CHAPTER 651: CHAPTER 651 - THE APOSTLE AND ENLIGHTENMENT

Chapter 651 - The Apostle and Enlightenment

The task at hand was simple—deflect what was flying toward him.

The moment he perceived and recognized it, his body reacted instinctively. No calculations were necessary.

His opponent wasn’t thinking about follow-ups; they were committing everything to a single decisive strike.

His accelerated thoughts stretched out time around him.

Enkrid saw what was aiming for him—a long, slender skewer, a rapier.

The way it lunged forward carried a distinct scent of Jaxen’s techniques.

Upon seeing it, he pressed down with his right big toe and drew Penna, swinging it in an arc.

The speed at which power transferred from his ankle to his waist and then to his hand was twice as fast as before.

His knee bounced as he exerted force, locking his shoulder, elbow, and wrist to keep them from shaking.

This was a thrusting technique of the heavy sword style.

Rather than prioritizing speed, it focused on power.

A poor block would fail to stop it, which was why it was sometimes called the Battering Ram Thrust.

As the name suggested, the strike flew like a siege weapon smashing through castle gates.

When a technique was combined with a treasured sword of impossible sharpness, it created something mystical.

Slick! Slash!

The metal skewer split in two at the midpoint, and the head of its wielder was severed, kicking up dirt as it rolled.

A gust surged from beneath Enkrid’s feet due to the rapid motion, and sparks leaping off his blade rode the wind, spiraling upward like a fiery waterspout before dissipating.

To an uninformed observer, it might have seemed as if a whirlwind had suddenly ignited around him.

More than just blocking an attack, he had cut through both the weapon and its owner in a single stroke.

It was a blend of power and technique so refined that it could be mistaken for magic.

Having slain his foe, Enkrid flicked his sword.

Blood from Penna splattered onto the ground.

When he examined the blade, not a single droplet of blood clung to it.

Hadn’t it been said that its edge remained pristine even without oiling?

Still, it was advisable to occasionally polish it with a special blend of Woodguard sap and Camellia flower oil, mixed in precise proportions.

When he had agreed to do so, a fairy had personally handed him a bottle of the oil.

More than just a fine weapon—it was a treasure worthy of the name.

"A fine weapon, indeed."

It was the man with the staff who spoke first.

Enkrid shook his sword clean and looked ahead.

While the attack hadn’t been aimed solely at him, neither Luagarne nor Fel was someone who would fall to a mere ambush.

As expected, both had defended themselves.

Luagarne had used her forearm as a shield, leaving a hole in it—but since she was a Frog, she had done well to block it.

Fel had swiftly bent backward and drawn his sword to deflect the attack.

Enkrid caught the faint sound of thang reverberating in the air.

That was the sound of Fel striking aside a blade.

Zero had instinctively leaped backward in shock, his nimble fairy-like footwork saving him.

His golden hair scattered through the air.

A scratch marred his forehead, and had he been a moment slower, a new hole would have replaced his eyes, nose, and ears.

Of course, if Enkrid had thought Zero would actually die, he wouldn’t have prioritized killing his own attacker—he would have stepped in to defend him instead.

But he had judged that Zero would manage.

"Ma..."

The staff-wielding cultist attempted to speak, but Enkrid moved first.

They were all waiting for an opening—one of those fleeting moments where thought lagged behind action.

Enkrid’s left hand brushed past his chest and extended forward.

A bizarre sound rang out in response to the motion.

Pwoooo!

What he had thrown was a modified whistle dagger.

The Silence Dagger had never felt quite right in his grip, so he had altered it to suit his own needs.

He had attached an additional blade to enhance its power, which meant it was time to rename it.

At this point, it wasn’t so much a whistle dagger as it was a horn-blaring dagger.

Thwack!

The weapon’s sound matched its power.

Enkrid wasn’t lazy.

Beyond swordsmanship, he had continuously refined himself, going over everything he had learned and training daily.

The throwing technique he had learned from Jaxen formed the foundation of his strike.

The daggers he hurled tore through the heads of three ambushers rising from the ground, not merely embedding themselves but outright bursting their skulls apart.

