Encrid spoke to Ragna with a sharp tone.
“You’ll be lucky if even half survive.”
Ann, who had been lying down, raised herself halfway and spoke while watching the ones leaving. Her gaze was fixed, not blinking even once.
If one looked at Ann from the front, they might’ve seen the departing figures reflected in her large eyes.
Encrid and Ragna, as well as Grida who had been lying down, turned to Ann at her words.
“I’m sorry, Ragna. I said I could fix everything.”
Only half of them could be saved. And that’s only if those people out there didn’t die in battle. That’s how it sounded to Encrid.
Ann could’ve made excuses, given reasons, or tried to justify herself. But she didn’t. Even a genius can’t accelerate time.
The disease called the curse had tormented the House of Zaun for a very long time, and it was because someone had used this place as their testing ground.
The malice behind it was truly vile.
If Ann had even a single year more, she wouldn’t have said this. She would’ve claimed she could save seven out of ten.
If she had three years, she would’ve said something entirely different.
She would’ve proudly declared that no one would die from this disease. But now, she couldn’t say that.
To apply the healing techniques Ann had developed based on alchemy, she needed time for numerous experiments and to confirm reactions.
In the face of that absolute shortage of time, what use was talent? How was it any different from a crumbling leaf in the wind?
“I’m sorry.”
Ann spoke again.
Ragna’s gaze was directed outside, just like Ann’s. The backs of those who were born and raised in Zaun were reflected in his eyes. And in that silence, Grida Zaun—his sister—added a few words.
“No one blames you.”
Ragna couldn’t find the way. He didn’t know how to set a direction. But he’d never really seen that as a flaw.
If anything, he thought of it as a blessing. A new road, a new world, new things always welcomed him. A road walked at night becomes unfamiliar even if it was familiar during the day.
A curse? No way.
But when he gripped his sword, the path became clear. He could walk a well-lit road and see its end. There was nothing unknown to him in the journey he walked with a sword.
That’s why it no longer intrigued him. That was why he left home.
An escape from the obvious, a pursuit of life through deviation.
That was the life he had chosen.
“Ragna, this is where you were born and raised.”
Encrid spoke.
And Ragna reflected on the actions he had taken since returning to Zaun.
“I didn’t want to look for the Sunrise.”
Why? He asked himself and pondered the answer.
“The answer is inside me. The things I’ve built up will become my signposts.”
The words Encrid had shouted countless times finally reached Ragna now.
What was the meaning behind saying it’s okay to be angry?
“They defiled your home, hurt your family, and tried to destroy the place where you were born.”
That was why the Sunrise didn’t matter right now.
He instinctively swung his sword into the air. It felt like running at full speed only to come to an abrupt stop.
Would he leave behind nothing and simply disappear? He wasn’t even afraid of that.
He simply needed to stop. It was instinct. A gut feeling. As if God had written it in his fate.
And now he understood why.
‘Because my family is in danger.’
Encrid might have called Zaun a small nation, but to Ragna, it was the place with the fields he ran through as a child, the place where the ones who raised him lived, the place where everything began.
In other words, it was home.
Though the prodigal son’s body had long since returned, only now did he open the eyes he had kept shut.
His father had grown thin—his face half its size. His mother’s eyes now held a venom he’d never seen before.
His sister had a hole in her belly.
Others he would’ve called brothers were coughing up blood and writhing in pain.
“There’s someone out there who did this.”
Encrid said.
“I know.”
Ragna answered.
Yes. Now he understood. Why he was angry.
Did he think he didn’t deserve to act because he’d abandoned his duty?
Was he worried about what others would think?
“One swing of your sword won’t make up for the time you were gone.”
Encrid offered advice that wasn’t quite advice. He meant that just because Ragna came back and swung his sword a bit, it didn’t mean everyone would sing his praises.
Whether Ragna understood that or just brushed it off, no one could say, but he did answer.
“I don’t care.”
Encrid nodded to himself as he looked at Ragna.
‘Yeah, now that’s the Ragna I know.’
And so, Encrid let the memory of a certain moment in the past drift away. There was no reason to dwell on pain.
Right now, he just had to lend a hand, so his friend and comrade didn’t have to see what he saw.
“Grida.”
“Speak.”
“Protect Ann.”
“Even if you hadn’t said anything, I would’ve staked my life on it.”
Grida wasn’t the only one left behind. After Hescal left, there were still those suffering so badly they couldn’t breathe properly.
Ann had saved them.
Among them was the sword-wielding servant who had guided them earlier.
Even the thirteen-year-old child was now beyond Ann’s magic.
That child was terminal. They said he’d been infected with the most poisonous seed sown by the madman behind all this.
It was a disease that caused his flesh to swell and grow inside his organs until it killed him.
He couldn’t even go out and fight, he was one of the few children left behind.
“I’ll protect her too.”
The child spoke. Did he understand what he was saying?
At the very least, he seemed to know more than Ragna had at that age. From the way he spoke, it felt that way.
“I can’t fight out there, but if someone targets the healer, I can at least get one stab in.”
Yes, surely.
The boy’s spirit was extraordinary.
“The last one who came used poison, right? And thanks to Ann, we came out of it unharmed? If it’s a similar opponent, I’m just as good as you.”
Grida added. She probably wanted to reassure him.
There was a hole in her belly. She could still fight in her current state, but if she gave it her all, she would die.
That couldn’t be allowed. It was simple. No one gets past her back.
What needed to be protected was behind her. And that would be the legacy she left behind after death.
Ragna looked at Ann.
“If I come back alive…”
“Stop. I don’t want to hear talk about whether you’ll live or die. Just come back. If it gets dangerous, I’ll call out to you. Then you can come back and protect me, too.”
