Ten days had passed since the fight with the Salamander and since Temares had naturally begun to blend in. Was it that dragonkin had good adaptability? He lived astonishingly as if nothing were out of the ordinary. He didn't fuss over what he ate or where he slept. He ate as much as the knights ate, and slept as much as they did. No—more precisely, he slept as much as Enkrid slept and ate when Enkrid ate. Meaning, he never strayed from Enkrid's side, and that closeness felt perfectly natural.
"Is the dragonkin trying to take my place?"
Shinar even joked like that, but no one paid it much mind.
In Rem's words—
"He'll do what he wants. What's it to me?"
That about summed it up. Everyone had returned to their routines. The only difference from before was that whether it was sparring or training, they no longer pushed their bodies excessively.
It was noon under blazing sunlight. Perhaps due to the Salamander's lingering influence, the surrounding temperature had remained hot for a while. Rain had fallen a few times, and the humid air raised the discomfort level.
Of course, Luagarne found the humidity most pleasing. She had shown brief curiosity toward the dragonkin too, but she didn't make a fuss over it. As always, the Frog's attention stayed fixed on Enkrid. The direction of her curiosity never changed.
At this hour, even she had stepped away for her own training.
On the tenth day, during one of countless sparring sessions, Enkrid sliced Temares's neck. Red blood sprayed across the place where dawn's light passed. Temares, his neck half-severed, thrust his sword into Enkrid's heart.
Even with his neck nearly cut, the thrust lost none of its speed or power.
With a puk— sound, the white blade pierced through the Will-forged iron defense, splitting muscle and heart.
Normally, one side would be protected by dragon scales and the other by Balrog hide, but not this time. They fought without dragon scales or armor, relying purely on tactical skill.
Victory? Impossible to say. This was all for enjoyment.
Naturally, having one's neck cut or heart pierced was only imagined—an illusion. If it were real, both would be dead. A knight doesn't survive being stabbed through the heart, and even a dragonkin doesn't live through decapitation.
Their movements, gestures, eye glints, and grips revealed and concealed intention as they clashed within shared imagery.
You might call it a mental spar. To fight in finer detail, they mixed in gestures and shifts of weight just enough for the other to perceive.
Sweat streamed down Enkrid's back. At first, Temares had seemed manageable, but now he could no longer be called an easy opponent.
Could he win if they fought for real? Could he kill him?
He'd have to try to know. In just half a month, the dragonkin had closed the gap in skill. And Enkrid, too, had learned much.
"Interesting."
Temares blinked as he spoke. The vertical eyes called Dragon Eyes still held goodwill.
"I think so too. Curious. Is that insight something innate to your race? That last move—it looked like you infused Will throughout your whole body and let it thrust reflexively, didn't you?"
Was the dragonkin's insight impressive? Yes. And Enkrid's was too. Watching in the mind's realm, he'd already grasped the essence of the technique Temares showed.
He was not only generous in teaching but open in learning, always observing and absorbing with a receptive mind.
Such traits had surely blossomed into his knighthood. His discernment rivaled even that of dragonkin. And yet, their insight was truly astonishing.
When one becomes a knight, they gain the foresight called "eyes that see a step ahead." Dragonkin are born with it. Thus, deceit does not work on them.
By reading Will, they wield a talent close to mind-reading. Needless to say, it was invaluable in combat.
'Conventional swordsmanship doesn't work.'
Because Temares's eyes saw through every feint. In contrast, Enkrid's orthodox swordsmanship—rooted in solid fundamentals—was itself a form of deception.
'A flowing sword that reads openings and pierces weakness.'
His fundamentals were strong, but more than that, he had pioneered a style of his own. The insight born with those eyes excelled at finding vulnerabilities.
Their sparring was half swordplay, half conversation. During it, Enkrid also learned why the dragonkin had stayed.
"My intuition is extraordinary. It tells me that if I remain by your side, I will meet them."
