Enkrid’s party headed south. In the meantime, Odd-Eye turned back. It seemed he really had meant to come greet them.

South—more precisely, they were heading toward the Demon Realm, where Balrog was likely to be.

The demon known as the Fiend of Struggle didn’t have a fixed location. They followed rumors and whispers along the road. That said, it wasn’t like there was no way to find him.

‘Balrog loves to fight.’

They said he enjoyed battling strong opponents and collecting souls.

Then all you had to do was sing him a seductive serenade in a place he might show up.

Enkrid’s plan was to spill black blood everywhere and belt out the serenade at full volume.

Unexpectedly, both Kraiss and Abnaier nodded as if it made sense.

Balrog’s name might be shrouded in legend, but through investigation and cross-checking, they’d confirmed behavioral patterns rooted in fact. The odds weren’t bad.

Call him to fight, and he’ll show up. The only catch? The song had to be loud enough.

The safe road through the Border Guard territory had expanded massively since before, so they had to pass a few outposts along the way.

“Steel Wall!”

The salute came with a shout. It was the Steel Wall from the Knight of the Steel Wall—the final outpost marking the edge of the safe road.

Enkrid gave a lazy wave in acknowledgment and passed by.

Among the soldiers seeing them off, the outpost commander—who had some brains—tilted his head.

“Did we go to war or something?”

The senior soldier beside him shook his head.

“Haven’t heard anything like that, sir.”

Neither had the commander. More importantly, they didn’t even have an enemy to fight.

Lately, Enkrid’s Mad Order of Knights had even been called the Maze of the Borderlands.

As for why they earned such a strange nickname—

‘Because they swallow everything that comes at them.’

Exactly.

They never bothered going out of their way to strike first. It was always the others who came looking for a fight.

The heretics who served the Grey God? Same deal.

You could argue that the Black Blade mercenaries or Count Molsen, who started a civil war, were different... but no matter how you framed it, the Mad Order chewed them all up.

“Didn’t I hear the trade city’s been acting cocky lately?”

The commander was sensitive to rumors. He believed knowing more was key to staying alive longer. Besides, wasn’t gossip the most entertaining thing out there?

“You think they’re headed there to burn it down?”

A force like that could flatten even a city with deep roots across the continent.

“They’re not heading in that direction, though.”

That was the junior soldier butting in. Even to his eyes, it was strange to see that group moving as one.

Were they really going to war?

“Yeah... guess not.”

The southern front had quieted down recently, too. He’d heard provocations from that direction had dropped significantly.

There’d been a lot of talk about some upheaval in the royal palace—was this connected to that?

‘Maybe they’re going to slaughter nobles?’

After all, that silver-haired madman known as the Noble Butcher was with them.

‘Nah, no way.’

He was getting ahead of himself. No one knew the reason. But if it wasn’t war, then just seeing them move together like that was enough to make people flinch.

The commander’s gaze lingered on the departing group—especially the black-haired man at its center.

If Venzance, the garrison commander, was to be believed, that guy had once been just a low-ranking soldier.

‘Yeah, right.’

Naturally, that claim had zero credibility.

Outposts were tall. And from that height, you could see clearly.

Look at them—fading into the distance. The falling sunlight spilled down their backs and stretched long behind them as shadows.

They were now a force that could cause tectonic shifts simply by walking.

The commander’s prediction was spot on.

***

The trade city’s mayor had his nerves on edge over the Mad Order’s movements.

Why the sudden mobilization?

‘Are they trying to apply pressure?’

A message to stop pushing their luck? Up to now, they’d managed to avoid armed conflict by offering one excuse or another—but these weren’t the kind of people who’d care about that.

Could the famed Ten Mercenaries of the city even hold them back? Could they at least be reasoned with? Would some minimum level of negotiation be possible?

Winning was out of the question. But maybe they could at least show some backbone?

The mercenary captain was coincidentally present at the meeting.

The mayor gave him a long, wordless look. Just a glance was enough to ask his opinion.

The captain had a long scar on his face and was a hardened veteran who’d done everything there was to do.

