Chapter 975 - The Imperial Knight
Sometime ago, when he was still stationed with the Border Guard, three demonic minions had paid him a visit.
While the merchant dripping in gold had explicitly offered him eternal life, what exactly had the other bastard offered him again?
'The entire continent.'
Enkrid traced his memories.
Exactly three minions had visited the Border Guard that day.
The Mage bastard had enthusiastically proposed the path to becoming a demigod.
Every single one of them aggressively dangled their ultimate objectives as tantalizing bait, desperately trying to seduce him with grandiose rewards, yet none of them ever actually discussed the agonizing process of how to achieve them.
Does the end inherently justify the means, regardless of the path taken?
To frame it within his current situation: if the ultimate objective is the complete eradication of the Demonic Realms, is it perfectly acceptable if a few innocent people get slaughtered along the way?
Is it perfectly fine if an entire Kingdom gets burned to the ground in the process?
Absolutely not.
His primary objective was to protect those standing behind him, not to merely eradicate the Demonic Realms.
Enkrid never once lost sight of that fact.
Having meticulously organized his thoughts, he naturally understood exactly what the minions truly desired.
'What the minions desired back then was corruption.'
And exactly what the bastards he fought this time desired was also corruption.
Pushing those completely possessed by demons forward as a shield, they had demanded to know if they were truly worth protecting.
Through that, they actively sought to plant the seeds of doubt in his heart and leave behind a permanent stain of hesitation.
Of course, Enkrid simply brushed it off completely.
Thinking back on it now, he only realized just how incredibly cowardly and petty the entities known as demons truly were.
Krais had likely already deduced exactly that as well.
'Those bastards will never personally step outside the Demonic Realms.'
If the remaining five Lords actively banded together and launched a full-scale assault, the resulting disparity in raw power might be so catastrophic they couldn't even properly initiate a fight, yet those bastards chose to hide safely within the Demonic Realms, pulling petty strings from the shadows instead of stepping forward themselves.
This glaring fact signified exactly one thing.
What was the true, pathetic nature of the entities calling themselves the Lords of the Demonic Realms?
'They are absolute cowards, desperately flailing about to ensure they never lose a single thing they already hold in their grasp.'
If that was the case, then was the Emperor the Imperial Envoy spoke of an entirely different kind of man?
They were receiving an Envoy from a foreign nation, and not just any nation, but the absolute hegemon of the continent, the Empire.
While formal protocol strictly dictated they should be received within the grand throne room, this was an unofficial, preliminary meeting arranged beforehand.
It took place in the largest, most lavishly appointed reception room within the royal palace.
Dozens of ornate chairs surrounded a massive, elongated oval table.
Yet, less than ten people were currently seated.
Attendants silently brought out piping hot tea and refreshments, steam softly rising above the mahogany table.
Crackle, crackle.
The sound of firewood burning merrily in the massive fireplace echoed through the room.
While it certainly added warmth, the lingering, biting chill of the castle still permeated the air.
The gentle warmth radiating from the hearth brushed past the sides and underarms of everyone seated, but the atmosphere remained as suffocatingly frigid as if a violent winter gale had swept through the room.
"I welcome you."
Krang welcomed them with an expression that explicitly stated he wasn't happy about it in the slightest.
"Two Mages blocked our path on the way here."
Regardless of what the King said, Valpir Balmung exclusively stated exactly what he wanted to say.
"I'm telling you, it's absolute destiny."
The curly-haired blonde Mage with the slightly drooping, deeply irritating eyes relentlessly flirted with Esther from across the table.
Esther simply acted exactly as if she couldn't hear a single word he was saying, while Rem, maintaining his usual stoic expression, leaned in close to Enkrid and whispered.
"I genuinely suspect that bastard's moniker must be something absolutely ridiculous like the 'Mage of Destiny'."
Rem perfectly modulated his voice so that only Enkrid could hear him, and Enkrid subtly nodded his head in agreement so the opponent wouldn't notice.
I completely agree.
"Ah, we were attacked as well."
In the meantime, Krang had responded to Balmung's statement.
He was essentially telling them they weren't the only ones who had been ambushed.
Hearing that, Balmung's brow violently furrowed.
He clearly didn't like what he just heard.
From the side, Enkrid stared blankly at Balmung with utterly apathetic eyes.
The tedious, superficial process of exchanging empty pleasantries and feigning mutual respect was completely discarded.
Before diving into the actual main topic, they fiercely evaluated and measured each other.
Because the suffocating tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife, the Duke of the Fertile Lands felt exactly as if he were sitting on a bed of nails.
