Chapter 638: There Is No Such Thing as a Modest Dream

Enkrid nodded calmly. He acted as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Meanwhile, the group of fairies, who had now become nothing more than spectators—Bran included—blinked in surprise. What had he just said?

"I wanted to eat an apple while looking at the blue sky and the clouds. I wanted to swipe something from that friend Kraiss’s pouch and tease him. And I wanted to teach that girl, Seiki, a little more."

"Yes."

Enkrid replied. It was a response that didn’t interrupt but still served as a perfect cue.

Shinar continued with a few more words. Her wishes were modest—utterly so.

Anyone could have called them modest dreams.

And all of them were rooted in the time she had spent with Enkrid.

The things the demon had stolen—stability, peace, joy, hope—once those began to refill the void inside her, Shinar came to understand how to control elemental energy.

So of course, what she longed for would all be tied to that fleeting life she lived like a spark—Igniculus.

A fairy’s spark is a condensed life. Experience. She had lived all of it by this man’s side.

"You shouldn’t have come back."

Bran spoke. The voice of the tree giant, smoking herbs, carried a thick, deeply restrained regret—something rarely seen in fairies.

"You should’ve lived there."

Bran repeated.

"You could have, you know."

Arcoiris spoke up as well. Brisa’s expression darkened. The luminous stone in her hand lowered a little—she was so focused on the conversation, she’d forgotten she was even holding it.

"So because a postponement is needed, sacrifice is the answer? Is that how it works for everyone?"

Only Zero offered a different view.

Zero knew the people who had died for the sake of the city. So it was a reasonable thing for him to say.

Beneath those words was the will not to ask for her sacrifice.

Strong, Zero.

That was the thought that crossed Enkrid’s mind.

He could vaguely sense what Zero wanted as well.

He didn’t want protection from Shinar. If there was a demon, and someone had to face it, then he would do so.

If this were truly the end, there would be no choice—but until then, he would fight tooth and nail.

Un-fairy-like thinking, perhaps.

But maybe it was only natural for a fairy born in an era where demons plundered their kind.

He had not grown up as a child of trees and flowers, but as one who stood in opposition to demons. Instead of learning how to live leisurely, he had learned how to fight.

Of course, Shinar hadn’t lived merely as a cursed child either.

She had staked everything to save a city called Kirheis.

Every fairy who had come here knew that. Only those who understood it remained in the city.

They also knew they were hostages. If they fled, the demon would place all the blame on Shinar.

Yes, they knew. And so did she.

If she left, the demon would slowly kill off the remaining fairies one by one.

That fact would not change. As long as the demon existed, it would never change.

The demon would propose to a new fairy in place of Shinar, drain her essence, chew, rip, and savor her, and then finally bring her to Shinar, exposing every sin she had tried to turn away from.

All of it was by the demon’s design.

They would become shackles to one another—shackles so tight that they scraped into the ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ skin and caused blood to pour, yet never loosened.

Enkrid released the strength from his arms and straightened his posture. He didn’t miss a single word that came out of Shinar’s mouth. He was listening—truly listening.

His demeanor alone was enough to show how serious he was.

As he listened, he began to pick up on the meaning layered in her words.

"I will stand by your side. I want to spend part of the rest of my life just watching, listening, and enjoying things in the knighthood."

Her wish was buried between the words she spoke.

Some might call it a modest dream, but there is no such thing as a modest dream. Only precious ones. At least, that’s how Enkrid saw it.

And so, Shinar’s dream was precious, too.

If one cannot save a child who simply wanted to bake bread, what business does one have being a knight? Why carry a sword at all?

If one cannot protect those who stand by their side, what is it they truly protect?

By the same token, if this older fairy wished and hoped to fulfill her dream, then he would let her do so.

That was the reason he had come.

To be honest, asking why she had left was just an excuse. Whatever that so-called obligation was, he had come to meddle and interfere. He admitted it.

Not that he would say it out loud.

