The horse flapping its wings above the sky descended to the ground. A winged horse, haloed by light in the clear sky after the rain. As Audin even raised his hand in greeting toward it, the soldiers—who by now had turned into a chorus of zealots—cried out together.
"Ohhh, a divine beast!"
"The God's mount, the Heavenly Horse!"
"It's a Pegasus!"
In truth, it had only gone for a joyful romp, but to those watching, it really did look like a divine creature descending from the heavens. Objectively speaking, they weren't even wrong.
The moment they realized it wasn't an enemy, their attitude changed. Sacred radiance descended, the lemon-colored sunlight added to it, and the gray gloom that had hung over the encampment was torn away.
Neigh—
Odd-Eye, who had landed, stood beside Enkrid and neatly folded both wings against its back. Somehow, once the wings were folded, they looked like a thick blanket draped over its body. Unless one looked closely, it would be hard to tell they were wings at all.
The feathers were nearly the same color as its skin, and their texture was unlike that of ordinary birds—denser, tougher. Perhaps that was how feathers grown from a horse's body were meant to be.
How had Odd-Eye come to grow wings?
It had been quite some time since Enkrid first saw them. Even without particular curiosity, there had been plenty of time to think about it.
First, it had been born different from the start. The fundamental reason it had overcome demonic blood was its own will, but Odd-Eye carried the blood of a Pegasus—the bloodline of a mythical beast. It was hard to believe that blood had not played a part.
'A divine beast's body mixed with a monster's blood, then.'
Second reason:
'That strange thing it ate.'
Strictly speaking, it wasn't strange but sacred spring water. It had been a gift from Viscount Harrison, who ruled south of the Border Guard. Odd-Eye had snatched it up and drunk it all.
After drinking that, a bruise had appeared on its back. Normally, Odd-Eye never showed any greed for food. It had never once coveted anything while beside him—not a comfortable stall, not room to run. Yet that time, it had dashed forward and gulped it down.
Enkrid remembered both reasons, but he wasn't surprised, nor did he scold it for drinking the sacred spring.
If he had meant to scold, he would have done it back then.
In the end, was there a problem with wings sprouting from Odd-Eye's back? None whatsoever.
Even if horns suddenly grew from Rem's forehead, Enkrid wouldn't be startled.
"Right. I always knew he was a demon."
He was fully confident he would say that and move on calmly.
While Sir Cypress, the silver-haired knight, smiled instead of showing surprise, his attendant—his squire—approached and whispered something in his ear.
Enkrid, standing right in front, couldn't hear it at all; that alone showed that this squire-cum-attendant was accustomed to delivering her knight's messages in a whisper.
As he listened, Sir Cypress's eyes gleamed. His gaze shifted—not toward Enkrid, but toward Odd-Eye.
It was a look so bright it was almost burdensome to watch.
Why was he putting Will into his eyes?
Neigh—
Odd-Eye reacted to that gaze. It looked ready to bite or kick him.
"Whoa."
When Enkrid stroked its mane to calm it, Odd-Eye leaned its body and gave his side a light shove—half a nudge, half a slap. A sign of protest.
"Do you think I'm a child?"
Temares read the horse's feelings and relayed them aloud.
Sir Cypress, realizing his gaze had been too intense, subdued the spark in his eyes and spoke again.
"Does your friend allow people to ride him?"
"He does."
Strictly speaking, he only allowed one person, but he did allow it.
"Then lend him to me—no, just for a day or two."
Odd-Eye understood human speech and made his will known first. He shook his head side to side, snorting a rough phururuk. Even to someone unfamiliar, that motion was unmistakably a "no."
"He understands speech? Then no need to ask twice. He understands."
Sir Cypress looked at Odd-Eye, asking and answering himself.
"We even trade jokes sometimes."
"Incredible. From that, it sounds like he just refused, am I right?"
"Yes, you're right."
A confirming question and a clear answer. The squire beside Cypress darkened in expression, and Enkrid's gaze turned her way.
