Chapter 725: Since There Is a Chance to Choose
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 725: Since There Is a Chance to Choose
A chilly rain soaked the earth, and lightning cried out repeatedly from behind the dark storm clouds.
Rumble!
A white light flashed in the distance, followed by a booming explosion. It was as if even the lightning was stepping aside for a moment; the thunder rumbled only in the distance, refusing to draw any closer.
Silence flowed, heavy with the sound of falling rain. After a brief pause, the Clan Head spoke.
"I will take the entirety of that curse."
"Don't make me laugh. Why would I give it to a man who's going to die anyway?"
Demuil was no fool. Tempest Zaun had swung his sword far beyond his limits. If the Clan Head had kept even one of the guards sent to kill him on Hescal’s suggestion, he wouldn't have been cornered like this.
Hescal the Fox. Clever, cunning Hescal.
Was the reason his final tactic seemed so pathetic for someone of his reputation because he had wanted this all along?
Was even this part of his design?
There was no answer. The dead do not speak. Besides, resenting a dead man at this point was utterly meaningless.
The blade Demuil had drawn was incredibly sharp. Must they slaughter their entire clan just to save an outsider like Encrid? Their families, their wives, their children, their friends, and their comrades? All of them?
The choice was decided from the very beginning.
Demuil wasn't just talking about a curse. If the Clan Head captured Encrid here and forced him to his knees, Demuil would unleash the plague upon him. But would Encrid simply submit? If they tried to seize him by force, many of Zaun’s swords would be forced to dance with the Envoy of Death.
In the end, you will only kill each other.
If Encrid died, the funeral dirge would play once more as an army marched upon Zaun. Ultimately, Zaun would fall. It was a scheme devised to kill both the detestable bastard standing here and the Zaun Clan itself. To pull off such a trick in such a short time—Demuil was indeed an extraordinary monster.
"Decide. Will you let him run?"
Demuil spoke, and though his voice did not overlap this time, it struck the ears of Zaun’s swordsmen like a thunderclap. Everyone’s heart wavered. The wind and rain had died down, and the raging storm had vanished, yet the tension remained suffocating.
Anahera and Riley spread out, widening their distance to form a loose encirclement. They were quick to act. No matter what choice was made, they had to avoid the worst-case scenario first. If Encrid fled, choice or no choice, it would be the end of everything.
Rynox also backed away, unable to find his words. It was his bare minimum of conscience. He did not raise his blade against Encrid, who had turned his back. Encrid was someone who had fought for Zaun; his honor had to be respected.
There seemed to be no other options. Just as everything appeared to be going exactly as Demuil wished, someone dragged their leg forward and blocked Encrid's path.
His greatsword was cracked down the middle, looking as if it would shatter at any moment. He thrust the blade into the ground with a heavy thud. The pouring rain drenched everything around them. Between strands of wet blonde hair, red eyes shone brilliantly, contrasting sharply with his battered body. His will and determination soared high.
"Go."
It was Ragna. The Clan Head's emotionless eyes met Ragna's.
"What are you doing?" the Clan Head asked.
"We must let the Captain go."
His son's reply was instantaneous. Did Ragna not have his own agonizing doubts? But if he had to choose, this was his only path.
"In exchange, I will spend all my remaining time for those left in Zaun."
Save the Captain, and bear the consequences himself. That was the path Ragna chose. Not everyone would fall ill. The survivors, those in the Retirees' Village—he would have them inherit the sword of Zaun. As for this sacrifice... the Captain had done nothing wrong, had he?
Yet, the world often demanded sacrifice, regardless of who was at fault. The Clan Head knew this better than anyone.
"I wonder how many will actually survive?" Demuil cackled.
Only then did he truly look like a demon in everyone's eyes. At this point, he was no longer just a hideously deformed monster, but the very incarnation of malice.
Could Ragna protect Encrid just by standing in the way? Excluding the Clan Head and Alexandra, those two were the most severely injured.
