Chapter 763 - Black Lightning
The Corrupted, the residents of the Demonic Domain, were seized with terror.
At first, Zhoraslav hadn’t given off any sense of fear at all—probably because he fully expected Enkrid and his group to die.
Either way, it wouldn’t have been easy for these people to imagine that everything about their daily lives would be upended one day by the sudden arrival of a stranger.
Most likely, up until now, the residents had treated every wanderer or adventurer passing through with kindness.
There was no reason for them to act otherwise, nor did they have the power or will to be hostile.
Especially with a blade held to their throats, there was even less reason to resist.
After all, who knew if things turned sour, the sword might be swung their way.
What’s more, they knew that if they did nothing, the Cleaner would come and kill the newcomers anyway.
But now, even the Cleaner was dead, the symbol of the Demon God had been destroyed, and the villagers themselves had to bury or dispose of the piles of monster and beast corpses.
Given all this, it wasn’t easy to get the villagers to open up and share anything deeper.
Even the children’s faces were so pale with fear, they looked like they might faint at any moment.
Then again, their skin was a pale lavender to begin with—so whether they’d really turned pale or dark with fear was up for debate.
"Watch and learn—this is when someone with a friendly face needs to step up," Rem declared, brimming with confidence as he faced these wary villagers.
All you had to do was smile and speak gently, he insisted.
It was almost arrogant how sure of himself he was.
Ting.
At that, Ragna drew his sword out just enough for the blade to peek past his fingertip.
The comment about having a "kind face" must have rubbed him the wrong way.
Enkrid felt the same.
Ragna glanced at Enkrid, his eyes clearly asking, "Wouldn’t it be fine if I just cut down the guy who says stuff like that?"
"It’s not a bad attempt. Anyone can give it a try."
Even if not everyone here would admit it, Rem was actually quite handsome.
He had strong features and a unique aura that, if anything, made him more appealing.
But that didn’t mean he had a gentle expression.
Not at all.
"P-please, sir, spare me, please don’t eat us,"
A gaunt woman bowed her head as she spoke, clutching her child to her chest.
Rem’s mood instantly soured.
Naturally, his expression grew harsh.
Instead of a smile, a wicked god seemed to perch on his face.
"Cannibalism? My job was to hunt down scum like that and you want me to resort to eating people?"
Rem was agitated, and Enkrid tried to calm him.
Ragna shook his head, while Jaxen, unusually, let out a small chuckle.
Rem started to lose his temper again, but Enkrid quickly intervened and asked the question instead.
Strangely enough, they answered willingly.
Meanwhile, a few women’s faces tinged with embarrassment, but Enkrid remained calm, simply asking and answering from the side.
Even as fear gripped them, you could see they were sneaking glances at Enkrid’s face.
Well, that wasn’t the only reason.
Around this time, Zhoraslav, who seemed to be the leader of the village, was quietly reassuring everyone.
To be precise, Enkrid had stepped forward after seeing this.
As he watched, he noticed the villagers gazing at him strangely, but there was nothing unpleasant in their looks.
Rather, their eyes shone with one-sided goodwill and respect.
In any case, the villagers were now ready to talk.
"Discrimination?"
But Rem, still in a bad mood, muttered as he saw all this.
"It’s because of looks."
Thud!
Sparks flew between the two.
Rem swung his axe at Jaxen, who was standing three steps behind, and Jaxen blocked it, deflecting the blow with his stiletto.
The flash was caused by this clash.
Was it called the Sword of Chance?
Jaxen smoothly employed the swordsmanship he’d learned from Enkrid.
To be honest, he’d already understood its principles and had practiced it countless times.
They trained by surrounding him with top-class assassins and having them attack randomly, with him responding to every single move.
Now, he had reached the peak of mastery.
Rem glared at Jaxen, and lowered his axe.
"Do you want to die for real?"
"I’m never dying at your hands."
Jaxen corrected Rem again, and the two started fighting even more seriously.
Bang! Clang! Clatter!
Sparks flew between them.
Anyone who got too close would be nothing but minced meat.
Watching this, Fel and Ropord moved bystanders further away.
"This is normal. They’re always like this," Ropord said nonchalantly, hoping to ease their anxiety.
Of course, some of the residents were even more frightened by this display.
Still, they answered Enkrid’s questions dutifully.
Luagarne, observing this, was impressed.
"As expected, the ’Demonic One’ nickname really suits him."
Shinar chimed in to agree.
"That’s right. It’s a demonic nature that even enchants fairies."
They were completely teasing now.
Enkrid let their words pass in one ear and out the other, calmly gathering information even amidst this chaos.
That evening, he shared what he’d learned with everyone.
"If you get too close, lightning strikes."
"There’s a wizard who commands black lightning."
"If you step in there by mistake, you’ll be trapped forever in the Crystal Prison, forced into labor so grueling it wears down even your soul—you’ll never leave, not even in death."
These were the stories the residents passed on.
A series of eerie and frightening tales.
Well, at least they were to the villagers.
To Enkrid, a lot of it sounded dubious.
