Chapter 633

Chapter 633

In his right hand sat True Silver. In his left, Firebrand.
*Chii-ching!*
From his left hip, the True Silver Sword emerged, radiating a gentle glow. The steel sliced through the air, traveling on a path perfectly parallel to the earth. Simultaneously, Firebrand was pulled from his right side and driven into the gap directly before him.
A horizontal cut and a forward thrust. These were basic actions—yet when infused with extreme velocity, even the most rudimentary movements can mirror the reaping of a soul.

Enkrid performed the cycle once more: the slash and the stab were executed without the slightest deviation, aiming for the throat with absolute accuracy. In the pitch blackness, four arrogant sentries had lunged forward to intercept the intruders, only to be systematically dismantled, their necks either punctured or torn open.

A ripple of Will washed over his vision, bolstering his sight in the gloom. The fundamental distinction between a mere sub-knight and a true knight lay here: the deliberate application of Will versus its mindless, reflexive ebb. At this moment, Enkrid was tapping into Will intuitively—allowing it to heighten his perceptions within the total dark. While he lacked the thermal clarity of a fairy, he could feel enough of his surroundings to act with confidence.

Four waterlogged cadavers sagged and hit the floor.
*Splutch.*
The rhythm of collapsing weight echoed. The floor gave way beneath his soles with a wet squelch. The air was thick with moisture and a heavy, disgusting odor—a damp rot that pricked at every sense.
Water?
The maze was soaked.

Furthermore, an oppressive heaviness weighed on his physical form. It was a suffocating sensation. Something was actively crushing his Will, attempting to drown it out. The very atmosphere felt saturated with toxins. A malevolent aura draped over his shoulders as if trying to force him out of existence. Essentially, this environment was a symphony of revulsion and dark omens. Worse still, the area functioned as a natural dampener for one’s Will.

However, Enkrid remained largely unaffected. As a knight, he instinctively activated the Will of Rejection. While it might not have been a perfect nullification of the area’s properties, it provided more than enough internal pressure to withstand the external weight. All that lingered was the foul smell, the humid air, and a persistent sense of dread.

Just after he had dispatched the four sodden corpses, Pell, Lua Gharne, and the rest of the fairy contingent caught up to him.
“…The stench is unbearable,” Pell hissed.
As a shepherd of the Wastes, he had encountered many foul things, but this surpassed them all. The corrupted air Enkrid had noticed was clearly affecting Pell as well; his hand drifted toward the Godslayer out of habit.
“It is both filthy and sinister,” Lua Gharne added, her eyes darting around the cavern.

Even in a darkness more profound than a night without a moon, they could navigate without a torch. This wasn’t due to visual clarity, but rather because their non-visual senses remained sharp. Then, one of the fairies produced a small pebble that emitted a dim radiance. It wasn’t powerful, but it sufficed. Fairies were naturally endowed with superior night vision, and some were even born with the capacity to track heat signatures. Several in this group had that innate talent. Regardless, a physical light source provided a necessary anchor for their orientation. Given how quickly it was produced, it was clear this glowing stone had been prepared specifically for this journey.

“Started the party without us?” Bran remarked, pulling a fresh herb stick from his gear.
*Tap tap*—he struck his flint, lighting the end with a sharp hiss. A small orange spark danced in the pale light of the glowing stones. The aroma of singed herbs mingled strangely with the rot of the Demon Realm, though it managed to push back the worst of the smell.
“Have you stood in this place before?” Enkrid questioned.
“Once.”
“I see.”
“I am the one showing the path.”

The interior of the maze was broader than they had anticipated. Even a being of Bran’s massive proportions could navigate the tunnels with ease. While Enkrid hadn’t intended to explore the depths in this manner, the change in plan didn’t alter his resolve. The cavern was slick and humid, its jagged floors encased in walls of limestone. This was the gateway to the labyrinth—the heart of the Demon Realm.

“Lady Shinar would likely ask you to turn back even at this stage,” a female fairy noted. She carried a blade at her waist that mirrored Firebrand’s design. Whether she was echoing Shinar’s wishes, testing Enkrid’s resolve, or expressing genuine concern was impossible to tell; her voice was masked by a professional neutrality.
“She’s always been far too headstrong to take advice,” Pell retorted on Enkrid’s behalf.
It was an accurate assessment.
“Move out,” Enkrid commanded, stepping further into the gloom.
The putrid, threatening air tried to bar his path, but it was a wall he could easily walk through. The fairy holding the light lifted it high.