Dragonkin possessed insight—beings capable even of vague foresight. They carried a certain mystique. There was a reason they could freely alter sex and exist as hermaphroditic beings.
"Who?"
Enkrid asked.
"The one who interfered with my duty."
There was no menace in the dragonkin's reply, no flare of resolve. He spoke with the tone of a scholar listing facts, as though describing something sacred that must be upheld. Perhaps that calmness made it all the more chilling.
He stated fixed truths with ease, yet the undercurrent carried quiet dread.
Of course, Enkrid felt nothing unusual. He was a man who sought to erase the Demon Realm itself. To him, "the end of the war" meant not just finishing a conflict but bringing about the final extinction of the demonic world.
That was his wish. A man like that could easily take a dragonkin's words about hunting down a demon at face value.
"Your intuition is sharp."
Enkrid nodded. Considering the demon's servant who had come seeking him, they would surely return. And if not, he would find them first.
"We do not forget those who interfere with our duty."
The dragonkin added.
For them, duty was the very reason to live. That he found interest and curiosity in humans was surprising enough, but Temares still needed a sense of duty.
He required a new path to seek a new duty, as he always had. But before that, he would exact a price from whoever had obstructed it.
That came before all else.
Temares also stayed here because his heart had been stirred. Even he found it strange.
Of course, no one else found it remarkable.
"Would he be called Enchanting for nothing?"
"Even the Goddess of Fortune would fall for him."
In Rem and Audin's words, Enkrid was that kind of man.
By late afternoon, Kraiss—watching their spar—asked,
"You're not trying to gather every race, are you?"
A knight order now made up of half-giants, Frogs, beastmen, dragonkin, fairies, and humans. Of course, the dragonkin wasn't formally a member, but to Kraiss, he seemed to soak into the order like rain falling on dry soil.
'And if only he'd soak into the salon too.'
Well, it would happen or it wouldn't.
"Shouldn't we rename ourselves the Order of Mixed Bloods?"
It was a joke.
"And I heard something from Esther…"
Kraiss was busy; he had no reason to visit this often without cause.
"Speak."
Esther had spoken of a crisis. Moreover, she had named the visitor's timing with uncanny precision.
Because of that, Kraiss had lost three nights of sleep. No matter how much he tried to suppress it, anxiety kept rearing its head. Even when his eyes closed, the worry he'd buried crept into his dreams.
In the dream, the city burned as black-robed mages rounded up townsfolk and dragged them into underground laboratories. The vividness made it worse.
In the dream, he even learned the reason for the experiments—and saw fifty years into the future.
The Border Guard had become the womb of a second demon. From it, a new one was born.
'A demonic Enkrid.'
An evolved succubus—one who bewitched merely by being seen. It was a wretched dream.
Because of it, Kraiss, gripped by dread, took every precaution he could. His message to Enkrid now was about that.
"I've informed everyone of their positions and tasks. Esther spoke with conviction, but if things go awry, you'll have to respond as you see fit."
He struck his anxious chest—literally—and got scolded by Luagarne for it. But he did what he must.
Three days later, another pitch-black shadow fell upon the Border Guard.
Naturally, most citizens and common soldiers knew nothing, but the shadow came for the city all the same.
In some ways, it was an even trickier foe than the Salamander.
After returning to the city, Enkrid hadn't pushed himself to the limit in training. Even when he sparred mentally with the dragonkin, in reality, he conserved his strength. The others were the same.
To an ordinary person, it might sound insane, but to Enkrid, it was moderation.
He was scratching the scab on his cheek—left by a graze from the dragonkin's sword, Baika—when he met the mage from Esther's unit.
"They've arrived."
Though his tone wasn't urgent, the meaning was clear even without a subject.
"Where's Jaxon?"
"Sir Jaxon has already moved."
"Let's go."
Enkrid pulled a hooded cloak over his mantle and headed out of the city.