To be terrified of life-long forced labor?
Judging by how these villagers lived, their daily existence hardly seemed easier.
After all, this was an independent village too, wasn’t it?
So, isn’t it all the same?
At least when it comes to the ’forced labor’ bit.
They, too, couldn’t survive without constant toil.
They had to cultivate land where crops barely grew, and if a patch of grass tainted with demonic energy sprouted in the fields, it would steal what little nutrients the crops had, so they had to pull it up by hand.
But did those weeds ever come out easily?
If they let their guard down even for a moment, bloodsucking flowers would bloom.
They had to spot and destroy these things in advance—it was no easy task.
A few of the better hunters here probably managed to catch reasonably healthy animals or beasts now and then, but they didn’t have any regular trading partners.
In other words, they were completely self-sufficient, and self-sufficiency demanded far more labor than people realized.
They had to till the land, occasionally go hunting, repair and make things as needed, build houses, preserve food—it all required lots of work and, often, specialized skills.
If you didn’t know how to do something, you had to compensate with sheer physical effort and time.
Producing everything you needed for yourself meant moving your own body to do it all.
’Even so, I bet they’ve developed some skills along the way.’
And indeed, one thing stood out to Enkrid from that perspective: the leather they wore was strikingly neat and finely crafted.
They’d managed to make use of hides from beasts and monsters of all kinds—of various sizes and toughness—with remarkable skill.
Villages near the Border Guard or the edges of the Demonic Domain often made use of beast hides in similar ways, but Enkrid had never seen it worn as neatly and seamlessly as clothing like this.
Some wore it like vests, others fashioned it into broad skirts.
When the wind caught the leather and made it flutter, it was obviously thin, yet it looked tough enough that a clumsy attempt with a knife would barely leave a mark.
Enkrid wasn’t an expert merchant, but after years working as a mercenary guard for traders, he could recognize good leather and fabric when he saw it.
Especially when the craftsmanship was as outstanding as this—even the untrained eye could spot its quality.
’They must have hunted beasts and skinned them for use.’
Handling beast hide couldn’t have been easy.
There must have been years of research and trial and error devoted to tanning.
That probably led to their leatherworking skills advancing by leaps and bounds.
’They probably sold some of that leather now and then to travelers who got lost or ended up here.’
Even if they didn’t have any regular trading partners, from time to time, they must have run into bold and adventurous travelers.
In any case, looking at it this way, living here meant a lifetime of hard labor, just the same.
Many of them had rough fingers but thin, sharply blue-stained nails.
Regardless of their original skin tone, their hands were stained—that was the price of using special fruits and grasses that grew in the Demonic Domain.
Of course, Enkrid couldn’t possibly know every detail of their lives.
He was just making informed guesses based on what he could see.
And it wasn’t something he needed to say aloud.
The last bit of the resident’s story was this:
"If you die inside, you have to wear the Thorn Shroud."
That was essentially the entirety of the oral tale that had been passed down.
The rest were just stories spun off from this core.
"In summary, it seems to be about the Black Lightning, getting trapped in the Crystal Prison, and finally, the Thorn Shroud."
Ropord summed up Enkrid’s earlier explanation.
Luagarne’s cheeks puffed up and deflated slightly, over and over.
The Unknown—mysteries—always had a way of making the Frog’s heart race.
Of course, anyone who wanted to seek out the Unknown outright, knowing full well it could mean death, was just the kind of flea-brained fool who couldn’t control their own desires.
Rem, seeming calmer after his dust-up with Jaxen earlier in the day, asked,
"So what is it, then"
It was hard to know anything for sure from just this.
Was there really a wizard inside?
Maybe, maybe not.
From Rem’s perspective, everything the residents had told them was just a patchwork of rumors and wandering tales.
Whenever there was a gap in the story, imagination likely filled it in.
What the residents of the Demonic Domain truly knew for certain was simply this: no one who went inside had ever come back.
"Do you know what it is?"
Fel looked over at Enkrid as he asked.
They were sitting on a spacious plot of land, tucked away in a corner of the city.
Even without a campfire, the moonlight that night was bright.
The twin moons spilled their light, casting shadows across Enkrid’s face.
In the midst of that play of light, his two blue eyes seemed to glow with unmistakable color, even in the darkness.
Fel thought it was because Enkrid was certain of something—that’s why he had that look in his eyes.
Before long, everyone’s attention focused on Enkrid.
Was everyone thinking along similar lines?
Did the Captain have some idea, some insight the rest of them didn’t?
Enkrid quietly lifted his gaze, looking out toward the Demonic Domain.
In those eyes, he must have seen something the rest of them couldn’t.
Ropord was thinking much the same as Fel.
’Because the Captain is different’
The idea of going into the Demonic Domain was unsettling the moment he heard it, but watching Enkrid’s back, that unease faded.
Then Enkrid replied.
"No."
That was his answer to whether he knew anything.
For a brief moment, the moonlight carried the silence.
"...You don’t know?"
Fel asked again.
Maybe he’d picked up the habit from Jaxen, but when Fel was flustered, his words got short too.
