Chapter 701

Chapter 701

Enkrid witnessed, for the very first time, a flickering of true sentiment within the family head’s gaze. It carried the weight of anxiety or perhaps a deep-seated restlessness, yet the shadow of that feeling evaporated as swiftly as it had materialized. It happened with such brevity that Enkrid questioned if his mind had simply conjured the image. “You are not to accompany me.” The patriarch spoke once more, his tone utterly hollow, mimicking the cold precision of a steel machine. This dismissal caused Ragna to boil over. Enkrid could practically feel the simmering rage pulsing off the man; Ragna was beyond livid. “Are you truly commanding me to sit idly by while this indignity occurs?” As he demanded an answer, Ragna lunged forward with his left leg, breaching the doorway. That single movement carried the lethal intent of a blade being drawn for a strike. His temper burned with a ferocity that far surpassed the time Rem had pilfered his prized rations. That raw emotion manifested as physical power, creating a crushing pressure that saturated the corridor outside the chamber. The head of the family offered no rebuttal to Ragna’s outburst. He maintained the composure of a seasoned sage, merely fixing a silent, expectant stare upon Enkrid. Despite the silence, the look felt like a wordless, frantic plea for help. Something is fundamentally wrong here. Enkrid reached the same conclusion and gave a small, internal nod. In moments of total uncertainty, the best course is to take action first and unravel the mystery later. If Grida’s suspicions held weight and the family head was indeed weaving some plot, following him was the only way to expose it. “Ragna, stay put. I will return shortly.” Enkrid’s voice cut through the tension. Ragna, after maintaining a hard, silent glare at the patriarch, eventually gave a reluctant nod of agreement. With that settled, the family head began to walk, the wet slapping of his stride echoing against the floorboards. This time, he made no effort to be stealthy. His rain-heavy boots scraped and thudded down the hallway, establishing a deliberate, heavy cadence. Outside, the heavens were in chaos; a symphony of thunder and lashing rain performed like a massive, violent orchestra. One would need the refined senses of an expert to distinguish the rhythm of footsteps against the deafening roar of the storm. Only a true knight would have the focus to track them. Enkrid sensed a hidden wave of relief in the man’s gait. It wasn’t a loud declaration of feeling, but something understated—reminiscent of the subtle warmth Alexandra had once expressed through her blade as a sign of gratitude. Or perhaps it was just a figment of his imagination. As Enkrid trailed him into the teeth of the gale, the patriarch spoke without warning. CRACK-BOOM! Through the torrential downpour, his words fought their way to Enkrid’s ears. “Ragna is actually listening to reason now.” “He has no reason to be defiant.” Since his youth, that boy never heeded a soul. Even after his return, he seemed as stubborn as ever. “Perhaps he simply accepted the reality. It isn’t necessarily about me.” “Or maybe he only listens when you are the one speaking. How did you manage to soften my son’s rough edges?” Softened? Enkrid found the idea puzzling. He hesitated for a moment before replying as they marched through the rain: “I couldn’t say. I just fought to stay alive, and eventually, Ragna was there, swinging his steel right beside me.” The family head fell into a contemplative silence, seemingly weighing his next words. Amidst the howling wind, the only sound was the uneven, soggy thud of their march. Finally, the patriarch spoke again. “You speak the truth. One cannot force the heart to bend. I sometimes wonder if I should have tried to crush his spirit to lead him. But that time has long since passed.” Standing outside the quarters was Alexandra, cloaked in black. Her features were a mask of stone. Millestia had been her closest companion for a lifetime, and now she was gone… because of Zaun. That reality cut her deeply, causing her expression to go even colder and more distant. Enkrid had been within the walls of Zaun for twelve days now. The tempest had become so thick that the boundary between day and night had completely dissolved. His convictions remained as firm as the day he arrived. He still believed there was no point in chasing ghosts. The right people would show up when they were meant to. Until that moment, Enkrid’s duty was uncomplicated. Ensure Ana remains safe. Wait with patience, and keep his body ready for combat. “Knight!” Through the sheets of rain and the flash of lightning, a shout rang out. The period of waiting was over; the true storm had arrived. CRACKLE-BOOM! A searing white bolt of lightning tore through the sky, revealing two factions standing in opposition. It felt as though a jagged, invisible line split the world in two, with both sides poised for a collision. In that instant, Enkrid realized the patriarch was positioned in front of him, while Alexandra held the ground behind. He was also keenly aware that these two represented the peak of martial power in Zaun. If they coordinated an attack, death was almost certain for any target. Essentially, Enkrid was currently standing between the most lethal blades Zaun had to offer.

