Normally, there would be no reason for a member of the House of Zaun to obediently follow the orders of someone who wasn’t the head of the house.
“What’s he saying?”
That sort of reaction, along with completely ignoring the speaker, would have been expected.
However, now was a time when directions or orders were necessary, and it was Encrid giving them—so it was fine.
More precisely, there was no natural sense of rejection. All this time, Encrid had eaten, slept, and trained with them. Especially the time spent swinging swords together had been intensely close.
Even as an outsider, a stranger, Encrid was someone who fit the picture of Zaun better than anyone else.
In any case, Encrid had now drawn the sword called Zaun from its scabbard and was ready to wield it, just as Anahera initiated battle and the monsters began to move in front of the family head, Alexandra, and Lynox.
A horde of monsters closed the distance toward the wall built by the family head, forming a distinct formation with a Scalor at the center.
They weren’t simply charging—they were constructing an encirclement.
Had Encrid seen this, he would have genuinely praised the one who trained the monsters this way.
Since Ragna hadn’t heard Encrid’s orders, he remained in the same place as before—somewhere behind the family head, a spot that could be called ambiguous.
“Father.”
Ragna called out to his father, who had his back turned. His gaze was fixed forward, and his greatsword hung low, touching the ground.
At a glance, it looked like a meaningless stance, but it was a posture from which he could draw his sword at any moment.
It meant he was ready to fight if necessary. That posture was remarkably similar to his father's.
Naturally, since Ragna had learned the sword by watching his father.
He had taken up the sword with his father as his goal, even while being beaten by his mother. That was the beginning for Ragna.
“Speak.”
His father responded without turning. The monsters approached. While there was no chance they’d die to such things, this could very well be Zaun’s last stand.
Which would mean the father’s end as well.
“What do you wish to leave for the next generation? What have you left behind?”
Maybe he had picked it up from Encrid. Suddenly, he became curious about the dreams of others—especially what his father longed for.
“My body can no longer recover. I know it better than anyone.”
The answer came without hesitation. It felt like something he’d prepared in advance.
At first, it sounded like meaningless talk, but if his father believed this was what needed to be said right now, then Ragna had to listen.
“Take the Sunrise. In exchange, give up the family.”
Tempest Zaun knew his body wasn’t what it used to be. So when the chance came to say what he’d once told Encrid directly, he didn’t want to miss it.
He continued speaking with his back still turned.
“The family will be entrusted to Odinkar.”
Was this his father trying to lighten his burden?
The tone was so casual it sounded like he was giving away a piece of candy.
Even though the seat of the family head and the Sunrise were not things to be discussed so lightly, that’s how it came across.
It wasn’t that he lacked sincerity. His father simply had an old habit—he couldn’t convey emotions in his voice.
Only a few, like his mother and Grida, knew this secret. Though calling it a secret was an exaggeration.
Those who needed to know, knew. Ragna had always known it in his head.
'Now, I understand.'
His father’s resolve dug even deeper into him now. The blade scraped past skin and muscle and scratched at the bone.
His father always spoke with sincerity. If he didn’t speak, fine—but once he did, it was always sincere.
Unable to express emotions, yet still loving his wife, his family, his house—this was the method he chose.
Even if you told a child you loved them a hundred times, children would only glance indifferently.
So their father had to do his utmost—put sincerity into every word. That was the will and vow of Tempest Zaun.
The method his father chose now reached his son’s heart. It was real.
The son, who had once wandered the world, lost, had now returned and grown—able to finally understand his father’s heart and listen to his words.
The family could not be given. Ragna’s home was no longer Zaun.
That was likely the reason Odinkar, willing to lay down his life for Zaun, had been left behind.
He would lead the house in his stead.
And Ragna—his son—was given the Sunrise and freedom.
“Then I suppose this battle will be my last duty. Father.”
Ragna responded in tune with his father’s words. The deeper meaning was likely his respect for his father’s will.
“And my wish is a stable shelter. One without curses or illnesses would be ideal.”
The family head spoke again.
“No one will be able to interfere with your dream, Father.”
Ragna replied.
Their seemingly different statements aligned in a strange harmony—words spoken for one another.
And then the monsters surged like a wave.
Ragna instinctively moved to guard the head’s back and waited for Encrid’s command.
He believed Encrid would give him what was needed. So for now, he only had to wait.
‘The order.’
Ragna spoke inwardly and stepped back.
What should you do when your dream and someone else’s wish intersect?
Naturally, the answer must follow the laws of the continent. In other words—the strong decide.
That was how the Empire worked, and how the world Encrid had experienced functioned.
In the end, only the dreams of the victors remained. The same applied to this very place. Some dreamed of change, others fought to protect what they had.
“That’s foolish.”
Said the one dreaming of change.
“Hescal, you’ve never beaten me.”
Said the one who wanted to protect.
Though they didn’t speak directly, the exchange was no different from a conversation.
They communicated through action.
Sssshhhhh—
The chorus of rain never ceased its song.
KWA-RANG!
Occasional thunder added weight to the orchestra of war. They clashed in cunning, in knowledge, in strength. That was war.
Encrid sent out Anahera and Kato. Both were faster than anyone on their feet.
And on this side was a man who couldn’t move swiftly, but whose swordsmanship wouldn’t lose to either of them.
“Riley’s at the center! Ivan, Lennon, Lontis—go left and take your positions! Anyone who was with them, form up! On the right—Betty, Ludens, Carl—hold the line! You’re the supports! Fight like you’re protecting the rear! If it breaks, we lose!”
Intuition, built upon experience and information, draws answers from even the subconscious.
That’s what was happening with Encrid now.
The time he’d spent training and sparring in Zaun hadn’t been wasted—it naturally led him to this.
