Chapter 695: Encrid Let the Woman into His Room
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 695: Encrid Let the Woman into His Room
Ragna was surprised, but he felt neither jealousy nor envy. Having witnessed Encrid’s beginning and walked alongside him until now, there was no room for such petty emotions.
“You drew formless power into a tangible form.”
Ragna succinctly explained what he had seen. Encrid understood the concept, but if asked to replicate it right now, he wasn't confident he could.
‘I don’t have the feel for it yet.’
To be honest, he didn’t even know how he had done it moments ago. It felt like a dream. Should he call it luck? A fleeting moment of fortune that arrived only after swinging his sword tens of thousands of times?
There was a continental proverb that the Goddess of Fortune always rides the wind and cannot be caught—that luck always passes by and never stays. It felt like luck, but Encrid immediately rejected the thought.
‘There is no such thing as that kind of luck. It wasn't luck.’
The time he had accumulated—the "today" he spent swinging his sword day after day—spoke to him.
What he had to do now was reflect and review. As he had said earlier, today wouldn’t be the only day. Reflecting on the clash from moments ago, he realized Alexandra had accelerated once more in the middle of her strike.
‘She accelerated mid-swing, varying her speed.’
It was a movement outside his calculations. The Wave-Blocking Sword perceived the opponent's movements and calculated the outcome based on them. With her already blindingly fast swordplay speeding up even further, it had been a truly unexpected strike.
‘I didn’t even think it was possible to swing a sword at that speed in the first place.’
If there had been even a fraction of wasted movement; if the angle of his blade had been off by just a hair; if his decision-making had been a moment slower; if his body's reaction had been slightly duller...
‘I would have died.’
Death had brushed past him.
He also realized there was intention behind all of this, and within that intention lay deep consideration and gratitude.
‘It’s like she was forcing the movement out of me.’
Alexandra’s specialty was cornering her opponents with sheer speed. Looking at it now, she wasn’t just forcing movements.
‘Her talking to me before swinging her sword was part of it, too.’
She had spoken to heighten his concentration. When Encrid spoke with desperation as his weapon, she shaped her killing intent and unleashed it, further fueling his focus. With just a few words, she had also tested his state of mind.
As if to say, “Look at this bastard. He’s not listening to me, is he?”
Nicking his cheek with the first thrust served a similar purpose. She wanted to see how his body would react when pushed to its absolute limit. Alexandra was also the one who taught him that making a clumsy move meant certain death. She had told him not to do anything half-hearted when he was already slower than her.
She had guided and coaxed him so that a single strike—his accumulated desperation—could resonate with this very day. Of course, even within that guidance, his life had hung in the balance.
‘If I hadn’t kept up, I would have died.’
This was an unalterable truth.
“How many people has she killed during sparring?”
“My mother?” Ragna asked back, then shook his head. “None, as far as I know.”
Ragna had left home at an early age. Encrid’s gaze searched for Grida; she would know. However, Grida was nowhere to be found among the onlookers. He only saw his own companions walking alongside the Clan Head.
Encrid’s gaze lingered on Anne’s back for a moment before shifting away. He saw the Clan Head and Anne passing the brick wall behind the training ground and heading inside. Alexandra glanced back, but she didn’t say anything.
“Ragna, follow Anne.”
“Sure, will do.”
Encrid spoke, and Ragna followed Anne without making a fuss. This was a foreign place. Whatever she wanted, it would be better to have at least one familiar face by her side. Well, there were other reasons too, but that was only if he kept all possibilities open.
As he continued his train of thought, someone approached him with steady, tapping footsteps.
“Hey there, guest.”
It was a man carrying six swords dangling from his waist, his excitement palpable. Worn cloth was wrapped tightly around his hands, and a thick band of cloth was tied around his forehead. He wore a belt and shin guards made of a similar crimson cloth; though worn, they were clean.
With six swords strapped to him, his attire could easily have looked tattered, yet he didn't seem messy. This was likely due to his straight posture, which suggested he could draw any of his six swords at a moment’s notice, and the subtle sense of neatness radiating from him.
‘He must prefer clean movements.’
He gave off that kind of vibe. This was the conclusion Encrid reached after observing him as the man approached.
“You’ve got what it takes. I can see it clearly,” the man said abruptly.
At those words, a man who looked at least ten years older than Encrid shook his head from behind.
“Take his words with a grain of salt. It’s very rare for this fellow’s intuition to be right.”
His voice was deep and dignified. A scabbard engraved with intricate patterns was the first thing that caught Encrid’s eye. Next, he noticed the thick, hard calluses deeply embedded in his palms, his stance with feet spaced to move at any second, and his barely audible breathing.
