Chapter 700: The Storm After the Calm
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 700: The Storm After the Calm
The calm before the storm was, indeed, nothing but quiet—until the tempest finally broke.
It was no different for Encrid.
It’s not like I have anything pressing to do.
He felt the prickle of something looming on the horizon, but there was no immediate threat staring him in the face. Grida seemed preoccupied, but Encrid saw no reason to go poking his nose into her business.
And so, Encrid spent the entire day swinging his sword.
He had been a training addict back in the Border Guard, but in Zaun, he was even worse. Fortunately, this was a place that encouraged such obsession. Rather than looking at Encrid with suspicion, the people of Zaun marveled at how an outsider could work so hard, and they simply enjoyed the spectacle.
The techniques Encrid taught them were novel, and in Zaun, everyone craved new ways to sharpen their edge.
"Sabbath’s over! The fight begins!"
A boy would shout that every morning, charging at Encrid while he was still warming up before dawn.
"Care to melt in this beauty's embrace?"
Then there was the "Most Beautiful Giantess"—a Zaun exclusive—who would lung at him with those very words.
Beside them stood an old swordsman named Rynox, who let out a clicking chuckle that was impossible to imitate.
"Hey, this is my house. You won't be able to fight with those 'calculations' in this yard like you did before."
Then there was the swordswoman who had spent days scouring the surroundings, convinced that traces of monsters lingered and that something was brewing within Zaun. She suspected the Clan Head, yet she maintained a perfectly nonchalant facade.
It was Grida. She had vanished for two days before suddenly reappearing and acting as if nothing were wrong.
"You have dark circles under your eyes. Are you sleeping?"
"…My sleep has been restless lately. Maybe it's just because I'm back home after so long."
It wasn't the homecoming. It was more likely that tension was eating her alive. If you leave a bow strung too tight for too long, both the wood and the string will eventually snap.
People are no different.
Even if the breed known as knights possessed sturdier nerves than most, they were still human. It was difficult for anyone to rest easy in the ominous atmosphere currently suffocating Zaun.
Of course, that only applied to normal people. Encrid rested plenty. He slept soundly and ate well. And so did Ragna.
"You said you came to get Sunrise, but you're just going to sit there?"
Encrid tossed the question to Ragna, who was idling nearby. Ragna wiped the sweat from his forehead and quietly turned his head toward where the Clan Head’s quarters likely were.
Of course, his sense of direction was as abysmal as ever; he was actually staring at the path leading out of Zaun.
"Hmm."
Ragna paused to choose his words. This was a side of him Encrid hadn't seen before. Back in the Troublemaker Squad—the predecessor to the Order of Madness—he was a man who blurted out whatever crossed his mind. Now, he actually thought before he spoke.
In a way, it was a poignant change.
While Ragna deliberated, a youth who could have been his nephew muttered nearby.
"The strength is really flowing into my muscles. It’s kicking in perfectly. Oh, this is good. So good."
During his stay, Encrid had sparred with the locals and preached the Audin-style Physical Training Method. Some of the children of Zaun had taken to it immediately, and this boy was living proof.
Muttering to himself, the kid hoisted a massive boulder, his back muscles rippling. Since his frame was already well-developed, he was rapidly increasing the weight.
Zaun had its own training traditions, which Encrid had observed and learned, but nothing could match Audin’s methods when it came to pure physical conditioning. Audin had modified the training of the orthodox martial priests of the Holy City Legion, added his own theories, and tailored the entire regimen specifically for Encrid.
It was a moment that once again highlighted Audin’s sheer genius. If Audin were here to see this, he would have a deeply satisfied, smug smile plastered across his face.
"Excellent! Brother, you are doing wonderfully! Sister! Have I mentioned? Your physical strength puts most men to shame!"
He likely would have shouted something like that. That was how well these people had adapted to Audin’s brand of torture. Possessing a fierce competitive streak and a desperate desire for self-improvement, they gritted their teeth and threw themselves into the dirt just by looking at their peers. There was no way their skills wouldn't improve.
