Confusion. Anxiety. Chaos.

Everything blended into one storm of emotion. Some among the villagers began to see hallucinations.

“I shall come to you ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) myself.” 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

It was the demon god’s call.

Some wept. Some collapsed in despair. Such was the moment they found themselves in.

But even so, they were still human. And because of that, they were swept up in the atmosphere.

It has always been said that an extraordinary person can change the entire mood of a group. A hero at the frontlines ignites fighting spirit. An orator’s fiery speech moves crowds.

Now, it was the madman’s composure that changed the air.

The atmosphere was not one of despair. Even though the future looming before them was undeniably grim—no one could believe it would truly come to pass.

Why?

Because they saw the calm faces of those standing before them.

The villagers, stunned and speechless, could only stand by as spectators.

Among them, a few children quietly hummed a tune.

It was an old song passed down through generations—its lyrics spoke of the end of the world... and of peace that follows.

***

“Training. I need training.”

Pell muttered as he swung his sword.

The madman—who had long been dormant, once known for ranting about training and nothing else—had awakened from his stupor.

“Uoooooh!”

He shouted alone, letting out a fierce ki-shout.

Hardly normal, but undeniably composed.

Pell's mental state was simple and clear. Monsters were the enemy. These people were to be protected. That was enough for him.

With determination gleaming in his eyes, Pell held the Idol Slayer and began to dance on the side.

“You’re making quite the racket. Roman, was it? Come here for a moment.”

Rophod, shaken after seeing Enkrid’s sword and that crazy display, felt a twinge of self-doubt. His greatest strength was the ability to evaluate and observe his own condition with objectivity.

And in doing so now, Rophod found his answer.

“What I need right now is the experience of winning.”

Going out to kill a nearby monster was one method. Or giving Roman a needed sparring session could also bring similar results.

But more than winning itself, what Rophod craved was the sense of accomplishment—of being helpful to someone.

“How do you build the process that puts weight into a single strike?”

Rophod asked, gently baiting Roman.

Roman blinked and slowly approached him.

Are we really just going to swing swords around at a time like this? That’s what his confused expression said.

But even he couldn’t resist the mood.

Rophod simplified his thoughts.

Enkrid would find his own answer to what he just did.

So Rophod would do what he could right now.

Maintain optimal condition.

In both body and mind—that was the goal.

He narrowed his thoughts and focused with Roman before him.

Having sparred with Pell countless times, he knew his strengths and weaknesses well. He also understood the common traits of those who stake everything on a single blow.

Moreover, he had trained the squad once called Enkrid’s personal guard, accumulating numerous insights and techniques.

He’d put all of that to use now.

If you want to finish a fight in one strike, you must learn the steps that lead to it.

Hadn’t Enkrid said that Roman needed a grueling process above all else?

“To put it plainly, he needs to suffer like his life depends on it.”

And Rophod was more than ready to provide that kind of experience.

There were villagers who gasped when Enkrid cut down the symbol—but none fainted from shock.

Among them, the sharp ones quickly adapted to the changing situation.

The speed of that switch was alarmingly fast.

But truly, they had little choice. What could they possibly do if they didn’t kneel here and now?

The demon god’s cleaner was dead.

The demon’s grasp was distant, but this swordsman—this madman—was right in front of them. One flick of his hand, and they’d all be wiped out.

Realizing this simple fact, their survival instinct kicked in. Heads bowed. They offered loyalty to Enkrid.

“Ooooh...”

Of course, some may have had their own personal reasons.

Rem snorted at the sight and chuckled.

“Look at ‘em switch sides like a starving Bellopter snatching up rat meat.”

Bellopters went crazy for rat meat—wasn’t that why rats were so rare in the West?

Though it could also be due to the copycat-type monsters that frequently appeared in the region. Cats devoured rats with ease—actually, they couldn’t even eat them fast enough.

“Sparring?”

Ragna approached Enkrid, who had just finished fighting.

Rem’s brow twitched at the sight.

