Humans observe, think, and judge within the bounds of their knowledge. The same could be said of Bran, the Woodguard.
Bran sensed the looming threat. To him, this was the greatest danger they had encountered in the labyrinth.
In contrast, Encrid remained calm. There was no reason to panic, so he didn’t.
Instead, he focused on what needed to be done: analyzing and wielding his sword.
"The Death Knight."
A Knight reborn through the power of the labyrinth.
Was this power greater than what it had been in life? In the fairy’s terms, perhaps it was now a more resilient weed, strengthened by adversity.
Had it sought life at the edge of death, leading to its current state?
Or had it been captured by the labyrinth, forced to act against its will?
It didn’t matter.
What mattered was the immediate threat posed by the figure standing in his path.
But was it truly a threat?
From behind the Knight, Encrid observed the wisps of shadow, its positioning, and the angle of its wrist as it twisted.
His eyes processed what he saw, his instincts activated, and his thoughts accelerated.
By the time the Fairy Knight swung its blade, Encrid had already raised his sword to block.
Thud!
Pel and Lua watched as the two exchanged their first strike.
To them, it seemed as though the Death Knight had aimed for a precise spot.
Encrid’s sword had blocked the attack as if it had been waiting there.
This moment was the result of accelerated thoughts and razor-sharp intuition.
After just one clash, Encrid understood more.
‘A sword honed for efficiency over flashiness.’
He recognized the deliberate, calculated nature of the Knight’s attacks.
‘Its goal isn’t merely to clash blades. Is it aiming for a bind?’
A mindless swing would have been the mark of an amateur.
Even if the Knight’s brain had rotted and its skull was home to maggots, it had once been a Knight.
Its strikes carried purpose.
Its intention was to clash blades, though it didn’t aim for a bind.
After a single clash, the Knight retreated.
Encrid sensed a shadowy taint transferring to his silver sword, though it wasn’t visible.
The Death Knight couldn’t wield essence, but it used the magic granted by the labyrinth.
Both were rooted in the same source.
Esther had explained this before, essence could be substituted with other forces.
Though the reasons and origins of this transformation remained unknown, it didn’t matter.
Encrid accelerated his thoughts and immersed himself in the fight.
After each clash, the Knight’s heavy blade rebounded, only to come down again in another calculated arc.
The swings were deliberate, minimizing wasted motion while maximizing impact.
The angles and speed of the attacks made them difficult to avoid without blocking.
Again, the strikes seemed designed to force blade-on-blade contact.
The purpose behind this became clearer when a shout rang out from behind him.
"Don’t clash blades!"
Bran’s warning carried vital information.
The strikes transferred shadowy taints onto the opponent's weapon, creating unfavorable changes.
While this was advantageous for the Death Knight, it was detrimental to its opponent.
No one could see Encrid’s expression in the dark, but his blue eyes gleamed faintly as Will surged within him.
His thoughts quickened further, opening the gates of foresight.
He glimpsed the Knight’s next move, his heightened senses sharpening the edge of reality.
What followed was left to his instincts.
For Pel, recognizing an opponent's weak points was a talent, but for Encrid, it was a learned skill.
He had dissected, studied, and internalized it through relentless sparring.
Borrowing fragments of Pel’s talent, he pieced together a strategy.
Using intuition sharpened through countless duels, Encrid allowed his Will to guide him.
Ching-ching-ching-ching!
Their swords clashed seven times in rapid succession.
Each strike transferred a curse from the Death Knight’s blade onto Encrid’s silver sword.
The weight of his weapon doubled.
Yet, Encrid’s movements did not falter.
The silver sword was light enough that even at double its weight, it remained manageable.
After the seventh clash, Encrid broke away.
The silver sword left the Death Knight’s massive blade and found its mark: the neck of the undead Fairy Knight.
The blade’s impact was swift and precise, a glowing line of light that severed the Knight’s connection to its cursed existence.