I will find the cure for this blight. Ana braced her resolve. A sickness described as a curse had wiped out her kin. As the years passed, the infection spread, driving the local populace into a state of blind terror that led them to torch the slums. Her family, being residents of those very streets, perished in the flames set by their own neighbors. That was the moment Anne chose… Retribution. Initially, her target was nothing more than a hazy fog. To strike back, she first had to comprehend. So, she dedicated herself to the craft. She gathered knowledge, experimented, and immersed herself in the complexities of alchemy. Her first acts of vengeance were directed at the disease itself and the ignorance that fed it. And while she had executed certain alchemists who butchered children or crafted horrors from human remains, she didn’t view that as revenge—it was merely a necessary purging. Nevertheless, even if she claimed her pursuit of alchemy was driven by a thirst for vengeance, she would be dishonest if she denied the thrill it gave her. She found it exhilarating. Whether by a stroke of luck or the sheer fruit of her labor, solving riddles with her unique perspective granted her a level of fulfillment she had never known. Ah. Now I see the pattern. Ana felt that familiar spark of triumph once more. She had successfully identified the nature of the “seed” festering within Zaun and had devised a countermeasure. It wasn’t a total victory yet, but… She grasped the core mechanics of the problem. Explaining it to a layman would require an exhaustive lecture on the fundamental nature of “essence,” making it a difficult topic to convey. However, she had a specific message for Ragna. The time had come to cleanse the curse from his lineage. Though she would also have to admit that certain aspects remained beyond even her formidable skills. Just as she raised her head to speak, an unfamiliar voice preempted her. “I still find it baffling.” The room Ana occupied was too cramped for a person to enter through the door easily, but the window provided ample space for a face, a hand, or a weapon. The voice was drifting in from right outside that window. “Why in the world does it have to be you who forces my hand?” RUMBLE, CRASH. Despite the crashing thunder and the veil of rain, the voice was chillingly distinct. CLANG! The window frame splintered as the entire fixture was wrenched away. The man tore it out with his bare strength before continuing. “Not that it really matters to me.” A man with damp, blonde hair plastered against his forehead aimed a weapon at her. It resembled a short spear with a wickedly sharp tip, though the shaft was unusually truncated. Even in the chaos of the storm, Ana knew that face. She had seen him during their travels. The sharp jawline, the piercing blue eyes, the cropped blonde hair—all unmistakable. She recognized him. Odinkar. “What?” Anne’s eyes went wide with shock, but the man—looking entirely devoid of emotion—simply launched the weapon in his hand. His arm moved so fast it was a blur. She only realized he had struck after the fact. CLANG! And in that same heartbeat, a counter-move was made. Just as Odinkar tore the window away and threw his projectile, a massive blade swung from the shadows and intercepted it mid-air. SHATTER! The deflected spear ricocheted and buried itself deep into the masonry. Anne felt a sudden, forceful tug on her arm. Ragna, of course, had moved. He pulled her close and growled toward the window. “And who the hell are you supposed to be?” Anne realized she had been paralyzed, holding her breath. Huff, huff. She forced herself to breathe. The intruder at the window stared at Ragna with vacant, hollow eyes. Anne’s attention shifted to the man’s fingers as they gripped the edge of the wall. The tips were stained a deep, bruised black. That was the unmistakable mark of someone who had spent years handling lethal toxins. “That man isn’t Odinkar.” Ana’s intellect remained sharp. Even under pressure, her mind processed the details. She had never detected the scent of alchemical reagents on Odinkar during their journey. This man was an imposter. The fake’s lips twisted into a smirk. “Is that so?” He let out a short, sharp breath before asking: “How did you figure it out?” “That stench is impossible to ignore,” Ragna snapped. He had sensed the deception instantly. The aura this man projected was nothing like Will’s. And then there was the smell. Ragna watched him with a cold, steady gaze, but he held his position. He couldn’t risk a reckless charge. There are more of them. The intruder wasn’t acting alone. Others were lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect opening. How did they infiltrate the perimeter? Someone must have compromised the defenses from within. He pushed the thought aside; there was no time for post-mortems. CRACK! A flash of white light illuminated the interior. Behind the man at the window stood several winged abominations—at least five were visible in the strobe of the lightning. Didn’t the captain mention a unique creature spotted in Oara? Ragna recalled the report. The things standing there looked exactly like that description. A unique class of monster: the kind capable of wielding Will. Ragna, gripping his heavy sword, realized the cramped room was a disadvantage. Deciding to act, he lunged with his blade. Pivoting on his lead foot, he channeled