Chapter 685

Chapter 685

The sound of hissing filled the air. Mist and Scalers were a natural pairing. This was undoubtedly why the Massacre Mist had been summoned. However, four knights stood ready. A simple beast would not be enough to stall this group. Ragna was the first to demonstrate that reality. His massive blade carved through a Scaler that was serving as the focal point for the enemy’s magic. In ordinary circumstances, such a feat would be impossible. The creature had maintained its distance, watching from the periphery with shifting eyes, yet he had tracked it down and ended it. Ragna had simply bolted forward, plunging into the heart of the enemy’s formation. Had the monsters possessed human intelligence, they would have dismissed it as a suicidal act of insanity. His logic was straightforward: if you are being shadowed from the rear, consider every direction hostile. If everything is an enemy, you can strike out in any direction without hesitation. Ragna’s philosophy was uncomplicated. The death of the spell-medium during that unexpected charge was the first major blunder for the Scalers. To Enkrid, the presence of the fog was irrelevant. He moved as if in a ballroom, holding the hand of a Lady dressed in amber and leading her through a dance. His feet never stopped shifting, and with every fluid motion, his sword sang. A Scaler’s neck met the edge of his blade. A clean sever! The head fell away with no effort. The momentum of the dark-gold steel was amplified by its weight, stabilized by a core of meteoric iron. It provided more than a clean kill; the sensation traveled up his arm like a surge of energy. This weapon is incredible. He wondered if it was the refined work of Aitri or the superior quality of the components. It was likely a combination of both. This blade felt far more natural in his hand than the previous black-gold or silver swords he had wielded. The way it settled into his palm felt like Lady Tri-Iron herself was whispering. She seemed to be expressing her joy at finally finding the right companion. As do I. Enkrid spoke the words internally—knowing he would be seen as a lunatic if he said them aloud—while continuing to pivot and step in time with the Lady’s choreography. His movements were deliberate. He spun in tight circles with Anne at the very center. With his cognitive speed pushed to the limit and his senses sharpened, he anticipated every strike. He remained disciplined in the Wavebreaker style, delivering stabs and slashes into every available gap. In the center of this spinning tempest, neither the Scalers nor the Plague Bride could get close. Anne felt as though she were standing in the eye of a hurricane, surrounded by swirling amber winds. “The breath of the Plague Bride is toxic,” Anne warned. Silence met her words. The remaining brides were being cut down and pierced long before they could reach her. Though Anne’s vision was obscured, she provided the necessary information. The entire pack of Scalers was eradicated in less than half a day. Toward the end, a few attempted to feign death, pressing their bellies to the dirt and crawling toward Anne as if trying to escape—but their trickery failed. Magrun moved across the field, driving his sword deep into the earth. Thud! Snap! He finished off several that way, but his work was minimal. Less than five of the lizard creatures remained by then; Ragna had already slaughtered the rest. In a pure contest of martial strength, the beasts were perhaps the greater threat. That was how Enkrid viewed it. Scalers were formidable because they could manipulate a knight’s perception. Their hissing distorted the atmosphere and confused the senses. They possessed no natural scent, making them impossible to track by nose. In fact, smell was the least reliable sense to use against them. They were the perfect predators for beastkin. They subtly interfered with a warrior’s sense of touch, sound, and smell. The only solution was to rely on sight and the instinctual prickle at the base of the skull that signaled their proximity. A knight would not fall to such low-level threats. They were nothing more than a nuisance. Furthermore, no new spells or magic had been introduced during the skirmish. Enkrid had been so caught up in the joy of the dance and the harmony with his blade that he only realized the truth after the silence fell. Why had they initiated this attack? Why commit so many resources? The realization came only after the final blow. Crack! Crunch! Ragna drove his greatsword through the skull of the last beast and twisted. Shards of bone flew through the air as dark ichor and brains sprayed from the