“Information control.”

Lua Gharne murmured as if reciting something. It was what she had requested of Jaxon.

She’d said it because it seemed the Lords of the Demon Realm had left their posts, trusting the monsters they commanded.

It was a hopeful suggestion—worth trying but not essential. As it turned out, it was timely and effective. The enemy’s response wasn’t particularly sharp.

Even now, despite how close they were to the fortress wall.

Which meant what was about to happen next wasn’t anything special—just within the expected parameters.

“They’re coming.”

From behind Enkrid, Shinar whispered. The sound of the Thornwall’s lingering spirits was deafening.

From the shadows to the left and right of the fortress wall, monsters began to shuffle forward, as if they’d been waiting.

There were four-armed werewolves and werebears among them.

One werebear in particular was especially massive, wielding four pitch-black clubs—one in each hand.

Four clubs swung by four arms—it looked quite threatening.

More than anything, compared to the enemies they’d fought outside, each of these radiated a clearly more dangerous aura. That’s right—this was the Demon Realm.

“We hold, and we break through,” said Lua Gharne.

Sometimes, the simplest strategy becomes the sharpest spear.

With this much strength at their disposal, why bother climbing the wall or searching for some hidden gate?

Jaxon had only done that because of his unique talents and the need for information control through assassination. These people? They didn’t need to.

No, it was better to say—they didn’t have to.

And that bastard earlier—what had he said again? "So what can you do?"

Lua Gharne wanted to deliver a very clear, very memorable answer to that question.

As the group neared the fortress wall, more than just monsters gathered. The bone-made structures aligned along the wall’s left and right sides suddenly began to move on their own. Their frames were made of bone, and the projectiles they launched were thick bone-crafted bolts.

In other words, these were ballistae imbued with evil spirits—monsters in their own right.

Creaaak.

The purple sinews twisted themselves into taut strings, automatically loading and releasing arrows.

Thwump!

A heavy bolt snapped free from the string and hurtled toward the center of the group.

It was an automatic response to their entering a certain distance from the wall.

One could call these the defensive monsters guarding Thorn Fortress.

Just before the arrow flew, Enkrid’s gaze swept over the structure.

Even in the Demon Realm, they had all the proper gear. These were siege defense weapons transformed into monsters—left behind for fortification.

He might’ve even called it commendable effort.

His hand hovered above the grip of Duskforge, but Enkrid didn’t move.

Someone else jumped ahead—soaring upward and swinging a sword.

Clang!

A swift blade intercepted the bolt. The struck projectile—twisted together from bones—ricocheted off with a thud, striking the ground in front of a shuffling werewolf.

This one had patches of missing fur all over its body—but its forearms were unusually thick.

If something got caught in those arms and squeezed, an average human limb would snap like dry twigs.

Not that there were any “average humans” here.

The werewolf snatched up the fallen bone bolt, gripping it as if to use it as a weapon. It swung the bludgeon-like bolt through the air with a whoosh whoosh.

If monsters could improvise weapons on the fly, it suggested considerable intelligence.

Though considering it was drooling pus instead of saliva, intelligence might be a stretch. Its appearance was more akin to a dog-faced phallus.

The one who had deflected the bolt was Pell. Gripping his sword with both hands, he spoke without breaking his stance.

“I’ll handle the sky.”

Pell thought this was the perfect environment to practice the sword that blocked anything. The ballista’s bolts were heavy, yes—but from a knight’s perspective, not especially fast. Not a difficult task.

“Do as you wish,” answered Audin, standing at the group’s center.

Grraaaaaaahhhh.

The pack of werewolves and werebears continued closing the distance. None rushed—they all approached in a slow, lumbering gait. But they were so large that even that slow pace closed the gap in an instant.

Seeing the monsters approaching from both sides might have terrified others—but everyone here remained composed. Pell looked up at the sky; the others focused on the approaching beasts. They all took calm, measured breaths. No one wavered.

Shing.

Teresa drew her sword. In her hands, it looked like a standard longsword—but it was actually a greatsword rivaling Ragna’s Sunrise.

The fact she wielded it one-handed without effort was proof of the giant’s blood running through her veins.