The four bloated corpses and the manticore were merely the beginning. As they traversed the wide tunnels of the cave, monstrosities manifested without intermission.
*Grrrooooogh.*
A sound like grinding bone and wet meat filled the air. From the edges of the light, another beast charged. They hadn’t traveled a significant distance—merely rounded a single bend—when the assault began.

“A mixture of drowned cadavers and man-faced hounds,” Lua Gharne observed, utilizing her Frokk instincts to identify the threats. The observation was almost redundant; the creatures’ appearances spoke for themselves. Their frames were distended from water, their skin peeling away in strips as they lunged. Dozens of the four-legged hounds with human features scrambled toward the party, their dark eyes twitching in their sockets.

Was it a genuine peril? Not quite.
“We will clear the way,” Bran stated, moving to the front.
None of them were amateurs. They had come equipped for the trials of the labyrinth. These fairy warriors had honed their physical forms into living weapons to compensate for a lack of spirit energy. Enkrid folded his arms, choosing to observe the combat. It was a perfect opportunity to gauge the capabilities of his companions.

Fairy warfare was a masterclass in efficiency.
There was Bran, the Woodguard, and the three others: Brisa, Arcoiris, and Zero. Zero was the massive fairy who had mentioned a duel to Enkrid upon his arrival in the city. Aside from Bran, Zero was clearly the most proficient.
“Impressive,” Lua Gharne noted.
Enkrid nodded silently.

Zero surged forward and unsheathed his naide—the traditional curved blade of the fairies—cutting through the shadows. He drew and struck in a singular, fluid motion, drawing kinetic energy from his feet through his joints and out through his wrists. The naide traced a deceptive arc through the air. In the pale glow of the stone, the blade split a man-faced hound from crown to base.
*Splurt!*
Even in the dimness, the creature’s dark blood painted the stone. The already slick floor became even more treacherous.

“He is imitating your style,” Lua Gharne pointed out.
The strike bore a resemblance to the way Enkrid had dealt with the manticore. It wasn’t a perfect copy, but the underlying mechanics were the same.
*Does he possess such intuition?*
While fairy strength typically stemmed from spirit energy, Zero was harvesting these lives through pure physical technique, devoid of magical enhancement. The other two fairies were nearly as capable.

Enkrid felt a sensation akin to heavy weights being tied to his limbs. This wasn’t caused by the rot—which his Will held at bay—but by the sheer density of the atmosphere. The others were likely feeling the same pressure.
*He is remarkably fast.*
Zero’s movements were agile, his hits surgical. His style leaned toward overwhelming power—cleaving and crushing his targets. In contrast, the other two fairies focused on death by a thousand cuts, never overcommitting to a single lunge. They operated in perfect silence, fighting like a single entity. One would present a target, and as the monster lunged, the other would take its head.
*They use themselves as bait, exploit the beast’s nature, and strike from the shadows.*
That was their strategy: engage the front to expose the flank. A simple theory, but one that required immense coordination.

Bran’s approach was different. It was far more direct.
*Growl!*
A hound leaped and sank its teeth into Bran’s arm. The fangs failed to penetrate his natural defense. While the creature was latched on, Bran’s massive wooden fist collided with its cranium.
*Wham!*
The blow wasn’t exceptionally fast, but it carried the weight of a mountain. The hound’s head shattered instantly. Bran’s combat logic was elementary: endure a strike to deliver a killing blow. A Woodguard’s hide was essentially living bark—stronger than high-grade plate armor. Even their vital points were heavily shielded.
*Do they even possess standard anatomy?* Enkrid wondered. If the shell is unbreakable, one must target the internal structure. It was a tactical thought that occurred to him automatically, even without a personal stake in the fight.

