Chapter 716: Where Are You Wandering Off To?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 716: Where Are You Wandering Off To?
Ragna had expected Encrid to tell him where he needed to be.
It was a form of faith, yet Encrid had remained silent.
Why?
Broadly speaking, the battlefield was divided: his father, mother, and Rynox held the front line, while Ragna was positioned slightly behind them as the rear guard.
He had been slaying monsters in his own way, but he hadn't truly stepped up to the front yet.
Should he go to his father’s side? Looking ahead, he saw a threatening enemy approaching. In front of his mother, a Death Knight was clawing its way out of the earth, thrusting its head upward.
Where was he supposed to be? Why wasn't the captain telling him?
As he observed the battlefield from his ambiguous position, he felt he was beginning to understand why the captain had remained silent.
Is this the captain’s fight?
No. Here, the captain was merely a supporter.
The reason I’m angry is because this is my home.
He would live in the Border Guard as a knight of the Order of Madness. That was a decision he had made long ago, and it would not change. However, Zaun was still the place where he had been born and raised.
What I leave behind.
Now he knew the answer. He would leave Anne behind. He would leave Encrid behind. In a broader sense, it meant leaving people behind. And it would be nice if his father and mother still had a place among them.
Ragna took a step forward. He knew where he had to go. The target upon whom he must unleash his anger lay beyond the immediate chaos of the battlefield. The crisis his father and mother faced was something they would have to overcome on their own.
The howling wind and driving rain battered his sense of direction.
Sssssss.
The cries of the Scaler pack threatened to dull his very senses. The Sorcery Snake floating above exerted a crushing pressure, twisting his perception. And because of the Medusa in the distance—a monster fully worthy of being a Lord of the Demon Realm, staring with wide-open eyes—he couldn't even look straight ahead.
Yet, precisely because of these conditions, Ragna felt the brilliant talent within him begin to shine.
I can see the path.
No disrupted sense could block the path guided by his innate talent. Ragna began to walk.
*
This was something Encrid had not anticipated.
To be honest, Encrid had hoped Ragna would stay in the rear and only spring forward when absolutely necessary. Well, not everything goes as expected. That was the nature of the battlefield, and the nature of life.
That very uncertainty was what made people sometimes happy, and sometimes sad. Fortunately, this time, it was a cause for a smile.
"Where are you wandering off to?"
After walking for a long time using the monsters as guideposts, a voice called out to Ragna. It was a familiar one.
Shhhhhhh.
A middle-aged man appeared, drenched to the bone by the pouring rain, strands of hair plastered to his forehead. Brushing the wet hair from his face, he waited for Ragna's response.
"I was on my way to find the bastard who caused this mess," Ragna replied.
"Did you get lost?"
"No, I think I've arrived at exactly the right place. Finding my way is my specialty."
Hescal possessed a calm temperament. He was so composed that he rarely showed excitement even once a year. Even when bickering with Rynox, his face never flushed; even when arguing with the head of the house, he never raised his voice, always speaking calmly to the end.
Those who had seen him truly angry were rare. Yet, even for Hescal, he was currently irritated, and his tone carried a sharp edge.
"Why didn't you stay put? Why did you step forward?"
"I saw a path, so I walked it."
In Ragna's nonchalant attitude lay the unique confidence of those who believed in themselves. That was what rubbed Hescal the wrong way. If the boy had just stayed still, Hescal could have found him in no time. But because the brat had moved, Hescal had to travel far from the main battlefield. He had ended up taking a long detour just to find him.
Why on earth was he trudging alone through the monsters gathered as reserves? He was a complete madman. Yet, the boy himself insisted this was the right path.
If I had ignored you, you would have been lost by now and only returned after everything was over.
From Zaun's perspective, one could say an uncertain coincidence had turned into good fortune. If Hescal hadn't searched for him, Ragna wouldn't have met him here.
But if Encrid had been here and seen the path Ragna had walked, he would have understood the boy's intentions. To Hescal, however, it was an incomprehensible act. While everyone else was engaged in a perilous battle, why was he here alone instead of helping them?
