While Encrid spent several days training and sparring, disappearing and reappearing in between, Ann did not stay idle either.
"I should look around a bit."
It was an offhand remark, but she didn’t just say it—she acted on it. She explored, familiarized herself with the streets, and met people.
"Cough... What?"
"Since when have you been coughing?"
"I don't know… maybe last summer?"
Half a year since the onset.
'Primary symptom: hemoptysis.'
There was a slight trace of blood in the cough, but according to the patient, it only occurred intermittently when their condition worsened.
Three people displayed similar symptoms.
"Sometimes I feel a bit weak, but other than that, nothing really hurts. Ragna, welcome back. Want to go for a round?"
Someone even spoke like this.
That person immediately engaged in a spar with Ragna. From appearances alone, Ann couldn’t gauge their difference in skill.
However, she could infer from the conversation.
"You’ve improved tremendously."
A man with floppy brown hair commented, and Ragna withdrew his sword in response. With a ching, the greatsword was sheathed behind his back.
"Persevere every day. That’s all there is to it."
"...And you’ve come back a complete lunatic."
Zaun was a place where the talented gathered. No, without talent, extreme discipline, and the desire to improve, one couldn’t stay.
Those who failed to adapt here moved to the Hunter’s Village. And when they grew old and frail, they eventually settled in the Retirees' Village.
That village, in turn, housed those lacking talent, while intermediary services like blacksmithing were concentrated in the Intermediaries' Village, which sustained itself by trading with the Empire and visiting merchant groups.
This was the structure of the House of Zaun.
Only those who had proven their talent remained, dedicating themselves to the daily wielding of their swords.
To such people, saying "just keep working hard" sounded a lot like—
"You have no talent, so give up."
The man was indignant, but the gap in skill was evident.
Ann observed the man closely and then asked Ragna.
"What did you think?"
"He’s not terrible, but I don’t know what will be left of him in the end."
"No, not that. How was his physical condition? Did anything seem off? Was he unusually weak or sluggish?"
"No. He was likely in peak condition."
A spar wasn’t a life-or-death battle, but it was still a conversation spoken through swords.
Someone at Ragna’s level could roughly gauge the state of their opponent just by crossing blades.
"Intermittent manifestation."
Ann muttered.
From Ragna’s perspective, this girl was clearly working on something and he was assisting her in it.
'This too will be one of the things I leave behind.'
Encrid protected people. He had seen that countless times. At first, all he felt was confusion.
"Why?"
His sword was not wielded for himself, but for others.
What meaning did that have?
He understood part of that meaning in his head, but his heart had yet to fully grasp it.
The path of the sword was simple.
That was why he had never experienced loss.
Never had he known what it meant to fail to protect something. That had been his reality up until now.
Children born without status or wealth would clutch at metal, first the iron shackles of farm tools, and then, once they realized they had some strength among their peers, a spear or sword.
It was the fastest way to rise in status on this continent.
If you fought well, that was enough.
If you fought as well as a Squire, merchants would compete to hire you at premium rates, and in the mercenary world, you could hold your head high.
If you fought as well as a Junior-Knight?
You could claim shares in a merchant company and live in comfort.
You could even rise to lead a mercenary guild or establish your own mercenary band and then join a noble house that lacked military strength.
If luck was on your side, you might even be adopted into a noble family.
Of course, the only drawback was that you had to be younger than your adoptive father.
After all, a son older than his father wouldn’t make sense.
It was said that such cases existed in the past, but for those who cared about appearances, it was an impossibility.
In short, becoming a Junior-Knight meant a complete change in status.
Becoming a Knight meant stepping into an entirely different world. Most nobles wouldn’t even dare raise their heads before a Knight.
That was the world they lived in.
If you had power—the violence in your hands—you could achieve nearly anything.
Ragna had rarely encountered an obstacle that could withstand the violence he wielded.
That was why he had never known the pain of loss. He had never failed to protect what he wished to keep.
"Why do you try so hard?"
The moment a small question surfaced in his mind, Ragna asked.
Time was precious. Human life was finite. Ragna understood that keenly.
Ann was mentally reciting the symptoms of intermittent manifestation, jotting down notes with a charcoal-ground pencil when she raised her head to look at him.
Through her golden hair, her red eyes gleamed.
They held the same look as someone who thirsted for knowledge. After all, wasn’t the beginning of all curiosity the hunger for knowledge?
Thus, she needed to answer honestly.
"I hate this kind of thing."
