Chapter 686

Chapter 686

“That is simply immature.”

The speaker was Anne. She tilted her chin up, a single corner of her mouth twitching into a lopsided, sharp grin. A spark of defiance flickered in her gaze. Standing under the fading glow of the sun, the alchemist’s expression was a contorted mask—not a reflection of malice, but a shield she wore to deflect the hostility aimed at her.

“Do they truly believe I lack the means to consume this water? Is that their plan?”

Though no foe stood visible before them, Anne addressed the void as if an enemy was watching.

“You miserable wretch, devoid of both strength and creativity. Did you expect me to be fooled? To retreat in fear?”

Was this the desperate cry of the vulnerable, or the battle cry of a woman who had found her steel? Enkrid decided it was a roar. That was the only way he could see it.

“Tell me, Captain. When I traveled to Border Guard on my own, do you honestly think I survived on fortune alone?”

Initially, he had assumed so. She had even credited her survival to luck. But she was a girl without a blade, lacking any faction for protection, yet she had navigated the breadth of the continent to reach Border Guard—the city defined as the “threshold.” Reaching the far edges of the world in solitude was a feat bordering on the miraculous. Mathematically, her arrival should have been an impossibility.

She clearly possessed a strategy. That was the essence of Anne. Even when she stepped onto the training grounds of the Mad Squad, she was never caught unprepared. During her studies, her hands were always near a supply of reagents, tinctures, or those small, pressed tablets she fashioned.

Enkrid never slept without a sword by his side. Even when he wasn’t wielding the steel provided by Aitri, he remained armed. What his weapon represented to him, that satchel represented to her.

Anne unfastened the latch on the bag draped across her frame and reached inside. She produced a tiny, circular blue tablet, no larger than a fingernail.

“I am a practitioner of alchemy and healing,” Anne whispered.

The words carried the cadence of a bard’s refrain. With a slight shift in pitch, it could have been a song; her voice followed the rhythm perfectly. She dropped the tablet into a flask filled with corrupted water. Before a single breath could be drawn, a plume of blue vapor spiraled from the mouth of the vessel and vanished.

Anne raised the container and drank.

No one moved to intercept her. Her actions carried the same weight as one of Ragna’s martial techniques—steeped in absolute certainty. It was the kind of move that, even if flawed, was executed with enough willpower to bend reality to its purpose. The group watched the movement of her throat as she swallowed. Gulp, gulp.

“Phew.”

She let out a sharp breath after finishing the draught.

“It is drinkable. A truly miserable attempt at a trap.”

Confirmed.

Enkrid gave a short nod and accepted the flask. He took a drink; the flavor was untainted. Anne must have relied on far more than simple purification tablets to reach Border Guard. There were likely concoctions to hide one’s scent from predators or drafts to induce sleep in others.

“The list is too long to detail,” Anne said, concluding her explanation. Enkrid did not push for more, nor did he ask who she was defending herself against. He noticed the slight tremor in her fingers.

Could a person feel truly protected just by standing among knights? Anne, who bore the weight of direct malice, likely could not. But she refused to be a passive victim. She was demonstrating that she was not a target to be underestimated.

However, their adversary had once more proven to be a formidable strategist.

“Halt.”

They hadn’t even spent half a day ascending the mountain pass when Enkrid’s senses were hit by a sharp, acidic odor.

“A toxic haze? It appears to be an incantation,” Grida remarked, squinting at the path ahead.

“I see it as well,” Magrun added. Ragna, for his part, remained stoic. Their foe was attempting to use time as a blade, and Ragna despised that tactic above all else.

Enkrid observed the murky green fog obstructing their progress. Having identified the threat, he didn’t linger on the decision.

“Is there a way around?”

“There is a path,” Magrun replied instantly.

Enkrid signaled Ragna, who immediately turned his back toward Anne.

“Climb up.”

“Understood.”

Anne was mentally prepared and secured herself onto his back. Ragna tossed his massive blade toward Enkrid, who caught it effortlessly. It was impossible for Ragna to carry both Anne and his weapon on his back simultaneously.

