Chapter 726

Chapter 726

“Listen, when your life ends, it’s truly over. Didn’t anyone teach you that?” Within a blurred vision, a man with a thick beard reprimanded him roughly. The man was Lion, a leader who usually managed a group of warriors to escort merchant fleets and travelers. He had given his outfit the peculiar name of the Comrades’ Association. While many mercenary bands chose strange titles, people didn’t press him on it. Enkrid eventually discovered that Lion was a veteran from the Great Southern Kingdom; he had chosen the name because every one of his followers had served under his command in the army. That was the origin of the Comrades’ Association. It was a title that stuck in the mind. Lion utilized his power to defend the helpless wherever he could, and when Enkrid was first drifting across the lands—ignorant and isolated—Lion had taken him under his wing. “What’s the point of anything if you’re a corpse?” That was the phrase Lion repeated most. The members of the Comrades’ Association weren’t all saints—far from it—but Lion was a man of genuine principle. “You only get one shot at living. Just one.” Death is final. If you value your life, stay away from stupidity. That was his core philosophy. Enkrid had absorbed those lessons… yet he continued to live according to his own nature. There are pieces of advice one accepts, and then there are the core parts of a soul that never bend. The hazy memory felt like a lake covered in thick dawn fog. Lion’s shimmering image warped and dissolved until his features were lost to the mist. “If you are weak and have nothing, stay out of the way of those who do.” So many people had looked down on him over the years that he couldn’t possibly recall every name. Suddenly the fog split open, and a woman with a voice like the scent of night appeared, screaming: “You think you can parry magic? Try this! The Invocation of Spring and the Invocation of Summer!” If it’s magic, why is she swinging a sword? Behind Esther, who was hacking away with her blade, Shinar was visible, dancing with palms raised to the heavens, surrounded by swirling petals and branches. Then Rem descended violently from the clouds. A gargantuan, sky-scraping Rem. It was a fever dream. Next, Audin began soaring through the air, stretched out thin like a twig, and Jaxon opened a boutique filled with dozens of ladies. Enkrid tried to inquire if he was partnering with Kraiss, but his jaw refused to move. Lua Gharne was wielding Rophod as if he were a whip, while her right hand gripped Pell tightly. Dunbakel returned from the eastern lands, fully transformed into a monster, howling with laughter in her manticore shape. Teresa was striking at Dunbakel with her sword, screaming that she was a beast. The hallucinations brought a symphony of voices. “If you let your mind wander, you’re a dead man.” Who spoke those words? Clang—! Clang—! A violent metallic ring struck his eardrums. Turning his gaze, he saw Aitri standing over a forge, hammering at a human shape inside the flames. ‘That’s my own body.’ Upon closer inspection, it truly was. Aitri was striking Enkrid’s own flesh with a heavy mallet. As soon as the realization hit, he felt the searing heat radiating from his entire being. He felt as though he might exhale flames at any second, even though dragons were the only ones capable of such a feat. Perhaps Esther could. He wondered if he should ask her for a demonstration if he ever returned to the Border Guard. ‘As if she’d ever agree to that.’ If he actually asked, she would likely look at him with nothing but disgust. As the internal fire surged through his veins, he spotted a flower. The bloom transformed into a butterfly, which fluttered through the air before catching fire and diving straight into his heart. “If you perish in this place, it will become your eternal cell.” Another phantom voice. A fresh wave of illusions washed over him, none of them worth dwelling on. The world spun violently before turning freezing cold. He felt someone carving open his stomach and toyed with his internal organs. The perpetrator was a child he had failed to save long ago, now a corpse. The youth laughed with pure innocence, dark eyes sparkling. Playing with guts is entertaining. The child’s expression seemed to convey that message. Then, like a rushing tide, the agony evaporated. When Enkrid finally pulled his eyes open, he found himself back on that small, familiar boat. He was slumped against the wooden side, and the ferryman remained in his usual spot. Clutching a lantern, he stood as motionless as an ancient tree. The ferryman’s form appeared as if viewed through a veil of fine sand, a sign that Enkrid’s physical state was still unstable. Each time the purple lantern flickered, its glow raced across the dark waves only to be consumed. Watching the cycle, it seemed the river itself was eating the light. “If you die here, you’ll be trapped in a cycle of illness, death, and rebirth forever. And if that happens, you’ll lose the ability to enjoy your only passion—the sword.” Enkrid blinked five times. He