From a tactical standpoint, it was a mess. From a human perspective, it was the worst. Why would he ignore the threat to his father and mother to come here?
"If I were Tempest, I wouldn't have let you off so easily."
"Your vessel is smaller than my father's," Ragna replied nonchalantly.
Whenever he looked at Encrid, he found himself discussing things like the "size of one's vessel." Along with his words, Ragna reflected on the path he had traveled so far.
I've learned a lot.
It was true. When he held a sword, the destined path—the path forward—appeared naturally. But unless he actually walked it, he couldn't know the true shape of that path. The path he had walked so far had uphills and downhills. Sometimes it was rugged, sometimes smooth and well-paved. By setting his own feet upon it and moving forward, his understanding had changed.
There was no such thing as a set path. As the process changed, everything changed.
Who decides the limits?
Unless one was a fool who let themselves be bound by the words of others, one's limits were decided by oneself.
"This is my limit."
If you said that, then that was where it ended. Encrid stared his limits in the face and denied them. Ragna had learned that and followed suit. The path of moving beyond one's limits was...
...fun.
The ecstasy he had felt when he first held a sword welled up throughout his entire body. What could compare to the joy of moving forward, again and again, to encounter a new world?
Hescal's gaze fell upon Ragna's greatsword. Its blade was soiled with muddy water.
"You don't have Sunrise."
Sunrise was a longsword. There didn't seem to be any space on Ragna's body to hide another weapon.
"I'll retrieve it later."
"Or is it that you lack the confidence to defeat the head of the house?"
The condition for acquiring Sunrise was to be recognized by the head of the house, and Tempest Zaun was not the kind of man to entrust the family heirloom to someone inferior to himself. There was no way he would just hand it over simply because Ragna was his son.
"My weapon is an Imprinted Weapon," Hescal said.
And yours is not. That was the unspoken meaning behind his words.
Ragna ignored it and gripped the handle of his greatsword with both hands. The tip of the sword was still touching the ground. It was a sword hung behind his waist, not pointing toward the sky.
"Are you lowering your sword because you're afraid of the lightning?"
With just a few words, Hescal understood Ragna. Or rather, he tried to.
He doesn't take risks.
Habits formed in childhood do not change easily, and Ragna had a habit of never straying from the set path. Hescal remembered that.
If it's an opponent he can defeat by taking his time, he won't bother trying to win today.
There was no desperation in Ragna. Because his talent allowed him to master things easily, the habit of avoiding risks had become second nature. Would that habit have vanished just because he had experienced a few battlefields on the continent? Unlikely. For someone to break him of that habit, they would have to instill a sense of crisis in the genius.
But how many people possessed a talent comparable to Ragna's? They were extremely rare—even more so outside of Zaun. Since no one immediately came to mind even within the family...
...has he ever met an opponent worth taking risks to fight?
Probably not. Keeping an opponent comparable to one's own talent close by to train with was one of Zaun's strengths. Yet Ragna had not experienced that. His talent, which invited envy from others, must have made him that way.
"Have you learned how to give your all?" Hescal asked.
Ragna did not answer. His red eyes pierced through the darkness, casting a sharp glow. It was proof that Will had filled his entire body to the brim.
I must estimate his skill higher than my expectations.
Out of habit, Hescal always estimated his opponent's skill higher than his initial assessment. Thus, instead of fighting with all his might, he always looked for openings. He moved under the judgment that deciding the match with raw power would disadvantage him. He abandoned any thought of winning through the sheer volume of Will or physical strength.
Trap them with the Orthodox Sword, and pierce them with the Illusion Sword. That was his strategy. It might seem simple, but to the one on the receiving end, it was anything but.
Single-Point Focus was originally a technique passed down through the Zaun family. This meant both of them knew how to use it. As they conversed, both began to think at high speeds.
I will kill you and throw your head at the feet of the head of the house, Hescal thought.
Ragna had no thoughts at all. He merely felt the texture of the greatsword in his hand. Soon, he forgot even that.
It was Hescal who moved first.
With a sharp tap, he kicked off the ground and lunged, thrusting his sword at a speed so slow it was hard to believe he was a knight. It was a thrust delivered with his left hand tucked behind his back and his body turned sideways. His body became a line, and his sword became a single point, aiming right between Ragna's brows.
