Chapter 673: With a Similar Look in Their Eyes
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 673: With a Similar Look in Their Eyes
Grida had liked this place from the moment she first saw it, but living here made her like it even more. If she hadn't, she would have finished her business and left long ago, regardless of whether her stay was meant to last two months or not.
She had seen much of the continent during her travels, but places that suited her tastes this perfectly were rare. And she wasn't the only one who felt that way.
"This is absolutely incredible."
Odinkar, in particular, seemed even more enamored with the place than she was. He didn't hesitate to give a thumbs-up as he chewed and swallowed today’s special: a seasoned patty of minced meat and onions, grilled to perfection and sandwiched between fresh bread.
Juicy grease dripped down the corner of Odinkar’s mouth. It was the kind of sight that made it impossible not to take a bite of whatever you were holding.
Sizzle. The juices of the seared meat swirled over her tongue, stimulating her taste buds before sliding down her throat.
Yes, she had to admit it. It was delicious.
Grida nodded in agreement, raising her thumb in return. The meals here were truly spectacular. The seasoned jerky and well-baked bread were great, but the pork barbecue—slow-roasted all day, shredded with sauce, and stuffed into long loaves of bread—was on another level.
What did they call it again? A pulled pork sandwich? And that wasn't all.
And what about the pumpkin soup and juice?
The hot soup, warming her from the inside out, tasted phenomenal. House Zaun was second to none when it came to fine cuisine, but this place had its own unique, rustic charm. Some dishes were familiar, yet they possessed a distinct flavor that made every meal an experience.
Odinkar, who had always been a bit of a glutton, even went so far as to ask, "Do I really have to go back?"
"What do you think?" Grida chided him gently, knowing it was a joke. What about his wife and child waiting for him at the main estate?
"I'm joking, just joking," Odinkar laughed cheerfully.
"Hey, if you're done eating, come out. Let's have a round," Encrid called out to him from across the dining hall.
"How are we doing it today?" Odinkar asked, swallowing his final bite.
"Do you want to take on two, or go one-on-one?" Encrid asked from outside.
Odinkar knew no restraint. Because of that, every sparring match with him carried the risk of death. After joining him a few times, Encrid had received a stern warning from Anne.
"Was your dream to become a worn-out stuffed doll? Are you trying to get your entire body stitched up?"
Even after Odinkar had nearly severed Encrid's collarbone, the two of them had sparred twice more. Odinkar won one of those matches—the time Encrid almost died. Just before the blade could pierce Encrid’s neck, the man named Sachsen had intervened, drawing a sharp dagger to block the strike. At the same time, Audin had lunged forward to grab Odinkar’s arm.
After that, the two seemed to realize they couldn't keep sparring like that. It felt as though their sessions would only end when one of them actually died.
That was when Rem brought up an interesting suggestion. In his unit, they would have one person fight three others of similar skill.
"Wasn't that just for hazing?" Krais chimed in from the side, but everyone knew it wasn't merely for harassment.
Well, there was no doubt that Rem’s personal tastes played a part. He would force someone to fight three opponents without explaining the purpose of the drill or offering any advice on how to overcome the odds, leaving them to figure it out with their own bodies while he cackled at whoever got beaten the worst.
"That sounds good, brother," Encrid had agreed.
"It's not a bad idea. If three skilled fighters pressure one, that person will have much to learn, and the other three will learn to coordinate," Sachsen added, speaking at unusual length. He likely supported the idea because he wanted them to stop their reckless death-matches.
Regardless, if Rem’s squad members could do it, there was no reason Knights couldn't.
After that, the sparring format changed. Encrid would fight against two or three opponents, and Odinkar would do the same. Sometimes Rem or Audin would take the solo position.
To Grida, the most fascinating thing was that Odinkar was gradually beginning to control his impulses. Seeing this, that bastard Rem would cackle and say, "Once you get beaten enough, everything works out."
Sachsen claimed he had simply retrained his habits. Audin insisted it was all by divine grace, and that he had merely delivered the words of God through his fists. All three said different things, but the underlying meaning was the same.
