Chapter 696

Chapter 696

The firmament appeared as though it might give way at any second, though the downpour had ceased for the moment. It was as if a titan, larger than any metropolis, was holding a massive breath of water in its cheeks while glaring down at the earth. After several days of this oppressive atmosphere, Enkrid felt he would prefer a torrential storm over this endless gloom. He struck a flint to ignite his lantern. Snap-snap—a pair of sparks jumped, and a tiny glow sprouted upon the lamp’s thread, illuminating the minimalist quarters. The room lacked a hearth. It contained only a bedside stand and a solitary chest for his attire and gear. It was a humble space. “You’ve been away for a few days.” Enkrid remarked while taking a seat on the mattress. Three Iron remained propped in the corner, exactly where he had stationed it. He then began to unlace his saturated outer wrap. The rain hadn’t been heavy, but the constant misting had a way of soaking through to one’s skin. As he pulled the garment off, heavy droplets hit the floor with a rhythmic thud, the liquid so dark with grime it looked like liquid earth. “You’ve certainly been busy out there.” Enkrid observed, judging by Grida’s posture and the look in her eyes. “Yeah. I had a bad feeling.” Grida stood tall as she began to speak, pausing for a second as if trying to find the right thread of the story. Then she plunged in. “Have you heard the old bit—that a great tracker makes for a solid hunter?” It was a common sentiment among scouts. It wasn’t exactly professional jargon, but it suggested that the skills needed to find a trail naturally translated to the skills needed to kill the prey. It was logical. Trackers were more than just travelers. However, even if a tracker possessed the instincts of a hunter, it didn’t guarantee they would reach the pinnacle of that profession. It was a subtle play on words—one that carried significant weight in their line of work. Looking closer, Grida’s statement had a hidden layer. Just as trackers were ranked by their talent, hunters existed on different tiers. She was implying that while her tracking skills made her a capable hunter, she hadn’t reached the elite level of a specialist in that field. The underlying point was—greatness is a step above being merely good. She spoke with the knowledge that Enkrid himself had spent time as a tracker. A brief comment, yet it was heavy with subtext. Essentially, she was saying: while performing her duties as a scout, she had stumbled upon something—something a hunter would recognize. And, beneath that, she was admitting the trail had gone cold. “What did you find? If it’s just monster sign, this region is teeming with them.” The far side of this territory shared a border with the Empire. To the south lay the Pen-Hanil mountain range. With three settlements in the vicinity, it would be more surprising not to encounter beasts. “They lack the soldiers to conduct a massive sweep like the Border Guard does.” The locals might thin the herds occasionally, but there weren’t enough boots on the ground to truly sanitize the wilderness. A knight could theoretically slay a thousand foes if they managed their stamina—but a lone knight couldn’t hold a thousand positions like a battalion could. “And when dealing with monsters, you aren’t going to cut down a thousand in a single day anyway.” Beasts didn’t march in tidy formations. Slaying such numbers was the stuff of camp stories and legends. Furthermore, no one in this area seemed interested in trying. As he processed this— “It wasn’t just random beasts. I found tracks—unmistakable signs of a disciplined march.” “A pack? A colony?” “Hah. You could call it that. I spotted several lizards moving on all fours.” Lizards—the very creatures that had been seen fighting alongside the Scalers. Larger, more robust—and far more dangerous than Scalers when it came to a direct confrontation. Grida seemed to lose some of her tension. She sighed and kicked her wet mantle away. “But that isn’t the real issue. Colonies are a daily occurrence here.” Routine. That was the reality for the people of this land. The inhabitants here struggled against one another, drilled together, and raised the next generation. They grew through conflict and maintained their drive because of the world around them. The land itself demanded strength for survival. Predators were always drifting near the edges of Zaun. Powerful drifters often arrived to test their mettle against the local talent. It wasn’t a secret, but it was the hidden engine of Zaun’s power—even if it wasn’t obvious to an outsider. the constant shadow of monsters kept their blades sharp. If Enkrid was perfecting the soul of technique, Zaun was doing everything required to manufacture knights. Neither method was inherently superior. Both sides acted on their convictions. “Are you familiar with named monsters? The ones that aren’t quite demons but have earned a reputation?” Grida inquired, leaning back against the edge of the small desk, her athletic frame resting against the wood. “Unique variants?” “Precisely. When a unique specimen lives long enough to be recognized—that’s when they get a name.” Grida, having journeyed from the frontier to the southern reaches, knew the peril of these entities. A beast that exceeded the limits of its kind was dubbed a “named.” Or simply a Name. The concept mirrored human fame: when a warrior performed legendary feats, their name became a symbol. These beasts fought with such ferocity and survived so many encounters that people had to give them a title. The Demon Realm was often called the knight’s tomb. And certain horrors within that domain were feared as knight-slayers. There were creatures in this world that had broken past their natural ceilings. “It began as a minor serpent… but it sprouted horns, started using magic—and transformed over time. I found the evidence.” It was a tale he had encountered previously. A creature with a human’s visage and a snake’s body. “A Lamia?” The term for a serpentine beast that had shifted into a humanoid shape. Top half human, bottom half snake. Famed for their charms and illusions. Typically genderless, though they often took the form of women to entice the unwary. However, there were even more potent versions of such things within the Demon Realm. Grida shook her head. “No. A Medusa.” A creature with a nest of vipers for hair. A single look could inflict the curse of stone. Her eyes caught the lantern’s glow. There was no terror in them. Whistle. Enkrid let out a soft, sharp breath. Few people would stay so composed after finding tracks belonging to such a horror. Grida wasn’t shocked by his calm either. She anticipated that Zaun would have a similar outlook. A rare beast appears? “Let’s go hunt it.” That would be the default mindset. The