Chapter 727

Chapter 727

“What, are you expecting me to bow as well?”

Ragna spoke with a furrowed brow as Enkrid observed him in a heavy silence. In response, Enkrid simply gave a small shake of his head.

One after another, the people who had been kneeling—beginning with the family head—stood back up. The oppressive weather had finally broken, and the sun emerged from behind the clouds. Under a clear sky, the intense radiance began the slow process of drying the waterlogged earth. However, the physical drying of the ground couldn’t erase every scar left behind.

Enkrid had walked into that conflict with a firm determination to ensure no more lives were lost behind him. Yet, that didn’t mean the day had been bloodless. Heskal was gone, as were the subordinates who had followed his lead, along with those Enkrid had been forced to cut down himself. Word had also reached him that the leadership of the Hunter’s Village had been forcibly shifted. After all, the grave cannot hold a seat of office. There were rumors that Kato had hunted down a straggler to finish the job, but Enkrid found he didn’t particularly care about the details.

The dead had left behind a vacuum. Among the living, there was a mixture of grief, simmering resentment, and the quiet relief of those simply glad to be breathing. Enkrid wasn’t interested in policing their emotions. People find their own paths to healing.

While Enkrid was back on his feet, he was far from his physical peak. He was still in the middle of recovery. To him, there was a vital distinction between rest and recovery.

‘I’ve had my fill of rest.’

Now, the focus had shifted to the active process of mending. Rest was a passive state—sleeping and remaining still. Recovery was active—nourishing the body and engaging in gentle motion. Furthermore, Enkrid’s physique, forged through rigorous training into a regeneration-focused state, actually mended faster when he stayed mobile.

For two days following his awakening, he focused on eating, drinking, and light activity while strictly avoiding any real combat. He didn’t even draw his blade, choosing instead to focus on deep stretching and slow jogging. To an outsider, his “light jogging” looked like a grueling marathon, as he spent half his day moving at a steady, rhythmic pace.

“You eat like a starving predator.”

Anahera, who belonged to the giant race and was used to massive portions, watched him with genuine awe. The table, built to seat eight, was overflowing with platters. The centerpiece was a mountain of tender steamed pork and heaps of vegetables. Enkrid worked his way through the feast with mechanical precision. He wasn’t rushing, but he never stopped. His meals lasted twice as long as anyone else’s because he simply kept going.

“Take this. It’ll speed things up.”

Anne, who sat nearby after finishing her own small meal, slid a medicinal vial toward him. Enkrid drained the bitter, pungent liquid without a single flinch.

Watching his intense focus, Anne remarked, “Seriously, is there a ghost chasing you? Why are you in such a hurry?”

It seemed his steady pace was being misinterpreted as desperation. Since Enkrid’s mouth was full, Ragna—who was busy clearing his own plate—spoke up for him.

“He’s just itching to get back to his routine. Probably wants to pick up a sword again.”

“He’s actually eager to get back to that hellish training? Unbelievable,” Anne sighed.

To Enkrid, it was the only logical step. He had experienced a flood of new insights during the battle. He needed to internalize these revelations, and for him, mental organization required physical movement. He needed to test the theories of the Wavebreaker Sword and the Blade of Coincidence against his own muscles. He was also burning with curiosity about the deeper applications of Will.

But he forced himself to wait. If he rushed a broken body, the foundation would be flawed. He had to be deliberate.

“That’s a spirit worth respecting.”

Anahera, having finished her own meal elsewhere, stood by the table like a sentinel.

“Why are you still hanging around?” Ragna asked, eyeing her.

Anahera didn’t do subtlety. She was a creature of blunt honesty.

“I feel guilty for trying to kill you lot. So, I’m at your service. Just give the order. If you want, I’ll even share your bed tonight. Yes, I mean exactly what you think. It’s a rare offer to spend a night with a beauty of the giants.”

“I’ll decline,” Enkrid replied immediately after swallowing.

“Well, the offer stands. Let me know if you need anything else.”

