Chapter 692: Blind Spots, Errors, and Contradictions
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 692: Blind Spots, Errors, and Contradictions
Despite hearing the Emperor’s name, he had flatly refused—not for any grand reason, but with a simple, "I don't want to." Yet, the Recruiting Officer only let out a low groan and did not press the matter further.
"You stubborn bastard," he merely muttered.
Although he heard it clearly, the Clan Head ignored the remark, turning his gaze away. Judging by their tone, their friendship was far from shallow.
"Everyone must have their own reasons for coming all this way. Ragna has already stated what he wants."
Following his firm refusal, his gaze shifted to rest on Anne, who had finished her meal long ago.
Was it consideration?
The Clan Head had waited until Anne had eaten her fill. Though no such warmth could be felt in his words, the fact that he was only asking now suggested he possessed a hidden thoughtfulness.
Is it his habit to speak through actions, no matter what he does?
Instead of showing emotion?
Such were Encrid's thoughts.
The others seemed used to it, as they remained silent. Alexandra Zaun merely offered a quiet smile. Her eyes seemed to study Anne's face, gestures, and demeanor, but there was no malice in her gaze.
Anne swallowed hard and spoke.
"I heard that you suffer from a long-standing illness. I might be able to cure it."
It was not a definitive promise, but Anne's demeanor carried a firm determination to make it happen. Seen in this light, her resolve was not to be underestimated.
Knowing her life was in danger, yet readily taking the sleeping draught and entrusting her life to Ragna—none of that would be possible without extraordinary resolve.
That was Encrid's assessment of her.
"She is talking about the heavenly punishment laid upon us," Grida added by way of explanation. Every member of the Zaun family suffered from a chronic illness. In recent years, its severity had only worsened.
Even at Anne's words, the Clan Head remained impassive. Not even the corner of his eye twitched.
Does his face ever change expression?
It felt as though even if one of his arms were severed, he would just stare blankly like that.
No, he wouldn't just watch.
If the fight were over, he would stop the bleeding. And if the fight weren't over, he would take the opponent's head in exchange for his arm. The subtle aura he exuded was still astonishing. It felt as though he could unleash his sword at any given moment, yet conversely, even if someone launched a sudden surprise attack, he might just stand there and watch blankly.
In short, he was unpredictable.
"A son who wishes for the sunrise," the Clan Head began. Pausing, he looked around at everyone present before continuing. "And a cheeky young lady who claims she will cure our illness."
"And then there is Schmidt," his wife added, gesturing toward the Recruiting Officer with her eyes.
It seemed the Recruiting Officer's name was Schmidt. It was clear he had known the Clan Head and his wife for a long time.
"Tempe, this is a proposal for you and your family as well."
Schmidt changed his tone. If he had been speaking as the Empire's Recruiting Officer earlier, he was now speaking in a friendly, familiar tone.
"Still, I refuse," the Clan Head replied once more, showing his unwavering resolve. Though devoid of emotion, the determination carried in his words was clear.
Schmidt let out another groan.
"What is your name?" Alexandra asked Anne, setting down her fork and knife and neatly stacking her plates. Anne tidied her utensils in a similar manner as she replied.
"I'm Anne. I am an alchemist, but I work to cure illnesses. Isn't there someone people here go to when they are sick? I do similar work to that person."
In any community where people lived together, there was bound to be someone they sought out when they fell ill or were in pain.
"When we fall ill or show symptoms of the sickness we mentioned earlier, we seek out Milestia. Milestia is also the godmother of these children."
Alexandra gestured toward Ragna and Grida as she spoke, then gazed intently at Anne. Was that look one of scrutiny? Or was it suspicion?
Grida had called it a heavenly punishment.
A punishment sent from heaven.
It was likely in the same vein as what others called a curse. Furthermore, even though Anne had called it an illness rather than a curse and offered to cure it, Magrun had not entrusted his body to her or shown any expectations. It wasn't just that he hadn't asked her to try or examine him; he had never shown even the slightest hint of such an intention.
He has no expectations.
He knew they had already met other healers and tried all sorts of things, which was why he reacted that way.
Or perhaps he knows that since a great healer like Milestia couldn't do it, no one else could easily manage it either.
The place Magrun had headed to as soon as they arrived was likely where Milestia was. After all, his physical condition had been far from normal throughout their entire journey.
It was said that an alchemist's skill was reflected in their age. No matter how outstanding one's talent or capability, it was a field where it was difficult to show results without dedicating time. On the surface, Anne looked so young that one might wonder if she had barely turned twenty. This, too, would have made it difficult to harbor any expectations of her.
