Chapter 596: Even Amidst Filth, Flowers Bloom
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 596: Even Amidst Filth, Flowers Bloom
Encrid let his arm fall, the tip of his blade dipping toward the earth. Before him lay the monster, split down the middle—a sprawling heap of gore.
Black blood pooled across the floor, the dark liquid stark against the brown, mangled lumps of flesh.
"Anyone else?"
The question was dry, devoid of emotion. At the sound of his voice, everyone in the room finally dared to look up.
"S-spare me. Please, spare my life!"
Clack.
A soldier cried out, his hands trembling as he released his weapon. His spear clattered onto the stone floor. Encrid hadn't even turned his blade toward him.
The sight of the administrator—the man who had governed them—transforming into such a hideous beast had left the soldiers and onlookers utterly paralyzed.
There might come a time to hold a soldier accountable for following orders, but that time was not now.
With that thought, Encrid turned his head. Luagarne was already crouched by the carcass, examining the remains.
"Those cultists really have been busy with their experiments," she remarked.
From the look of it, the cultists had moved far beyond mere secret meetings; they were dabbling in the grotesque. But for now, the worst of it had been purged by his steel. The monster behind this conspiracy was dead.
Encrid looked toward the self-proclaimed Castellan, who remained hunched over, head bowed.
Was it time to demand an explanation? To tell him to clean up this mess?
The man’s shoulders shook violently, his head still low. What does a leader feel in a moment like this? Was it overwhelming relief? Or the crushing weight of futility?
Futility likely came first. Things had spiraled out of control right under his nose, reaching a point where he was powerless to stop the rot. To make matters worse, the one who had finally cut the knot was a member of the Border Guard.
Pride aside, it wasn't a situation where he could simply be happy. Even if Encrid didn't understand the nuances of politics, he could read the flow of human emotion. Even if the man felt relief, he wouldn't be able to hide his sense of failure.
The Castellan finally raised his head to look at Encrid.
Shift.
Encrid instinctively shifted his center of gravity back. Luagarne noticed the movement and narrowed her eyes at the Castellan.
What is wrong with this bastard’s eyes?
The Castellan’s eyes weren't filled with despair. They were shining—bright and intense.
"Your skill is truly magnificent, Sir."
Respect dripped from his voice.
"Sir... surely you aren't planning to leave just like this?"
And right behind that respect was a desperate, clawing hunger.
"...Once the cultist issue is resolved, it is only right that I return. This is Azpen territory," Encrid replied.
In truth, he didn't need to leave immediately. There were likely remnants of the cultists still hiding in the shadows, and he intended to root them out. After all, the only reason Luagarne had followed him this far was to hunt those very fanatics.
"Those are dangerous eyes," Luagarne remarked, appraising the man. Encrid silently agreed.
His eyes really are strange.
He wondered if Krais looked like that when he discovered an ancient ruin teeming with monsters. This so-called Castellan was staring at Encrid like a starving herbalist who had just stumbled upon a legendary medicinal root.
"What are you saying, Sir! Since things have already come to this, please... help us!"
As he spoke, he dropped to his knees.
The Castellan’s name was Louis. Louis knew he wasn't a man of great talent. He wasn't a warrior or a genius. But his love for his city was the one thing that was genuine.
"All of you, kneel! Quickly!"
He barked the order at everyone around him. The guard who had been watching the basement was the first to hit the floor. Swept up in the sudden shift in atmosphere, the other soldiers followed suit. Even the members of the criminal guild found themselves forced to their knees.
"Please help us! Everyone, repeat after me!"
Events had moved too fast to judge the Castellan’s character before, but now that the dust had settled, his true nature was showing. He possessed a tenacity that would never let an opportunity slip by. His shining eyes were those of a merchant who had found a priceless treasure, or a vagrant clutching a loaf of bread after days of starvation.
Yet, it didn't feel malicious.
"Please help us!" the crowd echoed.
For Louis, there were far more pressing matters than debating whether his commanders had been complicit with the administrator. The highest priority was standing right in front of him.
A knight—and one who seemed favorable to the city—had arrived. He hadn't demanded a price, hadn't calculated his gains, and had slain the monster with ease.
Should he just say thank you and let him walk away? Should he wallow in self-pity because he was too incompetent to solve his own problems?
No. Absolutely not.
Louis’s desire was desperate and clear.
As a child, Louis believed he would become an unparalleled knight. That dream had lasted about a month before reality set in.
"There are not many things in this world that can be accomplished with a single sword," his father had told him. Louis hadn't minded. He tried magic, then trade, then administration. He knew he had no grand destiny. He didn't want much.
His greatest wish as a child was simply for the fighting to stop. He had grown up watching the Cross Guard clash with the Border Guard across the Pen-Hanil River.
Can't everyone just live decently and get along?
That was his philosophy. He wanted the people of his city to have full bellies, firewood for the winter, and a roof that didn't leak. That was all.
But then everything went wrong.
A mage was brought into the castle. A man who claimed to control monsters was given a seat at the table. A madman who was willing to let the city burn for the sake of Azpen arrived as a military commander. Misfortunes came in pairs; his father passed away shortly after.
With his mother long gone, his only remaining family were relatives who coveted his title or his life. The man who had eventually ousted him was said to be his father’s half-brother, though Louis doubted they shared a drop of blood. But that man was a master of the sword, and Louis was not.
From then until now, Louis had only one goal: to stop his people from living in misery. He loved the city where he was born. That was reason enough.
"May I ask what it is you want me to help with?" Encrid asked, matching the man's polite tone.
Seeing how Louis had been pushed around despite his title, Encrid saw no reason to doubt his identity. Besides, what was left in this city worth lying for?
"There are still remnants left. Since you have already shown your strength, if you could help us just a little more..."
