"By a hair's breadth."
When the man answered, Rem smirked and said,
"If you come at me again, should I just lop off that neck of yours? What nonsense about a hair’s breadth."
The man shut his mouth. Regardless of the outcome of the fight, he had clearly taken quite a beating. His stance was slightly off-balance, his legs not quite aligned, and dried blood was crusted over his forehead, there was no need for a closer inspection to see how much he'd endured.
Just because he wasn’t speaking didn’t mean the man’s fighting spirit had waned. He glared at Rem.
"Want me to gouge your eyes out?"
Rem kept pressing him, but it was all just talk.
There was an undercurrent of killing intent between the two, but compared to Rem’s usual exchanges with Jaxon or Ragna, this was practically playful.
Encrid ignored their playful hostility and instead focused his gaze beyond Rem, tracking the two moving shadows.
‘One of them is Audin.’
The other was a man he had never seen before. Short blonde hair fluttered as he wielded his sword, his skill far from ordinary.
He swung his sword to create pressure while engaging in a calculated exchange of feints and maneuvers.
‘He’s mixing Middle Sword Technique with Correct Sword Technique.’
He pulled out what was needed at the right moment. By the standards of the system Encrid had developed, this was someone close to an advanced level.
Encrid immersed himself in the swordsman’s movements, trying to predict his intentions.
‘He’s deliberately creating openings.’
He wanted Audin to close the distance. Why? Because he was confident in his ability to counterattack. Then, what had he prepared?
That part, Encrid couldn't discern.
But it would be something akin to a secret technique, one not easily displayed in front of others.
Encrid had faced countless wanderers over the years.
Among them, there were many who were truly skilled, and many more who simply flaunted empty reputations.
And a select few among them shared a common trait: they never revealed their techniques easily.
‘But wouldn’t that mean they keep missing opportunities to improve?’
That was Encrid’s perspective.
There was no next step unless one tested and surpassed their limits. It was a truth he had learned through his own body.
The man before him belonged to the same category. If he didn't, there would be no reason for him to keep creating openings.
Audin took the bait. He closed the distance until he was within arm’s reach, a range that was bad for swinging a sword but good for hand-to-hand techniques.
The fight was decided in an instant.
The man slashed downward with his right sword while his left hand shot upward.
If he hadn't been holding a weapon, it would have resembled a flag-waving gesture, but, of course, a blade was now gripped in that left hand.
‘A second sword.’
A hidden weapon. His breastplate was segmented into upper and lower halves, and as his left hand passed through the gap, a short, wavy dagger about a handspan in length emerged.
A blade called Kris.
The man’s hand shot up vertically.
Audin, as if anticipating this, overlapped his hands, opened them slightly to let the blade slip between his fingers, then pressed down to trap it. Without stopping there, he twisted his waist and closed in even more.
As a result, the sword in the man’s right hand lost its target, landing instead on Audin’s shoulder with a dull thud. Meanwhile, at such close range, Audin used his left foot as a pivot and twisted his body, ramming into his opponent with his shoulder and back.
A headbutt at an absurdly short distance.
Not only was it difficult to defend against, it had to be excruciating.
Boom!
A deafening impact exploded between them, sending the man staggering backward.
Blood trickled between Audin’s middle and ring fingers, while a section of the man’s breastplate was dented.
"It didn’t work."
The man spoke, his tone laced with excitement and anticipation.
Despite having his technique thwarted, he showed no disappointment, only complete immersion in the battle at hand.
Encrid found himself liking the man, even though he had neither fought nor exchanged a single word with him.
"Odinkar, stop."
Grida intervened, calling the man's name. Odinkar turned his head.
He still had some lingering fighting spirit, but his posture showed he trusted that Audin wouldn’t attack in this brief moment of pause.
This was just a sparring match, nothing more.
"Shame."
The man spoke.
Like Grida, he hadn’t come here to kill or be killed, he had a different purpose.
And sure enough, Grida finally spoke up.
"I should properly introduce us. I'm Grida Zaun. This is Odinkar Zaun, and this one is Magrun Zaun. We come from the House of Zaun."
All eyes turned to the three of them.
Zaun.
The place Ragna was born. And now, Grida Zaun had found the person she had come looking for.
