'Right upper arm, left abdomen.'
Encrid read the intentions of the woman presumed to be Ragna's mother. The sword in her right hand slashed downward, while the one in her left hand thrust forward. Both blades moved in unison. They were fast, but the rhythm was predictable.
Therefore.
'It's easy.'
Blocking or evading was simple. Instead of drawing his sword, Ragna chose to dodge.
His body shifted sideways as if his feet hadn’t even touched the ground. A Knight’s reaction speed far surpasses human comprehension.
An ordinary person would be astonished by Frog’s sheer strength, shocked by the agility of beastmen, and terrified by the overwhelming power of giants.
But once one becomes a Knight, there is no longer any reason—or need—to be surprised.
Now, he could wield similar strength and move just as swiftly. Just like Ragna was doing now.
As Ragna moved, his mother's blade twisted at a right angle to follow him.
Still, it was easy. One blade thrust while the other slashed. It felt almost monotonous.
'No, it’s not easy.'
Was it because Encrid was merely an observer, or had his insight improved that much? He could vaguely perceive the hidden intent behind her strikes.
The two blades moved at a specific angle, forcing the opponent into certain movements.
For example, the sword in her right hand stabbed downward, aiming for the clavicle, while the sword in her left hand slashed diagonally outward, aiming to cut through both the abdomen and arm.
If he tried to dodge sideways, he would end up impaled instead. Her dual blades were swift. In terms of speed, she could match anyone. Because of that, she left no opening for other actions.
'And there are no unnecessary movements at all.'
Ragna had two choices. Either draw his sword to block or retreat to widen the distance.
'If it were me, I’d grab both of her wrists.'
Ragna had the upper hand in strength, so he should capitalize on his advantage. According to the tactical thinking of Luagarne, that was the correct move.
After grabbing her wrists, he would slam his forehead into her nose. Why choose this approach?
'If I back off, I can't predict what she'll do next.'
Simply blocking would allow her to continue her offensive.
That was why this was the best decision. And at the same time, he realized what his mother was doing.
'Forcing movements.'
If Aker’s Web swordsmanship restrained an opponent’s actions by limiting their choices, then this technique went a step further—it predetermined the opponent’s path from the beginning and herded them into it.
A similar yet subtly different Correct Sword Technique.
Ragna combined three options, including Encrid’s.
'If possible, I’ll do multiple things at once.'
If he could, that is. And he did.
Ragna drew the shortsword he had brought and blocked one of the blades, while his left hand reached for her right wrist, and at the same time, he raised his right knee, aiming the tip of his foot at her chin.
Ping.
The moment his shortsword met his mother’s blade, her sword snapped back to its original position. Her body swiftly retreated, causing Ragna’s kick and grab to hit nothing but air.
Her tightly braided golden hair swayed from side to side. The rapid movements made both her clothes and hair ripple wildly.
"Hmm, son, you've changed a little."
Her apron flared up due to the high-speed movement but soon settled back against her abdomen and thighs. In that brief moment, the scabbard attached to her outer thigh became visible.
'She keeps her sword on her even while cooking.'
No matter how he looked at it, the weapons in his mother's hands didn’t seem like kitchen knives.
They were slightly longer than a shortsword, with thicker blades. But not thick enough to be considered heavy.
They were custom-made swords, somewhere between a gladius and a shortsword.
'No, they're engraved weapons.'
He corrected his thoughts. She wielded engraved weapons, even while cooking.
"It’s been a long time, so it’s only natural I’ve changed, don’t you think?"
Unlike before, Ragna now displayed a proactive attitude. His stance showed he was ready to engage again at any moment.
That was something she hadn't seen before he left home. Ragna’s mother felt a tinge of emotion.
"Yes, I always knew you’d come back eventually."
"I didn’t come back, I came for Sunrise."
"Sunrise? Were you promised it?"
His mother glanced back at his father, who stood behind her.
"No."
Ragna’s father shook his head.
"You've become ambitious, son. I like it."
His mother turned back to him with a smile. This family is unbelievably positive.
