Chapter 704: Now is the Time
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 704: Now is the Time
Hescal—he was a truly clever man. Even in his departure, he had ensured he left a trail of ruin and deep-seated discord in his wake.
‘One side saw Hescal murder their friends.’
It was only natural that their eyes would turn bloodshot, their bodies trembling with a burning sense of betrayal.
"I saw it with my own eyes, Riley."
The speaker looked ready to draw his sword and strike at any moment.
"Damn it, if it weren't for my father, you would have died last year!"
The other side, however, had not seen Hescal commit the deed. To them, Hescal had lived a life of utter devotion in Zaun. He had saved, cherished, and loved them; he had even raised a child.
That child had now become the pillar of one of the factions. Despite his crippled leg, his swordsmanship was as formidable as that of Anahera, the giantess. His name was Riley Zaun.
Had it not been said that Hescal himself had crafted a swordsmanship style specifically for a man with one good leg?
Encrid had sparred with him a few times. Riley swung his sword with a unique, off-beat rhythm that made him a fascinating opponent. If one had to classify it, it was a style designed for a single, lethal strike.
‘He was certainly extraordinary.’
And that wasn't just because of his disability.
Most of those here in Zaun possessed the talent to perhaps become knights, should luck favor them. Everyone within the boundaries of Zaun was like that. They received teachings designed for geniuses—for the truly gifted—and they pressed forward, never losing their drive to improve.
That was the bare minimum required to remain in Zaun.
‘But what if you want to survive without talent?’
Encrid naturally placed himself in that scenario, but he found no answer. There were no teachings for the mediocre here. To maintain one's drive, someone had to look after them. But no one would tutor you in swordsmanship just because you begged for it.
Teaching styles varied, but no instructor would teach with passion if the student couldn't keep up.
‘It’s not like they’re expecting Krona.’
They merely enjoyed watching those with brilliant talent shine. Therefore, those who were ordinary or below average never even got the chance to learn. It was cold and ruthless, but that was precisely why the Zaun of today existed.
But was everyone really the same? Were there only people who cared about swordsmanship in Zaun?
Even among the Froks, there was one who made accessories. There was a dwarf who, despite his heritage, had sold his artisan's pride to a tavern maid. In the Border Guard, there was even a giant who dreamed of becoming a merchant.
‘People are not all the same.’
This was a lesson Encrid had learned through life.
Hescal's son was special in that regard. No one had ever thought Riley possessed outstanding talent. He was who he was today only because someone had patiently taught and cared for him. It went without saying that the man who had turned a cripple into a swordsman—the one who had cared for him so deeply—was Hescal.
Rumble—
Encrid’s keen knightly senses told him the rain had grown slightly lighter. It made sense; if the torrential downpour from earlier had continued, the entire continent might have ended up submerged.
The land of Zaun, situated within the basin, was more than just saturated; it was a swamp of mud. Splattering water soiled their boots and trousers.
The Clan Head, Tempest Zaun, had said their current tasks were scouting and combat, but...
‘At this rate, the enemy will show themselves on their own.’
They would appear at the moment they desired, in the place they chose. Deciding when the battle began had become the exclusive privilege of the opposition. It was only natural, as the enemy remained hidden while Zaun stood exposed.
Combat would come later. As Encrid saw it, the more urgent matter was quelling the internal discord. He watched to see what the Clan Head would do.
Ragna approached, and after hearing a brief explanation from Rynox, he spoke.
"There was someone with Odinkar's face."
This meant someone could change their appearance at will. The underlying meaning was a silent question: was it truly Hescal who had committed those crimes? Even though Ragna had only seen Hescal a few times, his tone suggested he couldn't believe the man would do this.
That was the level of trust Hescal had instilled in them.
"It was Hescal."
The Clan Head replied, cutting off any useless speculation. He understood the full weight of Ragna's words, and thus, there was no hesitation in his answer.
Though Encrid didn't know it, the Clan Head was also aware that Ragna's group had been ambushed, and he had mentally reconstructed the events. While it hadn't happened in his own front yard, it had occurred nearby.
To deceive the eyes of everyone patrolling the area? Even he couldn't pull that off. Therefore, the only logical conclusion was that there was an accomplice. However, he couldn't fathom who else was involved, or what the motive behind all this was.
‘Then what is it that I can do?’