‘Neither of them is an easy opponent.’
That was his immediate assessment. Of course, one could never easily predict the outcome of a real battle. Even if the opponent were Alexandra or the Clan Head, things could turn out differently in a life-or-death struggle. That was simply the nature of a fight to the death.
By the same token, he couldn’t easily claim his own chances of winning were high either.
“I am Hescal, and this is...” The man who had been shaking his head spoke first.
“I’ll introduce myself, you block of ice. My name is Rynox. Are you looking for the best fighter in the Zaun family? That’s not me. But I am the most romantic.”
The man with six swords continued. Calling oneself romantic didn’t exactly make him seem sane, but Encrid wasn’t flustered by this level of eccentricity. After all, he had spent years stubbornly maintaining his sanity as the sole normal person among a crowd of madmen.
“Encrid of the Border Guard.”
At his reply, the man named Hescal offered his hand. Encrid shook it.
“Pardon my late greeting. Welcome to Zaun.”
Rynox grinned and chimed in. “Welcome, my foot. Catch your breath first. You still want to go, don’t you? Alex enjoys driving people into a corner right off the bat, but I’m different.”
“It will be a good experience.”
Listening to the two of them talk, Encrid sensed that their status was no less than that of the Clan Head. Neither of them asked the Clan Head for permission, nor did they particularly care about anyone else’s opinion. The crowd of onlookers had grown since earlier. Even so, Grida and Magrun were nowhere to be seen.
Instead, as if to fill the void...
“Let me join in too.”
A young-faced woman whose skills were hard to gauge at a glance stood behind the two.
“I’d like to lend a hand as well if you’d like, but I must postpone it until tomorrow. I have some business to attend to.”
The man named Hescal looked up at the dark sky as if he were busy, then pulled a pocket watch from his breast pocket to check the time.
Surrounding information serves as an anchor to perceive the present. Encrid knew the meaning of those words well—well enough to apply them even now. Knights naturally possessed excellent insight when it came to combat, which, under controlled circumstances, could manifest as the ability to deduce facts by comparing what they knew with the current situation.
In other words, they analyzed context and causality to think dynamically. To put it simply, they became incredibly sharp-witted. Of course, this also required a bit of natural talent. He might not know everything about swordplay, but Encrid had a natural gift for this sort of thing—namely, quick wits and perception.
For that reason, certain things were visible to him without even having to rack his brain.
‘They are not destitute.’
Though their wealth wasn’t ostentatiously displayed, the Zaun family was by no means lacking in resources. A pocket watch usually bore an artisan’s name, making it as expensive as a magic artifact.
‘In fact, it’s an item that wouldn’t even run without magical elements.’
Yet, no one was surprised when he pulled it out so casually. It was just a familiar part of their daily lives. Of course, the more important aspect of their daily lives lay elsewhere.
“Are you tired?” Rynox asked.
His question carried the intent to go easy on him, but Encrid didn’t take it that way.
“I am always at my best right now.”
He meant it. That his current self was always his best self was practically his creed. As he spoke, the thought crossed his mind: Encrid really liked this place. Truly.
“I’m next!”
“Can’t I join in too?”
Among the dozen or so people who had gathered before they knew it, not a single one backed down. They weren’t stepping forward because they were confident in their skills; they simply couldn’t resist challenging a fun opponent who had appeared. When the Clan Head had stepped up, they had watched from a distance, but now they had drawn close.
Before Rynox could say anything, Encrid spoke first.
“Bring it on.”
Hearing that, Rynox said, “Hey, you’ll be exhausted after fighting me.”
“I doubt it.”
“...Do you just have an endless supply of Will?”
Even if he paced his physical strength, his Will would run dry first. That was common sense to everyone.
“I have plenty.”
Since his opponent spoke without hesitation, Encrid did the same. Rynox blinked a few times before speaking.
“This bastard is pretty good at provoking people, huh?”
It wasn’t a provocation, but if it sounded like one, there was nothing he could do about it.
“Alright, let’s have some fun.”
Though he looked under fifty, the man named Rynox was likely quite old. Those who had awakened their Will aged slowly. And this was Zaun.
‘If they are called legends...’
It must be because they possessed the power to back it up. The Clan Head and his wife were examples of such power, and the man before him likely represented another pillar of it. He couldn’t help but feel delighted.
“You’re smiling?” Rynox said, grinning himself.
Both of their faces showed they were having the time of their lives. The onlookers looked much the same.
*
“It’s serious, isn’t it? How many years has it been?”
Inside, the walls were patterned with alternating gray and brown stones. On one side, two swords hung side by side, and on the other, the hide of an unidentifiable beast was draped.
