Alexandra had a habit of tormenting her opponent during sparring.
Odinkar, once focused, couldn’t distinguish between training and actual combat, and Grida had facial recognition disorder.
Lynox had a similar deficiency. He lacked the ability to judge which side he should be on.
If he didn’t act according to his own whims, he’d get so antsy it was like his butt was bouncing off the ground.
There was a great story from his younger mercenary days that highlighted his bad habit.
“Why are you standing over there?”
To the question from an ally from the day before, Lynox answered confidently.
“Oh, I decided to be on this side starting today.”
“What the fuck? Even if you're a mercenary sold off to Krona, don’t you have any damn sense of loyalty?”
“Ah, whatever.”
Lynox tried to assassinate people by blowing their minds just by ignoring them. Of course, it failed.
He’d been an ally yesterday and became an enemy today—just because of a few drinks, he changed his allegiance.
The deeper reason, which only Lynox knew, was because he had found a guy on the enemy side he liked.
After exchanging blades once, he felt the guy was too good to kill.
So he switched sides.
At the time, it was a feud between nobles over land. Because of Lynox, one noble—on the opposite side—ended up hiring a famous mercenary group in a reckless move.
You could say his anger had slapped reason across the face.
The other noble couldn’t back down either, and also hired a mercenary group of similar scale.
What started as a skirmish between a handful of men escalated into a large-scale battle. And it ended in utter despair. Both nobles were ruined in the end.
One lacked the Krona to pay the mercenaries, and the other had their conscripted territory residents rise in rebellion.
Well, it wouldn’t have been an issue if Lynox or the mercenaries had intervened and suppressed things but with the battle almost over, he didn’t see the point and simply backed out.
It wasn’t for nothing that Lynox had earned the title “The Destroyer”.
Sure, it came from his specialty in breaking techniques—but it was also because he sometimes caused total disaster.
That’s why he was once known by another unpleasant nickname: the mercenary who could become your enemy at any time.
For this reason, Lynox never made decisions himself. That’s why he wasn’t a Pioneer. He didn’t walk his own path, he watched others and followed.
He knew that acting on his whims would only end in chaos, so yeah, it made sense that he could never be a leader.
His questions always reflected his life and nature. Once the situation was explained, the decision was left to the head of the house. That was how Lynox’s mind worked.
And the head of the house said, “We fight.”
While that happened, a fierce voice rang out from the splintered crowd.
“Are you saying that about my father?!”
Kwaaaa—
Though the pouring rain drowned part of his voice, it wasn’t enough to render it inaudible.
The reason two factions had split within Zaun was simple. Or maybe… complicated.
One side was made up of friends of those who had suffered at the hands of Hescal.
The other believed that Hescal would never do such a thing.
No matter how much you told them about what he’d done, or how sincerely he’d devoted himself to them, they wouldn’t believe it.
As the two groups glared murderously at one another, something in the sky began to take form, a squirming mass gathered, then moved with unnatural shape, forming something like a human face.
What the hell is that?
Encrid looked up in surprise. Rain pelted his eyes, making him tilt his head awkwardly as he looked at the sky.
Above him, the enormous face-shaped thing spoke.
“Oh cursed ones. I shall embrace you in my arms. Come out from there and seek the light. Those who do shall live and receive what they desire.”
A spell.
And a threat.
Also, the overwhelming presence, it was impossible not to feel it.
A giant head, larger than the training field, suddenly appeared overhead and started talking. And the will behind the words was intense enough to make their skin tingle.
Sssssss.
Then, amidst the theatrics, came a cheap trick. While everyone stared up at the sky-face, a dark shadow suddenly rose behind the head of the house.
All four of them reacted.
Encrid sidestepped, the head of the house spun his waist and swung his elbow, and Lynox stabbed with a knife-hand. Alexandra’s sword moved faster than anyone else's, it was out and sheathed again in a blink.
The rain dulled the senses—hiding sounds, masking smells. Amidst all that, a Scalor had attempted assassination.
It had black scales laced with red ones.
Not quite a Named, but a unique specimen. Likely an evolved or mutated monster.
Thunk!
Alexandra’s strike pierced its neck, and the head of the house smashed the thing’s head with his elbow.
