Chapter 630

Chapter 630

The pale-haired fairy remained a cipher—his features offered no window into his internal state. He simply kept his gaze fixed on Enkrid for a long duration. While Frokk possessed a knack for identifying raw potential, fairies were naturally attuned to the resonance of truth and deception. Enkrid’s words had been entirely earnest, and the white-haired elder could sense that sincerity. Even so, the specific strategy Enkrid had proposed remained utterly nonsensical.

Slumping back against the wall, the fairy straightened his posture and resumed his silent study of Enkrid. Through the curved window at the elder’s back, Enkrid noticed several young fairies staring inside with wide, inquisitive eyes. They kept a short distance from the glass, their attention locked on the scene. Being young, they clearly hadn’t mastered the art of hiding their feelings; their faces were open books of fascination.

Before long, a few adult fairies—similar in stature but far more composed—approached and spoke to the youths in a tongue Enkrid couldn’t grasp. Sounds like “Pulluu-s” or “dekedo” reached his ears. It struck him as odd that they had been speaking his language at all. Despite having a native dialect, these fairies were remarkably articulate in human speech. Whatever the elders commanded, the children scurried off, their curiosity suppressed by the reprimand.

He assumed they were told to stop spying. That made sense. Yet, the moment the children vanished, the three adults who had cleared them away perked their ears and took over the vantage point.

*You kicked them out just to steal their seats,* Enkrid thought. It was a transparent move. They were deeply intrigued. Their faces were masks of indifference, but their presence told a different story.

“An apology is probably in order,” Pell remarked from behind him. This was the same individual who had recently suggested stitching Enkrid’s lips shut. Enkrid decided to ignore him.

“I was being serious,” Enkrid muttered.

“Just take the tea. Swish it around. For heaven’s sake, don’t gulp it down yet,” Pell sighed. Pell viewed Enkrid as some rustic, socially inept traveler who didn’t understand basic etiquette. He was wrong. The true absurdity was Enkrid’s logic. When asked how to dispatch a demon, he had essentially said: *Hit it hard. Keep hitting it until it stops moving.*

That wasn’t the response of a rational human being. Pell found himself wondering if this was the price of Enkrid’s talent. Had his mastery of the blade drained his common sense? It reminded him of Ragna, who could watch the sun rise and still head the wrong direction without a second thought. It was a bizarre comparison, but there was no one to challenge it.

Regardless, Enkrid had been honest. He hadn’t forgotten social graces; he simply felt that the elder’s sincerity deserved an equally blunt response. He could explain the nuances later if necessary.

The white-haired fairy gathered his thoughts and spoke again. “Fairy civilization is managed by a council of high families.”

The sudden pivot in conversation drew everyone’s focus. The fairy’s voice was steady and clinical. Each noble house was governed by a patriarch or matriarch, and these leaders formed the governing body. One among them served as the Speaker, the final arbiter of collective decisions.

There was also a primary bloodline—a royal family by human standards—though fairies viewed them as protectors rather than monarchs. “I am the patriarch of House Ermen,” the elder stated.

Enkrid was unaware that Ermen was a cornerstone of the city’s power. They weren’t a house built on conquest, but one whose enduring contributions had made them indispensable. “With the rest of the council gone, I am the sole voice remaining. My choices are the city’s choices.”

The elder leaned in, his silver-grey eyes pinning Enkrid down. “We shall go to war together.”

It was a heavy, final statement. Enkrid, however, felt he had missed a crucial step in the logic.

“…Fight what, exactly?” he asked.

“I presumed you were aware,” the fairy said, tilting his head.

“I haven’t a clue,” Enkrid replied.

“Then what brought you to our gates?” the elder asked, sitting up.

“I came to find out why Shinar departed,” Enkrid said.

“You came only for that? She told you nothing? Not of her mission or the peril facing our kin?”

She hadn’t mentioned a thing. “No.”

The elder—Ermen—closed his eyes for a heartbeat, lost in thought. “You attempted to shoulder the burden alone, didn’t you, Shinar? You were always prone to that.” The comment was directed at the absent woman, his tone filled with a quiet, weary acceptance. “A reckless choice,” he added with a hint of sorrow.

To Enkrid, the dialogue was a puzzle with missing pieces. He rapped his knuckles against the table—a sharp, polite signal for clarity. It worked. Ermen looked back at him.

“Explain the situation to me.”

“It is a foul tale. More bitter than a poisoned root. But if you wish to know, I will speak.”

He began the history. “There is a cavern within these borders where horrors are born. Within that darkness dwells a demon.”

Fairy culture was withering, like a leaf turning to dust. “In these times, even our young must help forge weaponry. Many of our people have left to serve as blades for hire across the lands.”

