Chapter 250

“Thanks for taking me in,” Dunbakel said, her tone calm.

Enkrid tilted his head, puzzled.

“Suddenly? Why now?” he thought.

Her earlier statement—saving others because she could—had already struck him as odd. This was Dunbakel, a beastwoman who had once worked as a mercenary for one of the most notorious bandit groups in the kingdom.

Someone like that had risked her neck to save soldiers?

Was he displeased by it?

Far from it—he was genuinely impressed.

Enkrid had never expected those around him to embody the idealized knights from fairy tales, but he had little tolerance for those who turned a blind eye to injustice or abandoned the weak when they could have acted.

Why do people ignore those in need?

Was it because their hearts were empty? Because they’d grown accustomed to discarding others for their own gain? Or was it simply because it was the practical choice?

That cold pragmatism lacked honor, conviction, camaraderie, and the fire that drives one to act.

“What kind of life is that? What can you achieve by living like that?”

Enkrid was a man driven by dreams. He hated ignoring the weak and unjust. A flame deep within him made it impossible to simply walk away.

That same burning sense of justice had allowed him to forgive Rem’s violent ways—even when Rem had beaten a nobleman’s son senseless or struck his superior officer across the head.

“Good job,” Enkrid said, his voice carrying quiet sincerity.

The words were simple but carried weight.

Everyone else seemed baffled by the exchange. One person had abruptly thanked him, while another offered praise—it was as if they were each having their own conversation, yet somehow it all made sense.

Enkrid didn’t fully understand Dunbakel’s motives, but he appreciated the change in her. She had acted to save others, fought valiantly, and lived to tell the tale.

She hadn’t recklessly thrown her life away—she had simply done her best against unexpected odds while saving her comrades.

It was clear that the former bandit had transformed into a member of the unit. And that transformation brought him satisfaction.

As for her gratitude? He barely noticed. “She’s a little strange, too.”

After all, his entire unit was made up of oddities.

The fact that Dunbakel’s past as a bandit no longer defined her was enough for him.

She had lived, saved others, and changed her mindset—that was all that mattered.

Dunbakel, in turn, took Enkrid’s praise to heart. She interpreted it as acknowledgment of her survival and her success in saving her comrades.

Why else would they have come looking for her?

Her gaze lingered on Enkrid. His dark hair and piercing blue eyes, his calm demeanor offset by subtle acts of kindness—this was the man who had accepted her. A leader with an almost unbelievable level of skill.

She had survived, saved others, and followed his will.

For the first time, she truly felt like she belonged in his unit. Until now, she had stayed out of necessity, but now she felt like a genuine member.

“Hey, you look like you’re about to cry or something. The commander was ready to hold your funeral, you know. He thought you were dead,” Rem teased.

“Really?” Dunbakel didn’t seem bothered at all. Rem clicked his tongue, exhaling through his nose in disbelief.

“Well, as the saying goes: the black dog does the work, and the white dog gets the love.”

No one paid much attention to Rem’s quip. Ragna, meanwhile, was busy trying to mentally map the forest—a futile task, given his complete lack of direction.

“Wasn’t that supposed to be a shortcut?”

His innate sense of direction was hopelessly broken, but he simply chalked it up to bad luck.

Audin smiled warmly. He found joy in watching those who pushed past their limits, and Dunbakel’s actions marked the beginning of such growth.

Teresa nodded slightly as she observed Dunbakel. As someone with her own complicated past, she felt a vague sense of kinship with the beastwoman. She didn’t express it aloud, though.

Jaxon remained indifferent. “Has she finally become useful?” he wondered.

At first, Dunbakel had been nothing more than a passable fighter, unremarkable in every other way. Yet Enkrid had taken her in, a decision Jaxon had accepted with a shrug. To his surprise, she had not only survived but grown stronger.

Enkrid inspected Dunbakel’s wounds, his hands moving from her face to her shoulder, chest, and thigh.

