Chapter 725

Chapter 725

Icy rain drenched the soil, as thunder crashed amidst the obsidian clouds. Rrrrrrrrumble. In the distance, a bolt of white light tore through the heavens with a bone-shaking crack. The storm seemed to pull back its fury, as if the thunder itself recognized this moment was too significant to disrupt. The echoes remained far off, never drawing closer. Within the falling rain, a heavy silence took hold. After a brief tension, the leader of the family spoke. “The weight of every curse will fall on me.” “Don’t make me laugh. Why would I squander such a gift on a man already standing at death’s door?” Drmul was far from ignorant. Tempest Zaun had exhausted every ounce of his spirit to deliver that final sword strike. Had the family head simply left behind a single guard from the unit Heskal sent for the execution, the situation wouldn’t be so dire. Cunning Heskal, treacherous Heskal. Was this pathetic concluding gambit part of his design as well? ‘Was this his ultimate desire?’ Silence was the only reply. The deceased offer no testimony, and pointing fingers at a corpse was a futile exercise now. Drmul’s edge remained lethal. Would the patriarch truly sacrifice his entire lineage just to protect a wanderer like Enkrid? His spouse, his offspring, his brothers-in-arms—every soul? ‘The path was set from the very beginning.’ Drmul wasn’t making idle threats. If the family head attempted to seize Enkrid, the plague would be unleashed upon him. But Enkrid was not one to submit without a struggle. Should they attempt to restrain him by force, a significant number of Zaun’s elite would be forced to meet their end. ‘In the conclusion, you will all be the architects of your own slaughter.’ If Enkrid perished, Drmul would see to it that bards and funeral dirges were sent to Zaun to mock their mourning. Eventually, the house of Zaun would crumble. Drmul had meticulously engineered this outcome to destroy that arrogant man and ensure Zaun burned alongside him. To coordinate such a plot in such a narrow window of time—Drmul was undeniably a formidable antagonist. “Give me your answer. Do you intend to let him walk away?” Drmul demanded. Though his voice no longer carried its supernatural resonance, it struck the warriors of Zaun with the force of a physical blow. Their resolve wavered. The tempest had quieted, but the air was thick with dread. Anahera and Riley shifted their positions, creating a loose cordon. Their movements were instinctive. Regardless of the choice made, the absolute worst outcome had to be averted. If Enkrid chose to flee, there would be no more choices—only a final curtain. Even Lynox grew quiet and retreated a few paces. He possessed enough integrity to refrain from attacking a warrior who wasn’t looking. Enkrid had bled for Zaun. His pride earned him that much. It seemed there was no escape. Everything was unfolding according to Drmul’s dark design— —until a lone figure stepped forward, dragging their feet to obstruct Enkrid’s exit. A massive sword, marred by a vertical fracture and on the verge of shattering, was slammed into the mud. The downpour continued, soaking through everything. From beneath clumps of sodden golden hair, a pair of crimson eyes burned with a fierce, unwavering light. “Leave.” The speaker was Ragna. The patriarch’s cold, hollow eyes locked onto Ragna’s. “What is the meaning of this?” “I am sending the Captain away.” The reply was immediate and firm. Ragna surely harbored uncertainties. But when forced to choose—this was the stand he took. “Whatever time I have left, I will dedicate to those who remain in Zaun.” He would ensure his commander’s safety and take the consequences upon his own shoulders. That was the destiny Ragna embraced. Not every soul had been tainted. Survivors remained—in the veterans’ colony and among the remaining citizens of Zaun. He would make certain they carried the legacy of Zaun’s steel. This penance—it wasn’t the Captain’s burden to bear. Yet the world frequently demanded a price from the innocent. The family head understood that reality all too well. “I wonder how many will actually draw breath tomorrow?” Drmul let out a dark laugh. In that moment, to everyone watching, he no longer appeared as a mangled horror—he looked like a demon made flesh. Could Ragna truly shield Enkrid? Excluding the patriarch and Alexandra, they