After watching them for a while, Ragna finally spoke.
"I thought it was urgent, but I just can't bring myself to do it."
"Why?"
Encrid asked because he truly couldn't fathom the reason, but Ragna didn't seem to understand his own heart either. He had lost his way once again.
"I wonder why, indeed."
He spoke calmly, but to Encrid, he seemed dissatisfied.
Or perhaps he’s angry.
Ragna gave a vague reply and went back to swinging his sword. Encrid did the same.
Meanwhile, Anne was off to the side, constantly fidgeting and working on something. Peeking over her shoulder occasionally, Encrid heard her muttering to herself.
"Did they extract the poison from a corpse? No, they kept the diseased person alive and extracted the seed. Look. Am I right?"
She looked back, seeking confirmation.
"You're right," Encrid agreed, despite knowing nothing about the subject. The sheer intensity radiating from Anne made it impossible to disagree.
Seated on a chair before a makeshift table, she worked in a corner of the training ground. She mixed solutions, poured them, and sniffed the vapors, her hands moving with precision inside her deerskin gloves. From behind, she looked small, but she was pouring her entire Will out of her body.
One could tell instinctively that she was doing something significant. Encrid’s sharp senses picked up on the sheer momentum radiating from her.
It’s Will.
Anne was a genius in her own right. Encrid reached that conclusion naturally.
"Something like this..." Anne muttered, completely absorbed. She didn't even seem to realize Encrid was watching. "I can do it. I will destroy it. This cursed thing."
She continued to whisper to herself. If one were to look into her eyes right now, they would surely be blazing with fire.
"How many days has she been like that?" Encrid asked Ragna, who was guarding the front of their lodging.
"Ever since we arrived. Non-stop," Ragna replied nonchalantly. He even practiced his swordsmanship by Anne’s side, rarely leaving her vicinity.
Encrid nodded and was about to step out when Ragna spoke up again.
"She said she likes me."
"…Rem did?"
"Even as a joke, that is so disgusting I want to cut your tongue out."
"My apologies."
"Anne said it."
Encrid recalled the Anne he had known back in the Border Guard. She used to frequent the knights' training ground at the slightest excuse. She was always grumbling about how busy she was, yet she dropped by constantly. She would bring food, drinks, and stamina-restoring potions.
And all of it went into Ragna’s mouth first.
Furthermore, no matter what Anne was doing, she always stayed closest to Ragna. Krais had known long ago, Encrid knew, and even Rem knew.
Anne liked Ragna.
Yet Ragna himself was far too oblivious. The man didn't just lose his way on the road; he couldn't read the map of a human heart to save his life.
"Come to think of it, I think I felt the same way," Ragna said quietly, keeping his voice low so Anne wouldn't hear.
He was admitting that he, too, harbored feelings for her, but he phrased it in the most unromantic way possible.
"I don't suppose you're asking me to pass that along for you?"
"I'm just stating a fact."
Ragna simply wanted someone to know how he felt. His thoughts were straightforward. For some reason, he didn't feel like going to get Sunrise. Perhaps because of that, his chest felt tight. Or perhaps his illness had worsened.
Even last night, he had coughed up blood in his sleep. He had been perfectly fine until they arrived here.
Is the end drawing near?
Perhaps. That was likely why he was acting this way. It was the expression of a heart that, feeling the fog close in on one side, wanted to lay the other side completely bare.
"That doesn't mean I'm going to get close to Anne, though," he muttered.
Encrid nodded. "Do as you wish."
He claimed to have feelings for her, yet insisted he wouldn't get close. It was madness. It only made sense as the kind of nonsense a madman would spout. There was no real need to understand it. Ever since his days in the Troublemaker Squad, Encrid had long since given up on trying to read the minds of Ragna and the others.
So, he went back outside and swung his sword again.
Dark, ink-black clouds still covered the sky like a heavy shroud. It looked as if a black ceiling had been bolted onto the heavens.
