‘Medusa and Scalor.’
There would also be Owlbears and even bat-like magical beasts. Hadn't he seen them on the way here?
Were monsters gathering together to target Zaun?
'Or was it something else?'
The shadow of someone artificially intervening was thick. It wasn't visible, but its presence was so strong that it felt almost tangible.
Monsters couldn't have gathered like this unless someone had intentionally made it happen.
The presence of an enemy hidden behind a veil grew noticeably larger. Like dark clouds in the sky, the shroud concealing the enemy was black, thick, and out of reach for now.
'Would things have been easier if I had brought Rem?'
That thought crossed his mind for a moment. That guy had a habit of blocking paths with sorcery at every turn.
Having seen him a few times before, Rem had a tendency to immediately pull out his axe and start swinging if someone clumsily attempted sorcery in front of him.
At some point, out of curiosity, he had asked Rem why he reacted so violently to sorcery.
"Violent reaction? When did I ever? Shouldn't you call it justified anger?"
"I was asking why you do that."
"Because they’re all half-baked."
That was the end of Rem's explanation, his usual cryptic way of speaking.
He had eventually figured out the reason on his own and confirmed it by asking Rem again.
"Does it piss you off when amateurs try to show off their half-assed tricks in front of you?"
"Oh, yeah, exactly."
What bothered Encrid was that he actually understood Rem's sentiment to some degree.
'Have I been tainted by the ideology of a mad barbarian?'
That thought crossed his mind as well.
If he were a highly skilled chef with his own culinary philosophy and beliefs, and then someone shoved a piece of charred meat in his face while declaring, "This is real cooking!", wouldn't he want to crack their skull open?
Especially if he was serious about his craft.
'It's about pride and self-respect.'
In a way, Rem's actions were like shouting, "That's not how you use sorcery!"
"What are you doing?"
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
Encrid was lying on his back in one corner of the training ground with his eyes closed. The ground was damp, but spreading out his cloak underneath him made it somewhat comfortable.
Of course, it would have been even better if it were a sun-dried patch of earth, but that was too much to ask given the weather.
He lazily cracked open one eye and saw Grida.
Grida had returned the previous night after three days away, sought out Encrid, finished their conversation, and then gone to her room to wash up and sleep.
But she couldn't sleep deeply. It felt as though her father, the head of the house, could barge in at any moment and demand answers.
"What have you been doing for the past three days? What did you find out? Daughter."
Of course, he wouldn’t say it in a warm tone.
Her father, the house head, never showed emotion—no more than a fairy would.
At times, he seemed like he had no emotions at all. What if her father had changed into someone unrecognizable? That uncertainty gnawed at her.
It wasn't just the head of the house. It felt like anyone could come to question her at any moment.
In fact, part of her wished they would.
She wanted to know just what kind of dog’s son had done such a thing to her family.
To be honest, she had deliberately left traces of her presence over the past three days, hoping to provoke a reaction.
But nothing happened. No one questioned her. No one confronted her.
And when she woke up in the morning, she saw Encrid lying on the grass, as if sunbathing, except the sun hadn't risen yet.
Calling it ‘sunbathing’ wouldn't be accurate. What would it be, then? Shade-bathing?
It was the kind of mood where she just wanted to say "Whatever".
She asked her question and then instinctively stepped aside. She had sensed someone approaching from behind.
"Is today a rest day?"
The approaching person asked.
Grida nodded slightly, and Alexandra acknowledged her with just a glance.
"Yes."
Still lying down, Encrid replied.
Through experience, Encrid had learned that rest was just as important as training.
Even Zaun had similar practices.
At a minimum, one day every ten was designated as a Sabbath, meaning three days of mandatory rest per month.
It wasn’t just about swinging a sword every day. The House of Zaun’s ancestors had understood that long ago.
'It’s a system that has been established and passed down for generations.'
There were countless lessons to learn from it.
'Practicing with a sword daily not only strengthens the body but also clears the mind of distractions.'
