The man who resembled Odinkar had come here on the orders of his master.
His master had said,
“Go kill her.”
That was all.
Why? He didn’t need to know. His master was a god. Obeying a god’s words was only natural for a follower.
And besides, was killing a mere girl really such a grand task? That’s why he set out with a light heart.
The real task he had to carry out would come after all of this was over.
In that sense, this wasn’t much different from going into a city slum, coaxing a child—who might otherwise lose a limb running errands for the Thieves Guild and end up a pickpocket or beggar—and bringing them back.
Just as easy, just as unimportant.
Fetching a test subject could’ve easily been left to one of his subordinates.
Doing something so trivial stirred a small flicker of resentment within him. Wasn’t he meant for something greater? Then why this?
‘Blasphemy.’
The man scolded himself. He was a follower. He should remain faithful to his god.
Even if he couldn’t see it, surely his master had some grand design in place. That’s what gods are like, aren’t they?
They test your faith by stealing your fortune, killing your children. They cover your body in boils, drowning you in pain just to see if you still believe.
Some might call it a twisted hobby—but to the man, it was faith.
Coming back to this insignificant task, nothing changed just because the girl from the slums resisted.
She had a group of mutated monsters at her back and used poison. So all he had to do was subdue her.
Even if a Knight blocked his path, it shouldn’t have been a big deal.
“My poison can’t be neutralized so easi—”
The man shook his head and started to speak to the brat who dared defy him, but he was cut off.
KA-BOOM!
A thunderous roar ripped through the downpour.
BANG!
The sound of a sword tearing through the air. A single greatsword had cleaved through a Scalor, a monster whose skin alone was tough enough to rival the follower.
More precisely, the monster had been aiming for the girl’s back, but the man with the greatsword had casually turned and slashed it apart.
And he was poisoned, too.
‘Why is he fine?!’
Knights were monsters, he knew that. That’s why he used poisons, toxins that could even melt bone.
KRAAAASH!
The sound of heavy rain filled the momentary silence created by the sword.
The floodwater from the room surged into the hallway, sloshing at their feet.
It should’ve been a nuisance, but Ragna casually kicked through it, adjusted his stance, and swung his greatsword with both hands.
THUD. SHLICK. RIP.
Two blindly charging Owlbears and a black-scaled Scalor were split and fell to the ground.
The black Scalor’s eyes rolled madly before freezing.
Despite being split in half, it struggled with its persistent life force before finally dying.
The twitching eye stilled, the remaining leg trembled once and stopped.
Right in front of it, the monster with the greatsword stood unbothered, holding his sword in one hand and rotating the other arm. As if testing to see if his shoulder was stiff.
“What kind of antidote was that?”
The monster with the greatsword asked the girl beside him.
“Nothing special. It looked like a crude neurotoxin, so I gave you an old antidote I had.
It’s clearly from the nerve paralysis family, probably extracted from snakes.
You catch a few vipers, extract the venom, inject it bit by bit into something like a goat or camel, their blood builds up resistance, and from there, you make the antidote.
“But even if I explain it, would you understand?”
The girl—the target—lifted her head mid-sentence. There was no pride in her red eyes. She spoke like it was nothing.
“Ridiculous!”
The follower shouted. He had refined that poison countless times, how could she possibly have an antidote already?
Especially when the neurotoxin used now was only developed last month. Her explanation didn’t make sense.
“What exactly doesn’t make sense?”
The girl asked.
“You can’t make an antidote without knowing my poison.”
The follower replied. And the girl, as if plucking a flower from the roadside, said indifferently,
“What’s so special about a poison made with a method anyone could replicate?”
Yes, to make sense of her words, only one hypothesis could work.
That the poison he had spent decades refining was, to her, merely a crude formula.
That his life’s work was just another passing theory to her. Could that even be true?
If it was… then she was a monster among monsters.
To the follower, she seemed more monstrous than the man with the greatsword.
“Die.”
His eyes burned with jealousy. He had to kill her—no matter what.
He didn’t know why, but a burning sense of purpose surged inside him.
He pulled out a new poison, one that induced hallucinations and made its victim die in the throes of euphoria.
Had they been outside, the wind and rain might’ve dispersed it. But they weren’t.
The follower rubbed the powder between both palms. It broke down into finer particles and spread into the air.
Another poison. It couldn’t fail. He muttered as he released it.
“Why do you keep spewing nonsense? What’s with your face? Surgery, right?”
Ann reached into her familiar oil-treated leather bag—triple-wrapped and crafted by a former Border Guard Reserve Unit seamster with expert stitching, bought with gold coins.
