Chapter 676: Interpreter Sinar
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 676: Interpreter Sinar
The Zauns were twisted—utterly, fundamentally twisted.
They possessed immense power but chose not to use it for conventional means, willing to do absolutely anything just to hone their swordsmanship.
Among the many things Encrid had heard, something Grida once told him remained vivid in his memory.
"If you go back generations, you'll find our origin. I heard that our founder lacked something essential, and they took up the sword to fill that void."
There was no need to ask what that "lack" was. It simply meant that everything, in the end, led back to the sword.
For instance, how does a pure-hearted man overcome the pain of being rejected by a woman? A Zaun would tell him to swing a sword.
How does a child who lost their parents deal with the longing and anguish? They swing a sword.
There was once a child who easily lost his way from a young age. He yearned for the right and proper path. His talent pushed him forward, ensuring that he never lost the path of the blade. His desire to find his way manifested through his swordsmanship.
There was a child who could not remember people's faces, yet grew up with the talent to remember every technique he ever saw.
Grida possessed a near-perfect memory when it came to the sword.
And so...
"Oh, Roni? What brings you here?"
It was nothing unusual for her to get Krais's name wrong. If one understood her, and if one knew the Zaun family, it was only natural.
"Why do you keep getting only my name wrong? Are you picking a fight with me?"
When Krais grumbled, Grida would usually smile and reply:
"Sorry, I've never sparred with you."
If they had sparred, she would have remembered him through his movements. Otherwise, Grida simply could not remember a person's face.
Did it make sense to fill one's deficiencies with the sword? To others, it was absurd, but the Zauns made it possible. There was one final piece of the puzzle that allowed it:
Talent.
Those born with innate, monstrous talent gathered together, twisting their lives in bizarre ways to train in the way of the sword. That was the Zaun family.
*
Among the spectators, anyone who knew how to read a fight understood the trick Grida had just pulled. Encrid, who had experienced it firsthand, knew it best.
A tailored counterattack.
This wasn't much different from what Sinar had done. Sinar had brought a method to dismantle the Wave-Blocking Sword, while Grida had brought something to overturn his "calculations." It was a counter-technique designed to shatter a single, specific skill.
"I will show you the results of these past two months."
This was the result of what Magrun had mentioned before they began.
It’s an irregularity.
She disrupted his calculations through a sequence of meaningless actions. She should have lunged forward after stomping her foot, but the movements didn't connect. She spun around, thrusting her sword from under her armpit, slapped her own thigh for no reason, and shook her head from side to side. Some of these actions had meaning; others were pure noise.
Because there was no coherence to her movements, his calculations were bound to be thrown off.
Interesting.
This wasn't an attempt to win, but a pure endeavor to dismantle a technique—to disrupt calculations and turn even that disruption into swordsmanship.
They truly are fascinating people.
Did she also have the Wave-Blocking Sword in mind? Since the Wave-Blocking Sword also belonged to the realm of thought?
What would happen if she kept overloading me like this?
Even so, it wouldn't work against the Wave-Blocking Sword. They would simply become two parallel lines running alongside each other, never intersecting.
The Wave-Blocking Sword was a style dedicated entirely to defense, and its sustainability was second to none. Even if it was a style that trained the mind, its true purpose remained protection. Both Magrun and Grida knew this. Therefore, they would eventually reach the conclusion not to attack once the Wave-Blocking Sword was fully drawn.
Dismantling techniques and finding pure joy in the mechanics of the sword—that was who they were. Watching them, Odinkar shrugged his shoulders, his excitement mounting.
Encrid adjusted his stance. Grida knew how to strike at weaknesses; that was her specialty.
"Here I come again," Encrid said, looking at Grida.
He raised his sword above his head. As his arms went up, his chest, flanks, and armpits were left completely exposed. Grida spotted several openings instantly. The moment the intent formed, her body moved on its own. All she had to do was lower her sword tip and thrust inward.
Yet, even though she knew the opening was there, she couldn't bring herself to take it.
Why?
It was because of the sword Encrid held high.
If I go in, I'll get hit.
Grida pulled back the sword she had been about to thrust. It was a split-second decision. Her blade reflected the sunlight, shining white as she held it perpendicular to the ground.
Encrid changed the form of his calculations. Not continuous, but instantaneous.
If defense blocked the waves, then offense flashed in a single instant. That was how he defined his swordsmanship.
