Chapter 669

Chapter 669

Every beginning eventually finds its conclusion. Whether one is savoring a decadent meal, drifting away to a rhythmic melody, or two souls are lost in physical intimacy—all things must cease. Enkrid brushed away the trickle of blood from his nose with his forearm. The surge of adrenaline began to ebb. He didn’t feel a rush from the win itself; he simply appreciated the exchange. Now, a quiet focus returned to him. It had played out exactly as he’d envisioned—Penna had been sufficient. “I expected you to give up halfway through.” The woman spoke while resting on one knee, her gaze fixed upward toward him. The observers who had been lingering in the periphery, watching the tension break, stepped forward to get a better look. A youngster with wide, gleaming eyes spoke up, asking with excitement: “Did you come out on top?” The female warrior provided the reply. “Indeed. I was defeated.” There had been no genuine malice or intent to kill between them. This wasn’t a struggle for survival; it was an evaluation—a trial of sorts. One might describe it as a rough exchange of skills. Enkrid hadn’t fully committed his entire spirit to the blade either. Triump in combat isn’t solely a matter of technical prowess. The thought hit him once more. Looking at the woman before him, he knew he held the advantage in pure capability. But what if the stakes had been life or death? She hadn’t revealed her full hand. Of course, Enkrid had kept his own secrets as well. “How is it that you don’t tire?” The swordswoman questioned him. Enkrid studied her features once more, digging through his past. “Now I remember where I’ve seen you.” “Pardon? You’ve met me before?” Their paths had crossed for a fleeting moment long ago. He hadn’t recognized her immediately because the encounter had been so brief. But now, her face triggered a deep, buried recollection. Despite the passage of time, her looks hadn’t shifted much, which allowed the old image to resurface. It happened on the day Ger and Pete perished, back during his mercenary years. That was the era when he was cursed with the label: The Man Who Buries His Allies. She was the one who had cut down the outlaws. She had arrived just as he was reaching his limit, shortly after Ger and Pete had given their lives for him. Looking back, that stigma had clung to him for years. It was the reason he had transitioned from a hired blade to a guide. “At the time, I took you for a man in disguise,” Enkrid remarked. The short hair had likely misled him. Her armor had obscured her form, and with only her facial features visible, her gender wasn’t obvious. Currently, her hair was significantly longer than it had been back then. A random moment from his days as a mercenary had circled back to him in this place. “I can’t say I recall you at all,” the swordswoman admitted. Enkrid had encountered many souls in his travels, but it had been ages since someone had looked at him with such direct, unclouded eyes. She seemed fascinated only by his talent with a sword—his physical appearance didn’t seem to matter to her. “Our paths crossed once, very briefly,” Enkrid said as he returned his weapon to its sheath. She bore no ill will, and she had effectively saved his life once, even if it wasn’t her specific intent. “Really? That’s strange. I usually have an excellent memory for faces.” There was something in her tone—Enkrid couldn’t quite pin it down—that reminded him intensely of Ragna. “What was your reason for attacking me?” He inquired. It had been so long ago that he didn’t expect her to remember him, and besides, their recent clash lacked any murderous intent. “Seeing you… it just made my blood stir,” she said with a wide grin, showing her emotions without any pretense. It was a smile of pure honesty. To anyone else, it might have sounded like the words of a madwoman. Is that it? That’s the only reason? would have been the standard reaction. But Enkrid grasped it immediately. Sometimes the blood just boils, and that is reason enough. “Utterly mad.” Venzance, who had arrived at some point, shook his head in disapproval. That brand of logic seemed completely insane to him. Surviving through the rain of arrows and the clash of steel on the front lines had taught him that staying alive this long was mostly a matter of fortune—being struck by a stray blade or a random projectile was just a hazard of the job. There was even a time Enkrid had been the one to save him. When Venzance had been lying there, filled with bitterness under a collapsing, flaming tent, Enkrid had hoisted him onto his back and carried him to safety. Enkrid shifted his gaze to Venzance and gave a silent nod of recognition. The Guard Captain had appeared after receiving word of the scale of the commotion. He must have sprinted over the moment the news reached him. Venzance motioned to a group of marksmen. The troops who had been encircling the scene with their crossbows began to stand down. Both Enkrid and the swordswoman had been aware of the soldiers gathering and pointing their weapons at them, but they had simply paid them no mind. The guards and Venzance were well aware they couldn’t actually subdue people like this. Yet, they couldn’t just do nothing. This was the only logical middle ground. The Peacekeepers of the Border Guard weren’t stationed there to defeat knights; they were there to delay them. This entire scene served as a vivid reminder of just how catastrophic knights could be on this continent. A roaming disaster. That was Venzance’s assessment of knights. If one of them lost their mind and started swinging, dozens—or perhaps hundreds—could perish in an instant. Naturally, after such an event, the woman would have likely been executed by Enkrid’s own sword. But no one would ever waste a knight on a mere slaughter. They were far too scarce and precious for such tasks. And they were still mortal—if you launched hundreds of bolts, one would eventually find its mark. Even in full plate armor, they couldn’t survive a hit from a ballista. Perhaps someone of Audin’s caliber could, but not the typical knight. They might evade once or twice, but eventually, exhaustion or luck would claim them. That’s why encounters like this were so rare as to be almost mythical. So, the woman’s explanation was likely the truth. She had traveled here for a different purpose, but the sight of Enkrid had ignited her fighting spirit, and she had lunged. Enkrid, meanwhile, was dissecting why he had felt such a sense of joy during their duel. She wasn’t unrefined. She wasn’t a fraud. He knew the difference from years