ruptured head. Grida, who had been scanning the perimeter, narrowed her eyes and spoke. “Those cowards…” She was looking far behind the area where they had made their stand. They had intentionally moved forward to keep the horses out of the crossfire, but an unexpected sight awaited them at the rear. The horses from the Border Guard were all dead on the ground, their throats slit. Vibrant red blood soaked into the dark soil, staining it a deep maroon. “They took the water and the food,” Magrun reported after inspecting the carcasses. Because they had been mounted, the knights hadn’t been carrying their own supplies. Everything had been packed into the bags and saddles on the horses. Now, everything was gone. Was I too focused on the combat? Enkrid was not prone to useless self-pity, but he did believe in reflection. He began to mentally reconstruct the engagement as a tactical drill. He started with the primary question: Had he been distracted by the fight? No. This had been the enemy’s objective from the start. That was the purpose of the Scalers and the Plague Bride. One was meant to cloud their senses, the other to mask all scents. And beyond that— They had used blatant magic that could have exposed their caster’s location. If he had been luckier when intercepting the fireball, he might have found the mage. If he had pushed harder… perhaps. But “pushing harder” would have required leaving Anne vulnerable, and that was an unacceptable risk. What if he had ordered Ragna to stay and gone himself? Enkrid was likely better at tracking and detection. Yet, he might have failed regardless. It was over now; there was no use in second-guessing. Even if it happened again, he would not abandon his post. The enemy had revealed a sorcerer just for this specific goal. To kill their mounts and steal their survival gear. “They are trying to force us to retreat.” That was Enkrid’s final thought. Otherwise— What if the caster is similar to Kraiss, using constant magic to nudge the situation toward a specific result? “If they are doing this just as the terrain becomes impassable for horses, they are targeting our endurance,” Grida noted in her role as guide. It was a setback, but not a total defeat. The mountains were ahead. For a common traveler, this would be a death sentence, but not for her. The wilderness was a larder. As the season warmed, there would be edible plants, berries, and game to hunt. They would find water as they traveled. “We continue,” Enkrid decided. He turned his gaze toward Anne. He was checking to see if she wanted to turn back. Anne bit her lip. The knowledge that someone was maliciously hunting her was unsettling. But she refused to run away in terror. Not ever. “I am a healer. My mission is to find a cure for every ailment in existence.” And the secrets in Zaun were connected to why her family had been taken from her. “Understood,” Enkrid said, and Anne steeled herself. The effect of the amber fluid must have expired; the coating on the sword turned back into liquid and dripped away. “You aren’t the Lady anymore, I see. Let’s stick to regular fighting from now on,” Anne remarked, her casual tone a clear attempt to steady her nerves. Enkrid offered a soft reassurance. “Then next time, I’ll request a black tailcoat.” Anne’s response was a high compliment. “…The name of your order is quite fitting, isn’t it.” The party set off again. Because they always kept their weapons on their persons, they had only lost their bedding, cooking gear, and food stores. A cloak could serve as a blanket. Ragna unfastened the cloak from his waist and gave it to Anne. He rarely wore it, as he found it restrictive, but he was glad he had it today. Had it been on the horse, it would be gone. “Thank you,” Anne said, folding the heavy navy fabric around her shoulders. She stepped out into the lead. “Let’s move.” “Indeed,” Grida agreed, and Magrun gave a nod. Both of them sensed that something was deeply wrong within Zaun. Why else would they be met with such hostility? It was a grim realization, occurring before they had even crossed the Imperial border. As they walked, Enkrid stayed by Anne’s side and asked a question: “What are Panax and Remede Omnia?” “…What?” Anne looked at him, surprised. The flat plains were falling away behind them, and after navigating several hills, they reached a stretch of lush grass. As they moved through the greenery, the elevation began to rise; they were ascending a mountain spur. The thickening forest confirmed their progress. “Where did you hear those names? They are synonyms for the elixir. ‘Panax’ is what the fairies call it. Some theorists believe it is the