Chapter 670

Chapter 670

“I missed by a hair.” At the man’s retort, Rem let out a derisive snort. “You want me to take your head off next time? ‘By a hair,’ my foot.” The man fell silent. No matter how he tried to frame the result, he had clearly endured a brutal thrashing. Even just standing there, his equilibrium appeared compromised, his stance was shaky, and the clotted blood matting his hair made any further diagnosis unnecessary. Nonetheless, the man’s combative drive had not been extinguished. He fixed a sharp stare on Rem. “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll pluck those eyes right out,” Rem threatened. He continued to bait the man, though it was mostly bluster. A thin veil of murderous intent hung between the two, but compared to the life-and-death intensity of Rem’s bouts with Jaxon or Ragna, this exchange was almost playful. Enkrid paid their bickering no mind, his focus instead shifting to two figures moving in the background behind Rem. One was Audin. The other was a complete stranger. The man had short blond hair that fluttered as he wielded his blade—his proficiency was far from common. He used his sword to generate a suffocating pressure, utilizing the distance between them to set trap after trap. He moved with a hybrid style, blending massive, heavy strikes with standard swordsmanship. He pulled exactly the right maneuver from his repertoire at the perfect moment. By the metrics Enkrid used to judge warriors, this man was hovering near the advanced level. Enkrid became lost in the rhythm of the swordsman’s strikes, mentally charting the intent behind every motion. He is leaving gaps on purpose. The stranger wanted Audin to lunge forward. Why? He possessed the absolute certainty that he could land a counter-strike. What specific move was he setting up? Enkrid couldn’t quite tell. But it was undoubtedly a trump card—the kind of technique a warrior keeps buried unless their life depends on it. Throughout his travels, Enkrid had crossed paths with countless wanderers. Some possessed genuine mastery, while others were merely living off a manufactured reputation. However, a select few shared a specific philosophy: they never displayed their true capabilities without a dire reason. But if you keep your true strength hidden, aren’t you just discarding your chances to grow? That was Enkrid’s perspective. If you never test your boundaries—if you don’t push until they shatter—there is no path forward. That truth was etched into his very soul. And this man was clearly cut from that same cloth. If he weren’t, he wouldn’t be so willing to place himself in apparent danger. Audin eventually moved for the bait. He closed the distance rapidly, entering a range where they were practically chest-to-chest. It was a space too cramped for effective swordplay, but ideal for a grappler. The sequence unfolded in a heartbeat. The stranger brought his right hand down in a slashing arc while thrusting his left hand upward. He wasn’t unarmed. At first, it looked like a defensive cross-block, but he had a secondary weapon prepared. A concealed blade. His breastplate featured a vertical seam, and as his left hand slipped through the opening, a curved, wavy dagger emerged. A kris blade. His left arm lunged upward, the weapon rising in a lethal, vertical jab. Audin reacted as if he had anticipated the move. He pressed his palms together, then parted them just enough to catch the blade between his fingers, clamping down with immense force. Simultaneously, he drove his body forward. Because of this, the stranger’s right-hand sword missed its mark, merely glancing off Audin’s shoulder. Capitalizing on the forward drive, Audin pivoted hard on his left foot, slamming the full weight of his shoulder and back into the man’s chest. A point-blank kinetic strike. At that range, there was no way to parry. The impact must have been excruciating. Boom! A dull, heavy crash echoed. The stranger was sent reeling backward. Blood began to drip from between Audin’s fingers, while the man’s chest armor was visibly caved in. “Didn’t take, I see,” the man remarked. His voice carried a strange edge of thrill and curiosity. Usually, a warrior would feel a sense of dread when their secret move was neutralized, but he showed no such thing. Even though his hidden ace was now exposed, it didn’t seem to bother him. His entire being remained locked on the thrill of the engagement. Enkrid found himself respecting the man, despite never having spoken to him. “Odinkar, that’s enough.” Grida stepped forward to halt the proceedings. The man, Odinkar, turned his head toward her. He was still brimming with aggressive energy, yet he clearly trusted that Audin wouldn’t strike him while his back was turned. It confirmed that this was merely a test of skill. “What a waste,” the man muttered. He was just like Grida. They weren’t there for a bloodbath—they were driven by a different motive entirely. Sure enough, Grida moved to clarify things. “I suppose a formal introduction is in order. I am Grida Zaun. This is Odinkar Zaun, and that one over there is Magrun Zaun. We hail from the House of Zaun.” The attention of the entire group shifted to the trio. Zaun—the ancestral home of Ragna. Grida, having finally located her