Among the group stepping out from the village gate was the squad leader who had been guarding it earlier in the day.

He had seen it all and couldn’t help but marvel.

"That guy is completely insane."

The squad leader had witnessed everything—Enkrid covered in the blood of beasts and monsters, pulling off absurd stunts.

"Is he out of his mind?"

Running through the battlefield drenched in blood? What about the leopard?

Using the leopard as bait to escape? No, that couldn’t be it. The direction of Enkrid’s movements didn’t match such an idea. After crawling on his belly, he had gone even deeper into enemy territory.

That route was one no sane person would ever choose.

The squad leader also saw how Enkrid killed one of the gnolls positioned at the rear.

Having watched everything, how could anyone consider this man normal?

Only now did the words of Kraiss, the bug-eyed tactician, sink in:

"They call him the Madman Captain on the Border Guard."

Indeed, this man was utterly insane. But it was precisely because of that madness that his actions made the squad leader’s heart race, simply from watching.

The squad leader, being sharp and quick-witted, grasped the bigger picture. Observing the current state of affairs, he realized there was something akin to a spy within the mercenary ranks.

"What if he hadn’t acted?"

What if that madman hadn’t pulled such a stunt? What if the spy had been left unchecked? What would have happened then?

What about the village? What about the gnoll horde? With hundreds of hyena beastmen swarming about, could anyone have handled it?

The answer was clear—absolute devastation, with no survivors.

Because the madman acted, the outcome had changed.

The gnoll at the rear, its movements far from ordinary, left afterimages even from a distance. It was undoubtedly the leader of the colony.

And that leader, the madman had killed.

"How long could we have lasted?"

If that leader had lived to continue directing the colony, what would have happened?

The squad leader didn’t know for sure, but one thing was clear—he wouldn’t be alive right now.

Deutsch Pullman shared the same thoughts. Having watched the events unfold, his conclusions couldn’t have been much different.

Both agreed on two facts and decided to act.

First, that Enkrid was utterly mad.
Second, that they absolutely couldn’t let him die.

How could they? Regardless of his insanity, how could they let the hero who saved them and their comrades perish?

It was with this shared determination that Deutsch and the squad leader took action.

In hindsight, their decision was the correct one.

From Esther’s precise strikes to Enkrid’s fierce resistance and Deutsch’s counterattacks with his subordinates, everything aligned.

As Enkrid’s group narrowly made it back inside, a large stone fell from above.

"Die, you bastard!"

Someone had cleverly fetched a boulder and dropped it from atop the wall.

With a thud, the boulder—about the size of a person’s head—landed on the back of a hyena beastman, crushing its spine. The creature’s ribs burst through its flesh and scattered on the ground.

"Guugh!"

Another gnoll took a hit to the head and collapsed, clutching its skull in pain.

Thanks to the nearby quarry and a pile of gathered stones, they had ample ammunition.

"Fire!"

Arrows rained down next, turning the remaining gnolls into grotesque pincushions.

Leaderless, the gnolls scattered, fleeing in all directions.

"We survived."

Returning to the village, Enkrid spoke in his usual flat tone, as if he had just returned from a casual outing. He began methodically cleaning his gear, setting his blood-soaked sword aside and removing his armor.

Marks and minor wounds could be seen all over his body.

He had taken these injuries intentionally to push through the enemy lines. From his perspective, the wounds were calculated. But to those watching, it was another story.

"Shit."

Deutsch muttered as he looked at Enkrid, shaking his head.

How could anyone be so calm? Why was he so composed? It was as if his nerves were made of steel—or perhaps he had left them somewhere else entirely.

"I think it’s time for some explanations."

Still seated on the ground, Deutsch spoke, his tone now one of reluctant respect. He, too, acknowledged that they had narrowly survived.

"Sure, let’s do that."

Enkrid nodded, his tone as calm and indifferent as ever.

How could someone remain so composed in moments like these?

"A complete enigma," Deutsch thought, though he chose not to voice it. After all, this man had just saved them all.

Enkrid was more than experienced in crafting excuses. This wasn’t the first time he had to explain himself in such situations.

"It was just part of my morning training," he began, his tone devoid of emotion. "I happened to notice the faces of two gnolls on the watchtower. They seemed familiar."

The excuse didn’t need to be perfect—it just needed to be plausible. The matter was over, and no one would question it further.

"Then I remembered. Those gnolls were cultists I’d encountered during my mercenary days. It just came back to me late, that’s all."

His words lacked conviction, as if he was simply throwing out whatever came to mind.

Deutsch found the explanation highly suspicious but couldn’t press further. Enkrid’s story was technically correct, and the matter had already been resolved.

The gnoll leader was dead, the cultists exposed, and the village saved.

"No more gnolls in sight," came a report from the wall. It was Kraiss, who had somehow climbed up unnoticed.

Of course, Kraiss had been the one orchestrating the defense, preparing the boulders and directing the villagers to drop them.

As Kraiss’s report concluded, cheers erupted from the wall and watchtower.

"They’re retreating!"
"We’re alive!"
"Thank the gods!"
"We did it!"

Laborers, militia members, and other villagers rejoiced. They had united to fend off the monstrous horde and protect the wall.

Their gazes turned toward the man who had saved them all—the dark-haired, blue-eyed knight.

"What? It’s true," Enkrid muttered dryly, insisting on the truth of his words. But no one cared about his explanation—not even Deutsch.

"Right, sure," Deutsch replied nonchalantly.

The important thing was clear to everyone—it didn’t take a genius to understand why they were still alive.

"What’s his name again?"

One of the laborers asked Kraiss, someone they had grown close to over the past few days.

