Chapter 670: Grida, Who Never Forgets a Face
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 670: Grida, Who Never Forgets a Face
"Just a hair’s breadth away."
When the man replied, Rem smirked. "You want me to take your head clean off next time? Cut the 'hair’s breadth' crap."
The man fell silent. Regardless of who had the upper hand, he had clearly taken a beating. He stood with his legs awkwardly out of balance, and dried blood was scabbed over his scalp; one didn't need a closer look to see he was hurting.
But just because he didn't fight back with words didn't mean his spirit was broken. He glared at Rem with burning eyes.
"Want me to gouge those eyes out?"
Rem kept pressing him, but it was all talk.
A faint murderous intent drifted between the two, but compared to the usual friction between Rem and Sachsen, or Rem and Ragna, this was practically child's play.
Encrid ignored their little spat, his eyes tracking the two shadows darting around behind Rem.
One is Audin.
The other was a man he had never seen before. He swung his sword, short blonde hair fluttering, displaying a level of skill that was far from ordinary. He used his blade to create pressure, engaging in a high-level battle of wits through the smallest gaps.
He’s mixing the Heavy Sword Style and the Orthodox Sword Style.
The man pulled out exactly what he needed at the precise moment he needed it. By the standards of the system Encrid had established, this was close to the advanced stage. Encrid projected himself onto the swordsman, guessing his intentions.
He’s leaving an opening on purpose.
He wanted Audin to close the distance. Why? Because he was confident he could counter. What did he have prepared? It was impossible to know yet.
But it was likely a technique akin to a secret art—something one wouldn't easily show in front of others.
Encrid had faced countless wanderers in his time. Many were confident in their skills, while others boasted empty reputations. A few shared a common trait: they were never willing to show their true techniques easily.
But doesn't that mean they’re throwing away the chance to improve?
That was Encrid’s perspective. If you don't test your limits and surpass them, there is no next step. This was a truth he had realized through his own body.
The man before him was of that same breed. Indeed, if he had no such intention, there would be no reason to keep leaving openings.
Audin took the bait. He closed the distance to arm's length—a terrible distance for swinging a sword, but a perfect one for hand-to-hand combat.
The clash was decided in an instant. The man swung his sword down with his right hand while reaching upward with his left. Had his hands been empty, the gesture would have looked like crossing flags, but a weapon had already found its way into his left hand.
The second sword.
A hidden blade. His breastplate was split into upper and lower sections; as his left hand slipped inside the armor, a wavy, span-long dagger slid out into his palm.
A kris. The man’s hand, gripping the blade, thrust vertically upward.
As if he had been waiting for this, Audin stacked his hands together, then spread them slightly to dodge the blade, catching it between his fingers and pressing it down. Not stopping there, he twisted his waist to press even closer to his opponent.
With that, the blade in the opponent's right hand lost its target, merely striking Audin's shoulder with the hand gripping the hilt. At such close quarters, Audin pivoted on his left foot, slamming into the man with the broad surface of his shoulder and back.
A body slam delivered from an impossibly tight distance. It was more than just difficult to block; it was agonizing.
Boom!
A heavy impact exploded between them, and the man stumbled backward. Blood dripped from between the middle and ring fingers of Audin's hands, while a section of the man's breastplate was dented inward.
"Didn't work, huh," the man said.
His tone carried a hint of excitement and anticipation. One might expect him to be disappointed that his secret technique had been neutralized, but he showed no such emotion. He had revealed his hidden trump card, yet he thought nothing of it. He was entirely focused on the battle at hand.
Even though the man hadn't done anything in particular and they hadn't exchanged a single word, Encrid felt a liking toward him.
"Odinkar, stop."
Grida halted the fight. The man called Odinkar turned his head. Though his fighting spirit still lingered, his attitude showed he trusted Audin wouldn't exploit the opening.
In other words, a spar was just a spar.
"Pity," the man muttered.
He was just like Grida. They hadn't come to kill; they had come with a different purpose.
Sure enough, Grida spoke.
"I suppose we should introduce ourselves properly. I am Grida Zaun. This is Odinkar Zaun, and this is Magrun Zaun. We are from House Zaun."
Everyone's eyes turned to the three of them.
Zaun—the place where Ragna was born.
Furthermore, Grida Zaun spotted the very person who was the reason for their visit and called out to him.
"Ragna, we've come to take you back. Did your hair color change?"