These were among the daggers he had specially commissioned from Aetri. He had brought six, and now, only three remained.

’Penna is all I have left.’

He had lost his true silver sword and Spark, leaving him with just Penna, which was a bit short for a primary weapon.

’But that doesn’t mean I’m at a disadvantage.’

Enkrid kept his thoughts composed and assessed the situation.

There was no need to panic.

He calmly spread his legs and assumed a stance, sword in hand.

As he raised Penna vertically, the reddish moonlight seemed to split around its blade.

Two moons illuminated the land.

Before the group, with the hill at their backs, the staff-wielding man struck the ground with a firm thud.

"I’ll make one last offer. Would you consider switching sides? It would be a waste for talent like yours to die here."

"And you are?"

Enkrid asked without breaking his stance in the slightest.

There was no hint of fear or hesitation.

The most surprised person present was Luagarne.

Upon seeing the staff and the man’s attire, she couldn’t even puff up her cheeks in her usual manner—she simply glared at him.

"Could it be...?"

Luagarne asked, her voice wary.

Fel frowned, resting his hand on the hilt of the Idol Slayer, while Zero took slow, shallow breaths to steady himself.

The black-armored knight’s aura had been pressing down on all three of them since earlier, making it feel as though they had been thrown back into the depths of a labyrinth.

It was a forceful presence, akin to a knight’s overwhelming aura.

"You are correct."

The staff-wielding man nodded.

Enkrid watched him blankly as he continued.

"I am an Apostle of the Resurrection."

In the Holy Church of the Demonic Lands, an Apostle referred to someone with extraordinary talent.

It also signified those who had encountered one of the six great demons and awakened their abilities.

The man before them was one of the First Apostles—one of the latter kind.

Simply put, he had been the one pulling the strings behind all the cultists they had faced so far.

He was the one who had sent the Apostle of Curses.

He was also the one who had ordered the mage who wielded walking fire.

"A charisma potent enough to enchant even cultists."

Fel had been working on his taunts recently, and the words slipped out reflexively.

"Is that what you mean?"

Enkrid responded.

Fel chuckled.

They sensed the threat, but there was no reason to cower in fear.

If today was the day to die, so be it.

If he had feared death, he would never have taken up the sword in the first place.

A shepherd of the wilderness converses with spirits and plays tag with monsters.

That is what it means to be a wanderer of the wilds.

If fear of death prevented one from doing their duty, they had no business calling themselves a shepherd.

"So, isn’t that the case?"

Fel replied with casual boldness.

Enkrid saw it.

Among all of Fel’s talents, his greatest was his fearless audacity.

And it suited him well.

Enkrid wasn’t jealous.

The Apostle’s words about wasted talent only felt laughable.

"Go back to your ghoul and call it ’Mommy’ while begging for more milk. As if I’d ever switch sides."

His insult was abrupt and crude.

For the first time in his life, the Apostle heard something so bizarre that his brow furrowed involuntarily.

What did he just say?

Fel heard it too.

And in his mind, something clicked.

What was the essence of provocation?

It was all about...

Tadadang!

The clashing of swords rang out with a crisp noise, and the force between them stirred up the air.

Amidst the flying sparks, Enkrid’s blue eyes gleamed sharply.

The knight in black armor was no less formidable.

Though his visor was lowered, concealing his face, his eyes glowed an icy blue from within.

In an instant, dozens of exchanges took place.

Amidst the flurry of strikes, the one called the Apostle spoke, his voice neither hurried nor slow.

"Do you think you live as you will? Do you believe this world is fair? All humans are equal before the Demon Realm. If you understood our ideology, you would see."

As he spoke, the blade of the Black knight split into three. Unlike before, it suddenly extended.

Ting!

The blade dispersed, stretching outward, revealing what seemed like thin cords connecting the segments.

It was a calculated move from the beginning. Enkrid seemed unable to evade. He had just leaped back to avoid an attack, hadn’t he?

Moreover, the opponent had already reached out with his left hand, wrapping a strange cord around Enkrid’s wrist.

