Chapter 863: Habits, Mannerisms, and Specialties

When they had once sought aid during Count Molsen’s rebellion, Cypress had sent Ingis. Even then, he’d known it was pushing their limits—because the Southern Front was always short-handed.

It was then they’d shared those words.

“One of my knights has turned from a wounded finger into a rotten one. So, in a sense, this is my responsibility as well, Your Majesty. Do you think I swing my sword only for the sake of the royal family?”

The words spoken by Cypress—the pillar supporting the kingdom, the knight who upheld it—carried weight.

What comes before the royal family are those standing behind me. A knight, born with talent and strength, vows to use them for the kingdom and its people. If, in that process, the royal family should take a path different from his own convictions, then the royal family will lose his support.

His tone had been gentle, yet if you looked purely at the content, it was half a threat.

Cypress had no intention to threaten, and his words had remained soft till the end. It was merely a declaration that even if he stood against the royal family, he would still uphold his conviction and oath. But Crang had not been shocked back then.

“Those are only natural words.”

He had agreed, because he believed that was the right path.

The South depended on the royal family for both aid and supplies. They were in a symbiotic relationship. If Cypress resolved to defend this front to the end, it was because of that.

And yet, he had pushed through his own will and conviction—that was why he was called the Guardian of the South.

“Hey, you two. Don’t be so rude. If you need someone to fight, I’ll take you on.”

The words came from between the soldiers, but of course, they hadn’t been spoken by a mere soldier.

The Red Cloak Order had three knights. No—still three. Once, they had been three; then they became two; now they were three again.

Oara had died, leaving behind the city that bore her name, and Ingis had become a new knight in her stead. Now, the third knight revealed himself.

“Come on, move. Don’t block the way.”

The tone was easygoing. His iron boots clanked, gauntlets clutched at his side as he slipped on leather gloves and walked between the soldiers.

“Sir Lien.”

Cypress made eye contact and greeted him.

“So this is the so-called Mad Order of Knights? Don’t be disrespectful toward the Master. He was defending this land back when you were still suckling infants. Show respect.”

The man called Lien greeted him with a glance and spoke.

“So you’re saying he’s an old man?”

Rem picked his ear as he said it. As always, his tone and words were tailor-made to irritate. In their Order, he ranked second only to Enkrid in that regard.

The man called Lien took it smoothly.

“I’m saying I’ve wielded my sword that long to protect this land.”

He was a little taller than Rem, his hair slightly longer, covering eyebrows and ears. Because he hadn’t groomed it, the ends looked rough.

Rem smiled faintly at the knight’s words—a smile that meant he was seconds away from swinging his axe.

Clap!

A single sharp clap cut through the rising tension.

Even that clap carried Will—Enkrid could tell. No doubt, every member of this so-called Mad Order noticed it as well.

The sound had come from Cypress.

“Now, instead of making a scene here— the rain’s stopped, so let’s eat. There’s no field cook, but since His Majesty’s here, the royal chef must have followed, right?”

Cypress clapped once and gathered every gaze.

Enkrid shook his head. That meant: Stop it, Rem.

“Damn, lucky bastards.”

Rem grinned as he said it.

They fought for others, and even though they’d once belonged to the troublemaking squad, their temperaments hadn’t changed. In such a situation, he wouldn’t really cut down an ally—but they were still rough, fiery, and fierce.

“Who was that one just now, the one who suddenly asked if I thought he was a child?”

Cypress looked to Enkrid, referring to what Temares had said earlier—a timely change of topic.

'The mood, the flow.'

Enkrid himself often sensed things like that, but Cypress had done it with clear intent.

Everyone knew the way he guided the atmosphere—and they let him. Enkrid saw it clearly.

Why they let him? First, because of his gentle manner and composure. Second, because everything he’d achieved and proven made his words worth heeding.

Even if Cypress hadn’t stepped in, Enkrid would have. The rain had stopped, but drowned corpses still drifted outside.

Thanks to Audin and Teresa burning their sanctity as fuel, divine blessing now covered this ground, keeping most monsters from entering the encampment.

To cross this boundary, one would have to bear the blessing of a demon.

It wasn’t a good situation. Enkrid loved battle and sparring, but he could read the moment.

“A Dragonkin.”

That was Enkrid’s answer to Cypress’s question. Then his gaze turned to the savage barbarian.

“Rem.”

“Do I look like that whelp Pell who doesn’t know front from back?”

Rem could think, too. In quick planning and execution, he was the fastest thinker in the squad.

“...Why me?”

Pell complained at being dragged into it, but no one answered.

Enkrid knew why but didn’t say it—Rem kept calling him “that bastard Rem,” so he’d simply redirected the arrow. Truly, the barbarian’s mind was quick.

He was likely also half-testing the state of his allies.

'If he’s already met Sir Cypress and found him lacking in some way...'

They’d be fighting shoulder to shoulder on the battlefield starting tomorrow. Before learning the enemy, one had to know their own side. Rem was being a proper tactician.

He stirred talk and tension to gauge others’ level. His method was just... a little too fierce.

After processing the conclusion at accelerated speed, Enkrid pushed the thought aside.

