Chapter 172
Among them was the gate captain who had been on guard duty that morning.
He had seen everything. And he was in awe.
‘That guy is completely insane.’
He had witnessed it all—Encrid, drenched from head to toe in the blood of monsters and beasts, doing the unthinkable.
‘Is he out of his mind?’
Soaked in blood, making a run for it? And what about that panther?
Using the panther as bait to escape? No, that couldn’t be it.
The direction was all wrong. After crawling through the battlefield, Encrid had gone deeper into enemy lines.
That was a route only a lunatic would take.
And then, he had seen Encrid take down a gnoll lurking in the back ranks.
After witnessing all that, how could he call the man sane?
Only then did the words of Krys, the big-eyed strategist, truly sink in.
“They call him the Mad Captain in the Border Guards.”
A truly insane bastard.
But it was precisely because he was insane that watching him set hearts pounding.
Even just observing him was overwhelming.
The captain was sharp. He was quick to grasp the situation.
He realized—there was a traitor among the mercenaries.
‘What if he hadn’t stepped in?’
If he hadn’t pulled this crazy stunt? If they had let the traitor go unnoticed?
What would have happened then?
The village? The gnoll horde?
The hyena beasts alone numbered in the hundreds—could they have handled that?
No. The only outcome would have been annihilation.
It was because Encrid had done something insane that the outcome had changed.
That gnoll at the rear—its movements had been different from the others. Even from a distance, its motions left afterimages.
That was the colony’s leader.
And the madman had killed it.
‘How long would we have lasted?’
If the leader had survived and commanded the colony?
If it had led them in an organized attack?
He didn’t know.
What he did know was that he would have been dead.
Deutsch Pullman had the same thought.
He had seen it all. How could he think any differently?
Both men reached the same two conclusions—and moved.
First, Encrid was absolutely insane.
Second, there was no way they could let him die.
How could they?
Even if he was a madman, he was the one who had saved them.
Deutsch and the captain both knew—he had to survive.
And in the end, their choice was the right one.
Esther’s sharp shooting, Encrid’s relentless fight, Deutsch and his men’s counterattack—
All of it had come together.
Just as Encrid and his group barely made it inside the village, a heavy stone fell from above.
“Die, you bastards!”
Someone had been smart enough to grab a rock and drop it from the wall.
Thunk!
A boulder, the size of a human head, smashed into a hyena beast’s back.
Crunch.
Its bones and muscles were crushed, and its ribcage protruded through its flesh. The beast lay sprawled on the ground, motionless.
“Guuk!”
A nearby gnoll took a rock to the skull and clutched its head, collapsing to its knees.
It was possible because the quarry behind the village had a stockpile of stones ready for use.
“Fire!”
Arrows rained down, decorating the remaining monsters like grotesque ornaments.
With their leader dead, the remaining gnolls scattered in all directions.
“We made it.”
Encrid spoke calmly, as if he had just returned from a casual outing. He quietly set down his bloodied swords and began removing his armor.
Bruises and minor wounds were visible across his body.
He had taken calculated risks—avoiding every attack would have made it impossible to break through.
For him, the wounds were intentional.
For those watching, it was something else entirely.
“Shit.”
Deutsch muttered under his breath.
He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he stared at Encrid.
How could someone be this calm?
How could someone be so unfazed?
His guts weren’t just big—they seemed downright detachable.
“I think you owe us an explanation.”
Deutsch spoke as he sat down, his tone showing that he now fully acknowledged Encrid.
He had survived by the skin of his teeth—he wouldn’t deny that.
“Sure.”
Encrid nodded.
He wasn’t acting smug or arrogant—just calm.
How could he remain so composed at a time like this?
‘This guy is impossible to figure out.’
Deutsch thought but kept his opinion to himself.
After all, the man before him had saved them all.
And Encrid was an expert at making up excuses.
This was hardly the first time.
It was something he had done countless times before.
“I was just doing my morning endurance training. I happened to recognize the faces of the two guys on the watchtower.”
Excuses didn’t need to be perfect.
They just needed to sound plausible.
The event was over—who would argue now?
“That’s when it hit me. They were cultists. I must’ve seen them in passing back in my mercenary days, but it took a while to click.”
His tone was completely soulless.
It sounded like he was just throwing words together.
It sounded like a lie.
Even if they went over it two or three times, the message was clear: Just take my word for it.
Deutsch felt uneasy.
But just as Encrid had predicted, he couldn’t press further.
In the end, Encrid was right.
And it was all over now.
Besides, the issue at hand had been taking down cultists.
And the man before them was undeniably their savior.
“They’re gone now.”
A voice came from atop the wall.
Krys.
When had he gotten up there?
Then again, it made sense.
Who else would have convinced the workers to gather stones and drop them at just the right moment?
It certainly hadn’t been the disorganized enforcers.
It had been Krys.
The moment he finished speaking, more voices echoed across the walls and watchtowers.
“They’re retreating!”
“We’re alive.”
“Ah…”
“Hah.”
The workers, the enforcers, the remaining villagers—
They had all fought together, held the walls together, and barely survived.
They had been teetering on the edge of death, but someone had pulled them back.
How could they not be grateful?
And so, all eyes turned toward the man who had saved them.
A black-haired, blue-eyed warrior.
“What? It’s true.”
His voice was as dry and indifferent as ever, as if he was just stating a fact.
But no one paid attention to his words.
Not even Deutsch.
“Let’s just go with that.”
And that was the end of it.
What truly mattered?
No one was foolish enough not to realize why they were still alive.
—
“Who did you say that man was again?”
One of the laborers helping to build the wall asked Krys.
