Chapter 702

Chapter 702

The individual who bore a striking resemblance to Odinkar had arrived at this location following the directives of his superior. The command had been simple: “Depart. Eradicate them.” The reasoning was irrelevant. To him, his leader was a deity, and absolute compliance was the fundamental requirement for a devoted servant. Furthermore, what weight did the life of a single girl carry? It was a menial errand, one he had undertaken with a carefree spirit. His significant objectives would follow this diversion. This was merely like snatching a gutter rat before the Thieves’ Guild could maim them or before they were relegated to a life of beggary—no different from training a novice to become a common street thief. Effortless. Trivial. In truth, dispatching a low-ranking subordinate would have sufficed to secure the specimen. Despite this, a small flicker of resentment burned within him. Was he not destined for grander achievements? Why was he relegated to such a lowly chore? ‘Sacrilege.’ He mentally rebuked himself. He was a follower, and his first priority was unwavering fealty to the divine. Though the purpose was hidden, his master undoubtedly had a transcendent objective. That was the way of gods. They evaluated one’s conviction—by stripping away wealth, taking the lives of one’s offspring, or inflicting agonizing diseases—simply to see if faith remained unshaken. To an outsider, it was sadism; to him, it was the ultimate act of worship. Focusing back on this minor task—even if the child from the slums fought back, the outcome was predetermined. He was accompanied by a pack of engineered abominations and armed with lethal toxins. A single knight had attempted to intervene, but that, too, should have been a negligible hurdle. “There is no possible way they could neutralize my venom with such ease—” He began to smirk, preparing to mock the youth standing before him, but the words were cut short. CRASH! An explosion of sound tore through the torrential rain, overpowering the storm’s fury. It was the whistle of a heavy edge cleaving the atmosphere. A massive blade had just bifurcated a beast—a creature with hide as dense as plate armor, an entity that was a match for the follower himself. That creature had lunged for the girl. The warrior with the greatsword had pivoted his frame mid-strike and swung with total indifference, despite the poison coursing through him. ‘How is he still functioning?’ He knew knights were essentially monsters in human skin, which is why he utilized toxins designed to liquify bone and char internal organs. KRAAAAH! The howling rain rushed to fill the silence following the sword’s impact. The corridor became a shallow pool as water surged in from the adjacent room, making the floor treacherously slick. Yet Ragna charged through the deluge without a second thought, adjusted his grip, and brought the greatsword down with both hands. CRUNCH, SLICE! TEAR! Two lunging owlbears and a dark-scaled Scaler were butchered into heaps of meat, collapsing onto the wet floor. The Scaler’s dark, glassy eyes rolled in its severed skull, its body twitching in its final throes. The knight—the anomaly with the massive blade—calmly rotated his shoulder as if merely working out a stiff joint. “What exactly was in that medicine?” The warrior with the greatsword asked the girl at his side. “Nothing remarkable. It appeared to be a basic neurotoxin, so I used an old formula I had on hand. It’s a standard paralytic agent, likely derived from vipers. If you harvest snake venom and introduce it in small doses to livestock like goats or camels, their blood creates a natural defense. I synthesized it on that basis. Not that the science would make sense to you.” The girl—the primary target—spoke without any hint of pride. her crimson eyes remained tranquil and detached. “That is a lie!” The follower bellowed. He had finished developing that specific paralytic strain only a month ago. It was impossible for her to possess a ready-made cure. “What do you find so hard to believe?” She inquired. “An antidote cannot be crafted without prior knowledge of the toxin’s composition!” The follower snarled in frustration. The girl’s retort was dismissive, as if she were discussing something as mundane as pulling weeds. “What is so impressive about a crude poison manufactured with elementary techniques known to everyone?” To process her statement, he had to admit a devastating truth: That the research he had perfected over decades—his entire life’s work—was nothing more than a beginner’s exercise to her. Just one minor concept among a sea of knowledge. If that were the case, she wasn’t human. She was far more terrifying than the man with the greatsword; she was the real monster. “Perish.” The follower’s gaze flared with a mixture of envy and rage. Driven by a sudden, overwhelming compulsion, he sought to destroy her. He produced a different toxin—one designed to induce vivid hallucinations and euphoric bliss before the heart stopped. In an open field, the gale might have dispersed it, but the enclosed space worked in his favor. He ground the powder between his palms, turning it into a fine mist that hung in the air. “Still trying to be the hero? What’s with that