The hierarchy of the cult was similar to that of a typical temple: pope, followed by cardinals, bishops, priests, and then the believers. Sometimes, there would be monks in between priests and believers.
When referring to high priests or senior clerics, it typically meant bishops or higher.
The golden-haired man was a bishop.
Externally, he held another important title, and this bishop was no ordinary one—he was a solid figure that had grown into a strong tree from the seeds sown by the cult.
"Are you telling me that a single Platoon leader caused this failure?"
"Yes."
The bishop furrowed his brow at the subordinate priest's words. His previously handsome face twisted into a grimace.
What nonsense.
Could a mere Platoon leader cause the collapse of a gnoll colony?
"Didn't a knight intervene and cause some trouble?"
"No, that's not it."
"Well, that doesn't make sense, does it?"
The bishop shook his head, dismissing the thought. Would the Kingdom of Naurelia even have the resources to send knights or soldiers here at the moment?
It was impossible.
There were a multitude of pressing issues, and some things were beyond saving.
The kingdom's territories were overrun by the "Black Sword" bandits.
To the west, there was a raiding city formed by settlers.
To the east, a nation ruled by a butcher-like king constantly provoked the kingdom.
If that were the end of it, things would be fortunate. In reality, problems seemed to be spilling over like a flood.
For example, the power struggle between the nobles and the royal family.
Truthfully, it was all the fault of the split between the royal factions and the noble factions. The power of the kingdom was divided, and as a result, other groups began to seek opportunities to grab what they could.
While it seemed that Azfen to the north had been dealt a blow, the bishop wasn't sure it was the right move.
Was that a bit too much?
The bishop thought so. Some of the kingdom's troops stationed in the south and west had been redirected to strike Azfen. It had been unavoidable.
If left unchecked, the entire Grainfield Plains would have been lost.
But even with this effort, the bishop thought they'd only managed to maintain the status quo—yet Naurelia had won a significant victory.
The battle against Azfen had stretched the kingdom thin, and as they were vulnerable, the raider city in the west quietly took advantage of the situation.
The southeastern kingdom, ruled by the "Butcher King," had also made a move.
What about the Black Sword bandits? Would they just sit idle?
And the southern region, where the kingdom failed to prevent the rise of monstrous beasts—things were bleak there too, with reports of increasing refugees.
But when Azfen retreats, will it be over?
What about the conflict between the remaining cities?
If Azfen retreats, what's left?
The Grainfield Plains. Moreover, the trade routes would open, which would lead to competition over resources.
There would be a fight for control, as everyone tried to grab more, eyeing each other's land.
The kingdom, already drained of strength, would hardly be able to mediate effectively.
It's a miracle the kingdom hasn't collapsed yet.
Such was the state of the kingdom, and it was for this reason that the bishop had come here.
There were many gaps to exploit, plenty of resources to be seized. And many decaying areas ripe for the taking.
How could the cult resist such an appetizing prize?
It wasn't for no reason that the Demon Sanctuary cult had established its foothold here. They had invested massive amounts of resources into this area, both financial and material.
This place was ripe to become the new Demon Sanctuary. It could become a holy land.
Yet one of their preparations had been destroyed, and they were left in a state of confusion.
All because of a single Platoon leader?
How much Krona had been invested in this project? It wasn't a small amount. What about the weapons they had supplied to the gnolls?
The investment from the cult had directly benefited the frontier village. In exchange, some of the financial rewards had been received by Enkrid—though technically, Krais had been the one to broker the deal.
The bishop had no knowledge of these details.
All he knew was that he was deeply displeased.
What should he do?
After a brief moment of thought, the bishop concluded:
Just a platoon leader, huh?
Had it all been luck?
In reality, no one had witnessed Enkrid's battle from this side.
There were a few surviving monsters, but they weren't going to relay any word of it.
It must have been luck. Thinking about it, it made sense.
The walls were solid, and it was probably a coincidence that the early believers got caught, and when they tried to clean it up, the priest's true identity was exposed.