"This kind of thing?"
"It’s not a complete certainty, but someone is running experiments here. And I’m sure they’re a complete bastard. I absolutely hate the idea of using alchemy for something like this."
Ann spoke with conviction.
Had Encrid been present, he would have said that Will had manifested within her as well.
Those who devoted themselves sincerely and wholly to their work would inevitably have Will dwell within them.
Ann was always sincere. Now, too. And the words that followed were spoken with the same sincerity.
"This is Ragna’s home."
Did that count as a reason?
Ragna’s eyes silently asked.
Ann wanted to call him a clueless idiot and kick his shin, but she calmly replied instead.
He had always been like this, she had known that from the start.
People’s reasons for liking others were always awkward and strange when put into words.
Her heart had simply been moved.
Having an attractive appearance might make someone’s heart waver, but it wouldn’t anchor it in place.
Yet, right now, Ann’s heart was anchored.
"Because I want to protect your parents, your friends, your brothers and sisters."
Encrid had vaguely stated that he would protect those behind him.
Ann’s words were more precise.
"Because one day, they might be the grandparents of the children I give birth to."
Ann blurted it out, a kind of resignation in her tone.
Facing the threat of death along the way had certainly played a part in pushing her to speak.
If she could die at any moment, she couldn’t afford to waste the present. She wasn’t making a desperate confession in the face of actual death.
Rather—
‘Just for today.’
She would live as Encrid did.
Ann was observant and intelligent. She had learned much. She knew how to live in the moment.
That was why she spoke now. But that wasn’t her only wish.
Walking the boundary between alchemy and healing, she often envisioned the day when those she cared for would die.
Each time, the same thought arose. No, the same wish.
‘I want to have children.’
One day, she would pass on her healing knowledge to them.
She would become a mother, spend her days laughing, crying, getting angry, and feeling awe.
And—
‘I will spread Remedy Omnia across the continent.’
It was both her aspiration and her dream.
People did not have just one dream. Ann wanted to be a mother. She wanted to establish healing arts in a new form.
‘I want to be Ragna’s wife.’
She dreamed of that as well.
Her eyes gleamed as she spoke. The light seeping between her freckles carried sincerity.
Ragna was neither a fool nor oblivious.
He recalled everything Ann had done, this freckled girl who stayed near him, chattering about her dreams.
Since he agreed with her dream, he answered.
"If I survive and return, let’s talk about it again then."
Ann furrowed her brows. Was that a yes or a no?
It was vague. To Ragna, however, this was the best answer he could give.
"Are you planning to die here?"
Ann, now slightly irritable again, asked.
"No. But a swordsman never knows when they'll die."
"If you’re rejecting me, I think you should come up with a better reason."
With that, Ann momentarily tucked one of her dreams away into the drawer of her mind.
‘For now, I just need to focus on curing the disease.’
This was not the time to dwell on anything else.
Ragna continued following her, and after several days of searching, Ann uncovered a few crucial facts.
‘The disease has been modified.’
It was no longer the illness she was familiar with. The manifestations had diversified.
‘Why?’
It wasn't simply derived from rats or other animals.
‘The types of seeds have increased.’
‘Seeds’ referred to the sources of the disease. Some were extracted from rats, others from monsters or beasts, and some were even cultivated from rotting corpses.
Using plants or venomous creatures was expected.
By combining these materials, the method of spreading the disease was determined. Once infected, the symptoms followed a grim pattern—fever, full-body muscle pain, and eventually, death.
Ann had been studying and dissecting this disease for some time. She had identified that, until now, it had been based on things like Fever Blossom Seeds and Pain Seeds.
‘Coughing was supposed to be a secondary symptom.’
But now, in some cases, it was the very first symptom.
‘And some experience lethargy as well.’
The reason for the unexpected symptoms was clear—someone had been researching and modifying the disease.
‘Who?’
Her mentor, Laban, was dead. Laban’s own master was far too old to still be alive. Then who else could it be?
"The continent is vast, and geniuses are many."
Ann scoffed as she spoke. She hadn’t realized it before, but now she was certain.
Above her, thick black storm clouds obscured the light. Ragna simply stood beside her in silence. She didn’t know these symptoms, but—
‘I can cure it.’
Thanks to the unwavering support from the Border Guard, her research had made significant progress.
‘I just need to develop a cure for each variation of the disease.’
There was none yet. But given enough time, she could create one. Of course, there was still much left to uncover, but Ann was confident she could do it.