She was a woman with short hair and round, pretty eyes. Her natural face was gently rounded, with balanced features—eyes, nose, and lips evenly spaced. Her hair shone faintly brown, like maple syrup in sunlight.
Just by appearance—
'Should I say she's on par with a fairy?'
What she had over Shinar was a livelier range of expression; what she lacked was nothing in particular—she was that beautiful.
If she lived in the capital, she would have been as renowned a lady as Kin Baisar's daughter.
'The scar rather enhances her beauty.'
A finger-length, zigzag scar crossed her forehead, yet it didn't mar her looks at all.
It looked like an accessory that suited her—a tattoo would have seemed no stranger. Such was her beauty.
"What are you looking at? What do your eyes hold?"
For a fairy, reading the direction of Enkrid's gaze was simple—she was always watching him.
Shinar asked, leaning close enough for her breath to touch him. It smelled of forest and grass dampened by rain.
"Is it because of the gryphon?"
Enkrid possessed the wisdom not to answer when at a disadvantage. He had been doing that long before this endless repetition of days.
Even without talent for the sword, he had been born with a talent for words.
And part of that talent lay in changing the subject. You couldn't divert talk by throwing it anywhere, but if you struck at the core, an answer would follow naturally.
"You've heard already?"
Cypress nodded. He had heard it was quite a troublesome matter, but his demeanor was calm.
He looked like the kind of man who could nod serenely even if told he would die tomorrow morning.
Such composure was what one glimpsed in the knight named Cypress. There was nothing else visible beneath it, which made it a little unsettling.
"I heard on the way."
Crang nodded beside him. He had said as much, and so had his old friend Burnion. Enkrid turned his gaze, and the squire, after meeting it briefly, looked away. Their eyes had met for only a moment, but Enkrid caught a mix of feelings there—awkwardness, yet also a glimmer of hope.
"My betrothed, and now you're exchanging looks?"
Shinar spoke from beside him, voice laced with forced astonishment. The words were pointed, but she wasn't truly listening to the main conversation. Her focus never wavered from what she was watching. Her concentration was remarkable. Her swordsmanship had improved lately, and so had her focus.
"It wasn't an exchange of looks—just that the squire there seems to be the thinking type."
Enkrid answered flatly. Whatever Shinar said, he had his own matters to attend to.
To be honest, women didn't make his eyes spin. Her appearance hadn't stirred any emotion in him.
If mere beauty could sway him—no, if it ever had—then he would already have fallen long ago to the Golden Witch or the Black Flower.
No matter how comparable to a fairy, the mystery that fairies held was not something that could be imitated.
The inhuman beauty of the Golden Witch was a kind of magic, drawing soldiers' gazes just by walking past them.
Even here, there were still many who couldn't tear their eyes from her.
Shinar knew this. She knew Enkrid was not a man who stopped for outward beauty.
She simply teased him without end. Of course, this time, her line carried real wariness toward that woman.
Truly, she was a fairy who twisted truth as easily as breathing.
"Do not forget the child between us."
"...Now you even make lies a habit?"
Fwoosh—
Shinar held out her hand, showing a lizard of flame.
"Behold our child. The proof stands bright before you."
Not a child, but a fire lizard—once a fire monster that had struck terror across the continent, now a spirit settled in the fairy city.
Shinar had neither conceived nor given birth, but she claimed as her child the spirit she had gained by finishing what Enkrid had begun.
It was an extreme distortion of truth.
She had even sworn, with the resolve and oath to protect it like a child. So it wasn't mere falsehood.
Her words were always twisted so deftly—she didn't call it a "child born," but a "child we have."
Those long used to her jokes and distortions would understand, but those meeting such a fairy for the first time were bound to be bewildered. Enkrid, however, didn't bother to explain and clear it up. What was there to clarify?
"It's not like that."
He spoke firmly to everyone, then returned to the main subject.
"I heard they're dropping scrolls and hurling stones from the sky."
