CHAPTER 647: CHAPTER 647 - INSPIRATION DESCENDS

Chapter 647 - Inspiration Descends

The Fairy city was not small.

The place Enkrid had seen and stayed in was merely the outskirts.

’It’s quite vast.’

Judging by its size, it might have been larger than Border Guard.

The Fairy city was divided into several sections, interconnected by pathways and magical elements.

If Ragna were to come here, he might call it a labyrinth.

’Ragna would be lost forever.’

Even trying to climb the trees to find the way was futile, as many areas were blocked by thick foliage forming a natural ceiling.

Ragna would never be able to navigate this place.

In fact, even an ordinary person would easily lose their way.

Though for the Fairies, who were accustomed to it, there was no issue.

’So this is why old tales speak of woodcutters getting trapped in a Fairy city and only emerging decades later?’

There was such a story.

In one fairy tale, a man found a spring where Fairies were bathing, stole their clothes, and then wandered lost in the forest for twenty years before finally escaping.

The story had many variations, including one where the man and a Fairy had a child, and another where an axe that fell into the spring turned into one made of silver.

’Well, fairy tales are fairy tales.’

Still, it was easy to see why such stories persisted.

The city itself had an air of mystique.

The idea of enveloping the city in trees and constructing it within was taking shape in his mind.

Any passing Fairy he asked answered his questions kindly, so he naturally learned more about the city.

’In a way, it’s a natural fortress.’

That explained why the Fairy city had no need for walls.

If someone considered fire its weakness and tried to attack, would it work?

Dousing the trees in oil and setting them ablaze?

Burning the outer wall and causing a massive fire would surely drive the Fairies out one by one.

But could it be that easy?

’If not for the demons attacking from within, an external assault would have been nearly impossible.’

They were beings capable of manifesting magical energy and controlling spirits.

The strength of the Fairy kin, including Dryads and Wood Guards, was not to be underestimated.

More than that, the city walls themselves were the corpses of dead Wood Guards.

Burning them down wouldn’t be easy.

He had seen Bran set fire to a cigarette on his own body without leaving a single burn mark.

While that Wood Guard was certainly unique in its affinity for fire, the point remained.

With these thoughts, Enkrid immersed himself in the pond.

Though called a pond, it was closer in size to a lake.

’Was this included in the migration as well?’

It was known as the Fairy’s Spring or the Healing Spring.

A hot spring that melted away fatigue.

After training, soaking in the warm waters truly felt like heaven.

Paired with a sip of the cool leaf tea prepared by the Fairy kin—

Gulp, gulp, gulp.

Enkrid felt a moment of bliss.

The heat washed away impurities from his skin and pores, while a refreshing breeze cooled his head.

The cold tea, like drinking water after ten days of thirst, brought a sense of euphoria.

’This is amazing.’

His daily routine now included soaking here for a couple of hours after a day of training and contemplation.

Initially, he had been surprised when the migration list included a lake-sized pond.

But now, if he had to leave it behind, he would feel incredibly reluctant.

As he rested, someone splashed through the steaming waters beyond the mist.

The pond was large—calling it a lake wouldn’t be an exaggeration.

With the rising steam obscuring vision, he hadn’t paid much attention.

But as they approached, he could naturally sense their presence.

His instincts told him who it was.

"What is it?"

Enkrid asked.

"Today is a day for soaking," the voice responded.

"A Fairy kin tradition?"

"No, I decided that this morning."

A crazy Fairy.

"You look disrespectful. I am the queen of this city."

Of course, it was Shinar.

"And I am this city’s savior."

"Bold enough to call yourself that?"

She was teasing him, knowing his personality.

"Am I wrong?"

"No, you’re not."

When Enkrid chuckled, Shinar pushed through the mist and approached, coming into clear view.

They were both submerged, with only their faces above the water.

’Is that disappointing?’

No, not really.

"I heard you suggested a relocation site?"

Shinar splashed water as she spoke.

The floral-scented water splattered onto Enkrid’s forehead.

As she moved her hand, parts of her body briefly surfaced, revealing glimpses of her pale skin and arms.

Enkrid simply nodded.

"There was a suitable place."

"Thank you."

It seemed like Shinar was expressing gratitude more often than before.

"I recall you pressuring me to stay here."

"I only spoke the truth."

"A distorted truth. I’ve heard that’s a Fairy specialty, and I’ve experienced it firsthand."

"What do you mean? There is no such thing as lies in our society."

Seeing her blink innocently, Enkrid found it hard to call her deceitful.

With that face, she could easily trick most men into giving away their souls.

"Sure. You seem to have erased the part where you lied in the labyrinth."

She had pretended to take the throne as the queen of monsters.

No way she had already forgotten.

"You speak disrespectfully."

"Ah, yes."

Between trivial jokes and repeated expressions of gratitude, Shinar eventually stepped out of the pond.

Enkrid, without averting his gaze, saw parts of her bare skin.

It wasn’t intentional.

"That scar—when did you get it?"

A burn scar ran from her arm down her back.

It was a cruel and distorted wound.

Shinar was well aware of her own disfigurement, which was why she had never bathed with him before.

If he had insisted, she could have joined him in the same water, but she had skillfully avoided such situations.

Water trickled down her back, following the scar and dripping from her thighs.

The burn marks were vivid, stretching from her back to her calves, as if someone had meticulously branded her with a heated iron.

"The Healing Spring has many uses," she said instead of answering his question.

Until now, she had chosen not to erase the scar, needing to remember it.

When Enkrid tilted his head in question, she smiled and continued.

