"It's a sword."
A simple answer.
"A relic?"
Encrid asked again. The name attached to the sword and the way it was treated made it clear that it wasn't an ordinary item. He had heard that Ragna had come to retrieve it, that the head of the household had it, and that he had asked for it, but he also knew the head wouldn’t hand it over so easily.
From what he could infer, receiving Sunrise must require proof of worth or fulfilling some condition.
That much was obvious just by observing the situation.
‘If Krais were here, he'd probably be making a fuss, begging for a look at it.’
At a glance, it was clear that no amount of gold coins would be enough to even catch a glimpse of the item.
"It’s a family heirloom, passed down through generations."
"…And you plan to take this heirloom and return to the Border Guard?"
"Yes."
There wasn’t a trace of hesitation in Ragna's response. His tone was just as steady as when he had simply called it a sword.
Encrid was aware that his own personality was a little unusual, more stubborn and straightforward than most. For some, that eccentricity might even make him seem like an odd person.
‘But I’m nothing compared to this guy.’
This was sheer madness.
He was talking about taking a family heirloom back to the Border Guard—who would ever allow that?
Unconsciously, Encrid’s gaze sharpened. Ragna, noticing it, spoke up.
"I'm offended. Why are you looking at me like I'm Rem?"
He spoke as water splashed, pouring over his shoulders and soaking his hair. He had already stripped down while they talked and was dousing himself with water as he spoke.
Encrid did the same, pouring water over himself, letting the filthy water run down to his feet. He hadn’t been able to wash properly for some time, so it was a refreshing moment.
"Think about what you just said."
Ragna immediately responded.
"I don't see a problem with it."
Encrid started to shake his head but stopped himself and smirked bitterly.
‘It's called the Mad Knights for a reason—because it's full of lunatics.’
If it had been the old Ragna, he would have brushed off such a remark out of sheer indifference. But the current Ragna was actively exploring what he wanted to leave behind.
Even before, there had been things he couldn’t just let slide. There were words that lingered, gnawed at him, and refused to be ignored.
And what Encrid had just said was exactly that. So, Ragna responded the way he had been taught, by provoking.
"Isn’t that name actually because our Captain keeps breaking women's hearts?"
Encrid shifted his gaze resting to the side. After washing up, a light spar would be perfect.
Ragna leaned against the edge of the large wooden tub, tilting his chin up arrogantly.
"At least our Captain has left behind the legend of a heartbreaker."
Even though he wasn’t Ragna’s mother, Encrid still found himself a little impressed by his growth.
‘He's gotten better at provoking people.’
But that didn’t mean his skill with a sword had grown.
Could Ragna withstand the Wave and the Flash without getting so much as a scratch?
Would this be a good opportunity to test what he had learned during the journey?
‘Yes.’
That was Encrid’s decision. There was no particular reason for it. He simply wanted to.
Objectively, it was reckless. They had been told to wash up before eating, so they should just go eat.
But Encrid had also just been stirred up after seeing Ragna’s father and mother. To put it simply, his blood was boiling.
Splash.
Encrid raised his hand from the water. The water became his sheath, and his hand became the sword.
His fingers straightened, tensing as he shaped them into the form of a blade.
Droplets of water splattered, and the heavy steam that filled the bath pressed down on the air, while the cool draft flowing through the room carried the moisture along.
With his hand as his sword, Encrid slashed downward, drawing a precise vertical line.
"You crazy bastard."
Ragna muttered part of his thoughts aloud and lifted his own hand. Their hands crossed in an X as they met.
Pak!
Water exploded outward from the point of impact, splashing in every direction.
Ragna looked into the blazing blue eyes before him. Why was Encrid suddenly attacking? He didn’t care to ask.
This was just how Encrid was. It was precisely this reckless behavior that had always annoyed Ragna.
And yet, he found himself drawn to it. Encrid lived as if he would die tomorrow. That perspective on life was one of the biggest lessons Ragna had learned from him.
‘A day never wasted, no matter the situation.’
That was the life he now pursued.
‘What do I truly want?’
He didn’t know. He couldn’t find the answer. But did that mean he should stop moving forward?
"Even if you don’t know, keep rolling forward. Do what you can right now."
Encrid always said that—not in words, but in actions and presence. Ragna took in that lesson and spoke.
"Let’s dye this bath red."
Encrid smirked and responded.
