Chapter 754 - Selling Tomorrow for Today
Enkrid observed those welcoming him and others watching from afar—some peeking out like frightened squirrels, others like curious cats with their heads tilted.
Purple skin, clear brown eyes—these were the general features.
"My name is Zoraslav. This way, please."
The man named Zoraslav led them to a centrally located house with a domed roof.
From a distance, the sight of villagers peeking out or cowering away wasn’t all that different from how strangers were viewed in any other village.
In other words, it was a human response.
The place Zoraslav guided them to was built of plaster and brick. It appeared to function as both a village hall and something like a church—likely the only structure large enough to host a group this size.
"We should serve you food, though I don’t know if it’ll suit your taste."
A woman stepped forward behind the man.
"Welcome. I think this is the first time we’ve had so many guests."
Led by a woman who could easily be called beautiful, they entered a room that served as both reception and dining area. There, they sat on large, clearly handmade dark wood chairs around a table.
There was no sense of danger.
Everyone likely felt the same way.
Even the utensils they were given were simple and ordinary.
Jaxen sniffed and tasted the food, nodding afterward—no poison.
Since Shinar and Luagarne had different eating habits, they didn’t partake, but the others began to eat.
It was a stew made from a potato-like staple and meat, with tough but nutty bread on the side.
After being treated to a meal and spending half a day there, Rem looked around and muttered,
"This is kind of... off."
His words implied discomfort—not because these people worshiped a demon god, but because they seemed so normal that it made the idea of cutting them down feel unsettling.
Shinar barely furrowed her brow—so slightly that it was hard to notice unless one looked closely.
Upon entering a demonic domain, you could usually feel the air shift.
This village felt much the same.
Enkrid noticed it too.
"Not quite as much as a true demonic domain, but still..."
An unwholesome air drifted through the place.
It reminded Shinar of bad memories—of the time she was captured in a demon’s lair.
Naturally, she found it unpleasant.
But she wasn’t just any ordinary fairy—she bore it well.
"Fiancé, don’t leave my side."
That’s all she said.
Enkrid, understanding her mood, stayed close by as much as possible.
Roman scratched his head while looking around the group.
"I told you they weren’t normal. It’s a bit of a shock, right? I felt the same way."
Enkrid nodded, and the others had similar reactions.
In summary, though they’d only been there half a day:
"They’re ordinary."
There were unusual aspects, of course, but they ate, drank, rested, worked—lived their lives.
It was all very normal.
Inside the village, fields had been cultivated and crops planted. Nearby trees bore blue fruit.
They weren’t ordinary crops or fruits—but they didn’t seem inedible either.
"Still, it’s nothing we can’t eat."
If there was one unusual thing, it was that the villagers prayed three times a day.
To whom?
As the central symbol indicated, they prayed to the demon god.
"Let us pray."
Before the evening sun disappeared, they would kneel before the statue at the village center, pressing their foreheads to the ground.
Even those indoors came out to join in.
Some coughed or were too ill to participate and were allowed to rest.
There was no coercion—it wasn’t forced.
No need to question why they worshiped the demon god.
And judging by their prayer posture, it didn’t seem particularly heartfelt either.
They just did it because that was the routine.
"What a strange place."
Luagarne muttered while puffing out her cheeks.
This place wasn’t just near the edge of a demonic domain.
It was more accurate to call it the very
front yard
of one.
What did that mean?
A flimsy wooden fence wouldn’t protect anything here.
This was the kind of place where magical beasts would show up regularly, as if it were their own food supply.
Not far from here roamed infamous monsters known for being almost impossible to kill.
"The demon god’s protection, huh."
Enkrid muttered.
That said it all.
This village survived only through the demon god’s patronage.
The villagers’ purple-tinted skin likely stemmed from the same reason.
Ropord looked around and remarked,
"When a beast is tainted by magic, it becomes a magical beast. So I suppose these are magic-humans, then?"
It was an apt term for humans infected by miasma.
So, what should be done about this place?
"Leave them be. They’re just living their lives."
Worshiping a demon god was essentially heresy.
But Audin, of all people, spoke up to defend them.
"Haha, if this were the old me, I’d have let loose my wrath like wildfire, scattered divine power, and tried to purge their miasma. But not anymore. I’ve learned to respect each person’s life."
As he spoke, a white glow flickered in Audin’s eyes—unconscious divine energy.
Enkrid met his gaze and nodded.
"Let’s do that."
What could be said about people who lived only to survive, even if that meant worshiping a demon god?
Zoraslav occasionally returned to explain the village’s way of life.
"Yes, we worship the demon god for protection. But if you asked whether it’s sincere? I’d say... not quite."
Do they hold blind faith?
No, not at all.
Then why?
"To survive."
They worship for a purpose.
And he added:
"We like things the way they are. Even if we must dwell at the boundary of the demon’s forest, worshiping its god."
This small village and its community spoke with one voice.
There was no disharmony—those who caused it had been exiled, sacrificed, or killed.
So should they all be slaughtered?
No, that wasn’t the answer.
If this was truly the life they chose, then they should be allowed to live it.
Enkrid knew himself well.
He wasn’t a preacher—he was a swordsman.
So unless he planned to kill them all, it was better to leave them alone.
