"Information control."
Luagarne murmured, almost to herself.
It was something she'd asked Jaxen to handle.
She'd brought it up because the masters of the Demonic Domain fortress seemed so trusting in their own monsters that he's left his post unattended.
If it worked, great; if not, oh well.
But as it turned out, it was both timely and effective. The enemy's reaction wasn't unusually intense.
Even though they were now this close to the fortress walls.
Which meant that whatever happened next wouldn't be anything out of the ordinary—it was all within the range of what the enemy expected.
"They're coming next."
It was Shinar, whispering from behind Enkrid.
The din of the Thornbriar Wraiths was loud all around them.
As if on cue, monsters began to prowl towards them from the dark shadows on either side of the fortress wall.
There were four-armed Werewolves and Werebears among them.
The Werebears, in particular, were especially massive, and one had a jet-black club gripped in his hand.
Four clubs for his four hands—he looked extremely menacing.
Most of all, compared to those they'd fought outside, these creatures emanated a much more dangerous aura.
Of course—they were in the Demon Realm now.
"Hold the line and break through."
Luagarne spoke.
Sometimes, the simplest tactics make for the sharpest spear.
With this much strength at their disposal, why bother climbing the walls or wasting time searching for hidden gates?
Jaxen could pull off those sorts of feats, gliding over the ramparts and assassinating sentries for information control, but as for the rest of them, there was no need.
In fact, it would be pointless for them to even try. And what did that guy say earlier?
He'd sneered, "So, what can you even do?"
Luagarne wanted nothing more than to show him the most impressive answer to that question—what they truly could do.
As the group drew closer to the walls, strange contraptions lining the battlements on either side began to move on their own, adding to the monsters already closing in.
These mechanisms, constructed of bone, fired thick bolts made from bone as well.
In other words, they were ballistae, haunted by evil spirits—monsters in their own right. Creak.
Strings twisted from cords glowing with violet veins shuddered and cocked automatically, dropping bolts into place and firing them.
Thump!
With a heavy twang, one of the bolts shot straight toward the party, flying directly at their center.
The moment they came within a certain distance, the wall's defenses activated, as if the fortification itself were reacting to an invader.
Maybe these should be called the protective monsters of the Thornbriar Fortress. Just before the bolt struck, Enkrid's gaze swept across the top of the wall.
Even here in the Demonic Domain, they had preparedness to rival any human stronghold. Hadn't they turned standard siege weapons into monsters just to fortify their defenses?
You had to admit—they'd put in an impressive amount of effort with their defenses.
Enkrid rested his hand on the hilt of his Duskforged, but there was no need for him to step in. Someone else had already leaped forward, soaring upward and swinging their sword.
Clang!
With swift precision, a single sword knocked the arrow aside.
The bolt, made by twisting bones together, ricocheted off with a resonant clang and struck the ground, bouncing toward an approaching werewolf.
This particular creature had fur that was patchy and falling out in many places, but in exchange, its forearms were especially thick.
You could tell just by looking: if that arm squeezed your forearm, it'd snap like a brittle twig. Not that there were any ordinary humans here, of course.
The werewolf snatched up the bone arrow that had bounced to the ground, gripping it as if ready to use it as a weapon.
It brandished the bone bludgeon through the air with a heavy whoosh.
If monsters could improvise and wield weapons like that, it was clear evidence of considerable intelligence.
Then again, judging by the way it drooled pus instead of saliva with a low growl, maybe "intelligence" wasn't the right word—it just looked like some beastly freak.
The one who had deflected the arrow was Fel.
He spoke, still gripping his sword with both hands, poised from the swing.
"I'll handle the ones from above."
Fel thought this was the perfect environment for practicing the art of blocking whatever came his way with a sword.
Ballista bolts were heavy, sure, but to a knight's trained eye, they weren't exactly fast—so it wasn't all that difficult.
"Please do."
Audin was the one who replied, standing at the center of the group. Grrrrrrrr.
The pack of monsters—werewolves, werebears, and the like—closed the distance.
Even though none of them were charging in recklessly and were just lumbering forward, their sheer size meant they covered ground in an instant.
For anyone else, the sight of monsters closing in from both sides might have been frightening, but everyone here remained calm.
Fel watched the skies, while the others kept their eyes on the monsters.
Each one of them took deep, steady breaths, showing not the slightest sign of faltering. Shiiing.
Teresa drew her sword.
In her hands, it might have looked like an ordinary longsword, but it was actually a greatsword on par with Ragna's Sunrise.
The effortless way she wielded it in one hand was proof enough that giant's blood flowed in her veins.
Ahhh.
