Chapter 171: Chapter 325 - Aftermath
Only after Krais had left did Enkrid collapse to the ground, his strength utterly drained.
With a heavy thud, he landed on his backside, the weight of the impact reverberating up through his body.
'This feels harder than being surrounded by a thousand soldiers.'
The strain on his body was immense. Fighting multiple opponents earlier had been taxing, but this encounter had taken a different toll.
And yet, all he'd done was swing his sword once.
That single moment had left him utterly spent. Dizziness clouded his vision, his mouth dry, and his entire body felt limp. Even the pain from his dislocated shoulder seemed distant compared to the overwhelming fatigue.
When measured against the earlier events of the day, the difference was absurd.
'No wonder the boatman keeps singing about despair.'
The boatman had often prattled on, sometimes as though composing poetry about hopelessness and the walls of adversity.
It seemed silly at the time, but now it made sense.
Even so, Enkrid had endured it.
More than that—he had seized control of the situation and flipped the narrative.
By taking the initiative, he'd turned the concept of "receiving" into a calculated move, making his preemptive strike the defining moment.
Ultimately, he had faced the knight's blade and survived.
His dislocated shoulder and trembling body were proof that he had not only endured but prevailed.
'Luck.'
Luck had played a role, but it wasn't everything. Strategy and effort had mattered more.
As he leaned back to lie down, a hand stopped him.
"Be careful of the brazier," Shinar said.
Her hand gently supported the back of his head, preventing him from lying back onto the still-hot ground. His scorched hair broke apart like charcoal, scattering black flakes onto the floor.
"A strange turn of events," she remarked, her gaze lingering on the spot where the knight had disappeared.
"Indeed, a strange day," Enkrid replied, his eyes following hers.
"Formidable," Ragna muttered to himself.
Coming from Ragna, that word carried weight. The knight's power was inhuman, otherworldly—enough for someone like Ragna to call it overwhelming.
Even so, Ragna had taken the knight's blade and seen a new path forward. The encounter had opened a door, revealing a clearer direction.
Now, his task was simple: maintain his current determination.
Fortunately, there was no need to force himself.
"Next time," Enkrid murmured, already looking ahead.
To face a knight's blade again, to prepare for the next opportunity—that was his resolve.
Ragna couldn't help but feel a competitive spark. The thought of being left behind was unbearable.
And so, he laughed.
"Why are you laughing after getting hit like that?" Enkrid asked, an amused grin on his face.
"Why are you laughing, Leader?" Ragna shot back.
Despite his burns and exhaustion, Enkrid was smiling, seemingly unaffected by the pain.
"If you feel like laughing, then laugh!" Enkrid said with a hearty chuckle.
"Hahaha!" Dunbakel joined in, her voice cutting through the air.
No one responded to her comment.
***
Knight Jamal left the camp under Krais's guidance.
No one dared to stop him.
"Enkrid's orders. Step aside. Do not interfere. Clear the way!" Krais barked as he led the knight through the camp.
Within the camp, Enkrid's name carried the weight of an unassailable sword. Even Battalion Commander Garrett couldn't oppose him, as his authority came from the soldiers' respect rather than rank alone.
Still, a few soldiers glared menacingly at the knight as he passed. His calm demeanor was likely grating on them. There were always hotheaded individuals in any group.
"Clear the way!" Krais growled, his glare silencing any objections.
For his part, Jamal paid no mind to the tension around him. Why would he? If anyone dared to attack, he'd cut them down without hesitation.
It wasn't honorable to strike first, but he had no qualms about responding to provocation with deadly precision.
Fortunately, no one dared to challenge him, so Jamal turned to Krais with a curious question.
"Is that sort of insanity something for normal?"
There was no need to specify whom he meant. Krais understood immediately.
Jamal couldn't shake the feeling that Enkrid had recognized him and deliberately initiated the confrontation.
From Jamal's question, it seemed he didn't truly know who Enkrid was, though he'd certainly recognized the man's skill. That much was clear, judging by the fact that he'd immediately struck with a sword imbued with Will.