The Clan Head's emotionless eyes turned toward Encrid, his lips parting slightly. Though no emotion was visible, a brief moment of hesitation could be glimpsed in his actions. But was it right to force such a choice upon a man who had lived his entire life for Zaun?
Moreover, Encrid already seemed to know the answer the Clan Head would give. Encrid swept back his rain-soaked hair and turned around.
"Don't run away. You can resent us for the rest of your life, or even become an evil spirit and haunt me. But, ah..."
Riley choked on his words, tears streaming down his face. It wasn't because anyone had interrupted him; he simply couldn't bring himself to continue. The merciful rain hid his tears. What kind of atrocity was this to commit against the man who had fought for them?
But what about those who remained? If anyone asked Riley what Zaun meant to him, there was only one answer: Family. Life. Everything.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Encrid spoke to Riley. Turning his back on him, Encrid stood before the owner of the foul, rotting stench, even as he himself was dying.
"Is that a curse? Or a disease?"
If it was a curse, it wouldn't work. He had the Ferryman.
His tone was calm, his gaze unwavering. Blue eyes, steady and upright like a pillar, met the rotting, decayed eyes before him. Even without using Will, a powerful presence radiated from him. A man does not need Intimidation to command the respect of others when his actions speak for him.
Just as Encrid was doing now.
This was before the Clan Head could speak, and before all the swords of Zaun could point their blades at yesterday's friend.
"...I called it a curse, but it is a disease," Demuil spoke, overwhelmed by Encrid's presence.
Just as the legendary monster who claimed to be a god had its existence degraded by a single word—'merely'—a similar situation unfolded now. The dark, deep, foul-smelling curse unleashed by a demon was neutralized by the resolve of a single human.
Without a shred of hesitation, Encrid spoke.
"Bad luck. I'll do it."
The "bad luck" referred to the fact that it was a disease rather than a curse, though he didn't expect anyone to understand the distinction.
"What do you mean you'll do it?" Demuil asked. The question slipped out naturally, born of sheer absurdity.
"Gather that disease and give it all to me. In exchange, the disease dwelling in everyone in Zaun won't trigger. That is, if you aren't lying."
"I am gathering my final breath to make the exchange. It is achieved not through mana, but through yearning. It is an act that pawns my very soul."
Such was the nature of the Forbidden Scripture. Thus, there was no deception. Demuil, too, had once been an alchemist and mage spoken of in legends. His words carried the weight of his will.
Encrid knew the opponent might try some clumsy trick. However, he judged that Demuil couldn't have prepared anything specifically anticipating this exact situation. Looking at the monster's current state, Encrid deemed it to be the truth.
Did Demuil expect defeat?
Probably not. Though he had been wary of Encrid, Ragna, and Anne, he must have predicted his own victory. Otherwise, there would have been no reason for him to step forward personally.
Through whatever process, Demuil had stepped forward because he sensed victory.
It was just that it hadn't worked out. Even if everything seemed real, what if this was a trick?
“Can you live through this exact same day again?” the Ferryman in his vision asked.
Encrid answered inwardly that he would do it until it worked.
"Are you serious? You'll save everyone instead of yourself?"
Even though this wasn't the Ferryman's doing, Encrid felt as if he could see him. However, this fellow was definitely a tier below the Ferryman. The Ferryman wouldn't even engage in such cheap discord-sowing.
Besides, he had made this kind of choice countless times before. When he had no power, he didn't even have the chance to choose, so he had only made them in his heart. Even when he managed to step forward, he had been flung back. But now, he had the chance to choose. The power to carry out his will was held in his hands and filled his body.
Such was the case with Samcheol, and so it was with his inexhaustible Will. Therefore, he would do so. Just as he always believed, just as he desired.
"I protect everyone behind my back. That is my belief."
A knight strengthens their will through a vow. Encrid, possessing inexhaustible Will, had no need to stake his life on a vow. Yet, Encrid had always risked everything to keep the words he spoke.
"So, do it."
There was no hesitation in his voice. No one expected the man chosen as the scapegoat to step forward like this. Neither Demuil nor the Clan Head.
