Chapter 437

The contents of the request were simple.

Naurillia had a mercenary conscription system, and this was a request based on that system.

[Go to the Demon Realm frontier and support the knights.]

It was even mentioned that the request came directly from a knight named Oah.

The letter was written by Marcus, but Enkrid could practically hear Crang’s voice behind the words.

“A knight. Don’t you want to meet one?”

He did. And the rewards mentioned in the request were plentiful.

“What is this—thoroughbred seed? Oh-ho, irrigation systems too? Sounds like we could finally install proper sewers in the Border Guard like they have in the capital.”

The world had grown used to life within city walls because of the monsters and beasts. Many developments had been made for convenience, but most were limited to the capital.

Now, they were offering to pass along some of that technology.

A knight, technology—hell, they were offering everything.

They gave me Acker too… Is this really okay?

Enkrid touched the hilt of the sword resting on his belt.

He didn’t know much about politics, and for a moment worried that the surrounding nobles might oppose it—but he let that thought go quickly.

The ones providing that technology were the nobles.

Crang must’ve done a good job persuading them.

Just as Enkrid’s persuasion was made with fists, feet, and sword, Crang’s was done with words and atmosphere.

The worry passed quickly. All that mattered now were the words that burned into his brain:

Knight Oah.

Knight.

His grip tightened without thinking. The cord that bound his right arm during training began to stretch and snap, one fiber at a time. With a little more strength, it would tear completely.

Azpen’s knights, the Mercenary King, Ragna, Shinar—

Enkrid had crossed blades with them all and seen what it meant to be a knight.

Even now, he continued to parry the swords of Ragna and Shinar in his daily practice.

And this wasn’t the end.

Enkrid was still swimming in the Lake of Experience, guided by Lua Gharne. He had finally escaped his stagnation.

Yet, even after all of that, he still felt lacking. There was still a thirst that refused to be quenched.

Maybe this new task would offer a sip of water.

Knight Oah.

He wanted to meet her—even if only out of pure curiosity. Refusal never even crossed his mind.

Of course, not everyone in the squad would go. Nor was there any need.

At the bottom of the letter, there was a note that Azpen’s deterrence was still necessary.

This wasn’t a serious enough mission to warrant dragging all of Mad Squad along.

Kraiss, carefully folding the letter, spoke up first.

“Let’s leave Audin behind. We need someone to handle the overall training.”

Training the Border Guard’s standing forces was grueling and demanding. They needed someone to manage the whole process without a single complaint.

Anyone—including Enkrid—could do it, but right now, Audin was the one holding that post.

Anyone who’d come close to his fists knew they’d sooner desert than dare rebel.

Of course, Audin believed everything he did came from a place of benevolence.

The soldiers, however, thought divine mercy came with a clenched fist.

“I’m fine staying, brother.”

The knights had called for support, but apparently the situation wasn’t dire.

They just needed help fending off sudden attacks from some troublesome beasts—due to a shortage of numbers.

“There’s still more I want to teach. I’ll come.”

Lua Gharne said, having been listening from the side. Enkrid nodded.

“I have a lot to do.”

Esther—long hair, blue eyes, the kind of beauty that could freeze a man’s gaze—spoke in her human form today.

As she swept her hair back, a few soldiers standing guard outside the training hall couldn’t take their eyes off her.

Enkrid casually stepped in the way of their line of sight.

If they kept staring, Esther would probably be tempted to make good on her threat to pluck out some eyeballs.

“Busy.”

Ragna slacked off.

Which was rich, coming from the most free-time-abundant bastard in the squad.

But his intentions weren’t hard to guess.

It wasn’t a particularly dangerous mission, and he likely preferred to polish his technique in peace.

If he got the itch to fight, he could head to the Pen-Hanil mountains or the five fortress cities Kraiss had mentioned. Lately, monster activity had been on the rise.

“Suit yourself.”

Enkrid nodded again. Who knew if they’d stay productive without him around?

Rophod stayed behind. So did Bell.

Bell’s complexion had darkened noticeably in just a few days.

He’d lost his confidence and grown visibly weaker, but no one tried to console him.

That kind of thing—you had to crawl out of it yourself.

