Chapter 632

Chapter 632

“Damn.”
The word fell from Bran’s mouth, sounding like the dry friction of dead leaves.
“That was something else.”
His gravelly voice, though repeating the sentiment, was now laced with a genuine trace of feeling.
As Enkrid pulled back the blade he had driven home, Lua Gharne offered him a folded square of fabric. He took it to clean the manticore’s gore from the surface of his True Silver Sword before returning it to its housing.
Ching—the light ring of metal meeting scabbard sliced through the heavy quiet that had gripped the company.
The entire group had gone mute after witnessing the beast split apart in a single motion.
The gazes that had previously held respect for Enkrid were now saturated with a mix of wonder and shock.
“He ended it with one strike?”
“Unbelievable.”
“I can’t even imagine him as a peer.”
Several fairies whispered amongst themselves.
Enkrid didn’t mistake the fairies for being incompetent.
The proof was clear; even without his intervention, it wasn’t a certainty that three of them would have perished to slay the manticore, despite Lua Gharne’s estimate.
If four of their bowmen provided cover for the eight swordsmen, and they channeled their spiritual essence and vitality—
‘At the worst, perhaps a single death?’
With some fortune, they likely could have triumphed without any loss of life. Perhaps luck wouldn’t even be necessary if they possessed hidden techniques he hadn’t yet witnessed.
‘With pure coordination, they could have felled it without a single casualty.’
Though, they certainly wouldn’t have dispatched it with the singular finality he had.
To a casual observer, Lua Gharne’s grim math—three lives for one beast—didn’t seem like an exaggeration.
But if a solitary warrior had decided to give their life? These were individuals possessed of that brand of grit. He could see it in the dark intensity of their stares.
He recognized it simply by observing the eyes of the fairy he walked past following the kill.
A few were merely fueled by a righteous purpose, but others had already made peace with their end.
The line between those prepared for the grave and those who weren’t—
Soldiers.
That was the distinction between a combatant and a civilian. Enkrid had always been naturally perceptive, but when paired with his sensory talents, his ability to read the terrain, and the knightly blessing of “Future Sight,” he could now pierce the heart of a situation instantly.
‘The fairy community has its own military class.’
They were the foundation of this gathering. The rest were just commoners swept up in the mix.
The eight who had unsheathed their steel were clearly professionals.
By the standards of the Border Guard, at least half of them would have cleared basic training with ease.
If he actually put them through a real drill, even these stoic fairies would likely grit their teeth in frustration—but they had clearly been forged by prior hardship.
Regarding the archers, the divide between those who hunted for survival and those who practiced for sport was obvious.
Certain bow-wielding fairies could manipulate spirits and life force. Most, however, could not.
That was the reason—
“Only a specific few should set foot in that cavern.”
Enkrid spoke with blunt honesty. Ignoring the truth would only result in a higher body count.
“I voiced the same thought.”
Ermen spoke with the detachment of someone watching a stray dog bark from across a wide river.
“Fairies are a stubborn lot,” Bran interjected. “They intended to go in even knowing their strength was insufficient.”
“Even if it meant certain death?”
When Enkrid asked, Bran provided the answer.
“Some are simply disconnected from the gravity of it. Others can’t stomach the idea of Shinar carrying the whole burden alone. And then—”
“And then?”
The benevolent forest giant offered a ghost of a grin—his wooden lips curving upward a fraction.
“There are four male fighters who are infatuated with Shinar. Even if they perish, they refuse to let her remain the bride of a monster.”
As Bran spoke, three fairies moved forward from the flank of the giant. All were male, and all bore the marks of rigorous training. Soldiers. Warriors. That was their aura.
Their looks were steady but fierce. Their brows were knit tight, as if lost in heavy contemplation.
The smallest of the trio took a soft, grounding breath before uttering a word.
“I have no issue being the second husband. What are your thoughts?”
It was a bizarre statement, yet Enkrid grasped the intent behind it.
He desired to be Shinar’s second spouse.
So who was the first?
Me, Enkrid realized—and felt a sudden wave of vertigo.
“…Is that the way of fairy culture?”
He managed to choke the question out.
Among the nobility, taking mistresses or multiple wives wasn’t unheard of—though it wasn’t the law of the land. It wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility that some societies allowed women multiple husbands.