"With a little effort, most of this burn mark can disappear. Then, you’d see smooth, fair skin."

"And?"

"You could touch it, too."

"..."

"Wouldn’t that be enjoyable? Very much so."

Why was he even having this conversation with this Fairy seriously?

Enkrid turned away, filled with self-reproach.

"Stay with me, child of dreams and possibilities."

The Fairy spoke.

"Is that a curse?"

"A blessing."

Shinar smiled like a blooming flower.

The same smile he had seen in his dreams.

Seeing it, Enkrid couldn’t help but smile as well.

Whatever the case, it seemed her worries had lifted.

And then, she was gone.

Enkrid wanted to let himself drift in the water a little longer.

As he closed his eyes and surrendered to the water, warmth enveloped his body.

Within that warmth, he sank deep into thought.

At times, inspiration would strike unexpectedly—this was one of those moments.

’Shinar didn’t erase her scars.’

It was probably because she didn’t want to forget her past mistakes.

Now, she had decided to face those mistakes and move forward—not to dwell on right or wrong, but to take steps toward tomorrow.

Just as Enkrid’s disposition influenced those around him, the positive changes he had once brought to others sometimes came back to him in unexpected ways.

Shinar’s transformation stirred something in him.

It wasn’t clear why, but suddenly, inspiration flooded his mind.

Like scattered threads weaving in and out, they tangled and untangled, eventually aligning into a coherent pattern.

Beyond the misty waters, a vision appeared.

"This is thanks to me. So don’t forget me."

Was it a remnant of the demon?

Or was it just a stray thought, tainted by impurities along the way?

It didn’t really matter.

Once Enkrid entered a state of deep focus, he forgot everything around him.

The vision dissipated, leaving no impression on him.

He lost himself in that singular pursuit, forgetting himself, forgetting his sword, forgetting the world—focusing only on refining the inspiration that had surfaced.

He was fortunate.

There was nothing to disturb him.

The large spring, known as the Fountain of Healing, kept his body buoyant, ensuring he wouldn’t sink and drown.

The warmth maintained his body temperature, eliminating the need to worry about food.

Though hunger would come, the waters provided some nourishment even without eating.

That was why it was called the Fountain of Healing.

Some of the Dryas intentionally fasted for two days while immersing themselves in the spring, knowing it accelerated their recovery.

Additionally, the hot water improved circulation, sharpening the mind.

Hadn’t the Fairy Council even held meetings while submerged in the fairy springs?

Mixed inspirations.

The refinement of theory.

The first thought that emerged was self-reproach.

"I was arrogant."

Back when he completed the Wavebreaker Blade, he had thought his insights were sufficient—but he was wrong.

"There is no end."

At the time, he had felt a sense of completion.

But no—thoughts stretched forward on their own, carving new paths.

A new world was about to open, distinct from the one he had uncovered through swordsmanship.

He was in the midst of that process now.

He would use anything necessary to embrace this new understanding.

So, he traced his memories, pulling out a past experience.

The moment that surfaced was when he entered the fairy city and met a rain of arrows.

He had sensed the arrows, shattered them, and destroyed them.

He had listened to the wind—using the sensory techniques he learned from Jaxen.

Enkrid had called it the realm of intuition or something like that.

Jaxen hadn’t interfered with that interpretation but later demonstrated that all sensory techniques could be categorized under a single umbrella.

There was no need to separate different ways of handling perception by name.

That was probably what Jaxen wanted to convey.

A similar example was Endure.

If focusing one’s Will naturally hardened the skin and muscles, did it even need to be considered a technique?

"But can just anyone do that?"

Using Will and techniques naturally—was that truly so simple?

What if he had never named his techniques and simply trained without categorization?

He wouldn’t have given up, but the journey would have been far more arduous.

Would he have even reached the level of a knight?

He wasn’t sure.

The mere thought of it sent a wave of dizziness through him, as if he were free-falling off a cliff with his limbs bound.

He had been lucky.

Perhaps the goddess of fortune had truly favored him.

Regardless—

"Gradual growth is necessary."

Especially for someone like him.

His foundation of theory and knowledge had been built through encounters with numerous instructors while wandering the continent.

Some had said the same things, others had offered conflicting views, and still others had attempted to organize their theories into structured systems.

’What works for some may not work for you. The methods I teach aren’t meant for those less talented than I am, so do me a favor and leave. Now.’

One instructor had said that.

He had been a man who, rather than resorting to threats or force, had simply pleaded for Enkrid to leave.

He hadn’t been a bad person.

Even if he had tried to force Enkrid away, it wouldn’t have worked.

Enkrid had still lingered for three more months, insisting on learning more.

Another memory surfaced—a statement from an old swordsman who had settled in a coastal city.

’You must find your own way. How? By reviewing and reflecting. Walk the paths that others have walked, but choose your own among them—take what you need and discard what you don’t.’

Some of that was right.

Some of it was wrong.

"There’s nothing to discard."

He couldn’t afford to waste anything.

If he didn’t make use of everything he had, he wouldn’t be able to move forward.

"Even if it’s desperation."

He would crawl forward if he had to.

That resolve became Will, shining bright.

And that Will illuminated his dreams.

Memories stored in the library of experience surfaced, tearing through his mind chaotically.

Days passed as he wandered through them.

And then—amidst those wandering thoughts—Enkrid saw it.

"Yes, a milestone."

Techniques were milestones.

Naming them, structuring training methods—these were signposts along the path.

"For a junior knight, training techniques to control Will should be the first priority."

***

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