“Accelerate the pace, Magrun.”

“Understood.”

Further dialogue was unnecessary. Their trajectory, which would have taken them over a nearby crest, now diverted sharply to the side. Magrun took the point while Grida moved to the right flank, scouring the terrain for further traps or hidden threats.

As expected, more obstacles awaited. The enemy had selected the most frustrating hurdles.

“My sense of orientation is failing,” Grida said, coming to a standstill. They were positioned before a trio of intertwined trees with jagged, razor-like foliage. The slope continued upward, and the density of the forest made it clear they were deep within the mountain’s heart.

No proper road existed here. But with Ragna carrying Anne, even this rugged environment was traversable for the unit. Magrun was busy hacking through undergrowth with his sword to forge a trail. Things had been progressing until Grida’s intuition stalled.

Enkrid prepared to pivot north but paused. This sensation mirrored his experience of being stranded in the desert. Even looking at the sky provided no clarity; his instincts were betraying him.

“It is a hex,” Enkrid stated. Grida and Magrun signaled their agreement, but Ragna merely tilted his head in confusion.

“Are you saying you’ve lost your way? I feel perfectly fine.”

Grida let out a dry, mocking laugh.

“Little brother, it’s a curse. It’s distorting our perception of direction. You might not grasp the concept, but try to focus.”

“What drivel. Magrun, we just need to continue north, correct?”

“That is the goal,” Magrun replied, though his eyes betrayed his doubt. He knew the legends of Ragna’s travels. The man had once managed to get lost while watching the sun rise. It was almost impressive.

Does such a man truly exist?

Wasn’t this the same individual who vanished for an entire month while attempting a simple rendezvous?

“This way. North,” Ragna announced with total conviction. Anne, looking pale on his back, spoke in a fragile voice.

“Perhaps… you should not volunteer for navigation. I’m asking nicely.”

A curse was something alchemy couldn’t fix, nor could a knight’s intuition unravel it. They were, in a sense, completely ensnared. The true intent of the toxic haze was now clear. Enkrid began to piece together the mindset of the architect behind this—whether they were a sorcerer or a mystic.

Block the road with poison. Would they risk the fog? Anne likely had a remedy. But the natural choice would be to avoid it. The mountain was vast, offering many alternative climbs. And they had four knights with superior mobility. They would naturally choose to walk around the danger rather than risk the toxin.

The enemy had anticipated this detour. If their path shifted, Magrun would guide them through the most logical alternative. This meant the enemy had placed this hex specifically on the secondary route.

Enkrid reached another conclusion: Whoever designed this knew these trails intimately. They understood the corridors between Zaun and the rest of the continent. In short, it had to be an agent of the Zaun family.

“Very few people travel these specific paths, right?” Enkrid asked, confirming his theory.

“That’s certain. No one outside of Zaun would have a reason to be here. I didn’t expect the homecoming to be this difficult.”

Magrun didn’t even acknowledge the direction Ragna was pointing. It was obvious no one intended to follow his lead. Even with their own senses compromised, their lack of faith in Ragna was absolute.

Only Enkrid considered another possibility.

“How can you be certain that is north?”

Ragna held Anne steady with one hand and tapped his temple with two fingers.

“Instinct.”

“Then lead the way.”

The group stared at Enkrid as if he had lost his mind.

“Have you gone mad?”

“Are we truly surrendering to this?”

Magrun and Grida spoke in rapid succession. Even Anne seemed terrified.

“Are you alright? Did you inhale the poison?” she asked.

Enkrid offered no soft explanation.

“If we are wrong, we turn back and seek another trail. Do you prefer to wait here? For how long? Until the magic fades?”

Remaining stationary was exactly what the enemy desired. Therefore, they would do the opposite. Hadn’t they all survived the desert by learning how to move when lost?

