by beating his wings. Instead, the beast unfurled wings that dwarfed its own frame and leaned into the gales, soaring much like a massive eagle. Enkrid was huddled beneath the mantle gifted to him by the Dryas clan of the fairy city Kirheis, which shielded his head and spine. The winds lashed against him with the ferocity of magical projectiles, forcing him to curl into a tight ball.

In that curled position, Enkrid drifted off. The roaring gale, which sounded as if it wanted to burst his eardrums, became a strange sort of lullaby. To an observer, this would have looked like a death-defying circus act or a masterclass in balance. While Enkrid was famous for his ability to nap in any environment, even he hadn’t anticipated sleeping on the back of a winged stallion.

‘Warm, at least.’

The horse’s hide radiated heat, and combined with the fairy mantle, it trapped his internal temperature perfectly. Thus, Enkrid slipped into a deep slumber.

Moments after he drifted away, a change occurred.

*Slosh.*

Inky river water surged around him. Enkrid found himself sitting in a small vessel, opening his eyes to the scene ahead. He saw a violet lantern held by a hand that looked like parched earth. The figure’s face remained hidden in the abyss of a hood, even as the lantern’s glow licked the interior fabric.

“It is quite a feat that you can find rest in such a place,” the Ferryman remarked.

“Getting the chance to nap on a flying mattress isn’t a daily occurrence. I couldn’t let it go to waste,” Enkrid replied.

“……Is that so?”

The Ferryman today felt traditional, almost relaxed. Enkrid sensed this immediately and adjusted his own demeanor to match.

“Should I view you as a particularly strange mortal, or the cage that keeps us all imprisoned? Or perhaps there is another title I should use?”

Enkrid sensed a specific quality in the Ferryman this time.

‘Today, he’s…’

Melancholy? It wasn’t just the vocal inflections; it was the weight of the words themselves.

“I doubt you are questioning my humanity, and if I have a response to offer, it is the only one I possess.”

Claiming to be “Enkrid of the Border Guard” wouldn’t fit the gravity of the Ferryman’s inquiry. That was merely a title and a role. Besides, Enkrid had never struggled with his identity; he didn’t need to shout his name into the void just to keep from being swept away by the river’s dark current.

“Consider this a caution, or perhaps a bit of guidance.”

Deep within the Ferryman’s hood, Enkrid thought he caught a glimpse of a woman’s features. He couldn’t be certain. When he tried to focus, a thick gloom draped over the figure’s face like a shroud.

“It will arrive when your guard is at its lowest.”

“What will?”

“It will manifest in the way you find most repulsive.”

“An obstacle?”

“Calling it a mere wall would be an understatement.”

This was a prophecy from the Ferryman. Whenever the Ferryman spoke of impending doom, he was rarely wrong. Perhaps his goal was to instill a sense of dread for every future dawn Enkrid intended to face.

“‘I’ wish for you to remain in the present, even now.”

The Ferryman’s voice had been a steady, flat stream until now, but the word he used for himself resonated with a strange, layered echo.

“Strive to descend as deep as you are able. That is sincere guidance. It will be required for a ‘pending encounter.’”

Enkrid never got the chance to reply.

*Woom—.*

A rhythmic thumping, like a distant percussion, echoed out, and he snapped awake instantly. From his vantage point in the sky, the landscape below was laid out like a map. He looked down to determine his coordinates.

The darkness had vanished, replaced by the bright light of late morning. He had traveled throughout the entire night. During the flight, he had sustained himself on the strips of dried meat Aurelia had packed and the fruit preserve known as the Fairy’s Grace provided by Shinar. In the fairy city Kirheis, fruit-based meals were common, but this particular gift from Shinar was far more potent and nourishing than the standard fare. It was incredibly sugary, and a single bite sent a wave of heat through his core.

‘Marcus used to serve a brew like that.’

Was that back during his time as a battalion leader? It was a tea crafted from mountain berries that had been dried and steeped. The liquid was as black as ink, a recipe Marcus claimed to have perfected from northern traditions. Truthfully, the taste was hideous—acrid and sharp.

“You have to gulp it down while it’s boiling.”

