Chapter 609 - A New Friend
Ropord, overhearing the question posed by the nameless priest, cast a sidelong glance before stepping aside with a polite demeanor to make way for the panther passing nearby.
His cloak bore an emblem, which he then displayed for the crusader to see.
A single line marked with a slight shift—it represented a city wall, an unbreakable fortress.
"Does this look familiar to you?"
He asked while showing it. It was a symbol that was hard to miss.
If one were to ask who had stirred the continent most recently, the answer would likely point to this emblem.
Even if someone lived secluded in the mountains, battling heretics with ears closed to the outside world, ignoring something of this magnitude would be nearly impossible.
"Border Guard?"
The crusader from the priesthood blinked, speaking in surprise.
Indeed, the emblem belonged to the Border Guard.
Alongside it, there was yet another symbol, one representing Enkrid.
Ropord lifted his cloak to reveal it.
A stark black figure, crossed through by a sharp line—it symbolized the act of cutting through the demonic realm, the insignia of the Madmen Order.
A noble from Naurilia had once remarked upon seeing it, "Does that mean you'll just cut anything that crosses you?"
"Do you recognize this one as well? It's the sole knightly order of the Border Guard."
Although the Border Guard's increasing influence through external affairs was notable, Ropord was currently outside their territory.
Considering this, he believed there was a chance his counterpart might not recognize it.
"The Order of Madness?"
The reply came swiftly. While its original name was "Madmen," people often referred to it as "Madness."
The meaning was clear either way.
In some places, it was even called the "Order of the Impregnable Wall." Ropord had firsthand experience with such interpretations.
"Yes, I'm Squire Ropord."
He introduced himself with a title he deemed fitting. Though his actual skills rivaled those of a junior knights, Ropord remained a squire.
Titles like "knight" had originally stemmed from noble ranks but had since evolved into a broader symbol of martial prowess, particularly for those who wielded Will.
The rank of semi knight carried a similar symbolic weight, but to Ropord, such distinctions mattered little.
However, he wasn't without a sense of belonging or pride.
As a squire of the Madmen Order, Ropord considered that sufficient.
Until his leader, Enkrid, or even he himself deemed him worthy of a higher rank, he would remain a squire.
This self-imposed restraint revealed a certain streak of madness within Ropord, aligning him with the very Order he served.
Extending his hand to introduce another, Ropord added, "This here is Fel, an auxiliary soldier."
Technically, there shouldn't be mere soldiers in a knightly order, but why fret over details?
To Ropord, Fel was just a soldier. Fel, however, responded without a hint of humor.
"Since when was a squire ranked lower than a soldier?"
"In some remote wasteland, maybe. But not on this continent, soldier."
"Really? A squire has the gall to talk back?"
As their argument escalated, a mixed-blood giant with a kind expression interjected with a laugh.
"Don't worry, Brother. We don't go around cutting or slashing just anyone."
Despite her towering figure, closer observation revealed that the giant was a strikingly beautiful woman.
However, her appearance wasn't of much concern to the crusader at the moment.
"Oh..."
The nameless crusader's jaw dropped.
"The Madmen Knights?"
Currently, they were the hottest topic across the continent.
But what were they doing here?
The question burned in his mind.
Why would they involve themselves here?
Most people act in pursuit of personal gain, even if someone like the nameless crusader did not.
To wonder about their motives was only natural.
Moreover, involving themselves in the current conflict meant stepping into the Holy Nation's internal strife.
Outside, people had gathered, shouting about how Noah's monastery was a den of demons based on divine revelation.
Though such claims were broadly dismissed, when someone with power voiced them, even a small monastery had no means of resistance.
Even if they managed to survive with help, they could still be branded as demon collaborators afterward, carrying the stigma long after the battles ended.
The crusader himself had come here prepared to die, fully aware of the risks.
"Before becoming a Heretic Slayer, I used to pray for the unjustly wronged," he reflected aloud.
With those words, he abandoned the priesthood and remained at the monastery.
Despite this, he still prayed to the moon every night to calm his mind.
Walking willingly into certain death brought no peace of heart.
Yet seeing these people rendered his resolve almost meaningless.
"What's with this composure?"
They had walked in casually, strolled through the city without a care.
It left him feeling flustered.
While they bickered and hummed, a gray-haired barbarian grumbled about the cold, and another asked where the main gate was—even though he had just climbed over it.
A panther strolled alongside them, and one man, though cloaked similarly, deliberately kept his distance.
Watching it all left the crusader with an inexplicable sense of absurdity.
Why did it seem so ridiculous?
The reason was clear—they exuded no sense of urgency.
Their lack of apparent tension made his own determination seem trivial in comparison, leaving him utterly bewildered.
"I've gone two days without food," Noah said, brewing tea with his emaciated hands.
Enkrid accepted the tea and drank it.
Having experienced fine teas thanks to Marcus in the past, Enkrid could tell this wasn't an expensive blend.
Considering the monastery's strained circumstances—evident even from Noah's remark—it was remarkable they could offer tea at all.
However, Marcus had once said, "Is expensive tea the best tea?
Not at all.
