Chapter 718: Talent and Guarantee
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 718: Talent and Guarantee
Hescal’s gaze locked onto Ragna’s eyes.
The eyes that had been cast downward rose like the sun ascending from the horizon, staring straight back at Hescal. The light shimmering within those crimson pupils seemed to scatter the surrounding darkness.
Blonde hair and red eyes—an appearance that vividly recalled a certain woman. In terms of pure swordsmanship, she was considered the greatest genius ever born to House Zaun.
“You...”
While Hescal struggled to find his words, Ragna spoke in an incredibly nonchalant tone.
“When I hold a sword, I see a path. I told you before—walking that path is easy.”
It was something Ragna had said when he was a child. Hescal searched his memory and recalled those very words, spoken back when he was teaching Ragna the basics of the Orthodox Sword forms. After learning for just a single day, Ragna had refused to take any more lessons.
After that incident, Hescal had judged that Ragna lacked the one thing a warrior truly needed.
Those without the desire to improve cannot survive in House Zaun.
Ragna Zaun had seemed to fit that description perfectly. In the end, he had left the house. Hescal had dismissed him as a flower destined to show off its talent among the mediocre, only to wither away without ever reaching its limits.
But what happens when that flower lives fiercely, braving death at every turn?
The answer was right here.
When Ragna held a sword, he saw a path. Thus, cornering his opponent was effortless.
Hescal was being cornered exactly like that.
Distance, position, posture—everything became a wall, forming a narrow path. Believing he had carved the path himself, Hescal had charged forward without hesitation, only to find himself trapped in a labyrinth of Ragna's making.
Now, the choice belonged to Ragna, not Hescal.
It was as if he were caught in a spiderweb, unable to move an inch without permission.
It wasn't that Ragna lacked physical ability, nor was Hescal simply losing a psychological battle. Moreover, Ragna knew how to take risks, moving with the seasoned grace of someone who had spent a lifetime fighting with his life on the line.
Ragna’s sword was coiled, ready to spring at any moment.
‘Did I misjudge him?’
Ragna had cornered Hescal to a terrifying extent. Deception and tricks were out of the question now; there was no choice left but to strike head-on.
‘No matter where I move, I’ll be cut.’
Evading would be the worst possible choice. Not that his current situation was any better.
If he countered from the front, the hidden blade of Camouflage would slice through empty air. He didn't even have the luxury to pull off such tricks right now.
All that remained for Hescal was to overpower his opponent with sheer strength. He had to abandon the Illusion Sword and win by pouring everything into the basics.
Ragna slightly shifted the direction of his toes. With that, even the briefest window to catch a breath or exchange words vanished.
Though Hescal’s thoughts felt long, in reality, they passed in a heartbeat.
In the span of Ragna calling him clumsy and Hescal’s brief response, Ragna’s feet shifted. His greatsword scraped the ground, setting off along the trajectory Ragna desired. The rain-soaked earth parted without a sound.
It was an open, wide path. A smooth road without a single pebble; firm ground that was easy to tread.
Such was the path visible to Ragna’s eyes.
Screeech!
The moment the air tore, Ragna’s sword arrived right before Hescal’s nose.
Hescal reacted instantly. He, too, struck down with his sword with all his might.
At the final moment, he chose his best option. He poured all his Will into Camouflage, attempting to cleave the weapon itself.
His was an Imprinted Weapon; Ragna’s was not. Leveraging the weapon’s advantage, he would shatter the opponent’s blade and split him from jaw to forehead. It was the logical choice.
But at that moment, Hescal saw Ragna’s blade emit a faint, milky glow. The moment he saw it, he sensed his end.
‘Ah.’
A knight’s intuition allows them to glimpse their own end. To be more precise, it was a moment of cognitive acceleration that made him perceive his own death.
At that point, all that remains is a final choice. And that final choice often defines the knight’s entire life.
If they desire survival, they struggle desperately to ward off the approaching shadow. If they are fighting a sworn enemy, they might swing their sword to the very end to ensure mutual destruction.
Though rare, some make unusual choices driven by their own convictions.
As the greatsword struck Hescal’s blade, his arm was forced back. Ragna’s greatsword pushed straight through, biting into Hescal’s left thigh and carving upward through his torso.
The moment Hescal perceived his death, he twisted his body with his last remaining strength. Chronologically, it was immediately after the greatsword had struck his sword. He gathered the strength he would have used for a final, desperate counterattack and poured it into twisting away.
