Herbs gathered in the treatment room of Millestia.
They belonged to someone who was now dead—so they were keepsakes, perhaps something meaningful to someone, but right now, it wasn’t the time to be sentimental.
Honoring the dead would come after all this was over.
Saving resources in the face of crisis was something only the most idiotic fool would do.
The herbs that could get wet were thoroughly soaked in rain, and the ones that couldn’t were tightly wrapped in oil-treated cloaks and the like.
Encrid could recognize at most three types of herbs.
Despite having learned basic first aid from all the time he'd spent getting knocked around in various places, that was the best he could manage.
After all, many treatments known by soldiers or mercenaries came from folk remedies with no proven effectiveness.
For example, there was the belief that spitting on a cut would prevent it from festering.
There were herbs that looked familiar but whose names he didn’t know, and others so drenched that their shapes were hard to recognize.
"Give me everything."
Ann climbed the stairs and spread the herbs across the hallway floor. She set her bag beside her and immediately began sorting and organizing the herbs.
Her hands showed no hesitation. She recognized them at a glance and worked quickly. Ragna stood silently behind her.
Everyone, including the head of the house, silently watched Ann’s hands.
Some might have felt anxious, but most were calm.
Part of it was because everyone from Zaun had guts of steel, but more importantly, it was likely due to the demeanor of the head of the house.
He casually dragged a chair to the side, sat down, slapped the rain off his soaked boots, and turned them over before staring indifferently out the window.
Swaaaaaaah! BOOM!
Between the crashing thunder and the raging storm, the soft thuds and cracks of grinding and mixing could be heard.
Ann was crushing and blending herbs in a small mortar, mixing in other substances.
Before anyone noticed, she had finished sorting and begun working.
Soon after, Anahera brought Grida over and laid her down on one side. She hadn’t been dragged in with her limbs dangling.
Grida had lost blood and her face was pale, but her eyes still sparkled with life.
Even as she lay down, she didn’t groan once—bearing the pain with quiet endurance.
"I’ll leave her to you."
The giant spoke, and Ann responded without even lifting her head.
"Got it."
It sounded indifferent, but no one took offense.
Ann immediately slid a knife under the bandages around Grida’s stomach and sliced it cleanly. Her movements were so decisive they rivaled Ragna’s.
She examined the wound carefully, then poured potion over it. The liquid from the metal vial spilled over Grida’s injury.
Brrrrr…
Bubbles frothed on Grida’s stomach, and her body trembled. A few people watched closely.
‘Is that really okay?’
There were surely some suspicious gazes among them.
Ann ignored them. She looked at the bubbling wound, then handed Ragna another bottle of medicine.
"Pour this."
She said.
Ragna poured the liquid onto Ann’s hands, and she soaked them thoroughly while holding a needle and thread.
The liquid on her hands dried quickly, as if it evaporated into the air. She then threaded the needle and began stitching the wound.
It was the first time Encrid had seen this kind of treatment and the first time he had seen Ann’s skilled hands at work.
The needle pierced the flesh.
Would it hurt less than a knife wound? Heskal had stabbed her, and that was an unexpected blow, but now she could see the needle sewing up her own belly.
At least when she was stabbed, it ended in one blow—but now, it was ongoing.
So this must hurt more, yet Grida calmly endured the pain. Her eyebrows twitched each time the needle went in, but she didn’t scream.
What she said next suggested she was angrier about the situation than the pain.
"I should be glad it wasn’t my father behind it? Damn it, but I still feel like I was betrayed."
She spoke while lying down. Some people listened intently; others let it pass.
"You didn’t suspect Heskal?"
The head of the house turned his gaze from the window to look briefly at Grida, then back again.
Encrid was getting used to the man’s attitude.
He thought he understood why the head of the house wouldn’t look away from the window.
Next to him, Alexandra explained something to Schmidt, and Schmidt’s face grew graver with every word.
"I did suspect him. I even prepared, but I got caught anyway."
Grida was honest.
It wasn’t that she lacked a competitive spirit, but for her, what mattered wasn’t that she lost, what mattered was what came next.
The Guardians of Zaun were always about preparing for tomorrow, for the future.
Encrid finally understood what being a “guardian” truly meant.
That’s why Heskal’s actions didn’t make sense.
Grida had behaved exactly as a guardian should. But what about Heskal?
He had served as a Guardian of Zaun for decades, what could drive him to act like this now?
‘Not my concern.’
Encrid was a Knight, not a problem-solver. His role was clear.
If he wanted to find out someone’s motives, he could just hold a sword to their throat later.
‘Is there a faster or more efficient way than that?’
Nope.
And if the person didn’t talk even then? Well, then any other method would probably fail too.
Sure, there were tricks—psychological manipulations, deception, pressure—that could work to reveal someone’s intent.
But does it matter anymore?
The deed was done. Their motive was no longer important.
Encrid’s gaze fell on Heskal’s son—the lame swordsman.
His skills were that of a Junior-Knight. His wish was to run proudly on both feet.
Footwork was vital in swordsmanship. So, he had honed his technique to land decisive blows in a single strike.
He had even trained himself to move on one leg. All of that had been made possible by Heskal.
The person who probably wanted to know Heskal’s true intentions the most right now was likely Riley Zaun.
Yet even he didn’t know why Heskal was acting this way.
The faint anxiety on his face, his tightly sealed lips, the occasional flicker in his eyes—all betrayed his inner turmoil.
Can someone even fight properly like that? A shaky mind leads to a shaky sword.