Zoraslav, as the village’s representative, asked with a calm tone,
"Then let me ask: have you come to punish us as evildoers?"
To him, they were a threat.
There were armed swordsmen here—one a Frog, another a fairy.
What would such people think of a village of the infected?
It was a loaded question.
Enkrid asked himself silently:
"Are they evil?"
No one could answer that easily.
Enkrid knew better than anyone that good and evil could not be so simply divided.
What’s good to one might be evil to another.
A righteous man in one’s eyes might be the protector of injustice to someone else.
But that didn’t mean he’d always keep his blade sheathed just to avoid becoming their ’evil.’
He simply didn’t want to lose respect—for himself or others.
They said they wished to live their own way, and Enkrid chose to respect that.
"No, we have not."
Zoraslav smiled at his denial.
He had seen people who gave a part of themselves to the demon god in order to survive.
He respected them.
But he also had to wonder: was this truly the life they desired?
Could anything be done for them right now? That remained uncertain.
Zoraslav offered the group a place to rest.
The next day, Ragna complained of feeling stifled and went outside.
Ropord followed.
"You shouldn’t go alone."
"Why not?"
Ragna’s casual reply was answered by Rem from behind.
"Don’t you already know?"
"If I know, why would I ask? That’s common sense, you savage."
Enkrid quietly listened to the conversation.
Then Rem turned toward him and said:
"...I’m really curious. Can’t we just bury that guy somewhere? It’s more work having to keep going out to retrieve him."
He was half serious.
That day, Ragna and Ropord returned after defeating a small demonic domain.
Apparently, it was centered on a demon with a hunched back who cast spells, supported by drowned monsters and ghouls.
"They’ve been settled here since last year. We’ve suffered a lot because of them. Even a slight step past the boundary, and they’d try to drag us off."
Zoraslav was genuinely pleased.
Ropord said the demon had unleashed lightning from its hands, but Ragna’s sword had suddenly lit up and incinerated it.
"I’m getting used to it."
Ragna said it as if it were nothing.
He was a knight—a genius with extraordinary talent—wielding not just an engraved weapon but his family’s heirloom.
The outcome was expected, but not something that should be treated as ordinary.
"We don’t have much to offer, but..."
Zoraslav slaughtered a sheep.
Yes, they actually raised livestock—real animals, not magical beasts.
That evening, the group feasted on mutton.
"This place would make a good base."
Luagarne said after surveying the surrounding terrain.
What was their main objective again?
To root out minor demonic domains and hunt down roaming magical beasts and demons.
Beelrog was one such demon, and since they couldn’t locate him, they planned to lure him in with a Serenade of Temptation.
Given its location, the village was perfect as a base camp.
Enkrid nodded and walked the perimeter.
As he walked, he kept thinking of the dreams he’d had over the past two nights.
Accompanied by the sound of waves, he saw the ferryboat expand.
Crunch.
Pebbles scattered beneath his feet, and waves reached just shy of them.
Though he was standing on a ferry, it felt like strolling along the riverbank.
"Let’s walk a bit."
The ferryman spoke nonchalantly, holding a lantern.
Enkrid walked beside him—about three and a half steps away.
The ferryman’s voice was unusually soft and thin.
"Yes, I want to hear your thoughts about the village."
It was a casual conversation, like any ordinary stroll.
Just like the previous day.
"Did you observe the worshipers of the demon god? Did you notice signs of sacrifice?"
The ferryman asked again.
It wasn’t hard to read the meaning in his question.
He wasn’t trying to hide his intent, and Enkrid was quick to notice it.
They both knew this—so the ferryman decided to bring out the real question a little sooner than planned.
"Are they people who stand behind you?"
Are they worth protecting?
Or should they be struck down?
Where does the line between good and evil lie?
Where does your path lead?
Could worshipers of a demon god truly be called evil?
It was a moment demanding a cruel decision after a cruel vision.
The ferryman couldn’t divine the future, but he saw countless branches of possibility.
He had glimpsed the branches of Enkrid’s future.
One tomorrow: killing every last one of the demon god’s worshipers.
"They were just people."
Roman condemns Enkrid for this, and Enkrid wavers.
Is this truly the right path?
Another tomorrow: leaving the village untouched.
Years later, those villagers survive only by feeding on human flesh and blood.
That end was all but certain.
These were people who sold their tomorrow to survive today.
It’s something anyone might do.
Selling tomorrow for today.
Between those two futures, the ferryman asked:
"Which path do you wish for? Does a ’right path’ even exist in this world?"
Enkrid realized, once again, that the ferryman’s test was not yet over.
"What are you lost in thought about?"
Shinar’s voice broke through his reflection.
Enkrid blinked and looked at the beautiful, inhuman fairy beside him.
"Was the ferryman a woman too?"
That thought struck him while looking at Shinar.
He then asked a question that naturally came to mind:
"After moving and changing your way of life... were you okay?"
The fairy village had begun trading with humans, even sharing technology.
It was a question he had never asked before.
Shinar responded with a rare smile—one she didn’t show often.
Her almond-shaped eyes, emerald green, curved gently.
Her golden hair danced in the wind.
"A place where a fairy lives is a fairy village."
It was the right answer.
Enkrid repeated the ferryman’s question in his mind:
"Which path do I wish to walk?"

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