She even pointed a finger to indicate him. Once again, everyone's eyes followed her finger.
"Huh?"
Luagarne was the first to tilt her head. The brown-haired man standing where she pointed didn't even bother to look back. Even without looking, he knew there was no one else around him.
Thus, it was only natural for Sachsen to look at the finger pointing at him with utter confusion. Doubt was written all over his face.
"...?"
Expressing "What kind of nonsense is this?" solely with one's facial expression was a talent in its own right. Sachsen spoke with his eyes.
Yet Grida continued with a gentle smile. Her tone was brimming with absolute certainty.
"Are you going to pretend you don't know me? I am Grida, and I never forget a face once I've seen it."
It was a moment when everyone from the Border Guard fell silent, wondering what on earth was going on.
"Is that really him? Doesn't look like it to me," Odinkar asked. He knew Ragna. That man wasn't him. Even as he spoke, Odinkar's interest lay elsewhere. Can't I go another round with that Audin guy? His desire was plain to see. Even after sheathing his sword, his gaze remained locked onto Audin.
"My opponent was probably the strongest in their order. I need time, just a bit of time."
Magrun didn't care at all. Whether it was Ragna or whoever, it was none of his business. Are there really guys like this outside the family? That was what fascinated him. He was in awe of the barbarian's technique that had beaten him down, and his mind was already filled with the desire to study it.
In short, his only wish right now was to shut himself in some back room and research swordsmanship.
I lost.
Because the only way to overcome the feeling of defeat was, after all, research. That was Magrun's philosophy.
"But it is him. Ragna Zaun. The Clan Head summons you," Grida insisted once more.
Encrid didn't feel a sudden shock like a bolt of lightning, but he thought he understood what was happening. Sometimes there are people who simply cannot recognize others properly, and Grida was exactly that type.
Sachsen was at a loss for words. This was a first for him.
"What are you talking about? Ragna went to ask Eitri to sharpen his blade," Krais chimed in from the side.
"Huh?"
Grida tilted her head. To Encrid, Grida didn't seem like someone who hid her true thoughts. How could she mistake someone's face when she herself had described him as having blonde hair and red eyes?
He didn't know her thought process. Nor did he want to know, but one thing was certain. Just as Ragna couldn't find his way, this woman couldn't remember faces.
Which meant she had forgotten his face as well.
It was the first time in Encrid's life that a woman had forgotten him after seeing him once. He wasn't particularly offended; it was simply the truth.
"That fellow is not Ragna," Encrid stepped in to clear up the situation.
Grida argued a few more times before finally conceding. "Even I make mistakes sometimes."
Hearing Grida's words, Encrid was now certain that this woman was indeed Ragna's sister.
*
"Well, because he insisted on returning from the market alone, his current location cannot be confirmed."
The soldier who had accompanied him tried to stop him, arguing he shouldn't go alone, but if he could be stopped, he wouldn't be Ragna. Consequently, there was no telling where he had wandered off to on the way from the market to the barracks.
Krais had just delivered this grim fact to those who had come looking for Ragna. Since their goal was Ragna, they had to find him, and this was the result of their immediate inquiries.
"Ragna was always terrible at finding his way, ever since he was a child," Grida said, nodding. She was so nonchalant that finding Ragna didn't even seem particularly important to her. As for the other two, they showed no interest whatsoever.
One of them, the fellow named Odinkar, was now showing interest in others besides Audin. He was subtly radiating fighting spirit toward Encrid as well. Meanwhile, the other one, upon hearing Krais's words, asked:
"I would like to stay somewhere quiet and empty for a while. Is that possible?"
The other two didn't even try to stop him. They were all people who only spoke of what they cared about.
"What kind of freaks are these guys?" Rem muttered, voicing everyone's inner thoughts.
Krais instinctively went to reply, "My thoughts exactly," but held his tongue.
Sachsen then crossed his arms, keeping the three of them within his range. His intention to slash or stab them if things went south was unmistakable. These three must have known it, yet they remained completely unbothered.
Which only made it all the more bizarre.
Zaun was a family known to those in the know. For generations, they had produced several knights in the north, and those knights were also referred to as seekers of the sword. Among wandering mercenaries and adventurers, there were those who had trained under House Zaun. Perhaps it was for a similar reason that the knight Barnas, who was once a beastman general of Azpen, had recognized Ragna at first glance.
