Chapter 600 - The Walking Fire
What exactly is the Walking Fire?
It is a forbidden spell—one of those that should never be used.
Why then is the Walking Fire forbidden?
Spells often draw their power from two sources:
Borrowed spells, which rely on the strength of otherworldly beings.
Created spells, which are forged entirely within the caster's magical domain.
The Walking Fire falls under the category of created spells.
Its origin is tied to a catastrophic event caused by a primordial entity known as the Salamander.
"Everything that burns is beautiful."
These words were spoken by a genius obsessed with fire during that ti of turmoil.
He beca engrossed in shaping forms made of fla, and the Walking Fire was one of his creations.
However, it was also his most corrupt and catastrophic failure.
To manifest the spell, two critical sacrifices were required:
A hundred lives capable of suffering in fire, regardless of species.
The caster's own lifespan.
In theory, any caster who invoked the Walking Fire would die upon its completion.
The spell's design drew not only on the domain of created spells but also on the power of borrowed ones, invoking the na of a demon skilled in handling hellfire.
Though so might wonder if a highly trained mage could be brainwashed into safely casting it, such an idea was laughable.
The spell was so complex that only an extraordinary magician could even attempt it.
From precise control of magic to its incantation, any error would result in either the caster being burned alive or exploding outright.
This was why no sane magician would ever attempt it.
Still, the Walking Fire remained devastatingly effective once successfully conjured, as it would not extinguish until its purpose was fulfilled.
It drew on the mana flowing through nature itself as its fuel.
Esther, a witch devoted to the pursuit and study of magic, quickly pieced together the details of the spell after Enkrid's question.
The Walking Fire was a spell stripped of control, leaving only destruction in its wake.
If one were targeted by it, evasion was nearly impossible.
What if it were ?
Esther considered several solutions almost instantly.
But these were ideas only she, a witch and a seeker of the stars, could conceive.
For soone like Enkrid, a re swordsman, there were no practical options.
"Why?" she asked.
The mirror she had given him reflected only his face, and their conversation was brief, limited by the low magical charge of the enchanted object.
"Because I need to know. Tell everything," Enkrid said, his urgency evident even through the fragnted exchange.
Sensing his desperation, Esther refrained from questioning him further and instead conveyed her knowledge as concisely as possible.
"What if soone stood their ground and waited for its mana to deplete?" Enkrid interrupted, cutting straight to the point.
It was clear he was in a rush—so much so that he didn't care to explain himself. Esther understood his haste but warned him nonetheless.
"It's possible, but I wouldn't recomnd it," she said.
Her concern was clear: such a tactic would likely result in death by immolation—or, at best, leave the person alive but horribly scarred.
However, her cautionary words fell on deaf ears.
"That might work," Enkrid muttered before vanishing from the mirror's surface, leaving it to return to its dull, lifeless state.
Esther stood and prepared to act.
The situation had beco clear in her mind.
If the Walking Fire had already appeared, it was too late for her to intervene directly.
Yet, through Enkrid, she had learned an invaluable lesson:
If you stop because it's too late, nothing will ever happen.
With that, she stepped forward, wasting no ti.
The mirror Esther had given him was a specialized artifact that responded when held and focused on her presence.
Now that Enkrid had set it aside, the mirror returned to its mundane form.
He had no ti for pleasantries.
Discarding the enchanted scale armor that would only hinder him, he stripped off his indigo cloak and all unnecessary gear, leaving only a thin, short-sleeved shirt.
With swift, practiced movents born of more than twenty years of service, he secured his sword belt and weaponry once more.
"What are you doing?" Luagarne asked.
"It's too hot," Enkrid replied.
A peculiar statent, given the chill of early winter.
"Fire!"
"Help!"
"The fire is walking!"
"Deiiirrr!"
Unintelligible screams and fragnted cries for help filled the air, mingled with the chaos of flas consuming all in their path.
"Huh? What's that?"
Lua's cheeks puffed in astonishnt.
"That's it."
Without further delay, Enkrid bolted.
Even before he crossed the square, he saw it—the Walking Fire.