difficulty was—they had pursued the scent only for it to vanish. “I found traces of sorcery.” This implied the tracks were hidden on purpose by magical means. The kind of magic they had run into before, even during their trek to this place. “What did you mean about the lord of the house acting peculiar?” That question was the core reason Grida had come looking for Enkrid. Grida turned the inquiry back toward him. “Why do you think he is staying idle in the face of all this?” Enkrid processed that and gave a nearly imperceptible nod. From the start of this trip until now, there had been far too many anomalies. “Schmidt smelled of arcane interference.” The man had lingered long after his task was finished. “There was an assassin hunting Anne on the road.” Yet, since their arrival—complete silence. Was it because the foe couldn’t infiltrate the walls? Or were they biding their time? If it was one of those options—which carried more weight? That was why Ragna refused to leave Anne’s side. She had been scouting all over Zaun during this period. Enkrid synthesized every scrap of information he had gathered since stepping through the gates. Was Zaun isolated from the world? Hardly. And yet, they claimed to know nothing of Odinkar’s vanishing or any other global shifts. It wasn’t just the patriarch, either. “Scalers? Dark arts? Magic? This is news to me.” He had questioned Lynox during a training session. That was the answer. “I know nothing of it,” Heskal had said. “This isn’t happening because the enemy is some genius.” Someone on the inside was deliberately filtering the truth. Grida had spotted the inconsistency while scouting, then happened upon the monster’s trail. Zaun maintained regular patrols around its perimeter. One would need to know those schedules perfectly to hide things so effectively. Grida had already formed her opinion—and sought out Enkrid because of his closer connection to Zaun. That act alone confirmed her doubts. Someone had muffled Zaun’s hearing and covered its eyes. That was the only logical end. And— “The family head is aware of something.” If you followed the logic, it was the only answer. The logic? “He is the leader. If he remains passive while things fall apart—” Even if he wasn’t privy to every secret, several people had pointed out the red flags—and he hadn’t lifted a finger to investigate. Choosing not to know was the same as— “He already knows.” Or it was all by design, meaning he had no questions to ask. “The patriarch is acting strangely.” Grida finally voiced it, her face clouding with genuine worry. If she were to be completely blunt— “Or perhaps… he is the one who orchestrated this.” But what would the head of the family gain? That was Enkrid’s sticking point. People need a motive to act. But in this case, the motive was invisible. In the humid air, Enkrid blinked slowly. “Magrun mentioned he’s been out of commission for medical care.” Grida added, “Who told you that?” “Millesthia.” A practitioner of healing within Zaun. Word was she didn’t even know how to hold a sword. He had never actually met her. Too many gaps. Too little data. And the hands moving the pieces were hard to identify. During his time as a soldier of fortune, Enkrid had met many “fixers.” The specialists of the mercenary world. They tracked down the missing or unraveled odd mysteries. If someone was murdered in the city, they were the ones who found the truth. “It feels like we need a fixer for this.” But even if one were nearby—unless it involved royalty or high-end trade, they wouldn’t go near a case involving knights. Regardless—someone was sabotaging the clan. And Grida suspected the patriarch. But she suspected others, too. That was why she was here. “It feels dark, Enki.” BOOM. The thunder roared. A flash of lightning filled the room. It was only a moment—but it cast Grida’s face in stark, flickering shadows. That darkness reflected the rising anxiety on her features. Despite the noise, no rain fell. He had seen this before. Alexandra once called that kind of thunder a “false strike”—the precursor to a real tempest. “I believe something is unfolding within Zaun.” Grida’s words felt right to Enkrid—but he didn’t give a nod of agreement just yet. It was time to start digging and uncover the reality. So far, the evidence was undeniable: “There is a sorcerer and a mage involved.” They had made an attempt on Anne. Outside, a force of beasts—including a Medusa—was massing. “And they used magic to mask their presence, which means they are still playing for time.” Some people overthink things and lose the core truth. Enkrid wasn’t like that. “Why do you think those beasts have gathered?” He questioned her. Grida dipped her head, then looked back up. “Huh?” “To strike, clearly.” “Well, yes. They definitely seem like they were brought together for a reason.” “So they will attack eventually. Unless they plan on marching straight into the Empire.” “They’ll attack, obviously.” “Then we simply kill them when they arrive.” That was how you dealt with monsters. Plain and simple. “And someone is causing trouble inside the clan. But the patriarch isn’t the only one we should look at, right?” She had been away for a while—but this was her birthplace. Small changes were expected. But the heart of the family shouldn’t have warped like this. She had taken action because something that shouldn’t exist had appeared. That “something,” she was now certain, was an internal betrayal. Enkrid saw the logic in her eyes. “…For the last few days, I even wondered if my own mind was being clouded by a spell.” That was how intensely she had analyzed the situation. Only three days had passed—but her resolve had hardened. “There are five individuals who could pull the strings in Zaun this way. Seven, if you include Magrun and Odinkar. But they are currently unavailable, and I’ve been away too long. So they’re less likely.” To Enkrid, her phrasing meant she was still weighing Odinkar and Magrun as suspects—despite the fact that they had all traveled together. “So?” He gave a small nod, encouraging her to continue. Grida held up her right hand, spreading her fingers. Five. “The head of the family and his wife. Lynox. Heskal. And Andante.” Of that list, Enkrid had met everyone except Andante. And he had done more than just meet them—he had traded blows with each of them over the last three days. Those bouts and the words exchanged during them were still fresh in his mind. “That is going to be a problem.” Enkrid whispered. “None of them can be trusted.” Grida replied. She didn’t bother to hide her internal conflict. And Enkrid understood—she had every right to be conflicted. Everything she had laid out meant that people born of Zaun, raised on its honor—had turned their backs on it. And not just any members. But the very people at the center of the family’s heart.