Chapter 465 - Walking Away from the City

Chapter 465 - Walking Away from the City

As they walked away from the city, Roman broke the silence.

"Why aren't you part of the knight order?"

His question was valid.

With those words, Roman swung the greatsword resting on his shoulder.

The blunt blade stopped just short of Enkrid's nose.

Enkrid remained still, unfazed, as he felt no killing intent from the strike, merely watching with curiosity.

"Either everyone in the capital is blind, or you have something else you're aiming for," Roman continued.

Oara's end had been what she had desired.

Roman knew that.

He also understood that it wasn't he who stood by her at her final moment but this man, Enkrid.

There was no hesitation in his heart.

Roman had already made his decision as he blocked Enkrid's path and swung the greatsword.

He flipped the sword in his grip and drove its tip into the ground with a resounding thud that reverberated through the earth and their hearts.

Under the blazing sunlight, with everyone watching, Roman spoke.

"My name is Roman. I will not forget the debt I owe. Call for me, and even if it is in the heart of the Demon Realm, my sword will stand by your side. This is a personal promise, regardless of the knight order's opinions."

His words carried conviction—a vow he would honor even as a knight.

The pledge astonished everyone present, not just because of its weight but its meaning: it was a promise to risk his life for Enkrid's sake.

"And why should I trust you?" Enkrid asked, bewildered.

If he ever harbored even a hint of malice, Roman would be as good as dead.

Such an oath could also serve as a shackle, ensuring Roman would never stand against him.

"This is merely respect for the second hero who saved the city. If you don't like it, forget it and move on."

Roman's response was blunt, his usual style.

Tossing such a grand gift and then suggesting to forget it?

Madness.

Another lunatic had appeared.

"Here."

A short blonde squire approached and handed over three daggers, all meant for throwing. The sight of them made Rem narrow his eyes.

"You… you know what those are, right?"

"I do. That's why I'm giving them to him."

The blonde interrupted Rem's question, cutting it off.

She placed the daggers in Enkrid's hands.

When he held them, a subtle sensation stirred his sixth sense.

If his senses weren't sharpened, he wouldn't have noticed it.

"Treat them with care. Don't throw them recklessly," Rem advised from the side.

"I hope these will aid you on your journey," the blonde added.

Shouldn't they explain how to use such tools before giving them?

Enkrid's questioning gaze received a cryptic answer.

"They will become the strength you need in the moment you require it."

The blonde, visibly exhausted, had dark circles under her eyes.

It wasn't just these two offering their gifts.

"Everyone in the city knows what you've done," Milio said, stepping forward and rubbing his freshly shaved head.

He might be planning to join a monastery; his hair was that short.

"Should I recommend you to a monastery?" Enkrid joked.

Milio chuckled mid-sentence, lifting his left hand.

"What, did you think I'd spend the rest of my life alone, reminiscing about Lady Oara? No way. I'll find someone ten times more beautiful and skilled than her."

Milio laughed heartily, mixing humor with a bold declaration.

Such a woman didn't exist.

Oara had been special—more so to Milio.

Even in death, she had left so much behind.

Enkrid knew this and respected Milio's dream despite knowing its improbability.

"Stay strong. Don't give up, no matter what others say,"

Enkrid advised, echoing the same words he'd offered when Milio vowed to become Oara's partner.

"I will."

Gone was the man who once seemed hopeless.

Milio nodded with a serene smile, determined to move forward as a squire of the knight order.

His resolve radiated through his entire being—a manifestation of will and purpose as solid as a fortress.

Milio would become a steadfast man.

"There are rare, special parts found in some monsters," Milio said after a moment.

Like humans, dwarves, and fairies, no two were identical.

Giants were no exception, nor would dragonfolk, had he ever met one.

Frogs, as a species, showed clear individual differences.

Monsters were the same.

After slaying a ghoul, a multi-armed spider, and an owlbear, their remains had been used to create extraordinary items.

