Chapter 463 - Reflection
Stories about Oara, as radiant as sunlight, filled the conversations.
The funeral was over.
Among the townspeople, there were no loud cries of grief.
They shed tears but mourned in a calm, composed manner.
"Oara!"
Now, only the shouts in her honor remained.
"For Knight Oara!"
The voices of those left behind echoed.
Knight Oara's will had been eternally etched into the city.
Just as every knight possesses a weapon engraved with their mark, Oara now had a city bearing her na.
The city of Oara—the new na of Thousand Stone.
"Take your ti to talk; I'll head back first."
As Enkrid and Krang delved into conversation, Luagarne excused herself.
After their talk and upon reaching the city gate, Enkrid clenched and unclenched his hand a few tis.
His forearm muscles were still sore, making it difficult to wield his sword freely.
While assessing his own condition, Enkrid abruptly asked:
"Are you leaving right away?"
A day's rest might have been reasonable, but Krang hadn't even unpacked.
His escort's faces had grown darker and more anxious as ti went on.
The implication was clear.
They weren't staying; they intended to leave imdiately.
Krang had co to mourn the fallen knight and comfort the townspeople, but his life was evidently too busy to linger.
"Check the carriage," Krang called back to his escort.
"There's nothing more annoying than a wheel breaking during the journey."
Turning to Enkrid, he added, "I dropped everything to co here. If I don't leave soon, soone might literally work themselves to death on my behalf."
It was half a joke, but half-serious as well.
"Understood," Enkrid replied.
Krang ca and left like the wind, showing no need for a grand farewell.
As he was about to leave, Krang turned his head and asked,
"Next ti, will you co as a knight?"
His eyes sparkled, their brilliance undimd even in the sunlight.
They asked a silent question:
Would they et again in their respective positions?
Would Enkrid reach that point?
Looking directly into Krang's gaze, Enkrid responded,
"Do you really think I can ascend without a red mantle?"
Krang laughed and replied, "Do I need an answer?"
"No," Enkrid said with a slight smile.
Krang burst out laughing and turned away. As one of his escorts approached Enkrid, he spoke.
"I'm Squire Lug. How's Ropord doing?"
"Probably well," Enkrid replied.
The na Ropord felt oddly distant after repeating the day.
A friend who had followed him to the Border Guard after the civil war ca to mind.
Enkrid recalled how Ropord had persistently challenged Ragna.
If he hadn't died to Ragna's sword, he should be alive and well.
"That guy, always wandering aimlessly, suddenly turned over a new leaf. He says it's all thanks to the Demon Slayer Lord."
The title sounded strange. "Lord" had been appended, and the nickna "Demon Slayer" seed to have solidified.
Though not part of the knights, Ropord's skills had earned him such recognition.
To Enkrid, however, it was a rather grim moniker.
"Could I receive so instruction from you in the future?"
Squire Lug asked again, his eyes gleaming with competitive spirit.
He clearly wanted to cross swords with soone renowned.
"Lug, if you want to leave your escort duties and beco Enkrid's squire, just say so.
You're free to go anyti," Krang teased.
"No, my lord! I have no such intentions," Lug replied, flustered.
"I'd bet a year's budget that's a lie," Krang laughed, then nodded to Lug as he walked away.
"Visit the Border Guard anyti," Enkrid called after him.
Lug briefly turned his head to give a thankful nod.
"Now, I'm really leaving. I'm so tired I might drop dead. That saying about bearing the weight of a crown? It's nonsense. It should be about enduring work, not a crown."
With that, Krang departed for good.
Enkrid, too, began to walk, savoring the sunlight and peaceful air.
He had seen Krang's exhaustion from rushing to this place, but even after a few days of rest, Enkrid's own body felt just as creaky.
The result of facing off against Jericks, no doubt.
As he walked back, soldiers bustled around repairing the aftermath of the battle.
They were energetic, moving materials to repair the broken gate.
Others worked at forges, casting molds and crafting arrows.
