Chapter 263

Throughout history, the continent's greatest strategists, military leaders, and commanders have attempted to form magical units.

The goal was to gather mages and elevate them into a formidable military force under their command.

“If we gather mages into an army, they could rival the might of any knightly order!”

The first fool to think of such an idea diligently executed his plan.

He roamed the continent, collecting anyone who could cast even a passable spell, promising them the world.

From resources and shelter to fulfilling the deepest desires of mages—everything was on the table.

Dozens of mages banded together to form a single group.

And thus, the Womb of the Demon was born.

Of course, it wasn’t called the Womb of the Demon from the start.

“It was called the Tower of Wisdom,” or so the stories go.

But later historians would name it the Womb of the Demon.

Why?

Because the things those damned mages did there gave birth to a demon and twelve Balrogs. The name was inevitable.

The nameless demon—called "nameless" simply because the humans of that time were too overwhelmed to name it—swept through three surrounding territories, creating an undead legion and earning the title "Father of the Dead."

The twelve Balrogs who served it, as befitting creatures born for battle and war, fought relentlessly.

It may not have reached the level of myth, but it remains a legendary tale of history.

And the demon still exists.

In the end, knightly orders from across the continent, each claiming to be the best, mobilized to drive out the demon known as "Father of the Dead" or “The Last Door of Life.”

The demon fought and fought again, eventually retreating to the depths of the Demon Realm.

That’s the history of how the demon, known as the Father of the Dead, coiled itself deep within the Demon Realm.

[Eternal and immortal, possessing an undying body and soul, that demon could never be killed by human hands.]

That’s how the demon was described.

One would think a lesson had been learned from this, but even after that, many tried to organize mages into groups.

Some even succeeded—though the outcomes were far from pleasant.

Rebellions, rampant spellcasting, and unchecked chaos—mages killing each other without needing any external provocation.

“They are uncontrollable and unstable elements.”

That was how the Empire unofficially described mages, leading to a period of witch hunts and anti-magic persecution.

Today, most people avert their eyes, trembling in fear and reverence when they see a witch.

The same goes for mages.

So, what lesson can be drawn from all this?

‘Mages are capricious, unruly, and unpredictable troublemakers.’

Yet even so, some secretly sought connections with mages or established positions like Court Mage within their kingdoms.

Still, most agree it’s a relationship of mere convenience.

Enkrid pondered this as he glanced at Esther.

Having returned from subduing a Frokk alongside the Pixie Company Commander, the creature still lay unconscious.

And then there was Esther.

The leopard seemed to have some sort of grievance, staring at him intently.

I have a grievance.

She didn’t need to say it; Enkrid could feel it.

His senses, dulled, mixed, and reconfigured into a sixth sense, told him so.

‘What’s with her?’

“Oh-ho.”

Just before parting ways, the Pixie Company Commander let out an ambiguous exclamation.

“Let’s meet again, Onion Fiancé. I look forward to peeling away your layers until I see you bare.”

Why was that wish directed at him?

Enkrid wondered but dismissed it. Conversations with beings like that rarely adhered to human logic.

“Off you go.”

He sent the Commander away with a vague response. The Commander had suggested jointly interrogating the Frokk, and Enkrid had agreed.

Back at the barracks, Esther continued to fix him with a peculiar gaze, which brought to mind the historical disasters caused by mages.

She, too, was a witch capable of unknown mischief.

“Why?”

So he asked directly.

Better to address it head-on than risk misunderstanding or ruining their relationship. That was Enkrid’s way.

No matter how he looked at it, she was a witch.

A witch who could transform into a leopard.

A witch who, for reasons unknown, preferred staying in leopard form over human form.

This was a misunderstanding.

Esther maintained her leopard form not by choice but due to a curse.

As with all things, there were pros and cons.

The curse of Beast Transformation wasn’t entirely negative.

For a prodigious witch who had mastered her spellcasting realm before she was even an adult, it was easy to extract utility from the curse.

Of course, the catalyst for all this stood before her.

‘Why?’

It all started with that question.

When she was in his arms, the curse’s power weakened. The tangled threads of her curse unraveled as if by magic.

Had it been forcibly cut, her world would have been corrupted and destroyed. But finding the starting point and unraveling it slowly posed no such risk.

This man was someone who could effortlessly untangle the threads of her curse.

Because of that, she found herself waking up in his arms and here, in this place.

‘Why?’

The question lingered. For a witch, such questions were poison.

Thus, she had to delve deeper.

She had to reflect repeatedly, for that was the only answer.

But it wasn’t just contemplation that occupied her.

She refined the first summoned creature she’d placed in her magical realm and gathered various materials to extend the time she could maintain her human form.

Though it wasn’t enough, she’d done all she could short of capturing an alchemy master.

She then returned to perfecting her magical realm.

She couldn’t afford to fall victim to such a ridiculous curse again.

Esther had her own goals.

Once she overcame the curse, there were two main things she needed to do.

The first was revenge.

She had to lodge a flaming arrow into the skull of the bastard who did this to her.

The second, though of a different nature, was her ultimate purpose for mastering magic.

‘The world must be ruled by magic.’

