Chapter 730 - An Interesting Storyteller
Enkrid did not refuse Balmung's suggestion.
No one, not even the House Head, could stop him.
How could you try to dissuade him when his eyes are shining with such excitement at the prospect
So, they did all they could.
"Ragna went to retrieve Sunrise. He'll need a few more days. At the most, it could take up to half a month."
Tempest realized that Enkrid was not particularly interested in what he was saying.
Enkrid's eyes were already fixed on what lay ahead.
'Ambition and challenge.'
If you were to name what you saw in those eyes, you'd have to give each a different name.
It was like a furnace stoked with the hunger to learn and the desire to grow.
He was already fully prepared to leave; that much was clear from Enkrid.
"You really intend to go ahead first?"
Anne, who could also be called one of his benefactors, spoke up.
She didn't seem to mean to stop him—she was just checking.
"Yeah. Bring Ragna with you. If you let him to come alone, you'll never be able to settle down with him in this life."
"I know that, too."
Judging by the tone, it wasn't said as a joke—she was sincerely concerned.
Dried meat and fruit others had packed for him, as well as Mileschia's special potion, went into his backpack.
"Here, take this."
The stingy Rhinox spat out one of his relics.
It was a rod a little longer than a shortsword; when he swung it through the air, it extended with a clack and a blade popped out at the end.
"It's a makeshift throwing spear. It's imbued with a piercing spell, so it should go through most anything. Plus, it can do this and that."
Rhinox whispered as he explained, even though it was obviously quite a valuable item.
"Use it well."
Enkrid simply took it without much fuss.
He slid the rod into his belt, strapped on his two swords, slung on his backpack, and turned to leave.
The emblem etched in uneven lines on the navy cloak he wore as an overcoat caught the eye.
"Will the two of you be alright on your own? If you need anything, just let me know. I'll come pick you up."
Grida said this offhandedly to Enkrid as he was heading out.
"With a hole in you?"
"Am I the only person left in Yohan? And honestly, who hasn't had a hole or two in their body before?"
As Tempest watched, Enkrid waved her off, saying he was fine.
When he joked with his friends like that, he almost seemed like just an ordinary guy.
'No way.'
But he stood out far too much to be called ordinary.
Black hair, blue eyes as clear as a pristine lake, and draped in a navy cloak—he looked like a painting.
He was tall, with long limbs, a well-trained physique, and moved with a steady, balanced gait that put anyone at ease.
'Any noblewoman would fall head over heels for him the moment she saw him.'
But there was something even more extraordinary about him.
Without asking for anything, without saying a word, Enkrid simply left, and Tempest called out to stop him.
"Why don't you make any demands?"
He saved Yohan from tragedy.
He pulled Yohan back from danger.
'Just two swordsmen and a single girl.'
Of course, those three didn't do everything on their own.
But what would have happened if this man hadn't been here?
You didn't even need much insight to see it.
Things would have gone exactly as Hescal wanted, or, if the Empire had shown up late, as they slyly desired—with their usual slippery demeanor.
It's supposed to be an implicit alliance, but in reality, the emphasis is more on "implicit" than on "alliance."
'The Empire is always looking for a chance to swallow Yohan whole.'
But Yohan doesn't want that.
Individuals chasing personal success might leave, but as a group, Yohan wants no part of it.
Originally, the hunting dog of the empire wanted to take this man, Enkrid.
With that, Enkrid could have named his price.
He could have tried to put Yohan's sword in his own hand.
Even if it didn't work out exactly as he wanted, at the very least, he had the opportunity to try.
And yet, Enkrid—the Border Guard, Ragna's close friend, and his Commander—wanted nothing.
Sure, sometimes you ran into people like this.
The rare few who cared more about the distant future than the present, and who seemed to be holding onto a debt for later benefit—they were cut from a different cloth.
But to the House Head, Enkrid even stood apart from those.
He didn't even seem to intend to collect on a debt later.
That was the most bewildering thing of all.
"What more should I ask for?"
Enkrid simply tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. Even though his leg gave him trouble and he leaned on a cane, Tempest straightened up, shoulders back and chest high.
"You saved Yohan."
There was no need to beat around the bush. He wasn't capable of that anyway. Hinting at intentions with subtle words was not his style. This man understood the value of what he'd done. He was quick-witted and sharp-minded. And yet—
"I've already received more than enough."