"You really are a madman."
Dumbfounded, Demuil was at a loss for words. All he could do was call him crazy. "A madman. A total madman," he muttered.
Just as Encrid was about to urge him to begin—
"What the hell!"
A voice came from behind. It was Anne, who had slipped out of the mansion and made her way here, crying out in shock upon seeing Demuil. Her wet hair clung tightly to her head, making her small face stand out even more, and she held her usual leather pouch tucked under her arm.
Beside Anne, Grida stood with her hands on her hips, shrugging.
"Our dear healer just won't listen to me."
"You're the one who ran right over when I said treating the injured from behind might save someone on the verge of death!" Anne snapped back at Grida. Even so, her eyes never left Demuil.
"Is it really him? That Demuil?" she asked.
There was no point in asking why she had come out. Anne was already here, had grasped the situation with her own eyes, and had heard what had transpired.
"He really was alive. How did he even manage to survive looking like that?"
In a way, he was Anne's direct enemy. Demuil glared at her.
"A pathetic slip of a girl..."
Encrid thought about telling him to bring along at least two swordsmen to talk, or asking if his threat of disease was just a bluff, but decided against it. He could feel it. Demuil could no longer do anything. He couldn't even lift a finger. All that remained was a fragment of his will, barely enough strength to utter a few words.
There was no point in mocking him. No need to distract his mind, either.
"Zaun... I..."
Just as the Clan Head was about to speak, Encrid recalled a scene the Ferryman had shown him in the past.
So this was that moment.
Before coming here, he had been shown something like a vision. In it, there was a dying Anne and an enraged Ragna. But not everything the Ferryman had shown had come to pass. Even before he stepped forward, Encrid knew what the Clan Head's choice would have been.
"I will not pass on either disease or curse."
That is what he would have said. Would he have given a different answer in the scenario the Ferryman showed? Perhaps his convictions would have broken, and he would have chosen his clan. For possibilities always existed. And so Ragna would have argued, and the Clan Head would have claimed it was the best he could do.
"Nonsense."
The Ragna in the vision had said so, but the Ragna of the present merely stood silently, guarding his front.
"Are you serious?" Ragna asked him.
"Do you really think a mere disease can kill me?" Encrid retorted in a light tone. Ragna did not reply.
Now, what else had changed?
"Damn bastards."
The situation between Anne and Demuil had reversed. Demuil blinked, continuing his final spell.
"You will waste away and die for the rest of your life. I am the father of all diseases! The god who will create a new order upon this land!"
The Forbidden Scripture scattered, radiating a sickly light. Encrid felt something invisible burrowing deep into his body. That was the end of it. But as he exhaled, a scorching heat mingled with his breath. It felt as if his entrails were being seared.
"Ugh."
With a groan, the strength drained from his legs. His knee hit the ground with a thud, and he drove Samcheol into the earth to support himself. In his blurring vision, the sword seemed to split into three.
Heugh!
Nausea surged. As he opened his mouth, a torrent of crimson blood gushed out.
"Dammit!" Anne screamed.
Coughing up blood at the same terrible moment, Ragna wiped his mouth and spoke.
"Since you said you never back down from any fight, don't back down from this one either. Don't lose to a mere disease, Captain."
Ah, this was the same. Even in the vision, Ragna had said those very words.
Encrid endured, focusing on the sounds around him. It felt as if someone were branding his throat and organs with a red-hot iron.
"All of you... die..."
As Demuil squeezed out his final breath to utter those words, Anne, who had drawn close before anyone noticed, braced herself and shouted:
"Do you think I'll let you? I am the Elixir, the Panax, and the Remed Omnia!"
The light faded from Demuil's eyes. Had he heard Anne's words? Perhaps he had. Was it because he feared a moment like this that he had tried so hard to kill her?
Encrid thought up to that point and closed his eyes. Now, when he opened them again, would today repeat? Or would it be something else?
That was something he could not know until he opened his eyes.