The Evil Eye, the city, the people, and the criminal guilds—all of it was a trap, a snare.
And the Apostle of the Cult of the Demon Realm Sanctuary, Annela, did not underestimate her target in this operation.
Not at all. Not in the slightest.
‘Would a Knight succumb to something like the Evil Eye?’
Of course not. Apostle Annela knew this and kept her plans to herself.
She ensured her opponent would not sense the trap. To that end, she sent her subordinates to their deaths.
"Go, and show your power. Let’s see if he can cut you down without looking. If you drive a spear through his heart with telekinesis in that state, even a Knight isn’t immortal."
"I will bring his head and offer it to the Demon God."
She sent a follower imbued with the Evil Eye, but her target, as she predicted, did not fall.
When the Evil Eye was slain and its connection severed, her vision faded.
The apostle sat primly on the dirty ground, hands clasped in prayer.
Those who knew Apostle Annela called her the Angel of Calamity. Why? Because of her abilities.
She could use forbidden spells derived from calamities by offering her lifespan and sacrifices.
This time, she prepared the spell "Walking Fire."
Forbidden spells inherently consumed lifespans. Annela specifically sought out spells that consumed her life force, as they perfectly complemented her abilities.
When she first began preparations, she calculated that the spell would burn away half her lifespan.
After sensing the overwhelming presence of Encrid, however, she revised her expectations.
Especially when she used Forks to trace his lingering gaze—how stunned she had been.
It was almost regretful.
‘Such a pity, such a pity.’
Why did a talent like his, one that should belong to the Cult of the Demon Realm Sanctuary, stray down such a misguided path?
There was no turning back now. Despite countless invitations to embrace the light, he had refused. All that remained was punishment.
To that end, she had used an entire city as bait.
A trap is more effective the bigger it is, so she sacrificed the city.
Thus, the pitiful soul, who should have been a companion under the light, took the bait.
‘Demon God, hear me.’
Like the Apostles of Curses, Annela possessed unique abilities—she could absorb the lifespans of others and use them to fuel impossible spells.
She did so now. She summoned calamity, invoking the Demon God’s name to chant her spell.
She burned all the lifespans she had gathered, far more than the predicted half, consuming most of her remaining life to complete the spell.
"Arise, flames that covet the sun."
Blood poured from her eyes as a fiery figure formed before her. It took a humanoid shape, larger than a human but smaller than a giant. Its body was wreathed in undulating flames like fur. It had no face, no intelligence—it was merely a spell.
But it had legs, which was why the spell was called "Walking Fire".
The fire began to walk—toward Cross Guard.
***
Peace, birdsong, the harmony of winter flowers and the blue sky—they briefly transported Encrid to another world.
He dozed off for a moment. Not long, just a brief nap, lulled by the tranquility.
Then, suddenly, his peaceful slumber vanished. His body reacted instinctively. It wasn’t a dream but a pure, restful nap until his sixth sense activated.
A sharp foreboding pricked at his heart. Why? His gaze turned.
Fwoosh.
In the distance, flames rose, clearly unnatural.
‘Why does it feel warm?’
A heated breeze—not comforting, but filled with ominous heat—blew through the winter air.
He sprang to his feet, surveying his surroundings to grasp the situation.
Far off, a man with his entire body aflame screamed as he ran.
"Aaahhh!"
It was fire. More precisely, a monster made of fire. Flames formed its entire body, leaping from its shoulders and head, and its fiery feet seemed to walk on air.
Watching it, Encrid felt it was as light as air, but the destruction it left in its wake weighed heavily.
The fire didn’t speak. It couldn’t.
It simply spread flames.
"What is that?"
Delma, who had gone to fetch water, encountered the flames. The boy was unlucky.
Conversations from before his nap flickered through Encrid’s mind.
Delma would inherit the inn. That would happen if he survived. But if left as is, he would burn to death.
Fwoosh.
The winter flowers turned to ash. Trees caught fire, and fiery paths followed the monster.
As soon as Encrid locked eyes on the flaming creature, it spread its fire everywhere.
Fwoosh.
Flames painted the surroundings red, their heat pressing down on his entire body.
Encrid drew his sword and charged.