his strength through his core and thrust the sword toward the window. THUMP! He aimed to crush the intruder’s skull, but the man shifted just enough for the blade to graze his shoulder. Worse, the man rolled with the impact, preventing his bone from shattering or his arm from being ripped off. It was partly due to his reflexes, and partly because his skin possessed an unnatural, leathery toughness. Ragna knew immediately what he was dealing with. “That actually stung, you bastard,” the man hissed, before flicking a spray of amber liquid from his palm. Ragna had already retreated, scooping up Anne and leaping into the corridor. SIZZLE! The liquid hit the desk and floor, melting through the wood instantly. “Do you really think I’ll let you run?” the man’s voice echoed from the room. As Ragna burst through the door, he sensed a presence dropping from the ceiling. Both attackers were hyper-focused on Anne, showing a complete disregard for their own safety. Without needing to look, Ragna tracked the movement of the creatures. Expanding his senses, he cast a mental net around himself to anticipate their trajectory. Two owl-bears, claws extended and wings beating. They struck like heavy bolts fired from a siege engine. Ragna tucked Anne under his left arm and swung his greatsword with his right. Holding his breath, he unleashed a burst of Will. The blade, propelled by a surge of unnatural speed and weight, tore through the leaping monsters. SPLASH, CRUNCH! One beast was hurled against the wall, sliding down in a heap. One had its skull split open; the other suffered a massive, diagonal rend that opened it from chest to jaw. Dark, oily blood sprayed across the floor, pooling rapidly. The rain poured in through the gaps, mixing with the black gore. Though he had evaded the primary strike by instinct, Ragna noticed a thick, suffocating odor filling the air. This is a problem. His gut screamed a warning. Anne, her equilibrium shattered by the sudden acceleration, leaned over and retched. “Ugh!” Yellow bile splattered onto Ragna’s footwear. That sudden explosion of movement was too much for a normal human body to endure. Anne gritted her teeth, forcing a single word through the crushing nausea. “Poison!” That was all she could manage. Ragna had come to the same realization. Those two monsters had been coated in something. It was as if they had been marinated in toxin. He had inhaled the mist, and now he could feel the strength draining from his limbs. The Will within him began to combat the foreign substance. It was an automatic response. But Will couldn’t simply erase every toxin; it could only buy a warrior more time. This specific poison seemed engineered to target knights. It was racing through his system. His knees felt heavy. He hadn’t even moved again, yet his energy was bottoming out. “Did you honestly think knights were untouchable by drugs?” They were retreating down the hall. The Odinkar look-alike emerged from Anne’s room behind them, his voice mocking. He wore Odinkar’s skin, but his essence was something entirely different. “Don’t be absurd. Don’t let your status as knights go to your heads. You’re just arrogant, self-deluded fools.” Ragna remained silent, watching. The man’s limbs were beginning to thicken and distort. His torso was bulging unnaturally. It wasn’t a trick of the light or the rain. He had undergone physical mutation. Raising his blackened fingertips, he pointed at Ragna. “You’ll be crawling on the floor, coughing up your own blood, begging me to end it.” He spoke with the absolute certainty of a victor. There was no laughter, just a cold statement of fact. Ragna wasn’t a deep thinker like Rem or Enkrid. He didn’t waste time wondering about the ‘how’ or ‘why’ of the situation. He simply understood what needed to be done. That was his gift. “When I engage them, find the captain and get out of here.” Ragna’s voice was steady. If this was to be the final spark of his life, and that spark ensured this woman’s safety, he could accept that. If his legacy ended with saving Ana, he would be content. A short life or a long one—it didn’t matter. He had no regrets. He was prepared. “What kind of nonsense is that? You’re out of your mind! Eat this.” Anne wiped her mouth with a sharp motion, pulled a thumb-sized pill from her satchel, and shoved it into Ragna’s mouth. As Ragna reflexively swallowed the medicine, Anne challenged him: “If I neutralize that bastard’s parlor tricks, you can protect me and put them all down, right?” Ragna, impressed by her sheer nerve, gave a nod. “That’s the easy part.” The fake Odinkar’s brow furrowed. “What are you two whispering about?” “Don’t you want a quick death?” Perhaps he should break them slowly until they regretted their defiance. He spoke, but Ragna could already feel the vigor returning to his muscles. The turbulence of the Will inside him settled. The cure was instantaneous. Typically, an antidote is just as taxing on the body as the poison itself, but this was different. Any master alchemist would have seen the truth: Ana’s prowess was ten times greater than the man standing before them. It was a clash of genius against the mundane. A prodigy versus a common foot soldier. Ragna didn’t care about the technicalities. He simply raised his blade. It was time to do what he did best. Even without overthinking it, Ragna always knew exactly how to strike. It was pure instinct.