Chapter 886

Chapter 886

“Damn it, retreat! Fall back! Move it, you idiot! Hey, get back, back, back! You absolute lunatics with your spells!”
The commander of the driving corps was screaming at the top of his lungs. When even the driving corps—the men responsible for forcing an advance at spear-point—were in such a panic, the situation was dire. Everyone was rattled to the core. How on earth had a swamp materialized in an instant?
Following the commander’s orders, the soldiers tried to withdraw, but the swamp’s vapor moved with greater speed. The haze settled over a specific zone.
Whatever enchantments lay within that mist, entering it meant more than just losing your sight; it meant being seized by agonizing delusions.
“Mother?”
“Rebecca, you’re supposed to be dead.”
“Shit, get away! Stay away from me!”
Men within the unit began hacking at each other. Blood sprayed and bits of meat hit the ground. For soldiers lost in the throes of violent hallucinations, morale was no longer the issue; this was a desperate struggle for survival.
The mist, swirling with a life of its own, drifted forward and consumed soldiers in small groups. It resembled a vaporous predator devouring its prey.
The only mercy was that the fog stayed within a set perimeter. Those who were observant and nimble were managing to escape the trap.
Clearly, this was the result of sorcery. A supernatural barrier had halted the legion. They had never encountered an incantation of this nature before. The commander managed to skirt the edge of the mist and peered ahead.
It was infuriating; he couldn’t understand why the mist hadn’t been dispelled yet, given that the knight order had already deployed.
“Huh? Wha—”
While dodging a bank of fog, a few soldiers stumbled into the mire. Once immobilized by the muck, the creeping mist would overtake and consume them in heartbeats.
“Damn it!”
A hot-headed soldier barked a curse. The swamp, which had been expanding steadily, suddenly began erupting in small pits across the terrain like hidden leg-traps.
‘Does this even make sense?’
It was supposed to be a spell, but it reacted with the instinct of a living creature.
“God damn it, has the entire world gone mad?”
The commander’s voice was thick with suffocating dread. Despite his fear, his eyes remained fixed on the battle unfolding ahead. At this pace, he was as good as dead, but a random retreat wasn’t an option.
Before departing his post, the knight commander had issued a strict order: “Hold, then advance.”
The knight order held seniority over the driving corps. In practical terms, they possessed the right to execute anyone on the spot if they stepped out of line.
Disobedience meant certain death; that fact was etched into their brains through relentless discipline. Consequently, the commander had only one hope left.
‘Just hurry up, kill them all, and finish this.’
The five members of the Mud Order of Knights needed to wrap this up and return immediately. That was the only path to safety. Through the patches of mist, the commander watched the knights engage in combat.
The numerical disparity was glaring. It was baffling why the fight was taking so long.
Perhaps that was why the grand commander of the order had finally intervened. Surely they could hold out just a bit longer? It was at the peak of that hope that something changed.
‘What is that?’
In his vision, a silhouette plummeted from the sky. It appeared to be a human figure.
The shape slammed down directly onto one of their own knights. The commander was suddenly reminded of an eagle striking a deer, a memory from his youth.
A raptor with dark green wings had just crashed into the fray. That was the impression it gave.
Except this eagle carried a blade and possessed human limbs.

—

Jaxon spat out a mouthful of toxin and collapsed onto the earth. His legs were vibrating with fatigue. Having pushed his body beyond its limits, his muscles were failing him.
“I’ll buy some time. Don’t you dare go dying on me.”
Enkrid spoke without turning his head. Regardless of the grim circumstances, Jaxon couldn’t suppress a grin.
*Don’t go dying on your own,* he had said.
Well, he fully intended to follow that instruction. As a member of the Mad Order of Knights.
If anyone had suggested to the Jaxon of a few years ago that he would see a day like this, he would have happily carved five holes in their throat.
Now, he was content to follow his captain’s lead.
As soon as Enkrid finished speaking, he looked forward and addressed the enemy before they could even formulate a response. From his posture to his tone, he was the one dictating the rhythm of the encounter.
