Chapter 178
“Truly, whenever, anytime, come, no, you must come. Have you married? That’s fine too. Good, very good. Yes, anytime, anytime, you are welcome here. You may even take root in this village. My daughter is quite pretty, so living together wouldn’t be so bad, yes?”
The village chief, drunk for what seemed like the nineteenth time, repeated the same words to the man beside him. The equally intoxicated villager simply nodded along.
As he bobbed his head, bits of food stuck in his thick beard scattered onto the table.
“Of course, yes, absolutely.”
Anyone could see that he was completely drunk.
‘This village chief is really losing it now that he’s drunk.’
Encrid had caught a glimpse of the chief’s daughter before. She wasn’t even fifteen yet. A child.
There might be child marriage customs in the western regions, but not in the central lands. This was nothing more than drunken nonsense.
“Hahahaha!”
The village chief and the bearded man, their beards littered with food, put their arms around each other’s shoulders and staggered away.
Encrid silently watched them.
Whenever a village overcame a crisis, a festival would naturally follow.
When the Border Guard’s blacksmith attempted to cut down the cultist, whether he was a sorcerer or not, Ruagarne had shaken her head.
‘Is there any reason to let him live?’ He had silently questioned her.
“He’s already dead. His heart stopped.”
The cultist’s end came through a heart attack.
With that, the remaining monsters regained their senses and fled.
A few stragglers attacked, but Encrid had no need to step in.
A swift whiz—an arrow sailed through the air and struck the last monster squarely in the head.
“We won!”
“We protected our home!”
Cheers erupted. Cries of victory and relief filled the air, mingled with voices calling his name.
“Encrid!”
By now, the entire village knew his name and shouted it in gratitude. Voices of those he had saved, of those who had watched him fight.
It wasn’t a bad feeling. Encrid sheathed his sword and turned away.
Through the cheers.
Through the people.
It was time to return to the village, which was just now stretching from its slumber.
“Long live Encrid’s Wall!”
A strange chant caught his ear.
The master builder had insisted on it, the village chief had nodded in agreement, and even Deutsch Pullman, the captain of the town’s guards and a man aiming to be a future power in this city, found the name fitting.
‘A wall named after me?’
Honestly, it wasn’t a bad idea. Half a joke, perhaps.
Thus ended the night of monsters and cultists.
The village chief gave out all the remaining food, and everyone feasted and drank.
Encrid joined them. He ate, drank, and celebrated.
“A drink?”
Finn handed him a bottle. He took a sip—it was good.
It was apple wine, its sweetness and slight acidity blending perfectly with the rich aroma of alcohol.
“Delicious, isn’t it?”
The man who spoke had a ragged, patchy beard that looked like it had been chewed by rats.
A stranger, his face and name unknown, smiled broadly as he asked again.
Encrid nodded. “It’s good.”
“My pride and joy.”
The ragged-bearded man puffed out his chest—likely a brewmaster.
“This was something I’d been saving, but it’s yours now.”
His speech was rough, but the sincerity in his tone was unmistakable. A quiet thank-you.
“For keeping us alive.”
The man handed over the apple wine, explaining that it was different from what the others were drinking.
With a pop, he opened the bottle and took a sip.
‘Hm.’
It was different.
The flavor, the aroma, everything about it was different. The crisp apple scent brushed his nose, and the taste grew richer the more he savored it. The lingering sweetness wrapped around his tongue, compelling him to take another sip.
He had never had anything like it before.
“This is a rare drink.”
“I was saving it for my daughter’s wedding.”
A drink with history.
“Are you sure about giving it to me?” he asked.
“I have one more bottle left.”
The man grinned, his rat-like beard and all. A pure, joyous smile.
“Here, you should introduce yourself too.”
The brewmaster soon brought his wife over. She was beautiful.
They say talented men attract beautiful women—how true it was.
“Enjoy it.”
Encrid nodded, savoring the apple wine.
One by one, the village chief, Deutsch Pullman, and many others sat beside him for a while before moving on.
In the village square, a grand feast had unfolded, almost like an annual festival.
“Let’s commemorate this day every year. Encrid’s Day, how about that?”
Did they really need to name everything?
“Does the name even matter?”
