Hescal, Hescal… He truly was a clever man. When he left, he hurt many people, and in his wake, he sowed discord.
‘One side claims they saw Hescal kill their friend.’
Their eyes were bloodshot, anyone would tremble in betrayal.
“I saw it with my own eyes, Riley.”
He looked ready to draw his sword at any moment.
“Damn it, if it weren’t for your father, you’d be dead since last year!”
The other side hadn’t seen Hescal act with his own hands. And during his time in Zaun, Hescal had lived a devoted life.
He saved people, cherished them, loved them, and raised a child. That child became the core of one of the two factions.
Despite walking with a limp, his swordsmanship rivaled that of the giant Anahera. His name was Riley Zaun.
Wasn’t it said that Hescal had personally created the one-legged swordsmanship style?
Even Encrid had crossed blades with him a few times. With a unique rhythm, Riley’s style made for an exhilarating duel.
If you had to label it, he’d be a Finisher-type.
‘He was never ordinary.’
Not just because he limped.
Most people in Zaun possessed the talent to become Knights, provided luck favored them.
Everyone within Zaun’s walls was like that.
A system built for geniuses—those with talent were taught, encouraged, and driven to advance endlessly.
That was the bare minimum required to remain in Zaun.
‘But what about those without talent, how would they endure?’
He naturally placed himself into that question, but found no answer. There was no education system here for the average.
No.
There simply wasn’t.
To maintain ambition, someone needed to care for you. But no one just taught swordsmanship to anyone who begged.
Teaching styles varied, sure—but if the student couldn’t keep up, no teacher would continue with passion.
‘It’s not like I’m asking for Krona.’
They only enjoyed watching the talented shine.
Therefore, those who were average—or worse—would never even get the opportunity to learn.
It’s a harsh reality, but one that sustained Zaun as it was.
But are all people the same? Is everyone in Zaun obsessed with swordsmanship?
Even among the Frogs, there’s one who makes jewelry.
There’s a dwarf who sold his pride as a craftsman to a barmaid.
There’s even a giant in the Border Guard who wants to become a merchant.
‘People are not all the same.’
It was something he had learned through life. Hescal’s son was special in that regard.
No one ever thought he had outstanding talent.
But someone had patiently taught and cared for him—and that’s how Riley came to be who he was today.
The one who turned a limping cripple into a Knight, the one who raised and nurtured him—was named Hescal. No need to say it twice.
KWAHHHH—
The sharp senses of a Knight told him the rain had slightly eased.
It made sense. If the downpour from earlier continued, the entire continent would’ve been submerged.
The land of Zaun, located at the top of the basin, had gone beyond soaked—it was now a sludgy mire.
Splashes of muddy water stained boots and trousers alike.
The head of the house Tempest Zaun had said their current duties were reconnaissance and battle.
‘At this point, the enemy will reveal themselves on their own.’
They would do so whenever and wherever they wanted. The right to initiate the battle belonged to the opposing side.
They were hidden. Zaun was exposed. It was inevitable. Combat would come later.
From Encrid’s perspective, the more urgent matter was resolving the internal discord.
He was observing closely to see how the head of the house would handle it.
Approaching, Ragna heard a quick explanation from Lynox and said,
“There was someone with Odinkar’s face.”
In other words, someone had altered their face at will.
What that really meant was that Ragna, too, was asking—did Hescal really do such a thing?
Ragna had only seen Hescal a few times in childhood and here in Zaun. Even so, it was hard to believe he could do something like that.
That’s how much trust Hescal had earned.
“It was Hescal.”
The head of the house answered, dismissing all unnecessary questions and speculation.
He understood the meaning behind Ragna’s words fully, and thus gave his answer without hesitation.
Encrid hadn’t known, but the head of the house also knew that Ragna’s group had been attacked.
He had even traced the events backward. It hadn’t happened in his own backyard, but it was nearby.
Could the patrols in the area have all been fooled? Even he couldn’t do that.
Which meant—there had to be an accomplice.
But where did the accomplice’s involvement start or end? And why were they doing this? He couldn’t guess.
‘Then what can I do?’
The head of the house asked himself—and answered.
When lost on the path of swordsmanship, what must one do?
‘Wait until the path reveals itself.’
Be it swordsmanship or life—it was all the same to him.