quarry, called out to him. “Ragna, we’ve come to bring you back. Did you change your hair color?” She pointed directly at him. Everyone’s eyes followed the direction of her finger. “Eh?” Lua Gharne tilted her head in confusion. The brown-haired man Grida was pointing at didn’t even bother to look back. He didn’t need to—he could sense there was no one else behind him. So when Jaxon, looking bewildered, followed the line of her finger to see it pointing at himself, his confusion was complete. Jaxon’s brow furrowed deeply. “…?” If a look could speak, his was screaming, What kind of nonsense are you talking about? Despite the confusion, Grida maintained a calm, peaceful smile. Her tone was absolute. “Are you going to act like you don’t recognize me? I’m Grida—I never forget a person’s face.” The members of the Border Guard fell into a stunned silence. “…Is that him? Doesn’t look right,” Odinkar noted. He knew Ragna personally, and the man before them wasn’t him. Even as he spoke, Odinkar’s mind was clearly elsewhere. Can’t I just have one more go at that Audin fellow? His intent was glaringly obvious. Even with his sword put away, he never took his eyes off Audin. “I believe I just tangled with the most capable warrior in your ranks. I’ll need more time—much more time.” Magrun, meanwhile, was indifferent to the identity crisis. Whether it was Ragna or not meant nothing to him. He was simply shocked to find such formidable opponents outside their own family estate. He felt a sense of awe for the brute who had leveled him and now wanted nothing more than to retreat to a quiet room and dissect the mechanics of that technique. I was bested. And to rectify that failure, his only instinct was to study. That was how Magrun operated. “No, it’s him. Ragna Zaun. The patriarch wants him returned,” Grida doubled down. Enkrid didn’t experience a sudden epiphany, but a realization clicked into place. Some people simply lacked the ability to recognize faces, and Grida was clearly one of them. Jaxon was utterly lost for words. This was a brand of absurdity he hadn’t encountered before. “What’s the confusion? Ragna went to see Aitri to get his sword sharpened,” Kraiss cut in to clarify. “Pardon?” Grida tilted her head. To Enkrid, she didn’t seem like she was playing a game or hiding a motive. How could someone mix up faces so badly after explicitly stating Ragna had golden hair and crimson eyes? Whatever logic she used was beyond him, and he didn’t care to figure it out. But one fact was undeniable. Just as Ragna was famously incapable of following a map, Grida was incapable of recognizing a face. She had even failed to recognize Enkrid. This was a first for Enkrid—a woman forgetting who he was after a single encounter. It didn’t wound his pride, but it was a notable observation. “That isn’t Ragna,” Enkrid stated firmly to clear the air. Grida tried to argue her point a few more times before finally conceding. “I suppose even I can make an error now and then.” At that moment, Enkrid was absolutely certain she was Ragna’s sister.

“Well… he was adamant about coming back from the market on his own, and we’ve lost track of him since.” The guard who had been tailing Ragna had tried to advise him against going solo—but Ragna was an expert at slipping away from anyone trying to manage him. Consequently, somewhere between the stalls and the camp, he had drifted off course, and his current location was a mystery. Kraiss, realizing these visitors were here for Ragna, delivered the blunt reality. Since their mission was to find him, they had looked into it and reported the findings. “Ragna was always a disaster with directions, even as a small boy,” Grida said with a nod. Her tone was so nonchalant it was hard to believe she was on a mission to bring her brother home. The other two seemed completely detached from the goal. One of them—Odinkar—was now scanning the crowd for fresh opponents besides Audin. He was even throwing out subtle waves of hostile pressure toward Enkrid. The other—Magrun—spoke up the moment Kraiss finished his explanation. “Is there a silent, empty space nearby where I could stay for a while?” His companions didn’t bother to restrain him. Each of them followed their own whims without regard for the others. “Who are these freaks?” Rem gave voice to the collective thought of the group. Kraiss was on the verge of agreeing out loud but held his tongue. Meanwhile, Jaxon crossed his arms, keeping a predatory watch on the trio. His posture made it clear—if they stepped out of line, he was ready to kill. The three visitors undoubtedly felt the threat, yet they remained entirely unperturbed. Their lack of concern only made them more unsettling. Zaun—it was a name that carried weight among those in the know. They had produced a long line of northern knights across many generations. These warriors were often referred to as “seekers of the blade.” Even among the ranks of wandering sellswords and treasure hunters, there were those who had received instruction under the House of Zaun. Barunas—the beastkin commander of Azpen who had spearheaded the war—had identified Ragna the moment he saw him. It was likely for the same reason. He had witnessed a freakish level of talent and connected the dots. Perhaps