Last night, the Ferryman appeared in a dream and said:

“Be grateful.”

Or something like that.

As always, his tone was gloomy—like a hazy winter sky—and grave.

There was also a certain stillness to it, like dust settled in an abandoned house. But even so, Enkrid faintly sensed a hint of mischief behind those words.

How strange.

Even the master of the black river barge could make jokes. That thought had occurred to him.

But whether it was a joke or sincere, or something in between, Enkrid bowed his head deeply, earnestly.

He did so with politeness, and with respect. His chest came level with the edge of the barge, and his head bowed low.

Splash.

The barge swayed gently along the river’s current.

The Ferryman still sang of despair and ruin, still wished for Enkrid to abandon the struggle and remain here. But regardless of what he wanted, Enkrid had gained much from him. That much he believed to be true.

In fact, these days, it even felt like the Ferryman was helping him.

“Yes.”

He answered with his head still bowed.

“Don’t answer so readily.”

The Ferryman seemed to frown. His face remained expressionless, as always, but Enkrid could feel it—mentally, spiritually.

“Yes.”

He responded again.

“Your answers—no. Enough. Stop speaking.”

This time, the Ferryman visibly shook his head. Slowly, clumsily, like a broken clock swinging out of rhythm.

But the meaning behind the gesture was clear.

A shake of the head that said: Let’s stop having this kind of conversation, you and I.

Enkrid lifted his gaze. He wasn’t walking along the riverside like before. Maybe that’s why it felt different this time, even though the edge of the barge resembled the riverside. Somehow, it still felt strangely familiar.

That was because of the Ferryman’s presence.

In this moment, Enkrid felt a strange sense of peace. It was as if they were having a conversation—though not with words, and not about anything specific. But the Ferryman’s tone conveyed that feeling. Though it came through mentally, not aloud.

“You don’t actually think it will be easy in there, do you?”

The Ferryman asked. It was still strange how he spoke without moving his lips.

Those lips were like a wasteland—gray, parched, cracked. A land that hadn’t seen rain in ages.

“Do I look like someone who’s underestimating the Demon Realm?”

Enkrid answered, listening to the soft splash of waves behind the barge.

Did he really look like that in the Ferryman’s eyes? Like someone who was going in because he was underestimating it?

“You should be grateful I haven’t sewn that mouth of yours shut for answering a question with a question.”

The Ferryman replied, transmitting something like a faint mental chuckle.

So that was a joke, too.

Enkrid stared straight into the black voids of the Ferryman’s eyes. Rather than asking anything back, he focused on giving a proper answer.

He didn’t take the Demon Realm lightly. It was just that he had expectations for what might come out of it. That was the meaning behind his answer.

“Yes.”

He gave his reply while half-bowing his head.

“The more we talk, the more I feel like I’m losing something.”

“Is that so?”

“Stop answering.”

“...”

The Ferryman realized once again that he could not win in conversation. This bastard had been like this from the start.

“The Demon Realm is not like this place. Your senses, your instincts—your body’s reactions will all be different. Don’t expect your five senses and sixth sense to work the same way as they do here.”

The Ferryman said what he needed to say. Offering a little more "consideration" wouldn’t hurt.

He shook his lantern once, then waved his other hand and thrust it forward. The gesture was strange—like showing his palm straight out and pushing gently.

As the lamp shook, its light scattered and blurred the surroundings. That palm resembled his lips—gray wasteland, and in the lines etched into it—whether wrinkles or folds—there were deep crevices, like cliffs with no bottom.

Was it just for a second?

Before he realized it, the Ferryman was standing right in front of Enkrid.

When did he—?

It must’ve been a trick only possible in a dream.

Before even his instincts could react, the Ferryman’s hand touched Enkrid’s chest—and with that, he pushed him off the side of the barge. The gesture that had begun over there ended here.

Balance, reflex—none of it mattered. His body tipped backward on its own.

Behind him lay the river. Dark, endless, ominous water.

But just before he toppled over, Enkrid hooked his calves on the edge of the barge and tensed his abs and waist, holding himself there.

