Chapter 726: Clever Hescal
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 726: Clever Hescal
"Hey, once you're dead, that's it. Don't you get that?"
In a hazy afterimage, a man with a thick beard spoke in a scolding tone.
His name was Ryan, a fellow who made a living protecting peddlers and merchants with a small crew of three or four men who knew how to swing a blade. Peculiarly, he had called his group the Comrades Association.
Since some mercenary bands chose odd names, everyone usually let it slide, but Encrid later heard that Ryan had chosen the name because he was a veteran of a great southern nation. The men he traveled with were all former members of his unit. That was why they were called the Comrades Association.
It was a name not easily forgotten. Ryan had protected the weak to the best of his ability, and when Encrid first set out, wandering the continent in utter ignorance, Ryan had been the one to watch his back.
"What's the point of anything once you're dead?"
That was the saying Ryan always kept on his lips. One could never, even on pain of death, claim that everyone in the Comrades Association was a saint, but Ryan, at least, was a man of loyalty.
"You only have one life. Just one."
Once you die, it’s over. If you want to live, don't do stupid things like that.
It was that kind of advice. Encrid had listened to his words, but he had continued to live his life just as he always did. He would keep an open ear to most things, but there were some things a man could never compromise on.
The hazy afterimage shifted like a misty lake at dawn. Ryan's blurry figure distorted, turning into a faceless form.
"If you have nothing and no power, just stay down."
There had been so many bastards who spoke down to him that it was hard to remember their names one by one. As the mist thinned and vanished once more, the master of the scent of the night sky appeared and shouted.
"How do you block a spell? Here, take this. The Spring Spell and the Summer Spell."
But why are you swinging a sword?
Behind Esther, who was swinging her sword, Sinar danced while waving both hands toward the sky, clutching flowers and branches. Then, Rem fell from the sky—a massive, colossal Rem.
It was a nightmare.
After that, Audin grew emaciated and flew through the sky, and Sachsen wandered around with dozens of women, opening a salon. Encrid tried to ask if he was in business with Krais, but his mouth wouldn't open.
He saw Luagarne holding Pel in her right hand while whipping Ropode like a lash. He even saw Dunchabel, claiming she had returned from the East as a true beastman, transforming into a manticore and laughing. Teresa swung her sword at Dunchabel, calling her a monster.
Auditory hallucinations accompanied the visions.
"Lose your mind, and you die."
Who was saying this?
Clang! Clang!
At a deafening noise, he turned his head to see Eitri hammering a human body that had been thrown into a furnace.
It's me.
Looking closely, it was indeed him. Eitri was hammering his body with a mallet. The moment he realized this, he became aware of the searing heat still baking his entire body. He wondered if he might end up breathing fire at this rate, but even dragonkin couldn't do that.
Though maybe Esther could. Should he ask her to show him if they ever returned to the Border Guard?
As if she'd ever show me.
If he actually asked, she would immediately look at him with eyes full of utter contempt.
As the scorching heat coursed through his body, he saw flowers; those flowers turned into butterflies, fluttered away, and then became embers that burrowed into his heart.
"If you die there, this place will become your prison."
Another auditory hallucination.
He saw a heap of other illusions after that, but there was no need to dwell on them. His surroundings spun, and a sudden cold washed over him. Someone sliced open his stomach and began kneading his intestines; looking closely, it was a child he had failed to protect long ago, smiling innocently with pitch-black eyes.
Stirring guts is fun.
It felt as if the child were saying that.
Then, along with the sloshing of river water, all the pain vanished.
When Encrid opened his eyes, he was on that familiar ferryboat. His body was leaning against the railing, and the Ferryman stood before him in his usual posture—standing on the boat like a rooted tree, holding his lamp.
The fact that even the Ferryman looked blurry, as if shrouded in a sandy mist, was proof enough that his body was far from normal. Every time the violet lamp swayed, its light raced across the black river water before fading away. Watching it, it looked as though the river was devouring the light.
"If you die here, you will do nothing but repeatedly fight the disease, die, and resurrect. If so, you will no longer be able to enjoy your beloved swordplay."
Encrid blinked five times upon hearing those words. Very slowly, at that. After a long pause, he opened his mouth and carefully chose his words.
"I think my hearing has been damaged. Say that again."
"My words are forged from Will and sent directly to your mind. It has nothing to do with your hearing."
Encrid knew that. He just hadn't expected to receive such blatant words of encouragement from the Ferryman.
"Is this an illusion?"
To his question, the Ferryman only said what he wanted to say.
