Chapter 729

Chapter 729

There are those who, even after the windfall of a gold coin discovered on the path, remain unsatisfied. Faced with such unexpected fortune, they might still grumble that the universe hadn’t been generous enough.

Enkrid was not among them.

‘It is certain.’

The atmosphere felt transformed; even the sun’s rays carried a different weight. The shift brought about by the magic of the twilight filled Enkrid with a quiet contentment. It was that turning of the season where the warmth finally begins to linger. Even Zaun, which had been so brutally battered by the recent tempests, was finally finding its footing once more.

“I intend to uphold the path Milezcia set, though that doesn’t mean I’ll abandon the sword.”

Everything Milezcia had left behind was now resting on Magrun’s shoulders. Long plagued by his own chronic ailments, he had already gained significant expertise in the healing arts. While his passion for combat endured, he recognized that someone had to step up to the duty. If one views such a responsibility as a crushing weight, it becomes a burden; if one views it as a purpose, it becomes a source of fulfillment.

Magrun belonged to the latter group.

“It’s enjoyable. I suspect the study of herbs in Zaun will reach new heights.”

“It is about restoration, not just knowing plants.”

Anne had handed him a personal journal she had compiled. It reportedly detailed specific interventions and treatments for various injuries and conditions. Looking at the sheer quality of the work, one could guess that if such knowledge were released to the general public, the chaos it would cause might actually lead to deaths. It was, quite literally, a treasure.

In a world where blood is spilled over a single ancient relic, it was no surprise that empires sent their elite units to scour ruins for such things. Furthermore, those who hunted for value knew that treasure wasn’t always made of gold or stone.

“…If this gift implies you have certain feelings for me…”

Magrun had a momentary lapse in judgment.

“Do you own a mirror? Has the water in Zaun run murky? You only need to check your reflection in the nearest pond to know the answer to that.”

He was shut down instantly. Despite her delicate features and the appearance of a soft-hearted lady, Anne was a woman of iron will who had survived the breadth of the continent with nothing but her wits and her tonics. Moreover, she had already pledged her heart to Ragna.

Regardless, when the time comes to rise, one must rise—just as Zaun was doing now.

As Enkrid finished his final preparations for departure, carrying a sense of peace within him, Schmidt arrived. He had spent a great deal of time bragging about the rarities of the Empire, and now he had brought one of them in the flesh. Enkrid hadn’t doubted him, nor had he demanded proof, yet the proof stood before him anyway.

“Schmidt, is this the individual you were eager to introduce?”

The newcomer had his hair shaved close at the sides and back, as if by a straight razor, leaving a moderate length on top. He possessed a massive frame and carried a heavy, block-shaped club at his hip. It was a blunt, square-headed weapon—distinctive and brutal.

His armor was custom-made: a chest plate, shoulder guards, arm protection, and cylindrical plates for the thighs. Because the pieces weren’t linked at the joints, it looked like a suit of plate mail that had been taken apart and worn in fragments. Despite this, the metal followed the contours of his body with such elegance it was startling.

When that man Panito had appeared during the conflict, he had worn strange gear as well—but this was on another level. This armor seemed so perfectly integrated with the man that it looked like a second skin.

‘Why does it have that appearance?’

Perhaps it was the new clarity in his mind, but instead of focusing on the man’s identity or words, Enkrid found himself fascinated by the craftsmanship.

“Are you Enkrid of the Border Guard?”

The stranger spoke. Enkrid hadn’t finished his visual assessment, but he was ready to respond. Even though the man lacked immediate hostility, Enkrid could tell he was perpetually on the brink of action. Without lifting a finger or uttering a threat, it was clear: this man lived for the fight. His martial spirit surrounded him like a physical shroud. It was intriguing.

Still, his greeting lacked any hint of polish.

“And who are you?”

Enkrid didn’t move, but his tone was the classic, guarded reply of a sellsword being poked. If they were in a dark pub filled with the smell of cheap ale and stale smoke, the interaction would have felt perfectly at home. For Enkrid, this was the proper way to handle it. If you want a man’s name, you lead with your own. That was the code.

“…It’s been a long time since someone spoke to me like that. It doesn’t happen often back in the Empire.”

The man raised his left hand, palm flat against his chest, revealing an emblem. It was a large circle containing a smaller one. The mark of the Empire. Specifically, the mark of the Imperial Knights. Within those borders, that symbol granted total authority and demanded absolute deference.

But they were not within those borders.

“And? Who are you?” Enkrid repeated.

The man’s mouth twisted into a predatory, tiger-like grin. As he smiled, a wave of lethal intent washed over the area. Recognizing the weight of that presence, Enkrid realized this man was a warrior of the same caliber as a family head. The pressure he radiated was as jagged and heavy as his club. It was primitive and unrefined—like a weapon caked in old blood.

A peer to the family head?

Perhaps that was why Enkrid felt a spark of excitement in his eyes.

There was so much to discover. That skin-tight armor. That constant readiness. Above all, the unpredictability of his combat style.

“Valphir Valmung,” the man announced.

Enkrid gave a brief nod of acknowledgment. “Enkrid of the Border Guard.”

Above the valley where the storm had once raged, the wind was now soft. Yet within that breeze, two predators locked eyes. It seemed a clash was inevitable. Samcheol began to hum.

Zeeeeing. As the blade vibrated, the man’s hand shifted toward his belt, gripping his club. A sharp, prominent canine tooth flashed in a grin.

“Sir Valphir.”

Schmidt tried to intervene from the sidelines, but the moment was too heavy for him to break. However, the fight didn’t start. There were too many people standing in the way—and they were not neutral parties.

