Chapter 964 - See Everything as Swordsmanship
The moment Esther sensed the presence of Astrael, she completely erased her mana signature, but that didn't mean the physical devastation left in the wake of her battle magically disappeared.
Furthermore, Enkrid and Rem had also gone on a rampage, leaving incredibly visceral traces of their own work behind.
"This is driving me insane."
"Sir?"
Andrew had inadvertently muttered the thought out loud, causing his lieutenant to look back at him.
Andrew furrowed his brow, turned to his lieutenant, and repeated himself.
"I said this is driving me insane."
The lieutenant instantly clamped his mouth shut, acting as if he hadn't heard a thing.
He accurately judged that his superior was currently furious, making this the absolute worst time to strike up a conversation.
He was an excellent lieutenant.
A man who single-handedly cared for his elderly mother, whose greatest goal in life was to marry a good woman and give his mother a grandchild before she passed, and a simple man who just wanted to get through today without incident.
Seeing his quick-witted lieutenant fall silent, Andrew concluded that this entire situation was not something he could solve by racking his own brain.
'But can I just go see Duke Marcus right now?'
That was out of the question as well.
'There's a massive rumor circulating that Duke Marcus is currently possessed by a demon.'
How could he possibly go meet him in the middle of all this?
Duke Marcus had deliberately leveraged those rumors to lure out a few demonic minions.
It was a scheme so convoluted that it was impossible to tell who the real demons were.
The minions were the ones being deceived; they were completely incapable of deceiving anyone themselves.
At least, not in this specific scenario.
Especially not when they were currently being unilaterally slaughtered.
'Are all the victims actually minions?'
Some of the dead people simply looked like ordinary humans.
The fact that this looked exactly like the work of a deranged serial killer who had snapped out of sheer hatred for nobles and the ruling class was what made his feelings on the matter so complicated.
While Andrew was internally agonizing over this, someone approached his side and lightly nudged his elbow.
"...When did you get here?" Andrew asked, turning his head.
Unlike a moment ago, the intense irritation in his voice had vanished, replaced by a subtle influx of energy.
No matter how distracted he was, how many people in this world could completely bypass his senses and sneak up on him?
"Just now."
Hearing that answer, the color finally returned to Andrew's face.
Blood genuinely began circulating properly through his body again, and the rigid tension—a cocktail of irritation, bewilderment, and stress—finally melted away.
"You need to help me with this."
"That's exactly why I came straight to the City Guard headquarters."
It was the return of a Royal Knight who had just finished an external mission.
The knight, whose orange hair had grown long enough to reach her shoulders and was now tied back, replied.
Her name was Aishia.
***
"Triple Fang has arrived?"
Triple Fang.
It was a moniker Aishia had earned through her recent, highly active exploits.
The man asking the question possessed a jawline so delicate and refined that anyone would turn to look at him.
With his flowing brown hair, dangling earrings, a necklace bearing a round medallion, a bracelet spanning half a hand's span on his wrist, and a thin white shirt that exposed his chest muscles, he exuded a profoundly bizarre aura.
He looked simultaneously decadent and holy, and despite being a man, he possessed an almost feminine beauty.
You could describe him as both impeccably neat and chaotic, radiating an overwhelmingly peculiar vibe.
He was a Master of Astrael.
And to be a Master of Astrael meant being one of the invisible, moving hands that secretly ruled this world.
And one of those very Masters had personally entered Naurill.
He had set aside his research and all his duties to make the journey here.
What was the absolute most important thing to a Master of Astrael?
Research, research, and more research.
The reason he had traveled all this way?
For his research, naturally.
To be precise, he had come to acquire raw materials for his research.
Initially, he had assumed deploying a few of his disciples would be more than enough to handle the situation, but he had just violently realized how massively miscalculated that assumption was.
'Is this the work of Triple Fang?'
With her level of skill, she was more than capable of taking down a single disciple trained as a Warlock.
However, all three of his disciples had been killed.
'I heard a Knight Order entered the Royal Palace. Is it truly their doing?'
Perhaps it was.
But was that any reason for him to back down?
No matter how much the continent worshipped them or how far their infamy had spread, in the end, they were just stories about ordinary humans.