Conversely, because Duke Marcus knew perfectly well that the King he served was just as gloriously insane as the Captain of the Madmen Knights, he remained completely unfazed.
At least, outwardly, he did.
The Commander of the Royal Guard actively responded to the terrifying pressure radiating from the foreign Knight.
While he didn't aggressively thrust the tip of his spear forward, the thick veins on the back of his hands violently bulged.
It was a clear, unmistakable declaration of his absolute Will to fight if things went south.
The grueling sparring sessions he had endured with Enkrid over the past few days had undeniably reforged the Commander of the Royal Guard into something far more resilient.
If someone were to ask why there was absolutely no formal decorum or superficial courtesy, this was the exact reason they had met in a reception room rather than the grand throne room.
It was to brutally lay absolutely all their true intentions out on the table right here and now.
If things didn't completely devolve into an absolute bloodbath here, they could exchange pleasant, politically sound words in the throne room later.
But if it completely went to shit here?
Well, then it was just another war.
The only actual difference was that the massive Southern Kingdom had aggressively pushed their military forces forward from the very beginning, while the Empire had formally dispatched an Envoy before starting their fight.
'What exactly does their Emperor desire?'
Enkrid meticulously analyzed the rapidly unfolding situation and thought to himself.
Krais remained completely silent, entirely preoccupied with observing the Imperial Envoy.
Krang flashed a bright, charming smile.
"I was under the impression you didn't march all the way here just to pick a fight, or was I completely mistaken?"
He asked with that perfectly charming smile.
It was exactly like drawing a razor-sharp dagger entirely composed of words and driving it straight into their ribs.
If you want to fight, then fight; if not, then drop it.
Why the hell are you even here?
It was essentially no different from asking those exact questions.
The Empire had successfully unified the entire continent's currency and language.
That singular fact alone served as absolute, undeniable proof of the catastrophic scale of the power they possessed.
The undisputed Hegemon of the Continent; that was precisely why they were the Empire.
Consequently, the general attitude displayed when receiving an Envoy from the Northern Empire was remarkably uniform across the board.
Absolute reverence, or absolute terror.
Stemming directly from those exact attitudes, everyone universally offered their absolute utmost hospitality in a desperate attempt to maintain friendly relations.
Because Valpir Balmung was a man who excellently leveraged the terrifying infamy of the Empire, he felt a profound sense of genuine intrigue toward the King sitting right in front of him.
'Is he completely devoid of fear?'
Or is he just incredibly short-sighted?
'If it's neither of those, then he must have a damn good reason to be this confident.'
He was fundamentally different as a human being, regardless of his title as the absolute ruler of Naurillia.
At least, that was how Balmung viewed him.
"Why don't we step outside and take a leisurely stroll through the gardens instead?"
Completely oblivious to the suffocating tension rapidly escalating around him, the Mage relentlessly continued to hit on the witch across the table.
Hearing Krang's incredibly sharp question, Balmung stared directly into his eyes for a long, silent moment before finally speaking.
"Nepir Tesher, the sole reason you are sitting in this room is entirely due to the absolute decree of His Imperial Majesty."
At those words, the curly-haired blonde Mage instantly clamped his mouth shut.
"I know that," he replied sullenly, crossing his arms tightly and leaning back heavily against his chair.
Only then did Balmung open his mouth to address Krang again.
"How about we have a quick sparring match?"
It was a completely abrupt, incredibly jarring proposal, yet absolutely no one in the room was surprised.
Exactly who among these individuals would genuinely be shocked by something like this?
Every single person gathered here possessed the sheer audacity to swallow the world.
Furthermore, no one even needed to ask who exactly he was directing that proposal toward.
Naturally, every single pair of eyes in the room instantly locked onto Enkrid.
"I'm perfectly fine taking this one," Rem interjected smoothly.
If he backed down from something this fun, his moniker as the 'Warrior of the West' would weep in absolute shame.
"He's a guest who specifically came all this way just to see me. Don't cut in line."
Enkrid immediately reprimanded Rem.
"Bastard, aren't you being a bit too greedy trying to hog all the fun for yourself?"
The casual, entirely dismissive banter between the two explicitly sounded like a blatant provocation to Balmung's ears.
In fact, it was highly likely that was their exact intention.
'Regardless of who their King is...'
He personally found this side far more aligned with his own tastes.
The Madmen Knights; weren't they a truly mouthwatering, absolutely delectable prey?
The moniker Balmung had earned was the 'Knight of the Beast'.
He slowly bared his sharp, terrifying fangs.
An unwanted child born to a mother severely corrupted by vampire blood—a cursed child destined to be killed the moment he was born.