“Listen up, everyone. We’re going to take a brief intermission—”
Bang! Boom!
Pustis of the Mud Order of Knights heard the words, dropped into a low stance, and lashed out with the flail.
The strike wasn’t precision-aimed; it was a sweeping motion designed to intercept any incoming charge. It was a reactive, desperate defense.
Startled as he was, his reflexes had kicked in instantly.
‘Talking to distract me before striking?’
Pustis realized this as the initial momentum was parried. It was a trick he recognized from the Valensic mercenary sword style. Such deceptive maneuvers were more tactical than physical. This newcomer was employing them with a level of skill that surpassed even Pustis’s own execution.
‘Crazy bastard.’
The stranger was spewing nonsense while controlling the flow of combat. He had demanded a ceasefire to draw every eye for a fraction of a second, then used that window to launch an assault.
Paaang!
The flail whistled sharply through the air, hitting nothing but empty space.
‘This guy?’
The opponent hadn’t actually charged. That too had been a ruse. He had faked a rush, stomped the ground to create the sound of movement, but only took a single step before halting. Simultaneously, his blade swept out to the left. That lead foot became the perfect pivot for a wide horizontal slash.
The moment his foot planted, a blue arc of energy sliced through the air, followed by a thunderous boom.
It was a strike aimed directly at another knight. Seeing the blade coming, the knight reacted instinctively, meeting the attack head-on.
The two blades collided and rebounded. From the impact point of the heavy iron, shockwaves radiated outward in circles.
The wind lashed out in every direction like a sudden gale, causing the stranger’s cloak to whip violently.
Flutter-flap-flap-flap!
The cloak seemed to have shortened. When he first landed, the garment had draped over his entire body down to his shins.
Hadn’t it looked like a pair of wings moments ago?
When Enkrid had leaped from the back of Odd-Eye, he had used the cloak to catch the wind and glide, but now that he was on the ground, it had retracted naturally.
Knight Longarm, whose blade had just clashed with the stranger’s, kicked off the ground and retreated two paces to bleed off the kinetic energy.
Longarm scowled. Even after creating distance to recover, he noticed the opponent remained perfectly still, unfazed by the impact.
Even with a visible leg wound, the gap in capability was obvious.
What did that brief clash reveal?
‘The power difference is undeniable.’
Pustis realized with a sinking feeling that this monster possessed raw strength comparable to their own unit commander.
“What kind of beast were you riding?”
Longarm demanded. The group glanced toward the sky, where a winged stallion was hovering, watching them. It looked ready to dive back into the chaos at the slightest provocation.
“A monster?”
Longarm hissed.
“A divine beast,” Enkrid corrected.
The atmosphere suggested a long conversation might follow, and Commander Barik was prepared to exploit that lull.
Before the opponent could speak again, Barik had already coiled his muscles. Force traveled from his feet, through his core, and into his arm. Lunging forward, Barik put his entire weight into a heavy knife stroke.
The weapon featured a blade longer than a hand’s span, nearly the length of a grown man’s forearm. It was single-edged with a forward-heavy balance—a tool designed to cleave through anything. In Barik’s grip, it looked like a large dagger, but it functioned like a falchion.
Furthermore, his immense strength was refined by expert technique. This wasn’t just a blind swing. Speed, timing, and raw power were perfectly synchronized.
To block it was to be cut; to dodge it was nearly impossible. Back in the Demon-lands, it was known as the stroke that could fell a devil. He was a hair’s breadth away from finishing the move. Unfortunately, Barik couldn’t complete the follow-through he wanted.
Paa!
A piercing whistle preceded a projectile aimed straight for the soft tissue of his throat. Just as Barik committed to his advance, he had to shift his center of gravity, twisting his wrist so the flat of his blade could act as a shield.
Boom!
Another explosion of sound. He had blocked a curiously shaped throwing knife. The heavy metal slammed into Barik’s blade, bounced away, and buried itself in the earth. It hit with such force that even after being deflected, it sank deep enough to hide the hilt. The impact was heavy and resonant. More importantly, the aim was impeccable.
