Chapter 730: An Interesting Storyteller
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 730: An Interesting Storyteller
Encrid did not reject Balmung’s proposal. Neither the Clan Head nor anyone else could stop him.
How could they, when his eyes burned with such raw anticipation at the prospect?
Thus, they did the only thing they could: they prepared him.
“Ragna went to claim Sunrise. He’ll need a few more days. At most, it could take another fortnight.”
Tempest noticed that Encrid had little interest in his words. Encrid’s gaze was already fixed on the horizon, looking toward what lay ahead.
Ambition and challenge.
If one had to name the look in his eyes, those were the two titles that fit best. His desire to learn and his hunger to grow were like a boiling furnace, radiating heat.
He is already gone, Tempest thought, looking at the man. Encrid was mentally prepared to leave long before his feet hit the path.
“Are you really going on ahead?”
Anne, another of his benefactors, stepped forward. She didn’t seem to have any intention of stopping him; she was merely seeking confirmation.
“Yeah. Bring Ragna with you when he’s done. If you tell him to come alone, you’ll never hear the end of it for the rest of your life.”
“I know that much.”
She wasn’t smiling. Her words were born of genuine worry.
Jerky and dried fruits provided by the villagers, along with Milestia’s special potions, were packed into his bag.
“Here, take this.”
The miserly Rynox reluctantly parted with one of his relics. It was a rod slightly longer than a shortsword, but when swung through the air, it extended to twice its length with a sharp click-clack-clack, a spearhead snapping out from the tip.
“It’s a collapsible javelin. It has a piercing spell imbued in it, so it’ll punch through almost anything. It can also do this...”
Rynox whispered the rest of the explanation, treating the incredibly valuable item with the reverence it deserved.
“I’ll make good use of it,” Encrid accepted it with his usual nonchalance. He tucked the rod into his belt, strapped on his two swords, shouldered his pack, and turned around.
The Dancha Emblem, engraved with stepped lines on the navy cloak draped over his shoulders, stood out sharply.
“Is it really okay for just the two of you to go? Let me know if you need help. I’ll come out to meet you,” Grida called out.
“With a hole in your gut?”
“What, you think there’s no one else in Zaun besides me? Besides, who hasn’t had a hole or two poked in them before?”
Under Tempest’s watchful gaze, Encrid waved a hand to dismiss the offer. Seeing him banter with a friend like that made him seem ordinary at first glance, but...
Hardly.
His appearance was far too striking to be called ordinary. With his black hair, blue eyes as clear as a pristine lake, and that navy cloak, he looked like a figure stepped out of a masterpiece painting. He was tall, with long limbs and a well-trained physique. Every step he took possessed a balanced grace that gave onlookers a sense of absolute stability.
Most noblewomen would fall head over heels the moment they laid eyes on him.
But there was something even more wondrous than his appearance. Tempest stopped Encrid with a question as the man prepared to leave without asking for a single reward.
“Why do you demand nothing?”
He had saved Zaun from tragedy. He had eliminated the threat to their very existence. He had done it with just two swordsmen and a single girl.
Not that those three had done everything on their own, but what would have happened without this man? One didn’t need deep insight to know the answer. Things would have gone exactly as Hescal wanted, or the Empire—arriving late with a sly smile—would have swallowed them whole.
In their tacit alliance, the weight lay far more on "tacit" than "alliance." The Empire sought to devour Zaun at the first opportunity. But Zaun did not want that. Individuals seeking personal advancement might leave, but the collective entity of Zaun desired independence.
Encrid had taken the place where an Imperial hound should have stood. Therefore, he could have demanded whatever he wished. He could have brought the sword known as Zaun under his thumb. Even if it didn’t go exactly as he hoped, he could have at least made the attempt.
Yet Encrid of the Border Guard, Ragna’s friend and captain, desired nothing.
Occasionally, one encountered such peculiar individuals—those of a different caliber who looked to the distant future rather than the present, leaving debts of gratitude behind to be collected later. But in the eyes of the Clan Head, Encrid was different even from them. He didn’t even seem to think of leaving them in his debt.
This was the most baffling part.
“What more should I demand?” Encrid merely tilted his head in genuine confusion.
Despite his bad leg forcing him to lean on a cane, Tempest straightened his back and puffed out his chest.
“Because you saved Zaun.”
