“Stay still.”
After dismantling the One-Killer, Encrid lowered his sword, took a few deep breaths, and spoke calmly.
At his words, everyone seemed to hold their breath, though they would have likely been rendered speechless even without his command.
Having spoken, Encrid took a moment to reflect inwardly. His limbs trembled slightly under the strain, and his muscles cried out with fatigue.
No matter how much effort he had put into maintaining control.
‘This is tough.’
The crushing exhaustion was unavoidable—it had been that kind of battle.
And now, for the first time, he began to understand a part of the fight with Oara that had previously escaped him. What he had overlooked in the dream Oara had shown him was now coming into focus.
The realization swept through him, filling his heart with joy and exhilaration.
‘The Wave-Blocking Swordsmanship.’
It wasn’t just a technique anymore. It was a fully structured swordsmanship system, encompassing meaning, implementation, and training methods.
It felt as though he had stepped into an entirely new world.
A few other concepts and theories began to emerge in his mind, but he instinctively knew:
‘Not now.’
This wasn’t the time for sudden inspiration or quick decisions. What he had gained required time to organize and refine.
In other words, he had enough inspiration. There was no need to rush into anything.
Rest was necessary, not just for his body but for his mind. Accelerating and dividing his thoughts, as impressive as it was, was still an exhausting process.
But rest would have to wait.
“The One-Killer is dead, but the Demon Realm remains.”
Sinar appeared outwardly calm, but her restless energy betrayed her. She had started to rise but stopped herself when Encrid told everyone to stay still.
The man with black hair and blue eyes approached her. In this moment, he no longer looked like the madman they had seen before.
Just as those he had saved before had seen it, Sinar now saw a light in Encrid.
With the demon’s orange glow extinguished, the labyrinth was shrouded in oppressive darkness, but he seemed to shine within it.
Crunch.
The silver sword, which had endured two days of relentless battle, crumbled apart, leaving only the hilt.
Encrid placed the hilt atop the scabbard and wrapped it tightly with torn cloth.
As he worked, the fairy Brisa raised a new luminous stone, her voice trembling as she spoke:
“…We won.”
It had been a battle fought over two days, exhausting even to witness.
The sweat that had run cold down her back felt as chilling as blood, as she watched countless moments where it seemed the man before her would collapse and die.
And if he had fallen, hope would have been as scarce as the mercy of an Inugami.
Even with Kiaos, they could never have killed the One-Killer.
“Yes, we won.”
Bran said, the large Woodguard. His voice carried a mixture of relief and disbelief.
Encrid didn’t react to Bran’s words.
Having finished tending to his sword, he approached Sinar, who remained seated in her chair, her head raised to meet him.
With her green eyes, as enchanting as the forest itself, she looked up at her savior. He asked,
“Are you really 448 years old?”
After a brief silence, Sinar laughed—a full, radiant smile that hadn’t graced her face since the days when she played with her sisters and spent time with Aden.
“You bastard.”
She replied, her words laced with affection.
It was technically an insult, but the warmth in her tone made it clear it was anything but harsh. Having finally repaid her fairy-like teasing, Encrid felt a deep sense of satisfaction.
Behind them, Pel clicked his tongue and muttered,
“That guy’s seriously insane.”
Hearing this, Luagarne puffed out her cheeks—a fairy gesture akin to a playful laugh.
“That’s so like you.”
She said.
Encrid, now holding Ember, slashed and tore at the chair behind Sinar. The blade cracked partway through the process, as if it might break entirely.
Whack! Crunch!
He already knew—thanks to countless repetitions of today—that the chair was alive. His command to “stay still” had meant he would handle it, and she should wait.
While Sinar waited, Encrid relentlessly hacked at the stone chair. Veins-like structures within it were severed, releasing a blackish-green fluid that splattered everywhere.
“It’s a chair that drains life energy.”
Sinar said. Though veins remained on her back, the connection to the chair was severed.
“A ‘courting demon’, yet it didn’t rob you of your virtue? You’ve lost your chance to escape spinsterhood.”
Encrid teased.
“Thank you for saving me, but I must say, mocking a woman’s age—whether human, fairy, dwarf, or dragonkin—is truly disgraceful.”
“Well, I am a disgraceful man.”
Their lighthearted exchange carried an undercurrent of unspoken emotion.
After severing all the veins attached to the chair, Encrid extended his hand, which Sinar took. He pulled her to her feet, but she stumbled, collapsing into his arms.
The fairy’s small frame fit neatly against him as she fell with a plop. Encrid held her with one arm.
“What are you doing?”
He asked.
“You held Esther all day, but this is enough for me.”
Sinar replied, slipping out of his embrace.
Despite being in the labyrinth, she carried the scent of grass and flowers. Even after she moved away, her fragrance lingered faintly in the air.
If Esther’s presence was like the night sky, Sinar’s was like stepping into the heart of a forest.
Brushing his hands off nonchalantly, Encrid said,
“This doesn’t feel like it’s over, does it?”
The demons of the labyrinth had divided themselves into two entities.