That was all he said. Was this an impulse? Or was it a calculated move, protecting Yohan with a long-term view of the future? He didn't know. Tempest chose, for once, to follow the fire rising in his chest, rather than schemes and calculations. As House Head, these were words he had never spoken aloud until now.
"If ever you call for US, Yohan will be by your side. Odincar, you'll see to it that my promise is kept."
"Of course."
Odincar, standing nearby, nodded without hesitation.
Was it because he had seen the man named Enkrid before Tempest did?
Odincar, too, showed no hesitation.
Words came easily.
The lack of emotion was due to a deficiency inherent to the House Head.
But the meaning behind his words was different.
Still, Enkrid wasn't surprised.
Really?
After giving him a brief look with those eyes, Enkrid simply nodded and turned away.
"Then."
Watching this, the House Head spoke up.
"To the hero who saved the Family."
There were no cheers of jubilation or tears shed.
They simply drew their weapons.
Cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-chang.
Dozens of swords stood tall, raised skyward to salute their hero.
***
It was summer, the season when the sun shines clear and everything grows lush and green.
Ragna realized this wasn't reality only after blinking a couple of times.
"Sunrise."
He had come here to take up the sword.
Sunrise was both a treasured heirloom and an artifact passed down through generations of Yohan's line.
The form of the sword was not fixed, and even the name "Sunrise" would sometimes change.
That was as much as Ragna knew.
After that, it was all things his father had taught him.
"It's simple. If you can overcome the lingering will within the sword, the blade becomes yours. If someone unworthy grasps it, they'll be left an imbecile."
"Is that so?"
Ragna showed neither doubt nor fear. He didn't even ask about what "worthy" meant. Stored in an ordinary wooden box, the sword had rusted, and its edge was chipped, so it didn't even look like a treasured blade. Perhaps that was the best security of all. What kind of thief would steal this, thinking it was valuable? If grabbing the sword the wrong way would drive you mad, it could hardly be called a "sacred" weapon. The sword beside it—with a hilt forged in pure silver that Rhinox had brought long ago—looked twice as valuable.
"I only swung it twice. Back then, the sword's name was Sunset," his father had said.
Mulling over his father's words, Ragna looked ahead. Three figures stood before him—two men and a woman. The woman had such bright red hair that it looked as if flames danced atop her head. She smiled radiantly and spoke up.
"If you underestimate a lingering will, it'll get you killed."
"We don't have time, so let's get this over with," said another.
Ragna immediately responded in kind.
Later, during the fight, he also heard that these people had once received help from a friend named Akker, but he let it go in one ear and out the other.
And as for their threats that if he took too long his real body would wither away and die, he didn't even register them.
"You're something else, aren't you?"
Of the three, only the woman spoke.
She said it was because AKker hadn't properly taught him the technique, but Ragna couldn't have cared less about that, either.
What he wanted was only the family's heirloom—a sigil weapon that passed down through generations, changing its form according to its master's will.
"Don't you have any respect for your ancestors?"
So even when they said things like that, he just ignored them and swung his greatsword without another thought.
He watched from up close those who, when faced with a limit, simply broke through it and pushed forward.
'I can do it too.'
He had to fight against all three of them.
But things like that didn't matter to him in the slightest.
Those who are ready to give up will always find an excuse.
Those who believe they can do it will always find a way.
That's how Ragna was.
He fought stubbornly, believing in himself.
Everyone thought it would take him at least half a month, but Ragna woke up in just three days.
"He went ahead of me?"
He heard that Enkrid had left first, but he wasn't fazed.
Enkrid might look like the type who carefully calculates and weighs his options before acting, but from what Ragna had seen at his side, he had come to understand part of Enkrid's true nature.
He probably just acted on a whim.
So it wasn't really surprising.
The only ones surprised at this point were everyone except Ragna.
He set out, heavy greatsword in hand, and he hadn't lost his senses at all.
"Wasn't Sunrise a longsword?"
Odincar tilted his head in confusion.
That's what most people thought they knew.
"If it acknowledges its master, it can change its form,"the House Head answered.
If you looked closely, you'd see his eyes were open just a bit wider than usual—proof of how astonished he was.
It was a change that only someone who he shared a bed with, like Alexandra, might have noticed.
***
"It all comes down to flow. Flow," said Valfir Balmung, Imperial Knight. People had grumbled when he said he'd be traveling alone with this guy, but for all that, the journey itself was actually quite pleasant.
"Flow… Junior Knights channel their will into their blade and elevate it into technique. And once you reach a certain level as a Knight, you start wielding your will naturally. Then to truly master that natural flow, you have to infuse your intent into your will once more."
