Chapter 681

Chapter 681

“What are you up to?” Anne, who was still splattered with gore, questioned him. Enkrid, gripping a branch that had been set ablaze, answered, “Messing with fire.” With those words, he hurled the flaming timber into a cluster of parched brushwood. Since there had been no rainfall for several days, the bundle of brown, prickly vegetation ignited instantly. Fwoooosh! Only moments passed before the blaze had already surged up to Enkrid’s midsection. “…What?” Anne repeated her question, but the rest of the group had already grasped the logic behind Enkrid’s actions. The night was pitch black. He was attempting to illuminate the area and drive out whatever might be lurking in the shadows nearby. They stood in silence, watching the fire expand until it loomed larger than any person there. One might have imagined a titan made of living flame had descended for a visit. Enkrid, observing the roaring fire, pulled his senses even tighter. Where is it hiding? He remained on high alert and shifted his position to stand in front of Anne. The scent was still hanging in the air. Ragna, noticing Enkrid’s shift, moved to take up a position behind Anne. “Why are you doing this?” Anne hadn’t picked up on the murderous intent. However, even someone with basic intuition could see something was amiss—the two men were clearly forming a defensive perimeter around her. A creature had been sliced apart just above her head, and its lifeblood had been cast upon her. “It looks like you’ve got a bounty on your head. You didn’t run away after pilfering some krona, did you?” Enkrid remarked, his tone light with a half-joke. Grida cast a look at Anne. If the person who required protection became overwhelmed by fear, it would become a liability. Why would he say something so provocative? Yet, Anne didn’t lose her composure. If anyone possessed nerves of iron, it was her. She had navigated the world alone alongside merchant caravans and had sought out the border guard on her own initiative. “Not a significant amount.” Anne wiped the dark stains of blood from her skin. “Do you have a debt to settle?” “Just a minor one. It was a crisis at the time. If they show up to collect, you’ll have to help me settle the bill.” “Uh, sure thing.” Prior to enlisting with the border guard, Enkrid had earned his keep as a hired blade. For much of that period, he was led around by noblewomen like a polished doll, but he hadn’t come away from those experiences without learning something. If the mark was obvious, the placement of the protector should be just as calculated. “What’s going on?” Ragna felt a wave of nausea in his stomach, and Enkrid, drawing on his experience, identified the sensation. “It’s a spell.” That single word was explanation enough. Anne embraced her role—she remained silent and stayed perfectly still. The stealthy assault had commenced just before the clock struck twelve, and they remained in that state for the duration of the night. The blaze didn’t travel far. There wasn’t enough dry vegetation in the vicinity to fuel a massive wildfire. “You don’t intend to turn us all into charcoal, do you?” At some point, Grida had skillfully ignited a backfire to keep the main flames under control. They met the dawn through a veil of charcoal-colored smoke. Even then, the hidden foe did not lunge. When the backfire was set and the smoke obscured their sight—that would have been the ideal moment to strike—yet nothing occurred. No one voiced the thought, but Grida had initiated the backfire specifically for that reason: to draw them out. Managing the fire was only a secondary motive. Still, the strike never materialized. Enkrid drifted into deep thought. Are they being careful? Or are they terrified? Perhaps it was both. It was difficult to judge without laying eyes on the adversary. No—he likely wouldn’t have deciphered it easily even if he had seen them face-to-face. None of the party members were flagging or weak. However, staying on high alert throughout the night was far from a pleasant ordeal. It was a night that ground down one’s resolve—or rather, a night that slowly eroded one’s mental fortitude. “This is getting tedious.” Odinkar grumbled, eyeing the sun as it began to crest the horizon. Enkrid offered no reply. His mind kept racing. Do they view us as their quarry? The heavy, sweet scent that had lingered in the atmosphere all night dissipated as morning arrived. Perhaps the perfume on the dried blossoms had simply evaporated. Or perhaps someone had intentionally taken away the flowers that had been placed right under their noses. It was surely the latter. The sensation had been identical to standing off against an opponent with a drawn blade all night. An adversary whose tracks were invisible. What on earth is this? He couldn’t find the words. Only a single fact was certain. Odinkar might have called it boring, but Enkrid didn’t share that sentiment. Enkrid was not one to avoid a struggle. This was a side of his character that even Grida and Magrun hadn’t completely grasped. Regardless of the nature of the conflict, Enkrid was a combatant who never retreated. If he lacked that core drive, he would never have started the protracted battle that characterized his existence. He would have walked away when