Chapter 710: To the Laws of the Continent
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 710: To the Laws of the Continent
Ordinarily, no member of House Zaun would ever dream of obeying someone other than their Clan Head.
"What is he even saying?"
Under normal circumstances, they would have ignored him entirely with a reaction like that.
However, this was a moment when direction and orders were desperately needed—and because it was Encrid, his command was acceptable. To be precise, they felt no natural resistance to his words.
During his time here, Encrid had eaten, slept, and swung his sword alongside them. The time they had spent clashing blades, in particular, had been incredibly intense and intimate.
Even though he was an outsider and a stranger, the man named Encrid possessed a color that blended more naturally into the canvas of Zaun than anyone else.
Encrid was now ready to draw the sword called Zaun from its sheath and swing it. It was the exact moment Anahera initiated combat, and the monsters arrayed before the Clan Head, Alexandra, and Rynox began their advance.
The horde closing in on the wall formed by the Clan Head took a distinct shape centered around the Scalers. They weren't just mindlessly rushing forward; they were establishing a siege formation.
If Encrid had seen this, he would have offered his sincere praise to whoever had trained monsters to move with such discipline.
Because Ragna hadn't heard Encrid's instructions, he remained where he had initially stood—a somewhat ambiguous position behind the Clan Head.
"Father."
Ragna called out to his father's back. His gaze was fixed forward, his greatsword drawn and hanging loosely toward the ground.
On the surface, it looked like a relaxed posture, but it was a stance from which he could strike at any moment. It signaled his absolute readiness to fight.
That posture was strikingly similar to his father's. It was only natural, as Ragna had learned the sword by watching him. He had set his father as his goal, enduring beatings from his mother as he gripped his sword. That was Ragna's beginning.
"Speak," his father replied, his back still turned.
The monsters were drawing closer. While there was no way they would die to such creatures, this could very well be the end of Zaun—which meant it would also be his father's end.
"What do you wish to leave behind for future generations? What have you left behind?"
Perhaps he had caught the sentiment from Encrid. He was suddenly curious about the other man's dream—and especially what his father desired.
"My body can no longer recover. I know my own frame best."
The answer came without hesitation. It sounded as if he had prepared the words long ago.
At first listen, his father's reply might have seemed irrelevant, but if his father deemed it the conversation they needed to have right now, Ragna had to listen.
"Take Sunrise. In exchange, let go of the clan."
Tempest knew his body was failing. Thus, when the opportunity arose to directly deliver the words he had previously conveyed to Encrid, he did not want to miss it.
With his back still turned, he continued.
"I will leave the clan to Odinkar."
Was he saying this to ease Ragna's mind? His tone was incredibly nonchalant, as if he were buying a piece of candy and handing it over.
Neither the position of Clan Head nor Sunrise were things that could be discussed so lightly, yet that was how it sounded. It wasn't that he lacked sincerity; rather, because his father could not put emotion into his words, he had developed an old habit.
It was a secret known only to a few, including his mother and Grida, though it wasn't anything grand. Those who knew, knew. Ragna had also understood it intellectually until now.
Now I understand.
His father's resolve struck home, cutting through skin and muscle to grate against the very bone.
His father always spoke with absolute sincerity. He might remain silent, but once he opened his mouth, he spoke only the truth of his heart. Though unable to express emotion, he loved his wife, his family, and his clan. The method he chose to convey this love was to infuse every single word with genuine weight.
Even if a father tells his children he loves them a hundred times, they might only look back with indifference. Thus, this father had to do the absolute best he could: he spoke only with absolute sincerity.
That was the will and the oath of Tempest Zaun.
The method reached the son's heart. The son, who had wandered the world and lost his way, had returned grown. Now, he could finally understand his father's heart and truly listen to his words.
He could not give Ragna the clan, because Ragna's home was no longer Zaun. That was likely why he had chosen Odinkar—a man who would risk his life to fight for the family. Odinkar would lead the clan in his stead.
And to Ragna, his son, he gave Sunrise and freedom.