The downward strike, carrying a palpable aura of dominance, had to be met head-on.
It had been a long time since Jamal had been forced to swing his sword under such duress. The experience was oddly refreshing, though he imagined Abnaier would be shocked if he ever found out.
Still, after all his reflections, the question that escaped Jamal's lips was simple: "Is he normally this crazy?"
'If it had been even slightly off…'
Enkrid would have died.
Jamal's strike had been one that risked his own life, breaking through the smallest of openings.
The sword Enkrid had used to counter him had carved a narrow path through a field of blades. Had his reaction been the slightest bit slower or his aim just a fraction off, death would have been inevitable.
'And yet...'
Was there even the slightest hesitation in Enkrid's blade?
Jamal couldn't see any. Despite gambling his life, Enkrid's sword had been resolute, with no hint of regret.
That brief moment had given his sword its name—oppressive.
It forced Jamal to react.
Seeing that, how could Jamal consider Enkrid normal? Even knights, though human, felt fear and instinctual hesitation.
But Enkrid seemed like a man walking an entirely different path, far removed from such instincts.
A single exchange had revealed everything Jamal needed to see.
Krais carefully chose his words in response to Jamal's question.
"Your insight is remarkable. Yes, he's insane."
Inwardly, Krais marveled at the knight. His intuition was extraordinary. To discern the madness of their captain in a single glance was no small feat.
"I see," Jamal said simply, before departing.
There was nothing more to ask. Though the situation was grim, he had delivered his message and was now ready to return to his duties.
Would this incident become the spark that led Naurilia to commit to a full-scale war?
Jamal's use of his sword had made waves, and those ripples would not go unnoticed.
Battalion Commander Garrett burst into the wrecked tent, late as always.
Only after ensuring his own safety did he arrive, his survival instincts rivaling Krais's own.
"What in the world happened here?" he asked, his face a mixture of shock and concern.
Enkrid explained everything, and Garrett made a deliberate choice to keep the matter quiet.
There was no benefit in spreading the word that a knight had come and gone.
Should they tell the soldiers—who had just begun to celebrate their survival—that a knight might return to cut them down at any moment? Even if they claimed the knight wouldn't return, the psychological toll would be immense.
While those present seemed to have put their worries aside, Garrett had his reasons for keeping the information under wraps.
"We'll need to report this to the central command," he finally said.
Krais, who had just returned from escorting the knight out, narrowed his eyes at the statement.
"Do we really need to escalate this? Couldn't we just let it slide?"
"That's not for us to decide," Garrett replied curtly.
Krais frowned, the stench of politics filling the air.
This incident would undoubtedly trigger further developments.
'Political leverage.'
Aspen had been the first to break the agreement. While it wasn't a full-fledged non-aggression pact, there had been an understanding to avoid crossing boundaries for the time being.
But Aspen had ignored that and crossed the border—and lost.
Now they'd even sent a knight.
There was no way this could be swept under the rug.
Naurilia would undoubtedly extract significant political advantages from this situation. They might agree to cover up the knight's involvement in exchange for a temporary reprieve from war, but the negotiations would come at a cost.
Krais saw it all as inevitable.
Though it wasn't something he needed to concern himself with, he couldn't deny that it might offer personal benefits.
'From the perspective of the border guard…'
The rewards could be immense. If he played his cards right, he too could profit from the situation.
His thoughts naturally turned to how he could turn this into an opportunity to earn a fortune.
"Well then, get yourself treated first," Garrett said, clapping his hands lightly to draw attention.
He stepped outside to give instructions, and soon a group of soldiers arrived to clean up the devastated tent.
Enkrid's dislocated shoulder was reset by two medics.
Despite the sharp, audible crack of bone snapping back into place, Enkrid remained unfazed. Dunbakel, however, winced visibly, disturbed by the sound.
"Doesn't that hurt?" one of the medics asked, unable to suppress the question.
They had heard of rare conditions where people were born unable to feel pain and wondered if Enkrid might have such an affliction.
"It hurts," Enkrid replied plainly.
"Then why don't you even groan?"
"Groaning doesn't make it hurt any less."
