Chapter 263

Since long ago, many of the continent’s renowned strategists, military leaders, and commanders had tried to create magic units.

That is, they attempted to gather mages and turn them into their own personal military force.

“If we gather mages and build an army, it could rival a knight order in strength!”

The first fool who had this idea followed through with it.

He traveled the continent recruiting those known for their spellwork and made them many promises—

Support with resources and locations, even assistance in fulfilling their magical ambitions.

Dozens of mages gathered into a single organization.

And thus, the ‘Womb of the Demon’ was born.

Of course, it wasn’t called that from the beginning.

“I propose we call it the Tower of Wisdom.”

That’s the name it supposedly had. But later historians dubbed it ‘the Womb of the Demon’.

Why?

Because those mage bastards summoned a demon and twelve Balrogs there. What else could you call it?

One nameless demon—nameless only because humans back then had no time to name it—swept through three neighboring territories, raising an undead army and claiming the title of ‘Father of the Dead’.

The twelve Balrogs that served him fought like the war-born beasts they were, true to their name.

It may not be mythology, but it sits squarely between legend and history.

The demon still exists to this day.

Eventually, to drive out the demon known as ‘Father of the Dead’, nicknamed ‘The Last Door of Life’ or ‘The Door That Ends All Life’, the greatest knight orders of the entire continent marched out.

The demon fought again and again, until it retreated into the depths of the Demon Realm.

That was how the demon known as ‘Father of Death’ came to coil deep within the Demon Realm.

[Immortal—possessing a body and soul that cannot die, that demon shall never fall by human hands.]

That’s how people spoke of him.

And yet, despite that history, others continued to try organizing mages.

Some even succeeded—though their stories rarely ended well.

Rebellions, spell rampages, mages killing each other despite no one telling them to.

“They’re an uncontrollable risk factor.”

That was the Empire’s unofficial stance on mages, leading to eras of witch hunts and anti-magic purges.

Nowadays, most people lower their eyes in fear or awe when they see a witch.

Same goes for mages.

So what was the lesson here?

‘Mages are temperamental, self-centered, and unpredictable disasters.’

Even so, some still secretly built ties with mages or gave them court magician titles.

But such arrangements were viewed more as business deals.

Encrid mulled this over as he looked at Esther.

He and the Elf Commander had just finished dunking a Frok, who was still unconscious.

And there Esther was, staring at him like she had a bone to pick.

She didn’t have to say it. He could feel it.

His senses, all merged and transformed into the [Sixth Sense], told him plainly:

‘What’s with her?’

“Oh ho.”

Just before leaving, the Elf Commander gave a cryptic exclamation.

“Until next time, Onion Fiancé. May the day I peel you down to your bare skin come swiftly.”

Why was she wishing for that out loud?

Encrid didn’t bother wondering too deeply. She wasn’t someone who could be understood with common sense anyway.

“Take care.”

He sent her off with that and agreed to interrogate the Frok together later.

Back in the barracks, Esther kept looking at him with strange eyes—reminding him of the histories where mages caused disasters.

Isn’t she basically a witch too?

“Why?”

So he asked directly. Encrid didn’t believe in beating around the bush.

She’s a witch—

One who can turn into a panther.

A witch who, for some reason, preferred being a panther over a human.

But this was a misunderstanding.

Esther had to remain in panther form due to a curse—it wasn’t by choice.

As with all things, there were two sides: good and bad.

The [Curse of Beastform] wasn’t entirely bad.

For a genius witch who had opened her spell world before she even came of age, extracting value from a curse was easy.

And the reason for it all stemmed from the man before her.

‘Why.’

At first, it was only confusion.

When she was in his arms, the curse weakened. If the curse was a tangled thread, his embrace was unraveling it.

Had she tried cutting it with force, her world would’ve been corrupted—but if she found the beginning and slowly unraveled it, there’d be no harm.

This man naturally unraveled the curse’s thread.

Because of that, she now found herself here—sleeping and waking in his arms.

‘Why?’

The question persisted. For a witch, such questions were poison.

So she had to dive deeper.

She had to contemplate. That was the answer.

But beyond thinking, she also had things to do.

She’d adjusted the summon she had stored in her spell world. She’d gathered items to extend the time she could stay in human form.

It still wasn’t enough—but unless she kidnapped some alchemy master, this was all she could obtain.

Then came the process of refining her spell world again.

She wouldn’t let herself fall for a stupid curse like this again.