He was a man who conversed privately with demons, and one of the rulers of a secret society that even the Empire didn't dare cross carelessly.
Had there ever been a single thing he desired that he hadn't obtained?
Even the demons of the Demonic Realms took a step back when dealing with a Master of Astrael.
As long as he wasn't dealing with an ignorant, brute-force monster like Beelrog, there would be absolutely no issues.
"Master Eudokia, what are your orders?"
He had brought eight disciples with him for this task.
And the absolute condition the demons had demanded in exchange for their deal was the complete eradication of the Empire's envoy within the borders of the capital.
They would get exactly what they desired.
But first, he had to clean up the mess happening right here.
'If there are obstacles in my path...'
I will simply sweep them away.
The moment they cross paths, that is exactly what will happen.
He was absolutely confident.
Every single day of his life leading up to this point was the undeniable proof backing that confidence.
***
What should you do when a situation becomes hopelessly tangled and complicated?
"You just have to use that to your advantage."
"The number of City Guard soldiers has tripled compared to yesterday."
Rem reported, having scouted the atmosphere just before sunset.
He didn't sound particularly worried.
Even if their numbers quintupled, he was overflowing with confidence that he could effortlessly slip away without a single person noticing him.
"They've likely mobilized the private guards of the Gardener House, the private guards of the Duke of the Fertile Lands, and the Royal Capital Defense Force. It's perfectly within our predicted parameters," Krais replied.
Enkrid nodded in agreement.
He felt slightly bad for Andrew, but it was incredibly fortunate the man was acting exactly like this.
In a situation like this, someone had to be the deceived clown dancing on the stage.
"This is the intelligence Duke Marcus gathered by walking a razor-thin tightrope, acting exactly like a demonic minion to infiltrate their ranks.However, he couldn't uncover everything. It seems we've only just managed to unearth the largest root."
Demons never act directly.
Krais had formulated that hypothesis.
'The reason?'
Was the reason important?
Yes, it was absolutely crucial.
If you only chase the results without understanding the enemy's true intent, you will inevitably ruin the operation.
You have to know what the opponent desires to understand the motive behind their actions.
'Demons conserve their power.'
Just looking at the process required to create a minion proved that point.
'If the Kingdom is such a thorn in their side, why don't they just step forward and crush it themselves?'
Why are they desperately trying to exploit the friction between the Empire and the Kingdom?
"Those bastards are keeping each other in check."
Enkrid abruptly spoke up.
It was the conclusion reached after a brief discussion on why demons pull these kinds of pathetic stunts.
Hearing that, Krais nodded heavily.
That very friction and paranoia between the demons would become a vital tool they could exploit.
"Well, we just have to keep doing our job," Krais said.
The number of minions had dropped significantly.
Soon, under the guise of 'pastoral visits', Holy Priests would begin visiting every single noble and prominent merchant household in the city, systematically hunting down any lingering traces of hidden demons.
As long as they eliminated all the major players, the minor fry would easily be swept up by the Combat Priests dispatched from the Legion.
Then, this entire operation would be over.
Using the excuse that the three of them required exclusive use of the Royal Palace training grounds, Enkrid, Rem, and Esther absolutely refused to meet with any external figures.
It was the grand arrival of the Captain of the Madmen Knights, after all.
Countless invitations demanding his presence as a guest and mountains of lavish gifts had poured in from everywhere.
Krang had preemptively blocked all of it.
"The time to welcome the Empire's envoy is rapidly approaching. The Captain of the Knights has come to Naurill solely to prepare for his meeting with them, and any interruptions are strictly forbidden."
Thanks to that excuse, they had already operated for two full nights without a single interruption.
Esther had issued a warning.
"A Master of Astrael is not an opponent you can take lightly. You must treat them as an entity equal to an actual demon."
With a warning of that caliber hanging over them, the three dedicated their days entirely to resting and preparing for the night.
'Should I get some sleep?'
Regardless of how chaotically a situation was unfolding, Enkrid was a man who always knew exactly what he needed to do in the moment.
Using Krang's perfectly crafted excuses and justifications as a shield, he laid down in bed to sleep.
It wasn't that he completely stopped his training and conditioning, but he heavily prioritized rest over exertion.
