Chapter 707: Why Are They Unharmed?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 707: Why Are They Unharmed?
This was what Encrid was saying to Ragna.
"At best, I can save half of them."
Anne, who had been lying down, sat halfway up and spoke as she watched the departing figures. Her gaze was fixed, her eyes unblinking. If one were to look at Anne from the front right now, they would have seen the silhouettes of their retreating backs reflected in her large eyes.
Encrid, Ragna, and the wounded Grida turned to look at Anne.
"I'm sorry, Ragna. I said I could cure them all."
Half of them can be cured. And even then, only if they don't die fighting out there.
That was how it sounded to Encrid.
Anne could have made excuses, offered rationalizations, or provided perfectly reasonable explanations. But she didn't. Even a genius could not command time to speed up.
The disease known as the curse had plagued Zaun for a very long time because someone had used this land as a testing ground. The malice behind it was truly atrocious.
If Anne had been given just one year, she wouldn't have spoken like this. She would have said she could save seven out of ten. If she had three years, she would have said something else entirely. She would have proudly declared that, at the very least, no one would die from the disease.
But she didn't have that luxury.
To apply the treatment methods Anne had established through alchemy, she needed numerous experiments and time to observe the reactions. What use was talent in the face of such an absolute lack of time? How was it any different from a crumbled, dead leaf?
"I'm sorry," Anne said again.
Ragna’s gaze, like Anne’s, was fixed on the world outside. He watched the backs of those who had been born and raised in the House of Zaun.
Beside him, his sister, Grida Zaun, spoke up. "No one blames you."
Ragna had never been able to find his way. He didn't know how to orient himself, but he had never considered that a flaw. On the contrary, he had viewed it as a blessing. A new path, a new world, and new experiences always welcomed him. Walking a path at night that he had walked by day made it an entirely unfamiliar road.
A curse? Hardly.
On the other hand, when he held a sword, the path became clear. He could walk a path laid out plainly before him and see exactly where it ended. In his journey with the sword, there was nothing Ragna did not know.
That was why that path had never interested him.
That was his reason for leaving home. It was a deviation from a clearly visible path—a life chosen out of a yearning for true living.
"Ragna, this is where you were born and raised," Encrid said.
Ragna reflected on his actions since returning to Zaun.
I didn't want to find the sunrise.
Why was that? He posed the question and pondered the answer.
"The answer lies within me. What I have built up becomes my signpost."
The words Encrid had shouted countless times now resonated with Ragna as well. What was the hidden meaning behind the statement that it was okay to be angry?
"They threw filth upon your home, harmed your family, and tried to destroy the place where you were born and raised."
This was the reason why the sunrise didn't matter right now.
Instinctively, he had only ever swung his sword at empty air. It felt like running at full speed only to come to a sudden, dead stop. Would it all end like this, leaving nothing behind? He didn't even feel anxiety. He simply had to stop. It was instinct. It was intuition. He stopped as if it were a destiny ordained by God.
Now, he finally understood why.
Because my family is in danger.
Encrid had called Zaun a small country, but to Ragna, it was the place with the fields he had run through as a child, the place where the people who raised him lived, and the place where everything began. In other words, it was home.
The prodigal son's body had returned long ago, but only now did he truly open his eyes.
His father had grown so thin his face was half its former size. His mother showed a venomous edge he had never seen before. His sister had a hole in her stomach. And those he called his brothers were coughing up blood, tormented by disease.
"The bastard who did this must be out there," Encrid said.
"I know," Ragna replied.
Yes, now he knew. He knew why he was angry. Did he think he shouldn't step forward because he believed he had abandoned his duty? Who would dare judge him for it?
"A single swing of your sword cannot make up for the time you were gone."
Encrid offered a piece of advice that wasn't quite advice. It carried the implication that returning only after the family had fallen into this state and swinging his sword a bit wouldn't make everyone praise him.
Whether Ragna understood or simply let the words drift past him, he answered nonetheless.
"I don't care."
Encrid nodded inwardly as he looked at Ragna.
Yes, that's more like Ragna.
With that, Encrid casually brushed aside a scene from the past that had surfaced in his mind. There was no reason to dwell on memories that only grew more painful the more he thought about them. Right now, he was merely lending a hand so that his friend and squad member wouldn't have to witness the same sight he once had.
"Grida."
"Speak."
"Protect Anne."
"Even if you didn't tell me, I'd risk my life to protect her."
Grida wasn't the only one staying behind. There were several others who had been suffering so severely from the disease that they could barely breathe due to seizures after Hescal left. Anne had saved them, and among them was the sword-bearing page who had first guided them.
Even this thirteen-year-old child was beyond the reach of the magic Anne had worked. The child was terminally ill. He had caught the most virulent of the seeds sown by the madman behind all of this. It was a disease where flesh grew inside the organs, slowly killing him from within. He was one of the children left behind because he couldn't go out and fight.
"I'll protect her too," the boy said.
Did he even know what he was saying? At the very least, he seemed to know more than Ragna had when he was a child.
"I'm in no condition to go out and fight, but if anyone targets the healer, I can at least land a blow on them."
Yes, he surely would. The boy's spirit was extraordinary.
"The one who came before used poison, right? And they said there were no casualties when they took him down, thanks to Anne? If it's a similar opponent, I can do at least as well as you," Grida added, likely trying to reassure them.
She had a hole in her stomach. She could fight in her current state, but going all out would kill her. They had to make sure it didn't come to that. It was simple: from now on, they just had to let no one pass. What they had to protect was at their backs. Soon, that would be the legacy they left behind even after death.