So they solve everything by beating it into you?
Yet, contrary to their rough words, they were delicate. Their techniques, their movements, and their sparring methods—all of it was refined.
Changed just from getting beaten?
Was it really that simple? Odinkar had walked a tightrope between life and death since childhood to reach his current level. That wasn't a habit that could be changed overnight.
Then what was the reason? What lay at the core of this transformation? Observation alone wouldn't reveal it; it would require deep study. She wondered if Magrun would have figured it out. He had an exceptional talent for that kind of analysis.
In any case, at the center of all this was the man named Encrid.
Once a certain level of safety was guaranteed by the change in sparring methods, these men became absolute maniacs. Encrid, in particular, made even Odinkar shake his head in disbelief. It wasn't just his attitude toward sparring; the way he spent his day was what truly astonished people.
He woke at dawn to train his body. In the morning, he would set out for what he called a "walk"—sometimes with a panther, sometimes with a witch wearing a revealing robe and long, black hair. But a closer look revealed that this, too, was training.
Sparring with a mage.
He did that at least twice a week. Even after that, he conducted separate training sessions with the barbarian, the assassin, and the elf.
And on top of that, he teaches the others.
He also managed his direct unit, though she wasn't sure if they were his guards or a personal escort. For the most part, he simply set the direction of their training.
"I won't fall!"
Among them, a Squire named Clement, who had just tripped, caught Grida's eye. Regardless of her talent, the girl's burning passion was remarkable. The child named Seiki, who came by occasionally, had extraordinary talent but didn't seem very interested in the grind.
The actual day-to-day training of the squad members was handled by other members. What mattered was how Encrid used every remaining second of his time. He fought all day. It was constant sparring. No end, no rest. He just did it. Unconditionally. He repeated this routine every single day.
Can his mind even hold up?
The body wasn't the issue. If the mind wavered, the body would follow. The mind always came first. Yet Encrid calmly handled everything. It was nothing short of miraculous.
Lost in thought, Grida called out to a man passing by. By now, she had memorized most of the names in the Order of Madness.
"Hey, Ropode. Want to go a round?"
She greeted the member she spotted, but he replied with deep annoyance.
"My name is Pel. Shepherd Pel. Why on earth do you keep confusing me with a bastard like him?"
"Ah, is that so? You two look alike."
At those words, the fellow named Pel drew his sword. "It's a duel."
They were an entertaining bunch. Grida lightly humored Pel as he lunged at her. This, too, was fun. Luagarne, the Frog Kin, would sometimes come over to discuss her theories, which delighted Magrun.
"The level of completion is unbelievable for something learned and built up in the wild," Magrun had said.
Even Grida hadn't expected such words to come out of Magrun’s mouth. Praise, rather than criticism and condemnation? From Magrun, who possessed a tongue like a thorny needle?
"Frog, is this your work?" Magrun had asked afterward.
"No, his," Luagarne replied, pointing a stubby finger toward Encrid.
Seeing that, Magrun merely tilted his head. "Really? Fascinating."
Looking at Encrid, Magrun replied simply. No malicious criticism followed. Even within House Zaun, there were very few people Magrun treated with such respect.
You could count them on one hand.
And now, Encrid had become one of them. Yet, watching from the side, it wasn't as if Encrid had performed some grand magic. He had simply walked over, chatted for a bit, and engaged in a discussion based on theory. Neither Encrid nor Magrun raised their voices or got heated. Both remained perfectly calm. Encrid would talk with Magrun separately once or twice a week.
It's strange.
But she felt the same way. At first, she had considered a romantic relationship, but now, she preferred not to go down that path.
Because once a man and a woman break up, things get awkward.
She hated that. She liked how things were with him right now.
"I haven't joined the line," she said to the elf. The blonde elf looked openly pleased.
"Should I get you some spring water?" Sinar offered, simply because Grida had gotten a bruise on her forearm during sparring.
"Good decision. The line is quite long."
Yet, despite Sinar saying the line was long, Grida didn't recall hearing any other names besides the Witch of Black Flower and Gold.