There was no need to beat around the bush. Tempest didn’t have the knack for it anyway; he was incapable of speaking with subtle, hidden intentions. This man, Encrid, knew the value of what he had done. He was quick-witted and exceptionally sharp.
And yet...
“I have already received plenty,” was all he said.
Was this an impulse? Or was it a calculated move looking to the future to protect Zaun? Tempest didn't know. Instead of schemes and calculations, he remained true to the spark that flared up in his chest. As the Clan Head, he spoke words he had never once uttered until now.
“Should you ever call, Zaun will stand by your side. Odinkar, you must fulfill my covenant.”
“Of course.”
Odinkar, standing beside him, nodded without hesitation. Perhaps because he had recognized Encrid’s worth before Tempest had, Odinkar showed no reluctance.
The words were spoken lightly, the lack of emotion due to the Clan Head’s own nature. But the weight of the promise was anything but light. Yet Encrid wasn’t even surprised.
Is that really necessary?
With a look that seemed to ask just that, he gave a single nod and turned away.
“Well then.”
Watching him go, the Clan Head spoke to his people.
“To the hero who saved our clan.”
No one cheered, and no one shed tears. They simply drew their steel.
Sh-sh-sh-sh-shing!
Dozens of swords pointed toward the sky, a silent, metallic salute seeing their hero off. It was summer, a season of bright sunshine and lush greenery.
*
Only after blinking several times did Ragna realize that this place was not reality.
Sunrise.
He had come to claim the sword. Sunrise was an heirloom and relic passed down through generations of House Zaun. The sword did not have a single fixed form, and even the name Sunrise changed from time to time. This was as much as Ragna knew. The rest was what his father had told him.
“It is simple. If you overcome the residual thoughts dwelling within the sword, it becomes yours. If an unworthy person grasps it, they will become an idiot.”
“Is that so?”
Ragna had shown neither doubt nor fear. He didn’t even ask about the qualifications.
Kept in a modest wooden box, the sword had been rusted and chipped, looking nothing like a treasured blade. He thought this was probably the best security possible; what thief would ever steal it? If it was a sword that drove you mad if grasped incorrectly, it could hardly be called a treasure in the first place. The sword forged with truesilver all the way to its hilt, which Rynox had brought before, looked twice as valuable sitting right next to it.
“I swung it exactly twice. Back then, the sword’s name was Sunset.”
Chewing over his father’s words, Ragna looked ahead. Before him stood three figures—men and women of the past. Among them, a woman with hair of such a bright red it looked like flickering flames spoke to him with a bright smile.
“Don’t underestimate them just because they’re residual thoughts, or you’ll die.”
“I don’t have time, so let’s make this quick,” Ragna shot back immediately.
As they fought, he heard them mention they had received help from a friend named Aker in the past, but he let the information go in one ear and out the other. The threat that his physical body would wither and die if he dragged things out didn’t register with him at all.
“You’re quite something,” the woman remarked. She complained that it was because Aker hadn’t taught them the techniques properly, but even that was none of Ragna’s business.
All he wanted was the imprinted weapon of his family, the blade that changed its form upon receiving its master’s Will.
“Do you little bastards have no respect for your ancestors?”
Even hearing such words, he ignored them completely and simply swung his greatsword. He had watched from the sidelines as a certain someone broke through their limits every time they appeared.
I can do it too.
He struggled against the three of them, but this was nothing. Those who want to give up look for excuses; those who believe they can do it find a way. Ragna did just that. He fought with persistent, unwavering faith.
Everyone expected it to take at least a fortnight, but Ragna woke up in just three days.
“He went ahead?”
Hearing that Encrid had already departed, Ragna wasn’t flustered. At a glance, Encrid seemed like someone who calculated every move, but having stayed by his side, Ragna knew his true nature. He had probably just moved on a whim.
The ones who were surprised were everyone except Ragna. He stepped out holding a heavy greatsword in his hand, his mind perfectly intact.
“Wasn’t Sunrise a longsword?” Odinkar tilted his head. Most people knew it as such.
“It changes its form once it recognizes its master,” the Clan Head replied. He was so surprised that, if one looked closely, his eyes were opened slightly wider than usual. It was a change only Alexandra, who shared his bed, would have noticed.
*
“The key is circulation. Circulation.”
Everyone had been worried when he said he was leaving alone with this man, Valfir Balmung, the Imperial Knight. But for all their concern, the journey was quite enjoyable.