liquid form of the Philosopher’s Stone.” Enkrid was familiar with the “elixir.” The water of life—a legendary cure-all. It was a staple of traveling performers’ stories. It didn’t appear in history books, only in fables and myths. In some tales, it was a golden fruit. In others, a glowing liquid that stirred inside a vial. But as for its reality—no alchemist in the known world had ever managed to produce it. It was a phantom. “Remede Omnia is a concept in alchemy. It refers to a substance that can heal any sickness.” “Does such a thing exist?” Enkrid asked, but Grida interrupted. “Whenever a traveler claims to have it, it’s usually just a bottle of poison. There’s a very thin line between a cure and a toxin.” Anne turned to Grida. “You know something of the craft? You’re correct. Even a deadly poison can be a remedy if administered right. The opposite is also true. Good medicine can kill if used poorly, and small doses of poison can save lives.” “So the question remains: is a universal remedy actually possible?” Grida asked bluntly. Enkrid remained a silent observer. Anne didn’t answer right away. She stepped over twisted roots and fixed her eyes on a distant, solitary tree. Sweat began to bead on her brow. She wasn’t frail, and the knights were pacing themselves for her, but she was still feeling the exertion. Enkrid considered asking Ragna to carry her shortly. After a few more steps, Anne finally spoke. “Every alchemist who focuses on medicine dreams of the elixir. I used to think their obsession was a waste of time.” So it was a myth, just as he suspected. Anne had been a prodigy even among experts. The alchemist Raban had both admired and feared her natural talent. Despite Raban withholding certain secrets, Anne had quickly eclipsed his understanding of healing. Just as some are born for the sword, she was born for alchemy. Anne viewed it as luck—she said the ideas simply came to her. To everyone else, that was pure genius. Because of that genius, she knew the truth: the elixir could not be brewed. It was a fairy tale. “But what if we look at it differently? People assume Elixir, Panax, and Remede Omnia are the names of potions, right?” “A different perspective?” Grida asked. Enkrid listened intently. “What if it isn’t a liquid—but a title?” Anne continued her thought. Enkrid felt a sudden clarity. A shift in framing. If it isn’t a medicine, then the mythical potion doesn’t exist. However— “My goal is to become Remede Omnia. I want to be the person who can cure everything.” A person. That was a tangible possibility. That was Anne’s ambition. Upon hearing this, Enkrid felt he finally understood the enemy’s objective. From a tactical standpoint, their motivations snapped into focus. “I can smell a spring,” Grida announced, taking the lead. They crested a small ridge and looked down at a modest pool of water. The water was transparent, set against a steep rising path. It was a basin filled with what was likely cold groundwater. They still had their personal canteens, so they weren’t desperate for water yet. However— “Wait,” Enkrid caught Grida’s arm and looked at Anne. “Can you inspect that water for us?” “Oh? Yes, I can do that.” Testing water was a fundamental skill in alchemy. It was why many who loved fine tea kept alchemists in their circle. Marcus used to say— “With an alchemist around, you’ll never thirst. Though they say the best water is fairy-collected dew.” Anne approached the pool, took a sample in her canteen, and added a few drops of a testing agent. She always kept a small pouch of chemicals that she handled with extreme care. “We can’t drink this. It contains minerals that will cause intestinal toxicity. It won’t kill you immediately, but it will make you very sick.” The enemy’s strategy was now undeniable. “They stole our supplies knowing the local water was tainted?” Magrun whispered. “Or they poisoned the source ahead of us,” Grida added, though Enkrid couldn’t be certain which it was. Whether the pool was naturally bad or deliberately poisoned, one thing was certain. The journey was going to be difficult. While a small amount of the water might not stop someone with strong Will, the intent behind the move was obvious. Anne. He still didn’t know the ‘why’ or the ‘who.’ But he could feel a fire beginning to burn within him. What was that feeling? It was a cold, hard determination to ensure the enemy never achieved their goal. And Enkrid wasn’t the only one feeling the heat. “Those absolute bastards,” Anne muttered—a rare burst of profanity and scorn. It was almost a backhanded compliment to their thoroughness. Though she was certainly far from being impressed.