Even when captured by the enemy and tortured—his fingernails and toenails pulled out—he didn’t yield. He’d earned the nickname “the Indomitable Mercenary.” 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

A symbol of patience and refusal to give in.

Aside from the Eastern Mercenary King, he was the spiritual leader admired by all mercenaries.

“Surrender.”

That’s what he said.

“...What?”

“Surrender. If we fight, we’re all dead.”

He was adamant.

This mercenary, who’d endured unspeakable torment and stood as a symbol of defiance and endurance, spoke with unwavering certainty.

Thump.

His hand struck the table. It made his words feel even heavier.

“Surrender!”

His voice boomed. That ended the meeting.

Backbone, my ass.

The Mad Order hadn’t even come this way, but the quick-witted merchant group—who had planned to interfere with the so-called Stone Road and profit from it—raised the white flag first.

That was how terrifying the reputation of the Madmen was.

Kraiss, who’d been handling affairs in the Border Guard, tilted his head when the trade city suddenly offered cooperation, including setting up a bank.

Did they have an ulterior motive?

Didn’t take long before the pieces fit together.

‘All it takes is the Captain moving, and it’s total chaos.’

Leona Lockfried was pleased. The trade city’s recent secretive schemes had been giving her headaches, but now that was cleaned up in one go.

And that was just the beginning.

***

“We are questioning his qualifications!”

Traditionally, the title of pope was appointed in the holy city of ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) Legion. That was both custom and rule.

The selection of the pope required the unanimous blessing of all high priests gathered in Legion. It wasn’t a vote—it couldn’t proceed until there was complete agreement.

Which meant they could take years to reach a consensus.

The previous pope had vanished without a trace, leaving a massive wound in Legion. Lately, there’d even been heretical sects devoted to the Grey God.

It was a chaotic time—no doubt about it.

That was why Legion needed decisive measures.

The first suggestion was:

“We must welcome a new pope.”

That was it.

At first, they proposed bringing in someone from the Empire who had awakened divinity. The Empire’s church was still powerful, of course. The Empire itself wasn’t a theocracy, but that didn’t mean the clergy were powerless.

Since divine power was real, anyone who could prove they possessed it could seize a major stake in power.

“I see no better way.”

Holy Knight Overdeer was convinced the one who made that suggestion was a spy from the Empire—but compared to heresy or demonic cults, that wasn’t a crime worth dying over.

You couldn’t go crushing heads just for being pro-Empire.

“If one of the high priests makes a move, we won’t have a result for a hundred years.”

Even if he was a spy, the one who spoke was someone who had lived for Legion and served the gods.

Most of the half-crazed heretics who worshipped the Grey God were already sent to the gods themselves.

That spy had read the situation correctly.

The high priests were there to keep each other in check. They weren’t just Legion’s leaders—they were popes of their respective orders.

Which meant that for any of them to become the supreme pope—

‘They’d have to demonstrate something extraordinary.’

A divine power that would make even a saint seem like a child.

There was one apostle who had that level of power, but he served the God of War and wasn’t part of Legion anymore.

Even if he were, it wouldn’t matter.

Those who served the God of War had sworn never to meddle in Legion’s internal strife, so they weren’t even here.

Otherwise, he could’ve been a major force.

Overdeer didn’t bother trying to solve the tangled mess. He had no intention or ability to do so. He was a Holy Knight.

The sword and shield of the church—not its tongue or prophet.

Still, he had the right to speak, didn’t he? Recommending a candidate for pope was well within bounds.

That’s what he’d been working toward all along.

“If the Goddess of Fortune gazes down with favor, then the Goddess of the Scales always watches with balanced eyes.”

Overdeer’s words carried weight. No one ignored him—not even the high priests.

He’d already eliminated a traitor of their rank once before.

Some among Legion’s powerholders cast anxious glances his way. If Overdeer decided to, he could manipulate the church’s entire power structure in the palm of his hand.

That’s how formidable the Holy Knights were now. They had both the prestige of purging corruption and overwhelming force.

Of course, with apostles of the God of War just watching nearby, seizing Legion by force was still unrealistic.

“The God of the Scales may seem indifferent, but is always fair.”