The Clan Head asked and answered himself. What should one do when losing their way while training in the sword?
‘Wait until the path reveals itself.’
Whether it was swordsmanship or life, it was all the same to him. Even as his illness worsened year by year, the Clan Head exercised patience.
Tempest's emotional spectrum was shallower than that of an ordinary person. He could not easily empathize with others. Consequently, "capricious" was the word that least suited him. He possessed a level of patience that was among the greatest on the continent—a unique trait born from his lack of emotion.
To add to that, the only time he ever discussed emotion was when clashing swords. He overcame his deficiencies through the blade. One might call him a swordsman perfectly suited to the teachings of Zaun.
He waited. He knew that what was rumored to be a family curse was actually an illness. Even when the number of cases spiked and symptoms of unknown origin appeared, he endured. But then, a problem arose.
The illness in his body was ravaging him at a speed that defied expectations. For more than half the day, he couldn't muster any strength. His lungs felt shriveled, making his breath short. At times, he would suffer fitful spasms.
Being a knight didn't make him superhuman. While he could easily overcome common ailments, this was a disease that someone had painstakingly spread and worsened over several years. That disease was eating away at him.
Yet, he endured. In the meantime, he did what he could.
"Odinkar, go out and find Grida and Ragna."
By sending Odinkar away, he had protected him and kept him outside the circle of suspicion. Though reluctant, Odinkar had obeyed.
"Clan Head, there is a monster of a man in the Border Guard."
Judging by what Odinkar had said upon returning covered in dust, his journey had certainly not been boring.
Casting his thoughts aside, the Clan Head walked into the midst of the quarreling crowd.
"I cannot believe it," Riley Zaun said.
He was the son raised by Hescal. Though they shared no blood, everyone regarded them as father and son. Because of this, the fact that Hescal had not taken Riley with him only served to complicate everyone's feelings. After all, anyone would suspect Riley now. If it were Hescal, he should have naturally taken Riley with him. That was how people viewed it.
The Clan Head looked at those on the opposite side of Riley, their eyes bloodshot with rage.
"I just came back from bandaging Grida's stomach. She barely survived," one of them said. He had witnessed Grida being stabbed from up close. "It was definitely Hescal. If not him, who else could have done it? The swordsmanship, the habits—everything was identical."
He spoke calmly, but there was a fire burning within him—a fire that would not be extinguished by the pouring rain.
The Clan Head looked around at both sides. Not a single person was dry.
Riley's pupils trembled violently. Looking at the silent Clan Head, he felt dizzy.
‘Was I abandoned?’ That recurring, dagger-like thought must have been piercing his heart. He was a child who had always suffered from loneliness, plagued by self-doubt whenever he failed to receive recognition. And this child, too, bore the name Zaun.
"Riley."
"...Yes."
"Go and ask him. When Hescal appears, ask him the questions you hold in your heart. Until then, endure."
There was no need to hear an answer. Riley abandoned his excuses for Hescal. The Clan Head had not told him to draw his sword and charge; he had told him to ask. Therefore, he had to wait for that moment.
The crowd had split into two factions, but Riley's side was outnumbered. Had they drawn their swords and fought, Riley’s faction would have lost, unless consecutive lightning strikes had intervened to favor them.
"We will fight. Until then, conserve your strength. That is an order."
The Clan Head's orders were absolute. Unless the safety of Zaun was threatened, he did not issue commands. This was a fact everyone knew. Since they were not an army, they did not raise their voices in a cheer; they simply obeyed.
Shhhhhhh—
Through the thinning rain, lightning cast a brilliant white light.
Crash!
It was as if a god had reached down to strike a lowly creature, only to fail. The lightning struck far across the basin, gouging the earth. Had it fallen here, it would have taken lives. Even though it had missed the tall lightning rod erected on one side of the basin, it had still struck in vain.
"The only thing we can trust is the sword in our hands. Let it be so."
The Clan Head spoke and turned away. Encrid watched it all and nodded.
‘There is no need to quiet the discord.’
Nor was there any need to trust everyone standing behind him. The only thing to trust was the single sword in his hand. Well, though Rynox was currently carrying six of them.
Instead of a grand speech, the Clan Head had promised them a future. In the meantime, Ragna approached and recounted what had happened inside. After listening, Encrid spoke.