Since Barnas had guessed correctly solely based on Ragna's absurd talent, in reality, he might have just gotten lucky.
Encrid had wandered the continent as a mercenary and a guide, but his skills back then had been pathetic. Since then, he had only stayed in the Border Guard. Thus, he only knew the name Zaun as the place where Ragna was born and raised.
So, it felt strange to him that three people who wielded swords so exceptionally well belonged to a single family. If they were an order of knights, he could understand. If they were from the Empire, he would have nodded in agreement. If they were from a great southern nation? He would have accepted that too.
But a single family was different. In the end, it meant they shared the same bloodline.
How is this possible? A bloodline? The power of lineage?
It was said that those who inherited the blood of ancient royal families were born with extraordinary talents—abilities like moving objects with mere thought or reading the minds of others. He had also heard that the first magic began from bloodlines. Most of these were stories Esther had told him.
Is there such a thing as a bloodline that makes one good at swordsmanship? A lineage that produces knights? Is talent decided from birth? Is destiny, not effort, the only answer?
Did an ancient kingdom or some hidden, surviving bloodline like that really exist?
No, it isn't.
Even if that were the truth, Encrid would prove otherwise with his own body. Aside from becoming the Knight of the End of War, this was one of his cherished dreams: to prove that talent was not the only answer.
His current self could not be considered proof of that.
I repeat today.
Though called a curse, it was a blessing. He did not disparage what he had gained through it, but he also did not want to claim that this was the only way to surpass talent.
Let's not narrow my thoughts.
Both combat and concepts would change depending on the perspective from which they were viewed.
"Enki, you view the battlefield too narrowly."
He could almost hear Luagarne's voice. Based on her teachings, he expanded the horizon of his thoughts. Then, one of the truths he had realized directly through his own body popped into his mind.
That clumsy training methods—shortcuts—only produced half-baked results.
Is there really a big difference between the chimera knights created by Count Molsen and the knights trained in Azpen or the Holy City Legion?
Just because one altered their body to resemble a knight's or became intoxicated with a sense of omnipotence did not mean they could become a knight. Using Will did not make everyone a knight. One had to grope their way forward directly. Only then did it hold meaning.
While one could be influenced by others in defining their own will, living exactly as others dictated would prevent the bud of one's will from ever blooming into a flower.
Then what was the reason those three could display such skill? They had broken out of their buds themselves. Something impossible to achieve through talent alone was required. What was it?
"We are from House Zaun. There might be some who aren't familiar with us, but you can think of us as a family where those who handle the sword gather."
Grida introduced herself in her own friendly way, and Krais added what he knew beside Encrid. It didn't stray far from the rumors floating around.
A tradition passed down through generations?
What was a tradition? It was a philosophy passed down. In a family bearing the name Zaun, there must be something that had been transmitted through the ages.
Just as Rem muttered that these guys were a bit strange, and Sachsen's nerves grew sharp due to Odinkar Zaun's continuous provocations—
"An established system," Encrid muttered.
His voice was loud enough that everyone's eyes gathered on him. This was the reason House Zaun had produced knights for generations. In other words, they could be considered those who had walked the path Encrid had to tread before him.
Luagarne was the first to understand his words. "Indeed, I see."
It was her first time meeting people from House Zaun as well. After all, they were individuals hidden behind the fog of rumors. But seeing them in person made it clear. These three belonged to the same family, and all three were knights. It would be impossible to achieve this without a proper system.
So what of it? Rem spoke his mind.
"Are we kicking these bastards out?"
At his attitude of not caring whether they were kicked out or not, Odinkar bared his fangs. That means he wants to fight, right? His fighting spirit spoke for him. Unable to hold back, Rem placed his hand on his axe, and Sachsen also subtly gripped his dagger.
Krais felt the shift in the atmosphere on his skin. His anxiety fluctuated wildly.
That crazy, directionally challenged bastard.
He cursed Ragna inwardly and signaled Encrid with his eyes, but for some reason, the captain didn't step forward readily either. It would have been nice if Audin had intervened, but today, Audin looked like he was in his bear beastman state, ready to rip a man in two.
Krais thought for a moment. Is there any benefit to killing those three here? None. But should they just leave them be? Krais pondered for a moment, then showed off his wisdom.
"I'm leaving."
He was washing his hands of this. They would handle it themselves. In any case, the crazy knights were a variable beyond his control. For the sake of his mental health, he turned around and walked away.