"I never thought tracking or hunting suited me, nor did I enjoy them. To be honest, the reason was simple—it just wasn't fun. So instead of those, what did I used to do?"
Odinkar continued speaking. That was the line he chose, and he ended it with a question. Normally, it was the kind of abrupt comment that would make one ask what on earth he was talking about. In truth, both Enkrid and Ragna had no idea.
The answer came from Grida.
"You ran."
"Like a brute."
That follow-up came, unsurprisingly, from Magrun.
Both were accustomed to conversing with Odinkar, and his nod confirmed their answers.
"Exactly. When it comes to running, few can catch me. Even if someone had laid a trap up ahead, if I'm alone, I don't need to stick to the paths people normally use. The chances of getting caught are slim. And if I sense it beforehand, I can deal with it and move on."
Odinkar wasn't so foolish as to suggest he'd recklessly rush ahead just to invite danger. What he meant was that instead of sticking to the road they had ridden along, he'd veer left, cross the dark soil, and climb over the distant mountain.
"I'm not asking whether it's possible or not, nor discussing methods. Why are you insisting on going ahead?"
Grida asked. They didn't even know who the enemy was, nor what they were after—was it right to split the group?
Her instincts as a guide told her not to.
But from a knight's perspective, it was a proposal one could nod to.
Besides, Odinkar had kept saying since before they even reached the Border Guard that he felt uneasy, even joking that he'd rather stay behind. And even after meeting Enkrid, while he was glad, he often remarked that this didn't feel like the place he should remain.
"It's not a bad idea. Nothing would've happened in Zaun—no chance of that. But it's also true they won't be entirely unaware of what's happening now. I could head ahead and even ask the Hunter Village to prepare to receive us."
Magrun added his voice.
The Hunter Village was one of the settlements surrounding Zaun. Those who reached Zaun but never received the family name sometimes returned to their hometowns. But those with nowhere to return to often settled nearby. The Hunter Village was one such settlement.
"So it's about efficiency."
Grida nodded. That was the crux of Odinkar's suggestion.
"If I go ahead, I might stumble upon something the enemy has prepared. Or, as Magrun said, I could reach Zaun first and inform them of what's happening here. As for stopping by the Hunter Village—I'm not so sure. If it's just me, I can head straight to Zaun."
Odinkar went on. The way he spoke, his hips nearly twitched as if he might leap off the ground any moment. From Enkrid's perspective, if someone just shouted "Run!", Odinkar would probably bolt without hesitation.
Either way, his words were rooted in a clear understanding of the situation.
Knights were not omnipotent. They were called calamities because they achieved things beyond ordinary limits, but they themselves knew well what they could and could not do. Ignorance of that only led to exhaustion, drunk on delusions of invincibility.
Here, the truth was simple: in this company, all Odinkar could do was match their pace and walk.
Tracking and sensing weren't his specialties.
On the other hand, Magrun excelled at reading the terrain and gauging the situation. Grida, as a guide, could lead them while discerning the enemy's intent.
Sure, one of the two could leave and the other remain, but both had roles to fulfill here.
Odinkar, however, was like a sheathed sword—capable of fighting when drawn, but idle until that moment came. He wasn't useless, but unless steel left the scabbard, it might as well stay put.
Thus, the best use of his strengths was to set off on his own.
Enkrid thought that perhaps what the Ferryman had shown him wasn't his tomorrow, but his imprisoned today—taunting him with despair once again.
Whether this choice was right, he did not know.
But he knew one thing: right now, each person needed a chance to act where their strength mattered.
Meaning Odinkar could go.
"Sharp thinking. You."
Grida summarized, glancing at Enkrid. He nodded in response.
"Usually, after a few words with me, women end up saying that. One of my seventeen charms, you could say."
"…You're really making that kind of joke now? Always the madman."
Magrun shook his head, unleashing his usual venom. It was as if his tongue would rot if he didn't spew at least one bitter line each day.
Enkrid looked at him sympathetically. Why deny the truth so fiercely and lash out instead?
Because he saw the world through pessimistic eyes.
That perspective allowed him to dissect swordsmanship coldly and pierce into its elements—but at the cost of gazing upon the world with scorn. That was his flaw.
Enkrid had learned much from Shinar, and one lesson was that jokes should be told shamelessly. Another: whatever you say, say it with your chest out.
So he did.
"I only spoke the truth."
"You really are something else, aren't you?"
And Grida picked up his words. Her eyes flicked briefly toward Anne.
Of course, she wasn't so naïve as to miss that the monster had targeted her. That alone might make her feel as though this entire situation had twisted around her.
Thus, Enkrid's joke had been partly for her sake. The others, being knights, could afford some detachment. But a freckled healer could not.
"It's hard to listen to."
Anne, whether because she caught on or simply out of habit, played along.
And in that moment, a long shadow stretched across the campfire.
"Then I'll go first."
It was Odinkar, who had stood after gathering only a few essentials.
He didn't take a heavy pack—the weight would hinder his movements. Expecting possible combat, he only slung a small crossbody bag. Inside were a few preserved rations and Knight Rations—unpleasant in taste, but filling with just water mixed in. Normal people couldn't digest them, suffering nausea, but knights could burn through them even while running.