he suffered defeat at the hands of a boy over a decade his junior. Because combat isn’t always the act of clashing steel against a foe. At times, it is the act of defying a world that demands your surrender—or even confronting the part of yourself that begs you to give in to hopelessness. And other times, it is about digging out the conspiracies of those who hide in the dark. “We need to find some water. I have to clean up.” Enkrid stated. Anne was covered in the blood of the beast. Hygiene was the first priority. The group was in agreement. Grida rose and guided them toward a brook she had located during her scouting the evening before. “Follow me. There should be a stream over here.” She was a superlative guide. Enkrid had served as a pathfinder himself, but even the most skilled he had encountered couldn’t rival Grida’s natural talent. She interpreted the landscape with speed and precision. While Magrun had handled the initial directions, it was Grida who had navigated them to this point. Even now, she swiftly directed them to the water’s edge. While she had been collecting wood, she had already surveyed the terrain—sampling the dirt, noting the patterns of tree growth, and tracing the path of the foliage. She hadn’t required water then, but she had looked for it regardless. That is the mark of a true pathfinder. Grida had also cataloged the trails where predators might appear, the signs of monstrous activity, and even the droppings of local wildlife. In her professional opinion—and she was someone who easily ranked as an elite pathfinder—the ambush from the previous night was bizarre. Under normal circumstances, it shouldn’t have happened. Or at the very least, there should have been some indication. She had picked a route that was supposed to circumvent any threats. It feels as though someone laid a concealed snare. Occasionally, a gut feeling is as potent a tool as a blade in the hand. Grida understood this well. And something was clearly gnawing at her mind. However, she currently had no way to articulate the feeling. As they traveled, her instincts were proven correct—the stream came into view. It was shallow, reaching only to their ankles, and it gurgled beneath their boots. Grida turned to look back at the group. From where she stood, she watched the healer with the freckles. Her name was Anne. Why would they target her? The girl couldn’t have been more than twenty. Perhaps even younger. Hardly old enough to be considered a full adult. She was a gifted healer, certainly. That was the extent of Grida’s knowledge. There might be a motive—an old grudge, or something else entirely. Perhaps a detail Grida wasn’t privy to. But even so, the situation was illogical. The foe had remained hidden in a wide-open space, despite having no cover to speak of. How often does such a thing occur? Someone who evaded not only her own senses but the intuition of every member of the squad? It seemed improbable. And if they possessed such mastery, why go through the trouble? Nothing about the situation sat right with her. By the water, the group cleaned themselves off, replenished their water skins, and allowed the mounts to drink. After a short period of recovery, they set out once more. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Anne remarked, looking up toward the heavens. Then she shifted her focus forward and remarked, “There’s still a long path ahead of us.” Sunbeams broke through the thin veil of clouds. It was a radiant day. Aside from the small thicket they had entered to reach the water, there was nothing to block their line of sight. Particularly in the direction they were traveling. Far in the distance were several jagged mounds. But for now, the terrain was wide and open. Dark earth lined the paths as if it had been molded by human hands. “I heard this region was once a site of volcanic activity. They say a flame spirit called forth by the Sacred Flame Sect once resided here.” Enkrid surveyed the landscape as he spoke. He remembered hearing that the mountain’s eruption had been triggered by that very entity. The ground began to incline upward. If they maintained their course, they would soon be climbing into the highlands. Just past the mounds ahead, a soft-looking mountain range came into view. This was a segment of the Pen-Hanil Mountains—stretching across the continent like the backbone of a colossal beast. “Let’s settle here for the evening.” Grida, taking charge as the pathfinder, made the suggestion. Enkrid concurred. They had spent the entire day in a state of high tension. It was unexpected. This meant it was sensible to get some sleep to stay in peak form. It was the guide’s decision. And there was no reason to force a faster pace. “That sickness people call a curse—it doesn’t strike in a single day or take a life in one night. It takes at least a fortnight before it claims you. Unless the nature of it has shifted.” She glanced toward Odinkar and Magrun to verify her statement. Magrun gave a nod. “That’s right. It’s a slow suffering before the end. There are even specific indicators we recognize among our own.” “Good. That’s a weight off my mind.” Ragna was the one who answered this time. Magrun shifted his gaze toward him. Weight off your mind? Because you’re concerned