It only worked if it was hot enough to scald the tongue. If he recalled correctly, it was a tonic designed to jumpstart the internal body heat of soldiers stationed in frozen climates. That specific tea was foul, but Marcus had served many other varieties that were quite pleasant.

He was the only person Enkrid knew who actually took pride in the art of tea, so Enkrid hadn’t been pleased by his passing. Nor did he wish to see the woman with the orange hair, who had followed Marcus, meet the same fate.

*Whoooooosh—*

The wind continued its assault on his ears, seemingly determined to deafen him.

“Odd-Eye, pick up the pace.”

Speaking during the flight helped distract him from the risk of biting his tongue. The smooth gliding meant his body wasn’t being tossed around. His voice was swallowed by the wind, but the former member of the Mad Order of Knights—once a specialist in four-legged sprints and now an expert in the air—was perfectly capable of sensing Enkrid’s desires. It also helped that Enkrid flooded his grip with Will, tugging firmly on the mane to signal his intent.

Soaring forward, he finally reached his destination. Enkrid didn’t waste time analyzing every minor detail or calculating the complex flow of the engagement.

‘Aisia.’

He spotted the orange-haired warrior, noted Marcus and the positions of his comrades, and identified the two embodied disasters. That was all the information he needed to pick a trajectory. Enkrid squeezed his legs tight against Odd-Eye’s flanks.

“Begin there.”

He threw the words out. It was a command for Marcus to hear, but also a declaration to the hostile knight. He used Will to project his voice across the distance. His relentless practice had paid off. Enkrid was certain both Marcus and the spear-wielding calamity ahead had heard him.

As Enkrid signaled with his legs, his sharp partner Odd-Eye reacted instantly. From a smooth glide, the beast entered a steep dive. The sensation made it feel as though his internal organs were rising into his throat, but for them to actually escape his body, they would have to pierce his conditioned flesh and the champion’s leather armor crafted from a Balrog’s skin. Enkrid simply clamped his jaw shut to ensure nothing spilled out. There was no real danger of his insides failing; it was just the intense physical pressure of a vertical drop.

A spear hissed through the air toward him. It was a precision throw, timed perfectly to intersect with Odd-Eye’s landing path—the mark of a professional thrower. If he didn’t act, his arrival would be too late, and he would find his orange-haired friend under a tombstone.

Enkrid launched himself off the horse. Odd-Eye shifted its weight to assist his leap. His mantle snapped violently against the air before hugging his back. His descent accelerated, and the spear thrown from below streaked toward his face like a bolt of white light.

‘Strive to descend as deep as you are able.’

Enkrid embraced the Ferryman’s words. Dawn, already unsheathed, slammed into the lightning-fast projectile.

*Bang!*

Deflecting it alone would have been a feat, but Enkrid used the impact of the spear to add more momentum to his fall. He spun in the air, his velocity increasing. He aimed for the head of the woman holding the massive blade—specifically, right above the greatsword that was inches from Aisia’s throat.

‘The ultimate defense is a strike.’

He wasn’t sure if the cliché applied perfectly, but as long as it worked, he didn’t care.

‘The ultimate rescue is also a strike.’

A stray thought flickered through his heightened perception. If the greatsword wielder ignored his blade, Dawn, then Aisia would perish. However, in exchange, the attacker would lose an arm or suffer a lethal torso wound. If the attacker bet everything on the strength of her shoulder plates and mail, that would be the result, but the enemy was a strategist.

Knight Matia didn’t put her life solely in the hands of her armor. She relied on the massive slab of steel that served as both weapon and shield. That reliance saved her.

*Kwaaang!*

Dawn crashed into the greatsword. Knight Matia shifted the angle of her weapon with perfect timing, allowing the kinetic energy to bleed off. It was the impact of a man falling like a celestial body. Trying to stop that force with raw muscle would have been suicide; redirecting it was the only option.

Enkrid’s Dawn ground against Matia’s Rock-Cutter.

*Kagagagagak!*

The two legendary weapons clashed, sparked, and immediately repelled one another. The contact was brief, the separation instantaneous. Having diverted the primary force, Matia thrust her greatsword forward to shove her challenger back.