Year after year, as his illness worsened, the head of the house displayed patience.
Tempest experienced emotions more faintly than the average person. He had difficulty empathizing with others’ emotions. Thus, capriciousness did not suit him.
He possessed a patience that could be counted among the rarest on the continent.
It was a unique trait born of emotional deficiency.
For him, the only time he spoke of feelings—was when blades clashed.
He overcame his emptiness with the sword. He was a swordsman truly fit for Zaun’s teachings. So, he waited.
He knew what was called a “curse” in the family was actually a disease.
Even when more people suddenly fell ill, and unexplained symptoms arose—he endured.
But a problem emerged. The illness progressed faster than expected and burdened his body. For more than half the day, his limbs lost strength.
It felt like his lungs had shriveled—his breath grew short. He sometimes convulsed, like suffering a seizure.
Being a Knight didn’t mean one was inhuman. Common illnesses were easy to conquer, sure—but this was different.
This was a disease that someone had meticulously spread and worsened over years.
It was eating him alive. Still, he endured. And in the meantime, he did what he could.
“Odinkar, go. Find Grida and Ragna.”
By sending Odinkar out, he protected him—pushed him outside the circle of suspicion.
Even if Odinkar was reluctant, he followed the order.
“The head of the house, there’s a monster among the Border Guard.”
Judging by the dust-covered Odinkar’s report, his journey hadn’t been dull at all.
The head of the house cast aside his thoughts and walked into the midst of the squabbling factions.
“I can’t believe it.”
Riley Zaun spoke. He was Hescal’s raised son.
They weren’t related by blood, but everyone said they might as well be.
Which was exactly why Hescal leaving Riley behind unsettled everyone’s minds.
Anyone would begin to doubt Riley. If it had really been Hescal, he should have taken Riley. That was the popular belief.
The head of the house turned to look at those glaring at Riley with bloodshot eyes.
“I was on my way back after bandaging Grida’s stomach. She barely survived.”
One of them spoke up.
He must have witnessed Grida getting stabbed up close.
“It was definitely Hescal. If not him, who could’ve done it? The sword style, the habits—it was all the same.”
Though he spoke calmly, there was fire beneath the words. Fire that even the pouring rain couldn’t extinguish.
The head of the house looked to both sides. No one was spared from the rain.
Riley’s pupils trembled violently. Seeing the silent head of the house left him mentally unsteady.
‘Did he abandon me?’
That thought repeated like a blade stabbing his own heart.
He was always plagued by loneliness, and if he wasn’t recognized by others, self-hatred would follow. And this boy, too, carried the name Zaun.
“Riley.”
“…Yes.”
“Go ask him. If Hescal appears, ask him the question burning in your chest. Until then—endure.”
He didn’t need to hear the answer. Riley had stopped making excuses for Hescal.
The head of the house hadn’t told him to raise his sword and charge. He told him to ask. So now, he had to wait for that time.
The group had split into two, but Riley’s side was at a disadvantage.
If swords had been drawn, and lightning hadn’t miraculously struck to aid them, Riley’s side would have lost.
“We will fight. Until then, conserve your strength. That is an order.”
The head of the house’s commands were absolute.
Unless the safety of Zaun was at risk, he never issued orders. Everyone knew that.
They weren’t a formal military, so there was no need to raise their voices.
Swoooosh—
Through the slightly lighter rain, a bolt of lightning painted the world in white.
KWA-BOOM!
As if the gods reached out a finger to smite a bug—but failed. The lightning struck beyond the basin, ripping open the earth.
Had it fallen here, one or two lives would’ve been taken.
It had missed the tall lightning rod planted at one side of the basin, hitting nothing but dirt.
“All we can trust—is the sword in our hands. So be it.”
The head of the house spoke, then turned away first. Encrid watched it all and nodded.
‘There’s no need to suppress the discord.’
There’s also no need to trust everyone behind your back. The only thing worth trusting is the sword in your hand.
Well, Lynox carries six of them, but still.
Instead of giving a speech, the head of the house gave everyone something real to hold on to—a promise for the future.
During that, Ragna approached and recounted what had happened inside.
After hearing it all, Encrid said,
“Alright.”
“They’re targeting Ann.”
“Then let’s make sure they never even think of it.”