“This is problematic,” Dunbakel muttered, her beastwoman instincts interpreting his actions in a peculiar way. Despite their strong reproductive instincts, beastfolk weren’t immune to embarrassment.

“Idiot beastwoman, I’m just checking your wounds to see if I should send you back,” Rem scolded, quick to cut through any misunderstanding.

Dunbakel wasn’t offended, just slightly disappointed.

“Let’s move,” Enkrid said. “You’re fine. Come along.”

The forest had plenty of medicinal herbs, and Dunbakel had already treated herself with one known as ground ivy or silkgrass. Its sap, when applied to wounds, prevented infection. The dried residue from the sap now flaked off her skin.

“If you feel like you’re going to collapse, ask Rem to carry you,” Enkrid added.

Dunbakel frowned, and Rem chuckled. “Sure, I’ll carry you—then lop off your legs with my axe for fun.”

It was a joke, of course.

As the group set off, Jaxon asked, “Why bother?”

Enkrid knew he was referring to the wild horse. If he was planning to head back to the territory, there was no need to return to the horse.

“It’s on my mind,” Enkrid replied. This was entirely his decision, driven more by emotion than reason.

“You could’ve gone ahead,” Enkrid added.

“No,” Jaxon said, falling silent.

As they walked, Teresa introduced herself abruptly: “I’m Teresa. Wanderer.”

Had she really never spoken to Dunbakel before?

The giantess’ words were direct, but Dunbakel simply replied, “You don’t know my name?”

“I do,” Teresa said. “That’s enough.”

That simple exchange was enough for both of them—they were both part of Enkrid’s unit, and that was all that mattered.

The group returned to the spot where the wild horse had waited.

It was still there.

Snort.

The horse whinnied at the sight of Enkrid, as if greeting him. How long would it have waited if they hadn’t come back?

“Were you waiting?” Enkrid asked.

Snort.

“Why?”

The horse snorted again, then turned and flicked its tail, gesturing for them to follow.

Watching this, Dunbakel asked cautiously, “So now you’re talking to animals too?”

Silence fell. Everyone seemed to think the same thing.

“Does it look like that to you too?” Rem asked, his voice unusually serious.

“Is this commander ever going to visit a temple? Maybe Martai’s chapel has room for him,” Rem thought.

Jaxon frowned slightly, as if considering the same.

“It’s all fine and good, but isn’t there a difference between connecting with animals and actually talking to them?”

Rem muttered, eyeing the situation with a mixture of incredulity and amusement.

“They say all things in creation are bound by understanding, so perhaps it is not so different,” Audin mused, smiling cryptically as if reciting scripture.

Dunbakel, for her part, decided not to dwell on it. She had resolved to trust and follow Enkrid, whatever path he chose. Besides, she thought, maybe she’d try talking to the horse herself one day.

After all, she’d decided to walk the road he walked and pursue the things he pursued.

“Hmm.”

Teresa, having been both slain and revived by Enkrid, was unshaken by anything he did. If the man wanted to converse with a horse, who was she to object?

“Alright, lead the way,” Enkrid said, wholly unbothered by anyone else’s thoughts.

He interpreted the horse’s gestures and began walking, with the group following close behind. The wild horse trotted ahead, occasionally stomping its hooves, as if marking the trail.

Trailing behind them, dozens of other wild horses appeared, following the leader’s lead.

If anyone were to see this procession from a distance, they might have thought it a strange and surreal sight—a band of humans walking in step with a herd of horses.

As they walked, the terrain shifted. What seemed at first to be a flat plain gave way to a sloping descent, an almost hidden valley that had been obscured by the forest’s edge.

“What do you even call a place like this?”

It wasn’t mountainous, but the ground dipped unnaturally, as if a massive hand had scooped out the earth.

The land looked like a giant bowl, with steep walls and a flat bottom. At the heart of the valley was something that made Enkrid pause—something unmistakably artificial.