She began softly chanting a hymn.
It was more of a humming song, accompanied by a shimmering white glow that danced across her entire body.
Divine power was, after all, one of the most visibly striking supernatural forces in this land. To do something like that with Will would require considerable enlightenment.
But Enkrid knew all too well that each person's powers had their own strengths and peculiarities. On the other hand, divine power was lacking in aggression.
From the start, it was a force meant to heal and console, not to destroy.
To make up for that weakness, Audin had pushed his body past its limits through relentless training.
In fact, the entire Order of the Holy Knights did the same—Audin just took it to greater extremes than anyone else.
"Make up for what you lack in divine power with brute strength."
In that sense, holy power might have been the perfect fit for a half-giant. Of course, one would also need genuine faith and innate talent.
Teresa's lips curled up in a twisted grin.
The woman who'd just been singing her hymn and radiating divine energy now looked for all the world like the bloodthirsty half-giant side of herself had taken over.
Accompanied by her humming, the soft white glow no longer felt like a force for healing or sanctuary.
Instead, it manifested her overwhelming physical power—a pure display of force. Crash!
Her massive sword struck the head of the charging werebear. The beast's skull didn't split open.
Though black blood spurted out, the flesh beneath its hide was as tough as steel.
This was what they called an "armored bear" among the werebears—monsters with an exceptionally hard exoskeleton.
Teresa's attack was the spark. The battle erupted all over again. Thunk!
Fel deflected an arrow, while Ropord held the line on one flank.
Ragna's Sunrise sliced and burned through everything in its path without hesitation. Ssssk.
White smoke rose from the severed nape of the werewolf's neck—a mark left by Ragna's Sunrise.
With a long arcing slash, Ragna's blade took the heads of six monsters at once. This is the continuous sword technique of Oara.
In a situation like this, there was no point in holding back their will—everyone gave it their all. There is a saying: a knight cuts down a thousand with a single sword.
It means a true knight could slay hundreds of monsters alone. With several such people gathered here, it was inevitable.
The advancing monsters were carved apart like butchered meat, their bodies strewn across the ground.
The group pressed forward, and Audin, among them, finally arrived at the Moat of Vomit.
Part of what the Specter of the Ramparts had spewed, vomit, now seeped out across the ground, reeking foully.
Just inhaling the air clouded with that stench was enough to poison someone, but it had no effect on Audin.
He didn't step forward to fight the monsters.
He left the beasts charging from either side to the others. Grrraaaah—
The Specters howled.
Audin faced it, bracing himself.
He placed his left foot and left hand forward.
Then, twisting his ankle and waist, he shot his right fist forward—now shining white.
All the torque winding through his body gathered into that single punch, and that force even imbued his divine power.
"Lord."
With a brief murmur, the air around him seemed to swirl violently, converging at his center.
The gathered divine power stirred the wind, forming a small whirlwind that shot upward around Audin.
Pararara.
His hair streamed upward.
In that state, Audin extended his arm.
The wind, the white light—everything intertwined along the arc of his outstretched arm, surging forward with him.
Woom.
White light spiraled from his thrusting fist, colliding with the specters clad in thorns. Boom!
With a thunderous crash, the impact of his fist created a pressure wave, sending fragments of the thorny rampart flying in all directions, accompanied by the banshee's shrill scream.
In a single blow, dozens of specters were sent soaring to the heavens.
"O Lord, whether these souls need forgiveness or judgment for their sins is for You to decide; I am merely sending them to Your side."
As Audin drew back his fist, he uttered a prayer, though no one could guess how the specters—if they still had any reason left—felt about a prayer meant for heaven.
Who knew if they even retained any sanity.
The result of that single holy punch was a deep crater in the rampart—large enough for a person to fit through.
The specters didn't stand idly by and simply take the blow; they resisted in all sorts of ways, but it didn't even register for Audin.
The faint halo armor enveloping his entire body shook them off and repelled all attacks. The ground connected to the shattered rampart quaked.
"Their foundation is weak."
Speaking in a light tone, Audin sidestepped a few paces, and for a moment, the wailing of the specters—so grating to the ear—fell silent.
They probably didn't actually think about it, but if any reason remained in those specters, they'd surely be screaming, "What on earth are these lunatics?"
The apostle of the God of Battle, confident that no mere curse could harm him, drew his fist back once more.
"That's one hell of a knock."
Enkrid made a dry remark as he watched.
For some reason, it reminded him of the time when, during a raid on the Gilpin Guild back at Border Guard, he'd stumbled upon a basement entrance.
Back then, too, he'd called it a "knock" as he smashed down the door—and, honestly, not much had changed since then.