Over the past few days, they had grown somewhat familiar with each other.
Krys, sitting atop the barricade—if this were a proper wall, this section would be called the gallery—sighed as he answered.
His legs had lost all strength.
“Encrid. A madman.”
The guy was completely insane. Charging into the enemy lines like that?
“Kyaaar.”
At some point, Esther had appeared beside him, nodding in agreement.
Krys glanced at her.
For once, they shared the same opinion.
Esther was just as dumbfounded.
She had stepped in to cover his back—only to watch him throw himself into near-certain death.
One wrong step, and her key to breaking her curse might have been lost forever.
“Kyaakyaaa!”
Esther chattered in frustration.
“Yeah, yeah, he’s completely nuts.”
The laborer, still muttering Encrid’s name, suddenly had an idea.
“Encrid, Encrid… No, that doesn’t stick. Madman’s Wall! That’s better.”
“Huh?”
Krys turned his head, confused.
The laborer, now confident in his decision, spoke with certainty.
“That’ll be the name of the wall when it’s finished.”
Wait—was that even allowed?
Should someone stop him?
Krys considered it but let it go.
His legs were too weak to argue.
“Madman Encrid Wall… Maybe that’s even better.”
The laborer continued muttering to himself, refining his idea.
The sun was setting.
The day was coming to an end.
—
Ruagarne moved the moment she heard Encrid’s words.
She immediately went to find the so-called cultist.
Locating him was easy.
After all, very few men dared to argue with Frok’s questioning.
She found the cultist in bed with a woman.
Ignoring them, she called out.
The man, half-dressed, stepped out to see who was calling him.
Ruagarne recognized him immediately.
A man who had always hovered around Deutsch Pullman—like a freshwater fish trailing behind a larger predator.
“This him?”
She asked as soon as she saw him.
The man tilted his head in confusion before replying awkwardly.
“Pardon? What is this about?”
He smiled—a friendly, affable smile.
But Frok’s trained eye saw something different.
That face? Definitely not pleasant to look at.
He looked like a fish.
His expression practically screamed, Do I need to explain something?
‘Is it him?’
Or not?
Ruagarne decided on a simple test.
A step forward—then a punch.
Not a killing blow.
Just a test.
She put a bit of force behind it—just in case he really was a cultist.
But to him, it was anything but a test.
A punch thrown by a battle-hardened Frok warrior, twisting her right ankle for added force. A strike like that was lethal—if it connected, his skull would burst.
The man’s instincts kicked in.
A faint hum.
Vwooom.
At the same time—
Thud!
Her fist was blocked by a translucent, milky-white barrier.
Not a spell.
Ruagarne had hunted more cultists than some inquisitors in her time.
She knew this for what it was—a cultist’s unique defensive ability.
Which meant—
Encrid had been right.
“Bingo.”
Frok’s cheeks puffed up with excitement. Joy, anticipation, and the thrill of the hunt all mixed together.
“How did you know!?”
The cultist moved the instant his cover was blown.
His left foot tapped the ground twice.
The cult of the Demon Realm, or as some called them, the Cult of Rebirth—despite their heretical nature, their followers never seemed to dwindle.
And why was that?
Because they granted power far too easily—offering a shortcut to a whole new life.
The moment he had become a priest, he had been granted that power.
Now, it activated.
Two taps—and he vanished.
Swish!
A crack sounded as Ruagarne’s whip lashed the spot where he had just stood, carving a deep groove into the ground.
‘Oh?’
Instead of relying on his shield, he ran the moment things turned bad?
That wasn’t teleportation.
A high-tier spell like that wouldn’t activate so quickly.
No, this was something else.
An ability that dramatically increased his speed for short bursts.
She knew this trick well.
Once upon a time, hunting scum like him had been her job.
“Hmph. A mere Frok.”
The voice came from about ten paces away—maybe a bit farther.
“I am a priest. Do you wish to die? Come, then. I will offer you as a sacrifice to our cause.”
Grumble.
Go ahead, try it.
If he came at her with the intent to kill, that would make things much easier.
Ruagarne didn’t respond with words.
She answered with action.
Her foot slammed into the ground.
Boom!
A charge—a full-speed rush.
The priest quickly tapped his right foot twice.
This time, he activated a levitation ability.
Whoosh!
With acceleration and levitation combined, he barely avoided her attack.
Her whip slashed through empty air.
“Hmm. If I catch you, I’ll rip your tongue out first.”
Ruagarne mused casually, her cheeks puffing up again.
The priest decided it was safer to keep dodging for now.
He fled.
Ruagarne chased him.
And for almost an entire day, they played an exhausting game of tag.
In the end—
She lost him.
She had hunted him down for a full day, but he had a trump card.
Summoning magic.
An annoying bastard.
She had to give up pursuit to deal with the creatures he had called forth.
“We will meet again!”
That was the last thing he shouted as he fled.
She hoped he meant it.
Because now that she knew his tricks—
‘Next time, I’ll break his legs first.’
Her priorities had shifted.
By the time Frok returned, it was deep into the night.
She had taken the long way around the quarry, and now—
She finally saw the aftermath of battle at the settlement’s entrance.
What the hell had happened here?
Just from the remnants, she could tell—
It had been one hell of a fight.
The battlefield remained.
Blood-soaked earth and stained barricades.
The scent of excited humans and the overwhelming stench of blood filled the air.
Yet, the atmosphere was strangely… odd.
Dark, yet not entirely bleak.
Grim, yet not devoid of relief.
In the midst of it all, Ruagarne saw the reason she hadn’t gone back yet—the man who had kept her here.
A man named Encrid.
