Chapter 691

Chapter 691

“A blade,” he replied. It was a short, sharp response. “An Artifact?” Enkrid pressed. Given the name and the weight of the moment, it was obvious this wasn’t a common weapon. He knew Ragna had traveled here specifically to claim it. It was held by the patriarch, and obtaining it would be no simple feat. Reflecting on the situation, there had to be some prerequisite to earning a weapon called Sunrise—some validation of worth. The gravity of the current events made that much obvious. Had Kraiss been present, he likely would have begged for just a glimpse of it. It certainly wasn’t the kind of treasure one could view for a meager pile of coins. “It is a treasure of my lineage, inherited through the ages,” Ragna explained. “…And you intend to take a family heirloom back to the Border Guard?” Enkrid questioned. “I do.” Ragna didn’t show a hint of doubt. His voice remained as flat as when he had first identified the object. Enkrid was well aware that the young man possessed a peculiar temperament—fixated and inflexible. To an outsider, he might just seem like an oddity. But this was different. This fellow was truly out of his mind. Walking away with a foundational piece of his family’s history to serve in the Border Guard? What father would permit such a thing? Enkrid’s eyes narrowed instinctively. Noting the look, Ragna spoke up. “That’s rude. Why are you staring at me the way you stare at Rem?” As he spoke, a cascade of water splashed over him—soaking his hair and shoulders before racing down his frame. He had already undressed during their talk and was now busy dousing himself with handfuls of water. Enkrid followed suit, pouring water over his own skin. Grimy, dark runoff pooled at his feet. After days without a proper scrub, the sensation was a relief. “You should really weigh the implications of what you just claimed.” Ragna fired back instantly. “I fail to see the issue.” Enkrid shook his head in disbelief, eventually letting out a grim, amused huff. “A collection of lunatics. It’s no wonder they call us the Mad Order.” In the past, Ragna might have ignored such a comment out of sheer indifference. But the Ragna of the present was attempting to grasp the legacy he wished to build. He couldn’t let those words pass unchallenged. Even when his existence felt hollow, certain remarks had a way of sticking. Words that sat heavy in the gut. Enkrid’s jab was exactly that. So, applying the lessons he’d been taught, Ragna threw a provocation back. “Isn’t that nickname actually a result of you shattering the hearts of countless women?” Enkrid’s focus shifted toward the Tri-Iron Sword resting in the corner. A brief bout after bathing felt like a fine idea. Ragna leaned his back against the rim of the massive wooden basin, tilting his head with a look of pointed arrogance. “At least you’ve established one legacy—the Destroyer of Hearts.” Though he wasn’t Ragna’s kin, Enkrid felt a spark of pride at the young man’s development. He’s certainly learned how to push buttons. However, verbal wit didn’t necessarily translate to mastery of the blade. Could Ragna actually survive the chaotic intersections of steel? Was this the right time to evaluate the growth he’d achieved on the road? Yes, Enkrid concluded. There was no profound logic behind it. He simply felt the urge. Logically, it was ridiculous. They were meant to be cleaning up for dinner. But Enkrid had just been reunited with Ragna’s parents. He was restless—his pulse was racing with anticipation. Splash. Enkrid lifted his hand from the water. Treating the liquid as a scabbard and his palm as a blade, he stiffened his fingers into a sharp edge. Droplets flew, steam swirled through the air, and a light chill settled in. Enkrid’s hand sliced downward, carving a vertical path through the mist. “You absolute madman.” “You absolute madman.” Ragna echoed the sentiment under his breath, raising his own hand to intercept the strike. Smack! The impact sent water exploding outward in a heavy spray. Ragna locked eyes with those burning blue orbs. He didn’t care why the attack came so suddenly. He didn’t even need a reason. This was simply the nature of the man. And that was likely why Ragna couldn’t bring himself to resent him. It remained true even now. Enkrid lived as though his final breath might come tomorrow. That philosophy—viewing existence through such a sharp lens—was the greatest lesson Ragna had taken from him. Never let a day go to waste, regardless of the hurdles. That was the standard Ragna now strived for. What is it I truly desire? He wasn’t sure. He might never be. But did uncertainty require him to stand still? “Then push forward into the unknown. Handle what is in front of you.” That was Enkrid’s mantra. It wasn’t delivered in speeches, but through his conduct and his spirit. Accepting that silent challenge, Ragna spoke. “Let’s stain this bath crimson.” Enkrid grinned. “With your blood, I take it?” With a stone-cold face, Ragna countered. “No.”