Scrape.
Keeping the soles of his feet flat against the ground, he slid forward. Dry soil kicked up dust beneath his boots. As his left foot stepped forward, his right followed naturally. Occupying the space with rhythmic precision, Encrid claimed the distance he desired.
"Don't block it!" Odinkar shouted. A sudden sense of foreboding had forced his mouth open. Magrun was already watching with wide, focused eyes.
Rem, Audin, Ragna, and Sachsen moved their feet simultaneously, but they were too late.
Scraaaape.
Encrid scraped the ground with his right sole as he advanced diagonally. He rotated his sword, gripping it as if pressing the side of the blade with his right index finger—a thumb grip.
Then, he swung.
It was a strike delivered after calculating every single defensive move Grida could possibly make in that heartbeat. Encrid’s Samcheol sword struck and swept past Grida’s vertically held white blade.
Clang!
A deafening roar erupted, and Grida let out a choked groan. The strike Encrid had delivered was a High Horizontal Slash. The advantage of this slash was that even if it was blocked, one could transition from the Sky Stance to the Bull Stance and immediately follow up with a thrust.
And that was exactly what he did.
Spinning his sword once over his head, he seemed to knock Grida’s white sword to the left. Then, keeping the blades bound, he locked her movement with his crossguard and slid his blade down in a vicious thrust.
Overwhelmed by the force, Grida’s knees buckled. To the onlookers, it looked as if a massive hole was about to be bored into her head. But the impact never came. Encrid had stopped his sword inches away.
"……I feel like I’m going to piss myself," Grida muttered.
Encrid turned to the squad member casting a long shadow behind him and spoke. "If I had intended to kill her, it wouldn't have been a High Horizontal Slash, but a Diagonal Slash followed by an Upward Slash."
"I knew that, which is why I didn't stop you," Rem added needlessly. Odinkar had already stood up, his sword drawn.
The outcome was clear. Encrid had won. Grida let out a long breath, relaxed her tension, and plopped down onto the ground. Her voice carried a hint of laughter.
"Hey, you should've fought using your insight until the very end."
"We never agreed to that."
"True enough," Grida nodded. Encrid smiled and sheathed his sword.
"It looks interesting, but it doesn't seem suited for sparring, does it?" said Ragna, who had been watching.
"Are you one to talk?" Rem chided him.
Meanwhile, Ropode, who had barely managed to register the way Encrid had just fought, couldn't hear the chatter around him. Inspiration descended upon him.
What do you do if your calculations are read?
Encrid had just shown the answer.
Change the form of the calculations.
What if one possesses multiple calculation methods of different forms?
He had realized this by watching Encrid. It hadn't been intentional—or rather, since all the teachings up to this point had been leading to this moment, there was a degree of intent behind it. He just hadn't expected the realization to strike from a single spar.
Ropode raised the edge of his hand and began tracing the air. Seeing this, Pel started to say something but held his tongue. Interrupting him now wouldn't be fair. Besides, the pride of Pel, the Shepherd of the Wilderness, would not allow him to interfere with someone whose talent was inferior to his own.
Encrid turned his gaze to the side.
"Tch, I lost."
It was Magrun. Over the past two months, Magrun’s sharp edges had softened. At times, he even treated Encrid like a friend of over a decade.
"Magrun."
Encrid called out to him. Magrun smiled, about to speak, but then his eyebrows knitted and his forehead creased. He coughed up blood with a wet hack, staining the front of his shirt crimson.
With a sharp clink, Odinkar sheathed his sword and rushed to his side. Grida stepped back, her expression unreadable.
"Hmm. Of all times, the curse strikes now," Grida said.
Encrid’s gaze searched for Esther, then shifted to Rem. Esther had been away for two days, claiming she needed to find "starlight," and Rem merely twitched an eyebrow.
"Heurgh!"
After coughing a few more times, Magrun spat out a clot of blood. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed. Odinkar caught him before he hit the ground.
"What curse?" Encrid asked.
Grida scratched her cheek, her voice devoid of urgency. She wouldn't have reacted this way if it were her first time seeing this.
"It’s a curse that strikes a few unfortunate souls. Some survive after coughing up blood, while others die. Usually, their airway constricts like this, and then they pass away."
Her tone was casual. Ragna also seemed to know about it. "It’s exactly as she says."
Odinkar, holding Magrun half-upright, checked his condition. "Sachsen."