Children were the lifeblood of any race, yet here, they were drafted into labor. A society that uses its children has no tomorrow. This decay was the work of the demon. While it wasn’t the only hardship—they had faced pressure from Imperial fairy kingdoms and internal rifts among druids—the demon was the source. It had approached with a false warmth before turning into a consuming fire.

Enkrid sat perfectly still, absorbing the details.

“Shinar took the weight of killing the beast upon herself. It was a potential salvation for us, but a death sentence for her.”

Her task was to enter the abyss and confront the entity. The demon’s terms were simple: *Grant me a bride.*

Shinar was not the first choice. Great champions, the fairy knights, had challenged the cave. They had all perished. In retaliation, tides of monsters surged from the depths, and the city bled. More warriors entered; more bodies were left behind. The demon didn’t rely on brute strength alone; it used attrition. It bled them dry, sending endless waves from the void.

Priests, sorcerers, and masters of the sword all fell. The demon remained. Finally, it demanded its tribute. The first bride was the cost of a fragile peace. The attacks ceased. It was a stay of execution. Years passed, and the monsters returned. The fairies hadn’t been idle—they had searched for any other way.

“To be the demon’s consort is to be a toy until you break. That is the reality of our ‘peace.’ It is a foul bargain.” His voice remained level, yet it carried the weight of profound fury and grief.

As the sun dipped and Enkrid’s hunger began to gnaw at him, he remained focused on the narrative. “So, to be clear,” he said, “Shinar went into that cave to be the bride?”

“She went to negotiate another delay. But she could not break the chain.” Ermen nodded.

The demon had marked her soul. She had heard its voice since she was a girl. If she ever wed a mortal, the curse would pass to him. Was that why she kept Enkrid at a distance despite her constant teasing?

“The demon whispered to her in her youth: You are tainted. Some of our own people were cruel enough to repeat it, shunning her. Eventually, many fled the city entirely, losing their heritage just to escape the shadow.”

Enkrid smelled something new beneath the scent of the pines. Iron. Blood. It was faint but distinct—a scent that had no business being in a sanctuary.

“Pardon me, but I have duties to attend to,” Ermen said, standing up.

As the elder walked away, Enkrid processed the data with clinical speed. A demon had ravaged the city, retreated into a cavern, and now slept there. Every few decades, it required a sacrifice. The fairies had lost their best protectors trying to stop it. The demon wasn’t just a killer; it was a voyeur that enjoyed watching a race rot from within.

Enkrid could see it. He pictured the beast laughing, holding Shinar, mocking her. It wasn’t a guess; it was a vivid reconstruction built in the seconds it took Ermen to cross the room. This was Enkrid’s true gift—the lightning-fast synthesis of information. Kraiss had always noted it.

He understood the stakes. He knew the danger. And he knew exactly what he was going to do.

The demon was the rot. The cave was the source. Another Maegyeong. They had already lost Oara to such a place. He wouldn’t lose Shinar.

Anger and impatience flared in his chest, but his exterior remained cold. He was simply setting his priorities.

“What did you mean by fighting together?” he asked Ermen’s retreating figure.

“We are going into that cave,” Ermen replied. “To end the demon.”

This wasn’t just about Shinar; it was a choice of conscience for the whole race.

“We are late in doing so,” Ermen admitted.

Enkrid was already on his feet, walking alongside him. “Is your name Ermen?”

“When one leads a house, the house becomes the name.”

“Then why call the city Kirhais?” Enkrid asked.

Ermen explained with a touch of pride. “Kirhais is the lineage that has held these walls for eras. What your people would call royalty.” He clarified that they were protectors, not monarchs.

*A queen?* Enkrid thought. That changed things. He could see himself calling her the “old queen” as a jab. She’d probably blast him with magic for it, but that would be a welcome change if she was back home and safe.

“Where is this cave?” Enkrid asked.

“If you do not intend to stand with us, I cannot let you proceed.” Ermen’s gaze flickered. Even the stoic fairies had their limits. Shinar had sacrificed herself for them, and they were finally refusing to let her.

Enkrid wanted to see this Kirhais and its nightmare for himself. Since he was here, he might as well go to the cave and tell Shinar to stop being so dramatic and come home.

Behind them, Pell leaned toward Lua Gharne. “I’m starting to get a bad feeling.”

“You’re worried about the demon?” she asked.

“No. I’m worried about the Captain.”

Enkrid was radiating a terrifying, silent rage. Like a glacier on fire. And beneath that, there was a sharp, dangerous edge of anticipation.

Ermen led them through a forest path where the trees seemed to move faster than they were walking.

“We are here,” Ermen announced.

The trail opened into a clearing. Immediately, the stench of decay hit them—the smell of stagnant death and rot. A massive assembly of fairies was already there, hundreds of them.

Ermen stood before the crowd. “The truce is over. We are the ones ending it.”

Shinar had made her choice to protect them, but the city had made a different one. They would rather die fighting than live by her sacrifice.

Enkrid approved. They were serious. And so was he.