Chapter 728

Chapter 728

After engaging in a fierce bout with the charging mass of fighters, he feasted and allowed his body to fully recover. Even as several days drifted by in this fashion, a steady stream of visitors arrived to see him, their sentiments generally falling into two distinct categories.

“It’s truly a joy to train alongside you—isn’t there any way you could just settle here in Zaun?”

Some were quite open with their fondness, speaking without any reservation.

“I am grateful. And… I believe I owe you an apology as well.”

Others took a much more solemn tone. The more casual, affectionate remarks came from the younger generation, while the gravity and apologies were offered by those of more advanced years. Notably, both groups were entirely earnest in their delivery.

Those wishing for his company continued to pester him, constantly questioning the reasons for his departure. Meanwhile, those expressing gratitude and regret bowed deeply, promising that while they were not bound to him as slaves, they would come to his aid instantly should he ever call. A few even confessed to a sense of inadequacy.

“Do you think I could ever serve as a proper replacement for Riley?”

There were several who posed that question with genuine concern. Beyond that, the proposals became even more peculiar.

“Since Riley mentioned becoming your slave, perhaps it would be better if I simply became your wife.”

That suggestion came from a woman of the Zaun family—someone whose name he hadn’t yet learned. She was apparently a practitioner of immense skill, yet her true ambition was to be a dedicated mother and spouse. She did, however, admit to a “fatal flaw.”

‘Was it perhaps an uncontrollable temper?’

Word around the village was that even within Zaun, she would violently thrash her partners whenever a disagreement arose, leading to a string of failed relationships. Despite her domestic dreams, she had earned the terrifying moniker ‘Gallows’ because she traveled across the lands decapitating any man she found mistreating women. He even heard that a group of talented bounty hunters had pursued her all the way to Zaun—some met their end, while others settled in the hunter village. It seemed a few of them had perished during the recent chaos.

Enkrid remained largely silent, yet through the constant flow of local gossip, he gathered a wealth of information.

“I’ll decline.”

“Tch.”

At the very least, she wasn’t as clingy as some of the others.

“If you head to the Empire, you’ll find mountains of gold.” “If you head to the Empire, the women are breathtaking.” “If you head to the Empire, the blades are unmatched.” “If you head to the Empire, you’ll meet the master dwarven blacksmiths.” “If you head to the Empire, the knights are terrifyingly powerful.” “If you head to the Empire…”

Had Schmidt always been this talkative? When they had first crossed paths at the Border Guard, hadn’t the man maintained a heavy, stoic demeanor? Enkrid began to wonder if he had simply polished his memory of the man into something more heroic than the reality.

But that wasn’t it. Schmidt was simply a master recruiter, performing his duties with relentless dedication.

“Does he really show up every single day?”

Ragna’s observation confirmed that Enkrid’s memory wasn’t playing tricks on him.

“Exhausting, isn’t it? But I can’t exactly drop everything and sprint for the Empire. Look at this—I sustained this wound in the thick of the fight.”

Though he had been energetic when shouting about the Golden Tome, it turned out he had taken a severe gash just above his thigh.

“Just a bit higher and, well…”

He would have lost his manhood for certain. Schmidt shook his head and remarked, “Well, at least being struck there by the claw of a demon beast gives me a legitimate excuse.”

“An excuse for what?” Ragna inquired. Enkrid already suspected the answer, so he kept his peace.

“The Empire might see fit to grant me a medal, viewing me as a hero of the war. I’ll be recognized as a figure of national merit.”

Even though his efforts weren’t strictly for the Empire’s sake, he still held out hope. The reason? A recruiter’s work is, by its very definition, for the benefit of the Empire. He likely had a volume titled Tales of the Omnipotent Empire committed to memory.

Yet, there was one person who visited even more frequently than Schmidt—the first person Enkrid saw upon waking every day.

“Are you awake?”

“…Why must you do this every morning?”

“To offer my thanks. For being the savior of Zaun.”

A bow. The head of the family arrived every morning during the training hours, lowered his head in respect, and then departed. This continued even though he was still in the middle of recovery and clearly found it difficult to maintain his balance while walking.

And the morning visit wasn’t the end of it. He would reappear when the sun reached its zenith, right as the midday meal was concluding.

“Have you eaten?”

“You only lost the use of one eye, didn’t you? Why ask when the empty plates are right in front of you?”

The leader of Zaun had indeed lost an eye. However, since his remaining eye was functional, he could surely see that the meal was finished.

“Thank you for being the savior of Zaun.”

Once more, he bowed his head. If that had been the extent of it, Enkrid might have managed, but he had to face him again before retiring for the night.