Right now, Enkrid thought of the knight who had defended her city with her life.

Yes, he had lost Oara in the Grey Forest. Was it Shinar’s turn here?

It was a question he had asked before, and he already knew the answer. That answer had not changed.

He would not let it happen.

"Do you know the deer with the blue nose? I’m that blue-nosed deer."

Shinar continued.

No one could have known, but the demon had spent a long time whispering into Shinar’s ear.

That she was a cursed fairy, and that everything about her belonged to him.

The demon had also coerced her.

If you want to live, bring another like yourself and offer them.

From the time Shinar believed every fairy around her had died because of her, until now, the whispers had never ceased.

Memories surged through her mind.

Pain and joy clashed within her and tore at her.

"If it hadn’t been for you, everyone would’ve lived happily, right?"

Nyra, her sister, asked from within a nightmare.

In truth, it had only been coincidence. The demon had planned it, and the fire-drunk young fairy bore no fault. She knew that—intellectually, she knew it perfectly well.

But her heart said something else.

"Run away. You have no obligations."

Bran said, the one known as the elder of fairies spoke.

There were those who had protected her. Those who had helped her resist the demon’s whispers. She wanted to protect them. And so, she believed her personal desires were meaningless. Even if they were modest dreams, she believed she didn’t deserve to fulfill them.

"The deer with the blue nose should not live among the other deer."

Shinar tried to hold back the small boat swaying in the storm.

Enkrid assessed the situation. There were things he didn’t know, but based on what he did, he formed a theory in his mind.

The conclusion: he could more or less grasp Shinar’s intent. She probably wasn’t all that different from the other fairies who had come with her.

A resolve to die with the demon.

They had planned to kill Shinar before letting her suffer through more pain.

Shinar likely intended not only to die, but to grant them time. Even if she would ultimately die, she was trying to wear a crown not of flowers but of thorns.

Whether she was waiting for the demon to weaken or had prepared something else, she wasn’t foolish. She had surely made her preparations.

Enkrid realized the conclusion of his reasoning, but didn’t show it.

Knowing wouldn’t change anything. That’s why he could say what he now said.

"That’s none of my concern."

The words were forged by will. Lua Gharne clapped her palm down.

"Of course it isn’t."

Pell added.

"You knew he wouldn’t budge."

At those words, the little boat shaken by the storm let out a wail like it might break.

Shinar knew she would regret this. But even knowing it, she couldn’t endure it. The boat shattered, splintered into fragments.

But so what? If there’s no boat, you swim. If you have no legs, you crawl with your arms.

That’s what Enkrid’s life had always said.

And because she had been moved by that life, hadn’t she once dared to say she had fallen for him?

Shinar’s mouth opened. Her voice was flat and plain.

"If you save me, you’ll have to take responsibility for all fairykind. That’s my dowry."

At those words, Enkrid—who had kept his polite demeanor all this time—hardened. He responded in a tone so blunt it bordered on rude.

"That I cannot do."

"You can’t?"

She asked again.

"Only if it’s not a dowry."

He answered.

The labyrinth they were in was very dark. Even the luminous stone’s glow was fading with age.

But the man called Enkrid seemed to carry light within himself. Whether it came from his demeanor or the words he shaped, she couldn’t say—but it simply felt that way.

"Then Enki, will you save me?"

Shinar asked again.

"I will."

Enkrid nodded.

Because he had been listening intently, no one realized—Enkrid had never sheathed his sword.

His gaze, still holding his sword, shifted behind Shinar.

From behind the throne of bone, something emerged with heavy steps.

The demon that had tormented Shinar had discarded its vocal organs and hid itself within darkness.

It had sunk itself into silence—not to stay hidden, of course.

"That’s the demon, Onekiller."

Shinar knew only the name. The demon that once wielded fire no longer existed. Hammering its will and forging time into an anvil, the demon had refined its form.

Having shed its physical body, it had divided itself into two entities—one for battle, one for production.

Among them, the one that existed solely to annihilate enemies—that was Onekiller.