It remained the sa, its elongated, finger-like tendrils incinerating people and structures alike.
Puh-uhng!
A deafening explosion erupted from sowhere where oil had been stored, sending a plu of black smoke skyward.
The acrid sll filled the air, and visibility was instantly obscured.
Panic spread as people stumbled blindly in the chaos.
"Damn it, what's happening?"
"It's hot, too hot!"
"Ahhh!"
Amidst the cacophony of screams, the knight's finely tuned instincts pinpointed the presence of an enemy.
Enkrid didn't need to see it to confirm.
He dropped into a half-crouch, ready to act with what was available.
Puhng!
He launched forward, slicing horizontally.
The blade, tempered in dark iron, grazed the surface of the spell, Walking Fire.
His prior experiences had not been wasted, serving as hard-earned wisdom.
'Sever the core, and it will detonate.
Cut deeply, and the result is the sa.
Even removing part of its body beyond a certain size will cause an explosion.'
Such an explosion would unleash a backdraft, swallowing everything around it, followed by secondary detonations that scattered embers far and wide.
Anything within reach would ignite.
Each ember was as destructive as the fire spells cast by skilled mages.
The answer wasn't to cut—it was to endure.
Until its energy was completely drained.
As Enkrid shifted his strategy to one of endurance, he realized this was a battle of patience.
What, then, was his imdiate course of action?
'Shave it down.'
Not enough to trigger an explosion, but just enough to carve away its flas, piece by piece.
A risky maneuver to accelerate the depletion of its energy while drawing its attention, giving others ti to escape.
And so, he did.
Was it acrobatics?
Absolutely.
Was it perilous?
Without question.
But it wasn't impossible.
His honed senses, a result of Jaxen's training, and the Isolation Technique he'd mastered through Audin, had shaped his body into a weapon.
Adding pinpoint focus, his blade work beca art.
Amid the swirling black smoke, two blue flas glimred as though guided by an artist's hand.
Each stroke carved through the body of the Walking Fire, scattering fragnts of fire into the air, where they fizzled out.
What had begun as a defensive effort to endure was slowly turning into an opportunity for victory.
Gripping his sword tighter, he centered his focus.
The Heart of the Beast granted him not just boldness but also the clarity to suppress natural reflexes—such as flinching or closing his eyes when danger approached.
This ability to act instinctively in the face of fear gave him a decisive edge.
It was the sa principle behind Rem's impromptu, split-second axe strikes.
Enkrid employed it now.
Despite his precision, the Walking Fire ignored him, its movents unchanged.
"Walking Fire!"
A panicked cry rang out from behind—Luagarne's voice.
As Enkrid continued to carve away at the flas, another familiar voice soon followed.
"You idiots! Get to the manor!"
It was Lord Louis, shouting as he dashed into the chaos.
The mass of people began to move again, their presence a faint disturbance in the net of Enkrid's senses.
The Walking Fire turned its attention toward them.
If he didn't intervene, dozens would be burned alive.
"Baby, my baby!"
Among the fleeing crowd, soone fell, hunching over to shield a child.
Without needing to see, Enkrid could picture it clearly—a child had tripped, and their parent was now protecting them with their own body.
To save everyone, he needed to stay focused on his current task. But that ant abandoning the mother and child to certain death.
Was it right to sacrifice a few to save the many?
There was no ti to hesitate.
The dark iron blade slashed upward with the swiftness of a swallow in flight.
It severed the Walking Fire's arm.
Fwoosh!
The flas surged, followed by a resounding explosion.
Enkrid wrestled the creature—fire incarnate with limbs and a head-like form—off to one side.
His clothes ignited, his skin burned, and unimaginable pain surged through his body.
Despite his imnse endurance, his entire fra trembled uncontrollably, saliva dripping from his mouth—only to evaporate before it reached the ground.
"You idiot! Enki!"
Luagarne's panicked voice called out as he rushed toward him.
Even through the agony, Enkrid found so solace.
The Winter Flower might have burned, but Delma hadn't, nor had Luagarne.