Where there is a void, something will fill it. Rather than being shocked, Enkrid decided to show respect for their traditions.
Then the remaining two fairies chimed in.
“Stop the nonsense.”
“I’d settle for being the third—actually, never mind.”
The third started a quip but went silent. Ermen was boring into him with a fixed stare—translated to human terms, it was a look of severe reprimand.
Lua Gharne, observing from the rear, gave a small nod.
“So it was merely a jest.”
Was that… a sense of relief?
Or was she admiring the audacity of these fairies to crack jokes in the shadow of a crisis?
Following that, Ermen began the process of designating who would enter the depths and who would stay behind.
Each individual argued their case, but every one of them kept glancing toward Enkrid.
They had caught on by now.
It wasn’t difficult to see who actually possessed the strength to rescue Shinar.
The slayer of demons.
‘So that’s why they’re looking at me like that.’
The expressions of awe were logical—if they already understood his identity.
‘A blade capable of felling the demon.’
That was undoubtedly what the fairies craved most in this moment.
Not for political gain. Not for wealth.
Simply to bring Shinar home.
They hadn’t reached out to him privately because they assumed he had turned down her proposal. But that didn’t diminish their desperation.
As he ruminated, Ermen’s voice pulled him back.
“Bran, I assume I can rely on you?”
“Is there anyone else for the job?”
“Brisa.”
“Present.”
“Arcoiris.”
“Standing by.”
He went through a list of names. The fairies who weren’t chosen offered calm justifications for why they should go.
Some spoke of how much they had always loved Shinar.
One even claimed that was why he had labeled her a “cursed child”—it was born of affection, not malice.
It was impossible to tell if that was a bit of fairy humor or something else.
Enkrid decided not to dwell on it. Let them handle their own affairs.
While the debate continued behind him, Enkrid stared into the mouth of the cave.
“This isn’t a natural cavern.”
Lua Gharne stood at his side and agreed.
“It is a Demon Realm.”
At Enkrid’s observation, Pell chimed in as well.
“Doesn’t matter what it’s called—if we hack through everything, it’ll work out, right?”
The bravado was welcome. Pell tended to buckle under stress, often unable to display even a fraction of his true capability. Enkrid had always made it a point to sharpen his spirit before a fight with just a few choice words.
“Is the Shepherd of the Wastes getting pushed around by his own flock?”
“You’re a bigger pain than Rophod.”
“You’re talking about natural talent with those pathetic moves?”
“What is that? A dance step?”
Those were the barbs that pushed Pell to reveal his full potential.
Choosing the specific words for the specific person was Enkrid’s forte. He applied it now.
“Yeah. I’m counting on you to do the heavy lifting.”
Pell rolled his shoulders at the encouragement.
If a handful of words could raise the fighting spirit, it was a cheap price to pay.
Even as he gazed into the entrance, Enkrid felt a ghost of discomfort.
It tugged at his heart, whispering in his ear like a phantom.
But he dismissed it without a second thought.
They said that merely looking upon a Demon Realm could plant the seeds of a blood-red terror.
But that didn’t affect Enkrid.
Nor did it affect Lua Gharne.
For her, such internal shifts were just another facet of change.
And for Frokk, a man defined by his skepticism, it was a refreshing spark.
Lua Gharne looked at Enkrid and saw the faint crimson tint in his face.
“What is your current state of mind?”
She was prone to asking about his feelings. This was no exception.
She wanted to grasp what this man perceived, what he thought, and how he processed the “now.”
A question perfectly suited for a Frokk.
Enkrid examined his internal landscape and answered truthfully.
“I’m feeling a bit of a thrill.”
It was the honest truth. A demon, was it? He was curious to see what it would throw at him.
When you hone your martial skill to the absolute peak, you begin to thirst for a true test. This was exactly that.
Enkrid realized it now—he had a deep-seated craving for adversaries.
“I suspected as much.”
Lua Gharne nodded. She was starting to get the answers she anticipated. Her study of him was paying off.
Her Frokk curiosity was partially satiated—and her excitement for his next move grew.
Enkrid had his expectations, certainly. But above all, his primary goal was to find Shinar and get the truth from her directly. He hadn’t lost sight of that.
The three of them stood in a line, watching the cave—until Bran walked up from the rear, that familiar stick of herbs still between his lips.