That was simply the way things worked for Enkrid and his crew.

And if you fell behind? Then you’d just be another pup raised by the shepherd of the Wastes, lacking something essential.

Enkrid didn’t worry. Bell would handle it himself.

Teresa chose to stay, offering to help Audin.

“I want to fight.”

Dunbakel said, though she hid the real reason.

Truth be told, among everyone here, there wasn’t a single person she felt superior to.

Teresa. That new guy, Rophod.

Sure, Dunbakel had gotten stronger, especially after being put through hell by Rem.

Is this my limit?

That thought had begun to haunt her lately. Every time she imagined her limits, she had nightmares. Sometimes she even transformed in her sleep.

Seeing that cursed form—the one people feared—made her relive that nightmare.

The day she was exiled from her village.

“You can’t live here.”

“Go die somewhere else.”

“Throw yourself off a cliff—it’d be the smart thing.”

What had she done to deserve that?

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Back then, rage burned in her chest, and she wanted to kill every last one of them.

But she never wanted her life’s goal to be something as hollow as vengeance.

Then and now—even when she lost to Enkrid—her desire was the same.

She wanted to live.

If she’d begged and pleaded, she might’ve stayed in the village. But she hadn’t.

I just wanted to run.

Her instincts screamed to flee from anything dangerous.

Should I just find some easy guard job and live off that?

But the thought of living like that disgusted her.

She didn’t even know what she wanted to do.

So every time she thought about running, she looked at Enkrid—and pulled herself back together.

If you ran and ran, would you eventually find paradise?

That was something once said by Kentaro—a now-deceased, beloved storyteller, painter, and saint.

He claimed there was no paradise at the end of the road you ran away down.

In short, her desire to fight was a cover for her desire to run.

“Go ahead.”

Naturally, Enkrid cared about her emotional turmoil as much as a ghoul cares about courtesy.

Just then, Rem returned, spattered with monster blood, and said he’d be coming too.

Enkrid gave the same nod.

This wasn’t a serious mission. It would be closer to a light excursion.

Even if the Demon Realm frontier was dangerous, it wasn’t on the level of the southern Demon Realm or the true Labyrinths.

The area bordering Naurillia and the Demon Realm was dangerous, sure—but not quite Demon Realm dangerous.

“We leave in three days.”

Enkrid said, brushing off the cords tightly wrapped around his right arm.

The cords were tough, but he’d snapped them with sheer muscle alone.

“That’s my ultimate technique: rope-escape.”

Audin commented as he watched.

“Using brute strength to tear the rope by flexing your muscles?”

These days, Rem had been unusually quiet, but now he was praising a certain sword technique.

“You got beat so bad you shut down—so what brought you back to life, huh?”

Ragna commented, watching Rem, a rare smile on his face. It had been a while since they'd seen something this warm. Even Enkrid hadn’t witnessed such a scene recently.

Rem grinned and exuded a faint killing intent.

“Heh... yeah. Time to stop carrying a head above my neck and just wear an axe blade instead. Let’s make an axe my head—just slap a blade where the skull should be!”

He sang nonsense in an absurd rhythm, while Audin chuckled and said, “You brothers sure do love causing trouble.”

Ragna let his sword dangle in a lazy stance.

Rem rested his axe on his shoulder and gave a little twitch. A fight was about to break out any moment.

If left unchecked, they’d likely end up putting their lives on the line.

In that tense moment, a flash of lightning split the air between them.

Zzzt.

Not real lightning—a phantom afterimage from a sword swing. It jagged through the air, making a high-pitched shriek like a bird’s cry.

Both Rem and Ragna instinctively shifted their weight back.

The one who cut between them, Enkrid, lowered his sword and spoke.

“My strike is the White Thunderbolt.”

The blow that had crossed between them was Enkrid’s own creation. It was based on Ragna’s Thunderbolt, mixed with what he’d learned and forged through his own hands.

Naturally, it was a technique rooted in Will.

If the Giant’s Strike was about channeling explosive strength into a single blow…

This was about breaking that power into controlled moments—marked, precise, and relentless.

It was born from blood. Literally. Enkrid had poured his blood and soul into shaping it.

