The guard’s surprise carried straight inside.

“The lord has many matters to attend to today. I hope you’ll understand.”

Soon enough, one of the most well-known figures among the royalists came out to receive them—a man Enkrid already knew.

He had once served as a battalion commander of the Border Guard, and was now Count Marcus.

“Feels like I’m being forced,” Enkrid said.

“If you don’t understand, you can just walk right in.”

Marcus responded to the light jab with a laugh. He was the same bold man as ever. Even knowing that Enkrid had slaughtered a horde of monsters, his gaze carried respect, but not the slightest unease.

If that was an act, then it was also a fine trait in a ruler. They say the best way to earn trust is to show trust first.

“Shall we have some tea?”

Enkrid nodded, glancing toward Aisia, who had taken on the role of escort. She was originally part of the Cypress Order of Knights, but had somehow ended up integrated into the royal guard—something Enkrid had learned from one of Crang’s rambling letters.

“Eat nothing but rich food every day and pat your belly, and you’re bound to put on some extra flesh, Aisia.”

At Enkrid’s warm greeting, a vein popped in Aisia’s forehead. Starting off by needling someone was certainly a skill in its own right.

“...That’s your greeting?”

“What else?”

It was obvious he was teasing, but it was still a greeting. Watching the two trade jabs, Marcus spoke.

“Come inside.”

Once in the inner keep, an attendant approached to guide everyone to their rooms.

“See you later. We’d just waste time on pointless talk right now,” Rem said, wiping a trickle of blood from his nose.

“I can find my own room if you just give me directions. I’ve been here before,” Ragna told the attendant, prompting Rophod to shake his head from behind.

Audin recited a brief prayer, and Teresa folded her hands and nodded in agreement.

“Mm, they’re consistent,” Marcus remarked, choosing his words carefully—more so than when he addressed Enkrid. With these people, he didn’t feel any sense of control. Without Enkrid around, they would likely start doing whatever they pleased.

“Fiancé, you know where my room is, right?” Shinar tapped Enkrid’s arm with a finger as she spoke, making Marcus’s eyes widen.

'Hm?'

One by one, the group followed the attendants away. Rophod was telling Ragna’s attendant to make sure he actually went into his room when Marcus spoke up.

“Has the fairy company commander always been like that?”

No—at first, she hadn’t been. She enjoyed jokes, but kept a neutral face and never came within a certain distance of others. Now, some of that mystique surrounding her inhuman beauty had cracked in Marcus’s mind.

“People change,” Enkrid replied casually. Well, even he sometimes found the changes in the fairy surprising.

“That’s true.”

Marcus nodded as he watched Shinar’s retreating back, then turned to lead the way.

In the end, it was only Enkrid who sat down with Marcus for tea.

His office reflected his character—neat and uncluttered. Just a few pieces of furniture for minimal storage, two swords and a shield on the wall, and not a single document on the desk.

A maid set down two cups of tea along with cookies made from ground barley, wheat, and a few other grains, steamed and pressed.

The cookies had almost no sweetness and a coarse texture—clearly to Marcus’s taste.

“I hear there’s some unrest in the capital?”

From the cup, warmed to the perfect temperature, rose the faint scent of jasmine. Enkrid took a sip, then used the dry cookie to clear his palate. The combination brought out the grain’s nutty flavor.

“We opened trade routes with the Holy City and the mercantile cities, and got involved with the Stone Road connecting the west to the Border Guard. Cleared out nearby monsters and beasts, kept bandits from gathering... which meant opening the capital and letting more people come and go. That’s where the problem began.”

Marcus didn’t skirt the issue—he had organized his thoughts and delivered them all at once. Not in a breathless rush, but at a steady pace, taking his time where needed.

Enkrid was sharp, but even so, it was difficult to grasp the heart of a matter without any context. Still, he could guess at the meaning behind Marcus’s words.

Marcus wasn’t giving detailed intelligence—he was pointing out the core problem so that Enkrid would grasp it.

Once you know a man’s intent, you know what to pick up on. The listening habits Enkrid had honed while learning from others served him well even now.

So—what does “more people” really mean?

'A gap will open in security.'

Strangers of unknown origin would roam freely through Naurill. Some might be showing that “unrest” Marcus spoke of. But this didn’t sound like a bandit guild running wild—that wouldn’t be called an “undercurrent,” and Andrew wouldn’t have gone out of his way to point it out if that were all.

Knowing the cause didn’t mean a solution would appear on its own. You couldn’t just close the gates and cut off trade because the flow of people was causing trouble.

“A cart that’s begun rolling downhill can’t be stopped,” Marcus said.

It was the same thing Kraiss had once said about the Border Guard’s growth. Naurill’s situation was similar. Grab a downhill cart by force, and the cargo inside will spill everywhere. The best you can do is steer it so it doesn’t go over a cliff or tip and break apart.

Marcus didn’t elaborate further. Without checking whether Enkrid had understood, he went on.

“Leave the complicated talk for when you’ve had some rest. More importantly—how about meeting my father?”

He meant after meeting the king and other nobles, in about three days’ time. Marcus’s father was none other than the Marquess of Baisar.

“Separately?” Enkrid asked. It was unusual, and he hadn’t expected it.

Marcus’s expression turned complicated. He scratched behind one ear, let out a low hum, and said,

“He doesn’t have much longer.”

A human life is finite. Even with good health from birth, living past a hundred is rare.

Knights could extend their years with Will, and mages had other means to live longer still—but for an ordinary man, old age meant death.

The Reaper is a butterfly, drawn by the sweet, stale scent of death that wafts from old age. That butterfly was now heading for the flower called the Marquess of Baisar. When it had drained every drop of that scent-laced nectar, the Marquess’s breath would stop.