"With your blood, you mean?"
Ragna, expressionless, denied it.
"No."
* * *
The raucous, chaotic bath time eventually ended.
After washing up, they shook out their dusty clothes and left them aside, while the attendants provided them with clean garments.
"You two were supposed to be bathing. What did you end up doing?"
Grida asked, wringing out her wet hair. Given what she saw, the question was perfectly natural.
Ragna's forehead had a cut, as if his hair had been slashed, while Encrid had taken a hit to the cheek, leaving a blue bruise.
"Talking."
"Playing in the water."
Their answers differed, but there was no need to ask further.
Encrid glanced at the clothes provided. Gray pants made from sturdy, processed fabric, a stiff beige shirt with a soft inner lining.
As for his gauntlets and gambeson, he packed them separately—crafted by the Druier artisans of the Fairy Tribe.
His sword belt and weapons remained strapped to him, as he never parted from them.
Grida had nothing to say about that. After all, carrying a sword was normal in Zaun.
Even while cooking, dual-wielders kept their weapons at their sides. Wasn't it only natural for a guest to do the same?
Ann had also changed into a loose dress-like garment and slung a single bag around her waist.
Unable to tie her damp hair, she shook it out, letting it fall to her shoulders. She combed through it with her fingers a few times before taking a deep breath.
She had come here with a purpose. And she would have to bring it up at the dinner table. That thought made her tense.
"Let’s go."
Grida led the group onward.
As they entered the dining hall, a savory, tangy aroma filled the air. The prospect of a proper meal after so long was enticing.
But as Encrid stepped inside, he tilted his head in curiosity. Among those seated at the oval table, he recognized a familiar face.
It had been so long that he had forgotten the name, but he was sure he knew the man.
Encrid searched his memory.
"…Ray?"
The man recognized him as well. His eyes widened in surprise before his brow furrowed.
"…I never told you my name, Encrid from the Border Guard."
For a moment, his surprise was evident, but the sheer absurdity of the statement made a response come out almost involuntarily.
Brown eyes and an otherwise unremarkable appearance—this man had once visited the Border Guard wielding a rapier. He had even left Encrid with the words "Follow me."
What Encrid remembered most was his sharp, slanted eyes. His gaze alone might have made him seem fierce, yet his overall impression was oddly gentle.
As he looked at the man's face, memories resurfaced—long arms, a swift sword.
"Yo."
Encrid casually raised his right hand in greeting.
"I don’t think we were ever on such friendly terms."
From the other man’s perspective, it had been long enough for such a greeting to seem strange. The fact that Encrid even remembered him at all was impressive.
"Really? My memory's a little hazy."
Encrid admitted honestly.
At that, the man hesitated for a moment, his lips parting slightly before he finally replied.
"Well, I suppose forgetting is possible."
He wasn’t surprised by Encrid himself, he had already heard the stories. What caught him off guard was simply running into him here.
What are you doing here? That question naturally arose, but he already knew what Encrid had accomplished after becoming a Knight.
‘I thought half of it was exaggeration.’
But now, seeing him in person, it didn’t seem like an exaggeration at all. That was what intrigued him the most.
Even so, what was there to say? Not everything in the world unfolds as expected. He prided himself on his ability to predict and analyze the future.
But he never considered himself a prophet.
‘Still, it is surprising.’
Now that he looked again, he realized that Encrid was not just any Knight, his skill level seemed quite high. Of course, with his own limited insight, he couldn’t discern the full extent of it. That was simply the limit of his own perception.
"Well then, since we’re all here, let’s eat."
The head of the house said.
"So, the son who left long ago has brought a guest."
The man sitting at the table glanced over at Ragna.
"Is he the one from the House of Zaun?"
Well, even back then, it was clear he had exceptional talent.
"So, he followed his son here."
He didn’t know the purpose, but he could roughly guess the process. Though speculation was just that—speculation—various thoughts crossed his mind.
It was a reminder that one could never truly predict how the world would turn out.
After all, he never imagined he would meet here, of all places, someone he had once believed would have his romantic dreams crushed and sink into the swamp of despair.
"You two seem to know each other?"
Ragna’s mother stood up to greet the guest and asked.
"He stayed in the city for a while some time ago and tried to persuade me to go with him."
Encrid answered based on his recollection, summarizing it briefly.
"That’s his job."
