Chapter 677: What to Leave Behind
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 677: What to Leave Behind
"You’ve changed a lot."
Ragna turned his head at the sound of Grida’s voice. It was his sister, who had been quietly watching him train alone under the moonlit sky.
He didn't bother asking why she was sitting on the bare ground instead of using a chair. It was likely just too much effort for her.
"Me?"
"Yes."
Ragna gave a lazy nod at her confirmation. Sweat trickled down his forehead, dripping from his chin.
"Everyone would be shocked if they saw you like this."
Ragna merely nodded again. His attitude made it clear he couldn't care less whether others were shocked or not. It was a half-hearted gesture, showing an indifference so blatant that anyone could read it.
"Anyway, you're finally going back home," Grida said.
"I'm not going back."
"Then what?"
"Just stopping by."
"Why?"
"To pick something up."
Was he serious? Grida stared at Ragna for a long moment before dusting off her backside and standing up. As she rose from the dry earth, a small cloud of dust stirred around her.
"Right. You’ve always taken care of your own business."
Grida simply found this changed version of Ragna fascinating. Even after his sister left, Ragna continued to swing his sword.
He had decided to return to his family, but to retrieve what he needed, he would have to push himself even further than he was now.
And.
Because there is no time.
That was why he invested every spare moment into training.
Whenever he swung his sword, the path revealed itself. It had been that way since he was a child. He could see exactly how far he could reach, and exactly where he would arrive if he kept training this way. Even if he did nothing, the destination was visible to him.
He didn't have to struggle or flail; the path was already open.
But then, was there any meaning in walking a path that was already decided?
Memories of the past rushed in like a rising tide, pooling in his mind.
"Become a knight," his father had commanded.
"Why must I?" Ragna had asked in return. His father had looked at him as if staring at a creature he had never seen before in his life, and replied:
"Do you need a reason?"
The Zaun family consisted of those captivated by the sword itself. But Ragna could not be like them. Swinging a sword brought him no joy whatsoever.
"You don't find this fun? Why?"
Everyone around him asked, but his answer was always the same.
"Why is it fun?"
"Well, isn't it exciting to defeat someone, or to surpass yourself? It's just fun, you know."
Some had said that. Ragna could not agree.
Defeating someone? Even if he couldn't do it today, he would in a month. The outcome was glaringly obvious. It was an unalterable fact.
"What are you talking about? Are you some kind of prophet?"
He would prove it to those who scoffed at his nonsense. But even that process was utterly tedious. The difference in innate talent decided everything. Ragna knew this truth better than anyone.
Even among a gathering of the naturally gifted, Ragna was extraordinary.
Thus, life was boring. A tedious existence. He would die swinging his sword like this. He felt as though he already knew exactly what that death would look like, too.
Am I to spend my whole life swinging a sword, walking a predetermined path, only to die like this?
A new swordsmanship? A new path? None were visible. There was only what had already been decided.
A heaven-sent talent should have been a blessing, but to Ragna, it had become a curse. God had granted him talent, yet stripped away every single ounce of motivation.
It was after leaving home that he met Encrid.
"Why do you go to such lengths?" he had once asked.
"Right now, I swing my sword to survive. But I don't want to live that way."
That was back when Ragna had thought Encrid was completely hopeless due to his lack of basic skills. Even then, Encrid's will had remained unwavering. A straight, unbending path—that was the nature of his will.
As if cutting through his stagnant thoughts, the present Ragna swung his sword.
Ping.
The sword, swung parallel to the ground, vanished into a blur, leaving only the faint sound of tearing air.
The moonlight chased the trail of the greatsword. As he swung without pause, the moonlight pursued the blade, and the blade ran as if teasing the light. Dozens of silver lines repeatedly formed and vanished in the empty air.
Encrid's words had seeped into Ragna's mind, lingering there to resurface at any moment.
"I want to live according to what I believe is right. I want to raise my sword for the poor and the sick, for honor, and for the people I love."
He should have collapsed, drowned by the downpour of talent. He should have been brought to his knees, grabbed by the scruff of his neck by the pursuer called 'limits.' That was the future Ragna had envisioned for Encrid.
Yet Encrid had shattered every future Ragna had foreseen. Bearing everything that clung to him like a curse, he walked forward with stubborn resolve, ultimately shaking off the pursuer of limits and refusing to clothe himself in despair.