And now, it showed results. What once required brute-force body movement could now be achieved with a single sword swing.

It was a technique that clearly marked his tremendous progress for all who stood nearby.

“Borrowing techniques again?”

Ragna showed interest.

“No. I’ve made it my own.”

It might look similar on the surface, but the components were different.

Ragna’s pitch-black thunderbolt was forged from a fast, heavy blade.

And Enkrid’s white thunderbolt?

Ragna read the characteristics of the strike that had passed before his eyes.

“It emphasizes speed, distributing force as needed.”

A rapid, lightning-like ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) slash drawn in a zigzag to leave a blinding trail—each stroke masked the point of impact.

That residual image blurred the target, and every part of the blow was warped and slammed down with brute strength.

Ragna’s genius allowed him to grasp the technique’s essence at a glance.

It wasn’t a new Will. It was a variation of Swiftness, layered with the Giant’s Strike.

“Yes. I see.”

Ragna nodded in understanding, and Enkrid responded with a nod of his own, then tapped Rem lightly on the shoulder.

“We leave in three days.”

Rem wiped his nose once and nodded.

“Got it.”

Normally he’d have said something snarky, but this time, he let it pass.

Three days later, the group set out.

The Demon Realm frontier lay in the northwestern part of Naurillia.

Along the way, they passed a major road that led west. At that point, Rem turned his head slightly in that direction.

Something like a familiar scent seemed to tickle his nose.

“Something wrong?”

Enkrid asked.

“Just looking.”

“That’s west, you know.”

Enkrid said it offhandedly.

“You think I’m a dumbass who can’t tell direction now?”

Rem snapped, understandably annoyed. It was clearly a jab comparing him to Ragna.

“No, just saying.”

Enkrid shrugged and resumed walking.

They passed several bands of thieves on the way, but only one group was foolish enough to actually make a move.

That, Enkrid found strange.

The group was armed to the teeth—Rem included—and even Lua Gharne and the beastkin Dunbakel were with them.

You’d have to question a thief’s intelligence for picking a fight with them.

Unless they had something they were relying on.

Enkrid, fully armed. Rem, looking like a killer. Lua Gharne of Frokk, and Dunbakel the beastkin.

They had ridden to the last town and sold off all but one packhorse before continuing on foot.

The terrain had changed. The path bent away from the main road, with a small rise on one side and sparse trees and bushes on the other.

It was good terrain for walking or running—not ideal for horses.

“Near the Demon Realm, monsters are everywhere. Horses are just walking bait.”

They’d heard that before setting off.

The royal court had offered to assign a ranger unit as escort, but they declined.

It would’ve been pointless. This wasn’t Ragna—they weren’t about to get lost.

And so, with about five days left before reaching the frontier, they were ambushed.

A band of thieves blocked their path.

To an ordinary merchant or caravan, their gleaming, aggressive posture might have seemed terrifying.

“No fear, huh?”

Dunbakel muttered, mostly to herself. Her hand was on her curved blade, one foot already angled—ready to strike, or run.

Enkrid barely acknowledged her words and carefully studied the group.

The man in the center had scruffy facial hair. The others had a similar look.

They bore a faint resemblance to Rem.

From the way they held their spears and swords, they weren’t amateurs.

The men slowly spread out, forming a loose encirclement.

It wasn’t a perfect formation, but enough to overwhelm average prey.

A few archers lingered at the rear.

In short, they looked like they had some experience.

Being a bandit wasn’t as simple as swinging a sword around.

They had to survive monsters, secure safe zones, and avoid patrols.

Near the Demon Realm frontier, you’d see tougher scum even inside villages—so this sort of thing wasn’t entirely unexpected.

It was inevitable someone would pick a fight, no matter how well-armed the travelers looked.

One of the thieves, seemingly hearing Dunbakel’s muttering, opened his mouth. He had sharp ears.

“We’re risking our lives too, you know. You think shaking down caravans out here is easy work?”

Enkrid found himself wondering just how many of these types existed in this country.

Countless, surely.

Wiping them all out wasn’t feasible. But that didn’t mean he was going to let the ones in front of him go.