Someone responded with that, and others nodded in agreement.
Thus, they decided to mark the first day of summer with an annual celebration.
Would they really go through with it? Encrid simply watched, idly sipping his apple wine.
The village chief, still drunk, repeated himself again.
His wife claimed their daughter would be the most beautiful woman in the city in two years.
‘Not likely.’
The girl was just an ordinary child. Too shy to even speak to him.
Instead, some bold little brat approached and demanded to be under his command.
“Capture five of Deutsch Pullman’s town guards and bring them to me.”
He passed along the task.
The brat looked determined.
“I’ll do it!”
Then, he ran off and picked a fight with a drunken guard—only to get flicked on the forehead and burst into tears.
A child trying to act grown-up but still young enough to wet the bed.
Still, Encrid respected the kid’s spirit. This world was too harsh for a child to live without dreams.
“Thanks to you.”
Deutsch Pullman was drinking heavily. He wouldn’t get drunk easily, but his nose had turned red.
He silently emptied his cup a few more times before speaking.
“They told me nothing like this was left.”
He muttered a curse at the brewmaster.
Then, raising his glass, he declared, “If you ever need a glaive, call for me. I swear upon the dance of blades.”
A mercenary’s oath. A vow to answer any summons, no matter what.
“The dance upon the blade.”
For the first time in ages, Encrid returned the mercenary’s greeting.
“Until we meet again.”
With that, Deutsch stood and left.
Encrid took another sip of apple wine.
Encrid had not lost his senses after just a few drinks.
That didn’t mean he wanted to grab his sword and start swinging it around like a madman again, either.
He had already gone over the battle enough in his mind.
“Rest is important, brother.”
For some reason, Audin’s words surfaced in his thoughts.
Encrid agreed. Rest was always important.
If there was ever a day in the year to take a break, today seemed like a good choice.
With that in mind, he continued drinking and eating.
A skilled hunter-turned-militiaman had caught a deer somewhere and roasted it whole. Whoever had prepared it had done an excellent job.
The meat was tender, with barely any gamey scent.
The salt seasoning was just right.
“Whew, do you think anyone will believe me when I tell them about this?”
A slightly drunk Finn wandered over.
“Tell them about what?”
“The Massacre of the Beasts. The Dance of the Madman with Twin Blades.”
When drunk, Finn had the makings of a bard.
Chuckling to herself, she wandered off elsewhere.
Krys, looking quite intoxicated, approached next and poked Encrid in the ribs.
Encrid had sensed him approaching, had known he was about to poke him, but he let it happen anyway.
“Let’s go treasure hunting.”
“Sure.”
“No, really, let’s go. Do you think I’d keep it all to myself? Of course not! I swear! You don’t believe me, do you?”
“Alright, let’s go.”
“It’s less than half a day’s trip from here! I’ve already planned the whole route! Traps? No problem!”
“Sounds good.”
“Don’t you think it’s time to make a decision?”
Krys’s eyes burned with excitement. Who had let him drink so much?
As Encrid sipped his apple wine under the moonlight, Krys blinked his large eyes a few times before suddenly asking:
“What did you just say?”
“Ask your sober self tomorrow.”
“Huh?”
“I said, get lost.”
At first, people had crowded around Encrid. But one by one, they drifted away, forming their own small groups.
Watching that, Encrid thought it was a good sight.
The moonlight bathed everything in silver.
The air was pleasantly cool.
The season hadn’t yet reached the time when swarms of insects would take over.
The northern continent was never too overrun with pests, anyway.
There was apple wine, roasted venison, and secret family recipes from various households.
Cheese and smoked meats were brought out.
It might have seemed like a reckless feast, but given the victory over the Colony, what was the harm?
The cultist’s corpse, the bodies of the beasts—they had all been left outside.
Weapons that had been used in the battle were bought by the village at a fair price, paid for in Krong.
Tomorrow, they would all have a busy day.
Collecting the bodies, repairing the damaged walls, transporting stone from the quarry, and recruiting new settlers to expand the village.
Would they absorb the smaller villages nearby?
That was usually how frontier settlements grew.
Those with useful skills would be enticed to join, even if they had to be paid well.