about me? Magrun had never really spoken with Ragna on a personal level. By the time Ragna had departed, Magrun hadn’t yet made a name for himself. “So that implies… we still have a window of time to handle the things we’ve been putting off, doesn’t it?” Ragna added. Magrun, unfamiliar with the Ragna of the past, simply figured he was always this intense. But could someone this motivated and driven really have abandoned Zaun because he found the sword arts tedious? Is there a piece of the puzzle I’m missing? Magrun pondered. But it was a fruitless doubt. “…Yeah. I suppose.” Magrun gave his answer to Ragna, and the party organized two-person watches for the night. Enkrid and Ragna would take turns resting. “I despise this sort of business.” Odinkar complained while inspecting his equipment. In a fair duel, he was among the elite of the Zaun family. However, he loathed the act of pursuing or dealing with enemies that hid themselves. If you weren’t going to pull your blade and fight with honor, why even bother? That didn’t mean he had neglected his training. He had been taught the art of tracking by Zaun, even if he had approached the lessons with little enthusiasm. Enkrid took the initial watch alongside Odinkar. They arranged their gear to form makeshift shelters, leaving them open to let the air circulate. The two of them sat on their haunches by the opening, yawning as the minutes ticked by. Even Enkrid knew better than to suggest a practice duel in this environment. “We aren’t going to spar, are we?” Odinkar asked. Enkrid might have scolded him. “Are you for real? Or are you planning to swing your sword while leaving your common sense behind?” You couldn’t engage in a proper spar while your survival instincts were at their peak. And if you poured your focus into a duel, your vigilance would fail. It was an impossible balance. “I’m aware.” “You have a habit of asking things you already have the answer to. It’s a flaw. You should work on it.” Odinkar tended to weigh his words carefully, not out of fear of making a mistake, but because he found repeating himself to be an annoyance. But Enkrid always seemed to catch his drift, even intuiting his hidden meanings. Because of this, Odinkar found it far simpler to be direct with him. “You have an incredibly grating way of speaking.” “True enough. Tell me what’s actually on your mind.” He had a knack for getting straight to the heart of the matter, which made it easier for the other person to stop being vague. To recognize that Odinkar was holding back, even without it being stated—that was a testament to sharp perception. Odinkar let out a breath and finally opened up. “Unlike that successor tucked away inside, Zaun is my whole world.” It was obvious. Odinkar had always been prepared to go back home, always displaying his loyalty and respect for his clan. “And your point is?” Enkrid gestured for him to continue. Odinkar let out a sharp huff of air. “I have an ill omen in my gut.” “A bad feeling? Elaborate.” “It’s just an intuition. Like something has befallen the family. I know—as Magrun mentioned, we haven’t even reached the family lands yet. We haven’t even entered the Empire. We probably won’t until we clear those mounds and the mountain range. And even then, it’s not properly imperial soil.” He gestured toward the peaks in the distance with his left hand. It was daylight, and the visibility was perfect. Details regarding the Empire’s internal structure were sparse. Even someone who grew up within Zaun like Odinkar didn’t know the specifics. And that wasn’t really what he was getting at anyway. “I just… I feel like I ought to be there to defend them.” It was a collision of loyalty and dread. Enkrid didn’t bother with empty platitudes. “It feels like I should be exactly where I belong, you know?” Judging by his tone, Odinkar had never truly desired to be part of this particular trek. “Ragna Zaun—sure, I’ve heard the name. But couldn’t someone else have been sent to retrieve him?” “Then why did you volunteer?” Enkrid asked, tracing patterns in the soil with a twig. The pointed tip carved several lines—various sword forms. “They told me nobody else was up to it.” “Is that it?” There was more to it. He let the sentence hang. Enkrid was aware that Odinkar liked to save the most critical information for the very end. You didn’t need a lengthy history with him to see that. You just had to pay attention—it was clear as day. “The patriarch gave me the order to go.” So, it was essentially a command. Enkrid could read between the lines. After that brief exchange of trivialities, both men retreated into their own contemplations. A few hours later, their period of duty concluded, and Ragna and Magrun were roused. “Go get some shut-eye. We have a grueling trek ahead.” Magrun said as the transition occurred. Even if they paused for a moment, it wouldn’t alter the task at hand. Enkrid was well aware of that. He rested his head on his gear beneath the temporary shelter and shut his eyes— And he recognized the sensation immediately: he was on a vessel. A familiar boatman stood before him. At the pitching edge of the craft, a purple lantern cast its light in all directions. Beyond that shimmering violet glow, a pale, gray face and a sharp jawline emerged into view.