He reacted just before his body could be split in two.
‘Not the heart.’
Krrrk!
Boom!
He had swung so fast that the sound lagged behind, catching up only after the greatsword had already swept through.
Flesh tore, and blood sprayed.
Hescal did not lose his grip on his sword, but his arm was forced upward. He collapsed backward, yet his posture remained defiant, as if he were still holding his ground.
A single-word question escaped Ragna’s lips.
“Why?”
He had been sliced from his left thigh up to his shoulder. Survival was impossible. The reason Ragna asked was because of Hescal’s final action. There had been a clear opening to land a counter-blow, yet Hescal had chosen to twist his body away instead.
“Cough!”
Blood splattered from Hescal's mouth—a far smaller amount than the blood pouring from his mangled torso. His internal organs were exposed to the world, bare for the first time since his birth.
“Get away from me.”
Hescal gathered his last remaining Will, forced air into his lungs, and spoke. Ragna instinctively obeyed.
The place where they had fought was right next to a reserve monster unit. Whether they were watching the duel or waiting for an opening, hundreds of monsters were gathered nearby. Ragna pulled back his greatsword and leaped away.
He retreated more than twenty paces. It was a safe distance. When Ragna looked back, he saw Hescal’s body explode.
Bang—!
It wasn't a particularly loud sound. However, the aftermath was devastating to everything nearby.
Sssssss—!
The shrieks of the Scaler pack echoed.
As Hescal died, droplets of blood splattered in all directions. Every monster touched by that blood rolled its eyes back and died instantly.
It seemed he had harbored a lethal poison inside his body and detonated it as a final act.
It was a mystery why he had given Ragna room to escape. But that was something to think about later.
Ragna turned his head. He had killed Hescal.
Could this be considered achieving his goal? No. He had never been lost in the first place. Hescal had been mistaken. With his target clearly visible in the distance, how could he possibly lose his way?
From the very beginning, Ragna’s target was the monster with hair adorned with snakes. He had walked his path perfectly. Since Hescal had merely been an interruption, nothing had changed.
Ragna continued walking.
*
Shhhhh.
The wind died down, but the rain fell as heavily as ever.
The downpour washed away the entrails and brains of the monsters Encrid had killed, diluting the black blood until it seeped into the earth.
Immediately after Panito died, several Scalers with supernatural abilities grew bold. They reached out, wielding telekinesis while simultaneously firing their claws like arrows.
The claw-arrows were as black as dark ink. They certainly hadn't dipped those claws in ink to write poetry.
Three monsters were using similar tricks, each firing four to six claw-arrows that moved like venomous serpents. Accelerated by telekinesis, the incoming claws cut through the wind and rain, curving and weaving freely through the air.
Encrid tracked them using his hearing rather than his sight. He tilted his head to dodge at the last second, then swung Samcheol to shatter the projectiles flying in with a time delay.
The unbroken claws spun around in midair, aiming for the back of Encrid’s head. But in the brief moment the claws reversed direction, Encrid lunged forward and split the monsters’ heads vertically, one by one.
With the casters dead, the claws lost their power and clattered to the ground.
More monsters tried peculiar tactics after that. They were certainly worthy of being called elite. From those firing claws to others rupturing their own skin to spray acidic blood—he decapitated and split the heads of every single one.
Dodging or breaking arrows was simple enough, and as for the exploding blood, one just had to back away before the burst.
His Strong Legs granted him explosive speed, while his trained body and sense of balance gave him the agility to move in any direction. If he moved unpredictably at a speed that confounded the kinetic vision of the telekinetic Scalers, there was no way he would fall prey to their powers.
As he carved through the monsters, stray thoughts drifted into his mind.
‘Are they tricky to deal with? Yes. But they aren't a threat.’
Ghoul Xerxes came to mind. Or was it Jeris? At any rate, that ghoul he had met in the City of Oara was also a unique specimen that had survived long enough to be given a name.
But compared to these monsters, there was a clear difference in caliber. It wasn't simply because that ghoul had survived for a long time. Ghoul Xerxes knew how to fight.
Compared to him, these monsters were far easier to handle.
‘Once you deal with their supernatural abilities, that’s it.’
Even if he accidentally got caught in their telekinesis, he could break free with brute strength. He could simply dodge the poisoned claws. Looking at them now, he could guess the nature of this horde.