He stepped forward and swung his blade, pouring his Will into the strike.
Every motion was swift, precise, and devoid of waste.
Fwoom!
‘No effect.’
Crack.
A peculiar sound reached Encrid’s ears. It came from the sword in his hand.
Blue light shattered like glass along the blade.
‘Esther’s enchantment?’
The spell faded. The Walking Fire reached out. Encrid instinctively thrust Burning Steel to pierce its arm.
The rotation of his body created a wind around him.
Fwoosh!
The Burning Steel pierced the arm precisely, but that was all.
The Walking Fire had already completed its action. Encrid couldn’t stop it.
Thin tendrils of flame extended toward Delma.
Boom!
Flames erupted explosively. Delma didn’t even have time to scream.
The creature simply extended its hand, and flames faster than arrows consumed Delma. Instead of screams, the stench of burning flesh filled the air.
Other tendrils of flame transformed into towering fires.
"Hah!"
Encrid withdrew Burning Steel and raised his black gold longsword, slicing down with a shout. The blade severed the creature’s arm, which flew off and embedded itself into a building before exploding.
Boom! The compressed air swept through like a storm, followed by successive explosions.
"Aaaaah!"
"Save us!"
"Why?!"
"Ugh!"
"Renny? Rennyyyy!"
A hellish inferno unfolded before him. The shockwave pressed against Encrid, but he stood firm, witnessing the carnage. Everything was burning.
People, buildings, children, Delma, the inn, fools, lovers, families, fathers, mothers—everything.
"What are you?"
Encrid asked, overwhelmed by an unbearable sense of unease.
"A forbidden spell? Walking Fire!"
Luagarne’s voice reached him.
The conclusion was clear.
Encrid couldn’t cut through the flames. The creature spread fire until everything was consumed.
Luagarne burned, and Encrid held out to the end before he, too, perished.
Burning alive was a pain far worse than dehydration. As his entire body burned, it felt like icy spears pierced every part of him.
Encrid died.
Darkness followed. This time, the darkness lingered.
Then, as if waiting, came the familiar swaying.
Splash.
The rocking of water against a boat. The ferryman was there, smiling at him. Encrid could not return the smile.
"Are you enjoying yourself?"
The ferryman asked.
At the final moment, Encrid had instinctively held on, watching everything burn.
The tree that blossomed even in winter.
The inn.
Delma.
Luagarne.
Himself.
"Isn’t it time you had fun?"
The ferryman’s next words followed.
"Go back and enjoy it a little more before we talk again."
Before Encrid could respond, the black river vanished, the purple lamp dimmed, and everything dissolved.
Like grains of sand scattering, everything faded.
When Encrid opened his eyes, he realized it wasn’t morning.
‘A nap after waking up?’
Was sleep the key to resetting the day? No, it had to be the ferryman’s trick. Perhaps.
There wasn’t time to think deeply. He had awoken because of the sense of foreboding.
This time, he knew what was coming. He had experienced today before.
Encrid leapt to his feet.
"Whoa! What’s wrong? You startled me!"
Nearby, Delma spilled the water he was carrying and spoke in surprise.
"Stay with your uncle."
Encrid said, sprinting toward the source of the ominous heat.
Fwoosh.
"What’s that?"
"Some crazy person messing around?"
"Fire! Fire!"
The flames roared. The presence of the Walking Fire was palpable.
Encrid ran, drawing his sword. Shring. The blade rose high before striking downward.
Boom!
Encrid’s sword split the fire, which spread explosively in both directions.
Blue light scattered like grains of sand from the blade as the spell broke. The flames exploded. He cut, but the fire was not severed.
"No, it can’t be cut. It’s the Walking Fire."
Luagarne’s voice rang out again. Encrid didn’t die instantly this time. His trained body endured the flames, and the Walking Fire didn’t target him first.
"Look at me!"
Encrid shouted, pursuing the creature. But it wasn’t a being with intelligence.
Once again, flames consumed everything around it.
"Delma!"
The boy destined to inherit the inn died. The adults who tried to protect him died. Once more, it repeated.
"Once more."
The ferryman offered the same command. It was an undeniable demand.
Encrid faced the short, repeating day again.