That was the grim past of Valpir Balmung.
His time serving as a Centurion in the Eil Mercenary Company was merely a fleeting chapter in his life.
He had completely defied his predetermined fate and officially ascended to the rank of an Imperial Knight.
While he certainly hadn't achieved it entirely without the helping hands of others along the way, reaching this absolute pinnacle was overwhelmingly due to his own terrifying talent, sheer luck, and grueling, blood-soaked effort.
'I will absolutely prove exactly what I have painstakingly built.'
For those who chose to navigate this brutal world relying entirely on their martial prowess—individuals like swordsmen and mercenaries—their most desperate, absolute desire is the definitive proof of that very prowess.
The burning urge to viciously flaunt what they possess is one of the most fundamental, primal desires of human nature.
Furthermore, if everything he had accomplished was explicitly for the sake of the person he loved most in this world, how could this not be a profoundly joyous occasion?
Besides, this was fundamentally no different from the countless bloody tasks he had executed in the past.
After all, this was exactly the kind of wet work he primarily handled.
"For the absolute glory of His Imperial Majesty, I am going to have to violently break your arrogant nose."
Balmung declared, violently shoving his chair back with a loud screech and standing up.
The residual chill that the roaring fireplace hadn't quite managed to dispel completely vanished in an instant, fleeing the room as if violently shoved away.
"Then, for the absolute glory of my King and my close friend, I suppose I'll just have to brutally rip out one of those pretty little fangs of yours."
When it came to aggressive provocation, Enkrid absolutely refused to be outdone by anyone.
Enkrid grabbed his chair with his left hand, shoved it backward, and stood up.
"Mol."
At Balmung's command, a man who appeared to be his squire promptly handed him his weapon belt.
He strapped the heavy belt around his waist and firmly gripped his weapon once more.
Displaying this level of blatant aggression during a formal meeting with a King was an absolute, catastrophic breach of basic etiquette.
No matter how much they had agreed to lay their true intentions bare.
He hadn't even bothered to disarm himself properly, handing the task off to a subordinate, and now he was aggressively re-arming himself without a single shred of permission?
It wouldn't have been out of line if the Royal Guards had instantly surrounded him and shoved their spearheads directly against his throat right then and there.
Yet, Balmung completely ignored the suffocating tension, not giving a single damn.
'Is this the sheer arrogance born of belonging to the Empire?'
The Duke of the Fertile Lands thought to himself, deeply offended by the blatant disrespect, but Marcus saw it entirely differently.
'He's a natural-born brawler.'
Naturally, there was a deeply calculated political motive behind this, but right now, in this exact moment, he simply desired to violently unleash his martial prowess and definitively prove his absolute strength.
Because Marcus had spent more than enough time swimming in the treacherous waters of politics, he saw exactly what needed to be seen.
'When the Emperor specifically selected this man as an Envoy, he undeniably took exactly this kind of behavior into consideration.'
If the man's inherent nature was exactly like this, the Emperor obviously wouldn't have ordered him to go there, bow politely, and meekly beg for a peace treaty, would he?
Furthermore, realistically speaking, if a Knight of this catastrophic caliber truly decided to run rampant, it would be virtually impossible to stop him unless you had another Knight of equal standing, so displaying that level of absolute confidence was completely natural.
A Knight is a walking, one-man army; a literal natural disaster possessing a Will of its own.
Why exactly did every single Kingdom on the continent desperately flail about to cultivate even a single Knight?
Hell, even Count Molsan, who had instigated the apocalyptic civil war, had desperately attempted to mass-produce artificial Chimera Knights through horrific magical experimentation.
"My name is Valpir Balmung. Because His Imperial Majesty personally decreed that the title of 'Beast' suited me, I am the Knight of the Beast."
Within the Empire, every single Knight's moniker is personally bestowed by the Emperor himself.
Krang, Marcus, the Duke of the Fertile Lands, and Enkrid were completely unaware of this specific cultural nuance.
They simply accepted it because the opponent explicitly stated it as fact.
"I am Enkrid."
Enkrid stated his name simply and concisely.
He had no idea how things worked in the Empire, but within the Kingdom, monikers were entirely bestowed upon you by others.
Therefore, there was absolutely no reason to boastfully announce it himself.
If it were a title that genuinely welled up from the absolute depths of his own heart, he might have spoken it himself, but that wasn't the case right now.
It was merely one of the subtle cultural differences between the Empire and the Kingdom.
Instead, Krang proudly declared Enkrid's moniker on his behalf.
"He is the Demonic Knight."