It might have sounded like vague nonsense, but having experienced it with his own body, he understood instantly. Things like the explosion or restraint of will—all of it came down to naturally infusing intent into the will.
"Transformation of Will's Nature."
That was supposed to be Enkrid's next challenge, but somehow, it seemed he'd already accomplished it.
That's why, when Tempest Yohan had said something, he'd replied that he'd learned a lot.
Yohan had shared knowledge freely, and Enkrid was fully satisfied with that.
"I've learned so much."
That feeling still hadn't changed.
Enkrid had never felt the need to force anything just because he'd saved them; for him, that was obvious.
And if he tried to take Yohan away from his unique position, Yohan would no longer be Yohan.
"Yohan can devote himself to training precisely because he is isolated."
That was how he became who they weretoday. Endless training—a group that did nothing but eat, sleep, wake, and swing their swords. Their isolation kept them free from outside entanglements. In this sense, the Three Villages functioned almost like armor for Yohan. They handled external matters, leaving Yohan to focus on training. It was a simple setup.
"They are probably the strongest small group on the continent."
In the great battles across the land, defined by tight-knit elites, the strength Yohan possessed could never be called insignificant.
Balmung knew a lot, and he continued to share those stories one after another. Having traveled long distances at a brisk pace, they now had a decent sweat going. They had just agreed to keep moving without rest while the sun was up. They followed a narrow path through the woods, sometimes climbing uphill or descending, and even leaping over streams. Since the two of them were beyond human in terms of physical ability, crossing a stream wide enough for three or four people to lie down side by side was nothing to them. Right after they'd crossed the water and were walking down a stretch of relatively gentle downhill terrain, Balmung spoke up.
"Do you know why Tempest Yohan and Rhinox dislike me?"
"No idea."
"It's simple. I don't care what means I use to win."
Methods and means can mean different things to different people. For example, Enkrid exploiting the environment or provoking his opponent is also a case of not caring about the means. But Yohan and the others aren't the type to complain about things like that. They too are people who study tactics and enjoy fighting. So what Balmung was referring to now must be for a different reason—probably something more underhanded.
"I have nothing to be ashamed of. What's so bad about digging into someone's weak spot?"
Besides, Enkrid was broad-minded and generous. There was no reason for him to criticize Balmung. Even if Balmung's methods were a bit rough and distasteful, Enkrid could accept them. They passed through dense undergrowth, their boots caked in mud from a trail wrecked by what could have been a landslide, until finally the downhill path ended and a smooth road appeared. Along the way, they occasionally spotted monsters, but none were foolish enough to challenge the two of them for long. Nothing could slow their progress.
Each time, Enkrid watched Balmung's technique closely.
Balmung didn't even bother to draw his weapon—instead, he struck the monsters' heads with the steel bracers wrapped around his arms.
Once, a massive boar-like beast, even larger than a giant and moving on all fours, charged at them, forcing them to look up at its bulk. Balmung spun lightly aside and smashed its skull with the back of his hand.
The boar monster, its skull crushed, stumbled a few steps further before rolling lifeless to the ground.
Later, they also came across a group of drowned corpses that had surfaced after days of heavy rain—and even then, Balmung never drew his weapon.
Not that he was trying to compete, but Enkrid was also deeply absorbed in developing new sword techniques lately. So he, too, dispatched monsters with his bare hands.
"They say the monsters began fighting in formation, didn't they?"
Balmung said this after they'd slain a few monsters.
"It was enough to make you wonder who'd trained them."
"It's nothing special. You'll see that kind of thing all the time near the Demonic Domain. It's happened quite a bit these last few years."
The Demonic Domain.
When Enkrid listened attentively, Balmung continued.
"Just as humans learn new techniques from monsters, I figure it's about time monsters started learning human ways, too. Both sides have something to learn from each other."
There were a few reasons Enkrid kept feeling so delighted. One was the subtle tension that existed simply because it was just the two of them.
But another was that Balmung brought up topics that you couldn't just hear anywhere.
Even back when he had barely a penny to his name, Enkrid was the kind of man who would pay a bard just to hear a story. He had a soft spot for stories.
"What do they learn?"
"Didn't you know? Intimidation originally comes from monsters. In fact, you could say that the technique called Will was developed by learning from them."
To Enkrid, Balmung, the Imperial Knight, was also an intriguing storyteller.
Even now, he was sharing tales that made Enkrid's ears perk up.
***
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