It wasn't because he felt fatigued; it was a decision driven entirely by pure instinct.
After all, clashing with this supposed Master of Astrael Esther had warned them about felt like an absolute inevitability.
And so, taking over the bed in the middle of the day, he used the warm sunlight filtering through the window as a lullaby and closed his eyes.
Falling asleep instantly in any situation was one of Enkrid's specialties.
The exact moment his consciousness disconnected from reality.
Splash—
Along with the sound of rippling water, the wooden floorboards of a rowboat, a glowing purple lantern, and a Ferryman holding an oar came into view.
"Is he a wall?" Enkrid asked before the Ferryman could even speak.
"Don't be ridiculous."
The Ferryman replied in a tone so utterly devoid of energy it drained the listener just to hear it.
It was another bizarre exchange of a question and answer completely lacking a proper subject or clear meaning.
"I asked just in case."
Enkrid's attitude was as casual as ever.
Because regardless of whether this was a wall or a sheer cliff of adversity, all he had to do was survive 'today' just like he always did.
He had lived through an endless, agonizing cycle of 'todays' to finally reach his present.
The Ferryman pulled back his hood.
At first glance, his skin appeared gray, but looking closer, it was actually so deathly pale that it only looked gray.
In other words, it didn't possess the dry, cracked texture of a wasteland he had seen in the past.
"I was hoping to pass the time in peace."
His tone was like melting candle wax.
Thick, slow, and profoundly gloomy.
He possessed an uncanny ability to deeply shake a person's heart utilizing nothing but the sound of his voice.
Of course, Enkrid remained utterly unfazed.
Even when facing Krang or the King of Evergart, he had relentlessly pushed forward with his own Will without his convictions wavering in the slightest.
That absolute resolve didn't change just because the Ferryman was his opponent.
"Basking in the sunlight, taking afternoon naps, completely isolating yourself from everyone, and just living out the rest of your days hidden away deep in a forest or a mountain... How does that sound?"
The Ferryman proposed.
Enkrid found it surprisingly refreshing.
It wasn't just a vague threat to stay trapped in 'today'; in some ways, it was an incredibly specific and tangible offer.
"Do you actually need an answer to that?"
"No. I don't."
Because it was an answer he knew without even having to hear it.
The current Ferryman looked exactly like a man who hadn't smiled a single time in his entire life.
The man with broad, perfectly straight shoulders leaned back against the gunwale of the boat without letting out a single sigh.
Propping up one knee and wrapping his arms around it, he stared blankly into the distant void and spoke.
"The absolute core of Spell Killing is annihilating the caster. However, if that proves impossible, you must know how to physically sever the spell itself."
Spell Murder was a technique he had awakened by repeatedly cleaving through the Walking Fire and had meticulously refined through his brutal training with Esther.
Yet, the Ferryman was suddenly bringing it up out of nowhere.
"Your current level won't be enough."
"What exactly are you trying to say?"
Enkrid's tone naturally rose.
It was because a surge of genuine anticipation flared within him.
"I merely wish for today to remain peaceful. Is this truly necessary to achieve that? I do not know. I truly do not know."
Lamentation, sorrow, regret, and self-reproach.
Several profound emotions violently swirled and tangled together.
Enkrid knew that if he took just one more step forward, he could peer directly into the Ferryman's past.
Because he knew that, he reached his hand out without a shred of hesitation, but the Ferryman raised his palm.
It was a gesture to stop.
Enkrid instantly ceased his attempt.
"I will not allow you to look inside me right now. Just remember one thing. See everything as swordsmanship. Since you have already managed to do it once, this level of advice will be more than enough for you to understand exactly what I mean."
The Ferryman had physically blocked him, but Enkrid had still caught a fleeting glimpse of his past.
He saw a man screaming in absolute agony while cradling a dead woman.
Screaming while cradling a dead old man.
Screaming while cradling a dead child.
And standing before that man were figures draped in brilliantly colored robes, clutching staves.
"I explicitly told you not to look, but I suppose catching a glimpse of that much was inevitable. Next time... there will be an opportunity to see more next time."
That was the end.
When he opened his eyes again, he saw the physical ceiling of his room.