She pulled something out and popped a pill into her own mouth, then placed another into Ragna’s.
The monster with the greatsword accepted it with ease, even though he had arms and hands like any other human.
The follower hated that too. The sense of duty to kill them flared again. But the powder had no effect.
Their faces didn’t flush, their eyes didn’t redden, not even a cough.
When the powder failed, the man threw a potion. The infamous one. A liquid that could burn through not just magical beast hide, but bone as well.
Even a human’s skin would dissolve from its fumes.
He flung the potion midair and hurled a short spear with his other hand.
His modified muscles granted strength rivaling a Knight’s. At least, in theory. But to fight a Knight with muscle alone was sheer idiocy.
The follower knew that. That’s why the spear was poisoned.
He still had three left on his belt, customized for close-range throwing with shortened handles.
He’d thrown one from the window, and another after entering.
The monster batted the spear aside like it was a toy and sidestepped the potion with ease—while holding another monster in his arms.
“Grahhhh!”
The follower lost control, screaming. His heart pounded, vision turned red. He had to kill them, especially that little monster. He leapt to the ceiling.
A dozen monsters rose from the darkness and charged. Scalors with bat wings swept down the hallway.
‘The dangerous one is the small monster. I can handle the one with the greatsword.’
But that illusion shattered instantly.
The moment the greatsword wielder twitched, his weapon moved faster than the follower’s eyes could track.
BOOM! BOOM!
Back-to-back sonic cracks split the air. Four charging monsters were shredded and flung aside.
The follower reached back to throw another spear—then froze.
“…What the hell are these monstrous freaks.”
He had no right to say that, having reconstructed his body and surgically replaced his face.
But from his point of view, it made sense.
He’d abandoned humanity and lived among monsters to become superior.
No—more honestly, he wanted to surpass those damn “geniuses” and feel superior.
But here stood two monsters who denied everything he’d become. They hadn’t given up their humanity, yet were still superior. It was a kind of despair he had never experienced.
‘Why? Why?! I gave up being human, so why are they better?’
The monsters he brought could give any Knight a hard time. Add his poison, and they should’ve been lethal.
‘Not even close.’
The monster with the greatsword killed them all while protecting the smaller one and swung his sword toward the follower, as if it were nothing.
Aside from that first moment, the follower hadn’t been able to properly see Ann even once.
The monster with the greatsword didn’t allow it. Not even at the end. He charged straight in, swung his sword, and withdrew again.
The path of his retreat once again shielded the girl. He moved back even faster than he attacked.
Even if the follower had anything hidden, it wouldn’t have helped. The man never let his guard down.
“Ghk.”
The greatsword split his head, and the poisons that had been balanced within his body ran wild, tearing through his organs.
In the end, the poison would kill him before the blade did. And just before his final light was snuffed out, he understood why he had felt such a desperate urge to kill the girl.
‘She is a hindrance to the master.’
Extraordinary talent inspires fear.
And that girl appeared to possess the kind of talent capable of blocking whatever the Master had prepared.
A thought that comes at the moment of death is one that can never be shared. And so, he simply died.
"Are you alright?"
Ragna asked while stepping away from the corpses of the slain monsters and wiping his greatsword.
Just looking at the blade, the uneven edges were visible to the naked eye. The blade had dulled.
The monsters’ bodies were filled with poison. One of them had blood that was nearly identical to the potion thrown by the one who mimicked Odinkar.
It was a substance that burned anything it touched.
Even if there was an antidote, skin would still get damaged upon contact, it was dangerous by nature.
But Ragna simply avoided all of it by reading the angle of blood spray. Only a few drops had splashed onto his tunic.
His doublet, reinforced with beast leather in place of proper armor, was tough enough to act as protection.
Of course, ideally, a metal plate would be worn over it. A few holes had formed in that armor.
As for the blade, it was just a bit dulled after cutting through toxin-filled monsters.
“Other than a bit of nausea, I’m fine.”
Ann replied, pulling the high-grade bag shut again, triple-sealing its flap.
KRAAAAAHHH.
Even with a storm like this, the contents inside wouldn’t be damaged.
It was a bag designed to stay dry even if submerged underwater. A mere storm was nothing.
“We should probably return to the captain.”
Ann added.
There was likely trouble outside, but in this storm, it was impossible to tell. Even Ragna couldn’t distinguish any sounds amid this chaos.
CRAAACK!
Thunder struck again.
Ragna walked slowly, keeping Ann behind him. Remaining vigilant in case of enemies he might not have noticed.
“Are you protecting me?”
