"Are you insane?"
Ann, who had been watching the duel while treating Magrun, was appalled. More than just shocked, her face had turned deathly pale.
From her perspective, it was nothing short of a parade of madness, so her reaction was understandable.
Naturally, Ann couldn't grasp the direction or flow of the fight. But she could see the result.
Encrid's sword had stopped halfway through the blonde man's shoulder. If it had gone just a little deeper, neither divinity nor medicine would have been able to prevent his clavicle from being severed.
"I stopped it, Freckled Sister."
Audin spoke while placing the back of his hand against Encrid’s blade. He wasn’t wearing any protective gear, yet the golden sand flowing from his skin prevented it from splitting open.
Still, the fact that blood was seeping out proved just how mercilessly Encrid had swung his sword.
"Oh, I almost killed him."
Encrid's tone remained indifferent.
"Losing an arm won’t kill him."
And the one who had been struck was just as unfazed.
'These lunatics?'
Ann was a healer. Did she become one because she wanted to kill people? No. She wanted to save them. She had chosen this path so that no one else would die needlessly from disease.
So what did they mean it wouldn’t kill him?
If an arm was cut off, there would be massive blood loss. Blood would gush out like a waterfall.
'Severe bleeding lowers body temperature.'
That was what Ann knew.
To break it down further, at first, the person would become anxious. Soon, their skin would turn pale, and their body would start to grow cold.
'The pulse would quicken, and breathing would become rapid.'
As the body temperature continued to drop, the pulse would become irregular or weaken, and once the skin turned blotchy with a bluish tint, consciousness would fade, and attention would deteriorate.
'A Knight might endure longer, but…'
Becoming a Knight didn’t make one immortal.
Just as recklessness fueled by a sense of omnipotence led to exhaustion, relying too much on the vitality of the body could lead to death.
Ann had learned much under her master, sneaking peeks at his research journals.
Because of that, she knew, unless he was a Frog, there was no way he could regenerate a severed arm. That was the conclusion.
But a different thought crept into her mind.
'Or… can he?'
If it were someone with the divine power of an Archbishop…
'It might be possible.'
Of course, healing such a wound wasn’t as simple as just pouring divine energy into it.
Hadn't the Ragged Saint given some advice while teaching Seiki over the past few days?
Ann had been desperately researching ways to develop potions infused with divinity. And through that, she had learned something.
'Using divinity also requires skill.'
Just as stitching torn flesh with a heated needle required dexterity, so too did handling divine power.
But how many people were there who could wield divinity with such proficiency? And even if they could, how many years of training would it take to master the necessary skills?
One would have to use divine power on countless wounded individuals to refine their skills and understand the appropriate degree of application.
"If a third leg suddenly grew, how would you use it? What if you suddenly had a tail?"
That was how the Saint had described it.
But there was a spell to help one grow accustomed to controlling such things. More precisely, a spell that assisted in the adaptation process.
Teaching and learning.
Those who had already learned and mastered the art could pass on their experiences to those who were worthy.
For that, one needed someone who could wield divine power and someone with enough experience to teach it.
'Coincidentally, both exist here.'
For technique, there was the Ragged Saint.
For sheer divine power, Seiki was enough to be called a Saintess.
'And then there's me.'
She could assess wounds that couldn't be healed with divinity, and in such cases, she could administer potions that enhanced regeneration or perform surgery when necessary.
Her childhood experience of stitching up corpses had honed her skills to rival any tailor.
"As long as he's not dead, it's fine."
Rem spoke from behind her.
"This is too much, though."
Ann finally voiced her thoughts after deliberating. Even as she spoke, her hands moved busily.
She sprinkled white powder to stop the bleeding and examined the wound.
Should she stitch it? Or use medicine?
She did have a newly made ointment, one crafted from Fairy’s Spring Water and Dew of Dawn.
Should she put him to sleep first? No, she should just stitch him up and apply the ointment.
He was a Knight. That should be enough for him to heal.
"This time, it seems I lost by half a step. But next time, it won’t be like this."
Odinkar spoke. If things had gone slightly wrong, he might have suffered a fatal injury, but he was still alive.
Encrid had read his temperament. A reckless disregard for consequences.
The reason he had survived this long despite such recklessness was obvious. His talent was great enough to turn his recklessness into boldness.
"Yeah, next time, you’ll just die."
Encrid stated the fact indifferently.
"You deliberately spoke like that to gain a psychological advantage from the start, didn’t you? You’re more cunning than I thought. You have a bit of a fox-like nature. Even during the fight, you kept calculating."
Encrid wiped the trickle of blood from his nose with the back of his hand.
Just as Odinkar had said, he had used the same method he had against Grida—calculation, viewing all situations in terms of probability.
This was something he had learned from Jaxon, though he felt the need to refine it further.
With some polishing, it could become a new swordsmanship technique.
"And yet, you also know how to strike decisively like others. It’s fascinating. It’s rough…"
"Rough?"
"But fun."
Odinkar grinned as he finished speaking. The white powder had finally stopped the gushing blood.
Only then did Odinkar glance at his wound and remark,
"You have an excellent healer here."
One could tell from the way she handled the injury.
"If you understand that, then shut your mouth. He needs rest."
"I'm a Knight. I’ll be fine in a day."
"Even a Frog wouldn’t heal from a wound like this overnight."
Ann muttered as she gauged where to stitch.
Encrid looked at Odinkar and spoke.
"Welcome to the Border Guard."
"A bit early for that, isn't it?"
"This was the real greeting."
Encrid shook Penna, the very sword that had cut into Odinkar’s shoulder. The blade glistened under the sunlight, flicking off droplets of blood.