Ahhhh...

She began to hum a hymn. A soft, melodic chant that shimmered white light across her entire body.

Holy power was the most visibly manifest force among the supernatural abilities of this world.

Doing something like that with Will would require immense enlightenment.

But Enkrid already knew very well that each person’s strength had its own nature.

Holy power, in contrast, lacked offensive force. It was meant to heal and protect—not to destroy.

To compensate for that, Audin had undergone relentless training to surpass the limits of the body.

In fact, the entire Holy Knight Order had done the same. Audin just did it more violently than the rest.

Making up for lack of offense with brute strength.

In that sense, holy power might have been the perfect force for a half-giant.

Provided, of course, that one also had faith and talent.

Teresa’s lips twisted into a smirk. Earlier, when she had sung, she had been Holy Teresa. But now—now she was the Half-Giant Teresa, who thirsted for slaughter.

The soft white glow accompanying her humming no longer represented healing or protection. It was the manifestation of raw physical power supporting her monstrous strength.

Boom!

Her greatsword crashed down on the head of a charging werebear.

Its skull didn’t shatter.

Black blood sprayed, but beneath the skin, the flesh was hard—like metal.

It was an Armored Bear—a type of werebear with a hardened exoskeleton.

Teresa’s strike marked the start of the battle once more.

Thump!

Pell blocked another bolt. Rophod moved to hold one flank. Sunrise, in Ragna’s hands, cut and burned through anything in its path.

Schiiiiiik—

White smoke curled up from the neck stump of a werewolf—it was where Sunrise had passed through.

Ragna’s slash extended in a long arc—severing the necks of six monsters in a single sweep.

It was Oara’s sword, carried forward.

In a situation like this, no one held back their Will. Everyone fought at full strength.

A knight cleaves a thousand on his own. That meant that slaying ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) a few hundred monsters alone was entirely within the realm of possibility.

So when several of such people gathered together, it was only natural that the approaching monsters would be carved down like butchered meat and left strewn across the ground.

Among the advancing group, it was Audin who finally reached the moat of bile. The foul stench rising from the ground was what some of the spirits had vomited out.

The smell alone was toxic—but it held no effect on Audin. He didn’t engage the monsters charging from either side. He left those to the others.

Gwaaaah...

The spirit of the wall howled. Audin faced it and took his stance. Left foot and left hand forward. Then, twisting his ankle and waist, his right fist thrust forward—gleaming white.

The rotational force of his entire body was condensed into that single punch. And that rotation, too, was applied to his holy power.

“O Lord,”

he whispered, and the air around him seemed to roar as it spiraled. The gathered holy power stirred the wind, forming a small vortex that surged around Audin.

Flaaap—

His hair fluttered upward. In that state, Audin thrust his arm forward. Wind, white light, all of it tangled along the trajectory of that extended arm and burst forth together.

Whoom—

The white light spun with his punch and collided with the spirit clad in thorned vestments.

Boom!

A deafening impact rang out. The point of contact erupted with pressure, causing the thorned wall to scatter in all directions. The wail of the spirit pierced through the air.

With a single blow, dozens of lingering spirits were sent skyward.

“O Lord, whether to grant them forgiveness or pass judgment—that is Your will alone. I merely send them to Your side.”

Audin withdrew his fist and prayed. Whatever the spirits felt upon hearing that prayer—no one could guess. Who knew if they even retained reason.

The result: a single holy punch left a hole in the wall large enough for a man to walk through.

The thorned spirits didn’t sit idle after being struck—they resisted. But Audin’s faintly-glowing divine armor rebuffed and shrugged off every retaliation.

The ground touching the shattered wall trembled.

“The foundation’s weak,”

Audin remarked breezily, taking a few steps to the side. The shrieking spirits fell momentarily silent.

They probably didn’t really think it, but if any of them still had reason, they might’ve screamed—what the hell are these people?!

The apostle of the war god, who believed no curse could harm him, pulled his fist back again.

“Loud way to knock,”

Enkrid commented dryly, watching it unfold. For some reason, it reminded him of the time they broke into a hidden passage while raiding the Gilpin Guild back at Border Guard. They’d called it “knocking” back then too—nothing much had changed. Except now the “door” was a fortress wall in the middle of the Demon Realm.