A gray stone wall, half-collapsed and covered in creeping vines, stretched across the landscape. Despite the coming winter, the vines bore clusters of black grapes, ripe and glistening.

“What is this?” Rem muttered, his voice tinged with curiosity.

Warm air drifted from the valley floor, an unseasonable phenomenon in the northern climate. The wind carried a faint hint of something ancient, something unplaceable.

Enkrid plucked a few grapes from the vine and popped them into his mouth.

They were sweet and sour, fresh despite the peculiar setting.

The others followed suit. Even the horses nibbled at the vines, while Dunbakel simply grabbed an entire cluster and stuffed it into her mouth, crunching through seeds with little regard for decorum. She had, after all, survived for three days in the forest with no proper supplies.

“Eat this.”

Teresa pulled a piece of jerky from her pouch and handed it to Dunbakel, who took it without a word of thanks. She chewed the jerky along with the grapes.

“This place is suspicious,” Enkrid murmured, almost to himself—or perhaps to the horse.

The wild horse snorted, lowering its head and pawing the ground with clear agitation. Its hostility wasn’t directed at the group but at something ahead.

The sun cast a faint glow into the valley, illuminating a deeper shadow within the broken walls. From the shadows, a faint, bluish light gleamed.

Clatter.

The sound of bones moving reached their ears.

“Skeletons?”

From the depths of the ruins, skeletal soldiers emerged, wielding rusted swords and shields.

“Undead,” Enkrid said plainly.

Audin, surveying the scene, offered his insight. “Looks like an old crypt. It must’ve collapsed, leaving the dead to wander.”

Jaxon added, “The ground here looks unstable. That might explain why the undead are outside rather than contained within.”

Historically, crypts and tombs often employed undead guardians. This seemed to be one of those sites—though one that had long since failed in its purpose.

Beyond the crumbled gray walls, more glowing eyes appeared, their numbers steadily increasing.

“One, two, three… seven,” Enkrid counted aloud. It wasn’t an overwhelming force, but it wasn’t insignificant either.

The undead skeletons clattered forward, their rusty weapons rattling. Among them were skeletal hounds, their bony frames moving with an unnatural fluidity.

Enkrid unsheathed his sword with a sharp, metallic ring.

“Corrupted and misguided souls walking the path of reversal must be smited,” Audin declared.

As a devout apostle of the war god, he saw the undead as abominations that must be destroyed.

With calm precision, Audin stepped forward, bringing his hands together in a prayerful gesture before spreading them wide.

Clang!

A rusted sword swung toward him. Audin dodged with a slight step forward, the blade slicing harmlessly through empty air. Another skeleton thrust a spear toward him, but Audin caught the shaft mid-air, twisting it with a sudden burst of strength.

With a hammer-like punch, he smashed the skull of the nearest skeleton, splitting it in two.

Crash!

The skeleton crumpled to the ground as Audin swung the spear in a wide arc, shattering another foe.

In a matter of moments, the seven undead were reduced to piles of broken bones.

“There’s more inside,” Jaxon warned, his heightened senses picking up the faint traces of movement.

Enkrid felt it too—a faint, unpleasant sensation, like a lingering curse. It reminded him of magical traps he’d encountered in the past. The air carried a faint, acrid smell, reminiscent of burning.

“What’s that?”

Another skeleton emerged from the shadows. This one carried a barbed spear and was engulfed in flames.

Fwoosh!

Even at a distance, the heat was palpable. The fiery skeleton radiated an intense, oppressive heat that caused sweat to bead on their skin.

“A burning skeleton?” Rem muttered, his tone incredulous.

The wild horse let out a sharp whinny, its agitation clear. It pawed at the ground and snorted as if to say, This is why I brought you here.

The others understood.

The horse had brought them here because this fiery skeleton posed a threat to its herd. Despite its decision to leave, the horse had a responsibility to protect its kind—and it had sought human aid to do so.