Hearing that, Rem chuckled darkly.
Enkrid slowly rose from his seat and grabbed his sword belt.
The exact moment Today settled against his hip, a subtle, highly resonant vibration transferred from the entire belt, cascading through his entire body.
It was an incredibly fascinating phenomenon; Enkrid perfectly read the distinct emotions his blade was actively conveying to him.
In reality, the sword itself didn't actually possess emotions.
To analyze it far more meticulously, the Engraved Weapon Today was simply resonating in perfect harmony with his own Will.
Meaning, it was flawlessly responding to the fierce anticipation boiling within him.
***
'Exactly how well does he fight?'
The sheer infamy and prestige of Imperial Knights were universally renowned across the entire continent.
This was an absolute, perfect opportunity to violently test himself—the man who had single-handedly crushed the massive Southern Kingdom, brutally slaughtered a Lord of the Demonic Realms, and ultimately earned the terrifying title of the 'Beelrog Slayer'—against one of them.
It would be an absolute lie to say he wasn't brimming with intense curiosity and fierce anticipation.
"Please grant us your permission, Your Majesty."
Balmung requested, locking his eyes directly on Enkrid, and Krang replied with a bright, easy smile.
"Do exactly as you please."
He's absolutely confident in his victory.
Balmung bared his fangs even wider.
Smiling viciously, he accurately deduced the King's true inner thoughts.
It was a deduction that was exactly half right and half wrong.
Naturally, he fervently hoped Enkrid would win, but to be completely honest, Krang honestly didn't care in the slightest even if he lost.
Krang rapidly worked his brain, internally sighing in profound relief.
What exactly did orchestrating a blatant show of force like this actually signify?
'It signifies that they have absolutely no intention of recklessly plunging straight into a full-scale war.'
That was the absolute, definitive conclusion Krang reached.
Krais had arrived at the exact same conclusion.
Throughout the entire exchange, Krais had meticulously scrutinized every single member of the Envoy trailing behind Balmung.
'One Knight, and one Mage.'
And their raw power was so catastrophically high that they had effortlessly repelled a coordinated ambush orchestrated by a Master of Astrael and demonic minions.
Adding the young man who appeared to be the Knight's squire, those were the only three actual combatants.
Excluding those three, there were exactly three other individuals who were neither merchants nor squires.
One was a man, and the other two were women.
The man looked to be well over fifty, possessed very little hair, and wore a deeply crimson clerical robe adorned with countless small buttons.
'A Priest.'
He was highly likely a Holy Priest.
He had probably been brought along specifically to act as a healer for the long, grueling journey.
Then, did the Knight and the Mage specifically request his presence?
Absolutely not.
Those two absolutely did not need a Priest.
To be precise, they had absolutely no reason to deliberately drag one along.
Therefore...
'The sole reason that Priest is here is entirely because of the other two.'
A woman wearing high-quality garments and a triangular hat, currently standing formally behind Balmung with her hands neatly folded, and another woman with a relatively bright complexion and brown hair tied tightly back.
The latter woman was currently seated directly between the Mage and the Priest.
If the woman standing in the back was merely an attendant serving them, then who exactly was the woman sitting at the table?
'Furthermore, the specific position she's seated in is the absolute optimal location for them to protect her.'
While Krais was completely lost in his meticulous tactical deductions, the two absolute walking disasters—whose brains were effectively composed entirely of muscle and who casually wielded the unprecedented, catastrophic power known as Will—stepped outside.
Escorted by the Royal Guard, the King and absolutely everyone present relocated to the Royal Palace training grounds.
Every single person they encountered in the hallways immediately flattened themselves against the walls, anxiously waiting for the procession to pass.
And so, the two of them finally faced off in the absolute center of the sprawling training grounds.
"Have your skills improved significantly?"
Balmung asked casually, exactly as if tossing a pebble.
Instead of answering, Enkrid meticulously scrutinized Balmung's stance once more.
What was truly fascinating was that he could now perfectly perceive things he couldn't see before.
'A continuously shifting river.'
This bastard also knew exactly how to subtly alter his Will.
Right now, Balmung was continuously, microscopically shifting the positioning of his hands, the exact angle of his toes, and the specific muscle groups he was actively engaging, effectively creating a completely deceptive, unpredictable flow.
The casual conversation he initiated was merely another layer of that calculated deception.
'He is in a state where he can instantly execute absolutely any technique at a moment's notice.'
In response to exactly what Balmung's physical body was silently declaring, Enkrid violently brought his sword down.
It was a blindingly fast, supersonic vertical cleave utterly devoid of any preparatory motion.
***
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