Enkrid had only slept for a brief moment, yet his body felt so light he could fly.
'I feel like I could cut through absolutely anything.'
Ever since he became a Knight, on days when his senses were particularly sharp, he easily felt a profound sense of omnipotence.
'See everything as swordsmanship.'
The Ferryman's words naturally echoed in his mind.
He could now clearly distinguish whether the Ferryman's words were lies, deliberate sabotage, or genuine advice.
Why?
He didn't bother analyzing the reason.
Even if this turned out to be a meticulously crafted lie meant to deceive him, he would simply find something to learn from it anyway.
Once he decided on a path, he marched forward.
His fundamental approach to life hadn't changed.
***
It was the third night.
Enkrid knew the number of remaining minions was dwindling rapidly.
"Damn it!"
The target violently ground his teeth and cursed, his eyes darting frantically.
Since there was no specific need for the three of them to split up tonight, they moved together.
And just like that, they tracked down a scribe belonging to the Council of Ten.
There was no point in asking how a man occupying such a critical, high-ranking position had been corrupted by a demon.
Because demons fundamentally operate by finding the deepest vulnerabilities within an intelligent being and ruthlessly gouging them open to ensnare them.
Enkrid and the Madmen Knights were the anomalies; this bastard was the norm.
As long as the Lords of the Demonic Realms remained alive, intelligent races would eternally suffer from these temptations, and the individuals who succumbed to them would inevitably devolve into monsters capable of devouring their own family's hearts.
This specific minion had done exactly that.
He had literally devoured his own father's heart to awaken power.
Therefore, the exact moment he locked eyes with Enkrid, Rem, and Esther, he aggressively scraped his boots against the floor and vanished.
Teleportation spells cannot transport a person over long distances.
It was absolute common sense in the realm of magic.
This bastard had only managed to teleport onto a horse he had hidden just outside his house.
"West."
Rem stated instantly, violently smashing his axe into the wall above the window.
The window frame itself was far too small for his massive frame to fit through.
CRACK!
With a single swing of his axe, a massive fissure spiderwebbed across the upper wall.
Rem violently blasted through the wooden slats and chunks of masonry, charging outside.
Enkrid and Esther followed right behind him.
"Hiyah!"
Fully committed to fleeing, the minion desperately spurred his horse forward.
Because his house was located on the outskirts, the city walls were very close.
Instead of heading for the city gates, he charged straight toward the wall itself, where a monstrous creature with pitch-black wings swooped down from the sky and snatched him right off the horse.
Seeing that, the three of them sprinted straight toward the wall.
As Esther muttered a rapid incantation, the wind aggressively surged up from the ground, compressing into solid footholds in the air.
"Not bad."
Rem muttered approvingly as he leaped upward, grabbed a protruding section of the stone wall, and effortlessly vaulted over it as if he were flying.
Enkrid and Esther demonstrated remarkably similar acrobatic prowess and cleared the wall right beside him.
"Halt! Every single one of you!"
The shout erupted the exact moment they cleared the wall.
It was a highly familiar voice.
'Andrew?'
Just as Enkrid identified the owner of the voice.
The split second before his boots touched the ground on the other side of the wall.
A blade violently lashed out at him from the side.
It absolutely wasn't Andrew's swordsmanship.
The angle of the attack didn't even match the location the voice had come from.
Then who the hell was this?
In a flash, it felt as if his entire body was being tightly bound in layers of sticky spiderwebs.
'Heavy Sword.'
No, it was a unique style of swordsmanship that had merely adopted some characteristics of the Heavy Sword and refined them into something entirely personal.
It was a highly specialized technique designed to violently constrict the opponent's entire body using the sheer oppressive pressure forged from Will.
Enkrid thrust Today forward, instantly parrying the incoming blade.
Even if his body felt bound by spiderwebs, deflecting an attack of this caliber was effortlessly easy.
Clang.
Fast yet unbelievably smooth, he seamlessly intersected two distinct properties of Will to catch and deflect the incoming blade, yet the opponent refused to give up.
Despite the pitch-black darkness of the night, a highly familiar color flashed in his peripheral vision, and the blade violently lashed out at him once more.
It was a blindingly fast, lethal thrust.
***
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