The moment he witnessed someone advancing like that right beside him, Ragna felt a shiver run down his spine.
Was walking a predetermined path truly important? Had anyone actually walked that predetermined path? Encrid asked this through his actions, his life, and his will. Ragna could not answer. Therefore, he had to walk.
He had to verify if his own path was correct, just as the man before him had shown. At that moment, he finally began to enjoy swordsmanship. It was a continuous series of wondrous experiences.
Stagnant memories continued to guide Ragna.
"You went to Juri's House, didn't you?" Anne, the healer and alchemist, had asked him.
"Yeah." He had answered honestly, having nothing to hide. At his reply, Anne hesitated, choosing her words, before suddenly locking eyes with him.
"Are you interested in Juri? Or do you happen to have a thing for kids?"
"What do you take me for?" That was a bit offensive.
At Ragna's reaction, Anne tossed her neatly braided hair back and said, "If not, then whatever. Why did you go, then?"
"Just to look around."
"At what?"
"Do you think a person must always have something they absolutely want to do?" Ragna asked back. Anne pondered for a moment before replying, "I don't know."
She was too busy looking after her own future to care about what others did. Anne's interests were limited.
"Right. Just because."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Tell me about yourself instead."
Ragna had changed. He was different compared to when Grida Zaun knew him, and he had changed from when Encrid first met him.
"...About what?"
"You were surprised when you saw Magrun."
So he might lose his way, but he's not slow-witted, Anne muttered to herself before speaking. She still looked him straight in the eye.
"That's not a curse; it's a disease. To be precise, it's a disease that spreads through invisible, dust-like particles. And that disease killed over a hundred people in the city where I used to live."
Anne had lost her parents, relatives, and friends back then. She had survived only because she was lucky. No, to be precise, it was because of her talent. Even as a child, she had already learned the basics of alchemy from Raban.
Thanks to that, she survived. But now she knew. Raban was her enemy. No, her master's master was the true enemy. There was an entity that had raised the alchemist Raban. He was the one who had created this disease.
Anne knew this.
"The one they spread where I lived was still in the research phase. That's why it vanished without a trace. It ended with the word 'plague' spreading, and dozens of people—even those who weren't sick—being burned to death."
Those who were born with the illness had to die then.
Those were the people Anne had seen. People like her parents, who had been born with disabilities from the start. Watching her lame father and mute mother burn to death, Anne realized she had two choices before her.
To dream of revenge, or to walk an entirely different path.
Anne chose to walk a different path. Because the targets of her revenge were too pitifully destitute. Terrified slum dwellers had secretly set fire to the straw tents in the dead of night. It wasn't just one person. A portion of the slums watched and turned a blind eye. There were those who instigated it, too.
Feigning ignorance, instigating, acting, and letting it happen despite knowing.
Whom should she blame? The world? The nobles? The wealthy commoners who merely spectated? The guards patrolling the district?
Some of the guards had fetched water to help put out the fire, regardless of whether they might catch the disease.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
It was one of those guards. He had even shed tears. Anne didn't even know his face, but she believed he wasn't the one who should be begging for forgiveness.
At that moment, Anne found her path. It was a path she would walk for the rest of her life.
I will not lose to some disease.
She resolved, building a tower of will in her heart. She also made up her mind to eradicate the very fear that disease brought. Recently, thanks to the migration of the Elven city, she had acquired many rare ingredients. It was an opportunity to accelerate the research she had previously only conceptualized.
So she did just that. It was no exaggeration when she told Ragna she had stayed up for several nights.
Is there a medicine that can cure every disease in the world? Anne asked herself. It was a difficult question, but in truth, she already knew the answer.
There is no such thing.
No, there is.
It doesn't exist, yet it does. The medicine doesn't exist, but a person who knows how to cure every disease can. Let me become that healer.
That is what I desire.
Her goal was clear, and her destination was certain. She had no room to look elsewhere. This was why Anne couldn't afford to pay attention to others.
"I have to go to the place where the disease spread. It probably started with a mushroom or a flower. I need to find it and verify. Only then can I create a cure."
"Does everyone who catches it die?"
"Sooner or later, yes, I believe they will die."
Anne replied firmly, then continued.