Seated on the parapet, Kraiss sighed, his legs too weak to hold him up any longer.

"Enkrid. They call him the Madman."

The name was fitting—who else would charge into enemy lines like that?

"Crrr."

Esther, who had appeared out of nowhere, nodded in agreement. For once, Kraiss and the leopard saw eye to eye.

Esther, too, had her reasons to find Enkrid’s actions absurd. Tasked with watching his back, she had witnessed him throw himself into suicidal situations. If things had gone slightly awry, her critical curse-breaking artifact might have been damaged.

"Craa-craa!"

Esther chirped in annoyance, still bitter about the risks Enkrid had taken.

"Yeah, yeah, he’s insane," Kraiss muttered, agreeing with the leopard.

Nearby, a laborer who had overheard their conversation began mumbling to himself.

"Enkrid... Enkrid... no, it doesn’t roll off the tongue. Madman’s Wall—that’s better."

"Huh?"

Kraiss turned to look at the laborer, who seemed to have made up his mind.

"That’ll be the name of this wall when it’s finished."

Could they really name a wall like that? Kraiss considered stopping him but ultimately let it go. He was too exhausted to argue.

"The Madman Enkrid Wall. Yeah, that sounds better," the laborer said to himself, testing out the name.

The sun was setting. Another day had come to an end.

***

Lua Gharne moved the moment she heard Enkrid’s words, heading straight for the house of the suspected cultist.

Finding him was easy enough.

After all, it was rare for someone to so blatantly defy Frokk’s questioning.

The cultist was in the middle of rolling around with some woman when Lua arrived. Ignoring the scene entirely, she called out to him. A man stepped to the door in nothing but his undergarments, and Lua confirmed his face.

It was the man who always trailed behind Deutsch Pullman like a freshwater fish—plain and slippery.

“Is it you?”

Without preamble, Lua asked the question. The man tilted his head, feigning confusion before awkwardly responding.

“Uh… what seems to be the matter?”

He smiled politely, but to Frokk’s discerning eye, it was far from pleasant.

After all, he resembled a fish head.

His expression seemed to silently ask, What’s going on here?

‘Is it him?’

Maybe, maybe not.

Lua decided to test him. The answer would come soon enough.

She stepped forward, throwing a punch—not a killing blow, but far from gentle. It was merely a test.

Of course, to the man, it looked anything but casual.

A member of the Frokk race, naturally born for combat, didn’t pull her punches. With a twist of her right ankle, she sent her fist shooting forward. It moved like a streak of light, and if it connected, it would surely crush his skull.

The man’s instincts kicked in immediately.

Sensing the danger to his life, his hidden power reacted.

Vrrrm.

A brief hum of energy.

Thunk!

Her punch stopped abruptly against a translucent barrier. It shimmered faintly, milky and dull.

It wasn’t a spell. Lua had dealt with more cultists than even inquisitors in her time, so she knew this well. It was a defensive ability unique to cultists.

“It’s him.”

Lua’s cheeks puffed slightly with a mix of satisfaction and excitement.

“How did you—?!”

Realizing his cover was blown, the cultist reacted immediately. He stomped twice with his left foot. The Sacred Cult of the Abyss, though denounced as heretical, retained a steady stream of followers.

Why?

Because it granted power too easily, transforming the lives of its adherents overnight.

The moment he had become a priest, the man had gained powers that now shone in his desperation. With two quick stomps, his body vanished.

Ssshhhk!

Lua’s whip struck where he had stood, gouging a finger-length furrow into the dirt.

‘Oh, this bastard.’

So, instead of trusting his barrier, he ran at the first sign of trouble?

It wasn’t spatial magic—such advanced spells couldn’t be cast so quickly.

No, this was an ability that drastically accelerated his body for a short time.

It, too, was something Lua was well-acquainted with.

Once, hunting down such people had been her job.

“Ha! Just a Frokk,” his voice taunted her. It came from about ten—no, slightly more than ten—steps away.

“I am a priest. Do you wish to die? Then come closer, and I will use you as fodder for the expansion of our faith!”

Lua didn’t bother responding with words.

Instead, she lunged forward, her feet pounding against the ground.

Boom!

A full-speed charge.

The priest quickly stomped twice again, activating another ability—this time, a power of levitation.

Whsssh!

Acceleration combined with levitation let him dart out of reach, narrowly avoiding Lua’s whip as it sliced through the air where he’d been.

The crack of the whip echoed, sharp and threatening, as it missed its mark.

“If I catch you, I’m ripping your tongue out first,” Lua said brightly, her voice light but her tone murderous. Her cheeks puffed slightly again as she smirked.

The priest clearly deemed retreat his best option and took to the air.

Lua pursued him relentlessly, and their game of cat and mouse dragged on for nearly the entire day.

In the end, Lua failed to capture him.

She chased him for a full day, but the man had one last card up his sleeve—summoning magic.

A truly troublesome bastard.

Dealing with the creatures he summoned forced her to give up the pursuit.

“Next time!” he shouted over his shoulder as he fled, and Lua hoped his words were genuine. Now that she understood his abilities, she vowed to break his legs the moment she saw him again.

That night, Lua finally returned, exhausted.

After circling around the quarry, she arrived at the frontier village and was immediately greeted by the remnants of battle.

What the hell happened here?

Even the traces of the battle painted a grim picture. Blood-stained ground, battered walls, and the mingling scents of human adrenaline and the metallic tang of blood filled the air.

Yet, the atmosphere was strangely... peculiar.

It wasn’t purely grim—there was a strange sense of hope mingled with the aftermath.

And standing in the middle of it all was the man who had delayed her return.

The man named Enkrid.