Milio handed Enkrid a bow as long as his arm.

"Made from ghoul hide, spider silk, and owlbear bones," he explained.

The composite bow was a masterpiece, crafted by oara's finest artisans who had worked tirelessly day and night.

"Please accept this," Milio said, offering it with both hands.

Enkrid took the unstrung bow and inspected it.

It seemed easy to carry when strapped to his back or waist.

"This breastplate is made from spider shells," Milio continued.

Despite being overwhelmed with orders, the blacksmiths had poured their skills into creating this armor.

The black breastplate was adorned with what looked like fine black fur, which turned out to be steel fibers.

No ordinary sword or spear could pierce it.

Along with the breastplate, Enkrid received pauldrons and arm guards made of the same material.

"Thank you," Enkrid said sincerely.

"You've preserved our master's honor. For that, we salute you," said a female soldier, bowing her head.

Squire Oliver chimed in, "Should anyone insult you, I'll personally shut them up with my fist."

The brawler laughed heartily but had tears in his eyes.

The once rowdy fighter had cried every day since Oara's death.

His tears didn't signify weakness—they required immense courage.

In this regard, the squire was a hero in his own right.

"If I have a son, I'll name him Enkrid. If it's a daughter, Oara," declared Squad Leader Admor, the man of Rowena.

By now, a crowd had gathered around Enkrid and his group at the city gates.

"No need to go that far," Enkrid replied without a hint of amusement, causing Admor to scratch his head sheepishly.

Enkrid smirked and added, "Let's make a bet. Take the lead in the next wave, and you can do whatever you like."

The Demon Realm wasn't as fearsome anymore.

Oara's sword had carved through its menace.

"Deal," Admor responded boldly, lowering his hand with confidence.

"Show-off," 

Rowena, standing nearby, offered a gentle rebuke. She lowered her head as her eyes met Enkrid's.

"Thank you," she said.

Then, everyone else spoke in unison.

"To the second hero who protected the city."

Enkrid had never spoken of his deeds.

Yet, one thing was clear: he fought with all his heart and strength—not for himself, but for the pride of Oara, aiming to go beyond the repetition of today.

There was no need to boast.

It wasn't about facing tomorrow without meaning but ensuring that today could give a knight a fitting end, one worthy of pride.

"Was that the best you could do?"

The ferryman asked.

There was no need for an answer.

No one could live every day to the fullest, but neither would they stop by looking back on past days. The people here, now, were living in the same way.

They, too, were walking toward tomorrow.

"Then," Enkrid's brief farewell prompted the crowd to part, making way for him to leave the city.

"Enki!"

Someone led the chant.

"Enki!"

Behind him, a cheer rose, filling the air with Oara's gratitude.

Enkrid turned back once, then set his sights westward, heading down the road. It was the path toward the west.

The sunlight was warm.

The damp air dissipated, and the mist of the enchanted lands melted under the sun's rays.

Thus, Enkrid and his companions left behind the born anew city of Oara, born from the sacrifice of Knight Oara.

The time of dawn, when the blue world of early morning pushes away the night, or the orange-hued hours ruled by sunset—these were the hours Enkrid loved most.

Why was that moment so precious to him?

Even if asked, he couldn't give a clear reason.

Was it because it signaled the start of a new day?

Or perhaps because he often gained insight during those fleeting hours?

Maybe that was it.

During those times, he felt differently, his will surged, and he was filled with elation.

He preferred sunny days to rainy ones because of this.

Sunlight, the dawn, the wind, and the flowers—these seemingly useless things stirred his spirits.

Though there were days when even rain had its charm, the brightness of the clear skies always invigorated him.

Perhaps all these experiences were why he had come to cherish the present moment so much.

The world was bathed in orange hues.

Moving southwest, through the gray forests of the enchanted lands, past the poisonous swamps, and further south before turning west, they came upon open plains.

In the distance, the horizon stretched wide, the sun sinking beneath it, casting the world in an orange glow.

