Chapter 700

Chapter 700

The stillness preceding a tempest is always precisely that—a void of action until the gale finally breaks. That was the state of affairs for Enkrid at this moment. “There isn’t anything specific that requires my attention.” He harbored a premonition that an event was looming, yet no immediate danger manifested before him. While Grida appeared occupied with her own duties, Enkrid saw no point in meddling in matters that didn’t concern him. Consequently, he spent the duration of his day focused on a single task: practicing his sword forms. He had maintained this discipline during his tenure with the Border Guard, but within the walls of Zaun, his dedication only intensified. The environment there practically demanded such commitment. No one viewed his obsession as peculiar. On the contrary, the locals were impressed by the resolve of this foreigner, and they frequently joined him to appreciate the display of skill. The techniques Enkrid demonstrated were entirely foreign to them, which provided ample entertainment. The people of Zaun possessed an insatiable hunger for unfamiliar combat styles. “Vacation is over! Prepare for combat!” A youngster shouted this challenge before the sun had even risen, lunging at Enkrid while he was still in the middle of his calisthenics. And then— “Care to lose yourself in the embrace of a true vision?” —came a seductive shout from the most stunning woman among the giants—at least by the aesthetic standards of Zaun. Beside her, a distinctive, wheezing chuckle that defied mimicry erupted from an elderly blade-master named Lynox. “Listen, this is my territory. You don’t think you can just keep fighting with that ‘calculated’ style in my own home, do you?” That challenge originated from Grida. She had been missing for several days, only to return acting as though she had never left—even though she had been patrolling the perimeter, convinced that a conspiracy was festering inside Zaun. “You’ve got heavy bags under your eyes. Are you getting any rest?” “…Sleep has been hard to come by lately. It might just be the feeling of being back home.” Or perhaps it was the sheer pressure of the situation grinding her down. When a bow remains drawn for too long, both the wood and the cord begin to fail. The human spirit follows the same principle. Even knights, who might possess a more rugged constitution, are still fundamentally human. No warrior could find true peace amidst the suffocating tension currently permeating Zaun. Well—standard individuals couldn’t. Enkrid, conversely, was sleeping soundly and maintaining a healthy appetite. Ragna was the same. “You claimed you were going to seek out the dawn. Where did it go?” Enkrid posed this question casually to Ragna, who was lounging nearby. Ragna brushed the perspiration from his brow and shifted his gaze toward the general area of the clan head’s residence. Predictably, he was staring in the wrong direction—aiming toward the path that exited Zaun. “…Hmm.” Ragna hesitated, choosing his vocabulary with deliberate care. This was a recent development. During the early era of the Mad Squad, that chaotic unit that existed before the Border Guard, he was known for speaking without a filter. The fact that he was now pausing to think made an impression on Enkrid. As Ragna remained silent, a boy in the vicinity whispered to himself, “My fibers are tightening up perfectly. Yes, this is the feeling. This is it.” Throughout his training sessions and mock battles, Enkrid had introduced them to the Audin-style physical conditioning system. Several of Zaun’s youths had taken to it immediately—this boy being a primary example of its effectiveness. He grunted as he hoisted a massive rock, the muscles across his shoulders rippling with the effort. His frame was already robust, allowing him to increase his burden at a staggering pace. Zaun possessed its own traditional drills, which Enkrid had studied with interest. However, when it came to raw power development, nothing rivaled the Audin-style. Audin had painstakingly reconstructed the training rituals of a divine martial monk from the Holy City of Legion, integrating logical frameworks specifically for Enkrid. It served as a monument to Audin’s brilliance. If he were present, he would likely be glowing with satisfaction. “Magnificent effort, brother! Sister! I must say your power rivals the greatest of warriors!” He would likely bellow such praises for all to hear. These youngsters had acclimated remarkably well to Audin’s grueling