Chapter 727: Let's Spar
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 727: Let's Spar
"What? You want me to kneel, too?"
Seeing Encrid staring blankly at him, Ragna frowned. Encrid simply shook his head.
Starting with the Clan Head, the members of Zaun began to rise one by one.
The storm had passed, and the sun had finally returned. A brilliant, cloudless blue sky stretched overhead, its warm light caressing and drying the sodden earth. Even so, the scars left upon the land would not vanish so easily.
Encrid had stepped forward with absolute resolve, determined that not a single person behind him would die. Yet, it wasn't as if there had been no casualties at all.
Hescal was dead, along with those he had killed and the followers who had chosen to stand with him. According to the latest reports, the leadership of the Hunter Village had already changed hands. A dead man, after all, could no longer represent a village.
Word was that Kato had hunted him down and finished the job.
Regardless, it was none of Encrid's business.
The vacancies left by the dead cast a long shadow. Some were mired in depression, others simmered with rage, and some insisted they should simply rejoice for having survived. There was no need to judge them. Everyone was healing in their own way.
Encrid was out of bed, but he was still a long way from his peak. He hadn't fully recovered. To most, rest and recovery were the same, but to him, they were worlds apart.
I’ve rested enough.
Now, it was time to focus on recovery.
To put it simply: rest was passive, while recovery was active. If sleep and idleness were rest, then eating and light movement were recovery. Furthermore, through his grueling training, Encrid’s body had been reborn with a Regenerative Body, meaning the more he moved, the faster he healed.
And so, after getting back on his feet, Encrid spent two days avoiding intense combat. He did nothing but rest, eat, and drink. He refrained from swinging his sword, focusing instead on stretching, calisthenics, and light jogging.
Of course, "light jogging" was a relative term. By the standards of a knight—or Encrid specifically—it was a marathon. To an ordinary person, he ran for so long they might wonder if he was trying to commit suicide by exhaustion. He spent half the day jogging at a steady, rhythmic pace.
"Man, you sure can eat."
Giants were gluttons by nature. Anahera, a giantess herself, watched Encrid with genuine admiration.
The eight-seater dining table inside the mansion was piled high with food. Today’s main course was tender, steamed pork served with a mountain of vegetables. Encrid stuffed his mouth without hesitation, chewing and swallowing methodically. He didn't eat in a frantic rush; instead, he ate continuously, his jaw never stopping.
As a result, his meals took twice as long as anyone else's. He ran slowly and he ate slowly, but he never, ever stopped.
"Drink this. It’ll help."
Anne, sitting at the same table, had just finished her own modest portion. Encrid took the vial she offered and tipped it back, draining every last drop. It tasted foul—astringent and bitter—but he didn't grimace like a child.
Watching him, Anne sighed. "Seriously, is someone chasing you? Why are you in such a hurry?"
Perhaps moving slowly but relentlessly looked like a frantic rush to outside eyes.
Encrid stared at Anne, unable to answer because his mouth was packed with pork. Ragna, who was engaged in an equally fierce battle with his own meal nearby, answered for him.
"He probably wants to recover quickly so he can get back to work. Which, for him, means swinging a sword."
"...So you're saying he's doing all this just because he wants to train? Ha."
Anne spoke with an incredulous huff, but to Encrid, it was the only logical path.
I learned a lot.
He had realized many things during the crisis. He needed to organize those insights one by one, but he didn't have the confidence to do it without moving his body. He had to physically manifest the concepts to carve out a clear path forward.
The Wave-Blocking Sword, the Sword of Chance.
Along with these two styles, various theories drifted through his mind. He had organized them mentally to some extent, along with countless other things he wanted to test—starting with the manipulation of Will. But all of that had to wait until his vessel was properly mended.
If you rush to button a shirt, you’ll only end up misaligned. Now was the crucial moment to move forward calmly, steadily, and step by step.
"An attitude worthy of emulation," Anahera praised. Even though she had already eaten, she stood guard by the table like a sentinel.
"What's with you?" Ragna asked, glancing up at her.
Anahera had no talent for deception. She was as blunt as a warhammer. "I feel guilty for trying to kill him. Tell me whatever you want, and I'll do it. If you want, I’ll even spend the night with you. Yes, exactly what you’re thinking. Opportunities to share a bed with a beautiful giantess don’t come often."
"I decline," Encrid said, swallowing his food. His response was as swift as a lightning strike.
"I've said my piece. Let me know if you change your mind."
Anahera turned and walked away. Encrid suspected many in the village felt the same way she did. That was likely why so many people were hovering around the mansion for no apparent reason.