He had heard the details from Burnion. Crang, too, had come during the rainfall but had not seen the gryphon riders himself.
"A child shaped by flame and a horse that flies in the sky… are you truly human?"
Cypress murmured.
"It's not like that."
Enkrid denied it again, looking at him. Cypress's eyes curved gently. Was he teasing him? He was.
"Well, what does it matter."
Cypress smiled and turned back to the original topic.
"We were being taken apart without resistance."
He still spoke with calm simplicity—a duet of composure and ease.
Seeing him, one might even doubt that this man was really the kingdom's strongest knight.
No competitive spirit stirred in Enkrid, yet he didn't feel he would lose if they fought. A curious man—like a lake, like the wind, something harmless.
Even Ingis had glanced back twice at Shinar's face, yet Cypress hadn't once turned his gaze there.
Since they met, he had fixed his eyes on only three things:
first, Enkrid; second, Crang; third, Odd-Eye.
"Well, whatever happens, Sir Cypress won't be riding him."
Enkrid said it plainly.
Odd-Eye wasn't just a mount. Calling him a friend wasn't an exaggeration.
Enkrid was not a man with two faces. What he said and what he meant were the same. He respected his friend Odd-Eye's will. If Odd-Eye disliked something, then so be it.
Cypress recognized that part of him. The deeds this man before him had accomplished, the fame, the titles that came with them—he had heard them all and read brief reports besides.
Even if half those stories were true, he was already extraordinary—and in person, he seemed even more so.
"No wonder they call you the Mad Knight."
Cypress smiled as he said it. Enkrid felt curiosity stir, and he had no intention of holding it back.
"Are you truly the kingdom's strongest?"
The question was sharp, piercing, challenging.
To ask is it true was no different from asking if it's true, will you prove it?
In fact, it was a question Cypress hadn't heard in nearly twenty years—but for Enkrid, it was one he couldn't help but ask.
He had come this far with one expectation in mind.
'A duel with the kingdom's strongest knight.'
It was hard to imagine anything more thrilling. Yet the man he finally met showed no hint of it.
Perhaps that was why Enkrid's anticipation grew all the more, and he asked—because he didn't believe what he saw was all there was.
He wanted to glimpse the sharpness hidden between composure and calm.
"Yeah, doesn't it feel a bit underwhelming?"
Rem cut in. They had already exchanged a bit of aura, and this Cypress fellow hadn't shown even the pressure of a junior knight.
Instead of menace, there was only curiosity and mild wonder.
"Is my face worse than the captain's? He practically picked a fight over looks."
Rem added.
Luagarne had never thought she'd say such a thing aloud, but she felt it had to be said.
"You have no shame."
For a Frog to speak about the heart was rare indeed. Rem had achieved another great feat today.
"In any case."
Rem broke off and fixed his gaze on Cypress—no, glared at him.
He was the sort of man you'd think would offer up his neck unresisting even if you swung an axe.
He had endured on the southern front this long. There were a few scars on his face, but his expression was gentle.
For Enkrid, a knight trained in perception, to see him as gentle meant that in stance, bearing, temperament, and aura, he all radiated that same gentleness.
"Indeed. Like a dulled blade."
Enkrid replied. The atmosphere sank. In this purified air of sanctity, the urge to fight began to boil up.
"Kingdom's strongest? I handed that title to Sir Lien long ago."
Cypress spoke with the easy laugh of a kindly old neighbor.
"Guardian of the Southern Front"—that was Sir Cypress's epithet.
The man before them was the one known as the knight who could accomplish anything.
"As steadfast as ever, Sir."
Crang spoke.
"When a man changes, he's as good as dead, Your Majesty."
To Enkrid, watching and listening, one thing was clear.
'A man who knows how to steer the mood.'
Was that the virtue of one who led a knightly order?
Watching such a Cypress, Enkrid couldn't help but learn a thing or two.
He hadn't come here to fight in earnest anyway, so there was nothing more to do now—only to reflect on what he had seen and learned.