The logic was sound, but it defied the natural human response. Pain usually elicited an involuntary reaction.
"You truly are extraordinary, Commander," the medic said, admiration in their voice.
But why did they insist on calling him Commander? Enkrid didn't have the energy to correct them.
Though he hadn't groaned or screamed, the strain of the day caught up with him, and he spent the next two days battling a fever.
While Enkrid lay feverish, word came that Aspen had withdrawn its forces. He caught fragments of the news in his sleep, his body thoroughly exhausted from the ordeal.
Despite his weakened state, he found solace in the experience. The fever brought him a dream of the ferryman once again.
"Don't get cocky," said the ferryman.
Enkrid felt a bit wronged. He hadn't said a word. He was merely sitting on the boat, watching the endless black river stretch before him. For a brief moment, he found even the inky void of the water oddly compelling, wondering if one's perspective could change such a bleak sight into something worth appreciating.
"Arrogance," the ferryman repeated.
There wasn't much more to say. Neither had the desire for small talk.
"When the wall rises before you, it will block your path," the ferryman said for the third time.
Enkrid nodded. It had always been so and always would be.
The ferryman called it a curse, but to Enkrid, it was anything but.
To him, it was an opportunity—one that allowed him to bridge the gap between the talented and the ordinary, an opportunity that had brought him to where he was now, even earning him the chance to face a knight's blade.
For reasons unknown, Enkrid spoke, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic sincerity.
"Thank you."
The ferryman, unlike most, wasn't startled by the abrupt expression of gratitude. That was the end of it.
When Enkrid awoke, the dream dissolved into reality, and the first thing he saw was Dunbakel dozing off near his bed.
What's she doing now?
He felt something cool on his forehead—a damp cloth, its temperature just right. It seemed she had been tending to him the whole time.
"Hey, go lie down and sleep," he said.
"Oh, I just dozed off for a moment," Dunbakel replied, wiping a bit of drool from her mouth.
The beast-woman blinked a few times, stretched, and yawned, scratching her cheek absentmindedly. Then, with an oddly bashful tone that didn't suit her, she scratched her neck and muttered:
"It felt like taking care of a sick little sibling."
"I'm probably older than you," Enkrid shot back.
"Well, I'll grow stronger. Strong enough to pierce through any scoundrel that comes my way. So don't go dying on me."
For a moment, Dunbakel had glimpsed death when Enkrid confronted the knight. Her survival instincts had flared, warning her of certain doom if she challenged that opponent.
Yet Enkrid had done it anyway, hurling himself at someone whose very presence screamed death.
That moment had forced her to reflect on herself.
I haven't changed.
The realization stung. She had stayed here to escape the aimless life of a bandit's blade, seeking something different. Yet she hadn't been able to act when it mattered most.
I don't want to die.
Caught between two paths, she had failed to walk either.
Then what should I do?
I'll become ridiculously strong.
That was her conclusion. No more sinking into despair—she would move forward. That was what she had learned from Enkrid, her mad leader.
"Don't you go dying, either," Enkrid replied instinctively.
He recalled how, in his moments of helplessness, Dunbakel had charged at the knight with a twisted expression, time and time again. The way she fought, as if resigned to death, was clear even to an observer.
Yet she had fought regardless.
What drove her?
"Don't overdo it..."
"I'll get strong, you'll see. So, if you ever need a woman's warmth, just say the word. I'll lie down next to you," Dunbakel said, cutting him off and running her mouth as usual.
"Esther's enough for me," Enkrid retorted, glancing down at the leopard curled in his arms.
Esther's lake-like blue eyes locked onto Dunbakel, who returned the gaze with her golden ones.
"No monopolizing," Dunbakel said, her tone playful but firm.
What now?
Esther snorted, the sound almost like a dismissive laugh, as if daring her to try and take her place.
Dunbakel backed off, ending the exchange there.
Later, when Enkrid dozed off again, he woke to commotion outside the tent.
Aspen's retreat had sealed the victory, and celebrations were in full swing. The camp was alive with cheers—party preparations were underway.
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