The only difference was that now, the target was the wall of a fortress in the Demon Realm. Crash—!
The second punch resounded with a thunderous boom.
With those two serious punches, Audin had punched a hole into the fortress wall.
The gaping depression in the wall writhed and began to heal itself, making it look as if the wall itself was alive.
At this, Shinar furrowed her brows. It was a clear expression of distaste.
"Are they trying to imitate the fairy city?"
Her city—or rather, the city she lived in and that bore her name—was built from living, moving trees.
In other words, the foundation of her city was alive.
The fortress of the Demon Realm was mimicking that, and to her, it was deeply offensive. It meant some knowledge from the fairies had clearly been stolen and put to use here.
Although the wall's regeneration wasn't exactly slow, one thing was certain: Audin's fists were far quicker.
And even though the two holes he'd punched were only just big enough to see through, they could now glimpse the inside of the wall.
"The door's open now."
Watching this, Teresa spoke quietly.
She had just grabbed a werebear's club and tossed it aside.
Right before that, instead of going for the neck as usual, she'd beaten the attacking armored bear to death by smashing its body.
In short, she'd spoken while taking a brief moment to catch her breath.
"Shouldn't we be saying we have an opening, not that one's been made?"
Fel, deflecting a bone bolt from a ballista, spoke up.
He hovered in midair, effortlessly batting away the arrow.
Using the momentum of his body spinning in the air, he whipped out his sword. It was impressive to display such skill with nothing to push off from.
Enkrid agreed with Fel's remark but didn't argue. Really, what did it matter?
The important thing was that the path had opened up.
And, catching a glimpse, Enkrid realized he could lend a hand as well. Ching.
His sword, Duskforged, seemed to be rebuking him, wondering why it still hadn't seen any action.
Enkrid, as if to soothe the weapon, finally moved forward.
From the top of the wall, Jaxen was clearing out the Bone Ballistae one by one. Thanks to his efforts, fewer arrows were being fired with each passing moment.
That meant there was no longer any reason for Fel to stay put and block whatever the others might miss.
Enkrid sprang forward.
Werewolf claws slashed, a black club fell from above, feet with four talons pounded the ground and reached out for his ankles, and every swipe of those dagger-like claws looked like it could shear off great chunks of flesh with just a graze.
Attacks came at him from above, the middle, and below, all at the same time. They were all monsters who knew how to fight.
With Dawnforge in his right hand and Penna in his left, Enkrid advanced, almost as if he were just tapping his way forward.
He didn't bother with thrusts—instead, he alternated between sweeping slashes.
That alone was enough to sever the monsters' limbs, sending them tumbling to the ground.
Even before their attacks could reach him, flashes of movement—optimally calculated in his mind—were slicing through their arms and legs.
When those flashes came one after another, it became a storm of lightning. Zzzzt—Kra-boom.
His blades cut through the noise in rapid succession, unleashing a thunderous roar. A trail of black blood stretched down the path where he walked.
By now, this came to him naturally.
This growth in skill came from his constant determination to swing his sword at its best, wherever and whenever.
'It's people who wield swords.'
The swordsmanship, split into five forms, could only ever be used by a person. It was a thought that had occurred to him before.
Though he could only grasp fragments of it, the path of the sword might connect in ways he couldn't predict.
He pushed aside those thoughts quickly.
After closing the distance to just within arm's reach of the fortress wall, Enkrid sheathed Penna.
He liked the way his muscles felt—they were just tense enough, and his Will spun without a hitch.
It was as if he'd woken from a deep, restful sleep, brimming with energy. On days like this, he felt as if he could do anything.
You might even say he was overwhelmed by a sense of omnipotence. Not that he'd foolishly charge into something impossible, of course.
"Hello there, my wraith friends," he called out.
With a simple greeting, Enkrid raised Duskforge until it was perfectly parallel with the ground. The blade shimmered with a sky-blue hue, letting out a resonant ring as it vibrated.
It was almost as if it were reacting to Enkrid's barely-contained excitement.
In reality, the sword's trembling was due to its resonance with Enkrid's will, but in the end, it all depended on how the wielder interpreted it.
Since Audin was cutting through with divine power, it'd be nice to add his own strength as well. His will surged and poured into the blade.
This was the Demonic Domain, and right before him stood one of the Fortresses of the Demonic Domain.
All of that was already clear in his mind. So what of it?
What had that bastard said earlier?—He asked what could they do about it. Rumble.
"Insane," Luagarne muttered behind him.
There wasn't even a hint of a smile on Enkrid's face; he was all seriousness. What am I capable of, right now?
This is the answer to that question.