Ragna looked at Anne. "If I return alive..."
"Stop. I don't want to hear any talk about returning alive or dying. Just come back. If it gets dangerous, I'll call for you right away. You can come back and protect me then."
Ragna, his words cut short, nodded. "I will."
If he were to die like this, what would be left behind? First, there would be this woman, who was tormented by guilt for failing to save people even though it wasn't her fault, yet who still radiated vitality.
Ragna opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. To be precise, he swallowed the words: I will remain in your memories.
"Let's go," Encrid said, stepping forward. Ragna followed behind him.
Behind me.
Anne wasn't the only one who would remain. There would also be the man who had stubbornly crawled all the way up here and told him it was okay to be angry. The 'me' remembered by that man would remain.
They walked out of the mansion. As they moved briskly, they caught up with a member of the family who was walking relatively slowly. She was a short-haired woman. She glanced at Encrid and asked, "But why is Enki staying here?"
She was one of the people Encrid had grown somewhat fond of during his time here. For a friend, or to protect those standing behind him—well, there were various reasons. But he wouldn't say such embarrassing things out loud.
Ragna thought as he walked a short distance away. He had spoken with the family members less than Encrid had, as he had been busy protecting Anne. The woman found Ragna difficult to approach.
Tap, tap. Encrid spoke in rhythm with his footsteps.
"Samcheol..."
"...Yes?"
"...keeps pestering me to play."
The madman spoke, tapping the sword at his waist.
Shhhhhhh.
The rain, scattered by the wind, lashed against their faces. The Zaun woman who had spoken took half a step away from Encrid.
"So what the healer said was true."
A madman who talks to his sword, was it?
"Yes, yes, Samcheol. Today will be fun."
Encrid ignored her and coaxed his sword, stroking it. Seeing this, the woman quickened her pace to distance herself.
He wasn't trying to tease her. But what else should he have said? That he really disliked the bastard who had trashed his friend's home? Or that he hoped at least one less person he had grown fond of would die?
It was too embarrassing. Rather than that, it was better to show that he was serious about this fight.
Samcheol was crying. Those words weren't a joke, either. The blade vibrated with a ring, reacting to Encrid's Will. Of course, the sword wasn't actually crying; it was merely a phenomenon caused by it being imbued with Will.
"Why are you teasing her?" Ragna went on the offensive. He wasn't scolding Encrid, but he was pointing out that the joke was a bit much for someone just trying to hide his true feelings.
"Me?"
"If not you, then who?"
"If I asked you what would be left behind you, what would you answer?" Encrid launched a counterattack, using the words Ragna had spoken earlier.
"What do you mean, what's left? The bastards who watched my swordsmanship will be left."
A bright smile showed even through the sheets of rain. Ragna laughed. Yes, he was angry at the bastards who had ruined his home, and he was currently on his way to see them. So wasn't it natural to laugh?
Of course, to ordinary people, it would seem like the mindset of a madman.
Since Zaun was situated in a basin, the path leading up was a gentle slope. The path had been paved quite wide, and the people of the House of Zaun called this broad road the Pilgrimage Road of the Sword.
Did they say they believed in the God of the Sword?
Encrid was also walking along that road. Perhaps due to the wind and rain, muddy puddles had formed in places, but it was still an even road. Although they did not wield Divine Power, they revered and worshiped the sword. Because it was a road taken while honoring the God of the Sword, it was called a pilgrimage road.
Below the gently curving slope, the masterminds behind this affair were gathered. The wind and rain obscured the view into the distance, but the Clan Head standing at the front and those blocking his path were visible.
Encrid and Ragna saw the back of the Clan Head.
Before any words could even be exchanged, the Clan Head drew his sword and raised it. The enemy reacted. Two Scalers, their black scales interspersed with red, split to the left and right as they charged. The Clan Head stepped forward alone.
Had they said Anne prepared some kind of medicine for him? In truth, most of the medicine provided by the genius healer would be closer to stimulants to allow them to fight right now, since she had said that actual treatment would require time.
In any case, the Clan Head had clearly taken the medicine. The pressure radiating from his entire body was twice as thick as before. An intimidation like a thick, heavy blade stood tall amidst the falling rain.
*
"Why are they unharmed?"
Hescal wondered how many times he had been this surprised in recent years. He was shocked—so much so that he muttered to himself without realizing it.
Those who should have been languishing in sickness had stepped forward completely unharmed. There was no sign of them forcing themselves to endure.
The man known as Demuil's Chief Disciple spoke beside him. "I don't understand."
He was an old man over seventy. He had gone blind in his childhood, and instead of opening his mind's eye, he had implanted a new eye in his forehead. It was harvested, researched, and reprocessed from an Evil Eye, allowing him to see ahead while ignoring the sheets of rain.
"Someone has intervened. Didn't you say the healer woman was killed?"
Hescal, using his superior calculation abilities to grasp the current situation, replied, "They must have failed."
The answer was simple.
It's the work of that child, Anne.
His intuition told him so. Demuil wouldn't have tried to kill her for no reason.
Demuil already knew of the girl named Anne.
The moment he heard the information Hescal provided, he had said he would kill her. Had his reason been that those destined to die must die?
He wanted to kill her because she was the one who would block his disease.
The first measure Hescal had prepared had proven ineffective. Even so, Demuil's Chief Disciple remained unfazed. The same went for Hescal.
"It is likely only a temporary delay. Who would dare block overnight what my master spent years preparing?"
This was also true. Even if that weren't the case, Hescal believed the outcome of the battle would not change.