On rest days, they were meant to reflect deeply on their training, to ponder and contemplate.
It wouldn't be wrong to say that they gathered all their distractions on this day just to process them at once.
It was an ancient tradition.
Encrid, too, understood the importance of rest and adopted their Sabbath. In other words, there would be no sparring today.
That didn't mean he skipped his basic drills. In the early morning, he reviewed what he had learned from Audin and practiced his sword techniques.
And now, in the afternoon, he was lying down, organizing the thoughts floating around in his mind.
Unlike before, Encrid no longer felt the need to desperately push himself.
That was why he could afford to do this.
To the average person, it still looked like he was training and practicing.
But to someone at the level of the Border Guard Reserve Unit, this could be considered a half-day of rest.
And for someone in the Mad Knights, this was definitely a break.
From Encrid's perspective, he was being as lazy as Ragna would be.
"That cloud is really black."
Encrid pointed toward the pitch-black cloud in the distance.
"It's called a Blackstorm Cloud, and yeah, this one's particularly bad."
Alexandra followed the direction of his finger and replied.
A thick, black cloud covered the sky.
It did more than block out the sunlight, it looked as if a second black sky had formed above them. That massive, ominous cloud was slowly making its way toward them.
"When it starts pouring, it'll turn into a full-on storm."
Concern flickered across Alexandra's face.
Encrid propped himself up slightly and looked past her at the houses lined up behind her.
'Were the stone houses built to withstand storms?'
The structures clearly showed the passage of time. Evidence that Zaun had been rooted here for many years.
'Why, though?'
A small question arose in his mind.
Zaun had power. Wouldn’t they be better off living elsewhere?
For example, Hescal managed the affairs of the House of Zaun by traveling between three villages, but he had mentioned that the rough terrain made it impossible to expand the Intermediaries’ Village.
This place was practically in the middle of nowhere, though rare herbs and fruits grew in the wild. But those could simply be gathered by hired hands.
The Intermediaries' Village was, in essence, a settlement for blacksmiths and merchants.
"But I still like it here."
Hescal had said that, even while constantly worrying about Zaun’s future.
Then what about Lynox? He always claimed to be a man of romance.
"Not enough food? Then live without it. If you need something, just get it when you need it."
He held the opposite opinion of Hescal.
Hescal believed that Zaun could further expand its power, while Lynox thought there was no need for that.
Moreover, in his youth, Lynox had been utterly obsessed with the sword and swordsmanship, living like a madman.
'And now, he's obsessed with training the next generation?'
Yet, despite all that, his eye for talent was terrible, he would pick random people and say, "You are the greatest talent I've ever seen!" at least five times a year.
Once every two months, he would declare someone a genius.
'He reminds me of the mercenary from my village.'
Even Encrid had been tricked into picking up the sword by being called a genius.
But then again, Lynox’s words weren’t entirely lies either. Most of those who managed to survive and endure within Zaun were indeed worthy of being called geniuses.
The House of Zaun alone had at least five Knights under its banner.
'Isn't the Mad Knights considered an unexpected force?'
Zaun itself possessed a similar level of force.
Of course, there were times when a few clueless kids fell for Lynox's sweet talk, but at this point, most people knew better than to take his over-the-top claims too seriously.
Yes, Lynox understood romance.
'But he has no interest in reality.'
His dream was to travel the continent with just a single sword.
But when Encrid pointed out, "Aren't you already carrying six swords?" he just laughed heartily and said, "Then I'll leave five behind."
What did Hescal and Lynox have in common?
'They both live to protect Zaun.'
Their methods were different, but their goal was the same.
Lynox remained here because he was waiting for a genius to surpass him. He wanted to teach that person everything he knew before he left.
Otherwise, he couldn’t allow himself to step away. He still believed there was work left for him to do here.
And in truth, Lynox was an extraordinary swordsman and an excellent teacher.
He wielded six swords, each with its own distinct swordsmanship.
As far as dueling was concerned, he was the most entertaining opponent.