One had remained here as a guardian.
But what of the other?
Sinar knew the answer.
“Is that intuition?”
She asked.
“Or do you know something?”
Encrid responded,
“Just a guess.”
“If it’s mere intuition, the goddess of luck must favor you. No, this isn’t the end.”
Sinar said firmly.
“What’s left?”
Bran interjected. His voice carried the stunned disbelief of someone trapped in a surreal today. He was too shaken to even think of lighting a cigarette—a sentiment shared by the other fairies.
Meanwhile, the fairy Arcoiris carefully removed the remaining veins from Sinar’s back. The task likely caused a sharp sting, but Sinar didn’t flinch. Fairies, having lived long under restrained emotions, rarely showed them outwardly.
Yet even they were temporarily overwhelmed with excitement.
They had killed a demon. The mere fact filled them with a simmering energy, momentarily pushing aside the fatigue from two days of relentless, half-conscious combat.
“The labyrinth’s demon is divided into two forms.”
Sinar explained, pointing behind them. They had reached the end of a straight passage, where three additional tunnels stretched inward.
“One became a combat form to guard this place, and the other likely evolved into a production form, consuming the city.”
Demons that spawned monsters were not unheard of in the Demon Realm. Such entities existed to create, guarded by other demons.
The One-Killer had been one such guardian.
This labyrinth mirrored the City of Oara’s Demon Realm, which had housed the Fragment of Balrog. Here, instead of a fragment, there was a demon that craved the souls and flesh of fairies.
Sinar guided them to the main body.
It was a massive lump of flesh—no other description fit. The grotesque, pulsating mass opened intermittently to reveal its interior: a chaotic blend of torn flesh, blackened blood, and shattered bones.
“A demon that spawns monsters. It’s weak to fire.”
Sinar stated.
Fairies weren’t fools. They had means to kill the demon, even without the One-Killer barring their way. Encrid didn’t need to act.
Arcoiris pulled a green stone from his belongings.
“This is a refined Kiaos.”
Bran explained for Encrid’s benefit.
“We’ve collected the energy of the forest and condensed it into this stone. When detonated…”
He struck a flint and lit his cigarette, exhaling smoke with a practiced ease.
Sinar’s voice cut through the haze.
“You can quit smoking now, Bran.”
Bran, who had been her and her sisters’ mentor, had started smoking to counteract the fear and trauma that fire symbolized for Sinar.
Few Woodguards wielded fire—it was rare, nearly unheard of. Yet Bran had burned tobacco to erase the demon’s lingering terror from Sinar’s mind.
“It’s hard to go a day without it now.”
Bran replied indifferently.
Between their restrained words, unspoken signals passed.
The long years under the demon’s shadow were coming to an end.
“I’ll stay.”
Arcoiris said, his face calm.
It was the moment for resolute words and determined actions. Someone needed to detonate the condensed Kiaos.
Luagarne puffed her cheeks.
“Can’t we just fire it from afar and escape?”
“Labyrinths differ, but this one’s core demon will collapse the structure if killed.”
Arcoiris explained, his quiet demeanor unwavering.
His rare display of emotion signaled his unshakable resolve.
Inside that core, the manticore and other creations had likely been spawned.
The Demon, the spark, and the duel.
As they spoke, the fleshy mass squirmed, preparing to expel something. With a thump, a fissure opened, and a hand jutted out to press against the ground—a monstrous hand, marked with blue-black spots and tipped with long, sharp claws.
"Disgusting as hell."
Pel muttered, striding forward and slicing clean through it.
Slash!
The Idol Slayer blade severed the creature's arm cleanly.
There was no scream—its vocal cords hadn’t yet formed.
Even the demon must have sensed its imminent doom. Had it truly not foreseen the defeat of a self-divided entity, designed solely for combat?
It seemed so. If it had, there would have been other creatures to intercept the group by now. But nothing emerged to block their path—only the grotesque, desperate mass, feverishly trying to create something.
Black veins bulged outward, pushing along thick streams of dark blood.
The creature, sensing its peril, was attempting to spawn something in haste. But creation is far harder than destruction.
Although two days of fighting had left the group fatigued.
‘We can still run.’
Encrid thought. The others hadn’t fought—only watched. They should still have enough stamina to flee.
"Lua?"
Encrid glanced at the gem and called out, his tone carrying implicit meaning.
The sharp-minded Frog immediately understood. If they used the whip to extend their range, the blast would be more effective.
"I think it’s possible. If this gem detonates on impact, it’ll do the job."
Not only that, they could channel magical energy to amplify the detonation.
Luagarne pulled out her magical whip, wrapping it around her arm. A plan quickly formed—throwing the gem from a distance to trigger an explosion.
"I still have a card left to play."
Bran interjected, addressing Arcoiris.
"There’s no need to waste your life for this."
"It must be destroyed completely."
Arcoiris replied firmly, shaking his head. His resolve was unyielding—a product of long years spent in pain and suffering.
The mere possibility of the demon surviving, even in part, was unacceptable to him.