"Yes."
"Go fetch Anne. Audin."
"Yes, let me take a look, brother."
Audin knew that curses did not affect Encrid, and he himself did not fear them. He gathered a golden light in his hand and pressed it against Magrun’s chest.
"Mmh," Magrun groaned.
"If this is indeed a curse, it appears to be of a type that my ability cannot grasp, brother," Audin said.
Was divine power the natural enemy of curses? Not necessarily. While divine power could heal the blood loss, a curse was closer to sorcery. That was why Encrid had looked at Rem, but the barbarian didn't step forward.
"I don't smell anything musty," Rem said, then looked at his axe. "You think so too, don't you?"
For someone who called Encrid crazy for talking to his sword, Rem conversed with his weapon quite naturally. Grida couldn't help but chime in.
"Doesn't your axe ever say it wants to sing?"
"Hey, my axe actually expresses its will."
I get that, but from the outside, it looks exactly the same, Grida thought, but she kept it to herself.
Sachsen returned with Anne.
"If someone's arm got chopped off, we should probably call Seiki too," Anne said as she approached.
"It’s nothing like that. It’s an old curse."
At Grida’s remark, Anne fell silent and drew closer. Kneeling before Magrun, she gently peeled back his eyelid.
"Open his mouth, please," Anne requested. Odinkar pried Magrun’s jaws open.
They knew from their previous injuries that Anne was an exceptional healer—possessing a level of skill they had never witnessed even at their main estate. Anne carefully examined the inside of Magrun’s mouth. She pulled a round-tipped metal spoon from her pocket, scraped the inside of Magrun’s cheek, and wrapped the sample in a piece of paper.
"You said it’s a curse?" Anne asked.
"Yeah," Grida nodded.
"It’s not a curse," Anne said, letting out a long sigh. She stood up, her lips pursed, and turned around. As she walked away, she seemed to stagger. It wasn't a physical stumble, but the weight of a mental shock.
"Wait," Ragna stepped up and caught her arm. "What is it?"
"You look like you’re struggling to walk."
"……Yes, I am a bit tired. I’ve been staying up for the past few nights doing research."
After they left, Grida spoke. "He’ll be fine after some rest. Even the Clan Head has endured this curse for over ten years. He’s still going strong, right?"
"The symptoms are progressing faster than before, but yes, he still fights like a monster," Odinkar replied.
Encrid felt a spark of curiosity about this Clan Head. Will I ever have a reason to meet him?
*
The next day, Magrun woke up.
"I’m fine now," he said dismissively, standing up without trouble.
Later that afternoon, Anne came to find Encrid. Ragna stood right beside her.
"I need to make a quick trip," Anne spoke first.
"Where to?"
"The Zaun family estate. Ragna said he would guide me, so we’re going together."
Encrid asked reflexively, "Was your dream for the future to be a wanderer, not a healer?"
"Pardon?" Anne blinked, confused.
Ragna spoke up. "I also have business to attend to at the main estate, so I will accompany her."
He spoke as if they were just visiting a neighbor, but Encrid couldn't let them go alone. Anne did not like traveling; she had nearly died several times just trying to reach the Border Guard.
"It is about time for us to head back as well," Grida chimed in.
"Yes, you should," Anne added. She glanced at Grida, Odinkar, and especially Magrun. "It’s a miracle you people have survived this long."
It was Greek to Encrid. Yet, he knew exactly what he had to say.
"I must go with you. I cannot turn a blind eye to your family’s crisis. After all, it is Ragna’s home," Encrid said. He had received so much from Ragna; there was no reason not to protect the place where his friend was born.
Sachsen, Rem, and Audin were away. Only Sinar was nearby, and upon hearing this, she "interpreted" Encrid’s true intentions.
"He’s saying he’s dying to meet your Clan Head, so he wants to tag along."
Grida nodded. It was merely a madman speaking like a madman. Furthermore, although Anne had called their survival a miracle, Grida wasn't surprised. If they were going to die from that "curse," they would have perished long ago.
However...
"You know what this is?" Grida asked. Many had died from this affliction. They wanted to rid themselves of it if possible.
"I do. Though I’ll need to see it in person to be absolutely sure," Anne said.
Encrid lent his support. "I trust Anne’s word."
"This is his way of declaring that he absolutely must tag along because he really wants to fight the Clan Head," Sinar interpreted once again.