Fwoosh.
Another day's end approached, marked by the flash of darkness.
When the scene shifted, the ferryman appeared once again, his deanor strangely consistent this ti.
"Ambitious, aren't you?"
The ferryman's voice carried a mocking edge.
"What do you an?" Enkrid asked.
"You refused to run alone, so I even made it so you could bring the people you wanted to protect. And what did you say? 'I'll protect tomorrow'? Such arrogance."
"Hmm, fair enough."
Enkrid gave a half-hearted reply, lost in thought.
Ti always felt too short when he woke.
No matter how much he accelerated his thoughts, it wasn't enough.
Even so, there was value in this montary pause—a chance to reflect on the accumulated experiences and the precious seconds he'd gained from repeated failures.
"You won't surpass it that way," the ferryman said sharply.
Before Enkrid could respond, the day restarted once more.
He opened his eyes to the familiar scene of waking from a midday nap.
'That way?'
Although sothing about the ferryman's words stuck with him, Enkrid had his own experint to attempt today.
As soon as he opened his eyes, he bolted forward.
The Walking Fla had entered the city, burning everything in its path.
Enkrid always awoke feeling a sense of foreboding, and soon after, the blaze would erupt.
Here's the question: what if he encountered it before it entered the city?
Enkrid hypothesized.
What he had seen was the Walking Fire already within the city.
And this ti, enduring the fight had been near impossible.
'I should've taken off the armor.'
It was a mistake caused by trying to rush ti.
Taking off armor while running was no easy task.
Although he gained so ti by dashing across rooftops, the outco remained the sa.
His hypothesis was wrong.
The Walking Fire had already breached the city.
However, he did witness the mont it all began.
It ignited a carriage in front of the city gate, burned so horse feed and two horses in the stable beside the gate, but hadn't yet killed anyone.
People stared at the Walking Fire in confusion.
So scread at the sight of dying horses.
An elderly stable hand, presumably the stable keeper, even struck the Walking Fla with a pitchfork.
Fwoosh!
Crackle—
The elderly man was consud by the fla without so much as a scream.
Watching this, Enkrid had a thought:
'I need to learn more.'
Afterward, he felt the searing heat of his armor burning into his skin, fought, and then died.
"You're a fool."
Ignoring the ferryman's scolding, he faced today once more.
Taking off scaled armor while running—was it as much of a feat as catching a flying arrow midair?
Easier, perhaps, but still sothing requiring skill.
Taking it off wasn't practical.
He needed a different approach.
'Don't take it off.'
Enkrid used the shortsword he got from Aitri to cut the straps of his armor.
"They said that was expensive, didn't they?"
Luagarne made a remark as she watched, but now wasn't the ti to care about that.
As soon as he woke, he ran, cutting through his armor straps as he charged forward.
And died again.
"You're dense."
After another scolding from the ferryman, he greeted yet another today.
'Let's cut down on ti spent grabbing the sword belt too.'
He abandoned putting on a shirt after cutting the straps of his armor. He grabbed just the black iron sword and bolted.
Even after repeating today several tis, he didn't gain much.
'Information.'
On the next today, he pulled out a mirror while running.
By now, Enkrid had beco a master at undressing while sprinting—a skill he never imagined mastering through endless repetition of today.
"You know the Walking Fire, don't you?
That dictum spell—it burns until its magic is spent.
Tell everything you know."
Esther, on the other side of the mirror, hesitated for a mont before sharing what she knew.
Enkrid absorbed her words while running.
Day after day, he repeated this process, gathering information piece by piece.
And then, he discovered sothing else.
'No wonder it seed to grow stronger during fights.'
The creature absorbed nearby magic to increase its size, killing living beings to do so.
The spell, which had been invoked by a sacrifice, continued to devour sacrifices to sustain itself.
In other words, it was weakest before killing anyone.
With every death, its power grew.
Although Enkrid learned this, he still failed.
"I thought you were arrogant, but it turns out your brain's just for show."
The ferryman, who should have enjoyed watching Enkrid trapped in today, seed oddly irritated.
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