Chapter 661: Huh?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 661: Huh?
"Should I call you Lord, or Castellan...?"
It started with a fruit vendor.
"Graham is the Castellan. I'm just the Knight Commander," Encrid replied casually. His tone suggested he had given this answer many times before.
"Then, Commander, have one of these."
With a sly grin, the vendor handed over two plums. Encrid popped one into his mouth and handed the other to his companion, the Ragged Saint.
Crunch.
The skin split, releasing a burst of sweetness hidden beneath a pleasant tartness. It was a perfectly ripe plum, its rich aroma wafting up to the tip of the Saint's nose.
"It's sweet," Encrid noted.
"Indeed," the Ragged Saint agreed.
This was a luxury made possible by the massive orchard recently established within Greenpearl. Considering that nobles in the capital of Nauril specifically appointed officials just to manage orchards for such fruit, calling this a luxury was no exaggeration.
As they continued through the merchant district, a man standing by a large stall called out to them.
"I’m with the Lockfried Merchant Guild now."
He was no ordinary peddler. This was the giant who had once traveled the roads alone.
Encrid showed him the cloth wrapped around his hands. "This turned out to be quite sturdy."
They were cloth gauntlets, reinforced with a thin layer of leather on the inside, crafted from fabric Encrid had bought from the giant some time ago.
"Of course it is. I don't sell shoddy goods."
The giant recognized his handiwork and replied, though his voice was noticeably louder than usual. The Ragged Saint simply watched from the side, having no reason to interject.
"What are you selling today?" Encrid asked.
"Items like these."
The giant gestured to his display, which included talismans and rings radiating an ominous energy.
"They say this one curses you with nightmares every night, but in exchange, it wards off a single stroke of fatal back luck."
The giant’s booming voice drew the attention of nearby shoppers. Encrid leaned in to examine the ring. He could feel a faint energy—something he wouldn't have noticed in the past.
Is it because of my training with Esther?
It was likely a combination of that and his experience cutting down Walking Fire and dealing with high-level spells.
Just as the giant claimed, a distinct energy clung to the jewelry. Looking closely, a thin, dark mist seemed to shroud the ring—a phenomenon invisible to ordinary eyes.
Across the continent, pioneer villages smaller than cities were common. Some were lucky enough to be free of monsters, but others survived only by constantly fending off raids. Among those that endured, some made dark bargains with local mages or witches. It wasn't hard to guess the ring’s origin.
The giant explained the item’s history briefly but clearly, though he seemed unusually talkative. Unlike their previous encounters, the giant was being strangely hospitable.
"I don't think I'll be needing it," Encrid replied flatly. If he needed a magical artifact, he would have just asked Esther.
"I figured as much."
"Then why the long explanation?"
Even sitting on the ground, the giant’s eyes were level with Encrid’s. He leaned forward and whispered, "So the others would hear."
Because of his race and intimidating size, people rarely approached his stall, making business difficult. Seeing Encrid, he had seized the opportunity to use the Commander as a prop to draw a crowd.
He’s turned into a proper merchant.
Of course, the giant would never compromise his principles. That was simply the kind of man he was.
"You've gotten clever," Encrid whispered back.
The giant nodded solemnly. "Now, off with you."
"Right. I'm going."
As they walked, Encrid continued to encounter familiar faces. To the Ragged Saint’s eyes, Encrid seemed to share a deep bond with the people, including an innkeeper in the city center.
"What brings you down here? If you haven't eaten yet, why not have a bowl before you go?"
It was the innkeeper, Allen. His life’s ambition was to surpass the taste of Vanessa’s famous pumpkin soup. Lately, he had been selling a chicken soup based on a recipe his grandmother used to make for him when he had a cold. Business was booming.
While he couldn't match the sheer volume of Vanessa’s pumpkin pies and juices, Allen had no reason to complain. Ever since trade flourished thanks to the Safe Road and Lockfried established the city as a commercial hub, resources in the Border Guard had become abundant.
Allen was reaping the rewards.
And they’re even farming within Greenpearl itself.
The Ragged Saint had seen much in his time. Even with his failing eyesight, the prosperity of the city was clear when observed from within the inner circle. He had always been someone who looked at the small streams rather than the main river; the lives of common folk interested him far more than grand political maneuvers.
Abundant. Truly abundant.
To the Saint, this city was a miracle. The cessation of skirmishes with Azpen played a massive role, allowing the vast plains to be used as farmland without fear of raids. Periodic patrols of the Pen-Hanil Mountains and the Stone Road connecting the West had brought immense wealth back to the city.
But where there is light, there is a shadow. The Ragged Saint knew this law of the world well.
That shadow appeared in the form of a Frok. Since Froks possessed regenerative skin, a scarred one was a rare sight. Yet, a Frok with a menacing white scar across his neck was now approaching them.
Was he looking for a fight? Was he after the jewelry the Saint wore? Or perhaps he was a bounty hunter or a blade sent by the Theocracy?
He was none of those.
"Long time no see."
The Frok greeted them familiarly. Encrid stared at him for a long moment before speaking.
"……Melon?"
"It's Meelun. Have you forgotten my name already?"
"Ah, right. Meelun."