Ragna moved to the side while holding his greatsword.
Scrape, ping.
The tip of his greatsword scraped against the edge of a stone embedded in the ground—one that had stood firm against the wind and rain—sending a few stone fragments flying. Having evaded the thrust and repositioned themselves, the two faced each other once more.
Hescal still kept his left hand tucked behind his back. It was obvious that whatever he was hiding in that hand would be no simple trick.
Hescal's Imprinted Weapon moved once more. Everyone who had been by his side, even his adoptive son Riley, knew the name of his sword.
The sword's name was Routine.
It was named so because it was difficult to block, even though it moved along a set path with a set amount of force.
"Even as we speak, your father is dying, Ragna."
Hescal spoke in his usual benevolent tone. His voice was incredibly soft and friendly, as if urging him to hurry along out of concern. In reality, the words were meant to gain a psychological advantage.
"Do you really think so?" Ragna asked back.
"The head of the house has been suffering from illness for years and has grown weak. Haven't you seen his withered body?"
He had. But that was a statement from someone who knew only one side of the story. Ragna remembered his father from his childhood.
"Alex must be dealing with the Death Knight."
Hescal wasn't even telling him to go protect them; he was just picking words designed to grate on his nerves. Yet, Ragna was completely unfazed. In the past—before he had met Encrid, that barbarian bastard, the sly wildcat, and the fanatic—he might have been shaken. But not now.
Encrid's tongue was far more venomous, and that barbarian bastard knew how to speak even more despicably.
"Hescal."
"Speak."
"Your hair has thinned out quite a bit. Getting hit by the rain makes it look rather bare."
Ragna provoked his opponent nonchalantly. Hescal was not the type of man to be shaken by something like this, but he was slightly surprised.
"Your tongue has grown sharper since I last saw you."
"My sword skills have improved even more."
"We shall see about that. But do you really intend to face me without even an Imprinted Weapon? I will give you a chance. Run away. Abandon Zaun once more, just like before. You may do so. No one will blame you."
He was experienced, truly experienced. When it came to the art of grating on an opponent's nerves, he was on par with Encrid. He was an opponent against whom bald jokes didn't work.
"I have never abandoned it."
"Is that so? Then did we abandon you?"
It was best to give up on trying to win with words. Ragna really didn't want to do this, but he decided to borrow Rem's way of speaking for a moment.
"Shut up and bring it on, you bald bastard. Why are you running your useless mouth? Your breath stinks."
As soon as he said it, Ragna felt a wave of disgust at himself, but it seemed to have worked a little this time. Hescal's brow furrowed slightly for a brief moment before smoothing out again.
"What a surprisingly cheap way of speaking. One would struggle to hear such vulgarity even in a hunter's village."
"That's because you've only ever played in your little well. Go out to the continent. If you go to the West, there are plenty of bastards whose mouths smell like rotting corpses."
Especially that bastard Rem.
Hescal took a breath, his lips twitching as if he were about to say more, before suddenly thrusting his sword. It was twice as fast as before. Ragna evaded it once again.
With a sharp shlick, the blade grazed his shoulder. A portion of his leather pauldron was sliced away. An exchange of blows targeting openings ensued, and Ragna swung his greatsword as well. It was a slash drawing from bottom to top.
Boom!
At the sound of the air bursting, Hescal retreated. Once, Hescal had been one of the three greatest geniuses of Zaun. Having dodged the slash that even blew away the raindrops, Hescal assumed the same thrusting stance and lunged with his sword once more.
Ragna moved his body to the side again, but Hescal's sword suddenly extended. It was an attack he had not anticipated at all.
In truth, Hescal had never told anyone the real name of his sword. The original name of his sword was not Routine, but Camouflage.
Deception hidden within the Orthodox Sword—it was a tactic perfectly suited to his weapon.
Camouflage. The sword revealed its true form and sank its teeth into Ragna's shoulder.
Thunk!
The sound of tearing flesh echoed. The blade pierced through leather and carved a hole into Ragna's shoulder.