did it with great effort. Then he parted his lips and spoke with deliberation. “I think my ears are broken. Could you repeat that?” “I mold my intent into words and project them into your consciousness. Hearing has no part in this.” Enkrid was aware of that. He simply hadn’t anticipated such a direct words of encouragement from the boatman. “Is this just another fever dream?” The boatman ignored the question, speaking only his own mind. “How many times can you push back your end? How long can you rely on narrow escapes?” With that, their conversation ceased. He opened eyes he hadn’t realized were shut. This time, the world was solid. His eyelids opened only halfway, feeling parched and making his vision blurry. In his narrow field of view, he recognized a pattern that was both foreign and familiar. It was the ceiling of the stone dwelling he had studied for several days. A heavy timber beam and the rough, uneven stones of the roof. “You’re back with us?” Anne was sitting right at his side. Enkrid blinked repeatedly, trying to clear the haze. Crusty residue fell away from his eyelids. His eyes throbbed, but the obstruction cleared, and he could see. Anne had dark circles staining the skin under her eyes, and her face looked thin. She had clearly been through an ordeal. “Yeah. I’m still breathing.” “That’s the first thing you say after dodging the grave?” “Was it the Remed Omnia?” “You actually remember.” “I had faith you’d pull me through.” The ferryman had urged him to protect Anne. Drmul had tried to eliminate her ahead of time for a specific reason. ‘She must have represented a real threat to his plans.’ It is simple to trace logic when you know the outcome. Enkrid had witnessed a portion of what Anne had achieved here. He had seen enough to trust in her capabilities. Even if she had fallen short, he would have just repeated the day regardless—but that wasn’t why he had committed his trust to her. Even if it meant an endless loop, he would have made the exact same gamble. “You’ve been unconscious for three days.” Enkrid hesitated before answering. “Three days of lost practice.” “…You sword-obsessed freak.” He was well aware of his various reputations within the Border Guard. One of the more common ones was “The Sword-Mad Bastard.” “I’m only joking.” Anne gave him a look that clearly said, Don’t act like a normal person—I know the truth. “Ah, I see.” He was conscious, but his muscles felt like water. He doubted he could take on Pell or Rophod in his current state. “You are ordered to stay put. Four more days of bed rest, at minimum. Eat what I provide, and sleep whenever you feel a yawn.” Anne spoke firmly and then exited the room. Ragna entered next, looking relatively unharmed. If he was walking around, he was certainly in better shape than Enkrid. “Three days of lounging is plenty for anyone.” “Is that what you think?” Despite the death and the recovery, the rain continued to fall outside. Thunder rumbled in the distance. He shut his eyes for a second and pushed himself up. Ragna was gone. Had he drifted off again? Looking toward the side of the room, another vision appeared. Even Anne didn’t have the power to raise the dead. Enkrid believed the patriarch had exhausted the last of his spirit in that final strike, pushing past his own Will. With a body riddled with rot, it was a suicidal blow in every sense. So why was he sitting right there by the bed? “You look as if you’ve encountered a spirit.” Though the head of the family rarely showed his own feelings, he was an expert at deciphering the emotions of others. One arm was bound in linen, one eye obscured by a cloth—Tempest Zaun sat there, very much alive. “I have many things to discuss, but I won’t forget the priority. I thank you, Enkrid of the Border Guard.” “I was just a traveler with some spare time who decided to help out.” “Is that genuine modesty, or are you so confident in your heroics that you’re being playful?” Thinking about it, that comment probably landed poorly. It was just a lapse in judgment—his physical self wasn’t fully back yet. He decided it was better to stay quiet. “It seems Milezcia’s death wasn’t for nothing. Anne told me she had already decoded the cures for the plagues hurting our people. She claimed brewing the medicine was simple once she had the knowledge, but I thanked her regardless. To put it simply, Milezcia’s work and Anne’s effort saved our lives. I’ll get a few more years on this earth because of them.” Did he come all this way just to express his gratitude for being alive? “I came because there was a truth I wanted to share. Only with you. No one else will ever hear this.” He began to recount the story of Heskal. Heskal had proven that the title “Clever Heskal” was well-earned. As Enkrid sat there, it felt as though Heskal’s own voice was echoing through the hallucination. “If I am the victor, Zaun will be born anew. Our people will survive and become the fresh inhabitants of the Demon Realm.” Heskal’s goal was for the survival of Zaun. To achieve that, he had to ascend as a Divine Usurper. Even a fragment of godhood would be required to shield the reborn Zaun. The vision continued: “If I am defeated, then Tempest is the winner, isn’t he? In that scenario, Zaun survives regardless, even if it carries some wounds.” The phantom Heskal gave a brilliant grin. With the weight lifted from his soul, it was the most genuine smile one could imagine. Victory meant a reborn Zaun. Failure also meant a reborn Zaun. And while he was orchestrating the chaos, he decided to clear out the rot. ‘The settlements of the Hunters, the Brokers, and the Retirees likely had dangerous people hiding in them.’ After being trapped for so long, some were getting twitchy. Others, broken by the years, had become bitter and wanted to tear down the foundations of Zaun. They were too deep in to leave, but too influential to ignore—they would have bled Zaun dry. Heskal rounded up those toxic elements and formed them into a single faction. “There are specific flora and fruits that grow in these parts. They carry venom. Harvesting them without care leads to all these sicknesses. When the situation spiraled, Heskal decided a permanent solution was needed.” The patriarch went on. Heskal had uncovered the presence of Drmul and understood his preparations. At that point, Heskal faced a fork in the road. Stay with the family and play a game of hide-and-seek until the end? Or transform into the shadow operative who would force the true threat into the light? He picked the shadow path. Though he fell to Ragna’s sword, he must have died content. He had seen the balance of power shift and set the stage to end the pursuit. He had never whispered a word of this to the patriarch. This was all a theory. But the head of the house believed Heskal had done his duty as a Guardian. Enkrid found himself agreeing. A Guardian. The shield of Zaun. Heskal had fulfilled his destiny. “Why reveal this to me?” “I simply felt the need for someone to know the truth.” With those words, the patriarch departed. A short time later, Alexandra arrived and spoke in a similar vein. “Milezcia was researching the plague until her very last breath. And Heskal… I can only imagine the burden he carried while painting this entire masterpiece.” Her expression was a mix of sorrow and relief. Then Schmidt walked in and asked: “Have you reconsidered joining the Empire yet?” “Do I look like the type?” “Not particularly.” “Then why keep asking?” “I just wanted you to let me know if your mind ever changed.” Four more days passed. Word was that Anne had collapsed from exhaustion and was sleeping it off. Enkrid climbed out of his bed. The rain had finally ceased at daybreak after days of sporadic downpours. The damp morning air felt crisp and clean in his chest. Enkrid stepped out into the world and took hold of Three Iron. ‘I’ve gained a lot of knowledge.’ Almost too much to process. But this wasn’t the moment to sort through his thoughts. Actually, there was one thing—he tried to contemplate, but he realized too many people were watching him. “You’re finally moving?” As if they had been on standby, the people of Zaun emerged—Grida, Anahera, and the rest. Magrun was standing with them. “I’m only alive because of you.” After the battle, he had been in a terrible state, so Milezcia had provided clandestine care. Anne likely handled the final recovery. Then Lynox, standing in the middle with his remaining arm, spoke with gravity. “If you wish to hold me accountable for what happened, you can have my head. But please, show mercy to the others of Zaun.” Drmul’s final treachery had left them all feeling disgraced. They had attempted to use outsiders as sacrifices. He recognized that heavy guilt. He knew it far too well and wanted to help them shed that weight. “Then step forward.” Enkrid signaled to the ground in front of him with Three Iron. His sheath had been destroyed, so the blade was only loosely attached to him—there was no need for a draw. “Get on your knees and bare your neck.” Lynox recoiled slightly. He stayed still, his eyes darting between the dirt, the weapon, and Enkrid. “…Are you for real?” Enkrid broke into a grin and replied: “No.” “…Hmph. You actually had me worried.” If Enkrid had been serious, Lynox truly would have offered his life. That was the nature of these people. They were people who lived and died by their convictions. Which is why— Thud. Led by Lynox, one by one, every person there dropped to their knees. On the muddy, battered earth left by the storms, every head was lowered in respect. He hadn’t sought this out, but no man truly hates being honored for his deeds. “We offer our deepest thanks for the gift of our lives,” the patriarch declared, speaking for the group. He was flanked by Alexandra, Odinkar, Grida, Magrun—all of them. Some were weeping silently. Riley remained as stoic as always. However, there was one person who stayed on his feet. “What? I was the one trying to hold them back.” The standing figure—Ragna—remarked. Enkrid simply shrugged as if to say it was no big deal. Ragna would likely never grasp the gravity of a moment like this as long as he lived.