The hit sent the monster flying like a kite with its string cut.
Thud, crack!
It tumbled several times before squirming to rise again. What a tenacious bastard.
It got up after that? Must have had absurd vitality.
Lynox finished it. He withdrew his thrusting hand from the air and quickly stepped up to the creature.
“And what are you supposed to be?”
He spoke as he drew a sword with a thin blade and cleanly severed the monster’s punctured neck.
Slice—
The severed head rolled through the rain.
The drawn sword returned to its sheath at terrifying speed.
“Pft.”
As he slid it back in, Lynox slapped the air with his hand. Anyone who’d sparred with him would know—he wasn’t in normal condition right now.
The blackened area where Hescal had struck him, that was a symptom of poisoning. And it was affecting Lynox.
“That fucking bastard said the illness would worsen over the next two days. And right on cue, I got nicked by a poisoned blade. That lunatic even coated his engraved weapon in poison.”
An engraved weapon was a Knight’s Will-infused blade. To apply poison to such a weapon? If it wasn’t a weapon made to use poison from the start, it would harm the Will.
And yet he still did it.
You couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in Hescal’s head. Encrid felt the same. And it didn’t seem too hard to figure out.
Everything that had happened began stacking neatly in Encrid’s mind. His reasoning started arranging what he’d seen and heard based on that.
‘Schmidt came from the Empire and had no ulterior motives.’
But Hescal must’ve used him. Like a setup to make it look like the Empire was drawing them in.
You could tell just by Schmidt’s face.
He looked like someone who went out to enjoy a sunny picnic and stepped in a pile of dung.
He was pissed about something he hadn’t expected.
‘Using the name Schmidt to stir chaos.’
It was a simple structure, but easy to fall for if you didn’t know. Looking back, it seemed obvious. But at first, even Encrid had suspected it was an Empire ploy.
‘Hescal keeps tabs on those moving between the three villages and even acts personally.’
So it would’ve been easy for him to learn about Odinkar or Magrun’s return.
And he probably heard that Encrid, Ann, and Ragna had joined too.
‘Why target Ann?’
That wasn’t Hescal’s doing. He merely helped.
‘Hescal opened the way and guided the direction, but it wasn’t his goal.’
Encrid had seen his swordsmanship. Its precision hinted at a mind adept at such schemes.
So it must’ve been a wizard or sorcerer who wanted that outcome.
‘He has a wizard or sorcerer under him.’
Or as an ally.
‘Turning coincidence into intent.’
That’s what Hescal had done. Encrid realized it now. Even he had been unknowingly used by Hescal.
‘He made the head of the house suspicious of me.’
Ragna, returning for the first time in years, suddenly asked for Sunrise. Given the current crisis, the head of the house and his wife couldn’t have just handed it over.
Which bred suspicion. Could Encrid of the Border Guard be a hidden backer with designs on Zaun?
It was a reasonable suspicion.
To outsiders, the Border Guard looked like a group that had suddenly emerged.
To someone unaware, it would seem like just as Aspen had hidden knightly forces, so had Naurillia.
Yes—Naurillia, hiding its dagger. It all led to this line of thinking.
Zaun was powerful. Even Schmidt, a recruitment officer from the Empire, had come personally.
Zaun must’ve always rejected those calls for power. Sometimes through force, sometimes through compromise.
And that cycle of resistance made others paranoid about their true intentions.
Hescal had used that to slyly sow doubt.
‘He even showed monster tracks to Grida on purpose.’
What had Hescal been doing behind the scenes this whole time? He was buying time.
In other words, what had happened to them on the way to Zaun—was happening in Zaun as well.
‘That bastard…’
He’d been thoroughly played. Would that have happened if Krais or Avnair were here?
He didn’t know.
Alright, he understood Hescal’s thinking now. It was all about buying time. As for his goal—no idea. That was beyond guessing.
Then what about the head of the house?
According to Ann, the head of the house had even delayed treatment. It was more accurate to say he refused diagnosis. What he said at the time was,
“Not now.”
Only Ann had heard that and she had passed it along only to Ragna and Encrid. Naturally.
Ragna had heard it himself while protecting her, but even if he hadn’t, there wasn’t really anyone else she would’ve confided in.