"Ragna, we’re here to take you back. Your hair color has changed, hasn’t it?"
She pointed with her finger. Everyone’s eyes followed her gesture.
"Hm?"
Luagarne tilted her head.
The brown-haired man standing where she pointed didn’t even bother turning around.
He didn’t need to look to know there was no one else around him.
Which meant Jaxon was naturally confused, staring at the pointed finger with suspicion.
"……?"
If expressing ‘What kind of nonsense is this?’ through facial expressions was an art, Jaxon was a master.
Even so, Grida smiled softly and continued, her tone full of certainty.
"Are you really going to pretend you don’t know? I never forget a face."
While the Border Guard members were still processing the bizarre situation—
"Are you sure that’s him? He doesn’t seem like it."
Odinkar asked.
He knew Ragna. And that man was not him.
Even as he spoke, Odinkar’s focus was elsewhere. Can I fight that guy, Audin, again? That desire was painfully obvious.
Even after sheathing his sword, his gaze remained locked onto Audin.
"My opponent was probably the strongest Knight in the Order. I need time, time."
Meanwhile, Magrun had no interest whatsoever in Ragna.
His mind was preoccupied with something else entirely.
‘Are there really people like this outside the family?’
He was utterly fascinated by the barbarian who had bested him and was already brimming with thoughts on how to study and refine his own techniques.
‘I lost.’
And for Magrun, the only way to overcome defeat was through research.
"You're Ragna Zaun. The head of the house is summoning you."
Grida reiterated.
Encrid wasn’t struck by any sudden realization, but he felt like he understood something.
Some people had difficulty remembering faces. Grida was one of them.
Jaxon was at a loss for words, he had never been in a situation like this before.
"What are you talking about? Ragna went to Eitri to get his blade sharpened."
Krais interjected.
"Huh?"
Grida tilted her head. Encrid could tell she wasn’t someone who hid her emotions.
She had said Ragna had golden hair and red eyes, so how could she mistake someone else?
He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.
But one thing was certain, just as Ragna could never find his way, this woman could never remember faces. Even her own.
For the first time in his life, Encrid had met someone who had seen him once and forgotten.
He wasn’t offended, just amused.
"He's not Ragna."
Encrid intervened.
Grida tried to argue a bit more, then finally relented.
"Even I make mistakes sometimes."
And with that, Encrid was convinced. This woman had to be Ragna’s sister.
* * *
"Hmm, since he insisted on returning alone from the market, we currently have no idea where he is."
The soldier who had followed tried to stop him, but if anyone could be stopped, it wouldn’t be Ragna. As a result, no one knew where he had wandered off to on his way from the market to the barracks.
Krais had just delivered this grim news to those who had come looking for Ragna. Since their purpose was to retrieve him, they had immediately inquired about his whereabouts, leading to this conclusion.
"Ragna's been terrible at finding his way since childhood."
Grida nodded as she spoke, her tone so nonchalant that she didn't seem particularly concerned about finding him. The other two didn’t care at all.
One of them, Odinkar, had now taken an interest in others besides Audin. He was subtly exuding fighting spirit toward Encrid as well. Meanwhile, the other one, upon hearing Krais’s words, immediately asked,
"Is there a quiet place where we can stay for a while, away from people?"
The other two didn’t even try to stop him. They were the kind of people who only spoke when they had something to say.
"What the hell are these guys?"
Rem voiced what everyone was thinking. Krais instinctively started to say, "My thoughts exactly." but then closed his mouth.
Jaxon crossed his arms, keeping all three of them within his sight. His stance made it clear, if things went sideways, he was ready to cut or stab them without hesitation. And the three of them knew that, yet remained completely unfazed.
That, in itself, was strange.
Zaun.
Those who knew the name knew its weight.
For generations, the house had produced Knights from the North—Knights known as seekers of the sword.
There were some wandering mercenaries and adventurers who had trained under the House of Zaun. Perhaps that was the reason why Varnas, the beastman general of Aspen who had led wars, had once recognized Ragna.
He had simply picked him out based on absurd talent and guessed correctly, maybe it had just been a stroke of luck.
Encrid had spent his early years as a mercenary and a guide, wandering across the continent, but back then, his skills were abysmal.