Esther had a goal.

Once she overcame the curse, she had two major objectives.

The first—revenge.

She would lodge a [Fire Arrow] in the skull of the bastard who did this to her.

The second—different in purpose, but her original reason for pursuing magic:

‘The world must be ruled by magic.’

She would remake the world with spells anew.

Even if it meant thousands of humans and other races dying, kingdoms falling, lands rotting, lakes turning black.

‘If that’s what it takes, then so be it.’

When had she first dreamed of this?

When she was called the Witch of Fire?

Or the Sage with Blue Eyes?

Either way, the dream had been there from the start.

With magic, with spells, with mysticism—she would remake the world.

‘Growl.’

Lost in thought, Esther bared a fang without realizing it.

And yet, the man reached out and stroked her head.

“You sulking?”

His tone annoyed her, so she lightly bit his hand.

It should’ve hurt, but his blue eyes just smiled back.

“That hurts, you brat.”

His tone still grated, but… she let it go.

That smile made it hard to stay mad.

His face really was annoyingly pretty.

Inside Esther was a massive will and ambition to overturn the world.

She had nurtured that all this time. But lately, that will had started to shift.

The first time in over a century.

If the curse had started that change—then this man was its conclusion.

‘Why?’

Why did seeing him make her want to cheer him on?

Why did she want to see his future?

Why did she want to help him?

Why was watching him wield his blade so enjoyable?

While she mulled over these things, the man had gone to another territory.

She’d expected him back quickly—but days passed.

She wanted to go find him, but resisted.

She needed his embrace again—to suppress the curse. But first, she had to clear her mind.

‘Wandering thoughts are poison in the spell world.’

That poison could be deadly.

Mental toxins were more dangerous than physical ones. Countless mages had proven it.

As she stabilized her mind and once again needed the aura of that man’s embrace—

That was when he quietly returned.

And then… he left again without so much as a glance her way.

Apparently a Frok had shown up. Clearly, he’d been playing with the pointy-eared one.

‘Why do I want to hit him?’

Esther didn’t know why—but she didn’t dwell on it either.

If this happened again, she’d just follow her impulse.

She was a witch. A mage.

They were always selfish—explorers of the unknown who prioritized their own spell worlds.

It might’ve been inevitable that such a man entered her field of interest.

‘How is that even possible?’

She had seen dozens, maybe hundreds of so-called swordmasters.

But never someone like this.

Not since the day she was first called a witch.

How could she not be intrigued?

“Wanna go check out the market? I saw a lot of stuff being sold.”

At those words, Esther stood.

She had cleared the poison from her spell world.

‘Follow your heart.’

She decided that’s what she’d do.

Seeing Esther get up, Encrid scooped her into his arms.

“Off to the market? Then let’s go together.”

“What about the Frok?”

“Whatever he took, he’s still out cold. That stuff was strong.”

“You figure out what it was?”

As he adjusted the Esther in his arms and stepped outside, he saw Rem beating up Dunbakel.

Audin and Teresa sat nearby.

Should he bring them along?

He asked, but they all shook their heads.

“I seek to answer the question my lord gave me.”

Audin was spouting nonsense.

“I am Teresa the wanderer. It’s training time—for our next spar.”

Teresa was sweating buckets, training just as seriously as ever.

“I’m busy. Go have fun on your own. What, can’t even go shopping without me? People’ll think I’m your dad.”

That lunatic Rem.

Instead of reminding him he was older, Encrid turned to Dunbakel.

“Give him one good hit. You can do it.”

And with that encouragement, the beastkin’s eyes lit up like never before.

“With all due respect.”

“Huh? You’ve lost it. All right, let’s go nuts today.”

Rem grinned wide. He looked thrilled to have a willing opponent.

Utter madman.

Jaxson was nowhere in sight. Ragna was off in the distance, unusually swinging his sword around—too focused to interrupt.

So they headed to the market.

They bought some of Esther’s favorite spiced jerky, some marmalade—

And apparently, a few bread-making masters from Martai had been brought in, so there was plenty to eat and see.

But that wasn’t all.

They hadn’t noticed before, just passing through in a hurry—

“Doesn’t it feel like a lot’s changed?”

Encrid asked, scratching behind Esther’s ear.

She let out a pleased purr, her chest puffing as she relaxed in his arms.

Krys replied offhandedly.

“Obviously.”

Things had changed.