"Then it seems this battle will be my final duty, Father," Ragna replied, matching his father's rhythm. His words carried his acceptance and respect for his father's wishes.
"And my wish is a stable fence. It would be even better if there were no curses or diseases," the Clan Head spoke again.
"No one will be able to obstruct your dream, Father," Ragna replied.
Their disparate thoughts aligned in a subtle harmony, concluding with words spoken for each other's sake.
Then, the monsters surged forward like a tidal wave. Ragna instinctively guarded the Clan Head's back, waiting for Encrid's word. He believed Encrid would tell him exactly what was needed.
So, for now, he only had to wait.
Give the order, Ragna thought as he stepped back.
*
What should one do when their own dream intersects with another's desire?
Naturally, they must speak through the Laws of the Continent.
Which meant might makes right.
Just as it was in the Empire, and just as it was in the world Encrid had experienced, only the dream of the victor would ultimately remain. This place was no different. Someone dreamed of change, while another sought to protect what they had.
"This is foolishness," said the one who dreamed of change.
"Hescal, you have never beaten me once," the one who sought to protect replied.
They hadn't spoken these words aloud, but their actions were the conversation.
Shhhhhhh.
The choir of rain still refused to stop its song.
Rumble!
The occasional strike of lightning added power to the orchestra of war. Pitting wit, knowledge, and strength against each other—that was what war was.
Encrid sent out Anahera and Kato. Both were swifter than anyone else. And on this side, there was a man who couldn't use his legs but whose swordsmanship was easily a match for either of them.
"Form up on Riley! Ivan, Lennon, Rontis—take the left flank! Those who usually fight with them, line up behind! Betty, Ludens, Karl, hold the right. You are the pillars! Fight as if you are guarding our rear! If they break through, we lose!"
Intuition is a tool that draws upon experience and information, pulling even from the subconscious to find an answer. It was the same for Encrid now. The time he had spent sparring in Zaun had not been in vain; the path forward naturally revealed itself.
He knew Zaun. He didn't know everything, but he knew enough to command them.
Still, this bodes ill.
The intuition prickling his mind felt like a needle stabbing his eyes.
Sssssssss!
The horde of Scalers hissed in unison, a specialty meant to disrupt their enemies' senses. Along with that sound, several Plague Maidens began to drift through the air.
He deliberately didn't send them toward the Clan Head.
If it were the Clan Head, who had become a fortress wall, or Alexandra, they would have easily sliced through those wraiths using Will or some other means. Hescal certainly knew how to manipulate a battlefield. He sent the necessary forces exactly where they were needed.
The wraiths, summoned by spells to spread disease, floated closer.
"Take it out and scatter it," Encrid said, keeping his eyes fixed on the wraiths.
Anne was no fool, and Encrid was even less of one. Having already experienced this, the two had prepared. While Encrid spent his time sparring, Anne had invested hers in gathering herbs and brewing medicine. She had given those who were leaving lumps of amber powder.
Centering around Riley, everyone pulled out the powder and coated their blades.
"Now that you've dressed them for the occasion—dance!"
Even though an ominous feeling pricked his mind and the situation was far from advantageous, Encrid felt a surge of adrenaline.
"This is going to be thrilling."
Just as Luagarne had once said, Encrid felt a thrill of pleasure in moving those around him. On the battlefield, directing troops was like swinging a sword.
I won't lose.
Even as he felt that exhilaration, a fierce resolve never to lose welled up from deep within his gut.
"What kind of crazy talk is that?" Riley reacted to Encrid's nonsense even in the heat of the moment.
He drew a throwing dagger and pulled his right hand back. He had once said it was a throwing technique he had painstakingly mastered because of his crippled leg. It differed from Sachsen's style, but there was still something to be learned from it.
Supporting his weight on a single leg, he used his entire body like a catapult. With his pivot foot planted, his body spun like a whirlwind, snapping his arm forward like a whip.
Crack!
As his arm tore through the air, the dagger flew as if teleporting, piercing the heads of two incoming Plague Maidens before vanishing into the storm. It was a throwing technique that utilized every muscle in the body. He had channeled his momentum so intensely that his throwing hand nearly touched the ground. It was a technique into which he poured his entire soul for a single throw.