Ann asked. Ragna responded with complete honesty. He was never one for lies or pretense.
“You won’t die as long as I’m alive.”
Ann’s face flushed slightly.
Wasn’t that basically a confession?
* * *
Encrid stood before the head of the Zaun family, and behind her was the fastest sword-user he had ever seen.
That sword-user’s name was Alexandra.
And between them stood another—Schmidt, a dissident. A sword-user from the Empire who reeked of magic.
“What’s going on here?”
Schmidt, now looking like a drenched rat, asked in disbelief.
His soaked hair clung to his face, but he made no attempt to fix it, too stunned to care.
‘If he’s acting…’
Then Schmidt might as well be the continent’s greatest actor.
Even ignoring a Knight’s instincts—that was genuine. Encrid turned to the family head.
“Why did Millestia die?”
He asked ‘why’.
He didn’t know the exact circumstances, but he could tell her death had been planned.
That nuance was in his question, and the family head understood immediately.
“She died to bring about this situation.”
He replied and turned toward Encrid.
KRAAAAHH.
Steel-forged raindrops poured relentlessly. Thunder cracked again and again, unsettling all those who held metal weapons.
They could easily be struck by lightning.
In Zaun, using metal weapons during this season was forbidden for a reason.
The region’s geography—a basin—and lightning’s affinity for metal made it a dangerous mix.
“May I ask a favor?”
The family head asked. Grida’s unease was directed at him, suspecting that she had betrayed the family for some unknown cause.
“Yes.”
Encrid answered calmly.
“If I die, take care of the aftermath. My successor—”
He stopped midsentence and stepped closer. He leaned in to whisper by Encrid’s ear.
Encrid listened and nodded.
“Understood.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Having this one arrive here with Ragna during such times… must be our luck, right?”
Alexandra said as the two finished their not-so-secret conversation.
She glanced briefly at those locked in a standoff amidst the storm.
Her eyes could have held sentiment, but to Encrid, they were filled only with determination. She continued,
“Even if it’s not, well, it can’t be helped.”
True.
Encrid agreed, especially with the part about inevitability.
‘The family head is not our enemy.’
Grida might have doubted it, but Encrid judged otherwise. Seen from a wider angle, it became clearer.
‘The head of the family is already the most influential person here—even without doing anything.’
If he wanted to destroy Zaun, there was no need for this spectacle.
He could’ve simply summoned people one by one and had them killed.
Even Odinkar’s disappearance was likely his doing.
More precisely, not a disappearance—but a vanishing act done by request or order.
Odinkar had said he came to the Border Guard on the head’s command.
If it wasn’t his own decision to vanish, then only one possibility remained.
The picture was still blurry, but Encrid could piece this much together just from inference.
‘Well… unless the family head has fallen into some cult or started doing something crazy.’
But could someone who reached knighthood be so easily manipulated? Could someone who used Will as a weapon?
‘Highly unlikely.’
Of course, it was still possible the people standing in front of and behind him had become enemies for some reason he didn’t know.
But even that didn’t matter. That’s why he came alone.
Then the one who had shouted the family head’s name earlier stepped forward. His name was Lynox—the most discontent with the head’s actions.
But he had never betrayed the family.
He called out because he wanted someone to take responsibility for the chaos.
He had managed to calm the two opposing factions that had been about to fight.
“If any of you swing your swords at each other, I swear I’ll crack your skulls. That’s not a threat. That’s a damn promise. Don’t fight. Got it? No warnings.”
Whether he even knew what he was saying was uncertain.
His words were disorganized, but they got the message across. At least for now, the split factions didn’t clash.
After settling the groups, Lynox approached and spoke.
“Hescal stabbed Grida.”
Encrid looked through the rain and saw Lynox holding six swords wrapped tightly in cloth—likely to guard against lightning.
He must’ve been training in his room when it all broke out. He’d probably been ambushed too.
Scratches lined his cheek and shoulder, where dark blood oozed.
To Lynox’s words, the family head responded:
“I see.”
“This is no time to be calm. Andante’s dead too. I was attacked as well. Some say there’s no way Hescal did this, but he killed Jerry, Eben, Roist, and Fail. Damn it, and a few others followed him. So what now, Tempe?”
The family head’s name was Tempest. ‘Tempe’ was a nickname only friends used.
Lynox, being a personal friend, had the right to call him that.
Tempest Zaun weighed the events between what he had foreseen and what he hadn’t.
“We will find the enemy.”
“And then?”
Lynox asked.
“We fight.”
The deed was done. Now, there was only one thing left. Encrid nodded at the wise answer. He was right.
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