Encrid reflected on the brief exchange, replaying the events in his mind. The short skirmish had been full of fascinating details. He had even learned something new.
Not all swordsmanship can be categorized into Finisher, Retention, or Versatility.
In other words, not everything can be divided into instinct and calculation alone.
His mother’s swordsmanship had just proven that.
'Transition.'
She crossed and blurred the boundary between calculation and instinct. It wasn’t Versatility. She wasn’t balancing at the center—rather, she tilted to one side and then returned, like a seesaw.
'And she’s incredibly fast.'
Encrid had named his swordsmanship Flash, but in reality, it was about the optimization of thought.
It was like reducing the number of dependent variables at a single moment.
Suddenly, he recalled the swordsmanship that Grida had shown him. Or more precisely, her Calculation-Breaking Technique.
But that method wasn’t viable for real combat.
To use it in battle, Encrid would have to assume perfect defense, minimizing his movements, just like when he fought against a One-Killer.
But for a technique like that, Grida’s movements had been far too large.
So, it wasn’t practical for real combat.
Back in his duel with Grida, he had been someone who pursued rational combat thinking, while Grida had deliberately disrupted that thinking.
That was why he had resolved not to give her any openings to do so.
'Leaving only a few limited choices and then making the best one.'
That was Flash. Although he had defined it this way, it wasn’t slow.
But if they were comparing pure speed, Ragna’s mother’s swordsmanship was even more astonishing.
'Is it a high-speed transition of thought using a fast blade?'
There were likely hidden techniques beyond what was visible. That only made him more excited.
Without realizing it, he repeatedly tightened and loosened his grip on Three Iron.
"A rather aggressive guest."
Ragna’s mother commented after noticing. Just as Encrid was about to speak, Grida interrupted.
"Don't."
It was a warning.
"…I followed Ragna here."
Encrid wanted nothing more than to face her in combat immediately. But he heeded Grida’s warning.
Then Magrun interjected, adding to the conversation.
"He is Encrid from the Border Guard. You must have heard the news passed down from the Intermediaries' Village about the Mad Knights?"
Ragna's mother blinked a few times before responding.
"Oh, that? Heartbreaker?"
For a moment, Encrid almost wavered, but he held firm.
'Why has that nickname spread all the way here?'
He had a brief moment of doubt but quickly regained his composure, responding in a neutral tone.
"Who told you that?"
If he caught that bastard first, he could trace the source of the rumor. It was almost certainly Sinar.
By now, Encrid knew just how far and wide she had spread her nonsense.
She had made it common knowledge that the Mad Knights’ Captain of the Border Guard was best known for breaking women's hearts.
At this rate, even passing children would start calling him by that name. Maybe a bard would compose a song about it.
Or worse, even some reclusive wizard deep in the forest, cut off from the world, might somehow know of his ridiculous nickname.
'No, that’s too much.'
Now wasn’t the time to lose focus. Meeting the sharp gaze directed at him, Encrid continued.
"That’s quite the exaggerated rumor."
"Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. And looking at you, it doesn’t seem entirely false… but then again, if I believed every rumor, I’d have to accept that the family head has eight arms. So if you say it’s not true, then I’ll take your word for it."
She offered a relaxed smile.
"I am Alexandra Zaun. Welcome to Zaun."
She appeared ordinary at first glance, but Encrid had already witnessed her extraordinary abilities.
"If anyone here has eight arms, it’s probably you."
The family head commented from the side, prompting his wife to chuckle.
Despite being a middle-aged woman, she had few wrinkles and looked remarkably youthful.
That was expected—Knights aged slower than ordinary people.
'She must have reached the level of a Knight at a young age.'
It was unusual.
The family head was unreadable, and his wife appeared normal, but she too was difficult to read.
"As one's level rises, it’s only natural to conceal one's intentions."
Jaxon had once said something similar. And Encrid understood the deeper meaning behind those words.
Exceptional observational skills bordered on insight, and exceptional insight could verge on mind-reading.