"I see."
"They are targeting Anne."
"Then we'll have to make sure they don't even dream of trying."
It was a simple exchange, but their resolve was firm. They would not let whoever did this off easy.
The rain seemed to be thinning, but there was no sign of it stopping. A fierce wind blew, strong enough that if one let their guard down, it felt as though it would lift them off their feet.
"This is bad. Very bad. Damn it, my chronic illness is acting up too," Rynox said as he approached, his brow furrowed.
"What chronic illness?"
"Sometimes I can't get a proper grip with my hands. I've been holding out by taking the medicine Milestia gave me."
"What do you mean, chronic illness?!"
It was Anne's voice. As a gale strong enough to pluck a person like a radish blew, Anne clung to Ragna's chest to hold her ground. She shouted with all the spite she could muster.
"That's not a chronic illness! Someone spread a disease!"
Rynox knew how grim the situation was. That was also why he had no time to be shocked by Hescal's betrayal. He wasn't the only one groaning from "chronic illnesses" flaring up. If the enemy attacked now? It would be a slaughter.
Rynox frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
"Tell everyone to get inside! We can't talk out here!"
The weather was dreadful. Anne felt as though holes would be drilled into her body if she stayed in the rain any longer. Ragna wrapped his cloak around her head, scooped her up, and carried her.
They headed straight for the sturdiest place nearby: the mansion where the Clan Head resided.
"Clan Head!"
Rynox was about to send a hand signal, but realizing it wouldn't be visible, he approached and conveyed what Anne had said.
"We will do as the child says."
The Clan Head made the decision, and everyone followed Anne inside.
Having entered first, Anne grabbed a towel to roughly dry herself, then stood on the stairs. The first floor was flooded, making it unfit for anyone to stand.
"What about Grida?" Anne asked, shaking out her hair.
"Bring her here," the Clan Head ordered.
Several people, including Anahera, moved immediately. Anahera had mentioned that Grida was her dearest friend. Even giants spoke of friendship and kept their loyalty. Yet a human—one who had sworn a knight's oath to devote his life to Zaun—had stabbed them in the back. Because he had struck so cleanly and fiercely, Zaun was now in shambles.
Using the stairs as a platform, Anne looked down at the crowd. During her time here, she had been collecting the symptoms of those who had fallen ill. In Anne's mind lay hundreds of recipes to counter various illnesses. Some she had learned from her malicious master, some she had discovered on her own, and others she had obtained by pouring in the Krona she had wrung out of Krais back in the Border Guard.
"Everyone, tell me your symptoms once more, and then go gather the herbs I describe. Can you do that?"
"We can."
For some reason, the Clan Head was the quickest to answer. Since Encrid knew the Clan Head lacked emotion, he could guess what the man was feeling right now.
‘Impatience.’
Since he couldn't express it through his tone, he showed it through his actions.
‘And he actually looks a little excited, too.’
Of course, looking at him from the outside, no emotion could be read at all.
"Then please do so," Anne said.
Before the disorganized crowd, Ragna shouted so everyone could hear. "Line up!"
Order would be more efficient. No sooner had Ragna finished speaking than the Clan Head stood at the very front of the line.
"Now is the time," the Clan Head said. He was likely correcting his previous statement of "not now."
Anne looked at him with a dumbfounded expression. "Clan Head, your illness can't be cured in the blink of an eye. It's not something we can fix right now."
"...Then a medicine to delay the symptoms will do. Something that takes effect immediately when consumed during battle."
"Your request is quite specific, isn't it?"
"Is it not possible?"
Anne didn't even bother catching her breath. She replied immediately. "It is possible."
There was much to do. With enemies looming outside, she had to ensure these people could fight at their peak. She became a whirlwind of activity. Before her hands could move, her mind was already spinning, gearing up. There was no time to be nervous.
"Do you have Centella?"
"...What is that?"
The one right behind the Clan Head was Rynox. Anne asked the man behind him, and the man looked confused.
"Green, shaped like this. Go find it."
Anne explained with hand gestures, but it was hard to visualize.
"Go to Milestia's laboratory and bring back everything that looks like an herb," the Clan Head commanded. "Be careful not to let them get wet."
He seemed just as urgent as she was. Bringing herbs back dry in this storm was a daunting task, but those who were still relatively healthy began to move.