In this repeated day, Encrid’s thoughts accelerated to a terrifying degree.
‘Couldn’t I intercept it before it enters?’
‘If spell isn’t enough, could Luagarne’s whip help?’
‘Should I view it as a formless monster?’
‘Luagarne seemed to know something. She called it Walking Fire.’
Through accelerated thought, Encrid’s renowned decisiveness, praised even by Louis, shone brilliantly.
"Luagarne!"
He called with all his will, and his comrade Frog appeared.
This time, Encrid had two choices.
One, borrow the whip. Two, ask about the Walking Fire.
There was no time for composure. He reached out first.
"Give me your whip. Let me borrow it."
There was no time for lengthy explanations. Luagarne blinked once and tossed the whip.
She trusted Encrid’s urgency.
Gripping the whip in his left hand, Encrid knew he wasn’t skilled with such weapons.
Was there another way? There had to be. He wrapped the whip around his sword and charged.
The Walking Fire met him.
The whip burned, the sword’s spell shattered, and the flames remained uncut.
"One more time."
The ferryman spoke once more.
In the repeated day, Encrid opted to ask instead of borrowing the whip.
"What is the Walking Fire?"
Luagarne answered without hesitation. His urgency must have conveyed the gravity of his question.
"Walking Fire? It’s a forbidden spell. Once it’s cast, it burns everything until its spell energy is depleted."
So, could he exhaust its energy?
Would constant strikes work? But strikes only caused explosions. Could he endure it outside the city? Lure it out?
"Look at me, follow me!"
The flames, devoid of reason, didn’t respond to provocation or human desperation.
The Walking Fire’s sole purpose, as commanded by its caster, was to burn the city.
It did so. The entire city was a trap, bait.
Through countless repetitions of the day, Encrid realized this was a snare set by someone. But knowing changed nothing.
Twenty-eight cycles passed.
Encrid burned again and again. He saw Delma, the fools, the people, buildings, and winter flowers burn. He watched the blue sky darken with smoke twenty-eight times.
The ferryman sipped tea on the boat’s edge. The purple lamp sat beside him as he raised a teacup to his lips. It was a sight Encrid hadn’t seen before.
Was he that pleased?
"What do you think of this wall?"
"It hurts."
Encrid answered honestly. Burning alive was agonizing enough to drive anyone mad.
Worse still was the hopelessness of seeing no way forward.
"Yes, it hurts. Would you like me to tell you an easy way out?"
"Yes."
"Run away. It won’t chase you."
Encrid didn’t heed his words. He burned again. Sixty cycles were added.
"Shall I give you another tip? You fool, hide. If you don’t want to flee alone, take those you care about and find shelter. Shall I tell you where? Yes, I will. You’ve seen the underground refuge, haven’t you? That will suffice."
Encrid ignored this advice too. Eighty cycles were added.
The ferryman usually said his piece and sent him back.
It was as if he knew Encrid wouldn’t follow his advice.
Once again, Encrid burned and returned. There was no time to count the cycles in this hell.
"I will ask you something."
The ferryman stood, speaking. The lamp’s light didn’t waver, and there was no teacup or chair. It was as it had always been. The boat, the black river, the ferryman, the purple lamp, and his unseen face beneath the hood.
Nothing moved except the rippling water.
From beneath the hood’s darkness, the ferryman asked.
"How much will you protect?"
Encrid exhaled, feeling as though his breath carried the heat of a fire. His insides had burned from biting through flames in his madness.
"What do you mean?"
The experience of burning from within wasn’t pleasant, no matter how it was framed.
"If the meeting of people is called fate, then I ask you to measure its depth."
The ferryman spoke again. Encrid, being a good listener, grasped the gist this time.
The ferryman didn’t wait for Encrid’s answer and spoke again.
"Three days. A bond forged in three days, not entirely amicable but favorable enough."
Encrid stared at the ferryman. Slowly, unseen eyes, a nose, and lips began to take shape.
"Before today, it was merely three days. Judge for yourself—does it make sense to risk your life for such a short bond?"
Before the ferryman’s words could finish, scenes from before his nap replayed vividly in Encrid’s mind.
A bond of three days—only three days. Was it worth risking his life for?
That was the ferryman’s question.
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