“We follow the stars,” Ragna had once told him. And if the stars were hidden, he trusted his gut. Jaxon followed vibrations and scents. Rem had spoken of desert nomads who followed the “breath of the wind.” Ragna might not be a traditional guide, but if pushed, he could find a path. He had proven it in Naurill.

Enkrid decided to gamble on that instinct.

“I knew the captain would trust me. My blade, if you please.”

Ragna reached out. He set Anne down briefly to reclaim his greatsword. Anne gripped her shaking thigh, looking at Enkrid with disbelief. Ragna marched forward in his characteristically absurd manner.

Magrun and Grida were accustomed to turning back when a path was obstructed. Ragna did not understand that concept. Once he decided north was “over there,” he moved in a straight line.

“That is a precipice, you madman!” Grida yelled.

Ragna paid her no mind. He swung his massive sword, toppling several trees with a single blow. Thunk! The heavy trunks collapsed, crushing the smaller flora beneath them. Several trees were uprooted entirely, their pale roots exposed to the air.

“This is north.”

He carved a path where none existed. If there were boulders, he vaulted over them. If there were trees, he cleared them. Eventually, they arrived at a sheer drop, but Ragna simply began to slide down the face of it.

“…Are we descending that?” Anne asked, her face appearing as though it had been drained of all color.

“Climb on.”

Ragna had forged the trail, so this time Enkrid carried her.

“I feel my sanity being chipped away,” Anne said with grave doubt.

“Once we clear the hexed zone, it won’t matter if this is north or not,” Enkrid whispered to her.

The enemy wanted to stall them. They would do the opposite. Ragna utilized his sheer physical strength to navigate the cliffside, occasionally driving his sword into the stone for stability. They were knights; such a descent would not break them.

“Is this truly the correct path…?” Grida muttered. As a scout, she had been conditioned to stop and recalibrate in such situations. But with these individuals, such logic did not apply.

Ragna led them through sheer force of will. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon and shadows swallowed the forest, they had emerged from the influence of the curse. They had scaled cliffs, felled dozens of trees, and traversed a rocky peak.

Naturally, they were not north. They had come out on the western flank and would need to adjust their course. However, the feat was still remarkable. Anyone else would have been walking in circles. Even other knights would have lost hours to hesitation. Ragna’s sheer stubbornness had eliminated any wasted movement.

“In a strange way, it’s impressive,” Grida admitted. Ragna nodded as if his success were a foregone conclusion, though his wandering eyes suggested he had no idea of their current location.

Magrun took over the navigation once more.

“Our goal was the Hunter’s Village, correct?” Enkrid asked.

Zaun was flanked by several settlements. The Hunter’s Village was one, alongside the Retiree’s Village and the Broker’s Village. Their intended stop was the Hunter’s Village to the south—not the most direct route to Zaun, but a logical waypoint.

“That is the plan,” Magrun confirmed.

Enkrid followed up immediately.

“Is there a route that leads straight to Zaun?”

If he were the one setting the traps, he would have prepared dozens more ahead. So why walk into them? When they encountered the mist and the hex, there had been no indication that Odinkar had passed through. If Odinkar had gone first, the spells would have been triggered and spent, leaving only remnants. Nothing is eternal, not even magic. These traps were likely single-use triggers. A toxic mist and a directional hex were resource-heavy and couldn’t be maintained indefinitely.

“We are changing the route.”

By shifting their path, they would step outside the enemy’s calculations. Magrun looked at Anne and voiced a concern.

“Moving her through untracked wilderness might be more than she can handle.”

Anne spoke for herself.

“If I take a sedative and Ragna secures me firmly to his back, I will endure it.” Her resolve was absolute.

“Then it’s settled,” Enkrid said with a shrug. Their destination and their path adjusted.

Ragna finally stopped squinting at the dark trees and spoke up.

“That was a minor detour.”

Minor, my foot. If that was “minor,” then any more would have seen them heading toward Rihinstetten in the south instead of Zaun. Magrun suppressed a curse and remained silent.

They had made it out, and that was what mattered.