Anahera turned and strode away. She wasn’t the only one burdened by complicated feelings. Many people were loitering around the estate, caught between gratitude and guilt. Some paced the perimeter without a clear purpose. A young boy had approached him in tears to beg for forgiveness. Another youth, an adherent of the Ail Caraz martial arts style, tried to act tough by claiming he’d make the same choice to fight again. Enkrid had told the boy that if he was truly sorry, he should put his forehead to the dirt. The boy did so without hesitation.

That was the essence of Zaun—stubborn and earnest.

“Shouldn’t you worry about your own skin before playing the hero? Why go that far?”

Ragna’s voice was sharp with a mix of lingering embarrassment and genuine thanks. He was terrible at hiding his heart. Enkrid thought about demanding a formal bow of thanks just to annoy him, but he decided against it. Ragna genuinely wanted to understand his motivation.

Enkrid leaned his elbow on the table. “I’d do it again.”

“But why?”

Was it because of his personal code? A knightly oath? The desire to prove his strength? All those factors existed, but there was a more practical reason. Even in the heat of battle, Enkrid had been using the Lua Gharne tactical style to process the variables.

“I had faith in Anne,” he said simply.

Anne looked up, startled. Ragna’s expression shifted, his brows twitching as he processed the statement. It wasn’t that Enkrid was thinking on a higher plane; he just saw the connections differently. By stepping forward, he ensured Zaun wouldn’t tear itself apart. Ragna wouldn’t be forced to commit parricide.

‘If I could just survive the initial shock, I knew Zaun would move heaven and earth to keep me alive.’

He knew Milezcia was a master healer. He knew Zaun was a place of legends, likely sitting on a hoard of medicinal treasures and relics collected by Lynox over decades of travel. If he saved the village, those resources would be at his disposal. And with Anne there, he knew she would know exactly how to use them.

“Drmul called it an incurable plague. If it was a disease, I knew Anne could find the cure.”

It was a statement of absolute, unwavering confidence. Anne’s face flushed deep red. As a disciple of Raban, she was used to a life of suspicion and competition. Raban never offered praise; in fact, he likely would have killed her eventually. She was unaccustomed to being valued. To have a warrior of Enkrid’s caliber stake his life on her skill made her heart race.

“How bold of you. But I’ll still have to turn you down. I’ve already got my hands full with Ragna.”

“What are you even talking about?” Ragna muttered.

Anne cleared her throat, turning her attention back to her partner. “How are you feeling today?”

“The coughing has stopped. No more blood,” Ragna replied.

“Then why didn’t you tell me sooner, you idiot?”

By the time Enkrid had fought off the worst of the infection, Ragna had finally confessed his own symptoms to Anne. Her reaction had been surprisingly clinical.

“Before you started coughing, did you notice anything? Did you ingest anything strange?”

She wasn’t panicked. In the realm of medicine, she was a commander. She knew Ragna’s body well and had monitored him throughout their journey. People don’t just develop terminal illnesses overnight without warning. When Ragna mentioned coughing blood, she pressed for details. He admitted he had lost consciousness a few times while trying to force a change in his Will.

“Any fever or chills?”

“My head felt like it was burning for a couple of days.”

Anne was speechless. Was he just incredibly tough, or completely insane? She quickly pieced it together.

“This new method of using Will—does it strain your physical form?”

“It’s a significant burden, yes.”

“And your throat was sore?”

“Yes.”

Anne sighed, looking at him with a mix of pity and frustration. Ragna realized he had likely been overeager. Seeing Enkrid’s rapid progress had pushed him to take risks with his Will that his body wasn’t ready for.

“Eat. Then sleep for twenty-four hours. No talking.”

Ragna, never one to argue, followed her instructions. The next time he coughed, there was no blood, and the pain had vanished. He was whole again. He recalled how, during the final clash with the three-eyed elder, the sheer pressure of his Will had caused blood to spray from his throat.

“Next time you feel a sneeze coming on, you come to me. I’m Remed Omnia—I’m basically a walking miracle,” Anne declared.

“Understood,” Ragna said softly. He reached out and patted her head. “I want to stay with you. So, I will.”

Enkrid watched the two of them, feeling the heavy atmosphere of their mutual affection. It wasn’t something he wanted to be a part of.

