Chapter 596 - 596 - Flowers Bloom Even Among Filth
Chapter 596 - Flowers Bloom Even Among Filth
As Enkrid let his arm fall, the tip of his sword pointed to the ground. Before him lay a monster, split clean in half, now reduced to a heap of lifeless flesh.
The black blood pooled thickly across the floor, staining it in dark patches, with chunks of brownish flesh scattered atop.
"Anyone else want to try?"
The question was delivered with calm indifference.
At the sound of his voice, heads turned toward him.
"Please... spare me."
A soldier dropped his weapon—a spear clanged as it hit the ground.
Enkrid hadn't even directed his sword at the man.
The sight of the transformed administrator was far too jarring.
Not just for the soldiers; everyone present seemed dazed and hollow, struggling to process what had just occurred.
Although there might be a time to hold the soldiers accountable for following orders, now wasn't the moment.
Recognizing this, Enkrid shifted his gaze toward Luagarne, who was inspecting the dead monster.
"These cult bastards sure don't hold back with their experiments."
Her observation hinted that the cultists had done more than merely convene secret gatherings—they had delved into depraved extremes.
Enkrid's swordplay had managed to contain much of the chaos, at least for now.
The monster at the heart of it all had been slain.
Turning his attention to the self-proclaimed lord bowing his head low, Enkrid pondered his next move.
Was it time to question the man, to demand answers and set things in order?
The man's shoulders trembled violently.
In moments like this, what might someone in a position of responsibility feel?
Were those trembling shoulders quaking with relief or suffused with emptiness?
Emptiness seemed plausible.
This catastrophe had spiraled out of his control, and the resolution came at the hands of outsiders, specifically those from Border Guard.
Stripped of pride, gratitude might not be the only thing weighing on the man.
Though Enkrid wasn't well-versed in politics, he had a grasp of human behavior.
Relief, however fleeting, often concealed a deep sense of hollowness.
The lord raised his head to meet Enkrid's gaze.
Instinctively, Enkrid shifted his weight backward.
Luagarne noticed and followed his line of sight toward the lord.
"What's with his eyes?"
The lord's gaze was unnervingly intense—almost too intense.
"That swordsmanship of yours is truly remarkable, my lord," the man said, his tone brimming with respect.
"And you're not planning to leave just like that, are you?"
His voice carried a hint of desperation.
"...Isn't that the logical thing to do once the cult problem is resolved? This is Aspen's territory, after all," Enkrid replied, maintaining a composed tone.
While there was no immediate need to leave, lingering cultist activity still required attention—one of the reasons Luagarne had accompanied him.
"Those are dangerous eyes," Luagarne muttered, appraising the lord's expression.
Enkrid silently agreed.
That gaze... it resembled the glint in Krais's eyes whenever he discovered ruins teeming with monsters.
The lord, whose name was Louis, now looked at Enkrid the way an herbalist might eye a rare plant, or a starving man might clutch a loaf of bread.
"Please, my lord! Now that things have come to this, lend us your aid!"
He dropped to his knees.
Louis knew his abilities were unremarkable, but his love for his city was genuine.
"Kneel! All of you, kneel!"
At his command, a simpleton who had been guarding the basement was the first to obey.
Even members of the criminal guild had no choice but to kneel.
"Help us! Everyone, follow my lead!"
Louis's character revealed itself now that the immediate crises were over.
He was dogged, unwilling to let an opportunity slip by.
His eyes sparkled like those of a merchant who had stumbled upon a priceless treasure or a beggar who had just found a loaf of bread after days of starvation.
Yet, surprisingly, it didn't seem entirely repellent.
To Louis, dealing with the cultist remnant took precedence over blaming the command chain or questioning the surviving soldiers.
Should he simply thank him and let it end there?
Should he weep tears of joy?
Or should he bemoan his own incompetence, lamenting how such a grave crisis had come to pass because of his inadequacies?
'No. That's not it.'
Louis's determination was earnest and unshaken.