No matter how great a man’s power, he cannot turn aside a death brought by age. He would hardly wish to cling to life so much that he’d return as a draugr or ghoul, so there was nothing more to be done. And surely, every possible measure—including holy blessings—had already been tried.

“...Understood.”

There was no reason to refuse. From Marcus’s tone alone, Enkrid could tell—this was a request. Not exactly from Count Marcus himself, but one that came from his father.

Enkrid gave a willing nod, but it wasn’t to mean he would go immediately.

“My father’s waking hours aren’t long, so I’ll send word when the time is right. Ah, and you didn’t just kill monsters, did you?”

“Two birds with one stone.”

“Two birds?”

“The Thorn Castle inside the Demon Realm.”

“...Hm?”

Marcus’s eyes widened. The fortress inside the Demon Realm was a place the Red Cloak Order had attacked three times, only to retreat each time.

“That place?”

“It just worked out that way.”

“That’s... not exactly the sort of place you just happen to go assault.”

Marcus was surprised, but given what the Mad Order of Knights had done before, it wasn’t impossible. In fact, from a Demon Realm strategy perspective, it might open a new path forward.

He had once carried the nickname War Maniac during his time as a battalion commander. In truth, he had preferred slow, measured fighting, but that nickname was part of a deliberate psychological tactic on his part.

With that background, he was now in a position to offer strategic advice to the king.

“What exactly did you do?”

Marcus’s surprise carried with it genuine admiration. Whatever familiarity they shared, the man before him was one who had just altered the strategic balance of the Naurillian Kingdom. He was also the only one capable of keeping those maniacs in check.

Marcus thought that was the end of it—until Enkrid spoke again.

“And.”

“And...?”

'There’s more?' If destroying the Thorn Castle was the headline, the rest hardly needed saying. Enkrid wasn’t the type to list off every minor deed looking for praise.

If it was about the monster slaughter, Marcus already knew. That had been noisy enough that anyone with an ear to the ground had heard. It wasn’t even the sort of information an intel guild could sell—it was common knowledge.

If he spoke of rescuing the Demon Realm dwellers, Marcus would nod and take it as reassurance. Marcus even started preparing a few polite responses in his head.

“I originally went to kill the Balrog.”

Clink.

Marcus set his teacup down—carefully, so as not to break the expensive porcelain—as he replayed the words in his head.

He had heard the tale of Knight Oara’s final battle. Even a fragment of the Balrog was an opponent that demanded a knight’s full strength and life on the line. The true body of such a thing... that was a matter for the entire national army.

Marcus took a breath, ordered his thoughts, and then spoke.

“So you didn’t encounter it. Well, it’s the sort of thing you never know where it’ll show up.”

His palms were damp. Sweat had gathered without him realizing, and he wiped it off on his thighs before looking at Enkrid again.

Through the black hair, those blue eyes were steady. Unwavering. His voice was the same—straight and steady.

“I killed it.”

Marcus’s mind refused to process it at first, and he blurted something foolish.

“You don’t mean something that looked like it?”

Marcus didn’t even know what the Balrog looked like—so how would he know if it resembled anything? It was the sort of stupid thing only someone who’d never faced it would say.

Only a man who had stood before it would know the truth—and the one before him was no man to mistake it.

Marcus realized how foolish he sounded and amended his words.

“You mean you killed a fragment.”

“No.”

“No?”

“The real body.”

“The... real body?”

Marcus repeated the words like a parrot. He was that shocked. Normally, the other nobles called him Unshaken Marcus, but now he was past shaken—he couldn’t even manage his expression.

Enkrid told him plainly how he had first seen the Balrog’s fragment in the city of Oara, and now had faced the true body—one that wielded divine powers and could turn the world into a labyrinth.

Marcus’s jaw went slack. There was nothing to say to that. Still, somehow pulling himself together, he managed,

“So that’s why everyone’s so badly injured.”

The signs had been plain—wounds all over. He had wondered if they’d done something more than simply slaughter monsters.

Knowing the general power of the Mad Order, he had asked the question half-expecting it—yet the truth was beyond anything he had imagined.

He didn’t even think to ask how the battle had gone. And he decided, then and there, not to tell the king.

The king would be just as stunned as he was. Even Crang—so calm and unshaken despite everything in recent days—would likely be startled by this.

It wouldn’t be disloyal to delay sharing the news for a little while. Enkrid and Crang called each other friends—he would surely want to tell him in person. And besides, the king was busy.

'Though really... I just want to see ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) his face when he hears it.'

Marcus tossed that bit of self-justification aside. It was just a thought born of wanting to look away from the sheer weight of the revelation.

“...We’ll talk later. I’m too shocked to think straight. I need to rest.”

At his words, Enkrid rose and left, following an attendant to an empty room.

He glanced around the palace, looking for familiar faces, but saw none.

Quite a few, he thought, noting that the number of guards in the palace had grown since last time. Soldiers with spears and shields stood in many places, and there were plenty of lightly armed men with swords as well.

Crang’s letters had mentioned plans to restructure the royal guard into two groups. One would remain the Royal Guard, while the other, more like a knightly order, would train promising talents.

'Aisia will be the one teaching them, maybe?'

It wasn’t a thought he lingered on. Even if the journey hadn’t worn him down much, rest was still rest—especially when his wounds weren’t fully healed yet.

He stopped thinking and followed the servant to a private bath. The warm water melted the fatigue from his body. The dull ache in his arm seemed to fade away.

When the road’s dust had been washed from him, a few maids came in to scrub his back.

Clean and refreshed, he returned to his room and sank into a bed so soft it must have been filled with goose down.

The moment he closed his eyes, Enkrid met the Ferryman.

Splash—

Over the skin of the gray wasteland, opening like the mouth of an abyss, the Ferryman spoke.