His swordplay strayed far from the conventional balance between offense and defense—it was fluid, aggressive, and elusive.
Looking at it within the structured system that Encrid had built—
'His swordsmanship relies on extreme intuition.'
Two words defined his technique: instantaneous and precise.
When he reached out his hand, the path formed. When he stepped forward, the movement became a stance.
He had developed over a hundred sword techniques and had also dismantled over a hundred.
Every day, he created new swordsmanship styles. And every day, he broke them apart. That was why he had earned the nickname "The Six-Handed Destroyer."
'Well, that nickname is certainly straightforward.'
From Grida’s perspective, Lynox was a deep diver, a researcher of swordsmanship.
'But categorization and skill are two different things.'
That was another lesson learned.
At first, it had seemed like the Pioneers—those who constantly explored and developed swordsmanship—would naturally be the strongest.
But in the end, no matter what someone pursued, as long as they continued relentless effort, their skill level would inevitably rise.
Hescal was the same.
He was like Grida—a Guardian, someone who protected the family’s wealth and people, ensuring the prosperity of Zaun for the next generation.
Yet, regardless of titles, in terms of pure swordsmanship, he was no less skilled than Lynox.
His swordsmanship followed the Correct Sword Technique— Steady, methodical, and disciplined.
There were no openings in his form.
It was as if he aimed for neither victory nor defeat, but rather an unbreakable equilibrium.
"Hescal fights like that because he enjoys hiding his fangs. The guy’s a sneaky bastard."
That was Lynox’s assessment of him. The two had been friends and rivals.
Now, they both had their own responsibilities but still met up occasionally to drink wine together. It was obvious, they were definitely friends.
When crossing swords with someone, you could feel things about them.
And what about the head of the house?
'Heavy.'
He was patient.
And he was the kind of man who would walk straight into the Dragon's Maw if that’s what it took to achieve his goal.
Well, maybe not literally, but that was the impression Encrid had gotten so far.
And what about Alexandra?
She tried to embrace and protect everyone. Only, instead of knitting gloves for people, she did it with her sword.
'Andante has been away on external matters for a month now, under the head's orders.'
There were so many unknowns. But Encrid handled things simply and directly. If he didn’t know something, he just asked.
"Alex, why aren’t you asking Grida where she’s been these past few days?"
BOOM!
Another bolt of lightning cracked across the sky.
The pitch-black storm clouds had turned midday into midnight.
For a moment, everything lit up as the lightning flashed, and then the world fell back into darkness.
'Crazy bastard.'
Grida thought.
But outwardly, she just gave him a look that said, "What kind of nonsense are you spouting now?"
She had just barely managed to keep her expression in check.
"That’s an interesting question."
Alexandra replied with a calm smile.
"Is it?"
Encrid responded just as nonchalantly. His expression remained unchanged.
"We respect the freedom of our young ones. They're adults, we’re not going to chase them down and interrogate them about their every move."
That was the Zaun’s way of doing things.
If things were normal—if nothing had happened—this response was correct.
As they spoke, a few of the Zaun swordsmen hovered nearby. They were mostly young.
Even though today was a Sabbath, their restless energy kept them from staying still.
"I've been thinking about a new technique."
One of them cautiously approached and spoke.
Encrid answered flatly.
"Aren’t you supposed to be resting today?"
"They don’t listen, no matter how many times we tell them."
Alexandra laughed as she ruffled the young swordsman’s hair.
"I told you, today is a rest day."
"But if everyone else keeps improving while I sit around, I'll rust. And if I get sick, I won’t even get the chance to try anything new."
A curse, a disease.
Everyone in Zaun knew that it wasn’t truly a curse. They all worked tirelessly to overcome it. Even Millestia, the old female healer, was dedicated to that cause.
For Encrid, life hadn’t changed. He trained or rested—it was the same routine, repeated every day.
But for others, it was different. While he was moving forward, they weren't standing still either.
Especially Ann.
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