of experience. If a person follows the path of knighthood through a rigid, predetermined system with a set goal, the result is usually a counterfeit. The Holy Nation was notorious for turning out such hollow shells. If you force a person down a path toward a specific outcome, you end up with shallow faith and artificial resolve. That isn’t what defines a true knight. In Enkrid’s view, that wasn’t sufficient. So what of the woman standing before him? She had forged her own trail and reached this height through her own will. He could sense it in the rhythm of her strikes. “If she is under control, then take charge of her, Commander,” Venzance stated. He wasn’t pleased with the chaos, but he remained focused on his responsibility. Is there truly no way to stop knights from just wandering into cities as they please? Or a way to instantly neutralize them if they turn violent? Hearing Venzance’s words, Enkrid recalled that the woman had mentioned she was searching for someone. “Did you locate the person you were after?” “I believe so. There can’t be more than two people with that level of mastery.” The Mad Knights of the Border Guard had gained quite a reputation. It wasn’t like their previous infamy; this was something entirely different. The woman had pursued the whispers and finally asked: “You’re the Heartbreaker Enkrid, aren’t you?” Damn you, Pell. Enkrid decided that at least half the credit for that name spreading was due to Pell’s big mouth. The other half, naturally, belonged to Shinar. “That’s him.” Venzance spoke up before Enkrid could. Enkrid shot him a look—was he trying to be provocative? “It’s not inaccurate,” Venzance added under his breath. “And then there’s the bear beastkin who rips people apart,” she continued. Rumors claimed the bearkin had dismembered both monsters and men with his bare hands. “Correct. Though he isn’t actually a beastkin,” Venzance clarified. He remained cautious but didn’t stop the flow of information. He was perceptive enough to realize this woman hadn’t come for blood. “And the barbarian who starts salivating and crushing the skulls of nobles the moment he sees them.” That one felt particularly spiteful. But rumors have a way of festering and growing. Still, Enkrid felt the need to set the record straight. “I don’t salivate.” “Oh? And the bloodthirsty youngest member? The one who thrives on stabbing people in the back? I also heard there’s a fairy here with the blood of demons.” To be more precise, a fairy who absolutely loathed demon blood. “A witch in hiding,” Venzance added. That was also true—though slightly off. Esther had even established her own unit of mages under his command. She wasn’t concealing anything. Nevertheless, she was known by the moniker Black Flower. “And there’s even a lunatic who cuts down anyone who makes eye contact. Blond hair and crimson eyes, right?” That was accurate. Ragna Zaun. And based on that name… “My name is Grida Zaun. That blond madman is my brother.” The woman introduced herself. Enkrid wasn’t shocked. He remembered Ragna mentioning once that he had walked away from his kin. He hadn’t provided any specifics—Ragna wasn’t exactly the type for detailed explanations. But he had noted that his family name was Zaun. Their reputation for swordsmanship alone was the stuff of legends. “Enkrid of the Border Guard,” he said, reaching out his hand. Grida accepted it and pulled herself to her feet. “You’re quite skilled with a blade. What’s your opinion of me?” “…In what regard are you—No. Don’t finish that sentence.” Right next to them, Venzance was listening intently, and within the gathering crowd, a cloaked figure—most likely a fairy—was observing from the shadows. “I mean, as a woman,” she clarified. Ah. “Just as I suspected—” someone whispered. For the first time in a while, his old titles began to ripple through the Border Guard: The Irresistible Commander. The Alluring Knight. The Master of Seduction. The Harvester of Hearts. Half of those shouting were just looking for an excuse to cause a stir. Enkrid was well aware that reacting would only fuel the fire. And he knew that showing any irritation would only delight the idiots. Instead, he simply made a mental note of several faces in the crowd. Clink. Among the onlookers, a fairy dropped a glass bottle from her grasp. She appeared stunned—and didn’t even bother to retrieve it as she disappeared back into the throng of people. Enkrid watched her go, then finally spoke to Grida. “Ragna should be over at the barracks.” “Right. But seriously, you’re not interested at all?” “I am not.” “Oh, did you suffer some kind of injury? Did you lose it?” “Lose what?” “That.” Grida was, in many aspects, a mirror of Ragna. She was entirely indifferent to the opinions of others. She raised a fist and gave it a loose shake. “It’s still there,” Enkrid shot back quickly. “Ah, so your tastes are…?” “No, that’s not it either.” “You just don’t find me appealing, I see,” Grida nodded with an odd sense of certainty. She didn’t look offended; she didn’t seem to care in the slightest. Then she turned the conversation back. “But when did we actually meet?” They had just been conversing with steel moments ago, but now it was a perfectly normal chat. Enkrid vastly preferred this over people debating the functionality of his anatomy. “It was back when a campsite was overrun and some bandits were killed. It’s fine if you don’t recall—it was over in a flash.” “Things like that happened more than once or twice.” “Did you lose your way in the meantime?” It wouldn’t have been a surprise, considering she was Ragna’s sibling. “No, not exactly. To be honest, I was just drifting around. Hunting for Ragna was entertaining at first, but I kept finding more interesting things to do. I made a show of looking for him, but then the family started sending more people.” “So you weren’t traveling solo?” “Exactly. They should be evaluating the area right about now. If anyone ended up getting hurt, try to go easy on them. They’re all the type who can’t wait to show off their own skills.” They would have to wait and see who had been injured. “That sounds like the story of my life,” he remarked flatly, tuning out the “irresistible” comments behind him as he walked away. Venzance began to clear the crowd, and Enkrid increased his pace. When he stepped into the barracks, the interior was full of noise. “You’ve finally returned?” Rem was the first to greet him. Beside him sat a grim-looking male swordsman. A dark crust had formed over a patch of dried blood on the man’s forehead. “Did you lose your fight too?” Grida asked the man.