In short: The Clan Head will refuse.
It was a prediction based on logic.
The Clan Head paused for a moment before speaking.
"If there is anything you need, let us know, Anne. And Grida, though you have only just returned after a long time, it would be best for a familiar face to assist her."
"Yes, I will do so."
The prediction had failed.
"Ragna, are you ready?"
The Clan Head's gaze fell upon Ragna's forehead. The torn hair and the marks of being beaten were plain to see.
"Not today," Ragna replied.
The Clan Head prepared to dismiss the gathering. He was about to tidy his utensils and bid everyone to rest.
Encrid seized the moment to ask, "Why do you not ask about my business?"
Alexandra answered in his stead. "It was too obvious, so we didn't ask."
Obvious? Encrid knew he was not such a simple man. Just because he was steadfast did not mean he was simple.
His presence here was to protect Anne, and he also intended to convey the truth of what had transpired on their way here. Furthermore, he was here as Ragna's friend to support him. Moreover, what was currently happening in Zaun was far from simple.
Encrid was willing to entangle himself in this complexity if things went awry, so he knew his business could never be summed up in just a word or two. Therefore, that claim of it being "obvious" had a blind spot. One could even call it an error.
Or a contradiction, for that matter.
Encrid reached a conclusion in his mind. He resolved to point out that contradiction, no matter what they said. Just as Encrid finished preparing himself, the Clan Head spoke.
"Tomorrow morning, my wife and I will take turns sparring with you."
Without missing a beat, Encrid replied, "Yes, let's do that."
A spar. In that case, couldn't the other matters be pushed back a little?
Odinkar's disappearance? He had vanished of his own free will. In other words, this should be viewed not as a disappearance, but as running away from home or simply going out. Ragna had left in his childhood, saying he would be back shortly, and had only returned now as a grown man. If Ragna had done so, then Odinkar could do the same.
Even if that weren't the case, didn't they say a man sometimes needs a den of his own to stay in? If one considered that he simply needed such a den right now, then so be it.
The ambush on the way here? Would anything change if he told the Clan Head about it now? Someone had tried to kill Anne and hindered their journey here. That was all. And wouldn't Grida or Magrun take care of reporting such things anyway?
It's not my place to step forward.
Therefore, all he had to do was spar. There was nothing complicated about it. Even if a situation was complex, Encrid knew how to view it simply.
That's just the kind of person I am.
Encrid drew out a rationalization from within himself and finalized it.
"Then I shall see you tomorrow. You may leave. Show them to their quarters."
While everyone else left without a word, Schmidt, the Imperial Recruiting Officer, did not budge from his chair. As he stepped out of the parlor-cum-dining room, Encrid's gaze briefly lingered on Schmidt.
"This way, please."
A neatly dressed attendant guided Encrid. Through the creaking gap of the closing dining room door, Schmidt's voice drifted out.
"Are you really going to be like this?"
It wasn't a bone-deep resentment, but his tone carried a hint of blame. As the double doors closed, the long line forming between them seemed to divide this world from the other. Through that narrowing gap, the Clan Head's eyes met Encrid's for a brief moment.
Amber, perhaps?
Reflecting the light of the lamp, the Clan Head's eyes glowed orange.
Thud.
Along with the heavy thud of the weighty door shutting, Schmidt's pressing words could be heard.
"Say something. You know this isn't for my sake."
Those words were not indifferent. Anyone listening could hear the underlying worry.
If it's not for his sake... then for whose sake was he speaking?
Such a question arose, but it was not his place to interfere. For now, he had to prepare for tomorrow. Encrid walked away, turning his back on the closed door.
Just because one was a knight did not mean the chores they had to do with their own hands changed. For instance, simply swinging a sword would not wash away the smell of sweat clinging to dusty elven undergarments. It was the same for clearing the layers of dust from a cloak used to block the wind, or removing the pebbles and clumps of black dirt wedged into the soles of one's boots.
Swinging a sword alone could not solve these things.
The words of a man who had once mastered the mercenary trade came to mind. If one still earned a living by the blade and was respected even near the age of fifty, it was safe to call him a Mercenary King. To survive when most retired or died before then was proof of his character, and one could even say he had been chosen by the Goddess of Fortune.
At any rate, he had said: "In any fight, preparation is seven-tenths of the battle. Isn't it obvious that the bastard who keeps his blade sharp and his gear well-maintained has the advantage?"
Agreed. Encrid had treasured his words like gems and engraved them in his heart.
I think I can scrape the soles of my boots with a knife.