Had the knife been aimed at his head, Barik would have simply ducked and continued his charge. Had it been aimed at his chest, his armor would have easily turned it aside.
‘He went for the throat.’
It was a precise strike at the weakest point of his protection—a spot that couldn’t be cleared with a simple tilt of the head.
His momentum was killed before it could peak. It was like piling wood for a bonfire only to have the spark blown out by a gust of wind.
Was this a turning point? Barik wondered. Likely not.
He still had his full unit of knights by his side.
The Mud Order of Knights was famous for doing whatever was necessary to secure a victory and stay alive.
They hadn’t lost their tactical edge yet. The situation remained under control.
That was Barik’s assessment as he recovered from the deflected dagger.
The moment the newcomer showed a slight opening, Knight Barod stepped in, using both hands to drive the edge of a specialized combat shield toward the opponent’s left shoulder.
The stranger held a sword in his right hand and had just emptied his left. Enkrid raised that empty left hand, palm up. Just before Barod’s shield could connect, Enkrid’s palm struck the knight’s elbow.
Tong!
The blow landed on the elbow joint of the armor, causing the point of impact to shudder and Barod’s stance to crumble. Barod was forced to retreat.
There was no sense in forcing the issue now. In a protracted battle, their side held the numbers. There was no need to take unnecessary risks.
It had only been a few seconds, but the prowess of this man who had fallen from the clouds was staggering.
Pustis had been interrupted mid-sentence; Knight Longarm had been pushed back by raw swordplay; Barik’s ultimate strike had been neutralized by a dagger; and even Barod’s tactical shield bash had been parried.
Was it time to offer a word of professional respect?
None of the four did. Their attention shifted to the space behind the newcomer.
The final knight was Venom, who had always preferred sadistic and unorthodox methods. Venom didn’t target Enkrid; instead, he lunged at Jaxon, who was still on the ground rubbing his cramped leg.
As a blade descended toward Jaxon’s head, a hand seemed to manifest out of thin air.
It was the power of an artifact akin to a cloak of invisibility, hiding both form and intent.
Until the very moment the hand emerged from the cloak, there hadn’t been a whisper of a presence. Yet, Jaxon swung his own dagger with casual precision to intercept the strike.
Thud—
The attack was halted, and Venom sprang back, his feet hitting the ground with a rhythmic thud. He moved like a pressurized bladder, using unnatural elasticity for speed.
“Once you reach a certain level of skill, stop relying so much on toys,” Jaxon remarked.
“Are you trying to lecture me?”
Venom’s voice was a low, murderous hiss.
“My mentor told me to pass that message along if I ever ran into you.”
“…You.”
“The master of the Dagger of Geor is my teacher.”
“That nauseating prick.”
An assassin’s only job was to be efficient at ending lives, so why all the talk about philosophy and meaning? That was the man who had attacked Venom just for using peasants for toxicological research. He was nothing but a hypocrite.
“He’s a great master,” Jaxon said, standing up. He had successfully used the time Enkrid provided to recover.
During those moments, Enkrid had again stifled the four knights’ attempts to coordinate. Venom had tried to strike in tandem with the others, but the knights couldn’t find their rhythm. Every time they tried to engage, their momentum was severed.
Enkrid was utilizing the technique of “smothering the sparks”—the same skill that had neutralized Balrog’s ferocity. Since then, Enkrid had obsessively refined his training. The fruits of that labor were on display now. The four members of the Mud Order of Knights felt as though their limbs were bound. They were visibly shaken. Enkrid calmed his breathing, narrowed his focus, and asked a single question.
“Ready?”
The question was directed behind him.
“Ready,” came the reply.
Enkrid didn’t waste words, and Jaxon kept it brief. Watching the exchange, Venom’s face contorted.
“Arrogant trash. You think anything changes just because there are two of you now?”
No one answered him. He was being completely disregarded. There was no spite in it; they were simply focusing on the task at hand.
Naturally, this only made Venom more livid.
“You goddamn mutts.”