The body trained in the real world had carried over into his spirit.

His falling body jolted to a stop midway. In fact, it looked more like a miracle than the Ferryman’s push.

He curled his toes, flexed his calves, thighs, glutes, and abs, and straightened his waist like a steel rod.

Thanks to that, he halted mid-fall at an angle.

The Ferryman’s black eye sockets widened. Were those dark holes showing surprise?

There was no mental message this time, so Enkrid could only guess.

Still, in the Ferryman’s eyes, violet flames flickered. Maybe not surprise—maybe irritation. That was possible.

“You’re holding on?”

The Ferryman asked.

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?”

Enkrid retorted.

“Let go.”

His eyes seemed irritated or surprised, but his voice carried a subtle warmth.

And Enkrid knew full well that even if he fell into this river, it was just a dream.

“Go on.”

The Ferryman urged him.

Enkrid let go of his tension. His muscles relaxed, and his body fell backward just as the Ferryman had intended.

Splash.

His body submerged into the dark waters. Enkrid felt a light impact against his back and the surrounding sensation of the water enveloping him.

Of course it was hard to breathe—but this river water wrapped around his body with the weight and density of molten metal. You couldn’t simply call this texture “water.”

Even when he forced his eyes open, everything was pitch-black; nothing was visible. Then the Ferryman’s voice echoed through the dark.

“Adapt.”

Enkrid didn’t even think to ask why this was happening to him. What good was it to question the Ferryman’s whims?

He knew even human caprice was rarely worth arguing about—let alone this.

In truth, this was more of a tormenting nightmare than a dream.

You couldn’t exactly call flailing around while drowning a “pleasant” dream.

I can’t breathe, but I don’t think I’ll die.

Enkrid stayed calm and swam through the molten waters. Heavy or not, he had to at least try to swim up. He thrashed and resisted as best he could.

How much time had passed?

Subjectively, it felt like he’d been struggling for months.

He finally managed to hook his fingertips over the edge of the barge—and even the air felt foreign to him then. That’s how long he felt like he’d been submerged.

He couldn’t die, but that didn’t make the suffocation any less agonizing. The pressure was relentless, and enduring it wasn’t easy.

Exhausted mentally, he heard the Ferryman’s voice again:

“That’s just how the air of the Demon Realm is.”

It was time to part ways.

The Ferryman’s form began to blur, dissolving like grains of sand.

Just before he opened his eyes, Enkrid saw dozens of overlapping visions flash across the Ferryman’s face.

Smudged and flickering particles of sand shaped themselves into shifting forms.

One was an angry Ferryman. Another looked indifferent. One laughed. Another wept.

At times, it looked like two Ferrymen fighting each other.

Inner conflict?

That thought surfaced—and then he woke.

That had been the dream last night.

And when he crossed the boundary into the Demon Realm, Enkrid realized that what the Ferryman had given him was both practice and training.

Thanks to that, even as his senses twisted and his body grew heavier than ever, it still responded.

Spinning on his left foot, Duskforge shot upward toward the sky of the Demon Realm and struck the incoming bolt of lightning. A jagged, rippling streak of black lightning flew toward them—and now he could see its true form.

It was an arrow.

Longer than any ordinary arrow, with a tip black as pitch.

Clang!

Not just the tip—the entire shaft was forged of metal.

At that size, it was practically a miniature ballista bolt.

The arrow Enkrid struck with Duskforge veered sideways and slammed into the ground with a resounding bang.

Not a dull thud, but a blast. The earth burst upward as if it had been struck by a lightning bolt.

He had struck it, yes—but hadn’t fully dispersed its force. That’s why the explosion followed.

A Will-infused arrow—or something like it.

He could tell just from that one clash.

Everyone in the group flinched. Enkrid’s palm tingled with pain.

This wasn’t much different from intercepting a heavy siege bolt with a blade.

He even worried for a moment if the blade had been damaged.

But there was no time to check.

Because whoever fired that arrow wouldn’t stop at one.

“Brace!”