“Still awake?”

“Can’t you tell?”

“If you hadn’t intervened, Zaun would have suffered unimaginable losses.”

“Heskal should receive the credit as well.”

“I have not overlooked his part. Regardless, thank you for saving Zaun.”

“My ears are going to develop calluses from hearing this.”

The family head visited at dawn, noon, and dusk for three consecutive days. Even though word was that he could no longer handle a sword as he once did—a loss that surely brought bitter grief—he never failed to seek out Enkrid, often appearing drenched in the sweat of his own exertion.

“Ragna.”

“Yes?”

“What is going on with your father?”

Enkrid asked, even though he had a strong suspicion. It felt necessary to confirm. Perhaps Ragna could offer a perspective he hadn’t considered.

Ragna thought back to an old trait of her father’s, one she had nearly forgotten. Tempest Zaun had always been a man who spoke and acted with his entire soul since she was a young girl. Because he struggled to convey the depth of his feelings through tone or vocabulary, he demonstrated his sincerity through repetition.

“He is simply filled with gratitude.”

“Yes, I gathered as much.”

Still, was this level of commitment not a bit excessive? Despite the intensity, Enkrid decided to remain in Zaun a little longer.

“Give me just one week. I still have matters to conclude here,” Anne had said, and Enkrid found the extended stay quite pleasant. It was a time of genuine enjoyment.

“They say the teacher learns as much as the student.”

He had experienced this phenomenon before, and in Zaun, he was surrounded by individuals of great potential. They truly relished the opportunity to learn from him. It was a perfect arrangement that benefited everyone involved.

“No one in Zaun can explain concepts quite like Enki.”

There was even a young child who kept pressing their forehead to the ground, trying to build a friendly rapport with him.

“Your explanations are so clear. How about we meet tonight?”

There was also a massive man who constantly tried to claim the spot right next to Enkrid’s bed. He later found out that Anaheira was fond of such jokes. Yet, there was an air of partial seriousness to it that made Enkrid wonder if his instincts were failing him.

“If Anaheira decided she wanted to follow you, would you allow it?”

Ragna asked him that once, suggesting his instincts might be sharper than he thought.

“That would be her decision to make.”

He saw no reason to forbid it.

“Shinar would be delighted. Esther might find it to her liking as well.”

There was a sharp edge to Ragna’s tone.

“Whatever you say.”

Enkrid dismissed her teasing and focused on his sword practice. As he taught the others, he naturally began to ponder the journey he had taken.

‘This is a productive exercise.’

The path he had traversed. The routes he had ignored but could now perceive. The trajectories seen by those gifted with immense talent, and those seen by the talented who lacked self-belief. He revisited and analyzed every aspect. If one only stares at the horizon ahead, what lies behind remains a mystery. There is wisdom in stopping to look back. Enkrid absorbed that wisdom, and in doing so, he grasped another layer of understanding.

Throughout his stay in Zaun, the days followed a similar pattern. It was during one of those late afternoon hours when the sinking sun began to fade, draping the world in a haunting, ethereal glow. This was his preferred hour—the time of the “dog and the wolf.” It was named such because, in the dimming light, one cannot distinguish if an approaching shadow is a friendly hound or a predatory wolf.

The sky was a canvas of blue and gold, and the air held a perfect chill. It was an hour when significant things tended to happen. A man and woman might find love; a person might stumble upon a great fortune; or peace might finally settle in a restless heart. An orphan might finally step out from the shadow of abandonment and find their own strength. A man who had never known kindness—who spoke only in vitriol—might finally understand love. And if he realized that love is a gift to be given as much as received, that man might begin his life anew. Every person encounters at least one moment of true magic, and often, that single instant is enough to alter everything. Even if it doesn’t change the world, it might provide the necessary push to reach for the impossible.

It was during such a magical twilight, with dozens of hues bleeding across the horizon, that the world grew quiet. The insects began their song, and fewer people came to see him than usual. For the moment, he was alone. The family head’s greeting was hours away, and Schmidt had already made his daily rounds. Ragna and Anne had headed to the cliffs behind the basin to search for rare herbs or toxins.

No visitors. No noise but the chirping of bugs. Drunk on the strange light, Enkrid delved into his own mind. Perhaps because the most prominent recent memory was of him—

From a large tree nearby, Heskal dropped to the ground with a soft thud.

“Consider things from multiple angles. People are not just a single version of themselves. To truly comprehend a person, you must identify their deepest desire.”

What Heskal had done could not be understood through a simple lens.

‘What Heskal truly desired was the continued existence of Zaun.’