expression? Did you get your face reconstructed?” Anne remarked, reaching into her triple-layered, waterproof leather satchel—a custom piece made by a former supply officer of the Border Guard. She swallowed a pill herself and then forced one into Ragna’s mouth. The warrior with the greatsword chewed it without protest, his strength seemingly undiminished. This cooperation only fueled the follower’s hatred. His murderous intent spiked once more. The mist drifted over them—but neither individual collapsed. There was no flushing of the skin, no respiratory distress, not even a single blink of discomfort. The attack had failed completely. Frantic, the man hurled a glass container—a devastating acid capable of eating through enchanted hide and skeletal structures alike. It would dissolve a person upon impact. As he tossed the vial, his other hand launched a short, poison-tipped javelin. His surgically enhanced frame granted him power comparable to a knight, though he knew that brute force alone was insufficient to win. That was why he relied on the poisoned projectile. He had three javelins remaining at his waist. He had already used two—one for the window and one earlier. The monster with the sword batted the javelin aside with the precision of a fencer and stepped away from the falling acid, never letting go of Anne. “Ughhh!” The follower shrieked in a fit of fury. His pulse throbbed in his ears and his world turned a violent shade of red. He was desperate to kill them—especially the little one. Surgically altered Scalers with bat-like wings descended from the rafters and the dark corners. ‘The child is the true threat. I can deal with the swordsman later.’ He told himself. He was catastrophically wrong. The greatsword accelerated beyond the limits of his vision. THUD! SNAP! The winged beasts were torn apart in mid-air. Four of them were extinguished in heartbeats. The follower, reaching for his last weapon, suddenly went rigid. “…What kind of freakish beings are these?” It was a bizarre statement coming from a man who had mutilated his own anatomy and altered his features—but to him, it was logical. He had traded his humanity for power, believing he had become something better. His deepest desire was to prove his superiority over those born with natural genius. But now, he faced two anomalies. People who had retained their humanity and yet surpassed him through sheer, unadulterated talent. The realization was soul-crushing. ‘Why? How? I sacrificed my human self—why can I not win?’ Even the [N O V E L I G H T] monstrosities that would challenge most high-ranking knights, and even his finest toxins—none of it worked. ‘There is no hope.’ The man with the greatsword slaughtered every beast without breaking a sweat, all while keeping the girl safe, and now he was closing the distance. The follower never caught another clear glimpse of Anne. The warrior with the sword ensured his line of sight was blocked. That remained true until the very end. He lunged, delivered a crushing blow with the edge, and immediately pulled back to cover the girl. His retreat was even swifter than his assault. The follower had no cards left to play. Even if he had, they would have been countered. The knight’s focus was impenetrable. “Ghk…” His cranium fractured under the weight of the steel, and the chemical cocktail within his own veins finally became unstable, ravaging his internal organs. Ultimately, his own poisons would finish him before the sword wound could. As his life faded, he finally realized the source of his intense desire to kill the girl. ‘She is a catastrophe waiting to happen for the master.’ Her level of talent was a nightmare. She looked like the kind of person who could dismantle everything his master had built. That final thought vanished into the dark with him. “Are you hurt?” Ragna cleaned the gore from his blade, stepping away from the remains. The steel was noticeably chipped and worn from cutting through monsters saturated in corrosive fluids. One of them had blood that mirrored the acid vial thrown earlier. Having a cure wasn’t enough; anything the blood touched was instantly degraded. But Ragna had avoided every drop by reading the trajectory of the arterial spray. A few flecks had landed on his sleeve. However, his jacket, crafted from premium beast hide, had protected him. There were small burns in the fabric and the blade was damaged, but he was otherwise fine. “Other than a bit of nausea, I’m perfectly fine,” Anne answered, sealing the triple-layered cover of her bag. KRAAAAH. Even in this deluge, her equipment would remain dry. It was designed to stay sealed even if it fell into a river. “We must locate the captain immediately.” She urged. The world outside might be in total disarray, but the storm masked everything. Even Ragna’s heightened senses couldn’t distinguish specific events through the roar of the rain. BOOM! Thunder shook the foundations. Ragna moved forward with measured steps, keeping Anne in his shadow, alert for any hidden dangers. “Are you… actually protecting me?” Anne asked. Ragna gave a blunt, honest reply. “You aren’t going to die as long as I’m still breathing.” Anne felt a slight warmth rise to her face. Was that intended as… a confession?