Jaxon muttered. That was enough. Everyone moved.

Enkrid, recalling the method he’d practiced with the Ferryman, controlled his breathing. The others prepared in their own ways.

Rophod took cover behind a thick tree. Pell took cover behind him.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re my meat shield.”

“You lunatic bastard—”

Leaving their bickering behind, Teresa raised her shield.

That shield was coated in refined black steel, reinforced inside with manticore hide—the hide of the same manticore Audin had killed in the past.

She could block by force, yes, but also redirect. The moment one of those lightning-like arrows hit her shield, she could flow its momentum away.

Block half, deflect half.

It wasn’t easy, but Teresa had the skill for it.

A faint glow passed over Audin’s body. Not full Holy Light Armor, but enough divinity had been drawn up that his body shone. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

Whatever came at him, he would react and block it.

If you could manifest Holy Light Armor, then forming a Holy Shield was no trouble either. All it took was compressing the divine energy.

Compared to the Will-infused blades Ragna had shown before, this was much simpler. You just had to gather the light.

Of course, that was only possible because Audin regularly compressed divine power and could manifest Holy Light Armor at will.

Asking Teresa to do the same? Not happening.

Lua Gharne and Shinar moved behind Enkrid.

Shinar was a fairy—and fairies depended on the energy of the forest. To her, this place was like a fish fighting underwater.

If this had been deep inside a living forest, the fairies would have fought far better. But here, that forest energy was absent.

The Demon Realm was a hostile land for fairies.

Lua Gharne, too, knew her abilities couldn’t stop that lightning.

Her decision was quick. Her actions, natural.

Stand behind the one who can block it.

That was Enkrid. That’s why both Shinar and Lua Gharne took cover behind him.

Rem and Ragna, by contrast, stood where they were—staring ahead.

Their senses might’ve dulled. The pressure and heavy air were unpleasant.

But so long as they were ready, an arrow like the one before wouldn’t catch them off guard.

Everyone reacted in sync.

And sure enough, more arrows came.

Enkrid’s ears caught two sharp fwip sounds in the distance—stacked atop each other.

Two arrows, aimed at the two most visible targets.

Two arrows, aimed at Rem and Ragna.

Enkrid noticed. And so did Rem.

His hand moved.

The axe strike—Enkrid’s so-called “flash”—the foundational form of his optimized swordsmanship—was /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ born from this technique.

He raised his axe diagonally and redirected the arrow with the blade’s edge.

To the untrained eye, it looked like he just swung hard.

But internally, he was deflecting—not blocking.

Clang!

Sparks scattered from Rem’s axe. Even with near-perfect execution, the force that reached his palm was massive.

It was no different from parrying a flying boulder. That’s how heavy it was.

Ragna mirrored Rem’s technique. Of course he knew how to use the Flowing Blade.

He planted his greatsword Sunrise vertically like a shield and let the arrow’s impact push off to the side.

CLANG!

The difference was: Rem had used his wrist to deflect fluidly, while Ragna used the flat of his massive blade and predicted the impact point with his whole body.

The difference in sound told the story. Sparks flew from both.

The two arrows passed them and flew into the forest behind.

BOOM! BOOM!

The successive blasts gave a clear idea of how much power those arrows carried.

They dug into the ground and splintered great trees. It was no different than being struck by giant javelins.

“Will-infused... They loaded the arrow with Will.”

Rem twirled his axe-wielding wrist as he spoke.

He was referring to the same thing Enkrid had already realized.

“So?”

Ragna responded coolly.

“Just informing you, you lazy bastard.”

“They're up ahead. I’ll take point.”

“You trying to be funny now? Should we all tour the continent together? No wait—if we start here, guess it’s a Demon Realm Grand Tour. Hah, could be fun.”

Enkrid had heard the sound, seen the arrows, blocked them—he had the direction.

Yes, it was up ahead.

Beyond that wall of densely packed trees—where the crimson and dark brown hues bled together like blood and bark.

In other words, the arrows had flown from beyond that wall.

A wall of trees so thick, it might as well be a fortress.