Alexandra said indifferently, offering him a seat.
The head of the house sat down first, followed by the sharp-eyed man whom Encrid hadn’t seen in a long time. Ragna took the seat across from the head, with Ann beside him, and Encrid next to her. Grida sat beside Alexandra, but Magrun was nowhere to be seen.
As Encrid sat, he asked,
"And what exactly is his job?"
The man, having no reason to hide his identity here, answered honestly.
"I’m a recruitment officer for the Empire."
"A recruiter?"
"My job is to travel across the continent and extend special invitations to those with extraordinary talent."
Encrid recalled the moment this man had once invited him to come with him.
The Empire’s recruiter preemptively clarified, ensuring there was no misunderstanding.
"When I made that offer to you, it wasn’t because of your combat ability. I saw that you were sharp-witted and had a talent for handling people. I wanted you as my successor."
Clearly, he was skilled at saying what people wanted to hear. That must have been why the Empire had given him the position of recruitment officer.
He spoke in a way that would preempt Encrid’s curiosity and even revealed his honest intentions.
By specifying that it wasn’t because of some exceptional potential, he left no room for misunderstanding. But Encrid hadn’t expected anything in the first place, so he simply accepted it without reaction.
He had already known for a long time that he wasn’t particularly talented.
Ever since that day, long ago, when a child prodigy put a hole in his stomach shortly after he first picked up a sword.
"An interesting connection. Now, let’s eat."
The head of the house made the suggestion, and no one felt the need to be overly formal.
Encrid started by tearing into a well-roasted turkey leg. Grida, meanwhile, sprinkled powdered seasoning onto a piece of meat before eating it.
Tasting the juicy, savory turkey, Encrid followed her example.
He wasn’t sure if it was a Northern custom or a Zaun tradition, but they sprinkled a powder mix over lamb before eating it.
The seasoning was a combination of various spices—spicy, sweet, and tangy all mixed together.
‘Not bad.’
Overall, the meal was abundant, with a heavy emphasis on meat.
Which made sense, considering the House of Zaun was made up of warriors who spent their days relentlessly training with swords.
He had seen it himself on the way in.
They lived in stone buildings with private training grounds, and right in front of the fortress was a vast open space.
‘They probably gather there and train together.’
Some had even been standing around with blunt practice swords.
It was no wonder they preferred a meat-heavy diet.
That said, the meal wasn’t unbalanced. There were mashed egg salads, greens drizzled with olive oil and vinegar, and even cheese.
"This isn’t alcohol, but it’ll give you a kick."
Ragna handed Encrid a golden-colored drink.
Taking a gulp from the copper cup, Encrid immediately felt the sharp, sour scent assault his nose and rush up into his head. The taste of wild mountain berries followed, swirling across his tongue.
"It’s vinegar, diluted and aged with mountain raspberries. It’s not something you get to taste often."
It was a rare drink made from yellow raspberries that grew only on the cliffs in the region.
"I mentioned that I came with an important proposal, but I see you've brought outsiders."
The recruiter said, eating halfheartedly.
"They can hear this."
The head of the house replied immediately, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course."
After a brief pause, the recruiter spoke.
"The words I am about to say are a proposal from His Majesty, the great Emperor of the Empire. Become a Shield Craftsman, Tempest Zaun."
Encrid, unfamiliar with the situation, simply listened. The mention of the Emperor didn’t particularly surprise him. It was well within his expectations.
Even before the rapier-wielding man revealed himself as an imperial recruiter, Encrid had already guessed that his origins were either from the southern great nation or the northern empire.
If it wasn’t one of those two, he wouldn’t have had the confidence to invite Encrid in the first place.
‘I imagine the Empire and the South have had their recruiters combing the central continent for a long time.’
They must have successfully recruited a fair number of talented individuals over the years.
So, this wasn’t anything shocking. Anyone who understood the political landscape of the continent could have predicted it.
What was strange, however, was the unfamiliar scent coming from the man before him.
‘That’s odd.’
It was the scent of a wizard.
Not an overpowering stench, but distinct enough to be noticed.
And throughout their journey here, they had been attacked multiple times—each time by a wizard.
He hadn’t had the chance to bring it up with the head of the house yet, but the fact remained. And the head of the house answered.
"I refuse."
The response was firm, unwavering, and devoid of emotion—almost to the point of sounding indifferent.
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