The chaotic, violent bath eventually concluded. After they exited and cleared the grime from their frames, they found clean garments provided by the staff. “What exactly were you two doing? I told you to wash, not to…” Grida trailed off, wringing the moisture from her hair. From her perspective, the confusion was justified. Ragna’s hair looked like it had been shredded by a blade. Enkrid sported a dark, burgeoning bruise on his cheek from a heavy blow. “Conversing.” “Playing in the water.” Their conflicting stories didn’t matter; no more questions were asked. Enkrid offered a distracted reply while checking his new attire. He had gray trousers of a durable weave and a simple, cream-colored shirt. His armor and protective layers were stowed—the green undergarments fashioned by a master Fairyfolk druid. His weapon and belt, however, remained firmly attached to his waist. No one blinked an eye. In the Zaun residence, being armed at all times was the norm. Even the staff in the kitchens wore blades. For a guest, carrying a sword was simply good manners. Anne had changed into a flowing, dress-like outfit and kept a pouch at her hip. Her hair was still too damp to pin up, so she let it drape over her shoulders, combing through it with her fingers as she took a steadying breath. She had a mission here. She intended to voice her request during the meal, and the thought made her heart race. “Follow me,” Grida directed, leading them onward. The aroma that greeted them in the dining hall was pungent and savory. It had been a long time since they’d had a proper feast, and their hunger was sharp. Once inside, Enkrid paused, tilting his head. Sitting at the grand table was a face he recognized. It took a moment to place the name, but he was certain they had met before. Enkrid sifted through his memories. “Ray?” The man looked up, his eyes widening as he recognized Enkrid. Then, a scowl touched his features. “…I never gave you my name. Enkrid of the Border Guard.” His shock turned into a sense of disbelief, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He had brown eyes and a forgettable face. He had once visited the Border Guard carrying a rapier, attempting to recruit Enkrid. That piercing gaze was hard to forget. Despite the intensity of his eyes, the man projected a strange sort of kindness. As the details returned, Enkrid remembered the man’s remarkable reach and speed. “Good to see you,” Enkrid said with a casual wave. “I don’t recall us being friends.” Given how many years had passed, the fact that Enkrid remembered him at all was notable. “Is that so? My memory is a bit thin on the details.” Enkrid was being truthful. The man sputtered for a moment before answering. “I suppose that’s fair. It’s a detail one might easily discard.” He was already aware of Enkrid’s recent reputation. Meeting him here was a shock, but he wasn’t entirely in the dark. What on earth are you doing in this place? The question hung in his mind, though he knew of Enkrid’s path since taking up knighthood. I assumed the rumors were just tall tales… Yet, looking at Enkrid, nothing seemed fabricated. That realization was jarring. Still, there was nothing to be gained by commenting on it. Life rarely follows a script. He prided himself on his foresight, but he wasn’t a seer. Nevertheless, it is remarkable. Enkrid wasn’t just a common knight; his capability seemed high. Then again, the man didn’t fully trust his own assessment to be certain. “Now that everyone has arrived, let us dine,” the patriarch announced. A son returns after years, bringing companions… The man at the table studied Ragna. So this is the Zaun heir? Even in the past, the boy’s potential had been striking. He followed his son home, it seems. He could piece together the ‘how,’ even if the ‘why’ remained unclear. Fate was truly a fickle thing. He had once expected this idealistic dreamer to be crushed by reality. He never envisioned a reunion in this hall. “Do you two have a history?” Ragna’s mother rose to welcome the visitor. “He came to my city years ago and tried to talk me into leaving with him,” Enkrid explained simply. “He has a tendency to do that,” Alexandra remarked with a light shrug, gesturing for them to sit. The patriarch took his place at the head. The sharp-eyed man sat next. Ragna took the spot opposite the head of the house, with Anne beside him and Enkrid following. Grida sat near Alexandra. Magrun was nowhere to be seen. As Enkrid settled in, he asked, “A tendency?” The man didn’t bother masking his role. “I am a talent scout for the Empire.” “A scout?” “I travel the lands, presenting unique opportunities to those with exceptional skill.” Enkrid thought back to the offer he’d once received. To prevent any confusion, the scout clarified: “The offer I made you wasn’t about your swordplay—I was interested in your intellect and your ability to manage people. I wanted you to take over my position.” The man was a master of rhetoric. It was why the Empire employed him. He gave Enkrid the truth he sought, ensuring there were no false pretenses. Enkrid wasn’t bothered. He had never considered himself a prodigy. He’d known that since the day he was outmatched by a gifted child, only days after first touching a hilt. “A peculiar twist of fate. Let’s begin,” the patriarch said. No one waited for further permission. Enkrid began eating a well-cooked turkey leg. Beside him, Grida was dusting her meat with ground seasonings. Finding the meat flavorful and moist, Enkrid followed her lead. Perhaps it was a custom of the North or specific to the Zaun family—they coated their lamb in spices. It was a blend of heat, sweetness, and a sharp tang. Quite good. The meal was heavy on meat and served in massive portions. It made sense. The people here spent their entire lives training with steel. He had seen the evidence on the way in—stone structures, private courtyards, and the massive training field before the estate. It was surely a hub of activity. Even now, people walked the grounds with wooden training blades. It was natural for their diet to be protein-heavy. Yet, the meal was well-rounded, featuring egg salads, leafy greens tossed in oil and vinegar, and various cheeses. “This isn’t alcohol, but it’ll wake you up,” Ragna said, passing a golden-colored beverage. Enkrid took a drink from the copper vessel. A sharp aroma hit his senses, followed by the intense flavor of mountain-grown wild berries. “It’s a vinegar infusion made from yellow raspberries. They only grow on the local cliffs.” “This was intended to be a confidential meeting, and yet you’ve invited strangers,” the scout noted, barely touching his food. “They are welcome to hear what is said,” the patriarch replied firmly, dabbing his mouth with a cloth. “Are you certain?” “I am.” After a moment of silence, the scout spoke. “Then I shall proceed. What I offer now is a decree from His Imperial Majesty, the Great Emperor. Accept the title of Shield Duke, Tempest Zaun.” Enkrid stayed quiet. He didn’t have the full story, but even the mention of the “Great Emperor” didn’t rattle him. He had suspected the man’s true affiliation long before the formal reveal. Whether from the south or the north, an offer like this only came from the great powers. They must have spent years hunting for talent across the continent. They had likely secured many formidable figures this way. So, the offer itself wasn’t shocking. Anyone with an understanding of global politics could have seen it coming. However, Enkrid was struck by a faint scent now emanating from the recruiter. A peculiar odor. The trace of a mage. It wasn’t powerful or sweet, but it was there. And every ambush they had survived recently had involved magic. He hadn’t even had the chance to mention it to the patriarch yet—but the connection was there. Then, the patriarch gave his answer: “I decline.” The refusal was sharp and final. It was so devoid of sentiment that it felt almost unreal.