At Anne’s question, the Clan Head turned around. There were traces of a fire having been lit in the central fireplace of the drawing room, but currently, no fire burned, leaving the air chilly.
The Clan Head’s build was twice the size of Anne’s. Seeing him up close could easily feel intimidating, but such things didn't register in Anne’s field of vision. Furthermore, perhaps trying not to project an intimidating aura, the Clan Head only turned around after putting a considerable distance between them.
“Is that your intuition as a healer?” Alexandra asked as she followed them inside.
“No. It is a certainty,” Anne replied immediately. Her gaze never wavered from the Clan Head.
Alexandra wasn’t particularly good at joking, so she didn’t add anything, but Anne stared so intently at the Clan Head that if Encrid had been there, he would have teased her, saying, “If you look at him like that, people will think you’ve fallen for him.”
“Please tell me. Do you know the cause?”
Though she paused briefly before uttering the word “cause,” Anne’s attitude remained unwavering. The Clan Head said nothing. Anne knew that this disease manifested in many different forms.
‘I have to find and examine the root cause.’
Only then could she treat it. That had to come first. The Clan Head’s demeanor was far from gentle by any standard, but he replied with all intimidation completely stripped away.
“Not right now.”
Regardless of the lack of intimidation, it wasn’t the answer Anne had expected.
“...Pardon?”
“It means my husband has said all he has to say,” Alexandra answered in his stead.
Ragna, who had slipped inside at some point, stood behind Anne and spoke. “Let’s go.”
Ragna knew from his father’s expression that he had no intention of explaining. If there was a need to speak, his father would express himself eloquently, but otherwise, he kept his mouth shut. Thus, Ragna knew that no matter what they said here, they wouldn’t convince him.
Anne was flustered.
‘The Clan Head himself knows the severity of the disease.’
If they spoke of curses, she had eighty-nine answers ready, and if they asked if she could cure it, she had about fifty ways to prove, “Yes, I dare say I can.” Yet, not a single word Anne expected came out. Instead, all he said was a single phrase: “Not right now.”
Anne could not understand it.
*
Encrid spent three more days sparring after his match with the Clan Head. The sky, which looked ready to pour rain at any moment, only gathered more dark clouds. Yet, the faces of those who sought him out were filled with nothing but joy. The sunshine missing from the sky was abundant in their expressions.
“May I join in too?”
Among them was even a servant running errands. Here, everyone wore a sword and talked of swords. That alone made their delight vividly clear.
“Of course.”
Encrid punched the servant in the face and kicked him, sending him flying to the side.
Thud, crack!
To an onlooker, it might have seemed like he was beating the boy to death, but the servant had been using both his hands and feet while swinging his sword. This was the best way to shut down those tactics.
“Eilkaraz?” Encrid spoke, sensing something familiar in the servant’s movements.
Encrid shared a trait with Grida: even if he forgot people’s names, he never forgot the names of swordsmanship or martial arts styles. Eilkaraz, also known as the King of the Dirt Floor, was a martial art developed by the guards of the notorious Eilkaraz prison.
Just moments ago, the servant had blended that martial art with his swordplay, attempting joint locks while swinging his blade. Others nearby mentioned that even though no one had taught him, he was walking his own path. In any case, this could be considered another amusing occurrence.
Mingling with everyone like this, Encrid felt the unique traits of Zaun that he had heard about through Odinkar, Magrun, and Grida.
‘They are relentless in competing, teaching, guiding, and learning from one another.’
Though a certain stubbornness was visible in those who were relatively more outstanding.
‘That level of pride and tenacity... is better to have than not.’
Perhaps that was why everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. He was about to wrap up another day like that.
Just as he was drifting off to sleep, the pitter-patter of rain began to fall outside. Even in his drowsy state, Encrid heard another sound mixed in with the rain. By the time he opened his eyes and gripped Samcheol, which was propped up nearby, the window to his room opened.
Creak.
Since it was on the first floor and left unlocked, it was a window anyone could open. Beyond the window, a familiar face appeared. While everyone else had worn expressions like sunshine for the past three days, this person alone wore a gloomy look that perfectly matched the current weather.
“I have something to say, Enki.”
“Grida?”
It was too dark outside. Even with his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could barely make out Grida’s face, recognizing her only with difficulty. Encrid confirmed it and spoke again.
“What do you want to say?”
Instead of answering immediately, Grida bit her lip. “The Clan Head is strange.”
She said it out of the blue, but it was something Encrid agreed with. If one had to pick the strangest person here in Zaun, it would undoubtedly be the Clan Head.
“Come inside first.”
Encrid let the woman into his room.