Even now, Enkrid gained new insight.

Rem was human after all.

Even someone like Rem had fears.

He hid them well, but every so often, a glimpse showed through.

It was rare for someone as guarded as him to reveal such vulnerability.

Rem was the kind of man who, no matter the foe, would never retreat, often bordering on reckless bravery.

"Have I mastered the Heart of the Beast? I don't need it. My body has carried the blood of beasts since birth."

Enkrid recalled him baring his fangs with pride—a stark contrast to the man he saw now.

"Are you really coming with me?"

Rem's tone, his eyes, everything about him said he didn't need their company. That they didn't have to follow.

"Absolutely," Enkrid replied with the determination he'd seen in Roman before.

Could mortals wield words of power like those of the divine?

If so, Enkrid wanted to use them now:

"Absolutely, without fail, no matter what."

His gaze carried that resolve. Rem's pupils quivered.

"I'm coming," he said.

"So am I."

"And I as well."

Enkrid spoke first, followed by Dunbakel, with Luagarne adding the final word.

Rem met each of their eyes in turn.

Though his shaking pupils steadied and his fierce gaze returned, Enkrid caught a flicker of fear deep within.

What are you so afraid of?

"It won't be fun. It might even be unpleasant," Rem finally said.

"We're not going for fun. It's curiosity about the west that drives us," Enkrid replied as he walked.

"Sure," Rem muttered sarcastically.

He wasn't a fool; he could read Enkrid's intent.

He knew this was an excuse to mock him.

"I've warned you," Rem said.

"Warning received," Dunbakel interjected, only to be struck on the head with an axe handle.

With a swift flick of his left foot and a wave of his right hand to distract, Rem swung the axe in his left hand. Though it wasn't fast, it was calculated.

Smack!

"Ow!"

Even with its slow arc, the strike carried enough force to hurt.

Sometimes, it felt like Rem might even be stronger than himself, Enkrid mused.

Still, if Dunbakel could understand and counter such movements, it might lead to growth. For now, though, it was out of reach.

The strike resembled Jaxen's pinpoint thrusts or a blow aimed to strike a vital point.

It was excessive for dealing with a bothersome beastkin.

Enkrid suddenly realized he could see the technique's form clearly, even break down the subtleties Rem had incorporated.

Another insight.

This was why he had come west—not just for Rem's reactions, but for other reasons, too.

Rem began explaining the enchanted dagger with short blonde hair embedded in its hilt.

"There's a ritual where one sacrifices their lifespan to craft something.

This dagger might not have cost actual life, but it probably carries the weight of accumulated karma. It could even prevent further spellcasting… Are you listening?"

Rem frowned as he noticed Enkrid zoning out after asking the question.

"Madman," he muttered.

The aura emanating from Enkrid intensified, the will to fight manifesting as palpable pressure.

Though neither of them had knightly titles, the oppressive force radiated by both was undeniable.

Rem grinned.

The mad commander had fully recovered.

Both were now fit for battle.

Rem's prized axe was irreparably damaged, so he carried two ordinary hand axes.

A slight disadvantage, but no matter.

A fighting spirit stirred within Rem.

"When we left the city, no one cheered for me. Was that your doing?" he asked.

"Yes," Enkrid answered.

"Dunbakel looks rather pretty when her fur's brushed, doesn't she?"

At that, Dunbakel raised her head, her golden eyes brimming with curiosity as she glanced between them.

"Yes," Enkrid nodded.

Rem was certain now—he wasn't paying attention.

They stopped walking. Dunbakel, gathering twigs for their campsite, paused to look at them.

The axes and swords reflected the orange light of the setting sun.

"I won't hold back," Rem said.

Enkrid grinned widely at those words. It thrilled him to hear such determination from his subordinate.

This wasn't carelessness—it was readiness to give one's best.

It was a feeling Enkrid found indescribably enjoyable.

"He's smiling again," Rem muttered.

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