regimen. Driven by a fierce internal fire and a need to win, they pushed themselves to the limit whenever they saw a peer succeeding—there was no way their proficiency wouldn’t skyrocket. After observing the scene for a moment, Ragna finally spoke. “I thought this was a crisis. But… I just don’t sense the urgency.” “Explain that.” Enkrid asked, unable to decipher the reasoning himself. Ragna seemed just as confused by his own intuition. He was drifting again. “I’m trying to figure that out myself.” He spoke with a monotone voice, but Enkrid could sense a hidden layer of irritation—perhaps even fury—boiling underneath the surface. Without providing further context, Ragna simply resumed his sword practice. Enkrid followed suit. Nearby, Anne was constantly occupied with various tasks—her hands were never still. Enkrid stole glances at her work periodically. “Did you harvest this venom from a cadaver? No, you kept the host breathing and siphoned it out. That’s it, isn’t it? Tell me I’m right.” She would occasionally ask questions like that. “Correct.” Enkrid would agree, even though he had no clue. Anne’s intensity demanded a confirmation. She had dragged a workspace into a corner of the training grounds, where she sat surrounded by vials and flasks, mixing substances and sniffing vapors while wearing protective green-hide gloves. From the back, she looked small, but her entire silhouette vibrated with a concentrated power. One could sense the gravity of her work. Enkrid’s honed instincts picked up the weight of her intent. “That is Will.” The realization that Anne was also a prodigy felt like an obvious truth. “This is a minor hurdle.” Anne whispered, totally immersed in her alchemy. She was likely oblivious to Enkrid’s gaze. “I am capable of this. I will obliterate this curse.” She continued her quiet mantra. Had anyone seen her expression at that moment, they would have seen eyes filled with a searing light. “How long has she been in this state?” Enkrid questioned Ragna, who was standing guard by their living quarters. “Ever since we arrived. She hasn’t paused for a second.” Ragna stayed close to her, never venturing far from her side during his own training. Enkrid nodded, preparing to move on. That was when Ragna spoke up— “She told me she has feelings for me.” “…Rem?” “If you utter something that revolting again, even in jest, I will remove your tongue.” “My mistake.” “Anne said it.” Enkrid thought back to the Anne he remembered from their days in the Border Guard. She was a constant fixture at the training fields, always complaining about her workload while never failing to show up. She provided meals. Water. Occasionally, she brought tonics for exhaustion. Most of it usually went to Ragna first. No matter what her task was, she was always positioned near Ragna. Kraiss had seen it. Enkrid had seen it. Even Rem was aware. Anne was in love with Ragna. Yet Ragna had been totally blind to it. The fool couldn’t find his own way in life—and he certainly couldn’t interpret the hearts of others. “Looking back… I believe I felt the same way.” Ragna spoke softly—just enough for the words to reach Enkrid. He was admitting his own feelings had grown. But he phrased it with zero sentimentality. “I’m not asking you to tell her.” “I’m just noting it.” Perhaps he simply needed the truth to exist outside of his own mind. Ragna’s motivations were straightforward. For reasons he couldn’t name, the desire to find the dawn had vanished. Perhaps that was the source of the weight in his chest. Or perhaps his internal sickness was taking a toll. The previous night, he had coughed up blood in his sleep. He had been stable during the journey here. Is the curtain finally falling? That seemed a likely explanation for this clarity. A shadow had fallen over a piece of his heart. Because of that, he wanted to settle a different matter. “However, I am not saying I intend to get closer to her.” Then he added in a low voice, “Not unless things shift.” Enkrid gave a nod of understanding. “Understood.” He confesses his love—then declares he will remain distant. Indeed. This was the logic of the Mad Squad. Pure insanity. There was no point in trying to find the reason behind it. Since their days in the original unit, Enkrid had abandoned any attempt to decode Ragna’s psyche—or anyone else’s for that matter. He stepped back out and began to swing his blade once more. Heavy, ink-colored storm clouds gathered above like a solid obsidian barrier. It appeared as though a ceiling of charcoal