"How long can you postpone death? How long will a lucky death remain by your side?"
With that, his conversation with the Ferryman was over.
He opened his eyes once more, though he hadn't closed them. Now, it was reality.
His eyes fluttered half-open, but they were so stiff and dry that it was hard to open them fully. Through his limited vision, he saw a pattern both unfamiliar and familiar. It was the ceiling of the stone house he had seen for the past few days. Beside the thick wooden beams, pebbles were embedded in irregular patterns.
"Are you awake?"
Anne was right beside him. Feeling his vision was still blurry, Encrid blinked a few times. Crust fell from his eyes in heaps. Though they were still stiff, the debris blocking his sight was gone, and his vision cleared.
Anne had dark circles under her eyes, and her cheeks were hollow. She had clearly gone through an ordeal.
"Hmm. I'm alive."
"Is that the only reaction from someone who just came back from the dead?"
"Was it Remed Omnia?"
"You remember."
"I knew you would cure it."
The Ferryman had told him to save Anne, and Demuil, for whatever reason, had tried to kill her beforehand. It must have been because she was a threatening enemy. It was easy to deduce the cause after seeing the result.
Furthermore, Encrid had seen some of what Anne had done since arriving here. Having witnessed all of it, Encrid trusted her. Even if Anne had failed and he had died, he would have just repeated the same day anyway—though he hadn't actually done it with that in mind. Even if he had to repeat the day, he would have made the exact same choice again.
"You've been asleep for three days."
Encrid fell silent for a moment at Anne's words before replying.
"I missed three days of training."
"...Sword-crazy bastard."
Encrid knew he was called by various nicknames within the Border Guard. One of them was 'Sword-crazy bastard,' meaning someone obsessed with the blade.
"I'm joking."
Anne replied with a look that said, I know you're completely serious, so don't pretend to be a normal person.
"Ah, sure."
He had woken up, but his limbs lacked strength. If he fought now, could he be confident in defeating even Pel or Ropode?
"You need to rest for the time being. Stay in bed for at least four more days. Eat what you're given, and sleep when you're tired."
Anne spoke and left. Next, Ragna came in, looking relatively fine. Seeing him walking around meant he was in better shape than Encrid.
"You've rested plenty if you've been out for three days."
"Is that so?"
Even though he had died and come back to life, it was still raining outside. Thunder rumbled in the distance. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he woke up, Ragna was gone. Had he fallen asleep briefly? When he turned his head, he saw another hallucination.
No matter how amazing Anne was, she couldn't bring the dead back to life. Encrid believed that the Clan Head had poured his very life force, beyond just his Will, into his final strike. It wasn't something a diseased body should do, so he must have done it prepared for death.
So why was he sitting in front of Encrid's bed?
"You look as if you're seeing a ghost."
Although the Clan Head did not show his own emotions, he was accustomed to reading the emotions and gazes of others. Though one arm was wrapped in bandages and a cloth was bound over one of his eyes, Tempest Zaun sat there, very much alive.
"I have much to say, but I have not forgotten the very first thing I must say. Thank you, Encrid of the Border Guard."
"I was just passing by and had some free time, so I lent a hand."
"Are you trying to be humble? Or do you know exactly how incredible your deed was and want to raise your nose even higher?"
Indeed, if he spoke humbly here, it would sound that way. This was truly a slip of the tongue because his body hadn't fully recovered yet. Perhaps it was better to just keep his mouth shut.
"They say Milestia didn't die in vain. Anne said she had already researched a way to resolve the seeds of all the diseases we were afflicted with. Anne claimed that taking over her work and brewing the medicine wasn't that grand of a feat, but I repeatedly expressed my gratitude to the child anyway. To put it simply, Milestia's legacy and the devotion shown by Anne saved us all. And I've gained a few more years of life as a bonus."
Had he come to say he was glad to be alive?
"I came because there is something I want to say, and I am telling only you. Others will likely never know for the rest of their lives."
The story the Clan Head brought up was about Hescal.
Hescal—he had proven that he wasn't called 'Clever Hescal' for nothing. Listening to the Clan Head's story, it felt as if Hescal had appeared through a hallucination to speak.
"If I win, Zaun will be reborn. They will survive and become the new residents of the Demon Realm."
Hescal wanted the survival of Zaun. For that, he had to become a usurper of divinity. Because only by harboring even a small amount of divinity could he protect Zaun once they became residents of the Demon Realm.
The hallucination continued to speak.
"If I fail, it ultimately means Tempest won in all of this, right? Then Zaun will have survived, even if scarred."