At the word Dragonkin, Cypress let out a short “Ho—” of admiration. Even knights of high caliber would be surprised. He’d said it expecting just that reaction.

“A Fairy, a Frokk, a Giant, a Beastman, and now a Dragonkin—are you planning to gather every race under the sun?”

Cypress asked evenly.

“Coincidence.”

Enkrid’s reply was calm, as if it were nothing. Cypress smiled faintly and said,

“You’re a curious man.”

“I agree.”

Temares joined in. Rem might act on thought, but this Dragonkin didn’t. He truly acted as he pleased.

He ignored questions aimed at himself yet reacted the instant someone spoke to Enkrid.

“Unique. Truly unique.”

Cypress murmured. At this point, whoever had gathered such a group and named them the Mad Order deserved a ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) medal.

He had once heard that there was someone who’d brought these people together—and had since found when and why they’d done so.

Thus, he knew the origin of the so-called Mad Squad and knew a good part of Enkrid’s past.

He had also compiled the circumstances by which the other knights had joined.

And so he thought,

'That man deserves land of his own.'

Coincidence or inevitability?

In the holy texts, it was said that from a chain of coincidences arises something inevitable.

God arranges fate; man is the one who endures it.

If the scales of balance tilt too far, God Himself may place His hand upon your side.

While things flowed on, Lua Gharne spoke up.

“Let them talk. It’s not like he’ll suddenly turn into a dragon and start breathing fire at the gryphon riders.”

“Dragonkin can’t turn into dragons. We can change our nature, but not our form.”

Temares said seriously.

“Do not change. I forbid it.”

The fairy interjected.

Enkrid gave Cypress a renewed introduction.

“The Madmen.”

He could skip the word Order.

After a brief silence, the short-haired knight, Lien, who had scattered Rem’s aura earlier, now stood behind Cypress, and beside him stood Ingis.

Those three formed the core of the Red Cloak Order.

There were a few other junior knights and more than ten squires, but everyone knew that without those three, the Order itself would lose meaning.

At their center stood the old knight who had protected the South and led the Order to this day—Sir Cypress, who laughed heartily.

“Amusing.”

The Red Cloak Order, despite having had little rest all this time, showed no trace of fatigue.

From squire upward, every member trained body and mind to the limit. They were a forged collective of elite talent.

To Enkrid’s eyes, the Red Cloak Order was like a solid lump of iron bound around Cypress.

After that came the real military council.

“Since the rain’s stopped, the troublesome bastards will be back soon.”

They gathered under one tent, spreading a military map across the central table.

Inside were Enkrid, Lua Gharne, Shinar, and Temares.

Opposite them stood Cypress, Ingis, and two others—his strikingly beautiful adjutant and two unit commanders.

Even before Cypress’s knights, the commanders showed no sign of shrinking back.

That was thanks to the fact that Sir Cypress always listened to and respected their opinions.

'A knight who neither drowns in pride nor ignores abilities beyond brute strength.'

Enkrid knew that the man handling things so smoothly before him had ascended to knighthood decades before himself.

Knowing that, he focused more than ever on Cypress’s words and actions. If there was something to learn, he would never stop. That was his habit, his mannerism, and his specialty.

“Up to today, I’ve been thinking about ways to reach the sky. Turns out, I just need to ride a Pegasus.”

That was what they were hoping for.

But Odd-Eye would never let anyone else ride him, even if the sky split and the world ended. Perhaps if Enkrid coaxed him, he might allow one extra rider, but now that wings had grown from his back, there was no room for two anyway.

“He won’t carry anyone else.”

Enkrid answered.

“Then fly in my stead.”

Sir Cypress spoke as if he had been waiting for that, and Enkrid nodded without hesitation.

Between them, Cypress’s adjutant stepped forward.

“Speaking bluntly isn’t enough. Just because a knight rides a flying horse doesn’t mean it’s solved. Among the gryphon riders, there’s a knight who blocked the Master’s throwing spear.”

The two commanders nodded.

Even for gryphon riders, blocking a knight’s thrown spear repeatedly was no easy feat.

They had already placed a knight atop each gryphon—that was why the spears had been stopped. Perhaps they should be called gryphon knights.

Otherwise, there was no way that even three knights—Cypress, Ingis, and Lien—could have failed to act or been driven back.

A knight’s spear throw was a thunderbolt. Calling it an unfamiliar weapon was nonsense.

Except for Enkrid, all the knights present were prodigies in their own right.

After throwing a few spears, they’d grasp the knack; after ten repetitions, they’d start imbuing Will into it.

“The problem isn’t that knights are riding them. It’s that if we just rush in, we’ll end up chasing scattered enemies until it’s over. What’s their goal so far?”

Lua Gharne answered that. The Frokk’s gaze was razor-sharp.

Interestingly, though she was a Frokk and an outsider, neither the two commanders nor even the Red Cloak squires showed any discomfort.

That was one reason this council functioned so smoothly.

If Cypress and Enkrid drew the big picture, then the finer lines were left to those who used their heads.

One of them was the woman whose hair glowed like maple syrup in sunlight, and the other was the Frokk who puffed her cheeks at every turn.

“Ah, my granddaughter.”

Then Cypress suddenly introduced the strategist of his Order.