had been stretched across the heavens. Is that truly a cloud? It seems impossible. Others might have voiced such doubts. But Enkrid remained poised. While he would have preferred the sun, he wasn’t going to let the weather distract him. He simply adhered to his routine—swinging his sword. So he continued. The Ferryman had not made another appearance, yet his instructions were burned into Enkrid’s mind. Keep Anne safe. Enkrid had kept the Ferryman’s existence a secret. He had merely relayed the core instruction to Ragna. A threat might be coming for Anne—stay alert. They had already fought off creatures targeting her on the road. Ragna didn’t ask for evidence. He simply did as he was told. The period of forced normalcy had concluded. During that interval, Enkrid had been lost in contemplation. Who was behind the family’s turmoil? A puppeteer was at work. That fact remained. And now, it appeared someone was weaponizing coincidences. That was the extent of Enkrid’s theorizing—he didn’t hunt for a specific culprit. He wasn’t interested in playing the investigator. Even as more information came his way, his position remained the same. “Is the leader of the clan truly going to remain idle?” He had overheard Heskal asking this after his return from the elderly warriors’ village. Lynox had also requested a private audience with the clan head to voice his frustrations. Yet the status quo remained. Heskal, while spending time with Enkrid, eventually remarked— “Hah… if only the clan leader possessed a bit more drive.” They were in the middle of a session, but Heskal’s mind was elsewhere. His strikes lacked precision. Enkrid pulled back Three Iron and replied, “You’re suggesting he should have taken Schmidt’s deal?” “It would have been a viable path. The Empire has a long reach, after all.” They were empty words. A shallow thought. That was the vibe Enkrid got. Enkrid didn’t claim to know the clan head’s internal logic. But he could read Heskal’s desires clearly. His gaze was brimming with aspirations and a longing for something more. “What is it you hope to achieve?” Heskal’s eyes shone with a mixture of optimism and greed. “I’ll share that with you another time.” He offered a smile. From that response, Enkrid gathered that his goal was a monumental one. But he also sensed—the man would never surrender. It was an instinct shared by those of a similar nature. “Curse it. There’s no sign of Odinkar anywhere.” Grida had spent days combing through Zaun. Magrun was missing. Odinkar was missing. Her anxiety was palpable. One dusk, an elder named Millestchia arrived to consult with Anne. She was the primary medic of Zaun. “What is the meaning of all this?” Upon learning of Anne’s work, her eyes lit up with shock. She seemed invigorated—stating that a breakthrough was possible. She offered a brief greeting to Enkrid as she passed. And then, at a specific dawn, Enkrid was jolted awake—not by his own volition. CRACK-KABOOM! A massive streak of lightning tore through the sky, the thunder vibrating in his very skull. KRAAAAAAACK! Before the sound had even faded, a deluge of rain slammed into the earth. Enkrid rose and peered through the pane to see a downpour so violent it looked like falling iron rods. He briefly wondered if the terrain would be demolished by the force. “Enkrid of the Border Guard.” Then—a voice summoned him from the storm. A visitor he hadn’t anticipated at such an hour. Enkrid stood and immediately began checking his equipment. Three Iron. Penna. A short blade. A dagger with a horn grip. Arm wraps. The fairy’s garment. His leather chest and shoulder protection. “The silk layer is useless today.” The water would weigh it down and restrict his agility. Experience had taught him that. His reflexes were sharp. There was no obvious reason to be fully armed—but he prepared anyway. Only when he was entirely ready did he swing the door open, showing no sign of agitation. The clan head was standing there—completely drenched. He spoke. “Follow me. Millestchia has been killed.” Enkrid had no context for the statement. But the clan head’s posture suggested he was there to assign guilt. “Shouldn’t that be my question for you?” Enkrid replied with a level voice. Rain dripped from the clan head’s frame into a pool at his feet. His tone was as cold as a stone. “Come. Now.” Click. A secondary door opened. Ragna appeared. “Who the hell do you think you’re accusing?” In the shadows of the corridor, a candle flame danced—casting Ragna’s silhouette across the walls like a titan.