Eventually, this village would become a fortress.
How long would it take to build proper walls, to erect something like an inner keep?
Without a magician’s help, relying only on the Artisan Guild, it would take—
‘A few years, at least.’
Considering the manor that needed to be built and other essential structures, it might take even longer.
But the village chief was full of ambition. He would push for it no matter what.
This was a land plagued by monsters and beasts, making trade difficult.
‘Everything needs to be done swiftly and decisively.’
That was the only way to make it work.
Lost in thought, Encrid raised his head.
At the center of the village square, the noise continued.
Some were singing.
Someone had brought out a lute and was plucking its strings.
‘Not bad at all.’
He listened carefully, gazing up at the sky. The stars almost looked like warriors swinging their swords.
Just as that thought crossed his mind—
“Aren’t you curious about how to obtain Will?”
It was Ruagarne.
She had taken a seat beside him, responding to Frok’s question.
Encrid didn’t turn to look at them.
Nor did he answer.
Ruagarne spoke again.
“Why don’t you ask?”
Encrid finally parted his lips, speaking slowly.
“I’ll find out when the time comes.”
Was that carelessness? No. He was far from the type to be carefree.
Ruagarne didn’t know why she was growing impatient. But she wanted to tell him. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt this way. It had been the same all along.
She had held back for so long, but now, seeing his indifferent reaction, she almost wanted to tease him out of spite.
“Do you think you can become a knight?”
“Who knows.”
Another dull response.
A reply that didn’t suit him at all.
Still looking at the moon, Encrid added,
“A dream. Just a dream.”
Short words, but like a blade, they struck straight to the heart.
Ruagarne placed a hand over her breastplate.
Her left arm was still regenerating—she was still one-armed.
It felt as if something was tightening around her heart.
“A junior knight uses Will by channeling it into one or two specific movements. Even that is no easy feat. But doing so is the first step beyond one’s limits—the path of a superhuman. The realm beyond a master.”
Why was Frok suddenly talking about this?
Was it the moonlight? The apple wine?
“Frok, do you even get drunk?”
“Sometimes. Not now.”
Ruagarne was the honest type, so she continued speaking her mind.
“Right now, I think I’m drunk on a man.”
There was no need to ask who she meant. She wasn’t expecting an answer either.
“Junior Knight Aisia was obsessed with forging Will through sheer force of momentum.”
Knights were those who could properly wield Will.
Junior knights were those who had only begun to grasp it.
“Even among junior knights who attain some level of Will, many never make it to full knighthood. Most don’t. And yet, you still want to become a knight?”
Was this entire conversation leading up to that question?
Regardless, it was helpful.
Encrid silently nodded.
“Then you will become one. A knight.”
A dream once shattered into pieces—Encrid had painstakingly stitched it back together.
Now, it was within reach once more.
Ruagarne stared intently at Encrid.
On the surface, he seemed devoid of passion, but she had watched him long enough to know the truth.
‘A relentless man.’
He was someone who carried an intense fire within, one he did not reveal outwardly.
And because of that, he was beautiful.
And because of that, he was fascinating to watch.
“If you become a knight, I will fall for you.”
For a Frok, reproduction and love of the heart were two entirely separate matters.
That was why they could love humans.
More importantly, the Frok’s concept of love was different from that of humans. Not just different—entirely distinct.
They had no concept of possession, nor did they have a notion of physical love.
If a man they fancied took another woman, it was no issue.
In fact, they would introduce themselves to the woman and seek her understanding.
For a Frok to love a human was rare.
So rare that it was a truly exceptional event, something that almost never happened.
Encrid, unsure of what to make of her words, simply looked at her before nodding.
“Suit yourself.”
A casual response, yet one that revealed his nature.
Ruagarne found that deeply satisfying.
Under the moonlit sky, the two shared a drink.
Then, with a sudden thud, a panther slipped between them.
As if it, too, knew how to drink, it narrowed its eyes at them.
“Want some?”
Encrid asked. Esther opened her mouth.
The rare apple wine trickled into the panther’s maw.
With a gulp, she swallowed a mouthful and let out a deep purring growl.
“Taste good?”
At Encrid’s question, the panther merely opened its mouth again.