Behind Encrid, a fairy had been reaching for a Kiaos essence fruit. The hand froze in mid-air.
Drip, drip.
Black blood oozed from the Knight’s neck, trickling down in sparse, sluggish drops before stopping entirely.
The decapitated Knight collapsed onto its knees, then fell forward.
The shadows lingering behind it flickered and dissipated.
The lifeless body remained motionless, even after a moment of watchful silence.
"Let’s go."
Encrid confirmed the Knight was no longer a threat and spoke with calm detachment.
Spending so much time among the emotionally reserved fairies seemed to have tempered his own tone.
It wasn’t that Encrid downplayed his actions, he simply didn’t view them as extraordinary.
For him, the entity he had just faced was not a true Knight, merely a hollow fragment of one.
Hadn’t Sinar told him many times?
"A Fairy Knight without essence is no Knight at all. Essence is our foundation and lifeblood. Without it, writing a letter would be like trying to write with no hands. And even if you suggest writing with toes, I’d say it’s like writing with neither hands nor feet."
Her playful quip hid a profound truth.
Back then, Encrid had cheekily suggested writing with his mouth instead.
Sinar had retorted, "Knowing you, you’d figure out how to hold the pen with your eyelids."
It had been a startlingly serious response, devoid of humor.
"How did you do that?"
Zero approached Encrid with a question.
Fairies might train to control their emotions from a young age, but they were still people.
The astonished tone of Zero’s question proved that.
"I counted the openings."
Encrid replied simply.
There was no clearer answer he could give.
"Tch."
Pel clicked his tongue.
He had caught glimpses of the fight, and the result reminded him of his own swordsmanship.
Encrid had implemented something similar to Pel’s talent: a sword that moved instinctively toward the opponent’s weaknesses.
Did he feel robbed of his specialty? Not exactly.
In the Mad Knights Order, techniques were meant to be shared.
To cling to them would only prove one’s limitations.
Limitations were meant to be shattered.
That was a lesson Pel had learned from Encrid.
Even so, a sliver of irritation remained, which was why he clicked his tongue.
‘Talent.’
Though he would never voice it, Pel felt the gap in their abilities.
Anyone who understood the countless battles Encrid had endured to reach this point would never dare think such a thing.
As Encrid pondered his exchange with the Death Knight, he began to piece together his thoughts.
‘The meaning, the execution, the training method.’
Through relentless sparring, he had honed his ability to perceive weaknesses, transcending physical senses into the realm of intuition.
The meaning was clear: ‘A sword that seeks weaknesses.’
Its execution relied on ‘insight and experience’.
The training method?
‘Repetition.’
Pel’s talent allowed him to achieve this instinctively.
‘For me, it was today’s countless battles that made it possible.’
Converting instinct into theory came naturally to Encrid, and it didn’t take him long.
"What in the world..."
Bran’s astonished voice broke the silence as he approached.
Even the other two fairies blinked in disbelief.
Encrid turned to them, his tone steady but pointed.
"I don’t know what you’re hiding, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t use it on Sinar."
His calm words struck with precision, cutting through the tension like a blade.
Arcoiris, the fairy holding the Kiaos, froze. Did he know everything?
Encrid’s piercing blue gaze left no room for doubt.
Fairies cannot lie, and Arcoiris was no exception. Meanwhile, Encrid was sharp and excelled at reading situations.
"We cannot leave Lady Sinar as the demon’s bride."
It was a sentiment repeated before entering, after entering, and throughout their journey.
This statement held two meanings.
One was a determination to save Sinar.
"I don’t know what you’re hiding in your hands, but it’s probably something that can kill Sinar, right?"
Encrid spoke again.
The second meaning was that they were prepared to kill Sinar.
Better to end her suffering than let her endure torment as the demon’s bride.
Encrid had seen through their intentions without much thought. It was obvious.
There was no need to argue about it either. These were not fairies weathered by the world’s hardships, they didn’t know how to lie.