Through spells, she would reshape the world anew.

If that meant thousands of humans and non-humans perished, nations fell, lands decayed, and lakes turned black—

‘So be it.’

When had she first harbored this ambition?

Was it during the days she was called the Fire Witch?

Or perhaps when she was the Sage with Blue Eyes?

Either way, the resolve had been there from the beginning.

Through magic, spells, and mysteries, the world would be reborn.

A low growl escaped Esther as she unconsciously bared a fang while lost in thought.

Despite this, the man nonchalantly reached out and patted her head.

“Are you sulking?”

Though his tone annoyed her, she lightly bit his hand.

It must’ve hurt, but his blue eyes visible through his black hair only laughed.

“Ouch, you brat.”

His tone still grated on her, but she let it slide.

That smiling face of his made it impossible to stay angry.

He really was strikingly handsome.

Inside Esther was a monumental ambition—a will strong enough to upend the world.

She had nurtured it until now, but recently, her thoughts had begun to shift.

For the first time in a century, she was experiencing change.

If the curse was the beginning of that change, then this man was its culmination.

‘Why?’

Why did she feel compelled to root for him?

Why did she want to see his future?

Why did she want to help him?

Why was watching him wield his blade so enjoyable?

While she wrestled with these questions, the man left for a neighboring territory. She thought he’d return soon, but days passed without him.

Searching for him felt excessive, yet waiting for him grated on her nerves.

She needed his presence to suppress the curse’s power again, but first, she had to sort out her own thoughts.

‘Stray thoughts are poison in the magical realm.’

That poison could be deadly.

Poison that harmed the mind was far more dangerous than any that harmed the body—a fact countless mages had proven.

As she worked through the poison in her heart, the man finally returned when she needed his energy again.

But he left again without even seeking her out.

She heard he’d brought back a Frokk. He reeked of the Pixie Commander.

‘Why do I want to hit him?’

Esther didn’t know why she felt this way, but she didn’t dwell on it.

Next time, she would simply act on her feelings.

She was, after all, a witch and a mage.

Selfish, whimsical explorers of the unknown, who prioritized their magical realms above all else.

Perhaps it was only natural that her curiosity now fixated on the man before her.

‘How can someone like him exist?’

Enkrid had encountered countless swordsmen over the years—dozens, even hundreds.

But he had never met anyone like this.

Even reflecting on his earliest days, back when he was first called a witch, there was no one remotely comparable to this man.

How could he not find such a figure fascinating?

“Want to visit the market? Looked like there’s a lot to see and buy,” Enkrid suggested.

At that, Esther stood up.

She had resolved the poison lingering in her magical realm.

‘Follow your instincts.’

That’s what she decided.

When Esther stood, Enkrid picked her up in his arms.

“Heading to the market, are we? Let’s go together then,” he said cheerfully.

“What about the Frokk?”

“Whatever it ate knocked it out cold. That drug is potent.”

“Did you figure out what it is?”

As Enkrid carried Esther outside, he spotted Rem pummeling Dunbakel, Audin sitting idly, and Teresa drenched in sweat from training.

Should I take them along?

The thought crossed his mind, so he asked, but they all shook their heads.

“I seek answers to the questions the Lord has granted me,” Audin said, spouting nonsense as usual.

“I’m Teresa the Wanderer. It’s time for training. I need to prepare for our next sparring match,” Teresa replied, ever-dedicated to her craft.

“Busy. Go enjoy yourself. What, can’t go to the market without me? Someone might think I’m your dad or something,” Rem added with his usual craziness.

What a lunatic.

Instead of arguing, Enkrid glanced meaningfully at Dunbakel.

“Hit him once. You can do it.”

With those words of encouragement, the beastwoman’s eyes blazed with newfound determination.

“Understood.”

“Oh? You’ve lost it now. Let’s train until we drop!”

Rem grinned widely, clearly thrilled by the challenge in Dunbakel’s gaze. A lunatic, through and through.

Jaxon was nowhere to be seen, and Ragna was swinging her sword with rare focus. Enkrid didn’t dare interrupt her.

And so, the path to the market began.

They bought some of Esther’s favorite spiced jerky and a bit of marmalade.

Word had it that master bakers from Martai had recently arrived, so there was plenty to eat and explore.

But that wasn’t all.

Before, Enkrid had only caught glimpses of the market in passing, never truly paying attention.

“Doesn’t it feel like things have changed a lot?” he asked, scratching behind Esther’s ear.

Cradled in his arms, Esther let out a satisfied purr.

Kraiss, walking beside him, replied nonchalantly, “That’s putting it lightly.”

Things had indeed changed.

Enkrid hadn’t paid close attention to the market before, but now it was undeniable.

“Marcus, that guy… he’s genuinely insane,” Kraiss remarked.

It was a compliment, in its own way. Kraiss summarized what he had observed.

“Spent krona like a madman, like a foal with its tail on fire.”

Under a cloudless sky, sunlight poured down. For a northern winter, the weather was remarkably pleasant.

The market was far busier than before. The streets were teeming with people, and the inns were bursting at the seams.

