Chapter 387

‘For what?’

Andrew stepped up to the castle gate with five trainees.

Ahead, one man held a sword, and behind him trailed a tall man carrying an iron mace.

‘For the kingdom?’

Maybe it was belated, but Andrew found himself wondering why he was here—what he was risking his life for.

It wasn’t as if he had come solely to fight.

‘Why?’

For the kingdom? No. He could say that out loud, but deep down, it wasn’t pure loyalty.

Above all, he had felt something while watching the country of Naurilia.

‘Is this kingdom worth dying for?’

He didn’t know about later, but at least not yet. He had sided with Krang because he had no choice.

Even so, Andrew was here.

“Defend! Don’t fall back!”

Squire Roford’s shout rang out. He had become the commander at the gate.

The Chief of Public Order—whatever he was called—kept watching everyone else before finally picking up a bow and loosing arrows.

From what Andrew had heard, the man hadn’t been promoted for skill, but for his ability to read the room.

The only ones who truly knew how to fight were the captain of the guard and his men, and they were stuck atop the wall above the gate.

In other words, there was no one else to stop the enemies closing in.

Andrew swept his gaze back and forth once, then moved.

Even as he did, the thoughts from earlier kept circling.

There were things he couldn’t do without an answer.

One reason he was here was clear.

‘Family.’

Was it enough to chase noble status?

Was family alone enough?

Was it just the seven letters of ‘Gardner’ that he needed?

The name wasn’t important. None of that mattered.

Andrew adjusted his grip and took his stance. The straight sword was his will, his dream, his heart.

Who had he learned this from?

‘Captain.’

He had realized it by watching Encrid’s life—his days, his training, the time Andrew spent at his side.

He hadn’t just learned techniques. He hadn’t just been dragged through the dirt.

Andrew had learned how to dream.

‘What kind of family will it be?’

“What kind of person will I become?”

He finished the thought and spoke it aloud.

He would build a proper family under a proper royal family. He didn’t want power—he wanted the right path.

That was why he was here.

Andrew smiled without realizing it.

He didn’t know it, but the smile resembled Encrid in some way.

It was the smile of someone chasing a dream.

In Andrew’s view, the five trainees on one side were controlling their breathing.

“Hoo, hoo.”

The biggest one breathed the loudest. It wasn’t that they had no combat experience, but this was the first time they were facing an enemy advancing with unmistakable killing intent.

Several soldiers stood in front of the approaching swordsman.

There was no time to stop him.

Like Andrew, they must have chosen to stand here on their own will.

The soldiers shouted something and charged.

The swordsman’s arm moved. The blade caught the light as it slashed and stabbed.

Thwack, pierce, slice.

The edge was so keen that whatever it cut was severed, and whatever it pierced was killed.

“Agh!”

A soldier with fingers severed fell aside screaming.

The soldiers defending the gate were no match for someone that skilled.

“Hoo.”

Andrew drew a deep breath and stepped forward, moving further out.

“Sir Andrew?”

“Don’t die like dogs. Fall back.”

There were two opponents.

The swordsman in front, and behind him the man carrying that heavy-looking iron mace.

Andrew’s eyes swept over the swordsman’s face. Then he stepped in and spoke.

He hadn’t only learned how to dream from Encrid.

“Hey, beady eyes. Come over here.”

The blunt words flowed out.

The man who was about to leap into the soldiers turned his head toward Andrew.

He only twisted his head from a mid-jump posture, like a stiff doll.

Beady eyes was a perfect nickname.

That was what his eyes looked like—small, round dots, like someone had pricked them with a needle.

Mocking someone’s appearance was nothing.

This was a battlefield. If he had to, he could curse not just the opponent’s face, but their parents too.

‘As I learned.’

Andrew steeled his heart.

Do your best at every moment.

That was what Encrid did.

Whether it was provocation or fighting, he did it the same way.

He had said that, too.

Andrew followed it.

“Hey, can you even see?”

The insult continued. Andrew wore a noble’s gear—armor with the Gardner crest, a shield and sword, even a helmet with a visor.

His words didn’t match his appearance.

The swordsman who served Baron Mernes was hearing insults like this for the first time in his life. He was a sword raised by the household, used to respect as routine.

He drew his sword.