One child had even come by just to cry and apologize. The boy who practiced Eilkaraz-style Martial Arts had tried to act tough, claiming he would make the same choice again if the situation arose. When Encrid told him to slam his head on the ground and apologize if he was truly sorry, the kid had immediately driven his forehead into the dirt.
They were a pure people. Zaun was a place where such souls gathered.
Encrid once again recalled the thoughts he’d had during the heat of battle.
"Shouldn't you have taken care of your own body before stepping forward? Why did you do that?" Ragna asked, throwing out a half-hearted scolding. It was a mix of gratitude and awkwardness, delivered two full days after Encrid had woken up. Ragna really was terrible at hiding his feelings; if he was grateful, he should have just said so.
Encrid considered telling Ragna to slam his head on the ground and thank him, too, but decided against it. Ragna seemed to be asking out of genuine curiosity.
Encrid rested his fork-hand on the table and replied, "Even if the same situation arose, I would make the exact same choice."
"But why?"
Should he talk about conviction? His Vow? Or perhaps the fact that he finally had the strength to enforce his will? All of those were true, but there was another reason.
Even in that desperate moment, his Luagarne-style Tactical Sword had been active. He had calculated the environment, processed the variables, and reached a single conclusion.
"I trusted Anne."
At his casual remark, Anne raised her head and stared at him. Ragna’s eyebrow twitched.
Was Encrid’s thinking highly sophisticated? No. He simply looked at the world through a different lens.
If he stepped forward, Zaun would not fracture. Ragna would not have to swing his sword at his own father.
On the contrary, as long as my body held out for a moment, Zaun would do everything in its power to save me.
He was the savior who had sacrificed himself for their clan. From what he had seen, the healer Milestia was exceptionally skilled. Surely she had hidden stores of precious herbs or secret medicines. Furthermore, Zaun was a place of legends. It couldn't possibly lack artifacts. He had heard that Rynox once accumulated treasures while wandering the continent.
There would be medicine, and there would be artifacts. By preventing Zaun's division, he ensured those resources would be used on him. And with Anne there, she would know exactly how to use them.
"Demuil called it a disease. And if it was a disease, I knew Anne would cure it."
To hear him say it, it sounded like absolute, unconditional faith—devoid of cold calculation.
Anne’s cheeks flushed. Laban’s disciples had always been wary of one another, and Laban himself was a monster. If Laban hadn't died, he eventually would have tried to kill Anne. Consequently, she had rarely had her abilities truly recognized. To have a core member of the Order of Madness and the lord of the Border Guard show such trust, risking his very life on her skill, made her heart flutter.
"How seductive. But it still won't work. I have Ragna."
"...What are you even talking about?"
Anne cleared her throat and turned her head toward her lover. "How is your body?"
"No coughing. No blood."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner instead of suffering in silence? Hmm?"
Around the time Encrid was overcoming the final plague unleashed by Demuil, Ragna had finally confessed his condition to Anne. Her reaction had been far from that of an ordinary woman.
"What did you do before the coughing started? Did you eat something bad?"
There wasn't a trace of panic in her. She was like a warrior on a battlefield. This was Anne’s domain. She knew the Order of Madness, and she knew Ragna. She had checked his condition several times on the way to Zaun and saw no signs of terminal illness. While she didn't know every disease on the continent, it was rare for someone to drop dead without prior symptoms.
Yet, Ragna had been coughing up blood.
Anne had grilled him with meticulous detail, and Ragna finally admitted he had fainted several times while experimenting on his own body to alter the properties of his Will.
"And did you feel chills or a fever?"
"My head felt warm for about two days."
Is this idiot just dense, or is he half-insane?
Anne’s expression had said it all, but she understood the situation. "Doesn't altering the properties of Will put a strain on your body?"
"I pushed myself a bit."
"Did your throat hurt back then?"
"It did."
What is wrong with this guy?
Ragna recalled the memory. Had he been in a rush because Encrid was evolving at such a terrifying pace? He had. Even though imbuing Will with intent was a monumental task, he had recklessly plunged into it.
"Take this. And rest for a day. Don't say a single word."
Ragna wasn't a man of many words to begin with. Following her instructions, the pain had dulled, and the blood had stopped. Now, he felt completely healed. It was no wonder blood had surged during the final battle when he erupted his Will to kill the Three-Eyed Old Man.
"Next time you're hurt, come to me immediately. I'm destined to become a Remed Omnia, an Elixir."