Ann had gone around, poking into things, saying she’d come not for a curse but to cure an illness.
No one said it out loud, but there was visible discomfort.
An outsider suddenly showing up and asking how long people had been coughing?
‘They probably took it as an insult to Millestia, their healer.’
How crafty.
The head of the house had said “not now” to Ann—or more precisely, to Encrid and Ragna, through Ann.
Using his own illness as a medium. Was he saying it wasn’t yet time to take Sunrise? Or was it a message to wait, regardless of their purpose here?
Only now did Encrid realize, a bit too late, just what that “not now” might have meant.
Still, since it lingered in his mind and made him reflect, you could say the head of the house’s intent had hit its mark.
One conclusion born of these musings:
‘The head of the house had been waiting for this too.’
While coming to Zaun, they’d run into veiled enemies, and Odinkar had complained of the frustration.
‘The head of the house is the same. He wanted the enemy to reveal themselves.’
He knew things would rot and eventually burst if left alone, so he wanted to expose the internal enemy as quickly as possible.
‘Of course.’
The head of the house had also used Encrid. He’d seen the famed name of Encrid of the Border Guard and Ragna’s skill.
He’d likely ensured Ann could move freely within the family grounds, even if it wasn’t visible on the surface.
‘He even had Alexandra teach me.’
Why? It was a sign—they were allies.
If they had been enemies, nothing could be done. But if Encrid had just so happened to arrive at this timing…
‘They didn’t leave coincidence as coincidence either.’
They grabbed the unexpected guest and pulled him as close to their side as possible.
So that whoever held him would have the upper hand, even just slightly.
The head of the house had used that to make the enemy, Hescal, reveal himself.
Hescal used time to his advantage, seizing the moment he desired.
And the head of the house? He’d been playing a long game of mental chess against an invisible enemy for years.
“These bastards, really…”
Encrid muttered under his breath.
Meanwhile, the huge face floating in the sky—despite having sent the Scalor to assassinate them—had the gall to speak with arrogance.
“You think adding two swordsmen and a young girl changes anything? Tempest Zaun?”
Encrid chuckled despite himself at what the head of the house did next.
The head of the house raised a clenched fist toward the sky and extended the longest finger from its center.
That’s right. He gave it the middle finger.
Cultures varied across the continent, but everyone here understood what that meant.
Roughly: shut the fuck up and piss off.
Or maybe: Why don’t you chew on this instead?
It was a gesture completely at odds with his usual serious demeanor. The head of the house didn’t hide his emotions. Encrid finally understood that now.
“Grida can’t recognize people, Alexandra breaks out in hives if she doesn’t torment her opponent during a spar…”
“It’s not that bad.”
Alexandra interjected nearby.
But things like this were best judged by others, this was what they called an objective third-party view.
“Just like Magrun can’t hold back his poison-tongue, you don’t know how to express your emotions, do you?”
The head of the house looked at Encrid and nodded. The emotions he had shown earlier toward Ragna were likely genuine.
The concern was real. The joy was real too.
Kwarururung—!
A lightning bolt, on a scale unlike before, split the sky.
Dozens of white streaks shot out overhead, tearing through the face floating ominously in the air.
As the lightning ripped through its features, only pitch-black storm clouds remained above.
Then, Ragna finally emerged from inside and asked,
“Some halfwit was targeting Ann, so I sliced him up. What’s going on?”
Encrid answered with a single word:
“A fight.”
Ragna nodded. Not obviously, but just enough to reveal a subtle sense of expectation.
If not expectation, then at least a “meh” kind of attitude—he was the kind of guy who wouldn’t bother listening if he wasn’t interested.
For some reason, he’d looked like someone itching for a fight, like he was bottling something up.
The kind of frustration that might erupt in violence if not handled, but he was keeping it together.
The conclusion: yeah, that bastard was dying to throw down. Not that Encrid didn’t get it.
‘I’m not as bad as that guy, at least.’
So he thought, already fired up about proving that floating face in the sky wrong.
‘Just two swordsmen, huh?’
Where did that “just” begin and end? It might be worth investigating.
Of course, there was a mountain of things to do before that, like stopping the crowd just ahead from tearing each other to pieces.
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