Excellent.
Encrid silently acknowledged him. Riley, too, was a sword of Zaun. Despite having been cut down by Hescal, he had not broken; he stood on his own, looking forward. The moment had come for him to leave his father's embrace.
There is no tomorrow for those who do not move forward.
Riley would see tomorrow. He deserved to.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
The lizard cavalry quickly closed the distance, entering sword range. The Scalers riding the lizards charged, holding black, wooden sticks in reverse grips. Every single one of those sticks was coated in poison.
Soon, they clashed with the group centered around Riley.
"If you die before a cripple does, you’re more pathetic than I am!" Riley roared.
It was a battle cry that tore through the hissing of the Scalers, a rallying shout that echoed clearly even through the torrential rain. Riley had no military experience, but he had learned the sword from Hescal. Furthermore, because he was missing a leg, he was highly accustomed to training in coordination with others.
He was the only talent here capable of commanding even a small unit. He even knew how to raise the morale of his allies right before the clash. Of course, this was only possible because Encrid had set the stage for him.
"Hahaha!"
Anahera's laughter echoed from afar. The giantess warrior swung her weapon repeatedly, gripping a thick hilt that an ordinary person would struggle to even hold.
Thud! Crack! Crunch!
Anahera's greatsword tore and crushed several of the lizard riders charging at her.
"Den! Pick ten men and pierce through there!" Encrid drew his sword and pointed.
Den was one of those who had been in a daze. Encrid had called out to him because he saw Den draw his sword at Riley's shout, muttering, "Fuck, that cripple..."
Den's fighting skills were mediocre, but he was popular among his peers. He was also a close friend to two of the four people Hescal had killed when he left Zaun. Because of that, he had been glaring at Riley with hatred—likely embarrassed to see the "cripple" stepping up to fight while he hesitated.
Even a cripple abandoned by his own father is fighting, so what the hell am I doing?
Whatever the case, since Den was now ready to fight, Encrid put him to use immediately. At Encrid's shout, ten swordsmen stepped forward. Every single one of them carried only a single sword.
These men were the true Zaun. Excluding those who had not yet awakened their talents, each and every one of them would be called a monster the moment they stepped onto the continent.
Even as he directed their movements, Encrid's gaze constantly swept the field.
Boom! Crash!
Simply by thrusting and slashing his greatsword, the Clan Head displayed a destructive power that surpassed even Anahera's. He did not take a single step back.
The same went for Alexandra, who stood beside him. She leaped and darted within a five-step radius of her position. Wherever she passed, the severed limbs and heads of monsters rolled on the ground.
Rynox fought with two of his six swords drawn. The sword in his left hand was an estoc, exceptionally light with a thin blade, while the one in his right was a thick-bladed, single-edged falchion. He parried with the estoc and struck with the falchion. It was a simple tactic—sequentially blocking and cutting down incoming attacks.
Yet, the number of monsters dying before him was the highest among the three. It was a swordsmanship style with much to learn from.
Deflect with the light sword, strike with the heavy sword.
He replaced the concept of blocking with the deflections of a Soft Sword style, and for his attacks, he used a Heavy Sword style that packed maximum power into the shortest possible path. He was truly a man worthy of his reputation—shattering a hundred techniques only to forge a hundred more.
Whoosh!
The rain suddenly grew heavier. Perhaps it was because the Plague Maidens had retreated back into the dark corners as soon as they emerged.
Despite the heavy stench of the battlefield, Encrid sensed something with a thick, sweet odor amidst it all. Even though spells had not yet begun to rain down, his finely honed intuition caught the faint scent.
House Zaun had Knights, and Hescal was incredibly clever. Since Hescal had initiated this battle knowing they had Knights, would he really have come unprepared?
This must be one of his preparations.
While the bastard named Demuil was indeed the monster who called himself a god and spread disease—the very source of the threat—the one who had drawn the blueprint for this battle was Hescal.
And his painting was not yet ruined. That was how Encrid saw it.