He hadn’t looked closely at the market before—

“That Marcus guy, he’s… honestly, kind of nuts.”

Krys meant it in a good way. He summarized what he’d seen and heard.

“He’s been spending krona like a lunatic, like a colt with its tail on fire.”

The sun shone overhead in a cloudless sky. For a northern winter, it was beautiful weather.

The streets were several times more crowded than before, inns overflowing.

Vanesse’s Pumpkin Soup Inn was expanding—workers hauling wood and stone.

And it wasn’t just that inn.

Streets, gates, walls, buildings—everywhere buzzed with activity.

“I heard a bit of it…”

As Encrid listened, he could picture everything Marcus had done.

—

“Let’s raise the watchtowers.”

“Sorry?”

“Oh, and dig a moat in front of the inner gate.”

“…We don’t have the manpower for that. And we don’t even have outer walls.”

“Then build them.”

Marcus didn’t get angry at the objections.

He was experienced, and he didn’t assume everyone around him was brilliant.

‘The world would be weird if everyone was like Encrid.’

Most people were idiots. Marcus knew this well.

So he didn’t bother explaining.

“Send out the garrison.”

“Uh?”

“Lots of mercs coming in, right? Hire them all. Make ’em dig.”

It all started in one corner of his office. Marcus had clear vision and firm direction.

No room for objections.

“Raise the towers.”

Moat and towers were built simultaneously.

He bulldozed the outer slums—

Then hired all the residents as laborers.

“From now on, no work means no food, no sleep.”

Any who resisted?

Don’t even think about it.

The Border Guard’s commander’s word could make birds drop from the sky. Maybe even strip a dragon’s scale.

Every battlefield with Encrid had empowered him.

And now that they were rising as a trade hub, taxes inside the territory had surged.

The territory was getting rich.

Marcus pocketed some of it—but reinvested the rest.

He didn’t bother filling the moat with water. Just dug it deep enough to block siege weapons.

Bringing in water could come later.

He also dug more wells. Started even before people flooded in—because water is priority.

He didn’t stop there.

“Train archers. If any mercs are decent with a bow, recruit them.”

An aggressive talent strategy.

“They said they won’t come unless you hire their whole merc band…”

“Then bring them all. Give them gold coins.”

Gold was no issue. They’d taken Martai, and defeated Azpen before.

They were now a safe zone—no more worrying about Azpen attacks.

Naturally, merchants and caravans poured in.

Merc bands came to guard them.

Krona flowed.

And the lord at the center became rich fast.

Aggressive archer recruitment.

Warhorse training.

Towers and defenses.

He spent every coin he earned.

And he wasn’t lacking talent.

“Weren’t there guys Encrid beat up who stuck around?”

Plenty.

Guys who challenged him, then stayed.

Guys who saw him fight, got scared, and never left.

More stayed than left.

Normally, they’d be a security threat—

“Round them up.”

He made them slaves to gold.

Gave them krona and brought them in.

Expanding the barracks was obvious.

It had already begun—but some things they couldn’t do alone.

“Contact the northern battalion.”

The Border Guards had two standing battalions.

The other had built a garrison near Azpen.

It was to become the foundation of a new territory.

Marcus did everything he could within the reach of gold.

Krys couldn’t help but admire him.

He was an excellent administrator, politician, and opportunist.

“So now look.”

The number of watchtowers grew to sixteen. The walls were under repair, a moat underway, and he was buying arrows by the thousands.

Not wooden bows—but composite bows.

He was spending every last copper on defense and development.

“Someone probably died in the process.”

Encrid imagined the chaos in Marcus’s office.

You can’t just issue orders and expect everything to work. There’s too much to handle.

Krys nodded.

“Of course. The heavy infantry company commander collapsed two days ago. Even the noblemen barely hanging on are at their limits.”

Marcus’s specialty—

Encrid and Krys didn’t know, but the man’s talent was grinding people to dust.

And he exercised that skill to the fullest.

Once called the Millstone of his house, Marcus let that title shine.

The Border Guard’s territory was changing dramatically, day by day.

It was stunning—yet inevitable.

With people, krona, and talent—it was bound to happen.

As Encrid looked over the changed market, it truly was crowded.

And amidst the crowd, someone shoved a blade into his side.

Encrid felt the sudden stab and caught the wrist.

Esther half-opened her eyes.

In front of them was a hunchback who looked like he had bowed.

An assassin.

(T/N: Been a while since Encrid died huh.)