Truly good tea depends on who's sitting across from you and the moment you're in.
Drink it with someone you despise, and even the finest tea will taste bitter."
Marcus had shared this sentiment while dreading a tea session with his father.
Recalling those words, Enkrid found the tea to be quite palatable.
Its mild bitterness and subtle fragrance lingered pleasantly.
Though the dried flower tea lacked blending and leaned towards an astringent taste, it was good enough for him.
"Thank you for coming, but I think you should understand the situation," Noah said again, his tone serious and sincere.
As Enkrid made his way here, he had already considered how people might react to his arrival.
Typically, they would express gratitude, then plead for him to save them—begging on their knees, making promises they couldn't keep, or at least asking him to save themselves or a select few.
Yet, there were always exceptions.
There existed people who couldn't be easily measured, and Noah was one of them.
His parched lips cracked open, showing traces of blood from where the skin had split.
Every word he spoke seemed ready to tear his lips further apart—a clear reflection of the dire situation.
"We've already been marked as sacrificial lambs. If you stay here, they'll treat you the same—as a child of the demon. Not only those who worship the Gray outside, but even those from the Holy Nation might see you that way."
So many madmen in this world.
That thought crossed Enkrid's mind.
Was this man seriously worrying about him in such a situation?
Yet, he wasn't entirely surprised.
Noah had always been like this—a man who had once saved Saeki even though it cost him his eye and ear, knowing full well it would likely lead to death under torture.
"If you think about it," Saeki once remarked, "Uncle Noah might be a little crazy. Though, I was the one who used him."
Noah's current plea was straightforward: it was dangerous, and staying here might harm Enkrid.
A noble yet reckless concern, revealing just how much of a madman Noah truly was.
Enkrid sipped the hot tea Noah had served, listening silently, his demeanor calm and attentive.
"If possible, could you at least save the children? The monks and I have decided to stay. Yes, this is my penance for my past sins," Noah said, smiling earnestly.
It was a smile born of hope—hope that at least the children might be saved.
Despite the grim circumstances, that smile shone brightly.
Enkrid studied Noah intently.
After enduring so much torture, one might expect his eyes to be dulled and lifeless.
But Noah's remaining eye radiated with the brightness of starlight, undeterred even by the loss of its counterpart.
"What's to gain from this fight?" someone might ask.
Yet, Enkrid saw no lack of gain.
Amid those who judged saints based on divine blessings, here was someone who embodied sainthood itself.
Do not abandon your neighbors in their poverty.
Do not push others aside to gather fallen fruit.
If anyone could fully live out the teachings of the Holy Scriptures, wouldn't that person be worthy of being called a saint?
"Let's be friends," Enkrid said suddenly.
"...Pardon?"
"Speak casually. From today, let's just be friends."
Setting down his teacup, Enkrid brushed the dust from his black hair, scattering motes into the sunlight streaming through the window.
To Noah, the particles looked like stars in a night sky.
At that moment, both men saw something akin to light in each other.
For Noah, it was as if Enkrid himself was shining.
And perhaps, Noah was the same to Enkrid.
Why had this man come here?
Asking would yield no deeper answer than the obvious:
he had come to save lives.
To Enkrid, Noah was simply a good and righteous man—the kind of person the world desperately needed.
That was all there was to it.
Whether driven by whim or conviction, Enkrid had no regrets.
"Let's be friends," Enkrid repeated.
Noah blinked, clearly taken aback, before folding his hands politely on his lap and nodding with a warm smile.
"Yes, let's be friends."
Whether the words were meant to console him or not, Noah felt genuinely glad.
The hero who had once spoken on behalf of the gods now spoke again, his mouth carrying the light of conviction.
"From now on, this fight is to protect a friend. That gives me all the justification I need."
Being labeled a demon?
What of it?
Facing rejection from both the Holy Nation and the Gray God's followers, with armies gathered just beyond the monastery walls?
He knew all that when he came.
"And yet, you're still going to fight?" someone might ask.
"That's exactly why I'm fighting," Enkrid would answer to himself, rising to his feet.
They'd said it had been two days since the monastery last ate.
He couldn't let that go on any longer.
The monastery housed children—some who had narrowly escaped being exploited as "saints" and others who hadn't been so lucky.
Yet Noah made no distinctions.
The monastery was also home to those who had once betrayed their faith but had now resolved to stay and protect what they could.
Fortunately, the opportunists who had planned to turn their backs had already met their ends, leaving only those who remained steadfast.
"Oh, Saeki asked me to pass along her regards," Enkrid said, stepping outside.
Saeki's message had been simple:
"Do you think I'd be of any help if I came? I'd just get in the way. Once I've improved, I'll join you. Until then, good luck. And please, give my regards to Uncle Noah."
It was a frank and straightforward sentiment, but beneath it lay unwavering trust in Enkrid's ability. That trust pushed him forward—a welcome weight on his shoulders.
Even Krais hadn't expressed doubt when Enkrid departed.
Their confidence filled him with the desire to repay that faith.
Now, as he gazed at Noah, Enkrid felt a similar resolve: to give this man the same sense of peace and reassurance that Saeki and Krais had gifted him.
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