Chapter 684: Amber Dress

“Hmm?”

Ragna raised his head, aware of what was coming. The mist that began at their feet surged upward in an instant, obscuring everything. The thick fog blanketed their sight.

He’d experienced this once before on a battlefield: the Mist of Annihilation, conjured through witchcraft.

“Be ready.”

Enkrid pulled Anne to his right side. Ragna stepped up on her right as well.

So this was it. The ambush.

What would it be this time?

A monster they hadn’t expected? A spell?

The fog grew so dense that even Anne, standing right beside him, disappeared from view. But sound still pierced the haze.

No flags were visible—perhaps the spell differed from the Dukedom of Azpen’s usual methods.

“Front.”

It was Grida’s voice. Whatever she’d done, she detected the enemy before Enkrid did.

Among the five senses, his sense of touch became unnaturally sharp. His body hairs stood on end as he felt the vibration in the air.

Thud, thud, thud.

No sound, only impact. Like something pounding directly into his skin.

Enkrid didn’t swing Penna—he moved four times, subtly redirecting the trajectory of his blade as if blocking paths.

Tang. Tang. Tang.

Four times. Four darts were deflected midair, one after another.

If there had been no attack, maybe the enemy’s location would have remained hidden. But throwing something like that? A mistake. The Mist of Annihilation didn’t hide presence completely.

Still, something felt off.

“Is that it? After all that stealth, just a few darts?”

That couldn’t be the end of it. His instinct flared.

Enkrid raised his guard again. Ragna, understanding Enkrid’s posture around Anne, readied his sword.

“I’m going.”

“Yeah.”

Just two short words to assign roles. Ragna stepped forward, lifting his greatsword.

He bent his knees and pushed off the ground.

A simple movement—but what followed was not.

His body burst forward, slicing through the mist.

Whooom.

His presence crushed the air around him.

Then—

Boom!

The air cracked as his blade tore through the fog. Ragna’s swing was so powerful, the mist around him dispersed.

Cutting through a spell with a sword?

Unthinkable for most—but this was a knight.

As the mist briefly cleared, a severed head hovered in the air.

Kiiiikrrrk!

A head with a grotesque snout jutted forward. The view was brief, but the shape was enough.

“Scalers.”

Grida’s voice came from Anne’s right, three steps away. She identified the monster—a lizard-like beast seen near demonic realms.

That faint sweet scent returned. Magic. Another spell was coming.

Enkrid braced for it. A glow flared above.

Fwoosh.

Not just a glow—a fireball.

It fell from above.

Again, it targeted Anne.

Enkrid watched it descend and anticipated what would follow.

“Magicians often ‘prepare’ multiple spells in sequence. Like freezing the ground with layered frost until everything is entombed in ice.”

That was how Esther had killed a dark mage back when they cut down the Living Flame. Enkrid had learned from her.

His thoughts accelerated.

The fireball’s descent slowed—nearly frozen midair. Time stretched within his hyperfocused mind.

“If I were the caster, I wouldn’t just drop a plain fireball.”

The enemy had seen him cut down bat-like fiends before. Was this fireball more threatening?

No. It was slower than the beast, mindless, descending without intelligence.

“They want me to cut it.”

Accelerated thought led to accelerated action. He swapped Penna for the Tri-Iron Sword.

Shing! Clang!

In a flash, one blade was sheathed and another drawn.

His draw and sheathe speed was unmatched among the mad knights.

With Tri-Iron in hand, he twisted the grip, bracing it with both hands. The segment made of meteoric iron met the fireball.

Enkrid struck upward.

Boom!

The fireball exploded midair, splitting into dozens of flaming trails. They burst outward in every direction, lighting up the mist.

“Fighting magic means abandoning common sense.”

Esther’s words were true. Who would’ve expected a fireball to fragment like that?

Yet, that’s magic—chaotic, unfathomable, the most alien force on the continent.

Did the caster falter upon seeing that explosion?

No follow-up spell came. A few flame trails dropped, and that was it.

Then came the smell.

A rotting stench so strong it clawed at the nose. The fog had returned, but its veil couldn’t last forever.

Smack!

A wet impact. The mist began to clear.

Enkrid spotted a scaly, snake-skinned humanoid creature collapsing to the ground.

It was larger than an average man. Around Ragna were quadrupedal lizard-like monsters—big enough to devour humans whole.

Naturally, they were already dead. Cleaved by the greatsword-wielding directionless one.

Grida had been right.

Scalers—monsters covered in scales like lizards.

Enkrid saw the spell unravel as a Scaler died.

“So the spell was linked to a living anchor?”

Then the enemy must include both a stealthy magician and a witch.

Now that the fog cleared a bit, he saw them.

Scalers. Dozens of them. The mist had been a screen for their approach.

“They’re ambushers. Strike from the rear and vanish.”

Magrun spoke again. Grida drew her sword and scanned the area. Even a rough count showed over a hundred lizard heads.

The rot still lingered—enough to forget the earlier sweetness of magic.

