Chapter 690: Somewhere Between the Familiar and the Unfamiliar
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 690: Somewhere Between the Familiar and the Unfamiliar
‘Upper right arm, left abdomen.’
Encrid read the intent of the woman presumed to be Ragna’s mother. The sword in her right hand slashed downward while the one in her left thrust forward. The twin blades moved in unison—fast, but with a straightforward tempo.
Therefore...
‘Easy.’
Easy to block, easy to dodge. Ragna opted to evade rather than draw his blade.
Without even appearing to lift his feet, Ragna’s body shifted to the side. A knight’s reaction speed easily defied human logic. An ordinary person would be astonished by Frok’s raw strength, amazed by a beastman’s agility, or terrified by a giant’s monstrous power. But once you became a knight, there was no longer any reason to be surprised. You could now wield similar physical strength and perform the same movements.
Just as Ragna was doing now.
Matching Ragna’s movement, his mother’s blade bent at a right angle to pursue him.
Still easy. One blade thrust, the other slashed. It felt almost monotonous.
‘No, it’s not easy.’
Whether it was because Encrid was observing from the sidelines or because his own eye had grown that much sharper, he caught a glimpse of the hidden intent behind her swordplay. The two blades moved at precise angles, forcing the opponent into specific movements.
For instance, the sword in her right hand thrust downward from above, aiming for the collarbone, while the sword in her left slashed diagonally outward. It felt as if she were sweeping across both his abdomen and his arm. If he tried to dodge by moving sideways, he would end up getting impaled instead.
It was a swift, agile dual-sword style. In terms of pure speed, it was second to none. Because of that, the opponent was given no room to attempt any other move.
‘And there isn’t a single wasted motion.’
Ragna had two choices here: draw his sword to block, or retreat to create distance.
‘If it were me, I would grab both her wrists.’
Since Ragna held the upper hand in raw strength, he would leverage his advantage. According to Luagarne-style tactical thinking, that was the correct move. After grabbing both wrists, he would headbutt the bridge of her nose.
The reason for this choice?
‘If you back away, it becomes hard to predict what she’ll do next.’
And simply blocking would only allow the opponent to maintain her offensive. That was the judgment Encrid made, and at the same time, he realized what the mother was doing.
‘Forced movement.’
If the sword style known as Aker’s Spiderweb ensnared an opponent’s movements to limit their options, then she was carving the path from the very beginning and herding her opponent down it. It was an orthodox sword style, similar yet subtly different.
Ragna used a mix of three options, including Encrid’s suggested method.
‘If possible, you can make multiple choices at once.’
If one was capable, that is. And Ragna was.
Ragna drew the shortsword he had brought to block one of her blades, reached out with his left hand to grab her right wrist, and raised his right knee, aiming his toe at his mother’s chin.
Ting!
The moment her blade clashed with Ragna’s shortsword, it snapped back to its original position. Because she had swiftly retreated, Ragna’s kick and grab caught nothing but empty air.
Behind her, her braided blonde hair swayed from side to side. Her clothes and hair fluttered wildly from the intense movement.
"Hmm. You’ve changed a bit, son."
Having fluttered from her rapid back-and-forth movement, her apron settled back down, covering her abdomen and thighs. In that brief moment, the scabbard strapped to the outside of her thigh was revealed.
‘They carry swords even while cooking here.’
No matter how he looked at it, the weapon in her hand did not look like a kitchen knife. It was slightly longer than a shortsword, with a thick blade. Yet, despite its thickness, the edge itself seemed remarkably thin. It was likely a custom-made sword, somewhere between a gladius and a shortsword.
‘No, it’s an imprinted weapon.’
He corrected his thought. Here, they cooked while carrying imprinted weapons.
"It’s been a long time, so it’s only natural that I’ve changed, isn’t it?"
Ragna showed an assertiveness he had never displayed before. His tone suggested he didn't mind if she attacked again. This was a side of him she had never seen before he left home. Ragna’s mother felt a touch of emotion.
"Yes, I always knew you’d return eventually."
"I didn't return. I came to take Sunrise."
"Sunrise? Did he agree to give it to you?"
His mother’s head turned slightly toward his father, who stood behind her.
"No," Ragna’s father said, shaking his head. "You’ve found some motivation, son. It’s good to see."