Their purpose was glaringly obvious.
‘Chimeras designed to drain my strength.’
They weren't naturally occurring unique specimens, but creations born of someone's twisted research.
Encrid organized his thoughts through a brief combat review over the corpses of the slain. He swung his arms in circles, loosening his joints.
They say a knight can slay a thousand men. But for that to happen, certain conditions had to be met. Time was an absolute necessity, and one needed equipment to preserve stamina and prevent the useless expenditure of Will. After all, no one would willingly die just because a sword was swung.
In a sense, a knight’s superhuman combat power was bound by time. Of course, if one excelled at regulating stamina and controlling Will, they could fight for an exceptionally long time.
‘But from that point on, it varies from knight to knight.’
Some knights might sweep through enemies in a short burst and then rest, while others might calmly extend their endurance to whittle down the enemy’s numbers.
In any case, Encrid could tell his physical condition was far from perfect. Fatigue had settled deep into his muscles. He was fighting in a downpour, soaked to his undergarments. The battle was still ongoing, and he had already played a massive role.
It was only natural for his body to feel the weight.
Encrid opened his eyes at the presence he felt behind him. For a brief moment, the rain thinned. Considering the thickness of the Black Storm Cloud Alexandra had summoned, this was likely only temporary.
Opening his eyes meant the Medusa's Curse would drain his Will, but he could afford this much of a welcome.
“You're late, Ragna.”
“Did you know I would come?”
“I hoped you would.”
To be honest, he had predicted that once the battle on the Clan Head’s side ended, either the Clan Head would join them or Ragna would come to him. Moreover, Ragna was the type of person who would move just to find someone to vent his anger on.
Ragna drew closer. “Hescal blocked my way.”
“Blocked you?”
“I cut him down.”
“Is that so?”
None of them—not the Clan Head, Alexandra, Rynox, or even Hescal—likely knew Ragna’s true strength. But Encrid had a rough idea. Neither Hescal nor a few monsters could ever hope to block Ragna’s path.
“Hescal wasn't an easy opponent, though, was he?”
“I got a hole in my shoulder.”
“What about the medicine Anne gave you?”
“At least he didn't use poison.”
Regardless of the grim subject matter, their attitudes were so nonchalant that they might have been having a peaceful, everyday conversation.
Around them, several monsters warily began to form a perimeter. Encrid’s senses picked up a few more new presences—individuals skilled at concealing their bodies. He had heard there were many such people in the Hunter Village.
The Hunter Village itself was formed by those who had come after hearing rumors of Zaun’s legends, only to linger out of attachment. It was a village of bounty hunters and mercenaries who lived by the blade, surviving on the crumbs dropped by House Zaun. It was a gathering place for outsiders who didn't belong.
In a way, it made sense that they might betray the house.
Ching.
Encrid sheathed Samcheol once more.
‘Let's suffer a bit more, Samcheol.’
The sword was so magnificent that he wondered if Eitri had actually deceived him. Could Eitri have actually made it an Imprinted Weapon, but claimed otherwise out of fear that Encrid would be disappointed?
The Truesilver blade felt as if it could cleave anything, and the Ink Gold blade felt as if it could shatter the world. The feeling that the sword was speaking to him every time he held it wasn't solely due to Encrid’s madness.
“Let's go,” Encrid said lightly.
It would have been perfect if the rain stopped and the first light of dawn broke through right now, but that was impossible. The storm would not subside for at least three days. It might rage fiercely at times and weaken at others, but the tempest was not yet ready to stop.
At Encrid’s words, Ragna realized his captain was looking at the same target as him. An exclamation escaped his lips naturally.
“Are you looking at the same thing as me? As expected, Captain, you have a talent for pathfinding. I guarantee it.”
“...That is about as unpleasant as being compared to Rem.”
“Pardon?” Ragna tilted his head, confused.
“Shut up and follow me. It's time to show them what just two swordsmen can do.”
Anyone listening might have called him petty. After all, he still held onto the words spoken by Demuil, the pretender god.
Yet, looking at Encrid, Ragna couldn't call him petty. It was only natural. For he, too, had not forgotten those words: just two swordsmen.
“Lead the way.”
Ragna and Encrid walked side by side. Their target was the peerless beauty from the Demon Realm standing firm ahead, her hair a writhing mass of serpents.