“What the hell is that smell?”

“Scalers aren’t supposed to stink...”

Grida and Magrun both commented.

“It’s the Plague Bride.”

Anne spoke now that visibility had returned. She’d spotted some of the stranger figures among the Scalers.

“They infect just by touching. Be careful.”

One was rushing toward Ragna.

Its bare feet were grey and mottled. It wore what once might have been a tattered dress. Its hair stood in wild tufts, and its eye sockets were just holes.

Green pus dripped from its nose. It was hideous.

A creature you wouldn’t want to meet at night—or maybe worse to see in daylight.

Screeech!

The Plague Bride shrieked as it lunged toward Ragna. Its dress fluttered.

Calling it a “dress” felt like insulting the word, but Anne had named it correctly—it was a summoned creature of a dark mage.

Yet Ragna denied its approach without hesitation.

He sidestepped, smashed a Scaler’s skull with the pommel, then cleaved the Bride cleanly in two.

Slash!

It split like old parchment—cleaved from chest to waist.

Then the corpse reformed. It stood again.

“Regular attacks don’t—here, take this!”

Anne raised her left leg, then hurled something with her right hand.

Shhk! Ragna, still holding his sword in his left, caught it midair.

It was a glass vial sealed with a cork.

“If it gets bad, break it and coat your blade!”

As she reset her stance, Enkrid couldn’t hold back.

“What the hell was that throw? Does alchemy require aim like that?”

“Of course not. Just something I picked up playing with kids.”

Street kids learned quickly. Survival sometimes meant knocking birds from the sky with stones.

“Here.”

Anne handed Enkrid a vial. Amber liquid shimmered inside.

“I’m a [N O V E L I G H T] healer, but also an alchemist. Creatures like that can’t threaten me.”

Divinity was the natural counter to spirits—but nothing killed them easier than alchemy.

So said the old continent’s proverbs.

Enkrid poured the amber liquid onto Tri-Iron.

It flowed, then hardened like sugar syrup, coating the blade in a glowing amber sheen.

“I’m good.”

Grida said, pulling a leather pouch from her belt. She bit the cord open and scattered a powder over her blade—soft pearlescent dust.

Magrun accepted a vial of amber from Anne.

Ragna, now with his sword coated, swung again to reject the Bride’s advance.

This time, he cleaved horizontally—severing it cleanly in two.

Thunk!

A soft sound—and the split spirit was purified.

Spirits, manifestations of hatred and negativity, dissipated into nothingness when purified.

The Plague Bride crumbled like dust and vanished.

Hissssssss!

As one died, the remaining Scalers hissed like snakes—distorting the air and disrupting senses.

“They’re hiding each other’s presence with sound.”

Grida explained, having once encountered Scalers near the demonic realms.

She knew how troublesome they were.

No wonder they called that place a knight’s grave.

It was filled with threats like this. Not deadly in themselves—but annoyingly persistent.

They always targeted your back and were smart enough to plan.

Hah!

Grida shouted, slicing down three sneaking up behind her.

Her blade danced in zigzagging arcs, cutting them down before they could react.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

As she readjusted her grip, Enkrid surveyed the battlefield.

“Let’s say the witch is already dead...”

Was the mage still watching, waiting for a chance?

Or had they already pulled back to avoid risk?

The Plague Bride’s perfume had masked even the sweet scent of magic.

“Do they realize I detect by scent?”

No—too far-fetched. That would be absurd.

“Even a powerful mage can’t know how I perceive things.”

No spell could read minds. That was a certainty.

Esther had taught him the limitations of spells.

“Assume the mage is still out there.”

Even so, cutting through these monsters was no difficult task.

Crack, slice, crunch!

Three steps away, Enkrid slashed.

Tri-Iron traced a graceful arc, splitting a Scaler’s snout in two.

Its snake-like tongue lolled out, its vertical-slit eyes dimmed.

He knew the blade reached the skull—and also that it was faking death.

“Cunning little bastards.”

Grida muttered.

Enkrid reversed his grip and stabbed downward.

The faker didn’t have time to react. Just as light returned to its eyes, Tri-Iron visited its skull.

He withdrew the blade, dark blood and brain matter trailing behind.

“Scary,” Anne said.

Reasonable. The remaining Scalers and eight more Brides were all staring at her.

“Don’t worry. Lady Tri-Iron, in her amber dress, will protect you.”

Enkrid said, deliberately choosing words to soothe.

“...Your sword is a lady?”

“Today she is. She’s wearing a dress, after all.”

“So her gender changes as needed?”

“That’s the benefit of a genderless sword.”

He lifted the amber-glowing blade.

Monster blood still dripped from the edge.

“You’re insane.”

Anne’s lips moved.

She whispered—but they all heard.

Enkrid decided to forgive her little rebellion.

She was clearly just scared and blurting things out.

“Shall we dance, milady?”

Enkrid asked again.

“Oh gods, just fight, would you?”

Anne had overcome her fear—and finally joined the cheer squad.