Odinkar’s blood.
Just as Luagarne had said, Encrid was eager to learn their system. But could he just ask and be taught?
He wasn’t sure. If not, he’d just steal it.
For now—
'Technique.'
What had given Encrid the upper hand against Odinkar earlier was luck. If that luck had not been on his side, he would have been the one to lose.
That fact was oddly enjoyable. Since that was the case, everything else could be thought about later.
In any case, the three from the House of Zaun had decided to stay, and the next day, Encrid had to take it easy as well.
"You can't move until the treatment is complete. Otherwise, you might as well just die and become material for my experiments."
Ann's persuasion was devoid of any trace of laughter.
Besides, Encrid's condition was far from normal. Even though Knights had an unusual amount of vitality, his overuse of calculations had left his head throbbing. It took two days, but he eventually recovered completely.
During that time, he watched duels between Audin and Grida, as well as Rem and Grida.
Among the three from the House of Zaun, Grida was the only one who wasn’t fixated on winning or losing.
"Isn't it unfair to fight while wrapped in divinity? Jaxon?"
"Sister, if you don’t know someone’s name, don’t just call them whatever you like."
Despite Audin's response, Grida remained indifferent. Audin was the trickiest opponent for her to face.
According to the standards Encrid had set, Audin was someone who could draw a large circle. And on top of that, he was a crusader.
Divinity was a power specialized for defense.
The golden sand that enveloped his body was a gift from the gods to Audin, a gift that became an impenetrable armor against most attacks.
"This is so unfair! Rem!"
"That’s my name."
Even when Rem, who was watching from the sidelines, spoke, Grida simply threw out whatever names came to mind—except for Encrid’s.
The duel ended with Audin’s victory. Was it overwhelming? Not exactly. It was more like they adjusted their movements to each other, and Grida simply acknowledged her defeat.
Her duel with Rem was a little more intense.
At a glance, Rem appeared to have many weaknesses. His specialty was revealing openings while simultaneously using them to his advantage.
Grida was a swordswoman who knew how to exploit her opponent’s weaknesses. She did exactly that, and lost.
Rem barely moved his wrist, maneuvering his axe in a way that had previously fooled Ragna. His recoil-less axe moved in a zigzag motion, blocking Grida’s attack.
Clang!
The moment their weapons clashed, Grida caught a glimpse of her own death.
'Sorcery!'
If divinity was the armor of a crusader, then sorcery was the blade of a barbarian.
That blade was akin to a roughly wrapped cloth, one that could slice through even its wielder’s own hands if mishandled. Yet, this opponent wielded it with expert precision.
"You're good."
Despite her loss, Grida merely smiled. Other than her inability to remember faces, she was the most sociable and easygoing among the three.
"Luagarne, was it? If he's a researching Frog, then our family has one too. I heard that Frog’s ancestor created some of our sword techniques.”
While making acquaintances with a few others, Lawford and Pel continued raising the intensity of their training, even with wooden pieces clenched in their mouths.
Meanwhile, Magrun merely observed everyone and jotted things down without saying much.
There were no simple Knights within the House of Zaun.
Within the family, Knights were categorized into three main types.
The first were the Pioneers.
Those who used their talents as guides to forge paths into the unknown, Odinkar was one of them.
The second were the Researchers.
Also called Deep Divers, these individuals were enthralled by swordsmanship itself. They crafted techniques, only to later devise theories to counter their own creations.
Sometimes, they became obsessed with seemingly pointless pursuits, but they were the ones who had built Zaun into what it was today.
Magrun belonged to this category.
The last group consisted of the Observers, also known as the Guardians.
Grida Zaun was one of them.
They were tasked with watching over everything rather than concerning themselves with victory or defeat. Their duty was to pass the legacy of the family onto the next generation.
For a well-established system to endure, it required a corresponding framework.
This was how the House of Zaun operated.
"Are you sure it’s okay to tell me all this?"
Encrid asked.
Grida responded with a bright smile.
It was a day when seasonal rains had arrived—no, rather than simple rain, it was as if the heavens had opened up, unleashing a torrential downpour.
Shhhhhhhhhhh!
Through the pouring rain, Grida’s voice rang out clearly.
"Anyone who visits Zaun can learn this much. And you want to know more, don’t you?"
They stood beneath a broad eave, sheltered from the rain. Beyond the misty veil formed by the heavy downpour, Grida's brown eyes sparkled with curiosity.
Encrid nodded.
"I have nothing to offer in return, though."
That was his honest response.
If she wanted something in exchange, particularly a relationship between a man and a woman, he would first have to deal with the Golden Witch.
"Did you bring another woman?"
The day after the duel, Sinar had arrived early in the morning, shouting.
Fortunately, the misunderstanding had been cleared up. But she had made it very clear to Grida—
"There's already a long line. Your turn is far off."
"Fine, let’s say that’s the case. You’re the Black Flower, right?"
With that, Grida affirmed her identity.
It was strange how she could look at the golden hair of a Fairy yet think of a Black Flower.
She had a talent for observing others, yet she couldn't remember faces. How well did she even convey information?
That thought crossed his mind, but he let it go.
It wasn’t his problem to deal with.
Spring weather was fickle. It rained for two days, then the sun came out for another two, drying the rain-soaked ground.
It was the season when flowers bloomed and trees bore fruit. The seasonal rains had passed.
And still, Ragna had not returned, even after a full fifteen days.
In the meantime, Encrid spent a lot of time with the three from the House of Zaun, learning from them.
One might think that time would pass the same way regardless, but this was different, these were truly valuable days.
And so, today came.
One more day.
Time continued to move forward, step by step.
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