“That is enough, Valmung. Take another step and you’ll regret it.”

“A practice match is fine, but this killing intent is unacceptable.”

“Stand down. If you don’t, my blade will find you before you can blink.”

The first to speak up were the family head, Lynox, and Alexandra.

Yet Valmung didn’t back down; he pushed his aura even further. Was he more dangerous than the Medusa they had recently slain? It was a different kind of threat, but just as lethal. Why the tension had spiked so fast was anyone’s guess, but there they were.

“No knight of the Empire will strike our savior while he stands in Zaun.”

Odinkar stepped forward, his eyes burning with conviction.

“If you’re itching for a fight, go find a monster to kill.”

Magrun joined them, his face a mask of cold disdain. Even without a word, his contempt was palpable.

“Hey, who do you think you are?”

Even the striking giantess who had once been a captive, along with Riley, Kato, and the youths Enkrid had mentored, closed in. Before long, the people of Zaun had formed a wall, crowding the Imperial knight.

“Who is this clown?”

“Why is he acting tough with our Enki?”

“Is he threatening him? I can feel the malice from here.”

“Being a knight won’t stop a blade from drawing blood.”

They were reckless, certainly. But Enkrid didn’t mind. They were reacting because someone had dared to menace their champion. It is a human instinct to protect what is valued, and to them, Enkrid had become invaluable. While Enkrid was more than capable of defending himself, they simply wouldn’t tolerate anyone lunging at him. It was a gesture that warmed his heart.

Valphir Valmung looked at Enkrid and finally let his aggressive aura dissipate.

“Sir Valphir,” Schmidt panted, grabbing the knight’s arm.

“Imperial knight, Valphir Valmung,” the man said again, this time with a genuine smile as he offered a hand.

As Enkrid reached out, the family head, Alexandra, and Lynox all moved to flank him.

“I’ve come to assist Zaun and I harbor no malice toward this man. Understood?” Valmung said to the three, who clearly recognized his status. “Besides, you lot aren’t in peak condition. Don’t overexert yourselves.”

Odinkar cut in. “I feel perfectly fine.”

He took a position right next to Enkrid. Observing the united front of Zaun, Valmung let out a short, dry laugh.

“Schmidt claimed this man was the savior of Zaun. I thought he was blowing smoke, but… I see it’s the truth.”

Schmidt sighed. “I told you so.”

“Regardless, I’m not here to cause trouble.”

Finally, he held out his hand properly. When Enkrid took it, Valmung flooded his grip with Will, testing him. But Enkrid had been forged by Audin. In a contest of raw grip, he was the only one in the Mad Platoon who could challenge the old man.

Crack-crack-crack. The sound of their interlocking hands was sickening, yet neither man flinched or broke.

“You’re quite powerful,” Valphir Valmung remarked, a slight wince betraying his effort.

“It’s my first time meeting one of the Empire’s knights,” Enkrid replied calmly, releasing the grip.

As the conversation continued, it became clear that Valphir Valmung had traveled there in part to bolster Zaun.

“Aren’t you a bit late for that?” Odinkar asked.

Valmung explained that when he received Schmidt’s alert, he was already in pursuit of a notorious bandit leader. The target had changed course, leading Valmung to this region. It seemed odd for a knight to be chasing a common criminal, but apparently, the fugitive was a knight-level combatant himself. The scale of villainy in the Empire was evidently quite high.

“He’s a former soldier I knew. He had a bit of talent but used it to cause chaos. He enjoys the act of killing.”

Enkrid listened, noting that some people were simply born for the gallows. Valmung had intended to deal with the runner first, but since the path led here, he decided to stop and help before resuming the hunt. He could have left immediately, but then—

“Care to join me?”

He suddenly asked Enkrid to come along.

“I’m waiting for someone, so I can’t just leave. Isn’t your hunt time-sensitive?”

Valmung just grinned and shook his head. “A day or two won’t lose the trail.”

If he was that relaxed, it wasn’t a crisis. It raised the question of why his “help” for Zaun had been so delayed. Perhaps he had been waiting for Zaun to grow desperate before appearing as a hero? But Enkrid had upended that timeline.

Then, a realization struck: Zaun was in a quiet partnership with the Empire. That explained why the leadership knew Valmung. It was likely a backup plan orchestrated by Heskal—a safety net to ensure Zaun’s survival by bringing it under Imperial protection if necessary. They couldn’t afford to be enemies.

Yet, the people of Zaun had been willing to fight an Imperial knight for Enkrid’s sake. The family head glanced at him, and Enkrid spoke up.

“If Ragna hasn’t arrived, I’m staying. If I leave now, our paths might never cross again.”

Expecting Ragna to track him down would be like waiting for a miracle.

Then Valmung offered a piece of bait that was impossible to ignore.

“Don’t you want to witness Imperial combat techniques? I’m an outsider myself, but the man I’m hunting is a true master of the Empire’s style.”

Enkrid felt the hook snag.

‘Should I leave Anne here?’

She would be a sufficient guide on her own. Ragna had estimated he needed another week to finish his business with the sunrise.

Valmung had a talent for being annoying, poking at nerves with every sentence, but Enkrid found the man’s bluntness refreshing. An Imperial knight was a rare specimen. He was undeniably curious, and he sensed no true evil in the man.

“Well? What’s the verdict? And for the rest of you—relax. I swear on the honor of my order: I won’t lay a finger on him.”

Valmung offered the vow to quiet the crowd. He wasn’t a diplomat, but he certainly knew how to command a room.