Simple exchange, but the determination was unmistakable in both of them.
If they saw the face of the one who did this, they wouldn’t let him walk away.
The rain seemed to have eased a little, but there was no sign it would stop.
A fierce wind blew, strong enough that anyone caught off guard might be lifted and thrown. It really was that strong.
“This isn’t good. Damn it, my illness is acting up again.”
Lynox approached with a frown between his brows.
“What illness?”
“Sometimes I lose strength in my hands. I’ve been holding on with the medicine Milleastia gives me.”
“That’s not an illness!”
It was Ann’s voice.
As the wind howled like it would yank people up like radishes, Ann rushed into Ragna’s arms to brace herself.
She also shouted, her voice full of fury.
“That’s not an illness—it’s something someone spread!”
Lynox understood just how grim the situation was. That’s why he hadn’t even had time to feel shocked about Hescal’s betrayal.
He wasn’t the only one collapsing under mysterious ailments. And now the enemy might attack?
‘Yeah… it wouldn’t be easy. Not at all.’
Lynox thought for a moment and asked,
“What are you talking about?”
“Tell everyone to come inside! I can’t say it out here!”
The weather was horrific.
Ann felt like if the rain hit her any harder, it would drill holes through her skin.
Ragna wrapped her head with his cloak, then lifted her in his arms. They went straight indoors.
The most secure place was the residence of head of the house.
“Head of the house!”
Lynox was about to give a hand signal but realized visibility was useless, so he moved closer and relayed what Ann had said.
“We’ll do what the girl says.”
The head of the house made the decision, and everyone followed Ann inside.
Ann, who had entered earlier, grabbed a towel and roughly dried her hair and body. Then she stepped onto the stairs.
The first floor had flooded—no place for people to remain.
“What about Grida?”
Ann asked while shaking water from her hair.
“Bring her here.”
The head of the house responded immediately, and a few people including Anahera moved to act.
Anahera had once said Grida was her dearest friend.
Even giants spoke of friendship and kept their word.
Meanwhile, a man—a Knight who had sworn to dedicate his life to Zaun—had struck from behind.
A man who claimed to love Zaun had backstabbed it with brutal precision. Zaun was now in chaos.
Ann stood on the staircase like it was a stage and looked down.
She had been going around Zaun, collecting symptoms from those who had fallen ill.
Her mind held formulas for hundreds of remedies. Some were taught by a malicious master. Some she discovered on her own.
Others she forced out of Krais during her time with the Border Guard, pouring her Krona into it.
“Everyone, tell me your symptoms again and bring the herbs I describe. Can you do that?”
“We can.”
Somehow, the head of the house was the first to answer.
Encrid knew the head of the house lacked emotions, which was exactly why he could sense what the man was feeling.
Anxiety.
The head of the house couldn’t express it in words, so he showed it through action.
‘And maybe… a little excited, too.’
Of course, outwardly, there was no trace of emotion.
“Then let’s do this.”
Ragna stepped forward and shouted to everyone.
“Form a line!”
Orderly lines were more efficient.
As soon as he finished, the head of the house stepped to the front.
“The time is now.”
The head of the house spoke.
He seemed to be correcting his earlier statement of "not yet".
Ann looked at him, a bit exasperated.
“Head of the house, your condition can’t be fixed with a snap. This isn’t something I can treat right now.”
“...Then I need medicine that slows the symptoms. Something that kicks in instantly during battle.”
“Quite a specific request, isn’t it?”
“Is that a problem?”
Ann didn’t even pause to collect herself. She wasn’t nervous. She answered immediately.
“It’s doable.”
There was much to be done.
With rumors of enemy forces moving outside, she had to make sure these people could fight in top form. So she got busy.
Before her hands moved, her mind was already racing ahead. There was no time to be nervous.
“Do we have Centella?”
“…What’s that?”
Lynox stood right behind the head of the house.
Ann asked the man behind Lynox, and he responded with a question.
“It’s green, looks like this—go find it.”
Ann gestured with her hands, but it wasn’t easy to understand.
“Go to Milleastia’s lab. Bring anything that looks like an herb. And don’t let it get wet.”
The head of the house spoke immediately. He seemed just as busy.
Asking people to retrieve herbs without getting them soaked in this storm was no easy order, but those who were still healthy began to move.
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