This damn lazy bastard. What’s he saying now?

“You lost your mind?”

This wasn’t the usual level of anger. It sounded like he had just heard someone insult his parents—or his own child.

Westerners were especially sensitive about family insults.

Rem, without hesitation, pulled out his axe and explained the reason for his fury.

Enkrid had assumed Ragna must’ve insulted Rem somehow. But no.

“I asked first. I get to spar first.”

...That’s what this was about?

“Brother, the Lord didn’t tell us to endure injustice. Why must you always go first?”

Audin cut in.

“He’s my fiancé. Of course I go first.”

Even Shinar added in.

Though really, wasn’t Shinar unable to exert her full power in this place? In a land lacking spiritual energy, fairies couldn’t properly use their strength.

Since arriving, Shinar had constantly joked about feeling dizzy and how one night in Enkrid’s arms would restore her.

Those jokes were rooted in her weakened state.

“Can you even imbue?”

Ragna asked, turning toward all of them.

Can you even embed Will into your weapon? Can you create a sword that shines with light? If not, how could you possibly spar at this level?

In other words, Ragna was saying: From this point on, our sparring’s going to be high-level—so weaklings, get out of the way.

“Hey! You’re insulting Western rituals now!”

Rem stayed furious. His rage had taken shape. He channeled his pressure in his own unique way.

Rem’s shadow grew, ignoring the moonlight.

He even started to rise to his feet.

If they fought now, that shadow might very well swing an axe of its own.

“The Lord said nothing is impossible through divinity.”

Audin kept butting in.

Meanwhile, Enkrid sensed an ambush from behind.

To describe the sensation in words—it felt like someone was about five steps away, shaking a willow branch.

And yet, his intuition caught it.

His senses were razor-sharp after the earlier battle. Enkrid’s body moved instinctively.

CLANG!

He turned and raised Duskforge—just in time for the tip of a dagger to scrape along its surface.

It was Jaxon’s thrust.

Sparks flew. Jaxon immediately retreated three full steps and stared at Enkrid.

For striking and retreating, his speed outpaced even Rem.

“You little feral cat bastard!”

Rem’s fury erupted again—but Jaxon ignored him.

“I’m good.”

That one strike was enough. From Enkrid’s response, he had measured the man’s sensitivity and sharpness.

For Jaxon, that was all he needed.

‘It’ll be hard to catch him off guard now.’

A simple ambush wouldn’t work anymore. That much was certain.

‘Then what?’

Whoosh.

Jaxon dodged the flying hand axe, streamlining his thoughts.

‘I’ll have to draw out everything I’ve got.’

Only then would he stand a chance. Even then, he would need to gain a positional advantage first. Otherwise, he couldn’t kill him.

That was the verdict from the leader of Geor Dagger, the legendary assassination guild of the continent. If even they declared Enkrid unkillable by assassination—then it was done.

“Enough.”

Enkrid, for the first time in a long while, called for calm and summoned Rem. Just to match their movements briefly—a sparring session.

“Knew it.”

Rem nodded and pulled out his axe. It looked as though black smoke had clotted around it.

Even though he’d used Will against the sword-wielding Minotaur just now, the residual Will and the body honed through the Isolation Technique weren’t weak enough to falter over this.

“Muscles are beautiful things.”

Audin’s words pierced right through the matter.

Teresa silently took in the scene—along with those standing beside her.

‘Is this what they call boldness?’

Or maybe it was just recklessness.

At the sight of the corrupted beings—what one might rightly call Infected—the veins on Teresa’s hand bulged. Her grip tightened on reflex.

She wanted to swing her greatsword right now. To break, to crush.

They were revolting. Disgusting. Like thousands of ants crawling across her skin.

She needed to rip them apart. Purify this land.

Teresa felt the call echoing through her entire body. But a hand touched her arm.

Large, warm, and capable of radiating white light if needed.

“If the Lord commanded you to kill them all, would you? The Lord’s will is just, but we who interpret it are flawed.”