“I won’t let you die peacefully.”

He spat it with fury.

“Hey, I’m asking if you can even see.”

Andrew replied, unbothered.

The swordsman stormed in and swung.

A downward slash that rode his step, packed with power.

Andrew raised his shield and blocked. As the blade struck with a thud and tried to bite through, Andrew pushed it sideways to spoil the point of impact, then thrust with his sword.

The opponent stepped back and shouted.

“Brick!”

At the shout, the man with the iron mace advanced with heavy steps.

It was like he had stolen and drunk the blood of a giant.

“Is your mother a giant?”

Andrew’s tongue, once unleashed, relentlessly stabbed at the opponent’s weak points. Maybe he was more talented at this than at swordplay.

“You son of a bitch.”

Veins bulged across the mace wielder’s forehead.

“Or is it your father?”

This time, it wasn’t Andrew.

One of the trainees chimed in from the side. A freckled female trainee. She showed what she’d learned, too, and the mace wielder’s eyes snapped toward her.

“We’ll handle this one.”

All five spoke as one.

Andrew nodded. Hadn’t he and the five trainees all survived the hellish Rem and the devilish Encrid?

Anyone they faced now would be better than those two.

“Die, you blind man!”

Andrew finally threw the provocation like a knife.

“You fucking bastard.”

He drew out the opponent’s fury, then drove his sword into the gap in his armor.

Leather and steel that covered the man’s shoulder tore away, and blood sprayed.

“I’ll cut off your tongue first.”

Even wounded, the man only raged harder, as if the pain didn’t matter.

Andrew nodded and answered.

“Where are you looking when you talk? Look people in the eyes. Oh, were you looking at mine? My bad. I couldn’t tell because I can’t see your eyeballs.”

A dragon wasn’t a finished painting until the eyes were drawn.

Andrew did the same—drew in the eyes with words, drying up the man’s reason.

Reason gone, the opponent charged again.

—

Squire Roford watched the battlefield and thought.

‘Something’s wrong.’

The enemy numbers were large. Their pressure was real. And those ten who stepped forward—

Each radiated a fierce aura. Three or four of them seemed above Roford.

And yet, he had room to breathe.

‘Is this all there is?’

No reinforcements. Nothing new. Everything about the mangonels had been threatening, but—

‘But I destroyed them too…’

Roford’s thoughts looped. He had seen Encrid and wanted to walk his path, so why was he walking this one?

To accumulate wealth and climb in status?

Right now he was ignoring—no, opposing—his superiors’ orders. Even if this ended well, he’d be suspended at minimum. If it went even slightly wrong, he’d end up in prison.

Still, he was here.

‘I am a royal guard.’

Squire Roford wanted to fulfill his duty. Words he had buried deep rose up.

‘For the glory of the royal family and the kingdom.’

He had grown up watching his seniors and wanted to protect that honor.

Then what was Roford’s hell?

‘The royal family disappearing.’

His actions, intentions, and heart churned together until a conclusion formed, tied to the situation in front of him.

Cold sweat slid down his back.

Then what did the enemy want?

What did the one who started this want?

His head spun more than ever. The ears that had listened to others without forming his own opinion turned inward, and he listened to the words he himself had spoken.

He could see the enemy’s strength.

Of course, without Ragna and Dunbakel, it would have been difficult. They were that much of a threat.

But he also felt it was only ‘that’ much.

‘We can hold if we defend with the gate.’

Even if it was hard, it was doable.

So what did that mean?

The one who had sent him to Encrid wasn’t the Chief of Public Order.

The moment a certain face surfaced in his mind, Roford imagined that person standing on the opposite side.

“The Royal Palace is in danger!”

Roford shouted, slamming his fist against the wall.

Yon heard it from below.

He adjusted his horned helmet. Yon, a warrior from the east, loved fighting.

More precisely, he loved using tricks to knock opponents down and kill them.

If Frok of the Border Guards found pleasure in defeating someone just a little weaker than himself, Yon delighted in watching someone superior struggle and die.

He wouldn’t hesitate to take hostages for it. He would do anything if it could lure carelessness.

A sinister desire.

“Do you know anyone in the Royal Palace?”

Yon asked. His expression was serious.

He looked like the sort who would only fight fair and square.