Ermen was still in the middle of talking down some of his tribesmen.
Occasionally, snippets of the fairy language drifted over.
“What do you call this Demon Realm?”
Enkrid asked the familiar Woodguard. Bran blew a flawless ring of smoke before snuffing out the tip of his herb stick.
Normal fire couldn’t mark Bran’s bark-like skin, so a few glowing embers were irrelevant.
Not that it explained why a living tree would take up smoking.
Trees have a natural aversion to fire. That was common knowledge. Which made Bran’s habits all the more peculiar.
In any case, if a human had done what Bran just did, it would have been the equivalent of crushing a cigar out in their bare hand.
But human rules didn’t apply to different races.
“It doesn’t have a formal title. We just refer to it as the ‘Labyrinth.’ To be more precise—we intentionally left it without a name. Although some have dubbed the resident demon the ‘Suitor Demon.’”
Suitor Demon. A strangely melodic title.
As he listened to Bran, Enkrid started to understand the logic.
The more a demon’s name is spoken, feared, and honored—the more power it accumulates.
Rem had mentioned something similar from a spiritual perspective.
“There is a tactic of intentionally refusing to name something—it’s a final precaution. But if you’re that terrified, it means you’ve already been compromised. So much so that you don’t even dare to speak its name.”
The reasoning was slightly different, but the result was the same.
“We’re nearly set.”
Bran turned around.
He was right. Three more fairies were approaching. Ermen stood alongside them.
“Counting Bran, that makes four. We’ve pared the numbers down.”
Pared down indeed. A dramatic cut.
“Only four?” Lua Gharne asked. She was a Frokk. She never ignored a question, even if her primary focus was on Enkrid. This was no different.
“I would only be an obstacle,” Ermen admitted.
He had been prepared to go when they assumed it was a suicide mission—but now that a path to victory existed, they were deploying a lean, elite squad.
What Lua Gharne failed to grasp was why so many capable warriors were staying out.
“It looks like none of the spirit or energy practitioners are entering?”
“It’s unavoidable.”
Enkrid shifted his gaze from the group back to the labyrinth.
He thought back to the abilities he had seen the fairies use earlier.
‘If they could bring down a manticore with that kind of power…’
That was significant force.
‘They fended off wave after wave of beasts before this.’
Yet the fairy knights who entered had perished.
What did that signify?
His thoughts quickened until they hit the mark.
“You’re unable to utilize fairy energy within the cave, aren’t you?”
Ermen’s eyes flickered with a start. He was visibly taken aback.
But he quickly regained his composure and nodded.
“Correct. That is why we are only sending those who have mastered physical combat.”
By this point, Enkrid’s gut feeling was indistinguishable from prophecy.
His logic aligned and settled, reaching the same conclusion once more.
‘The fairies who depend solely on energy never intended to go inside.’
If they had, they would have been nothing but corpses.
From the very beginning, Ermen had planned to talk his people into sending only a few.
His own arrival had just speeded up the inevitable.
A catalyst.
His presence made the argument easier to win.
After all, energy was the heartbeat of a fairy’s strength. If they were cut off from it inside the cavern, they were functionally helpless.
“We cannot permit Lady Shinar to remain the bride of a demon.”
The fairy who had cracked the joke earlier spoke up. His tone was steady, but a thread of grim determination ran through it. He was among the chosen.
His name was Arcoiris.
Yes, he was right. She couldn’t be left in that state.
First, they had to find her—and ask her why.
Now that the situation was clear, there was nothing left to debate.
“May the spirits of timber and bloom watch over you, and may the goddess of luck grant you her favor.”
Ermen offered his parting words.
Enkrid had completed his final equipment check. There was nothing left to do.
“Then let’s move.”
With a brief goodbye, he started forward.
The charred black marks at the mouth of the cave marked the boundary of the place they called the labyrinth—the Demon Realm.
And as is the case with any home, when an uninvited visitor steps inside, the master of the house reacts accordingly.
Grrrrrrk!
The moment they stepped in, the shadows consumed them, though their senses remained sharp.
Only their vision required a moment to adapt.
The scents, the echoes, and the grit were all still there.
And above all, the instincts that flared up simultaneously.
The second he heard that low snarl, Enkrid unsheathed his blades—one for each hand.