Eventually, Zero moved back to join his peers. Over twenty of the hounds had been slain, yet Enkrid hadn’t needed to intervene once. He simply stood and watched. Then, a sudden insight dawned on him.
*Zero…*
That fairy was fighting with pure instinct, not calculation. He had silenced his emotions and hidden his heart, leaving only the mechanics of death. And yet, he was still processing logic. Instinctual movement and analytical thought rarely shared the same space, but Zero was making them function in tandem.
*How is he achieving that?*

In terms of sheer combat experience, no one on the continent could match Enkrid. His mind began to accelerate, tearing apart the fairy’s movements. It wasn’t mere curiosity; it was a deep-seated obsession. He couldn’t stop himself. It was the same analytical drive Ragna used to display. The difference was that Ragna understood things the moment he laid eyes on them. Enkrid had to work for it—he had to break the process down into its smallest components.

It didn’t take him long. His thoughts surged at high speed, though only moments had passed. Enkrid finally grasped the fairy’s mental framework.
*My method is accelerated linear thought.*
To an outsider, it looked like multiple thoughts happening at once, but it was actually a very rapid sequence. The fairy, however, was using a different architecture.
*True Silver in the right, Firebrand in the left.*
It was the mental equivalent of dual-wielding. The fairy was partitioning his mind—parallel processing. Having seen the blueprint, Enkrid realized that with enough practice, he could likely replicate the feat. It wouldn’t happen today, of course. He wasn’t gifted with that level of instant adaptation.

Once, he had craved that kind of innate talent. But not anymore. Not now. Even if he couldn’t master a skill in an instant, a new seed had been planted within him.
*Knowledge gained through toil is not easily lost. You hold onto every inch of the road you’ve traveled.*
Essentially, what the body learns through endless drills, the mind eventually claims as its own. Enkrid preferred that reality. That was why he no longer envied the naturally gifted.

“Our objective is to locate the descending staircase,” Bran announced once the monsters were cleared.
The flow of enemies was constant. The waterlogged corpses were everywhere, and even two more manticores emerged from the shadows. There was no reprieve, though the threat remained manageable. These were barely worthy of the title ‘monsters’ compared to the one at the entrance—they weren’t even colony-grade. The fairies dispatched them with ease.
*However, exhaustion will eventually take its toll.*
The sheer volume of enemies was the true danger. Even minor tasks become draining without rest. Pell and Lua Gharne began rotating their efforts. Enkrid remained vigilant as well. As the pile of carcasses grew and the floor became nearly too slippery to traverse, the group pushed deeper.

Along the way, secondary annoyances appeared: blood-drinking flies and massive leeches that tried to latch onto their legs. The flies were particularly troublesome; their stings caused wounds that refused to clot. Getting hit was not an option. The fairies used high-precision strikes to swat them out of the air, but the swarm seemed bottomless.
“These were a nuisance on my last visit as well,” Bran said.
He wasn’t particularly bothered; his bark-like skin was impenetrable to them. He didn’t even bother using a weapon, simply crushing them against the walls with his palms.
*Smack!*
He flattened one against the stone, leaving a smear of dark fluids. It was a grim sight. Enkrid didn’t draw his blades either, simply batting the insects away with his fists.

“Vermin…” Lua Gharne hissed, ignited the length of her whip.
The cavern brightened. She lashed out in a wide arc, creating a wave of heat that turned the flies to ash mid-flight. The trail of fire following her weapon looked more like a high-level sorcery than a physical tool. Seeing Enkrid’s interest, she spoke up.
“The nature of a magic weapon changes based on the intent of the wielder.”

Even after the swarm was gone, they marched on.
“This tunnel system is far too expansive,” Pell grumbled.
Bran nodded in agreement. “It can take up to three days to find the exit, or two if we are fortunate.”
It was a true maze. Navigation was its own hurdle. Without Bran’s guidance, they would likely be wandering in circles. Finally, after what felt like half a day of constant travel—
“There it is,” Bran said.
He hadn’t been relying on a map or the shape of the walls. He had been tracking the behavior of the inhabitants to find the center.
“Those creatures ahead are the ones tasked with holding the stairs.”

In the distance, several drowned corpses stood waiting. They were clearly unique variants, far more powerful than the rank-and-file they had been slaughtering. And there were many of them.
“Killing them isn’t enough; they refuse to stay down,” Bran warned.
The fairy warriors shifted into defensive stances. Enkrid could see it too—these wouldn’t be simple targets. Hovering over the shoulders of the cadavers were shimmering, translucent shapes. These weren’t monsters with physical bodies. They were formless entities—wraiths that had claimed the waterlogged corpses as their vessels.