Inside, he was the complete opposite.

Yon touched the wide scar on his cheek. It ran from his cheekbone to his jaw.

“This scar happened when my wife died.”

A lie.

What did it matter? If it twisted the opponent’s insides even a little, Yon would say anything.

“It wasn’t even half a day. Only the time for this small candle to burn.”

Yon spread his thumb and index finger. The gap between them was less than half a finger joint.

“Yes. Not even a fleeting moment—just this much late. I’ll ask again. Do you know anyone in the Royal Palace? Then I’ll send you. Go.”

Yon recognized it at a glance. The man in front of him was at least a Junior Knight. He had no idea where someone like that had come from.

He had been told the royal guard’s main force wouldn’t come to the gate, so the man wasn’t royal guard.

Yon gestured as he spoke, and one of the mercenaries beside him lowered a shield that covered half his body with a thud.

A colleague Yon had worked with for years.

Inside the shield was a net woven from twisted monster scales and tendons.

If the man in front turned around, the net would fly immediately.

‘Yes. Turn around.’

Yon played the part of an honorable warrior.

Ragna didn’t listen to a word.

“What about the Royal Palace?”

He asked Roford on the wall instead.

Roford couldn’t explain everything, so he only repeated the same line.

“We must return to protect the Royal Palace!”

Danger. Threat.

Everyone has their own hell.

Ragna finally understood why he had no motivation.

It didn’t matter to him whether the people here lived or died.

That was why.

He had been walking without a destination. With no destination, there was no need to look back at the path behind him or find the direction ahead.

‘Because there are no regrets.’

That was why he had no drive.

There was no reason for him to be here. It felt like he was wearing clothes that didn’t fit.

Like forcing food into a mouth that didn’t want it.

He realized that now.

The threat to the Royal Palace came, and right after it came the thought of Encrid being in danger.

Ragna found the place he was needed.

What if Encrid died because of this?

‘Back to the old days?’

A life where he couldn’t find any motivation.

He didn’t want to return to that.

Now he knew how to move forward. Now he could see the road ahead.

So he didn’t want the tool that made that possible to die.

In other words, the Captain couldn’t die yet.

Still, he would not disobey orders.

Encrid’s order was to protect the gate.

So he would protect it—and then go.

‘Shortcut.’

Ragna thought of the fastest way to do what he needed to do now.

As he stood there dazed, one of the mercenaries opposite Yon—who had moved behind Ragna—drew a short bow.

He was a man who enjoyed shooting at close range. He used poison, too.

He plucked the string.

Thwack!

An arrow struck Ragna’s back.

No—it didn’t.

It pierced an afterimage.

Ragna leaned forward sharply.

The arrow passed through where his chest had been and buried itself in the ground.

Ragna drew the sword he had left sheathed for a while.

Shing.

At the same time, Yon sensed something was wrong and chopped down with his glaive.

It was useless.

The Ragna from earlier hadn’t shown even half his skill because he had no motivation.

Now it was different.

‘To the Royal Palace.’

The steps of a traveler with a destination carried strength.

So did Ragna’s sword.

—

The Ferryman could observe, but not interfere.

In other words, he could see the repeating events. In a way, it was like seeing part of the future.

So it gave him no pleasure.

Knowing what would happen was like being robbed of the chance to feel joy.

That was why this moment—one he couldn’t predict—felt long overdue.

At first, he was bewildered.

But gradually, emotions he had forgotten long ago began to wake.

The joy of seeing the unknown.

“Ha.”

In the mental world, the Ferryman on the boat floating on the river savored a joy he had once felt, long in the past.

Unpredictable. Unable to see the future.

Was it really this joyful?

Today was changing—away from the repeating today he had drawn and watched—into a completely unexpected direction.

The Ferryman was only an observer.

So he observed.

He had a guess as to what had changed things like this, but he didn’t bother to dig deeper.

He simply enjoyed the moment.

He laughed in his mind because it was the mental world, and then laughed out loud because he wanted to ride the great wave of joy.

It was that fun.

(T/N: Its a shame we wont get the whole gang’s POV in this arc since Audin, Theresa and Krys are absent. But, boy oh boy the way this is written is really good. Each of them get very decent screen time and its not all Encrid time. )