Ah, but letters did arrive—frequently and in large numbers. There were countless invitations, ranging from party requests to introductions from people claiming to be close to certain noble ladies. In the midst of all this, letters also came from the King, the Eastern Pioneer King, and a certain Holy Order.
He certainly is popular.
Just walking through the city, many people recognized him. Aside from the elf known as the Gold Witch, there were other elves who secretly threw flirtatious glances his way.
"Captain Sinar is old, but I'm young," the security force's archery instructor had slipped over to say. Grida happened to be standing right next to Encrid, so she could observe the situation closely.
How would he respond?
"A little over four hundred years isn't really that old, is it?" Encrid calmly played along with the elven joke.
"I'm not even half that age."
"To a human, two hundred or four hundred is equally old."
"...Two hundred and four hundred are not the same, though?"
The elf blinked her innocent eyes, but a sly intent was visible within them. They didn't tell outright lies, but they did distort the truth. That was how elves were. Grida knew this well. Blinking innocently, the elf emphasized the age gap.
"You know what I meant."
Encrid firmly rejected the elf's advances.
Ah, so that's how he does it.
In addition to this, the innkeeper liked him, and the giant merchant also showed him goodwill. Even a Frog who made accessories would puff out his cheeks and chatter on for a long time about what materials he had acquired and what he was going to make.
Even in the midst of his busy schedule, Encrid listened to every story. He always maintained a serious attitude and a listening ear. Seeing this, Grida realized she had truly fallen for this man. Not as a woman falls for a man, but as one person falls for another's character.
"You're a good listener."
"I like the passion that comes through in their words."
The casual way he said it was incredibly charming. So Grida spoke up.
"Any interest in coming to House Zaun?"
He wouldn't accept. She knew that from observing him for a month. This man would reject the offer. Yet, once again, an unexpected answer came.
"Can I visit sometime?"
"Huh?"
"I'm asking if it's alright for me to visit."
"Oh, sure. Come on over."
Yes, this man would not join House Zaun. He could not be contained. The light he radiated was far too bright for that. Zaun was ultimately a stagnant, resting lake, but this man was like the wind, ready to fly anywhere. The wind could linger by the lake, but it would never be still.
"Wind Blade. Have you ever heard of a sword by that name?"
"Isn't that from a bard's song?"
"Yes, it's one of the founders of House Zaun."
"I think that's the first time I've heard of that."
Grida shared various stories with him.
"Linger too affectionately, and it may invite misunderstanding," Sinar chimed in with a joke midway. Then the three of them would chatter for a long while, and when Esther approached, they would quietly sip tea together.
Silence was good. Conversation was good. They were a wonderful bunch, all in all. Was this why Ragna hadn't wanted to return?
Meanwhile, an unfamiliar face entered the unit's grounds. Grida, who was standing out front, asked the blonde visitor with red eyes, "Who are you?"
The visitor blinked slowly, then shook out his messy hair before speaking. He looked as though he had gotten lost somewhere along the way. He smelled, and his appearance was shabby, though the way he carried a greatsword was quite decent.
"Grida?"
"Hmm, you know me? You look familiar, but who were you again?"
A familiar face? Grida furrowed her brow.
"It's Ragna. Why are you here? Are you lost?"
"Ah, Ragna."
Right. Her journey to find this brat was what had brought her all the way here. At first, she had searched for him seriously, but later, she found wandering around so much fun that she slacked off, which led her to this point.
"I came to find you."
"Me?"
"There's someone who wants to see the runaway."
"The person who wants to see me should come themselves."
"They can't, which is why I came."
In truth, if she hadn't received word from the family, Grida would have enjoyed her travels a bit longer. Setting out after so long had brought many joyful moments, though there were plenty of miserable ones too. Regardless, now that Ragna was back, Grida had to deliver her message.
"Father is looking for you," Grida said.
Ragna stared back at her, his eyes saying: So? What about it?
This place is nice, but Ragna has been badly influenced too.
Her younger brother had never looked at her with those eyes before. That look was remarkably similar to the barbarian Rem’s.