One of the high priests nodded in agreement with Overdeer.

Every order had its own pope, but the pope of Legion was on a different level.

Put simply, they were the one acknowledged by all the other popes as the supreme leader of the Holy City.

Or in cruder terms: the king of Legion.

“The Scales tipped toward this unworthy soul. I shall recommend a candidate for pope, on behalf of all the Holy Knights.”

Overdeer nodded and continued.

He introduced Noah.

That’s when one of the cardinals under a high priest objected, questioning Noah’s qualifications.

“Can someone who doesn’t even use divine power truly be fit to be pope?”

Overdeer first reaffirmed his personal oath of loyalty—then pulled out the trump card he’d prepared.

“I offer you the Ragged Saint.”

Audin’s adoptive father from the Border Guard stepped forward. Tap, tap—his cane hit the ground as the blind old man lowered his head to Noah.

“Heaven’s will shall decide, but if my voice can be of any help, I offer it now.”

He had once served as pope of Legion. Not many here knew that—and those who did kept quiet.

Still, a name like his didn’t fade easily.

Of course, Audin’s adoptive father was here as the Ragged Saint, so his name didn’t carry full weight.

Noah said nothing.

It was hard to sway these men with speeches—but it was worth trying.

The real question was—would they ever unanimously support him?

Even Noah himself wasn’t sure.

‘Am I really qualified?’

It had all started from the simple desire to care for orphans.

He wanted kids who might become pickpockets or bandits to instead live copying scripture and worshipping the gods.

A modest wish. A humble hope.

So could he really bear such a heavy burden?

“Just the two of you? I respect the Holy Knights, but who else supports him?”

One high priest shouted harshly.

Overdeer felt troubled. Yeah... he’d expected this.

“The King of Naurillia supports him.”

A formal letter of endorsement from the King of Naurillia arrived—but even that wasn’t enough to quiet all doubts.

Then came news that made the entire continent stir.

The Mad Order of Knights was on the move.

Where to? For what?

And then—it became a problem.

Because their destination... was Legion.

“Weren’t you said to have some connection with the Mad Order’s commander?”

One of the high priests asked Noah during the meeting—but he couldn’t answer.

He was too shaken by the sudden news about Enkrid.

More precisely, a realization hit him.

Enkrid hadn’t actually said anything—but it felt like he’d just been scolded by him.

Noah’s pupils lost focus as a vision of Enkrid appeared in his mind.

In that illusion, Enkrid calmly spoke.

“What’s with this idiot talk? Your wish is small? Your dream is small? Then let’s hear what you think a big dream is.”

Hard to answer.

Enkrid kept going.

“There’s no such thing as a small dream, Noah.”

Dreams have no size. He’d forgotten that.

“Well? Is there a connection or not?”

The high priest pressed again.

Noah’s eyes refocused. It was time to answer in reality.

“We’re friends.”

At that, one of the high priests gulped.

The Mad Order’s infamy was worse outside the Border Guard than within. That’s just how it was now.

They’d done so much.

“Are they trying to go to war with Legion?”

The Ragged Saint muttered. He knew that wasn’t likely—but it was a scary enough idea to shut people up.

“Why?”

One of the cardinals asked.

Overdeer added some spice.

“The Apostle of the Grey God attacked them. If anyone’s to blame, it’s us. I figured I’d better get ready to greet them.”

The Holy Knight Commander would be absent. A rough time.

And Legion had no leader in place.

Someone had to step up.

Who?

Their eyes turned to the man Overdeer had recommended: Noah.

The Holy Knights had sworn not to act without his permission.

The King of Naurillia, famed across the continent, had publicly endorsed him.

The Ragged Saint—more respected than any other in Legion—also stood by his side.

On top of that, he was said to be the Mad Order’s commander’s personal friend.

Even if the Mad Order hadn’t moved, Noah would’ve become Legion’s pope eventually.

“Give it to me. That seat.”

For the first time, Noah—who had stood silently all this while—showed his resolve.

And so, the pope of Legion was decided.

Right around that time, Enkrid was thrilled, talking about swordsmanship while fighting monsters and beasts alongside the Mad Order of Knights.