Kwa-ANG!

The second punch exploded with another roar. With just those two sincere strikes, Audin had punched a hole through the wall.

The cavity began writhing, trying to regenerate—as if the wall itself were alive. Shinar furrowed her brow. Her expression made her disgust plain.

“They’re mimicking the fairy city.”

Her city—more precisely, the city she’d lived in and lent her name to—was built of living trees. A city whose very foundation was alive. The fact that the Demon Realm fortress was mimicking that disturbed her greatly.

It meant someone had stolen parts of fairy knowledge and used it here.

The regeneration wasn’t slow—but even faster was Audin’s fist. And with just two punches, even if it was only an eye-hole-sized opening, they could now see through the wall.

“The door’s open,”

Teresa remarked softly, just after she’d grabbed one of the werebear’s clubs and hurled it aside. Before that, the armored bear that had charged her wasn’t decapitated—she’d simply beaten its body to death instead. It had been a brief moment to catch her breath.

“Wouldn’t it be more accurate to say we made one?”

Pell interjected, blocking an incoming ballista bolt.

He floated in the air, deflecting arrows with practiced ease. He spun midair, using rotational momentum to strike—despite having no foothold, his technique was solid. It was almost impressive to watch.

Enkrid agreed with Pell’s assessment—but didn’t argue it. What mattered was that the path was open.

And from the corner of his eye, Enkrid saw something else: He, too, was ready to lend a hand.

Ziiing—

Duskforge almost seemed to shiver, as if demanding why it hadn’t been swung yet.

Enkrid stepped forward as if to soothe it. He could see Jaxon on the wall above, dismantling the bone ballistae one by one.  Thanks to that, the number of incoming bolts was steadily decreasing.

That meant there was no need for Pell to stay and block them anymore.

Enkrid shot forward like a spring.

Claws from the werewolf. Black club descending from above. A foot extending from one of four arms to trip him at the ankle—that foot had claws sharp enough to slice through flesh just by grazing it.

High, middle, low—attacks came from all angles. Each monster had learned how to fight.

In his right hand was Duskforge, in his left Penna. Enkrid advanced, tapping lightly with both blades.

He didn’t thrust—he alternated slashes. That alone was enough to sever monster limbs, sending them crashing to the ground.

Before their attacks could land, Enkrid’s optimized reflexes struck—flashes of light sliced through their limbs.

One flash. Then another. When those flashes followed each other—they became lightning.

Zzzzzak—KWA-RRRRR!

The blades roared like thunder as they tore through the air. A trail of black blood stretched behind him.

Now, this much was effortless. It was the result of his growth—born of his will to always deliver the best cut, anytime, anywhere.

A sword is wielded by a person. Even the five divided sword styles—all of them required the person behind the blade.

It was a continuation of the thought that had surfaced last time. Only the thread of an idea for now—but who knew how far this sword path would stretch.

He brushed aside the thoughts quickly.

Once he got within arm’s reach of the wall, Enkrid sheathed Penna. His muscle tension was perfect. His circulating Will lacked nothing.

It felt like he’d just woken from the best sleep of his life—overflowing with strength.

A day like this made it feel like anything was possible. As if omnipotence was within reach. Not that he’d ever recklessly attempt the impossible.

“Hello, spirit friends.”

Enkrid gave a simple greeting and lifted Duskforge so it was parallel to the ground.

The blade shimmered with a sky-colored hue and vibrated with a low zing, as if thrilled to be held by Enkrid once more.

Of course, the vibration came from the sword resonating with Enkrid’s Will. But then again—how one receives that is up to the wielder.

Audin was punching through with holy power. It’d be nice to help out.

Will surged and flooded into the blade.

This was the Demon Realm. And before him was a fortress of the Demon Realm.

He already had all of that in mind.

So what? That bastard had asked earlier: What can you do?

Groooan...

“You’re insane.”

Came Lua Gharne’s murmur from behind.

Enkrid wore no smile. Only seriousness.

What can I do right now?

This was the answer to that question.