That belief had lasted only a couple of months before it crumbled.
"A sword alone can only accomplish so much in this world," his father had once said, trying to console him.
Louis hadn't minded.
After all, what did it matter if he couldn't swing a sword well?
It changed nothing.
He had tried to learn magic and dabbled in various other pursuits, only to realize his talents were painfully mediocre.
All he had ever truly desired was for the constant fighting to end.
Border Guard and Cross Guard frequently clashed over the Pen-Hanil River, and he wished they'd stop.
'Can't people live a little more simply?'
A modest life, where the citizens of his city wouldn't go hungry, wouldn't freeze in winter, and could earn enough to get by—that was all Louis had ever hoped for.
So, where had it all gone wrong?
Allowing a mage into the city?
Letting someone who controlled monsters take root?
Perhaps it was when a madman who thought burning cities was acceptable for Aspen's sake had been placed in command.
Unfortunate events always seemed to pile up.
Around this time, his aging father had succumbed to illness.
Louis's mother had passed when he was young, leaving only a few relatives behind—none of whom could truly be called trustworthy.
Some sought to usurp his position as lord; others aimed to take his life.
The newly appointed lord had been one of his father's half-brothers.
Whether they shared any real blood was debatable, though the man's swordsmanship was undeniably exceptional.
Through all this, Louis had clung to one wish: for his people to live without undue suffering.
Did he need a reason?
If pressed, he'd say it was because he genuinely loved the city where he had been born and raised.
"What exactly is it that you're asking for help with?"
Enkrid's tone mirrored Louis's formality as he replied.
For a man so battered by life yet still calling himself lord, there seemed little reason to conceal himself.
And what could possibly remain in this city for him to cling to as lord?
"Some remnants still remain. Since you've already exerted your strength, could you lend us a little more...?"
Louis trailed off, filling the pause with a sheepish smile.
His brazenness was evident, but so was his sincerity.
If Enkrid's judgment was wrong, so be it.
Before nodding, Enkrid asked a passing question.
"Why go to such lengths? You could've fled at any time."
Leaving the city and heading to Border Guard would have been enough to survive.
Why had he stayed in this corrupt city?
For what purpose?
Was it because he couldn't relinquish the title of lord?
Or was it because he sought something more?
The lord spoke with a tone of unwavering dignity.
There was no shame, no despair in his words.
He had never wished to become a hero, nor had he desired to be a savior.
The idea of an angel descending from the heavens to cleanse the city?
How wonderful that would be.
But the world doesn't work that way.
Instead, perhaps his sword could take the angel's place.
Was this not the time for that?
"I just wish the place where I was born and raised could have been a little better,"
"You could have taken your people and sought asylum elsewhere,"
Enkrid responded, a reasonable answer.
Wanting the city to be better was ultimately for the people, wasn't it?
Did he lack ambition?
"The peace I desire isn't one gained by abandoning the nation,"
the lord replied.
"If something similar happens again, would I have to seek asylum once more?
And gather the people again?
Who would approve of that?
Before being a lord, I'm someone who loves this city.
I only wish for its walls to protect its people."
There was purpose in his heart.
Even without mastering Will or wielding a sword, one with clarity of purpose possesses a kind of power.
Lord Louis had little talent, but his genuine care for the city was undeniable, and when given a chance, he knew how to fight to seize it.
Enkrid nodded in understanding.
From that moment, the lord mobilized everything he knew.
He immediately targeted a nearby member of a criminal guild.
"What? Oh, please spare me! I'll guide you, of course!"
The fox clinging to the tiger's back—a fitting image.
the lord commanded boldly, drawing a smirk from Luagarne, who muttered,
"What an amusing fellow."
Before the sun could set, they were on the move.
Enkrid visited three guild hideouts in succession.
"Do you know who I am? I'm the guild's Second Finger!"
The title meant he was the second strongest in the guild.
"And who's the First Finger?"
"That'd be Wind Blade."