Thus, those with great insight instinctively learned how to hide their own thoughts.
Whether through calculation, instinct, or sheer intuition, they trained themselves to make their intentions unreadable.
'Otherwise, Lawford and Pel’s fights wouldn’t even be possible.'
If one side understood their opponent’s intent while the other did not, the outcome would be decided too easily.
Of course, there were attacks that remained unstoppable even when anticipated.
But still, that was the idea.
"We were preparing a meal for a guest, and it just so happens that you've arrived. I didn’t expect this, but there’s plenty of food. Come inside. You should wash up first."
Zaun was a small castle, with only a few servants tending to it. A handful of maids and attendants stood at a distance.
They all had nerves of steel, remaining unfazed even after witnessing the earlier sword fight.
"I’ll show you the way."
Grida stepped forward, and Alexandra nodded in approval.
"Yes, the location is the same as always."
At some point, she had sheathed her swords. The movement was so natural that Encrid had missed it entirely.
She had done it mid-conversation. That kind of fluidity was a mark of experience. Not every small gesture could be called extraordinary, but—
'She’s certainly unusual.'
The family head glanced between Encrid, Ragna, and Ann before speaking.
"I’ll see you later. Tonight’s dinner will be lively. It’s been a while since we’ve had so many guests."
His tone lacked even a hint of enthusiasm.
"This way."
Grida nodded toward the family head and his wife in a show of respect before leading the group away.
"I have somewhere to stop by."
Magrun split from the group midway.
Once they were far enough from the family head and his wife, Ann finally spoke.
"I was going to say we came here to cure an illness, but… Ragna’s father looks terrifying."
"Does he?"
"And you don’t resemble him at all."
At Encrid’s comment, Ragna nodded.
"They’re my adoptive parents. It would be strange if we looked alike."
"Huh?"
That was new information. Encrid turned to him with a surprised expression.
Grida, walking ahead, glanced back and added,
"I’m adopted too. Didn’t you know? Well, that bastard never really explains things properly."
Ragna didn’t respond, instead taking in his surroundings. It had been a long time since he had been home.
Memories buried in the corners of his mind surfaced, filling him with a faint sense of nostalgia.
"This way used to lead to my room. I wonder if it’s still the same."
Though called a castle, Zaun’s structure was more akin to a grand mansion.
A row of columns marked the boundary between the inner and outer areas.
It wasn’t particularly large, and the hallway Ragna pointed to led toward the right—indoors. The left side opened into a small garden.
"The only thing in that direction is the family head’s bedroom. It hasn’t changed since the era of the previous generation."
Grida’s words made Ragna tilt his head.
"I got a little confused."
"A little?"
Grida scoffed.
It was natural. Even though it was the place he had grown up in, it had been years. Getting lost was inevitable.
"The bath is this way. There are no attendants. In Zaun, people are expected to take care of themselves. If you don’t fulfill your duties, you don’t receive anything in return. Ah, but they will bring clothes."
Swinging a sword wouldn’t magically make bread fall from the sky. This place had its own way of functioning.
It seemed they kept only the minimal number of servants, while the rest was left to self-sufficiency.
"Finally, a chance to bathe in peace."
Ann sighed.
"You’re coming with me."
Grida led Ann to a separate bathhouse divided by a wall.
Encrid stepped inside his own designated bath area. A large wooden tub filled with water stood in the center. If needed, there was a hearth to heat more water.
Steam rose from an already heated pot, indicating that some had been prepared in advance.
A massive bath barrel also caught his eye.
Ragna, despite his earlier confusion, still retained enough memory to navigate the place.
He easily picked up a wooden bucket and began mixing hot and cold water. Not just for himself, but for Encrid as well.
It was a simple yet telling act—this was Ragna’s home. His movements were a blend of familiarity and rediscovery.
"What is Sunrise?"
Encrid asked, watching Ragna. His body reeked from the long journey without a proper wash.
That was probably why they had been told to bathe before dinner.
Ragna dropped the bucket into the tub, the splash mingling with his voice as he answered.
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