“Circulation. A Squire imbues their Will with intent, sublimating it into a technique. And once a Knight reaches a certain level, they use Will naturally. To go beyond that naturalness and truly master Will, you must once again imbue it with intent.”
It sounded like abstract nonsense, but having already experienced it physically, Encrid understood it instantly. Things like the explosion and restraint of Will were all achieved by naturally imbuing Will with intent.
Altering the properties of Will.
That was supposed to be Encrid’s next task, but somehow he had already touched upon it. This was why he had told Tempest Zaun that he had already received plenty. Zaun had taught him generously, and he was satisfied.
I’ve learned so much.
He still felt the same way. Not forcing a reward on them just because he had saved them was only natural to Encrid. Furthermore, if Zaun were to be pulled out of its unique position, it would cease to be Zaun.
Zaun can devote itself to training because it is isolated.
That was how they could become the Zaun of today. Endless training—a group that did nothing but swing their swords from the moment they opened their eyes until they slept. Because they were isolated, they didn't get swept up in the politics of vested interests. The three villages were like Zaun’s armor; they handled external affairs while Zaun focused on the blade.
As a single faction, they are likely the strongest group on the continent.
On battlefields characterized by small elites, the power Zaun possessed was formidable. Balmung knew a great deal, and he continuously spun such tales as they traveled.
Moving at a fast pace for hours made them sweat. They had agreed to travel without resting as long as the sun was up. They walked along forest paths, scaled slopes, and leaped over streams. Since both possessed physical capabilities far beyond ordinary humans, crossing a waterway wide enough for several people to lie in was child’s play.
Just as they crossed a stream and walked down a flat, gentle slope, Balmung threw out a question.
“Do you know why Tempest Zaun and Rynox hate me?”
“No.”
“It’s simple. I don’t care about the means or methods as long as I win.”
"Means and methods" held different meanings for different people. For instance, Encrid utilizing the environment and provoking his opponents was also a form of using any means necessary. But the people of Zaun weren’t the type to complain about something like that. They, too, studied tactics and enjoyed the pragmatism of combat.
What Balmung meant was likely something else—a much dirtier approach.
“I have a clear conscience. What’s wrong with gouging at a weakness?”
Encrid’s caliber was broad and deep. He felt no need to condemn Balmung. Even if the method was crude enough to make one frown, he could accept it as a reality of the world.
After passing through a dense thicket and getting their boots covered in mud from a recent landslide, the descent ended, and a flat path appeared. They spotted monsters here and there, but the foolish beasts that dared to attack the duo couldn’t delay their steps for even a moment.
Every time, Encrid closely observed Balmung’s techniques. Balmung didn’t even draw his weapon, instead smashing the monsters’ heads with the steel gauntlets wrapped around his hands.
When a boar demonic beast—a massive quadruped whose sheer bulk forced them to look up—charged at them, Balmung lightly spun his body and crushed its skull with the back of his hand. The beast stumbled a few more steps before rolling onto the ground, dead.
Afterward, they slaughtered a horde of drowners that had swarmed out due to the heavy rains. Even then, Balmung did not draw his sword. Though he wasn’t trying to compete, Encrid had recently been absorbed in creating a new swordsmanship style, so he also beat them to death with his bare hands.
“I heard the monsters fought in formation?” Balmung asked as he finished off a straggler.
“It made me wonder who trained them.”
“That’s nothing special. You’ll see it often if you go near the Demon Realm. Such occurrences have been spotted quite frequently over the last few years.”
The Demon Realm. As Encrid assumed a listening posture, Balmung continued.
“Just as humans steal and learn the techniques of monsters, I believe it is time for monsters to learn human systems. They’ve learned what they could from each other.”
There were several reasons why Encrid found this journey enjoyable. One was the subtle tension of being alone with a powerful Knight. The second was that the stories Balmung shared were of a kind not easily heard elsewhere.
Encrid was the sort of man who would pay to listen to a bard’s tales even when he had only a few coins to his name. He had a soft spot for stories.
“Learn what?”
“Didn’t you know? Intimidation was originally a monster’s trait. No, the very technique of Will itself should be seen as something humans learned by observing monsters.”
In Encrid’s eyes, Balmung, the Imperial Knight, was indeed a fascinating storyteller. Even now, wasn’t he spinning a tale that made Encrid’s ears perk up of their own accord?