Those are clouds? No way.
Some might have said that. But Encrid remained indifferent. While sunshine would have been preferable, he wasn't about to complain. He would just swing his sword as he always did.
The Ferryman did not appear again, but his words remained etched in Encrid’s memory.
Protect Anne.
Encrid had passed those words on to Ragna, omitting any mention of the Ferryman.
Something might happen to Anne. So, protect her.
They had already seen monsters targeting her on their way here. Instead of questioning the order, Ragna faithfully adhered to it.
Days disguised as ordinary passed by.
During that time, Encrid found himself lost in thought. Who was the one who had torn the clan apart? Someone had pulled the strings. This was an unshakeable truth. Someone had used a series of coincidences as a weapon.
He only thought that far; he did not go searching for answers. There was no need for Encrid to play the fixer. Even though he had seen and heard more in the meantime, his stance remained the same.
"Clan Head, are you really going to do nothing?"
One day, he saw Hescal, who had returned from the Retirees' Village, demanding answers from the leader. Rynox, too, had requested a private audience to push his own agenda, but nothing changed.
While spending time with Encrid, Hescal had let a comment slip.
"Sigh, if only the Clan Head were a bit more proactive."
It was after a half-hearted spar; Hescal’s mind clearly wasn't on the fight. Encrid sheathed Samcheol and spoke.
"Are you saying he should accept the proposal from that man, Schmidt?"
"That would be good, too. The Empire's embrace must be wide."
Hollow words. That was how they sounded to Encrid. He did not know the Clan Head’s mind, but he felt he knew what Hescal wanted. His eyes were filled with the hunger to achieve something great.
"May I ask what it is you want to do?"
Hescal possessed eyes that held dreams and hopes.
"I'll tell you later."
From the way he smiled, Encrid got the feeling that the dream Hescal harbored would be incredibly difficult to achieve. Yet, he also knew Hescal would not give up. It was an intuitive recognition—the kind shared between kindred spirits.
"I can't find a single trace of that damn Odinkar."
Grida spent several days searching every corner of Zaun. With neither Magrun nor Odinkar in sight, her anxiety grew.
In the evening, an old woman named Milestia came to see Anne. She was Zaun’s healer.
"What is all this?"
Upon hearing a portion of Anne’s research, the old woman’s eyes widened. She rejoiced, claiming that this might actually work. As she passed by, she saw Encrid and offered a polite greeting.
Then, at dawn one day, Encrid was jolted awake.
Rumble! Crash!
A bolt of lightning struck, the deafening roar battering his eardrums.
Pour!
No sooner had the thunder clapped than rain began to hammer the earth. Looking out the window, he saw a downpour so thick the sheets of rain looked like solid iron. It made him wonder if the ground itself might be pierced.
"Encrid of the Border Guard."
A voice called his name from outside the door—someone he had never expected to visit at such an hour.
Encrid stood up and immediately checked his gear.
Samcheol, Penna, his shortsword, the Horn Trumpet Dagger, cloth gauntlets, the elven undergarment, and the leather armor covering his shoulders and torso.
I can't wear the cloth armor.
If it got soaked in this rain, it would only hinder him. He knew this from experience, and right now, he was moving on pure instinct. Though there was no apparent reason to arm himself, Encrid only opened the door after he was fully equipped.
Standing before him was the Clan Head, drenched to the bone.
He spoke.
"Follow me. Milestia is dead."
Encrid had no idea what had happened, but the Clan Head looked as if he had come to demand blood.
"I believe it's my turn to ask, 'So?' is it not?" Encrid asked, remaining where he stood.
Water pooled at the Clan Head’s feet. He spoke in a voice stripped of all emotion.
"Just follow me quietly."
Creak.
The door to the adjacent room opened. It was Ragna.
"Who are you demanding answers from," Ragna asked, "and for what?"
In the pitch darkness, the candlelight on the stand flickered, causing Ragna’s shadow to sway violently against the wall.