So disassembled the carcasses of spider-like monsters, using their tough exoskeletons to fashion sturdy shields.
The unpleasant stench forced many to work with cloths covering their noses.
Work carried on, regardless of the funeral.
Life here brimd with such vitality.
"Oara!"
The shouts continued as soldiers hauled logs on their shoulders.
The na of the city, Oara, carried forward the legacy of the knight.
On his way back, Enkrid felt drowsiness creeping in. His muscles ached, from his thighs to his back and shoulders.
It was a satisfying soreness, yet moving carelessly could spell trouble.
"Rest when you need to," Luagarne advised, waiting at the lodging.
Enkrid nodded in agreent.
Now was the ti to recover, to close his eyes and sleep.
Yet he had sothing to say first.
"Dunbakel, if you don't bathe right now, I'll make sure your bath is going to be a long one."
After being sent to scout and help with the cleanup, Dunbakel had slain a few monsters but had yet to clean herself. The stench from the spider corpses still lingered on her.
"Do I sll?" Dunbakel asked, feigning innocence.
"How can you not sll yourself?" Rem quipped from where he lay, recovering.
Dunbakel, however, stood her ground. "Not really your concern, is it?"
Sothing had changed in her; she seed far bolder now. During their last battle, she had even thrown herself in harm's way to protect Enkrid. Though he had stopped her, she might have died otherwise.
It was a stark reminder that anyone could die in war.
Grinding his teeth, Rem gave a sharp smile. "Think I can't kill you in my condition?"
Even outside the battlefield, having an angry barbarian ally could be dangerous.
"Fine, I'll go wash. Right now," Dunbakel muttered, quickly learning fear anew as she darted out.
Rem, holding a damaged axe handle, chuckled.
"Seems like she's struck with a disease where people only listen when you beat them senseless."
"You're the one who seems to be infected with the need to beat first and think later."
As Enkrid thought this to himself, Rem seed to catch on and spoke up.
"Are you badmouthing ?"
"I wanted to ask what's out west. Might as well hear it now."
Both of them were bodies in need of recovery.
Weren't their bodies creaking from the battles with monsters?
Rem, in particular, was close to being seriously injured.
Though he lay there feigning normalcy with his chatter, anyone else would have been groaning in pain.
"Low skies, curious clouds, or the other way around—high skies, and the River of No Return, made of sand.
Do you want to hear old tales or sothing?"
"If it's an interesting story, sure."
"I've got a few I heard as a kid."
Enkrid skillfully steered the conversation, and Rem went on to share a few old legends from the West.
They were myths and folktales, so involving ancient origins of the dusky skies and even fragnts of archaic language.
Enkrid briefly wondered if the West spoke a different language, but that wasn't the case.
"Ever since the Language War, the entire continent has used the sa tongue."
The Language War had been a conflict initiated by the Empire, back when it was still divided into three kingdoms.
Surprisingly, Rem was a compelling storyteller, and Enkrid listened attentively.
For instance, Rem explained that in the West, the term "pocket sneak" was a significant insult because they despised acts of stealthy thievery, viewing them as dishonorable compared to openly taking sothing through a contest.
"What does 'pocket sneak' an?"
"A thief."
"So boldly taking sothing through a fight is fine, but that's just robbery, isn't it?"
Luagarne interjected with a question, to which Rem shook his head.
"It's a bit different. Robbery's just brute force. This is more like a wager."
Enkrid listened quietly.
Before long, Dunbakel returned, freshly washed, and joined the conversation, bringing even more vibrancy to the stories.
The tales from the West were fascinating in many ways.
"Out there, they don't ride horses. Instead, they have sothing else. In the desert, it's as enduring as a cal. On flat terrain, it's not as fast as a horse, but it handles most terrains well. They call it a 'Velopter.'"
Enkrid had heard of such creatures but never seen one himself.
The ferryman watched the group sharing stories.
"You seem to be enjoying yourselves," he remarked, genuinely observing their lively camaraderie.