it was a lucky guess, but it had been accurate. Enkrid had crossed the continent during his years as a hired hand and scout, but back then, his own abilities were mediocre at best. Afterward, his life had been centered on the Border Guard. To him, Zaun was simply the name of the place Ragna had come from. To see these three—each a master of their craft—and realize they all came from the same family felt surreal. If they belonged to the same elite military unit, it would be expected. If they were the pride of the Empire, he wouldn’t blink. Even if they were from a southern superpower, it would make sense. But to be from the same household? That was different. That implied a shared ancestry. How is that possible? Is it the blood? The power of a lineage? There were legends of ancient noble bloodlines that held supernatural gifts—moving objects with a thought, or peering into minds. These were powers that felt closer to the divine. He had heard that the origins of magic were rooted in bloodlines, mostly from the stories Esther used to tell him. Could there be a genetic predisposition for swordsmanship? A bloodline specifically for knights? Is one’s ceiling decided at the moment of birth? Does destiny outweigh sweat and toil? Is that the secret? Hidden lineages carrying a flame in the shadows? No. That couldn’t be it. Even if it were true, Enkrid intended to disprove it with his own existence. That was one of his quiet ambitions—separate from his goal of knighthood: to show that raw talent isn’t the final word. But he wasn’t the proof yet. Not today. I live this day over and over. It was a heavy burden, but also a unique gift. He didn’t undervalue the progress he had made through it. But he knew this wasn’t the only way to surpass a lack of natural brilliance. Don’t let your vision become narrow. Both the way one fights and the things one believes change based on how they are viewed. “Enki, you’re looking at the battlefield with tunnel vision.” He could almost hear Lua Gharne’s voice in his ear. Using her guidance, he tried to broaden the foundation of his logic. A realization skipped across his mind like a stone on a lake: Shallow training and shortcuts only yield broken results. Molsen’s synthetic knights, the warriors of Azpen, the ones forged in the Holy City—were they truly any different? Altering one’s anatomy to mimic a knight, or becoming intoxicated by a sense of power, didn’t make someone a genuine knight. Just because a person can manifest Will doesn’t grant them the title. You have to crawl forward, inch by painful inch. That is where the value lies. You can take inspiration from others when forging your resolve, but if you live a life dictated by someone else’s choices, your own will can never truly flourish. So why were these three so incredibly skilled? Because they had shattered their own limits through individual effort. Talent was just the starting line; something else was required. What was it? “We represent House Zaun. For those unaware, our house is defined by its devotion to the sword,” Grida explained with a touch of courtesy. Kraiss, standing near Enkrid, whispered the details he was familiar with. It matched the general rumors. A tradition handed down through the ages? What did “tradition” actually mean? It was a legacy of philosophy and physical practice. A family like Zaun undoubtedly passed down a specific methodology. Rem grumbled that the three were lunatics, while Odinkar’s constant posturing was beginning to wear on Jaxon’s patience. Then— “A structured system,” Enkrid whispered. His voice carried, causing the group to turn toward him. That was the secret to why House Zaun produced knights generation after generation. In other words, they had already mapped out the very road Enkrid was trying to find. Lua Gharne was the first to grasp his meaning. “I follow. That makes perfect sense.” This was her first encounter with the Zauns as well. They were a family shrouded in hearsay. But seeing them standing there made the truth undeniable. Three individuals. One family. All of them knights. You don’t achieve that result without a refined, functional system. “So what?” Rem spoke his mind. “Are we throwing these idiots out or not?” His tone made it clear he was fine with either option. Odinkar showed his teeth in a grin. It was a blatant dare; his presence was a physical challenge. Rem gripped his axe. Jaxon shifted his weight, his hand hovering near a concealed blade. Kraiss felt the temperature of the room shift. His stress levels hit a breaking point. That damn idiot who can’t find his way out of a paper bag. He cursed Ragna under his breath and looked to Enkrid, pleading with his eyes for some stability. But Enkrid remained still. If only Audin would intervene—but today, Audin looked as unmovable and dangerous as a mountain predator. Kraiss weighed the options. If they slaughtered these three right now, would it benefit them? No. But letting them run wild was equally problematic. After a moment of internal debate, he chose his path. “I’m out of here.” It was his way of washings his hands of the mess. Let them sort it out. After all, the Mad Knights had never been under his thumb anyway. For the sake of his own sanity, he turned his back and walked away.