When this had all begun, and Enkrid asked about his aspirations, Heskal had merely smiled and evaded the question. Now, the reason was clear. The Divine Seizure was merely a means to an end. Enkrid understood that now. Finding joy in the art of the sword and using that sword to claim what you want are two very different concepts.

Another realization struck him—the people of Zaun were fundamentally different from him. They didn’t swing their blades to wipe out the Demon Realm or to satisfy a personal greed. Therefore, he would not impose his will on them. This was the same philosophy he held when he first encountered Gridawa, Odinkar, and Magrun. That hadn’t changed. Did they owe him their lives? Yes. Was that a reason to force them into a life they never sought?

‘I have no desire for that.’

As that conviction took root, Oara suddenly stepped out from the long shadows cast by the twilight. The fading blue light seemed to pass through her, her movements were effortless, and her expression was radiant.

Approaching him softly, she asked, “Have you been well?”

Without waiting for his response, she continued. “Intent-Focused Full Recovery—you intend to master all five paths, don’t you? Most knights, even the great ones, choose to specialize in just one. But you are pursuing them all. You refuse to let a single one go.”

Oara—she had left a lasting mark on him before her death. Now, this manifestation of her was offering insights that were far from useless. Each word was a building block for his future. But Enkrid chose to look past her.

‘No more illusions.’

The moment he solidified that thought, Oara evaporated.

‘I have studied. I have progressed.’

That realization brought him back to the present. His spirit was tranquil, and his mind was sharp, aided by the days of rest. In that state of clarity, the solution presented itself. He had to go beyond mere comprehension. His intuition told him the time had come to synthesize and construct. He had gathered so much experience; he now chose one piece to serve as his foundation.

‘Wave-Blocking Sword is a pillar of the Sword of Balance.’

He had learned its core from Ragna. What she did through raw, natural instinct, he could achieve through precise calculation. The Sword of Balance is perfected through the practice of the Wave-Blocking Sword. Enkrid was now defining the specific training methodology for each style.

His mind raced as the twilight magic lingered. Enkrid moved through his mental landscape—soaring, sprinting, and diving. The fading light became his environment.

‘The Heavy Sword serves the purpose of physical enhancement.’

From Balaph’s techniques, he had mastered the art of closing the gap and delivering a strike with total power. It was a logical evolution. Very few opponents would allow a brawler to keep their distance indefinitely. To this foundation, he integrated the “Explosion of the Dot,” the will-driven technique of the family head, and the lessons on detonating willpower he had received from Alexandra. He would forge a style based on that principle. The Heavy Sword is defined by explosion. He didn’t need to finish the entire system now; placing the cornerstones was sufficient.

‘Deception is rooted in the Rua-Garne tactical philosophy.’

To that, he would marry the techniques of Balen-style mercenary combat. Strategy is the art of securing an advantage. The Illusion Sword was more than just physical movement; it was a tactical framework. Speed in swordsmanship is born from refined mental processing.

‘That lesson came from Rem.’

Rem could find and exploit the tiniest window with his axe. He did so by instinct, but Enkrid would do so through the mental optimization he called “flash.” In terms of pure velocity, Rem was the pinnacle.

Finally, the Flowing Sword.

‘The Sword of Fortune utilizes every passing second.’

To achieve this, one requires heightened perception and the ability to turn any circumstance to their favor. The Flowing Sword was always centered on sensory awareness. One cannot calculate every single point of impact to parry perfectly. The ears must listen, and the skin must feel the shift in the air.

‘Gate of the Sixth Sense—Sensory Perception.’

The name mattered less than the mastery of the senses. It required a unique level of sensitivity combined with the weight of experience—countless battles etched into the very fiber of the body. Even a prodigy cannot master the Flowing Sword in their youth. The Sword of Fortune is the peak of that style. By honing the senses, one pulls every moment toward their own success. That was the goal.

The theory was now set on a firm foundation. The twilight had long since surrendered to the night, and the night itself had passed.

“Did you find rest?”

As he did every morning, the family head arrived with his question. Enkrid, who had remained awake and standing through the night, replied, “Yes, I rested exceptionally well.”

This was a journey he was navigating on his own, not a path laid out by a mentor. He couldn’t deny the satisfaction it brought him.

“Thank you for being the savior of Zaun.”

The family head repeated his familiar gratitude. Enkrid simply offered a smile. In a way, this simple, unyielding sincerity was the true heart of Zaun.

That afternoon, a new visitor appeared. It was exactly when Anne had predicted. It was the moment he was considering his departure—and the point when Ragna had been gone for two full days.