"Understood," Ragna said calmly, stroking her hair. "I want to stay by your side, too. So I'll do that."
Encrid stared blankly at the two of them as they radiated a strange, sweet atmosphere. It was none of his business, but he didn't particularly want to watch them exchange googly eyes while he was trying to eat.
"Get out. Go play, the two of you."
Anne shut her mouth, while Ragna replied with feigned nonchalance. "I must go fetch Sunrise."
Encrid simply nodded.
Odinkar made sure to visit at least once a day, rambling about whatever came to mind. "I think I'm going to be the next Clan Head of Zaun. When can we spar?"
Following him, Grida seemed to have learned something from Hescal’s actions. "Being a Guardian seems like a miserable job, in a way."
Perhaps she had pried the truth from the Clan Head.
"Why are you telling me that?" Encrid asked.
"Just saying."
Anne was rarely seen; she was busy teaching the successor Milestia had secretly raised. Ragna, meanwhile, had returned to his usual self.
"Are you no longer worried about leaving something behind?" Encrid asked.
Ragna merely smirked. It was as if he had reached a new level of enlightenment, showing a magnanimous tolerance that suggested he didn't care how much he was teased. It made him incredibly annoying to look at.
Encrid tried again. "Can I go back and tell everyone you acted like that because you thought you were dying? To Rem? Or maybe... Rem?"
"Do you want to die here?" Ragna asked with total seriousness. Encrid shook his head.
Sparring was still out of the question for now, but he figured he would be ready in two days. While organizing his swordsmanship and his to-do list, Encrid took care of one final matter.
"Riley."
Encrid sought out the boy in the early evening. As the twilight faded and the stars began to fill the void, Riley sat blankly before a mound of earth. His gaze was hollow, his fingertips stained black from days of clawing at the soil.
"Have you come to hold me accountable for my sins?" Riley asked.
Why would Encrid hold Riley accountable for a sin he hadn't charged anyone else with?
Riley spoke again. "Have you come to demand answers for the sins my father committed?"
Though he looked like a hollow shell, there was a strange strength in his voice. Riley spent half his day here, before a crude grave. On a wooden stake driven into the ground, words carved with a dagger were visible: Hescal lies here.
Riley could not bring himself to hate him.
Encrid believed that if anyone deserved to know the truth, it was Riley. He was Hescal’s son. If the Clan Head delivered the news, it would be too cold. Encrid had stepped forward simply because he felt for the boy.
He spent time quietly conveying the Clan Head’s speculations and what he himself had realized during the fight. Riley listened in silence. By the time the story ended, Riley’s expression remained frozen, but tears were streaming down his face.
"He must have known that if he left you behind, the Clan Head would spare your life. If he had truly intended to destroy Zaun, he would have killed you, too, before leaving. You’ve learned basic tactical command, haven't you?"
Riley didn't answer. Every word was a dagger of truth. His father had taught him those things. Hescal was a fox, clever and ruthless, but he could not discard his love for his son. He simply couldn't bring himself to kill Riley.
Leaving the weeping boy behind, Encrid turned away.
*
The ground was finally dry. Encrid went out at dawn, as was his routine, to warm up. Today was the day he would finally swing his sword in earnest.
Thump, tap. Thump, tap.
Using a sheathed sword as a cane, a limping youth approached. His expression was solemn, his eyes filled with a heavy resolve. He knelt on the dry ground, bending his bad leg with visible effort.
"I will even become your slave."
It was Riley’s way of offering penance. The words he had spat at Encrid, the hero of Zaun, weighed heavily on his soul. After coming to terms with his father's death, he realized what he had to do. He had to erase any lingering resentment in Encrid’s heart to ensure the man held no ill will toward Zaun.
However, such a gesture only mattered if the other party was actually offended.
"I don't need a slave."
Encrid was as dry and straightforward as ever. He remained the same man who had walked into Zaun and changed everything without ever losing his composure.
"Let's just spar."
Riley’s solemn mask instantly crumbled.
"Slave, my foot. Get in line, kid. You're not first."
Riley wasn't the only one there. The one-armed Rynox scoffed, while Odinkar, Grida, Magrun, and Alexandra were all gathered in the clearing.
This was the moment Encrid had been waiting for. To him, this was better than any rest.
The corners of Encrid’s mouth twitched upward, baring his teeth in a sharp grin.
"Why don't you all just come at me at once?"
At his arrogant challenge, the warriors of Zaun stiffened.
"If you weren't the hero who saved us, I swear..." Odinkar muttered.
Everyone shared the sentiment.