were the most battered souls present. The family head’s freezing gaze shifted toward Enkrid, his mouth twitching. While his face remained a mask, a flicker of doubt slowed his actions. Was it right to demand such a sacrifice from a man who had sacrificed everything for Zaun? Enkrid already seemed to have reached his own conclusion. He brushed the wet hair from his face and pivoted. “Don’t you dare flee. Even if you despise us for eternity and return as a ghost to torment me—do it. But, oh…” Riley, unable to finish his sentence, broke down into sobs. No one moved to stop him. The soft rain served to mask his weeping. How could they treat the man who had been their shield this way? Yet, what of those who would be left behind? If Riley were asked what Zaun represented to him, the reply would be straightforward: Kin. Life. His whole world. “I’m staying right here.” Enkrid spoke directly to Riley. Then, turning toward the source of the sickening smell of decay, he spoke once more. “That power—is it a malediction or a pestilence?” If it were a curse, it would find no purchase. He had his Guide. His tone was composed. His vision was clear. Those steady blue eyes stared down the rotting sockets across from him like an unyielding pillar of light. He wasn’t even tapping into his Will, yet the weight of his presence was stifling. Even without force, a human could command total reverence through their posture—exactly as Enkrid was doing. Before the patriarch could intervene, before any blade in Zaun was turned against their brother— “…I referred to it as a curse, but it is a contagion.” Drmul replied, his voice smaller, cowed by that sheer presence. The mythic horror who boasted of godhood was once again made small by the spirit of a single man. The foul, poisonous plague of a demon was held at bay—simply by one man’s resolve. Enkrid responded without a second of doubt. “Fortunate. Let it be so.” He was referring to the nature of the sickness—not the curse. He didn’t expect them to grasp his meaning. It didn’t matter. “What are you implying?” Drmul asked, the words escaping him in pure shock. “Transfer the sickness to me. Instead of letting it consume every soul in Zaun—channel it all into my body. If your words hold truth.” “I will use my final moments to strike a bargain. Not through sorcery, but through sheer intent. I offer my spirit.” That was the fundamental law of the Commandment Book. There was no room for deception. Drmul, the legendary alchemist and sorcerer of old, spoke with absolute clarity. Enkrid was aware that lies were possible. But Drmul hadn’t constructed such a complex trap for this final moment—and his aura suggested he was telling the truth. ‘Did Drmul anticipate his own defeat?’ Likely not. He had been wary of Enkrid, Ragna, and Anne—but he had still gambled on his own triumph. Otherwise, he never would have appeared in person. ‘Whatever path led him here—Drmul arrived because he was certain of his glory.’ The cards simply hadn’t fallen in his favor. Yet, what if it was all a ruse? “Could you endure the same day once more?” The Guide’s voice echoed in the recesses of his mind. Enkrid answered internally: As many times as it takes. “Are you for real? You would trade your life for all of theirs?” For a moment, Enkrid saw a reflection of the Guide in Drmul—though the man was a mere shadow by comparison. The Guide wouldn’t resort to such low-level trickery. Furthermore, Enkrid had made these types of choices an uncountable number of times. Back when he was powerless, he made them in the dark. He had stumbled often, been broken, and been cast aside. But now, he possessed the strength to see it through. He gripped Three Iron. He held a Will that was a bottomless well. And so, he would act. As he had always held true. As he had always desired. “I will guard those at my back. That is my code.” Knights forge their Will through sacred oaths. Enkrid didn’t need to gamble his life on them—because his Will was infinite. Yet, he still put everything on the line to uphold the words he spoke. “Then do it.” His voice held no tremor. Nobody expected the man meant to be sacrificed to step forward as a volunteer. Not Drmul. Not even the leader of the family. “You are truly out of your mind.” Drmul was too bewildered to find other words. “Madness. Absolute madness.” He whispered to himself. Just as Enkrid was about