Did the head of the house assign Riley Zaun a specific role? Maybe as a means to shake Heskal’s concentration?
The boy Heskal had raised for over ten years now stood before him and asked:
"Father, why did you do it?"
Would Heskal waver? Who knew.
Was Riley the kind of threat that warranted this much risk—was he a traitor playing tricks behind the scenes?
‘Probably not.’
Encrid walked up beside the head of the house, who still gazed out the window.
"I didn’t lose because I was weak. Heskal hid his strength. He was strong, Father."
At Grida’s words, the head of the house gave a slight nod. It likely meant he understood. Still, no emotion could be read from him.
"Do you see anything?"
Encrid asked, standing beside him.
The reason the head of the house stared out the window was because he knew Heskal wasn’t the only one behind this.
He suspected someone from outside was pulling strings, so he kept watch.
A few others—those with sharp minds or quick grasp of the situation—behaved the same way.
Some had their eyes closed, like blacksmiths sharpening focus as if honing a blade.
Alexandra was a prime example. After speaking with Schmidt, she leaned quietly against the wall, eyes closed, steadying her breath.
Watching her was like seeing a sword wrapped in a thin cloth, a blade so bare even a sheath was considered excessive, one ready to be unsheathed at any moment.
"Nothing."
The head of the house answered succinctly. Encrid had really grown used to him now.
‘Don’t read emotions, observe his actions and attitude as they are.’
Looking at it this way, one could say his behavioral patterns were simple.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t using the unreadability of his emotions to his advantage.
He used it as a shield to hide his true thoughts, allowing others to misunderstand him.
You could say he had a certain knack for scheming.
Well, if you're a head of house, being good at scheming is practically a requirement. Seeing it like this, Zaun’s nature became clear.
Zaun was a nation. In other words, the head of the house was the king of this small country called Zaun. Heskal was the rebel.
Many, including Lynox, were paying attention to the conversation between the two, but Encrid figured there was no point in hiding anything anymore.
Besides, the people of Zaun were not the kind to run just because things looked grim. They needed to know in order to fight. The head of the house must know this too. It was just a matter of timing when to tell everyone.
Maybe he could help with that.
"Where is Odinkar?"
"He made an excuse and hid."
The head of the house answered immediately, he must have been thinking the same thing.
It was the process of informing everyone of the situation and eliminating pointless doubts. To fight properly, one’s mind had to be clear.
Some could figure it out themselves, but others would be confused. Heskal’s betrayal was significant enough for that.
"And Magrun?"
"That child was truly in danger, so I left him with Millestia. I don’t even know where he is now."
Swaaahhh.
The rain had weakened. The wind, which had seemed capable of ripping weeds from the earth, had also died down a bit.
Clatter-clatter.
Though, it was still strong enough to rattle the window frames. Encrid recalled what Lynox had said and asked,
"Why were Jerry, Eben, Roist, and Fail attacked?"
The answer he expected came from the mouth of head of the house.
"They all have military experience."
Heskal was incredibly clever. Such a person wouldn’t stab just anyone.
If he took the risk of attacking them, knowing it could expose him, there had to be a reason.
Encrid concluded as much.
Military experience—that is, they had served in the army.
Encrid looked around.
The head of the house, Lynox, Alexandra—each of them had exceptional abilities.
If they went out into the world, their skills alone would be enough to make a name for themselves.
Even Riley Zaun, the limping swordsman who was on the verge of breaking down from his father’s betrayal, would be nearly unmatched if he ventured into the continent.
But none of them knew how to fight as a team.
‘Did a demon get involved?’
Even so, they were strong. There were more than five Knights among them. It would take considerable power to target a group like this.
That was the intention behind the question.
"I don’t know."
"How can you not know?"
"There’s evidence left by the one who spread the disease, but we’ve never met them. I’ve recognized it as a latent and ongoing threat—and been chasing it for over twenty years."
"They say the Hunter’s Village turned against us. What’s the greatest danger from that?"
"We’re trapped. They must have set traps around us."
The head of the house answered all questions calmly, and everyone listened.
That meant they were trapped, and that the disgusting, sadistic wizard who had been spreading disease and looking down on them from the skies was now targeting them.
‘And the ones with command experience have all been taken out.’
Ann was busy grinding herbs and feeding medicine, but the truth was, they were all infected.
The goal? Once again—it didn’t matter.
Zaun’s swordsmen had a sense for danger. That’s why someone said:
"So what, we just kill them all if they come at us?"
Lynox the Destroyer said it casually, without a hint of unease.
He was a man who followed his whims, changing sides as he pleased, but there was no reason for him to hesitate when his own house—his birthplace—was under threat.
Most of those present were similar to him.
That was the atmosphere the conversation had aimed to create.
"If they come at us, we cut them down. Simple."
"Is this the real deal? My sword’s been whining at night, thirsty for blood. It's been driving me nuts."
"They stabbed Grida? You’re all dead."
No one lost their fighting spirit. If anything, the crisis only fired them up more.
Sure, there were some lunatics saying their swords talked to them, but at least no one was mentally broken.
‘Information is key.’
Luagarne had said that countless times. Her tactical thinking was unmatched, even among madmen.
Encrid had learned a thing or two from that frog.
In any battle, there was nothing more important than gathering intel.
And that’s exactly what Encrid had just done.
You had to know what the enemy wanted—and what danger your allies were facing. Now that he had faced all of it.
‘Well.’
It didn’t seem like such a dire crisis anymore.
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