The man wielded a spiked club, and while his skills weren't bad, he had a fatal habit—every time he swung the club with his right hand, his left shoulder would open.
Enkrid aimed for that shoulder.
Blood poured from the ruptured artery.
With a single thrust, the man's bravado vanished.
"Have you ever spared anyone who begged for their life?"
There was no answer.
His eyes darted wildly, and his lips quivered.
Before he could muster a lie, Enkrid's sword moved again.
After a series of such "cleansings," they reached the mansion where a singing official had taken refuge.
"Do you dare challenge the Noble of the Night? Your choice is gravely mistaken!"
A vampire, drenched in pretension, stood before them.
"I knew you weren't just some relative!"
the lord shouted.
He claimed the vampire had suddenly proclaimed kinship and ousted him.
The vampire had been preying on women and children in the city, drinking their blood. But it wasn't just blood—the creature indulged in other heinous hobbies, delighting in the screams of torture.
The corpses of over a dozen victims bore witness to his sadistic tendencies, habits that had persisted since his human days.
There was no need for words. Enkrid cut him down.
Vampires were no ordinary monsters. A vampire capable of reason and speech was a high-ranking entity.
Yet, even such a creature was split in two with a single stroke.
Afterward, an experienced Frog stepped forward to assist.
He carefully placed the dismembered vampire's remains into a furnace and diligently burned them.
The acrid smell of burning flesh mixed with a metallic tang filled the mansion.
Even after this, three werewolves appeared.
These creatures had no trace of reason.
Enkrid methodically cut them down, corralling the charging beasts to one side using the Spider Web technique from Aker.
With precise strikes, he severed their heads.
Thuds echoed as their heads separated from their bodies and rolled across the floor.
"It's not just these. There are others that show up in the dead of night."
The ever-unfazed lord spoke in a polite tone.
Indeed, nocturnal monsters appeared too—again, werewolves.
By this point, it was a marvel the city had lasted as long as it had.
Seizing the opportunity, Enkrid swung his sword throughout an entire day and night.
During his rounds, he passed by the inn where he had first stayed.
A child stood in front of it, staring at him with a hazy expression.
"The ones troubling you won't bother you anymore. Go and tell your father."
"It's my uncle, actually. We're not related by blood, and to be honest, he picked me up and raised me."
The child said this unprompted, then seemed embarrassed, likely flustered by the sudden changes in the city.
Enkrid answered matter-of-factly.
Orphans were a common sight everywhere.
But those who took care of them?
Especially in a city as destitute as this one.
Enkrid scoured the entire city, killing hidden monsters, repelling assassins, and capturing cultists holding secret gatherings.
"So, you're cultists."
When it came to dealing with the cultists, Luagarne stepped forward.
What might have been a curse to some was a blessing to others.
At least to the lord and those trying to live upright lives, Enkrid was a harbinger of salvation amidst destruction.
A blood-soaked blade that cut through darkness—a harbinger of hope.
Enkrid watched over the city tirelessly, seeing not only its streets but also its people.
There were those in the criminal guild who quietly looked out for others.
Some adults took in children on the verge of starvation.
A retired mercenary died trying to protect others.
A lord, who simply wanted his city to be a livable place for all.
People who, despite their struggles to survive each day, shared bread and stew with the homeless.
Flowers could bloom even in the midst of filth.
As dawn broke, Enkrid passed by a tree near the inn.
White flowers had bloomed on its branches.
Even in a broken city, there were lives worth protecting.
Even if these weren't his people, letting them perish was unacceptable.
This wasn't just about defending one's own; it was about discussing peace itself.
This wasn't a newfound realization.
It was a goal he'd set from the moment he first held a sword and dreamed of the songs sung by bards.
It was why he trained instead of lamenting his lack of talent, and why he couldn't settle for merely existing today.
That night, the Ferryman appeared again and spoke.
"Are you satisfied? By sparing them all? You'll regret every bit of it."
The Ferryman's voice was laced with curses, but Enkrid simply replied,
The Ferryman was seething with rage.

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