Enkrid sensed a clear will from the creature before him.

It wasn’t violent or savage. It felt... pure.

Why?

‘Pure killing intent.’

If one were to convert all their Will into nothing but murderous intent—would it look like this?

Attack, and it kills you. That was all it exuded.

It had holes for eyes, but no mouth or nose. Even the eye sockets didn’t house organs—only dim orange light.

And the light didn’t come just from its eyes.

Its entire skin looked metallic, with erratic lines etched across it like runes, glowing softly.

It stood upright like a human, but had long blades attached to its arms. As if it were holding swords in both hands.

The light it emitted was warm. As it stepped forward, it illuminated its surroundings like a light source—but not blindingly so.

Enkrid immediately understood who he was facing.

Enemy of all species, antithesis of intellect, guardian of evil and injustice.

A demon.

‘Its base form resembles a Heartless?’

In the Demon Realm, there are beings who offer even their hearts to demons and become monsters. These are called Heartless.

They fight with blades instead of arms, and because they lack hearts, they cannot be killed unless decapitated.

‘The neck.’

Is that the weak point? He didn’t know. Visual information alone wasn’t enough.

Onekiller stepped forward. The orange light sliced through the darkness. The movement of the light source dazzled the eye.

But of course, Enkrid didn’t track his opponent with his eyes alone, so he wasn’t fooled.

‘The foot.’

He saw the demon press down with its foot. Force transferred from ankle to knee.

It was the same movement as a seasoned swordsman.

Thud.

The creature slammed the ground and brought its sword down. Enkrid raised his true silver sword to meet it.

If he poured all his Will into blocking this, he couldn’t stop the next attack. But he also couldn’t cut its neck with this first strike.

He calculated with accelerated thought and predicted the outcome. Thus, he imbued only half his Will and struck upward.

The two blades met midair.

Boom!

It was as if lightning had struck right beside them.

Onekiller’s frame was slender, but the strength behind it was not. It matched the force of Enkrid’s own blow.

And he could feel it—this wasn’t even its full strength.

Enkrid stepped back three paces to disperse the force felt through his blade. Onekiller did the same. With a crack, it stepped back and raised the blade attached to its left arm vertically.

Was it waiting for the next attack? Ah—then he should apologize. He’d just been catching his breath, a little too excited.

But there was no helping it in a moment like this.

"Don’t interfere!"

Enkrid shouted. It was meant for Pell and Lua Gharne.

"This one’s mine."

He added.

Onekiller had no mouth. It couldn’t smile. But it felt like it was smiling.

Of course, a creature forged of pure murderous intent had no such expressions.

It was just an illusion. Perhaps he was projecting his own reflection onto his opponent.

‘A demon.’

It was the first time he had truly crossed blades with one.

Balrog had been a fragment. Oara had slain it. Count Molsen had merely been a servant. The demon said to be master of ten thousand wraiths—he had never actually seen.

So then—

‘It wouldn’t be wrong to call this a true demon slayer.’

If he overcame this, that’s what he would be.

The creature’s light-forged eyes stared straight at Enkrid.

Its killing intent was solely aimed at him. It felt like an imaginary blade would rip open his gut at any moment.

Of course, that would not happen.

‘Phantom Slash.’

Just by looking at it, the technique known as Phantom Slash—an interpretation of Valen-style mercenary swordplay—was activated.

In other words, a formidable foe.

Stronger than any he had faced so far.

So how could he not be enjoying himself?

"This is insane."

Ignoring the phantom blade with the Will of Rejection, Enkrid muttered.

Everyone was watching the fight with baited breath. Naturally, his words echoed in their ears.

"This is so much fun."

He murmured next. Everyone who heard it doubted their ears.

Was that really something to say while facing a demon?

Those who knew him would only nod. But for those seeing him for the first time, it was a shock.

"...He really is insane."

Bran muttered, and that was the answer.

Though Enkrid himself still believed he was the only sane one in the knighthood.