Finally, Odinkar looked at Enkrid.
"See you in Zaun."
Enkrid nodded. Odinkar stroked the mane of the horse that had carried him, whispered his thanks, then strode into the darkness.
With the clouds covering the moon, as soon as he left the light of the fire, it looked as though he were walking straight into the gaping maw of some beast.
Of course, if such a creature truly lurked nearby, its stench and presence would have been detected already.
And even if it did, wouldn't he cut his way out just fine?
His back disappeared beyond the shadows. That man was one of Zaun's strongest—there was no reason to fear for him traveling alone.
How this decision would shape the future, none could know. But for now, it was a choice they could afford to make. If anyone had opposed, he wouldn't have pressed the issue. But all had followed Enkrid's words.
Magrun mulled this over, then turned his gaze to Enkrid, who sat quietly by the fire, pulling something from his pack.
Why did we so readily follow Enki's suggestion? Simply because it was rational?
Here's the continuation, translated with flow and formatting kept consistent:
After months together, was it simply that they had come to recognize the weight in that man's gaze?
Or was it—
Had they grown used to following him without realizing it?
Enkrid truly was the kind of man who naturally drew others to his will.
There's a reason they call him "the Demonic One."
Hadn't the entire unit once become training fanatics simply from watching his relentless obsession with discipline?
Magrun had seen the transformed Border Guard regulars. He hadn't seen them before, but he knew no other army across the continent matched them. They were far from ordinary.
The only fair comparison might be—
Perhaps the Imperial Army.
How they would fare in actual combat, no one could say. But in terms of quality alone, they were on par.
* * *
"It's odd, us traveling like this in a group. We've always fared well alone. Ragna here, even as a child, often set out by himself."
That was something Grida remarked in the midst of their chatter.
"True. You can follow the moonlight and walk straight on. No need to circle about."
Ragna picked up her words.
"…Hard to believe that bastard's still alive. Should've fallen off a cliff or into some Demonic Realm long ago, shouldn't he?"
Ragna's sister couldn't help voicing her concern for her younger brother. He, in turn, responded to her worry with affection—his own sort of affectionate language.
"What do you even use those eyes for? Not only can't you remember people's faces, but you can't find your way either? Just because you see a cliff doesn't mean you're supposed to walk over it."
As long as they didn't actually draw blades and threaten to kill each other, Enkrid decided this counted as affection.
The two continued their sibling banter, maintaining that peculiar warmth.
"Cliffs? You can just leap down them. Or can't you?"
"You dog's son of a brother. Your tone is as foul as Rem's, you know that?"
Grida flaunted her knowledge of curses learned while wandering the continent, tossing in a few fresh ones she had picked up recently.
If Rem had heard, he might have drawn his axe right then.
Listening to their "affectionate" exchange, Enkrid almost felt like washing out his ears. Even among mercenary bands, people didn't trade words this venomous.
"What is even going on here?"
"My thoughts exactly."
Those were the quiet words exchanged between Magrun and Anne, who had been ignoring the sibling farce.
The firelight painted Anne's face red. Even so, she never once spoke of turning back. Instead, she said the opposite.
"I need to see that disease for myself."
She hadn't said with my own eyes or directly, but the meaning was clear.
"So be it."
Enkrid respected her decision. From their first meeting, she had left a strong impression.
Alchemy itself could be seen as just one path toward healing. Then what Anne practiced—was it alchemy, or healing arts?
Who could say? Call it whatever you liked.
Enkrid drew out his weapons and began laying them by the fire for maintenance.
Ten horn-handled daggers—Jaxen always said that aside from Rem, no one had less sense of aesthetics.
Alongside them, the Three-Iron Sword, and even Penna. He'd also brought a short sword forged with Valerian steel, just in case.
He rarely left weapons tied to a horse's saddle. Carrying them on his body was a habit from his mercenary days—not something anyone had told him, but something he'd learned by watching and imitating others. Among mercenaries, it was called "keeping steel at your side."
"You must have worked as a mercenary too, then?"
Grida, ever observant, made the remark. She herself had wandered the continent and dabbled in mercenary life.
She too pulled out her weapons for inspection. Oiling the blades, checking for loosened fittings—small, necessary rituals.
Ragna and Magrun joined in, until soon only the clatter of steel filled the silence.
Afterward, peace settled in. Each of them knew how to rest as much as needed when the time came.
Anne eventually relaxed and drifted into sleep.
Enkrid remained half-alert, even in slumber. But the night passed without incident, and morning light greeted them.
After loosening their bodies, eating, and tending to necessities, the company moved on.
They crossed black soil and broad plains, with rolling hills scattered here and there. Some ridges were high enough to block even a mounted rider's view, while others barely reached Anne's waist—terrain rippling like waves.
They walked beneath the drowsy spring sun, shining from high on their right, when it happened.
Before them stood a few trees, and from that spot mist began to spread.
It was a phenomenon clearly artificial, clearly unnatural.
And Enkrid had experienced it once before.