His mother turned back and spoke with a smile.
This family is incredibly positive, Encrid thought to himself as he replayed the brief exchange in his mind. It had been a short clash, but it was full of fascinating details. Furthermore, there was something to be learned from it.
Not all sword styles in the world could be categorized simply into lethal, sustaining, or versatile. In other words, instinct and calculation alone could not distinguish everything. The swordplay Ragna’s mother had just demonstrated was exactly like that.
‘Transition.’
She crossed back and forth over the line between calculation and instinct. It was different from being versatile. Rather than balancing in the center, she tilted left and right like a seesaw before returning.
‘And on top of that, extreme speed.’
Encrid had named his own swordplay Flash, but the true essence of his technique was the optimization of thought. It was akin to reducing the number of dependent variables for just a single moment.
Once again, he recalled the swordplay Grida had shown him. To be precise, it was a method of breaking down calculations, but in reality, it was completely useless in actual combat. To use it in real combat, one had to assume a perfect defense and use minimal movements, just as Encrid had done when facing One-Killer. However, Grida’s movements were far too large for that. Therefore, it was not meant for real combat.
In their sparring match back then, he had been the one employing rational tactical thinking, while Grida’s role was to disrupt that very thinking. So, he had decided not to give her any opening to disrupt his thoughts.
‘Leaving only limited options and making the absolute best choice.’
That was Flash.
Defining it this way didn’t make it slow, but if they were talking purely about the speed of the blade, the swordplay Ragna’s mother had just shown was far more astonishing.
‘Is it high-speed cognitive transition utilizing a swift blade?’
There were likely more hidden techniques than what met the eye. He couldn’t help but look forward to it. That was probably why he had unconsciously gripped and released the hilt of Samcheol over and over.
"What a combative guest," Ragna’s mother said, noticing his actions.
Just as Encrid was about to speak, Grida cut him off. "Don’t do it. Don’t even think about it."
It was a warning.
"...I followed Ragna here," Encrid replied. He wanted to fight her right then and there, but he heeded Grida’s warning.
Magrun chimed in to add, "This is Encrid from the Border Guard. You’ve heard of the Mad Knights through the news from the Broker’s Village, right?"
His mother blinked a few times before replying. "Oh, him? The Heartbreaker?"
Encrid felt his composure waver for a second, but he held his ground.
‘Why has that nickname reached all the way here?’
He wondered briefly, but soon spat out a casual response with an indifferent attitude. "Who was the one who delivered that news?"
If he could just catch that bastard first, he would find the source of the rumor. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it was probably Sinar. By now, even Encrid knew just how widely Sinar had spread those ridiculous rumors. She had spread the word far and wide that the captain of the Border Guard’s Mad Knights was best at breaking women’s hearts.
At this rate, even passing children would be using the nickname, and maybe some bard would write a song about it. Going even further, some mage studying in seclusion deep within the forest might suddenly know his nickname, too.
‘No, I’m overthinking it.’
Now was not the time to lose his mind. Meeting her clear gaze, Encrid continued. "The rumors are wildly exaggerated."
"Well, there’s no smoke without fire, and looking at your face, it doesn’t seem entirely false. But then again, if we believed every rumor in the world, people would still think the head of our house is an eight-armed monster. So if you say it’s not true, it’s not. I am Alexandra Zaun. Welcome to Zaun."
On the surface, she seemed ordinary, but he had just witnessed her extraordinary skill moments ago.
"You’re the one who’s more likely to have eight arms, not me," the head of the house spoke from the side, and his wife let out a soft chuckle. Despite being a middle-aged woman, she had few wrinkles and looked incredibly young. Since becoming a knight tended to slow down aging.
‘It must mean she reached the level of a knight at a young age.’
It was peculiar. The head of the house was impossible to read emotionally, and while his wife appeared ordinary, she was equally difficult to see through.
‘If one’s level is high, it is only natural to hide one’s intentions.’
Hadn’t Sachsen said something like that before? He understood the underlying meaning of those words. Outstanding observation skills eventually reach the realm of insight, and exceptional insight can allow one to do something akin to mind-reading.
Thus, conversely, those with great insight also know how to hide their own thoughts. Whether through calculation, instinct, or sense, the habit of preventing others from easily reading one’s mind is learned reflexively.