Audin was simply teaching again what he had always taught.

The half-giant inhaled and exhaled three long, shallow breaths, then nodded. Sending them to God might offer peace, yes—but they had their own desires as well.

In any case, Teresa had already reached her conclusion. No, she had long since decided.

‘They can’t be saved.’

There was no salvation. There was no method.

“Astonishing! Simply astonishing!”

Lua Gharne's voice rang out beside them, echoing with repeated praise.

Truly, a madman of a different class had a different field of vision. His thinking followed an entirely separate track.

Teresa had seen it. Enkrid cutting down the symbol. Audin using divinity to destroy the buried artifact.

‘He’ll protect them somehow.’

And somehow—he’ll save them too.

‘Maybe the name Salvation, not Iron Wall, suits him better.’

Just moments ago, she had thought sparing these people was against the Lord’s teachings. But now—it felt different.

The god of war she served gave her peace of mind.

‘Lord...’

Teresa lowered her head in prayer. She didn’t know how they were going to protect this place.

That was the responsibility of the one who started this.

Would Enkrid call for Kraiss, perhaps?

But would that wide-eyed bastard even come if summoned? Even if it was Enkrid calling, that guy probably wouldn’t step into the Demon Realm.

So then—what was the plan?

Such questions passed fleetingly through her mind... But again, none of it was her concern.

Teresa wasn’t the only one recognizing the looming reality.

Rem understood too. He realized the difficulty of the situation. And yet, he ignored it.

Even now, with the symbol destroyed—wasn't the presence of beasts and monsters already creeping in?

It was obvious if you thought about it.

‘Just how appetizing has this place been until now?’

It was like tossing a freshly caught rat in front of a Bellopter and telling it not to eat. A well-trained Bellopter might endure. Might resist.

But if its master suddenly said, “Go ahead, eat”?

‘If it doesn’t leap, it’s not a Bellopter.’

It’s what instinct demanded.

Rem thought as he sheathed his axe. They were still mid-spar. If things got even slightly more serious, one of them was going to get hurt—badly.

The black soot clinging to his axe faded, then rose like smoke and disappeared.

“What was that?”

Enkrid asked. It looked similar to Will, but it was different. A technique that didn’t quite follow the path of concentrating and embedding Will into a weapon.

It wasn’t a skill or an art, per se. It was more like a pure act of shamanistic talent.

“Spirit-binding.”

It was a technique unusable without a descended weapon. Rem had stored spiritual energy in the axe and manifested it externally.

Not something easily done. There were dozens of hurdles to overcome to reach this level.

Rem looked silently at Enkrid. He had no more questions.

The method to concentrate Will like before? He didn’t need it. As for the rest—he had already seen and learned enough.

‘Handling weapons and shamanism are separate disciplines.’

To reach what’s called a Knight here—or a Hero in the West—you had to master both. Training the body and training shamanism were different... but connected.

What were the chances of being skilled in both?

‘Slim. Extremely slim.’

Without talent, one couldn’t even dream of reaching this level.

‘But now I understand how to teach it.’

He had merely followed what Enkrid had structured and demonstrated.

“Well then... I’ve learned something good today.”

He spoke grudgingly.

Enkrid blinked a couple of times and said:

“Where’s Rem? What are you, some evil spirit?”

“...You little—”

Why the hell’s he like this when I just said thank you?

“Shall I purify him?”

Audin responded immediately. Perhaps his divine power was needed now.

“Was he possessed?”

Teresa added.

Jaxon already had his dagger drawn, ready to throw.

“Sunrise burns anything.”

Ragna commented dryly.

Rem just laughed.

“You son of a—”

The insult never reached completion.

“Time to work, Rem.”

Enkrid cut him off cleanly. He’d gotten his fill of teasing.

The doors to the well-guarded food storage—the bait—had been flung open.

Now it was time. Beasts and monsters were already beginning to close in. They could see them. And they could hear them.