Passing the training yard, out through the inner walls, across the well-paved road, he reached the outer gate in one steady stride. He kept his face hidden as he passed others, exchanging no more than glances with familiar faces.
"All's clear on duty, proceed this way."
Only a select few knew of Enkrid's departure. The captain on duty today was Vengance. He greeted Enkrid at the gate—one of the few aware of his mission.
Under pretense of inspecting guard discipline, Vengance's job was to call Enkrid out and see him off.
"Your child's growing well?"
Enkrid asked as he passed.
"Very."
A smile naturally touched Vengance's face. Enkrid's gaze brushed over the child. What would that boy become when grown?
Protecting children like that, people like those behind him—
Enkrid knew his duty well. Finishing his brief exchange with Vengance, he stepped beyond the walls. The dragonkin followed.
"Your blood seems to be boiling, Enki."
Temares, using the shortened name for the first time in days, spoke.
"I've told you before—no need to voice everything you see, Temares."
The dragonkin's social skills were lacking. He said everything that crossed his eyes.
"That beastman doesn't wash because he hates revealing the scent of fear."
Like this, he casually picked at Dunbakel's wounds.
"You little salamander bastard—"
Of course, Dunbakel snapped back.
"That fairy has lived quite a long time. If we count the years…"
"Ever seen such a rotten potato sprout of a dragonkin?"
That happened too.
"And that witch, despite being human, the days she's lived…"
He'd even said such things to Esther, only to have her wordlessly silence him by slicing his wind spell with Baika. Esther preferred action over words when shutting him up.
Still, he was gradually adapting.
At their destination, the elder witch Esther awaited them. She wasn't older than Shinar, but clearly older than Enkrid.
The moment she saw him, she said,
"Your eyes look strange."
Enkrid scattered his thoughts and asked back indifferently,
"Do they?"
Rem, arriving almost at the same time, said,
"I told you, chief sometimes gets that weird look in his eyes."
Ignoring Esther's odd gaze, Enkrid asked Rem,
"Everyone in position?"
Rem nodded.
"Everyone's set."
Kraiss believed that the one properly prepared before battle would win. Esther agreed. Mages and witches, by nature, are preparers.
A prepared spell is many times more dangerous than one cast on impulse. Through Esther, the entire Mad Order knew that well.
Kraiss, with weary eyes, had once told Enkrid,
"If you can strike beyond the enemy's expectations, the blade you draw at that moment will be sharper than ever."
Preparation belongs to the realm of prediction and conjecture. The inspiration of a mage lets them sense all of it almost as premonition.
"Esther's stronger than the ones coming, right? That's our premise."
Kraiss was a genius. Esther silently agreed again. He had factored even her abilities into his calculations when planning strategy.
"Do we go to greet them?"
They stood beyond the Border Guard, on a wide plain off the main road. Nearly wasteland, dust rose in wisps.
Ahead, an old man in a splendid white robe embroidered with gold thread spoke. Behind him followed a dozen figures in gray robes.
Esther had already predicted the movements of the mage targeting her.
Kraiss, fearing demonic schemes and revenge, had heard of and prepared for the mad sorcerers after her.
"What can they do?"
Kraiss had asked, and Esther answered as far as her knowledge went. Having faced them before, she knew more than enough—more than Kraiss had asked for.
"Commander."
At once, Kraiss had called Enkrid and Abnaier to convene a strategy meeting. Then he had asked Esther again,
"What's a mage's weakness?"
Astrail—meaning "those who chase stars."
Esther said,
Mages, by nature, do not know how to live together.
"They are arrogant beings."
Meaning they'd never imagine they could fall to a mere blade.
Esther had said they would think that way, and at those words, Kraiss's eyes sank like something settling in a glass of water.
The light faded from his gaze as thoughts turned over in his mind. Consumed by unease, the genius recognized the mages' weakness.
The first person he sought afterward was Jaxon.