Louis trailed off with a hopeful, shameless smile. It was bold, but Encrid saw the sincerity beneath the desperation. If he was being played, so be it.
Before nodding, Encrid asked one more thing.
"Why go to such lengths? If you wanted to flee, you could have done so easily."
If he had escaped to the Border Guard, he could have lived a comfortable life in exile. Why stay in this rotting city? Was it for the title? Or something more?
When the Castellan spoke, his voice was steady. There was no shame.
"I simply wish for the place where I was born and raised to be... whole again," Louis said.
"You could have taken your people and sought asylum," Encrid countered. "If you want them to be safe, why stay here? Is it for the glory?"
"The peace I desire isn't found by abandoning one's home. If we flee now, what happens the next time trouble comes? Do we run again? Who would want to live like that? Before I am a Castellan, I am a man who loves this city. I want these walls to actually protect the people inside them."
There was a purpose in his heart. Even if he didn't wield a sword with Will, his resolve gave him a different kind of strength. Louis had no talent, but his devotion was real. He was a man who would crawl through glass to grab a passing hand if it meant saving his city.
Encrid nodded.
From that moment on, the Castellan mobilized everything he had.
"You there! Spit out the location of your headquarters. Otherwise, this knight will cut you down where you stand!"
He started by relentlessly badgering the criminal guild members.
"What? Oh, spare me! I'll lead you there! I'll show you everything!"
Louis was like a fox riding on a tiger's back, boldly ordering the criminals to lead the way. Beside them, Luagarne muttered about what an "amusing fellow" the Castellan was.
Before the sun could set, they moved.
Encrid visited three guild headquarters in rapid succession. At one of them...
"Do you know who I am? I am the guild's Second Finger!"
Encrid wondered what a "Second Finger" was, only to realize it meant the man was the second-strongest fighter in the organization.
"Who's the first?" Encrid asked.
"That would be Lord Wind Blade."
"Ah. Is that so?"
The man swung a mace studded with iron spikes. His skill wasn't terrible, but he had a fatal habit: every time he swung with his right hand, his left shoulder flared wide open.
Encrid lunged into the gap.
Thuck!
"Argh!"
The blade pierced the shoulder cleanly. Blood sprayed the floor.
"Please! Spare me!"
The man’s bravado vanished with a single thrust.
"Have you ever spared someone who begged for their life?" Encrid asked.
There was no answer. The man’s eyes darted, his lips trembling as he searched for a lie. Before he could speak, Encrid’s sword moved.
They continued their patrol. After a brutal sweep of the underworld, they arrived at the mansion the administrator had obsessed over.
"You dare challenge a Night Noble? How foolish."
A vampire stood there, draped in vanity and arrogance.
"I knew you weren't my relative!" the Castellan shouted from the back.
This was the man who had claimed to be Louis’s kin to usurp the title. Inside the mansion, the vampire had been abducting children and young women to feed his hunger. But he didn't just drink blood; he was a sadist who delighted in the screams of the tortured. Over a dozen corpses were hidden in the cellar. His human vices had only rotted further after his transformation.
Encrid didn't waste words. He cut him down.
Vampires were rare and powerful, especially those capable of speech, yet this one was split in two with a single, fluid stroke.
"We must burn the remains," Frok said, stepping forward to handle the cleanup. The veteran soldier diligently tossed the severed pieces of the vampire into a brazier. The stench of burning, fishy flesh filled the halls.
Next, three werewolves lunged from the shadows.
Grrrr!
They were mindless beasts. Encrid remained calm. Using the principles of Aker's Spiderweb, he funneled their movements, cornering them before taking their heads in one motion.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The severed heads rolled across the floor.
"There are more... those that only appear in the dead of night," the shameless Castellan added politely.
And so, Encrid hunted through the night. More werewolves, more horrors. It was a miracle the city hadn't collapsed entirely.
Encrid spent a full twenty-four hours with his sword in hand. During the sweep, he passed the inn where he had first stayed. The young boy from before stood out front, watching him with wide, dazed eyes.
"No one will torment you anymore," Encrid said. "Go tell your father."
"He's my uncle," the boy blurted out, overwhelmed by the sudden change in the city. "He's not blood, he just... he picked me up and raised me."
"Is that so?" Encrid replied casually.
Orphans were common. Those who took them in were not—especially in a city with nothing to give.
Encrid walked every street, hunting hidden monsters, striking down assassins, and capturing cultists.
"Definitely cultists," Luagarne said, taking the lead whenever they found a hidden assembly.
If one man’s disaster is another’s blessing, then Encrid was a miracle to this city. He was a blessing delivered on a blood-stained blade that cleaved through the dark.
Day and night, Encrid observed the city and its people.
He saw a criminal who, despite his guild ties, quietly looked the other way to let a family escape. He saw adults sharing their last scraps of food with starving children. He heard of a retired mercenary who had died fighting to protect his neighbors. He saw a Castellan who truly just wanted a decent home for his people.
Even in the deepest filth, flowers bloom.
As he returned to the inn at dawn, Encrid looked at a tree growing nearby. Small, white flowers had blossomed on its branches.
Even in a ruined city, there were people worth protecting. To end the war—to go beyond merely defending what was behind him—this was what it meant.
It wasn't a new realization. It was the goal he had set the moment he first picked up a sword, inspired by the songs of bards. It was why he had never stopped swinging his blade, why he refused to blame his lack of talent, and why he could never stand still.
That night, the Ferryman appeared in the shadows once more.
"Are you satisfied? Having saved everyone?" the figure hissed. "You will regret all of it."
The Ferryman spat his curses, but Encrid only offered a mocking reply.
"O-mi-nous?"
The Ferryman flew into a rage.