Her eyes gleamed even brighter than they had when she made her confession.
The conviction in herself alone was enough to manifest Will.
* * *
When too many things became entangled, it sometimes felt as if everything had been planned by someone.
But upon closer inspection, sometimes it was all just a coincidence. Other times, someone had simply taken advantage of that coincidence.
‘From a tactical perspective, isn’t that possible?’
Not leaving coincidences as mere chance was a privilege of those with extraordinary minds.
Last night, the ferryman had appeared in his dream again, muttering about whether or not he should protect Ann.
Encrid had asked him,
"Why should you?"
"A favor."
The ferryman calling it a favor felt deeply suspicious. That was just the impression Encrid got. The man’s expression never changed, so it wasn’t something he could discern from his face.
Now, after waking up, moving his body, and mulling over various thoughts, something occurred to him.
‘Is the one working within Zaun the same as the one gathering monsters outside and spreading the disease?’
Perhaps not.
What if one had simply discovered the other and decided to use them?
"Are you ignoring me in front of my face because you’re underestimating me, or is this a provocation?"
Hescal, standing before Encrid, asked.
Not leaving coincidences as mere chance—though Encrid hadn’t intended to provoke Hescal, that was exactly what had happened.
"Let’s say it’s both."
Encrid took this as an opportunity to provoke him further.
Hescal was a composed and collected man. His swordsmanship reflected that.
According to Lynox, Hescal hid his fangs well, but Encrid had never had the chance to see them.
"Oh, I like this."
Anahera said, the most beautiful giantess in Zaun—if only because she was the only giant in the household.
She bared her fangs with a grin.
"Don’t die from fooling around. I’m next."
She had lined up as the next sparring opponent.
Encrid set aside his earlier thoughts about coincidences and focused. Hescal was no easy opponent, even without showing his fangs.
Encrid spoke as he faced him.
"If not your fangs, then at least show me your molars."
Hescal smiled at that remark. His light brown hair swayed in the breeze.
Though the sky was still dark, today, at least, the sunlight managed to slip through the black shroud and cast a subtle glow.
Standing in the dim light of midday, Hescal spoke.
"It’s harder to show my molars than my fangs."
With that, he thrust his sword forward—a clean, precise stab.
But a simple thrust was predictable. Encrid knew from experience that responding head-on to such an attack would be like pressing two shields together.
He had won fights like that before, but he could never claim they had been satisfying victories.
It had always ended the same way.
"I’ve lost."
Hescal would simply acknowledge his own defeat first.
"Usque, huh."
And he was also the kind of man who could immediately recognize the true nature of an inexhaustible Will just from seeing it once.
‘What is instinct?’
It was wielding the sword according to intuition.
‘Then how does one train their instincts?’
Both Wave Blocking and Flash relied on rigorous mental conditioning. But even instinctive swordsmanship required training.
His earlier insights into structuring a technique had been useful.
‘Empty the mind.’
Rather than relying on calculation, he needed to repeatedly react to his opponent’s movements.
In other words, his body had to move on its own.
‘React.’
Thanks to Alexandra’s help, he had already experienced it once. And he knew how invaluable that single experience was.
Walking an unknown path and walking a path one had even accidentally tread before were entirely different things.
‘Don’t leave coincidences as mere chance.’
That phrase resurfaced in his mind. Was this natural? He didn’t know. For now, he simply let himself flow with it.
Encrid repeated that thought and displayed the Reactive Sword Technique.
Wave Blocking was defense. Flash was offense. If he had to categorize what he was doing now.
It was counterattack.
Tap!
The Three Iron deflected the oncoming thrust and advanced in a small arc.
Like a skipping stone skimming the surface, it traced a sideways trajectory—simultaneously blocking and striking.
A strike outside of the usual calculations?
For an ordinary Knight, perhaps.
But not for Hescal.
He wouldn’t be caught by a slower blade than Alexandra’s.
Hescal’s left-hand gauntlet unfurled like a wing, forming a small shield.
Clang!
With practiced skill, he blocked the attack with the hidden shield on his left arm.
If one could conceal weapons, why not shields as well?
"Wow!"
Anahera let out an exclamation. Both the attack and the defense had been impressive.
"Pretty amazing, huh?"
She asked without taking her eyes off the fight.
The head of the house, who had approached without notice, responded.
"Yes."
A rare sight, indeed.
When was the last time he had seen Hescal spar with such intensity?
He couldn't even remember.
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