In front of his assigned quarters, Encrid scraped and maintained the soles of his boots with the tip of his shortsword. They were boots made of Pen-Hanil troll hide reinforced with iron plates. Though they showed signs of wear from long use, they were still sturdy. He lifted his boots and sniffed them, but there was no terrible sour smell.
Grida, who had a solid background as a pathfinder, threw a leather pouch to him as she walked past.
"Put that in, and the smell will fade a bit."
Catching it with a slap, he pulled out what looked like a white stone, but upon closer inspection, it was a dried bar of soap that hadn't been used in a long time. Leaving it inside dry shoes overnight would help eliminate the odor.
"Where are you going?"
"Since I'm back after so long, I thought I'd look around."
As Grida spoke and stepped out, the setting sun cast a shadow before her. The shadow rapidly shrank and soon vanished. Grida's pace was not much different from when they had journeyed here. It was as fast as necessary. It was either because she had many places to visit, or because she had a lot of things to investigate.
I should do some laundry.
With that thought, Encrid found a well inside the castle, drew some water, and washed and wrung out his undergarments and cloak. While swinging a sword a few times wouldn't clean a cloak, it went without saying that a knight's superior physical strength was exceptionally useful when wringing out laundry.
Squeeeeze.
The sturdy cloak twisted, spitting the water it had absorbed back onto the ground. Before long, Ragna and Anne also came out and did the same.
A few maids approached and handed them small clubs. They were meant for beating the laundry. The maids had dark circles under their eyes and looked somewhat sickly.
"Are you sick?" Anne asked upon seeing them.
"We are fine," a maid replied.
Encrid's eyes swept over the waist of the responding maid. Here, even the maids carried swords.
"Well then."
After inspecting his gear, finishing his laundry, and checking his shortsword and Horn Trumpet Dagger, night had fallen before he knew it. They had arrived when the sun was up, but time had flown by while they washed, ate, and organized their things.
As he lay down on a bed stuffed with feathers and wool, drowsiness quickly washed over him. Just as a knight could not do laundry with a sword, their stamina was not infinite either. When it was time to rest, one had to rest. Encrid believed that now was that time.
Ragna was in the room to his left, and next to that was Anne's room. After a brief moment of thought, he quickly fell asleep.
And when Encrid opened his eyes, he caught a fleeting glimpse of the Ferryman. The owner of the lamp, with his terrible taste, spoke.
"Protect."
It was a word without an object. Thus, its exact meaning was difficult to discern.
* * *
"Schmidt, the conversation is over." Alexandra shook her head.
While the maids and working attendants cleared the table, the three of them moved to an adjacent small parlor. Schmidt took a sip of tea brewed from dried flower petals. His throat was dry. It was because he could not understand their stubbornness.
"Alex, you all need help." Schmidt was anxious, but he knew that nothing could proceed without their consent.
"But we cannot become dukes of the Empire under the name of the Shield," Tempest Zaun, the head of the family, replied as he rested his chin on his clasped hands.
"Tempe."
"Stop, Schmidt. I will not accept a title from the Empire."
For a very long time, the Empire had requested that Zaun come under imperial jurisdiction. They offered to grant them the title of duke if they would become the shield of the East. Hence, the Shield Duke. Tempest Zaun, the owner of the nickname Tempe, had repeatedly refused.
"You need the Empire's power to cure the illness," Schmidt said.
The Empire was not a group driven by philanthropy. They were people who calculated gains and losses thoroughly. Schmidt wanted to help them, but for him to do so, Zaun had to reach out first.
"It is not needed," the Clan Head shook his head.
"That is not a curse," Schmidt said again.
The Clan Head fell silent. Once those lips closed like a clam, they rarely opened again. Schmidt knew this all too well. Turning his gaze, Alex—the woman who had once been his stepsister—shook her head.
"Drop it, Schmidt."
"Why?"
"I've told you time and time again. The Clan Head will not swing his sword for others just to save his own life. In Zaun, everyone has the freedom to swing their sword for what they desire."
Filling their deficiencies with the sword. Pursuing freedom with the sword. Because Zaun was such a place, they would not become the shield of the Empire. Therefore, if the Clan Head decided to become the Empire's shield here, they could no longer be Zaun. They would merely become a sword that cut down whatever enemies the Emperor pointed at as part of the Empire.
Zaun did not pursue such a life, so they could not do it.
"What use is any of that if you die?"
Schmidt was frustrated, but he only realized once again that he could not have his way this time either. There are things in this world more precious than life. Some would call it a dream, while others would call it stubbornness or obstinacy.
The Clan Head possessed something similar.