“Get out. Go be domestic somewhere else.”

Anne went quiet, and Ragna gave a lazy shrug. “I think I’ll go watch the sunrise.”

Enkrid just nodded, wanting them gone.

Odinkar began visiting daily, though his conversation was usually blunt. “It looks like I’m the heir to Zaun now. So, when are we going to fight?”

Grida seemed to be reflecting on Heskal’s fate. “Being a protector is a thankless job, isn’t it?” she mused, perhaps having sought more answers from the family head.

“Why tell me?” Enkrid asked.

“Just felt like saying it.”

Anne was busy elsewhere lately, apparently assisting Milezcia with the training of a secret successor. Meanwhile, Ragna had returned to his usual self.

“You’re not interested in the secrets left behind?” Enkrid asked him one afternoon.

Ragna just gave a serene, almost annoying smile. He looked like a man who had found peace with the world.

Enkrid tried a different angle. “Should I tell Rem… or maybe the other Rem… that you spent days thinking you were at death’s door over a sore throat?”

“Are you looking for a fight?” Ragna asked, his tone flat.

Enkrid just shook his head. He wasn’t ready for a full spar yet. Maybe in a couple of days. For now, he returned to his mental maps of swordsmanship.

There was one more person he needed to see: Riley.

He found the boy in the evening, as the orange glow of twilight gave way to the first stars. Riley was sitting motionless in front of a fresh mound of dirt. His hands were stained dark from days of digging.

“Have you come to judge me for what happened?” Riley asked without looking up. He wondered why he was the only one being questioned. “Is it because of what my father did?”

He looked like a hollow shell, yet his voice carried a strange, desperate strength. He spent most of his time here, at this makeshift grave. A simple branch served as a marker, with the name Heskal carved into it with a knife. Riley couldn’t bring himself to loathe the man.

Enkrid felt the boy deserved the truth. If the family head had told him, the message would have been tainted by old history. Enkrid, as an outsider, could be objective. He sat and explained the family head’s theories and his own observations of Heskal’s final moments.

Riley listened in a stony silence, though tears eventually began to carve paths through the dirt on his face.

“He knew that if he left you out of the fighting, the family head wouldn’t hurt you. If his goal was truly the total destruction of the clan, he would have involved you. You know the basics of strategy, don’t you?”

Riley didn’t answer, but the silence was an admission. His father had taught him well. Heskal was a man of cold ambition, but he hadn’t been able to kill the fatherly love he felt for Riley. Enkrid left the boy to his grief.

A few days later, when the sun had finally finished baking the mud into solid earth, Enkrid was out at his usual dawn hour, warming up. This was the day he would finally resume his sword practice.

Tap, tap. Tap, tap.

The sound of wood hitting the ground announced an arrival. A figure approached, using a sheathed blade as a crutch to support a heavy limp. Riley’s face was set with a grim, absolute resolve. He knelt on the dry ground, his injured leg tucked awkwardly beneath him.

“I am yours. I will be your slave.”

This was Riley’s attempt at restitution. Enkrid had saved the village, and Riley had accepted his father’s role in the chaos. He felt he had to offer himself as a sacrifice to ensure Enkrid held no lingering malice toward the village of Zaun.

“I don’t have any use for a slave,” Enkrid said, his voice flat and unimpressed. He hadn’t changed since arriving; he was still the same stoic man. “I’m here to train.”

Riley’s mask of resolve began to crumble in confusion.

“What’s this about a slave? Get in line, kid. You’re not the first one waiting for a piece of him.”

Lynox’s voice rang out with a mocking edge. He wasn’t alone. Odinkar, Grida, Magrun, and Alexandra were all standing there, weapons in hand. This was the moment Enkrid had been waiting for. This wasn’t a burden; it was pure, unadulterated joy.

Enkrid’s lips curled into a sharp, predatory grin.

“All of you. Come at me at once.”

The warriors of Zaun bristled at the challenge.

“If he hadn’t just saved our lives, I’d really hate this guy,” Odinkar muttered, and the others couldn’t help but silently agree.