"The timing of death will depend on luck. You said Magrun coughed up blood and the Clan Head fell ill too, right? Some might seem perfectly fine, while others will groan in pain and lose all their strength. That's because the disease acts differently on everyone. It's not a curse."
Ragna nodded and said, "Sometimes, when I go to look around Juri's House, the kids welcome me."
It was a random remark, spoken simply because it crossed his mind. Yet Anne took even those words in stride.
"And?"
"So I go."
"Juri's House" was the name of the place where the children were cared for. Anne had asked earlier why he went there, and he was only now giving his answer.
"You sure took your time answering," Anne muttered, feeling relieved. The thing she had worried about wasn't happening. She had been startled earlier, wondering if he had become lovers with Juri, the girl who sold marmalade.
As long as it wasn't that, it was fine. Anne muttered those words and departed.
Moving past his thoughts, Ragna shifted his footing, thrusting and slashing.
Starting with a High Horizontal Slash, he wound his blade, cut at an angle, delivered a Diagonal Slash, and then struck away an imaginary sword with a Side Strike. Next, as if lightly tapping the crown of an opponent overwhelmed by force, he swung his sword.
The end of all these movements was a counterstrike.
His imaginary opponent changed steps. Dragging his feet, the foe brought his sword down. Ragna read the trajectory of the swung blade. The imaginary enemy attempted a High Horizontal Slash from a high stance.
Assuming a scenario where his sword was bound by the opponent's, Ragna pulled his blade back, closed the distance, and threw a punch where the opponent's face would be.
Whoosh.
Naturally, his fist struck empty air. After all, both the sword and the fist were swung against a purely imaginary opponent.
"That looked like you were countering my Flash."
A voice spoke. It was the person who had been letting his presence leak for a while now. The very man Ragna called his captain.
"I know it would be different in a real fight," Ragna replied, letting his sword hang low.
"Since there's also the option of settling it before the Bind state."
It was Encrid, who had approached before he knew it. Having washed up after his nightly training, he bore no traces of sweat. A cool spring night breeze blew, carrying a subtle scent of flowers.
"The Saint mentioned that there is already someone in the city doing what you want to do. At Juri's House," Encrid added.
The woman named Juri, who sold marmalade, took in and raised war orphans—children who had lost their parents or had been abandoned. Though there were only a few children at first, their numbers had grown, and so had the staff.
Because of that, they were always short on Krona. Yet, someone had been periodically donating Krona to Juri's House.
"Yes."
"I heard you gave them all the gold coins you wrung out of Krais?"
"It turns out raising children costs quite a bit of Krona."
"That's how it is when you're raising people."
Ragna had done that.
"Why?"
Encrid asked with genuine curiosity, looking at the silently tight-lipped Ragna.
"Those children didn't necessarily have something they wanted to become or do. I just thought... shouldn't children like that be allowed to live like everyone else?"
Must one always have a dream? Must one live with desperate earnestness? Ragna was saying that there were those who did not. Just like his own childhood.
"You're stating the obvious," Encrid accepted his words calmly.
In this world, there are those who simply wish for peace in their later years, and those who hope that a day like today will continue into tomorrow. Conversely, there are also those who desperately hope that tomorrow will not be a repetition of today.
"I just wanted to help," Ragna added.
"There's a saying in the West: when a person changes, it means their time to die has come."
"Are you cursing me?"
"No, just saying."
"Once I find just one item, I'll return."
The meaning behind Ragna's sudden remark was clear. He wasn't going back for good; his home was now here.
"I wasn't worried. See you tomorrow," Encrid said, turning around.
Ragna nodded nonchalantly.
Now, he was completely alone. Ragna sheathed his sword, covered his mouth, and let out a soft, hacking cough.
Luck, is it?
Red blood stained Ragna's hand. His insides throbbed with a dull ache. In any case, his stomach felt deeply unsettled. It was a symptom of the disease.
It felt as though fate were asking him: Just how much longer could he live?
He had thought he would walk a predetermined path, but this was another completely unexpected road. And because of that, it was actually enjoyable.
If my life ends like this, what shall I leave behind? What can I leave behind?
It was after this question arose within Ragna that he had begun helping Juri's House.
What will remain after I am gone?
He could not know yet. That was what Ragna thought.