After that, he had spent all his time with the Border Guard. To him, Zaun was nothing more than the place where Ragna was born and raised.
So seeing three swordsmen of such high caliber all belonging to a single family felt oddly out of place.
If they had been Knights from an order, that would have made sense. If they were from the Empire, he would have simply nodded in understanding. If they were from the great nations of the South? That would be reasonable too.
But from the same family? That was different. That meant they were bound by blood.
How could this be possible? Bloodline? The power of lineage?
It was said that those who carried the blood of ancient royal families were born with extraordinary abilities.
Some could move objects with their thoughts alone, while others could read minds.
He had even heard that the origins of magic itself stemmed from bloodlines, most of these stories had come from Esther.
Could there be a bloodline that enhances swordsmanship? A lineage of Knights? Is talent predetermined at birth? Is fate the only answer, not effort?
Did the ancient kingdoms or some secret bloodline truly possess such traits?
No, that’s not it.
Even if it were true, Encrid was determined to prove otherwise with his own body.
Beyond just being a Knight, one of his aspirations was to prove that talent wasn’t the sole answer. But his current self was not yet proof of that.
‘I relive today.’
A curse, but also a blessing.
He wouldn’t deny what he had gained from it, but he also didn’t want to claim that this method was the only way to surpass talent.
‘Don’t narrow your perspective.’
Both battles and beliefs changed depending on how one viewed them.
"Enki, you see the battlefield too narrowly."
He could almost hear Luagarne’s voice. Taking her teachings into account, he tried to expand his thoughts.
And then, something he had learned firsthand suddenly surfaced in his mind.
A flawed method of training, any shortcut only produced half-baked results.
Is there much difference between the chimera Knights created by Count Molsen and the Knights trained in Aspen or the Holy City of Legion?
Even if a body were modified to be like a Knight’s, or if one became intoxicated with a sense of omnipotence, not everyone could become a true Knight.
Just because someone wielded Will didn’t mean they were a Knight.
One had to grope their way forward and push through. Only then did it hold meaning.
A person’s will could be influenced by others, but if they lived according to what others dictated, their will would never blossom into anything more.
So why were those three so skilled? Because they had broken through their own limitations.
It wasn’t just about talent. Something beyond that was required. But what was it?
"We are from the House of Zaun. There are probably many who don’t know, but you can think of us as a family that gathers swordsmen."
Grida explained, in what she likely considered a polite introduction.
Beside Encrid, Krais added his own knowledge to the explanation. It wasn’t far off from the rumors.
‘A tradition passed down for generations?’
What was tradition? It was an ideology carried forward.
A family bearing the name Zaun must have something that had been passed down.
Rem muttered that they were a bunch of weirdos, while Jaxon was growing more irritated with Odinkar Zaun’s continuous provocations.
Then—
"A structured system."
Encrid muttered. His voice was loud enough that everyone turned to look at him.
That was the reason the House of Zaun had produced Knights for generations.
In a way, they had walked the path Encrid wanted to follow before he even started.
Luagarne was the first to understand what he meant.
"I see… That makes sense."
This was the first time she had encountered members of the Zaun family. They were people hidden in the fog of rumors. But seeing them in person, she understood.
Three individuals from the same house, and all three were Knights.
Without a proper system in place, this wouldn’t be possible.
‘But so what?’
Rem spoke his mind.
"Are we kicking these bastards out or what?"
His tone suggested he didn’t care either way.
Odinkar bared his fangs. That was a challenge. His fighting spirit said as much.
Rem couldn’t hold back anymore and placed his hand on his axe, while Jaxon discreetly gripped a dagger.
Krais could feel the shift in atmosphere. A wave of unease surged within him.
‘Damn that directionally challenged bastard.’
Cursing Ragna internally, he sent a glance toward Encrid, but for some reason, the captain didn’t step forward.
It would’ve been better if Audin intervened, but today, Audin looked more like a bear beastman ready to tear someone in half.
Krais paused to think—would killing those three here bring any benefit?
No.
Then should he just let them be?
After a brief contemplation, he made the wisest decision he could.
"I'm leaving."
He turned his back.
Avoidance.
They could figure it out themselves. After all, the Mad Knights was a variable beyond his control. For the sake of his sanity, he chose to walk away.
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