‘Otherwise, a fight between Ropode and Pel wouldn’t even be possible.’
If one side knew the other’s intentions while the other remained clueless, the victor would be decided too easily. Though, of course, there were attacks that couldn’t be blocked even if one knew they were coming. Well, that was just how it was.
"We were actually preparing a meal because we already had a guest, so this is quite a coincidence. I didn’t expect this, but we have plenty of food. Let’s eat together. First, go wash up."
Zaun was a small castle, and there were a few servants. He could see a couple of maids and attendants standing further back. Every single one of them must have had nerves of steel, as their expressions remained completely calm even after witnessing the sudden swordplay.
"I’ll guide them," Grida stepped forward, and Alexandra nodded.
"Yes, the rooms are in the same place."
Before he knew it, she had sheathed her swords. Her movements were so natural that he had missed it once again. She had sheathed her weapons mid-conversation; was this what one called seasoned experience? Though not every single small gesture could be called extraordinary.
‘She is certainly unusual.’
The head of the house looked back and forth between Encrid, Ragna, and Anne, then spoke. "I’ll see you in a bit. Today’s meal should be lively. It’s been a while since we’ve had so many people."
His tone, however, carried absolutely no hint of anticipation, let alone enjoyment.
"This way."
Grida nodded, bowing respectfully to the head of the house and her mother, and led the group.
"I have somewhere to stop by for a moment," Magrun said, splitting off halfway.
Only after they were far away from the head of the house and his wife did Anne speak. "I was going to say we came to treat an illness, but he looks really scary. Ragna’s father, I mean."
"Does he?"
"They don’t look alike at all, either."
At Encrid’s added remark, Ragna nodded. "They are my adoptive parents. It would be strange if we looked alike."
"Hmm?"
This was news to him. As Encrid turned his head in surprise, Grida looked back and chimed in.
"I’m an adoptive daughter, too. You didn’t know? Well, it’s not like this bastard is the type to share details like that."
Ragna didn’t bother to reply, simply looking around his surroundings. It was the home he had returned to after a long time. A part of the memories tucked away in the corners of his mind had awakened, bringing a wave of nostalgia.
"If I go this way, it should be my room. Is it still the same?"
Though called a castle, its structure was closer to a large mansion. A row of pillars served as the boundary separating the inside from the outside. The scale wasn’t particularly grand, and the place Ragna pointed to was a hallway leading to the right. In other words, the path leading indoors. The left side led outdoors, where a small garden was situated.
"There is nothing but the head of the house’s bedroom over there. It hasn’t changed since two generations ago."
At Grida’s words, Ragna tilted his head. "I got a bit confused."
"You call that ‘a bit’?" Grida spoke as if she found it absurd, but this much was only natural. No matter if it was the place where he was born and raised as a child, he had returned after a long absence. For Ragna, getting lost was perfectly normal.
"The bath is this way. There’s no bath service. Zaun’s philosophy is that everyone must fend for themselves. If you don’t perform your duties, nothing is given to you. Oh, but someone will bring you clothes."
Swinging a sword didn’t make bread fall from the sky. This place, too, must have its own way of functioning to sustain the community. It seemed their policy was to keep only a minimal number of employees and do everything else with their own hands.
"It feels like it’s been forever since I could wash up with a peaceful mind," Anne said.
"You’re washing with me."
Grida led Anne to another bathroom separated by a wall. When Encrid stepped inside, he saw a large wooden tub filled with drawn water, along with a furnace on one side so they could boil water if they wished. Perhaps some water had already been boiled, as steam rose gently from above the furnace, and a large bathtub caught his eye.
Ragna might have trouble finding his way, but there was nothing wrong with his memory. Recalling his past, he picked up a wooden bucket and began mixing hot and cold water. Seeing him prepare not just his own bath but Encrid’s as well made it truly sink in that this was indeed Ragna’s home.
It was a preparation of bathwater that felt like a half-and-half mixture of the familiar and the unfamiliar.
"What is Sunrise?" Encrid asked, watching Ragna. Having gone without a proper wash for a long time, a sour smell wafted from his body. No wonder they had been told to wash up before eating.
Ragna replied as he poured the bucket into the tub. His voice blended with the sound of splashing water.