Moreover, the preparations for a siege had been in place by accident.
...But isn't there too much coincidence?
There was likely some skill involved as well.
However, the conclusion was that it was luck.
So then,
Just because that guy was lucky, does that mean his luck will continue?
It was unlikely.
"I'll send a cultist skilled in assassination."
If there was a problem, it could be controlled, the bishop thought.
Of course, he never heard the news of Enkrid's assassination.
The bishop didn't even pay attention to the rumors.
He simply continued preparing for the next phase.
If he were a part of the kingdom, what would be the biggest problem?
It wouldn't be the Black Sword, the monstrous beasts, or the neighboring states, like wild packs of wolves.
The greatest problem would be the cult.
And of those the kingdom calls "the cult," the bishop was the central figure in this region.
So, the bishop continued his preparations. Enkrid's existence was soon forgotten.
Every now and then, someone capable of great feats would appear. Sometimes it was just a soldier, but it was always temporary.
Surviving between a thousand monsters? Let's call it pure luck. And then, what's next? What will he do when another similar crisis comes? He was destined to die anyway.
That's why the bishop dismissed it.
The border guard was still the same. Nothing had changed.
"Did you arrive?"
Well, something had changed.
It was the attitude.
The soldiers, when seeing Enkrid, had completely changed their behavior.
A soldier on the outer gates showed military respect.
He nodded.
With that, an unfamiliar face appeared.
"Are you here to welcome me?"
It was the fairy platoon leader. She responded to Enkrid's joke with a playful tone, taking it further.
"I have to come when my lord arrives. If my fiancé gets wounded and loses something important, I would have to give up one of the pleasures of my life, wouldn't I?"
Wasn't that a bit too high of a joke? Enkrid thought, as the fairy commander continued without a hint of laughter.
"If you lose an arm, you won't be able to hug me. But it seems like your arms are still intact, so everything's fine."
The fairy's eyes swept over Enkrid's body. Something seemed different, but what?
The fairy's senses were sharp.
"I should go report to the battalion commander."
"Go ahead."
Enkrid nodded, and the fairy nodded back before heading off. She seemed to be leaving for some business.
So, it wasn't a proper welcome after all. It was just a coincidence.
Enkrid gave a military salute as the fairy left and turned back. She definitely had something to attend to.
As expected, just a coincidence.
Could it really have been a welcome?
She wasn't someone with nothing to do; it seemed improbable.
Once inside the city, Ester had disappeared.
"Should I go as well?"
"No."
He sent Krais away and only brought Finn along.
Finn fell into deep thought without a word, then suddenly spoke. Her tone had a strange force to it.
"I've made up my mind."
"...About what?"
"I'm giving up on taking you down."
...Was he still targeting me?
"Instead, I'll target Audin."
Finn's eyes gleamed. Enkrid inwardly shook his head.
As for Finn, maybe, but Audin?
That man wasn't just religious; he wielded divinity. That meant he was a priest.
Of course, being a priest didn't mean he couldn't marry or take a woman to his bed.
That Audin?
That clumsy fool would never manage to have a woman.
Enkrid silently nodded in response.
"The charm of a platoon leader is outside my scope."
Finn spat out nonsense and then quickly went on his way.
"Weren't we supposed to go report together?"
Apparently not. Left alone, Enkrid headed towards Marcus's office.
He entered and offered a military salute. Marcus silently observed him before speaking.
"I've already received contact. However, there are conflicting opinions."
Conflicting opinions?
"I don't understand what you mean."
If he didn't understand, then he simply didn't understand. Trying to predict would only create unnecessary words.
He had heard that contact was being made from the pioneer village.
Marcus propped his chin on his hand.
"In the pioneer village, they're planning to name the walls after you, and there's talk of slaying a thousand of those beasts."
Was he really going to put his name on the walls?
He couldn't imagine such a thing officially happening, but the village chief, Doichi, and the so-called craftsman were serious about it.