Ragna didn’t say anything else—he just nodded.
“I will.”
If he dies like this, what will be left behind?
At the very least, that woman who radiates life while suffering guilt over failing to save people—even though none of it is her fault—will remain.
Ragna opened his mouth to say something but closed it again.
More precisely, he swallowed the words: “The version of me that lives in your memory will remain.”
“Let’s go…”
Encrid said as he walked ahead. Ragna followed behind him.
‘Behind me.’
Ann won’t be the only one left behind. That man who clawed his way up and dared to be angry at him would also remain.
The “me” that man remembers would remain too.
They exited the mansion and walked. After walking for some time, they encountered a member of the family who had been walking more slowly.
A woman with short hair. She glanced at Encrid and asked,
“But why is Enki staying here?”
She was one of the people Encrid had grown somewhat attached to during his time here.
Maybe for a friend, maybe to protect those standing behind him—whatever the reason, there were many possibilities.
But he wasn’t the type to say such sentimental things outright.
Ragna thought so and moved to walk a bit to the side. Because he had spent more time protecting Ann, he hadn’t spoken much with the family members compared to Encrid.
The woman found Ragna difficult to approach.
Tap, tap—
Encrid opened his mouth in rhythm with his footsteps.
“Three Iron keeps pestering me.”
“...Huh?”
“He keeps whining about wanting to play.”
The madman said this as he tapped the sword hanging at his hip.
Swaaahhh.
Rain scattered by the wind hit everyone’s faces. The woman from Zaun stepped half a pace away from Encrid.
“So what that healer said was true… A madman who talks to his sword?”
“Yeah, yeah, Three Iron. Today’s gonna be fun.”
Encrid ignored her and stroked his sword gently as if to soothe it. Seeing that, the woman picked up her pace and moved away.
He didn’t mean to mock her. So then, should he have said something like “I really don’t like that bastard who trashed my friend’s house”?
Or maybe he should’ve said, “I hope at least one of the people I’ve grown fond of doesn’t die”?
No, that was too embarrassing.
It was better to just show that he was serious about this fight.
Three Iron cries. That wasn’t a joke either. The blade quivered with a faint hum in response to Encrid’s will.
Of course, it wasn’t that the sword was truly crying—it was just a phenomenon caused by his Will infusing the blade.
“Why are you teasing people?”
Ragna launched a mild attack on Encrid. He wasn’t scolding him, but he pointed out that the joke was a bit much if Encrid was trying to hide his feelings.
“Me?”
“Wasn’t it you?”
“If someone asked you what you’d leave behind, what would you say?”
Encrid turned Ragna’s own words back at him with a counter.
“What else? The people who watched me swing my sword.”
He smiled brightly—even through the falling rain, the smile was clear. Ragna laughed.
Yeah. He was angry at those who had wrecked his home, and now he was on his way to meet them. Of course he could laugh.
Though to an average person, that would definitely seem like a madman’s thought process.
Zaun was located atop a basin, so the road leading up was a gentle incline.
It had been paved quite broadly, and the people of House Zaun often called that wide path the “Pilgrimage of the Sword”.
‘Didn’t they say they believe in the God of the Sword?’
Encrid was walking that path now too. Because of the wind and rain, muddy puddles had formed here and there. But the road itself was even.
They didn’t revere divine holiness, but they respected and worshipped the sword. That’s why they called it a pilgrimage path—to honor the God of the Sword.
Down the gently curving slope, those responsible for this entire affair were gathered.
Due to the wind and rain, it was hard to see far. Still, they could see the head of the house at the front, and those blocking his way.
Encrid and Ragna looked at the back of the head.
Before he could say anything, the head drew his sword and raised it. The enemy responded.
Two Scalors with red scales mixed among their black ones split to the left and right and charged in.
The head stepped forward alone.
‘Did Ann prepare some kind of potion for him?’
In reality, most of what that genius healer had given them were likely stimulants that allowed them to fight now.
She said proper treatment would take time.
Regardless, the head of the house must have taken the medicine. The pressure radiating from his entire body was twice as thick as before.
A dense and heavy sword-like pressure stood tall amidst the pouring rain.
* * *
“Why are they fine?”
Hescal couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this shocked in recent years. That’s how surprised he was.
He muttered to himself without realizing it.
People who should’ve been bedridden were now standing out here just fine. And it didn’t look like they were forcing themselves either.
The man known as Drmule’s top disciple spoke from beside him.
“I don’t understand.”
He was an old man over seventy. He had gone blind as a child, but in exchange for opening the eye of the mind, he’d implanted a new eye into his forehead.
It was an Evil Eye, harvested, studied, and reprocessed. Thanks to that, he could see through the rain clearly.
“Someone must’ve interfered. Didn’t they say the healer woman was killed?”
Hescal, with his superior analytical abilities, assessed the situation and answered.
“She must’ve failed.”
The answer was simple.
‘That girl Ann did it.’
His instincts told him. There was a reason Drmule had tried to kill her.
‘Drmule already knew about that girl named Ann.’
The moment he heard the intel Hescal passed on, he said he’d kill her. What was the reason again? Something about how the ones meant to die should die?
‘So he tried to kill the one who could stop his disease.’
The first contingency Hescal had prepared was ineffective. But even so, Drmule’s top disciple showed no sign of panic.
Neither did Hescal.
“She must’ve only delayed things for a moment. Who could possibly stop something our master spent years preparing in just a single day?”
That was true as well.
Even if that weren’t the case, Hescal didn’t believe it would change the outcome of the battle.
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