Despite having his name butchered, the Frok showed no displeasure. To the Ragged Saint, this was astonishing, but to Meelun, it was only natural. Even if they fought, Meelun knew he would die in a single strike. Forgetting a name was a trivial matter. Meelun was a Frok, and he was faithful to his own simple desires: a moderate victory and a sense of achievement. He was satisfied with his life.
Following the Frok, a bald man stepped out from a damp alleyway. He had the swagger of a back-alley boss, his head glinting in the sunlight.
"Commander."
"Gilpin," Encrid acknowledged.
"Why do you remember his name?" the Frok muttered, though no one listened.
"Are you looking for something?" Gilpin asked.
"No. Just taking a walk."
Only then did Gilpin’s gaze brush past the Ragged Saint. The items draped over the Saint were a pickpocket’s dream, yet there was no greed in the man’s eyes. Though the Saint’s vision was poor, his hearing was sharp enough to catch whispers from a block away. More importantly, his sixth sense for reading people was peerless.
He sensed no malice or greed from Gilpin. By all appearances, the man was a criminal or a guild leader, yet he showed zero interest in the Saint’s wealth.
"Everything quiet?" Encrid asked.
"With Security Captain Vengeance around, what could possibly happen?"
Though he spoke lightly, Gilpin did a lot for the city. The information guild organized by Krais was under his jurisdiction, and he was responsible for internal stability. The stress had caused Gilpin to lose weight, his cheeks now hollow—the natural consequence of working under a perfectionist like Krais. However, the pay was excellent, and Gilpin was content.
The Ragged Saint, unaware of these details, found the entire atmosphere peculiar.
Strange. Truly strange.
After wandering a bit longer, Encrid headed toward the military barracks. The Ragged Saint followed quietly before speaking up.
"I care for war orphans. Would it be alright if I established a monastery for that purpose here in the city?"
It was a significant request, but to Encrid—who had recently relocated an entire elven clan—it was a minor matter.
"Go ahead."
He didn't hesitate for a second.
"It will cost quite a bit, you know?"
"Weren't you planning to sell those trinkets you're wearing?"
"Come now, couldn't you cover some of the costs for me?"
"Sure. You know Krais, right? The big-eyed fellow who looks grumpy whenever someone asks for Krona. Go talk to him."
"What if I turn out to be a villain who buys and sells children for gold?"
"Why would a person like that ask to build a monastery? They’d just sell them off in secret. Besides, we already have enough crazy groups out there trying to 'manufacture' Saints and Saintesses."
What is wrong with this guy? The Ragged Saint blinked his clouded eyes.
Encrid was blunt, but there was a sharp, practical intelligence behind his words.
"Indeed, many have been hurt by those wretched fools," the Saint sighed.
"Then you should do something about it."
"It is beyond my ability."
"Right. Then just build the monastery."
The conversation moved so quickly the Ragged Saint felt a strange sense of exhilaration. Their thoughts were conveyed with absolute, stripped-down clarity.
The Saint had come to see the "nest" Audin had chosen. He knew his adoptive son was not easily swayed and carried deep wounds in his heart. He was proud of the man Audin had become, but he had wondered why Audin chose to stay here instead of returning to the Temple.
Encrid.
This man was the answer. The Saint had heard many stories during his stay. From Seiki, he heard of the man who saved her. From others, he heard of a knight who never wasted a single second of his life. From the soldiers, he heard of a hero who cut down demons to end the war.
Because the Saint didn't know Encrid’s past, he had imagined a man driven by grand, sweeping ambitions. But the reality was different.
"What is it that you want?" the Saint asked, his curiosity finally boiling over.
Encrid didn't need to ponder. "For now? To make my techniques flow as smoothly as water."
"What?"
"I have a system I've built, and I've only just mastered a single specialty. But I want to go further. I can see what I need to reach. Since I lack natural talent, I have to take it one step at a time. So for now... yes, swinging my sword like flowing water. Hm, saying it out loud actually helps me understand it better. After the Wave-Blocking Sword comes the flow. Not a Soft Sword, but a true flow. Like a stream that never stops, rather than a well that never runs dry."
The Saint didn't understand a word of it. He had some martial training in his youth, but this was far beyond him.
"Huh?" the Saint stammered.
"That was helpful. Audin told me not to treat you poorly and said if I had worries, you would be of help. He was right."
Encrid continued, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.
"Eh?"
"I suppose there was a reason I was teaching Seiki after all."
"Mmh?"
They arrived at the barracks, and Encrid immediately drew his sword and began to swing. It was impossible to talk to him now; he had completely slipped into his own world.
The old man—the world-renowned Ragged Saint—stood there draped in donated jewelry, watching the Knight Commander train. After a moment, Audin approached.
"Did you have a good walk, Father?"
The Ragged Saint paused, then pointed at Encrid. "What is wrong with him?"
"Did something happen?"
"He started babbling about streams and water, and now he’s... doing that."
"Ah. He's just being his usual self."
"His usual self?"
"Yes."
The Saint, who had spent his life wandering the world and meeting all manner of people, finally realized a simple truth.
Madmen.
Only now did the reason behind the knight order's reputation truly hit home.