to tell him to finish it— “You idiot—!” A cry came from the rear. Anne had arrived, having slipped away from the estate unnoticed by the others. Her sodden hair was plastered to her forehead, making her look even smaller. The leather satchel was still slung over her shoulder. Beside her, Grida stood with a hand on her waist, giving a small shrug. “It seems our medic doesn’t know how to follow instructions.” “Well, she claimed that a healer working from the rear can pull people back from the brink—so she chased after us.” Anne gave Grida a sharp look, but her attention remained fixed on Drmul. “That’s him, isn’t it? Drmul?” There was no use questioning why she had followed. She was here. She grasped the gravity of the moment. She had heard the entire exchange. “Still breathing after all that? What a freak.” To Anne, he was the closest thing to a true nemesis she had ever known. Drmul hissed back at her. “Useless little brat.” Enkrid thought about mocking him, asking if he could even move a muscle, or if this plague was just another empty boast— —but he held back. He could see it. Drmul was finished. He didn’t have the vitality left to even twitch a finger. Only fragments of resolve remained, just enough breath to form syllables. Insulting him was a waste of time. There was no mind left to break. “Zaun… I…” The patriarch began to speak, but Enkrid recalled a premonition the Guide had once shared with him. Ah—so this was that moment. The Guide had revealed this scene before they ever arrived. Anne’s death. Ragna’s fury. But not every vision the Guide provided had come to pass. Even before stepping forward, Enkrid had sensed what the family head’s choice would be. “Neither the sickness nor the malediction will be handed over.” That is what the man would have said. In that other vision, had the leader chosen a different path? Perhaps. Perhaps he had surrendered, choosing his legacy over his morals. It was always a possibility. That was why Ragna had fought him. The patriarch would have argued it was the only logical path. “Lies.” That was what the Ragna in that vision had spat back. But the Ragna standing here remained quiet, simply holding his ground. “Is this truly the path you want?” He questioned Enkrid. “Do you honestly believe a mere sickness can take me down?” Enkrid answered with a smirk. Ragna offered no reply. So—what had shifted this time? “You bastards…” The dynamic between Anne and Drmul had completely flipped. Drmul’s eyes blinked slowly as he initiated the final incantation. “You will know agony without end before your heart stops. I am the progenitor of all plagues! I am the deity who will forge a new world on these lands!” The Commandment Book flared with light and then disintegrated into dust. Enkrid felt an invisible weight settle deep within his marrow. And that was the end of it. He let out a breath—and it felt like steam and fire. His internal organs felt as though they were being consumed by flames. “Mm…” A pained sound escaped him. His knees hit the mud. He slammed Three Iron into the earth to keep himself upright. The blade seemed to shimmer and triple in his blurred vision. “Blergh—!” He retched. Crimson blood splattered against the dark soil. “You son of a bitch!” Anne shrieked. At that exact moment, Ragna wiped a smear of blood from his own mouth and spoke: “You promised you’d never retreat from a battle. So don’t you dare retreat from this. Don’t let a little fever beat you, Captain.” Ah, that part was identical. Even in the premonition, Ragna had uttered those exact words. Enkrid focused on their voices, fighting to remain conscious. It felt as if a white-hot brand was being pressed against his throat and heart. “Rot, all of you…” Drmul exhaled his final, dying breath. But Anne had already rushed forward, screaming with every bit of her soul: “You think I’ll let you have the last word? I am the miracle! The cure for all! The remedium omnia!” The final spark of life left Drmul’s eyes. Did he hear her defiance? Perhaps. Maybe it was that specific terror—that possibility—that had driven him to target Anne from the start. Enkrid’s thoughts drifted that far before his eyelids finally grew too heavy to hold open. When he next opened them—would it be the start of the same day again? Or would it be something entirely new? There was no way to tell… until the light returned to his eyes.