The Hescal in the illusion smiled brightly. His lips curled up fully, showing a complete, pure smile with not a single burden on his mind.
If he won, Zaun would be reborn. If he failed, Zaun would still be reborn. It would have been even better to do some cleaning along the way.
There must have been rebellious elements in the Hunter Village, the Broker's Village, and the Retirees' Village.
Having coiled up there for a long time, some must have grown restless, while others, spending their days in idle quiet, accumulated discontent and wished to shake the very system Zaun had built. They likely tried to exploit Zaun, which was too valuable to leave behind yet a powerful force if kept.
Hescal gathered all those rebellious elements, spent a long time with them, and formed a faction, creating his own group.
"Originally, several kinds of flowers and fruits grew around here, but they were toxic, so gathering them recklessly often led to various illnesses. From the moment that situation began to worsen, Hescal believed he had to resolve this issue."
The Clan Head's words continued. At some point, Hescal must have learned of Demuil's existence and seen what he had prepared. From there, Hescal had to make a decision.
Would he return to the family and start a game of tag that wouldn't end even by the time he died? Or would he become the mastermind behind the scenes—a director who drags the mastermind onto the stage?
The one Hescal chose was the latter.
He had died by Ragna's sword, but he was probably satisfied. He had confirmed the tilting of the scales, and everything he prepared was ultimately a strategy to declare the end of the game of tag.
There was not a single word Hescal had actually said to the Clan Head directly. The Clan Head was speaking from the realm of speculation as well. But he believed Hescal had done what he had to do as a Guardian.
Hearing this, Encrid could agree. A Guardian, a protector of Zaun—Hescal had fulfilled the duty given to him.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"I wanted to tell someone."
With those final words, the Clan Head left, and a moment later, Alexandra came in and left a similar remark.
"Milestia researched the disease until right before her death, and Hescal... well, it must have been very hard for him to paint this entire picture."
She looked both bitter and relieved. After her, Schmidt came in and spoke.
"Do you really have no intention of going to the Empire?"
"Do I look like I do?"
"No."
"Then why ask when you already know?"
"Just to ask you to let me know if you change your mind."
Four more days passed after he woke up. Hearing that Anne had passed out asleep, Encrid kicked off his blankets and got out of bed. After raining on and off for several days, the rain stopped completely at dawn. The damp dawn air swept cleanly through his lungs.
Encrid went outside and stood holding Samcheol.
I've learned a lot.
Truly, so very much. But sorting through it all one by one wasn't something to do right now. No, he wanted to reflect on at least one thing, but there were too many eyes watching.
"Are you up?"
As if they had been waiting for him to wake, everyone from Zaun, including Grida and Anahera, poked their heads out. Magrun was visible among them as well.
"Thanks to you, I lived."
Apparently, when he returned, his illness had become so severe that Milestia had smuggled him away to treat him. The final treatment must have been done by Anne.
And standing in the middle, the one-armed Rynox spoke with an utterly serious expression.
"If you wish to hold us accountable for our past wrongs, take my head. But please, show mercy to the others of Zaun."
Demuil's end had left an indelible stain of disgrace upon them. They probably couldn't forgive themselves for trying to force a sacrifice upon an outsider. He understood that feeling. Because he knew it all too well, he wanted to help them shake off that burden.
"Then, over here."
Encrid said, lightly tapping the ground in front of him with the tip of Samcheol. Since his scabbard had burst and he was just carrying it tied with a rough string, there was no need to draw the sword.
"Kneel down and stretch your neck out."
Rynox was flustered. Without moving his feet, he looked back and forth between the ground, Samcheol, and Encrid, then asked:
"……Really?"
Encrid replied with a smile.
"No."
"……You scared me."
If Encrid had truly wanted it, Rynox would have indeed offered his neck. They were those kinds of people. People who took responsibility for their words.
And so.
Thud.
Starting with Rynox, every single one of them knelt. In the wake of the typhoon, on the ground ruined and swept by mud, everyone bowed their heads. He hadn't done this hoping for such a thing, but no one would dislike a moment of receiving respect for their deeds.
"We express our deepest gratitude for the grace of salvation."
The Clan Head spoke on behalf of everyone. Present here were the Clan Head, Alexandra, Odinkar, Grida, Magrun, and everyone else. Among them, some shed a few tears, while Riley looked somewhat dazed.
And only one of them stood there blankly.
"What? I told them not to do it," Ragna said, standing awkwardly.
Encrid merely shrugged, indicating it was nothing. Ragna would probably never learn to read the room for the rest of his life.