One inn, Barness’s Pumpkin Soup, was even undergoing an expansion. Workers carried timber and stone in and out.

And it wasn’t just the inns.

The streets, city gates, walls, and every other building bustled with activity. Swarms of laborers moved in groups.

“I overheard a few things…”

As Kraiss spoke, a vivid picture of Battalion Commander Marcus’s actions began to form in Enkrid’s mind.

***

“Let’s raise the watchtower a bit more.”

“What? Sir?”

“And dig a moat in front of the inner castle gates.”

“...We don’t have enough manpower for that. Besides, we don’t even have an outer wall.”

“Then build one. Just one.”

Marcus didn’t get angry at his aide’s objections.

He was an experienced man who understood that not everyone around him was particularly sharp.

‘The world would be strange if everyone were like Enkrid.’

The truth is, most people are foolish. Idiots. Marcus knew this all too well.

So he didn’t bother explaining further.

“Send the barracks forces out.”

“What?”

“A lot of mercenaries are coming from outside, right? Hire them. Put them to work digging.”

It all began in his office. Marcus’s determination was clear, and his direction was firm.

He allowed no room for dissent.

“Raise the watchtower.”

Simultaneously, the construction of the moat and the watchtower commenced.

The slums on the outskirts of the domain were cleared, and the displaced were all hired as laborers.

“From now on, those who don’t work won’t eat or sleep.”

Those who resisted?

No chance.

One word from the Border Guard Battalion Commander could make the heavens tremble, cause birds to fall from the sky, and even pluck a dragon’s scale.

Every battlefield he’d fought on alongside Enkrid had shaped him into what he was today.

Most importantly, the domain had recently risen as a center of trade, causing tax revenues to skyrocket.

In other words, the territory was on its way to becoming prosperous.

Though Marcus pocketed a small share for himself, most of it was reinvested.

The moat was dug deep, but rather than attempting the insane feat of filling it with water, it was left dry for now. Its purpose was simple: to prevent siege weapons from approaching. Water could come later.

He also ordered the digging of additional wells, a task he had started even before the population began to swell.

When people gather, the first issues are water and food. Marcus addressed these needs early on.

And he didn’t stop there.

“Train archers. If there are mercenaries who can shoot well, hire them and bring them into the army.”

This bold strategy to foster talent was coupled with relentless recruitment.

“They’re saying they won’t come unless we hire their entire mercenary band…”

“Hire them all. Hand them gold coins.”

They had plenty of gold coins to spare. With the conquest of Martai and victory over Azpen, they had become a secure zone, free from immediate threats.

Naturally, merchants and trading companies flocked to the area.

Mercenary bands followed, drawn to the opportunity to guard these traders.

Gold circulated, and the lord of the territory at the center of it all quickly became a wealthy man.

The training of archers.

The breeding of warhorses.

The expansion of watchtowers and defensive facilities.

Marcus poured every last coin into the territory’s defenses and development.

Moreover, talent was not in short supply.

“Weren’t there a bunch of people who survived after getting beaten by Enkrid?”

There were plenty.

Those who came seeking glory only to stay out of fear after witnessing Enkrid in battle.

Those who stayed behind awkwardly, too scared to leave after seeing the carnage.

More stayed than left.

Typically, such individuals would be problematic for public order or cause trouble.

“Arrest them all.”

He made them slaves to gold.

Handing out krona, he brought them in and integrated them.

Expanding the barracks was only natural.

It was already underway, but not everything could be done by their own forces alone.

“Contact the northern battalion.”

The Border Guard’s standing army consisted of two battalions.

One of them had been stationed near Azpen, building barracks to serve as the foundation for a new territory.

Within the limits of where gold could reach, Marcus did everything he could.

His administrative skill and political acumen were such that even Kraiss couldn’t help but be impressed, shaking his head in admiration.

“And now, here’s the result.”

The number of watchtowers increased to sixteen. Repairs to the walls were underway, a moat was being dug, and countless arrows were purchased.

Not just simple wooden bows, but composite bows of high quality.

Every last coin was funneled into the territory’s defense and growth.

“Someone must’ve dropped dead from all this work,” Enkrid said, imagining the chaos that must have unfolded in Marcus’s office.

After all, assigning tasks doesn’t make them magically happen. The sheer administrative effort required to handle and organize everything was staggering.

Kraiss nodded.

“Of course. The captain of the heavy infantry collapsed two days ago. Even the nobles with a decent sense of numbers and logistics are on the verge of burning out.”

Marcus’s specialty.

Neither Enkrid nor Kraiss had known it, but Marcus’s true talent lay in grinding people down with work.

He embraced this talent wholeheartedly, earning the nickname “Millstone Marcus” within his family.

The Border Guard territory was changing dramatically by the day.

It was astonishing yet inevitable.

When people, resources, and capable individuals come together, such transformation is bound to happen.

As Enkrid wandered the bustling market, he saw just how many people had gathered.

And among them, someone shoved a blade into his side.

Feeling the sharp intrusion, Enkrid immediately grabbed the assailant’s wrist.

Esther, half-asleep in his arms, opened her eyes slightly.

Before him stood a hunched figure, seemingly bent over.

An assassin.