It seemed definite, considering it was mentioned in an official report.
They were all mad, it seemed.
"And the other one is the commander of the Ventria Baron's army. He says you have killed about fifty of those beasts, and have cautioned you not to exaggerate your achievements. Now, let me ask our platoon leader, which one of these is the truth?"
Enkrid immediately responded.
"Believe what you want to believe."
Would they believe what he said just because he told them to?
Did he have that much weight in his own words?
His counterpart was the battalion commander, the leader representing the city. They probably already knew the answer.
More importantly, their eyes were already telling him everything. Despite the tired, worn face, their eyes were smiling.
"Is that so?"
"Yes, that's right."
Marcus watched Enkrid with quiet attention. Where had this guy come from?
"Still a knight?"
"Yes."
"I see."
What was he trying to imply?
"The cult appeared."
At any rate, the key point had to be reported. The pioneer village wasn't far from the border guard, and the appearance of the cult was a sensitive matter.
"Those bastards."
After expressing his viewpoint, Marcus removed his hand from his chin and took a sip of his cold tea.
The lukewarm tea slid down his throat.
'A thousand of them.'
He didn't think Enkrid could have taken down that many in one go. That seemed like something even a lower-ranking knight would struggle with.
It wasn't entirely accurate, but that was Marcus's judgment. At least, he couldn't dismiss Enkrid's might. He had already ignored the words of the Ventria Baron's army.
Marcus knew Enkrid.
Sure, it was hard to believe the story of him cutting down an entire colony, but he must have achieved something comparable.
Had Marcus seen it with his own eyes, he probably wouldn't have thought this way. But the truth was, it was a story that was hard for anyone to believe.
What Enkrid had done seemed almost unbelievable.
It wasn't because the Ventria Baron's commander was an idiot — though the man was indeed half an idiot — but it was hard to believe, plain and simple.
The villagers must have been intoxicated by the joy of surviving on the edge of life and death.
After pondering, Marcus spoke again.
"Do you love this city?"
"I don't hate it."
"Do you have a lover?"
"No."
"Perhaps?"
"Yes, I like women."
Conversations with perceptive people are simple and easy. Marcus nodded and said,
"Effective immediately, your independent platoon will be promoted to a company. You are now the company commander."
"...Is that true?"
He had just completed one external mission. If the credit for that was recognized properly, it wouldn't be a small matter. That much was true.
But hadn't Marcus mentioned conflicting reports?
Yet, now, he was being made a company commander?
"My platoon doesn't even have ten men."
"You're a company now."
How could that even make sense?
"Does that make sense?"
"I'm the one responsible for this city. If I say it makes sense, it does."
It felt like a stretch.
"Are you insulting your superior with your eyes?"
"No, sir."
It still felt forced.
"It's not forced."
The battalion commander had spoken. What could Enkrid do but nod?
He gave a salute and finished his report before turning to leave.
"I hope you come to love this city."
"I'll try."
A perfectly soldierly response. Saying that, Enkrid turned and headed back to his barracks.
"Back already?"
That tone, what could it be?
'I doubt even if I went back to my hometown, I'd feel like this.'
It was exactly as it seemed—a feeling of returning home. Rem, as usual, was watching, axe in hand. The subtle, unspoken expectation in his eyes urged Enkrid on.
Rem didn't seem to allow even a moment of rest.
Then again, when had Enkrid ever been allowed to rest immediately after arriving?
The journey had been peaceful, and he had already rested enough on the way.
Enkrid's gaze turned to Rem's face.
The scratches on Rem's face before he left had completely vanished. As the goal resurfaced in his mind, he spoke.
"Want to spar?"
Enkrid's mouth opened instinctively. His heart began to race. Rem's lips curled into a wide smile.
"Have you gotten better? I heard you cut down hundreds of beasts. I heard you were flying. Let me see. Let's see how much fun you've had."