Enkrid accepted the push and drifted backward. Landing on his spine would hurt, but if it bought Aisia’s life, it was a bargain. However, his landing was softer than expected. Instead of hitting the dirt, a hand caught his back and absorbed the shock. With that support, Enkrid planted his feet firmly.

*Rumble-rumble-rumble—*

The remaining momentum tore through the earth under his boots. Both Enkrid and Aisia, who had reached out to steady him, were pushed back several yards. Four deep trenches were carved into the soil where they had stood.

“You,” Aisia said from behind him. She was in a dire state. Lacerations covered her, her hair was matted, and her left arm looked like a ruin. Under normal circumstances, she should have been wrapping that limb in silk and sprinting for a high priest, offering massive donations and praying for divine intervention.

“If you don’t watch your appearance, Aisia, you’ll never find a husband. Beating a man within an inch of his life isn’t exactly a romantic gesture.”

“……You absolute bastard.”

The greeting he offered his long-lost friend reignited her spirit. Given they were facing a lethal enemy, it was the perfect psychological nudge. Aisia had just stared into the abyss multiple times over.

‘I was fortunate.’

The goddess of luck had been looking her way. Her first bit of luck was the recent flash of inspiration she’d had regarding her swordplay, which she had been practicing.

‘It could have been a dead end.’

If every idea were a stroke of genius, the world would be full of masters. A philosopher—whose name slipped her mind—had once noted that. Luckily, this new style fit her perfectly, serving as a beacon that confirmed she was moving toward the true path of a knight.

‘Constrict and bind.’

Using the weight of her sword, she exerted a crushing pressure on her opponent. She moved beyond simple bloodlust, using Will to create a phantom, adhesive net. She used her presence as a weapon, buying herself precious seconds. That first bit of luck had snagged the calamity’s attention.

Her second bit of luck was the enemy’s curiosity. The knight hadn’t used her full power immediately, swinging as if she were merely gauging Aisia’s skill. That alone was almost fatal, but it counted as luck nonetheless.

The third instance of luck was the most direct. During their exchange, Aisia had parried a blow and flickered her blade to disrupt the enemy’s rhythm. The woman with the greatsword saw through it and kicked Aisia’s leg. Using the force of that kick, Aisia spun and struck, creating a wider arc of vibration than she could have managed on her own. That desperate move managed to momentarily stall the enemy’s limbs. It was then she realized that a greatsword could be used for piercing, a lesson that almost cost her her left arm.

She wasn’t even sure when her neck had been grazed. A knight was a knight. The fact that she was still breathing was a small miracle. Just as she had accepted her end, the final bit of luck fell from the heavens.

In a way she couldn’t have guessed, at the exact moment she needed it.

When Enkrid spoke, Aisia felt a flash of rage instead of relief. That was exactly what he intended. It was his twisted way of saying “don’t you dare give up.” He wasn’t the type to offer platitudes like “stay strong” or “hold on.” He was a madman who would fight while bleeding out and crawl toward the enemy if his legs failed.

Aisia stabilized her breathing and looked at the threats surrounding them. In front was the greatsword knight, and behind them, the spearman had returned to his feet. They were sandwiched between two knights. If anyone thought being surrounded by only two people wasn’t a threat, she’d tell them how a single knight could surround a whole battalion.

“A Pegasus? You arrived on that?” the knight with the greatsword asked. With her cropped hair and sharp jaw, she possessed a rugged, masculine presence. Aisia was stunned by Enkrid’s mount as well, but she pushed the thought aside to focus on the immediate problem: could she buy time?

‘No way.’

Even with two good arms, she’d only survived through sheer luck. She was spent.

‘If I sacrifice myself?’

Could she buy him a single opening? Even that seemed unlikely. The pressure radiating from the two enemies was different now—heavier.

“Leave,” Enkrid commanded. Aisia clenched her teeth and spoke the truth.

“There are two of them.”

Enkrid’s tone remained light. “Yeah, I see two.”

He stepped in front of Aisia and shifted his stance. He stood between the two threats, placing himself so that Aisia was shielded by his back. In a battle between knights, a two-on-one advantage was usually a death sentence. It was a simple mathematical fact. And yet, in the face of those odds, Enkrid grinned. It was a wide, youthful smile—the look of a man who was genuinely excited for the carnage to come.