Enkrid stood facing the patriarch of the Zaun family, while behind him stood Alexandra, the swiftest blade he had ever encountered. And caught between them was an unpredictable variable: Schmidt. A representative of the Empire, a man of fast steel and the unmistakable tang of magic. “What in the world is happening here?” Schmidt looked like a drowned rat, his soaked hair plastered to his forehead. He didn’t even bother to wipe his eyes, standing there in a state of shock. ‘If he’s faking this…’ Then Schmidt was the most talented deceiver in the world. But Enkrid, trusting more than just his training, knew the man’s bewilderment was real. He looked toward the family head and spoke: “What was the reason for Millestia’s death?” He sought the purpose. Even without the full picture, he knew this was a scripted tragedy. That was the core of his inquiry. The patriarch grasped the subtext instantly and replied: “To orchestrate this specific encounter.” He then shifted his attention toward Enkrid. KRAAAAH. The rain fell with the weight of iron. Thunder battered the landscape, making everyone armed with metal uneasy. A single mistake could lead to a lethal lightning strike. For that reason, in this region of Zaun, combat involving metal blades was traditionally forbidden during this season. Zaun’s geographic location—nested in a natural basin—combined with the way metal attracted the storm, created a deathtrap. “May I ask a favor of you?” The patriarch requested. Grida had nurtured doubts about the family head, fearing a betrayal from within the house. “Go ahead,” Enkrid stated firmly. “If I fall… handle the consequences. My chosen heir is…” He leaned in, his voice a mere whisper against Enkrid’s ear as he revealed the name. Enkrid signaled his understanding with a nod. “Very well.” “My thanks.” “It is nothing.” “Ragna arriving alongside you at this moment… it might be the only bit of fortune we have left.” While the patriarch and Enkrid spoke in low voices, Alexandra offered her perspective while eyeing the standoff. Her expression wasn’t one of grief; it was hardened with conviction. “Even if it isn’t luck, we have to deal with it.” Enkrid concurred. There was no avoiding the path ahead. ‘The family head is likely not the culprit.’ Grida had her suspicions, but Enkrid saw it differently. From an outside perspective, the logic held up. ‘The patriarch already possesses total control. He has no reason to act in person if he were the villain.’ If he wanted to dismantle Zaun, he could have simply lured people into private meetings and killed them one by one. Even the vanishing of Odinkar was probably connected to the patriarch’s plans. It wasn’t a disappearance; it was a tactical move—either by command or agreement. Odinkar had joined the Border Guard on the patriarch’s orders. If he didn’t leave of his own accord, there was only one other logical conclusion. The situation was still murky, but Enkrid had managed to form a picture from the available evidence. ‘Then there’s the rumor about him being seduced by a cult…’ But could a man of his standing—a knight who could command Will—be manipulated so easily? ‘The probability is nonexistent.’ Of course, it was possible that everyone around him was an adversary. Enkrid couldn’t be certain. But that didn’t change his resolve. That was why he had arrived unaccompanied. At that moment, the man who had been yelling earlier stepped into the light. It was Lynox—the most vocal critic of the patriarch’s recent choices. Yet, despite his words, he remained loyal to the house. His earlier shouting had a simple goal: to prevent a bloodbath. He had barely managed to keep the two warring sides from tearing each other apart. “To hell with this. If I see anyone draw their sword, I’ll crack your head open myself. I’m serious. No fighting. Understood? I’m not giving warnings. This isn’t a game.” His speech was erratic, but his intent was clear. The two groups remained frozen for the moment. With the immediate threat of civil war paused, Lynox walked over. “Heskal has turned on Grida. He stabbed her.” Through the falling rain, Enkrid noted that Lynox had shielded all six of his blades with heavy fabric—a precaution against the lightning. He must have been in his quarters when the violence erupted, and he had clearly been in a struggle. Cuts lined his face and shoulder, stained with dark blood. The patriarch acknowledged the news. “I see.” “Don’t give me that ‘calm’ act. Andante is gone. I was ambushed. Some fools still think Heskal is innocent, but he slaughtered Jerry, Iven, Roist, Pale—damn it all—and he took others with him. What’s the plan, Tempe?” The patriarch’s name was Tempest Zaun. “Tempe” was a name used only by those close to him. Lynox was one of those people; they were lifelong companions. Tempest Zaun surveyed the scene. Sorting through what he had anticipated and what had surprised him, he made his choice. “We find our enemy.” “And after that?” Lynox demanded. “We fight.” The wheels were in motion. The only path forward was conflict. Enkrid nodded. It was the only answer that made sense.