Arcoiris’s words stuck in his throat. Unable to lie, he chose silence instead, but his eyes, gestures, and demeanor spoke volumes.
"It was written all over your face. Knowing changes nothing."
Luagarne spoke up. Whether her words were meant to comfort wasn’t clear, but the fairies’ flustered emotions seemed to ease slightly.
"...Let’s take a short break."
Bran said.
The straight corridor allowed them to stop anytime they wanted.
It made sense how others had come this far before retreating.
Encrid sat down, his back to the wall, his eyes fixed on the pitch-black darkness ahead.
“Dangerous. Turn back. Wait for another chance.”
It felt as though the darkness whispered these words to him, its malice sharp and tangible.
The labyrinth would test their resolve. No matter the purpose, be it fighting the labyrinth itself or rescuing someone—it would unsettle the heart.
By offering an escape route, it tempted those whose will had wavered to retreat.
Some had surely entered, willing to risk everything, only to sense impending failure and turn back.
If this were a war and the labyrinth and the fairy city were nations, it would appear as one consuming the other.
The city had lost Knights and countless lives to the labyrinth, which fed on their blood and flesh to grow stronger.
Had the fairies struck with full force upon discovering the labyrinth, they might have eradicated it, even at great cost.
‘Then there would be no suitor demon.’
But the fairies had sought a way to confront it without casualties. Time passed, and several failures later, the labyrinth had become an unmanageable threat.
By the time they finally attempted to deal with it, it was already too late.
Persistent malice.
Encrid could vaguely sense the presence of the demon.
The demon’s act of seeking a bride among the fairies mirrored the labyrinth’s process.
It wanted to consume the fairy city and extend its influence beyond the labyrinth.
Could this be the beginning of a colossal labyrinth?
If the city were consumed, that’s what it would become.
Fairyhaim—what humans called the fairy city. If it turned into a labyrinth, what would it be called?
‘The Grave of the Fairies? Fairy Grave?’
Encrid closed his eyes. Though not tired, he drifted into a brief sleep.
Whether it was the labyrinth’s doing or his body instinctively preparing for what lay ahead was unclear, but in his dream, the ferryman appeared.
"Words are unnecessary, but I’ll offer advice."
The figure holding a violet lamp said, swaying on a small boat.
"Advice?"
Encrid tilted his head in curiosity.
"Throw away the humans, fairies, and the remaining Frog around you, and flee."
The ferryman said with a malicious laugh, his voice dripping with malice.
Encrid didn’t answer and opened his eyes.
He had only closed his eyes for a moment, a few blinks’ worth of time.
After eating some dried meat, the group resumed their journey.
During the brief respite, Bran and the others had felt something unusual, a strange heat among the fairies.
"Demon Slayer."
"Respected one, we honor you."
The fairies’ reverent voices reached Encrid. Even Zero spoke with awe.
"Rid us of the demon. Save our queen."
Encrid had nearly forgotten Sinar’s true identity.
Her name was Sinar Kirhais.
Fairy City was the term humans used to refer to fairy cities, but each fairy city had its own name.
The fairies often named their cities after the families that ruled them.
The city Encrid had visited was called Kirhais.
Even in a city governed by a council of representatives, there was always a family with both symbolic and functional significance—a royal family that had ruled for generations.
Now, with Sinar the only one left, she was the queen of this city.
"The fact that this isn’t a fairy joke is what’s truly surprising."
Encrid said.
"Pardon?"
Brisa, a fairy, asked in confusion.
"Never mind."
A queen—there was no more startling revelation than that.
No more monsters appeared, but the corridor widened, transforming into a vast space.
The path seemed to end here.
Though openings resembling other passages dotted the walls, there was no need to explore further.
They had reached their destination, and their goal lay before them.
"Sinar."
Sinar Kirhais, known as the Golden Witch, sat with her hands folded neatly on a chair made of bone.
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