Life often threw up walls, so of which left lasting scars even when surmounted.
Those scars gnawed away at people over ti.
Monts like facing the unchangeable—the unsalvageable—marked the day for those called mad.
The ferryman thought this was another one of those days.
Yet, once again, he was wrong.
"When does a person truly die?"
The ferryman muttered.
When life ends?
Then, when does a knight die?
When the sword of conviction shatters.
When they fail to protect what they swore to uphold.
Knight Oara fulfilled her duties, kept her oaths, and died with a smile.
This mad soul moved past what could not be undone, ensuring that each choice made beca the best it could be.
This attitude stirred mories in the ferryman, ones he didn't wish to revisit.
He scattered the rising mories into the river, letting them drift away.
There was no need to dwell on what had long since been forgotten.
"Regret leads only to remorse when contemplating roads not taken."
He murmured the words like a verse.
The rhythm of his voice spread through the air.
The ferryman continued to watch the one afflicted by the curse.
Before long, the man, having brushed off the weight of yesterday, stood once again.
He was a figure that lived for tomorrow while casting aside the ruins of today.
From the stagnation of today, he shone, dazzlingly so.
The ferryman could not look away.
Darkness always yearns for the light, after all.
And so, he longed to bring that light into the shadows, to place it within reach.
It was only natural to desire such brilliance.
The waves rippled. The violet lamp swayed. On his humble boat, the ferryman gazed quietly at the cursed one.
This person defied everything the ferryman had seen before.
The sense of awe lingered.
With a sigh, he murmured, "Huh."
What a lunatic. Barely healed, and already moving like that?
The cursed man swung his sword, sweat pouring from him, but it didn't seem normal.
"A madman. A true madman."
The ferryman repeated the words.
Yet, seeing this, it beca clear:
This madman never ignored anything left behind by the dead.
He carried their burdens, drawing strength from what was given to him.
After two more days of rest, his body was nearly recovered.
The sharp pain shooting from his wrists with even the slightest finger movent had vanished.
"Regenerative body, was it?"
Enkrid silently thanked Audin. His body was almost completely healed.
He got up, gathered his equipnt, and stepped outside his quarters.
"You've held back for a long ti."
Luagarne was already outside. She basked in the sunlight, her pale cheeks glowing.
Today was one of those humid days Frogs seed to love.
"Yeah."
Enkrid replied, his thoughts wandering to everything that had been swirling in his mind.
There was much to reflect on, especially the legacy Knight Oara had left behind.
She'd left more than just laughter.
Fragnts of Oara and Beelrog.
Every movent in their battle was etched into his mory.
Dealing with the Beelrog would co later.
For now, each day's repetition was necessary to face tomorrow.
Understanding this all too well, Enkrid focused on the task at hand.
He studied every move Oara had shown him, everything she'd imparted in his dreams.
Even the Beelrog's fragnted movents, barely glimpsed, beca objects of analysis.
It was a knight-level battle beyond a squire's reach. He had seen less than he had missed.
Yet he absorbed every bit he could, with Luagarne assisting him.
One step at a ti.
Enkrid resolved to move forward patiently, thodically.
"Looks like I don't need to remind you not to rush," Luagarne remarked, satisfied.
This man was worth teaching, though his learning pace was slow.
Enkrid had long embodied a life philosophy that even the Frog had summarized succinctly:
"Everything begins with a single step."
He studied the incomprehensible, repeated what he could grasp, and slowly transford it into sothing uniquely his.
"Gain experience, then refine it through training until it becos yours," Luagarne said.
That was already his way.
He revisited every detail, every nuance. It was part of the legacy Oara had left behind.
The clash between Oara and the Beelrog was unforgettable.
At tis, they seed to float in mid-air, and their swords emitted real light, not just taphors.
Oara's movents were relentlessly simple, yet the Balrog's shards were anything but.
It twisted and contorted, making bizarre moves.
How did Oara's sword counter that?
Enkrid began to ponder every detail anew.
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