Rem spoke as he gripped his axe tightly in both hands and took a step forward.
Enkrid felt an odd sensation.
Before, he hadn't understood the significance of that one step before a fight. No, he hadn't even realized it.
But now, he understood.
Right foot a half-step forward, and the first swing of the axe would be with the left.
The weight distribution, the preparation for the next move, all of it flowed naturally from Rem. He made no effort to hide his intentions.
Whether Rem knew that Enkrid was watching or not, he squinted slightly and locked eyes with him.
"This feels odd."
Enkrid felt that something wasn't quite right, that this wasn't the usual barracks.
Before Rem could respond, Ragna and the others began emerging one by one.
There wasn't a soldier in sight.
And then Enkrid noticed something.
A training ground had been set up.
Right in front of the barracks.
The area was cleared, and a low fence had been erected.
"The battalion commander made us our own training grounds," Krais said, who had arrived earlier. The perceptive Krais had read Enkrid's intentions.
Did they really need to go this far?
"They said the battalion commander is having doubts about the way the soldiers are being trained," Rem remarked, his usual fiery tone still intact. He pointed behind him with a thumb, speaking casually as though it didn't matter.
"No matter how barbaric they are, no killing our own men in the barracks, so I told them to do it here," Ragna added from behind.
"It seems it's because they're being noisy. They've been causing a ruckus. Not my fault," Jaxen chimed in, casually sweeping his hand across the group.
"Heh. I'm sure our brothers just wanted to join in because it seemed fun. Probably thanks to your efforts in getting them involved," Audin said, making it seem like they were all in on it.
The training ground wasn't just because of noise—it was clear the reason was far more than what they said. This was just a joke among the team, a playful remark after so much time together. From a ragtag group to a crazy squad, now they knew each other well enough to joke around.
"Did you beat them up?" Enkrid asked.
Rem frowned at the question. "Do I look like the kind of person who just goes around beating people for fun?"
"...You're leaving me speechless, Rem."
Enkrid's daily routine usually included sparring or fighting, so why would it be a surprise? Yet this time was different.
Rem looked half-defensive. He hadn't beaten anyone this time. He had only been clearing out distractions while focusing on the sparring.
"Do you really think I beat them?" Rem glared.
"Yeah."
"Shit, you got it right."
Rem let out a small laugh. That was the signal. After his laughter, his feet shifted. The direction of his weight soon became the direction of his attack.
Swordsmanship was a collection of techniques designed to kill. It was a path Enkrid had honed over time, developing a keen sense for such moves.
Thung!
The axe and sword collided with a resounding clang. The dull blade of the sword wasn't sharp, but it was stronger than any blade Enkrid had held before. It could be called a magic sword, though it had simply become a sturdy sword—practically a famed blade in its own right.
Enkrid had already grown accustomed to his new sword. Why? To fight with this very axe.
The sword and axe clashed, and a battle of reflexes followed.
The speed of Enkrid's strikes had noticeably improved, and his blade curved like a serpent, a product of his refined wrist snap technique in swordplay.
Cling.
The sword, having ricocheted off the axe, curved upward, forcing Rem to lean back.
He too positioned his axe and delivered a short, sharp cut. Enkrid leaned to the side to dodge.
Flick, flick.
They both left small scratches on each other's faces.
Rem squinted, letting out a sharp exhale. Though surprised, he quickly shifted his focus to the next thing—intensity, momentum.
Enkrid felt the spark of excitement in Rem's eyes. Rem licked the blood from his lips, his eyes glinting with excitement.
"Shit, I'm surprised."
The words were full of sincerity.
And everyone watching couldn't help but widen their eyes in astonishment.
Enkrid and Rem exchanged blows, and Enkrid easily held his ground.
The growth was undeniable. The transformation was so vast that it could be said even the heavens and earth would be surprised by it.
A guy who had no talent before? Coming back like this? It was impossible not to be stunned by how far he'd come. Everyone's eyes spoke volumes.

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