"If it comes back, we can kill it again. A creature like the One-Killer isn’t easy to recreate."
Encrid said, stepping in. Sacrificing someone wasn’t necessarily the best solution.
"...Fine, let’s do that."
Arcoiris conceded, changing his stance surprisingly quickly.
Encrid had prepared himself to argue further but stopped in his tracks.
‘Well, that was easy.’
He thought. Even a four-year-old wouldn’t have been this compliant.
Or were four-year-olds famously rebellious?
"Let’s move."
Bran said, turning away. Sinar followed closely behind him.
As Luagarne gauged the distance for her whip, preparing to receive the Kiaos, Arcoiris hesitated.
This wasn’t just any gem—it was a condensed essence of the forest, painstakingly gathered over decades while evading the demon’s watchful eyes. If they failed, recreating such a gem would be nearly impossible.
Encrid, meanwhile, contemplated whether it might be possible to defeat the demon by sheer will and relentless sword strikes.
His battle with the One-Killer had given him a sense of what was possible, though it would likely take months of ceaseless effort to kill this thing.
Even after dismembering the One-Killer, the creature had refused to stop squirming.
Still, Encrid couldn’t muster that kind of effort now—not after the toll on both his body and mind.
"Hand it over. If this doesn’t work, I’ll spend the months necessary to finish the job."
He said to the hesitant Arcoiris.
Once again, Arcoiris complied without protest, handing over the green crystal, now primed to activate.
"Here."
Luagarne said, taking the gem and attaching it to the end of her whip. With a few quick spins, she began building momentum.
"Reminds me of Rem."
Encrid remarked, watching her movements. The way she spun the whip overhead resembled the way Rem had wielded her sling.
"Are you picking a fight with me?"
Luagarne asked, puzzled. Even in this moment, was he really itching for a duel?
"No, just saying it looks similar."
Encrid replied.
"Oh, not an insult then."
Luagarne said, activating the magic of her whip. A red glow coursed along its length, igniting flames.
Fwoosh!
The flames, aimed at the demon that had once used fire to destroy and terrorize, now sought its destruction.
Poetically speaking, a demon born of fire would now perish by it.
The flames engulfed the Kiaos crystal, cracking its surface with a loud snap. With a deft motion, Luagarne hurled it forward.
The whip extended to its full length, sending the green crystal hurtling toward the fleshy mass of the demon.
Thud!
"We need to run."
Sinar said.
Though she had appeared to be resting in the chair all day, she had actually been drained of energy and unable to channel her power within the labyrinth.
Her pace lagged behind the others, prompting Encrid to scoop her up effortlessly.
Bran, despite his massive frame, ran with surprising speed, his heavy footsteps pounding the ground.
The rest of the group sprinted ahead as Encrid glanced back.
A green flash erupted, waves of light rolling outward. The condensed essence annihilated the demon, erasing it from existence.
Rumble...
The labyrinth began to collapse.
Encrid’s memory of its pathways faltered after countless repeated todays. Even with his excellent recall, remembering the labyrinth’s intricate layout was beyond him.
As he hesitated, Pel darted past, calling out,
"This way! What’s the matter? Getting nostalgic for Ragna?"
Encrid unintentionally spoke his mind aloud:
"When we get out, we’re having a duel."
Boom!
A chunk of stone fell from above, narrowly missing them.
Pel chuckled and quickened his pace.
As they reached the exit, no light spilled in from outside. The entrance itself was part of a spell, as was the Demon Realm.
No matter—it was still an exit.
Pel and Zero were the first to dash through, with Encrid close behind, Sinar still in his arms.
"Leave my bride behind!"
The lingering shadow—or ember—of the demon lashed out.
Right before the exit, a flaming blade, a mere hand’s length, dropped from above.
Devoid of killing intent or presence, it went unnoticed until it was too late.
Fatigue clouded Encrid’s senses, leaving him vulnerable.
The demon’s final strike was aimed squarely at Sinar’s head.
Time slowed for Encrid as his high-speed cognition kicked in, freezing each moment into a distinct scene.
His insight foresaw the future:
‘Too late.’
With Sinar in his arms, there was no way to block it.
But giving up? That wasn’t an option.
Without hesitation, Encrid flung a dagger from his belt upward.
It wasn’t aimed—there was no time. The motion was instinctive, the blade barely leaving his fingertips before it struck.
The dagger, luck, ricocheted off his shoulder, altering its trajectory to intercept the demon’s flaming blade.
Clang!
The two blades clashed, diverting the demon’s strike. Instead of hitting Sinar, it grazed Encrid’s cheek, leaving a small cut.
The instant the blade touched his skin, Encrid knew it was akin to those of the One-Killer.
Pain surged through his face, spreading a paralyzing weakness throughout his body before everything went black.
In the void of darkness, time lost all meaning.
The first sensation he registered was a rocking motion.
Swish.
Next came the realization of his surroundings: a river of black, turbulent waters resembling the path to hell.
A figure stood on the boat, holding a violet lamp.
The ferryman had come to greet him.
This time, the ferryman’s face was clearer than ever before.
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