"Yeah, I don’t know."
Enkrid was unruffled.
What could anyone really figure out just from those stories?
A black lightning bolt?
If there really was lightning, how were they supposed to stop it?
Well, maybe he could respond somehow?
He’d have to rely at least half on instinct.
’Duskforged could probably handle a little lightning, right?’
That thought was directed toward Duskforged.
The sword, of course, didn’t answer.
It wasn’t a sentient blade, so that was only natural.
However, Duskforged was also a weapon engraved with Enkrid’s Will.
The blade quivered faintly, responding to its master’s resolve.
Vmmm—
That was a yes.
The night was quiet.
Everyone heard the sword tremble.
With that resonance, Enkrid looked at his companions, grinning like a boy in love for the first time.
Or, to be more precise, like a boy standing on the road to meet his first love.
When Enkrid spoke, his voice brimmed with more anticipation than anyone else here—including Luagarne.
"There’s one thing I do know. There’ll be several Colonies in there."
"In there?" Ragna echoed, picking up the last word.
Even around here, there were a few, so what about inside the Demonic Domain?
There would surely be even more inside.
"When we smash those, the territory of the Demonic Domain will shrink."
Whatever was inside, he’d fight it.
The thought of not knowing what might charge out made it even more exciting.
That was clear in both his tone and demeanor.
You could call it an outpouring of ambition rivaled only by their fighting spirit.
And you couldn’t blame anyone for saying they’d gone half-mad.
But then again, it was to fight unknown foes like these that he’d first picked up his sword.
Training was its own joy, but drawing that power out for battle was even more exhilarating.
"Truly."
Fel finally let out a murmur of admiration.
Teresa nodded a couple of times in agreement as she spoke.
Flowing in her veins was the blood of a Beast—a giant with crimson blood.
In other words, she was born with an instinct for battle.
Did she always have to suppress that?
Was restraint really the only virtue?
"This should be interesting."
Teresa nodded once more, signaling her approval.
None gathered here could be called ordinary.
Even if they had been once before, by now they’d all been touched by madness.
Each nodded along to Teresa’s words.
Woooo—
An owl hooted in the distance.
It was no ordinary owl.
The moment they heard the owl’s cry, a feeling of instinctive aversion rose from within.
But what did it matter if even that unpleasant sensation could be enjoyed?
Enkrid commented on it with a smile.
Even Roman found himself swept up in the mood—regretting that he couldn’t immediately throw himself into their midst with the others.
The next day, the entire group crossed into the Demonic Domain.
A narrow path, just wide enough for two or three people to walk together, wound its way through densely packed, dark ocher trees that didn’t seem to belong to this world.
That was the entrance to the Demonic Domain.
More precisely, it was the only entrance known to the residents of the village.
At dawn, the companions woke and watched the daybreak before stepping inside.
"The air is thick. Thick beyond belief."
Shinar said this.
Everyone agreed, though it wasn’t a problem for them.
As they walked along the gently twisting forest path, the way behind them disappeared, and on all sides, only the dark ocher trees filled their view.
But looking more closely, there was an odd hint of red in the trees—a shade so deep it almost looked dark brown, but was, in fact, red.
How long had they walked like that?
Was there some kind of boundary?
There was nothing.
Nothing in particular was blocking their way.
And yet, from the very beginning, it felt different than when they had entered the Gray Forest.
With every step toward the Demonic Domain, Enkrid felt as if something was grabbing at his ankles, trying to pull him back.
Then, at the moment he stepped forward again, Enkrid realized he had crossed some kind of boundary.
No one had to tell him—he could feel it.
The air now felt so heavy and unfamiliar that earlier, by comparison, it had seemed almost warm.
It was as if someone had mixed iron filings into the air, making it uncomfortable just to breathe.
For most people—in other words, for anyone who wasn’t at least the level of a Knight—just setting foot here would have left them gasping for breath.
"This is truly unpleasant," Shinar said.
She showed twice as much discomfort as before.
Enkrid simply stared ahead, indifferent.
And then, as he looked forward, he saw a black dot.
The moment he noticed it, his mind seemed to slow.
Instinct and intuition screamed a warning.
If he didn’t dodge, he would die.
The small black dot shot toward him, and in the distance, a sound could be heard.
Swaaang!
The flying object and the sound arrived separately.
The phenomenon occurred because the projectile was moving so fast.
Compared to a strike of lightning, the sound was minor, but Enkrid’s sharpened hearing caught even the separated noises.
Then, as the dot approached, it stretched out, straightening as it transformed into a black bolt of lightning striking down.
A rippling bolt of lightning.
It didn’t travel in a straight line, but trembled in a wave pattern.
Time seemed to split into fragments as he managed to catch its form with his eyes—it was a long arrow.
The lightning was aimed precisely at his forehead.
In the split-second gap, thoughts accelerated, sketching out the fastest path and movement.
Enkrid responded accordingly.
His body pivoted at the waist.
With the sudden movement, the dark green cloak wrapped around him, and Duskforged shot up toward the sky.

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