Everything pointed to a grim conclusion.

The cord around his wrist bound his hand, while the segmented blade threatened to tear through his chest—yet it didn’t.

Ignoring the rope binding his wrist, Enkrid pulled Penna and struck the middle of the now-lengthened segmented sword.

Bang!

A burst of sparks scattered as the blade meant to pierce his chest was thrown off course.

The longer a weapon extends, the more its movements become unwieldy.

Any force applied to the middle can disrupt its trajectory.

"My name is the Black Serpent!"

The Black knight shouted, seemingly exhilarated by the fight.

As he did, he swung his sword, which appeared to be both his engraved weapon and his specialty.

Shrrrrak!

The blade fragmented into numerous segments, lengthening like a whip of steel.

Yet, it seamlessly transformed from a sword into a whip and back again, making it highly unpredictable.

Tadang! Bang!

But Enkrid held his ground.

The battle appeared precarious, yet somehow he never seemed to be in true danger.

It was a fight that couldn’t be judged from appearance alone.

Luagarne, having eyes of her own, observed keenly.

Naturally, the Apostle noticed as well.

’Didn’t he barely manage to win against that bastard giant?’

The Apostle pondered.

Even if Enkrid had emerged victorious, how could this be possible?

In terms of combat prowess, the Black Serpent, Ele, was the strongest in his diocese.

If it were a fight to the death, even the Apostle himself was uncertain if he could prevail against him.

And yet, Enkrid was enduring.

No, he was enduring well.

’Did he come prepared?’

By nature, First Apostles were akin to Krais.

Anticipating that Ele might fail to suppress Enkrid, he had already considered his next move.

The Apostle spoke.

"Levantine."

A man clad in loose robes stepped forward.

His billowing sleeves did not seem suited for combat.

"May I have a drink?"

"Do as you please."

A cryptic exchange.

Levantine’s lips curled unnaturally high, his mouth splitting wide to reveal protruding fangs—a grotesque sight.

Drool dripped from his fangs, his exposed gums pulsing with black veins.

"I am Levantine, Noble of the Night."

As he spoke, he lunged.

Enkrid, unfazed, casually swung his sword toward the trajectory of his approach.

Penna sliced through Levantine’s robes.

Rip!

The fabric split in two, but the creature called Levantine dissolved into mist, dispersing upwards.

Vampires existed within the Demon Realm—inhabitants who survived on human blood.

Levantine was one of them.

Though not a knight, even Ele could not guarantee victory against him.

Naturally, he was a valuable asset carefully cultivated by the First Apostle.

As Levantine reformed midair, he stretched out his palm.

The skin of his hand split open, releasing a black, blood-like liquid that coalesced into the shape of an arrow before launching forward.

Thud!

Enkrid pivoted on his left foot, spinning like a top as he swung his sword.

The black blood-arrow burst against his blade.

At the same moment, bang—Ele’s sword was blocked as well.

It seemed as if Enkrid had barely managed to react in time.

"Damn it."

Pel muttered under his breath.

He had been searching for an opportunity to intervene but found none.

Standing back and watching, he had a hunch—the figure at the rear was likely as formidable as the two in the front.

If this continued, wouldn’t Enkrid eventually fall?

Fel gripped his sword, watching closely for an opening, but none presented itself.

Luagarne, too, focused intently on the battle.

As for Zero, he didn’t even dare consider stepping in.

The Apostle spoke again.

"Become one with the equality of humanity before the Demon Realm. Stand as a pillar for a greater world. That is your destiny."

It seemed as if he wished to preach.

"I offer you a chance to restart your wretched fate!"

His voice resonated like a sermon, laced with a strange power.

Bang!

The clash of blades.

Boom!

The detonation of vampire blood.

Amidst it all, Enkrid spoke.

"What?"

Thwack! Tadang!

"Didn’t catch that. Say it again."

"...Ah."

Fel let out a faint exclamation.

Sometimes, mere words—not insults, but plain responses—could unravel an opponent’s composure.

And in that moment, he glimpsed a new world of understanding.

***

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