He knew Zaun. Not everything, but enough to command.
‘Still... this feels ominous.’
The intuition scraping at his brain felt like something stabbing at his eyeballs.
Ssssssshh!
The Scalor horde let out their cries. It was a specialty of theirs—disrupting the senses. And alongside that sound, several Bride of Plague began to float in the air.
‘They deliberately didn’t send them toward the family head’s side.’
If it were the family head or Alexandra acting as the wall, those kinds of wraiths would be cut down in no time, either by willpower or some other means.
Hescal definitely knew how to command the battlefield—sending the right forces to the right places. Wraiths that summoned soldiers through spells floated slowly closer.
“Take it out and apply it.”
Encrid spoke while keeping an eye on the wraiths.
Ann wasn’t an idiot, and Encrid was even less so. Both had already experienced this before and had made preparations.
While Encrid had spent his time training and dueling, Ann had invested hers in gathering herbs and making medicine.
Because of that, she had given each departing soldier a lump of amber-colored powder. Everyone, centered around Riley, took the powder and applied it to their swords.
“Now that everyone’s dressed up, let’s dance!”
Though a sense of foreboding stabbed through his mind and the situation couldn’t be called favorable—
“It’ll be fun.”
Just as Luagarne once said, Encrid moved among his people and felt a thrill. Commanding a battlefield was the same as swinging a sword made of soldiers.
‘I won’t lose.’
Even as exhilaration welled up, a burning resolve to never lose surged from his gut.
“What the hell kind of nonsense is that?”
Even in the middle of this, Riley reacted to Encrid’s nonsense, drawing a throwing dagger and extending his right arm backward.
He had said it was a throwing technique he’d honed due to his bad leg. It was different from Jaxon’s method but still worth learning.
Balancing on one leg, he used his whole body like a launching platform.
Using his supporting leg as the pivot, his entire body spun like a whirlwind, and his outstretched arm lashed forward like a whip.
Pang!
His arm tore through the air, and the dagger pierced through the skulls of two Bride of Plague, disappearing into the storm beyond.
It was a technique that used his entire body to throw the dagger. It wasn’t something he could do repeatedly.
He used all the strength in his arm, to the point where his hand almost touched the ground. A throw that required putting your entire will into one strike.
‘Excellent.’
Encrid calmly acknowledged him. Riley was also a sword of Zaun.
Even after being cut by Hescal, he hadn’t crumbled—he stood tall and faced forward. It was time for him to leave his father’s side too.
‘Those who do not move forward have no future.’
Riley would see tomorrow. He deserved it.
Dudududu!
The lizard cavalry quickly closed the distance into sword range. The Scalors riding the lizards charged in, holding what looked like black wooden sticks in a reverse grip.
There was no need to ask—each of those sticks must have been coated in poison.
Soon, they clashed with Riley’s group in melee combat.
“If you die before the idiot, you’re the bigger idiot!”
Riley’s shout rang out. It was a presence that tore through the spreading cries of the Scalors.
Even through the heavy rain, it was a rallying cry heard far and wide.
Riley had no combat experience in war, but he’d learned the sword from Hescal.
And because he had only one leg, he was well-versed in training in sync with others. He was the only one here capable of leading even a small unit.
And even now—look at him—he knew how to boost morale right before a fight.
Of course, that was only possible because Encrid had set the stage.
“Ha ha ha ha!”
In the distance, Anahera’s laughter rang out.
The adopted warrior daughter of Zaun, born of the giant tribe, swung a massive sword with ease—a grip that normal people couldn’t even grasp.
Crack! Thud, crunch!
Anahera’s greatsword ripped apart and crushed some of the incoming lizard riders.
“Den! Pick nine others and smash through that spot!”
Encrid drew his sword and pointed.
Den had been one of those who had lost his composure. He was chosen because Encrid saw him draw his sword after Riley’s shout: “Damn it, idiot!”
Den wasn’t particularly skilled, but he had strong support among his peers.
He had also been friends with two of the four who were killed when Hescal left Zaun. So he had glared at Riley with hatred.
Seeing that even the ‘idiot’ abandoned by his father was fighting must have made him feel ashamed.
What the hell am I doing if even that guy is fighting?
That sort of thought must’ve crossed his mind. Whatever the reason, he was now fully ready to fight.
At Encrid’s command, Den and nine swordsmen stepped forward. Each of them held just one sword. These were Zaun’s swords.
Excluding those who hadn’t yet awakened their talents due to time constraints, each of them would be called a monster the moment they stepped onto the continent.
Even as he called them and gave instructions, Encrid’s eyes kept sweeping side to side.
Boom! Bang!
The family head swung his greatsword at the charging monsters, piercing and slicing them with even greater power than Anahera.
And not once did he take a step back.
Alexandra, standing beside him, was the same. She jumped, dashed, and glided within five paces of where she stood.
Every place she passed, arms, legs, and heads of monsters lay severed on the ground.
Lynox fought with two of his six swords drawn.
In his left hand was the lightweight, thin-bladed estoc, and in his right was a falchion—a thicker single-edged blade.
He blocked with the estoc and struck with the falchion.
It was a simple technique—block the incoming attacks in sequence and then cut.
Yet the number of monsters lying dead before him was the highest among the three.
Even though Encrid had seen it before, there was still much to learn from that swordsmanship.
‘Deflect with the light blade, strike with the heavy one.’
He replaced the idea of “blocking” with the deflection of the Fluid Sword Technique.
And for offense, he used the Middle Sword Technique to deliver maximum power with minimum movement.
He truly was a man who could destroy a hundred techniques and create a hundred more.
Sssshhh!
Suddenly, the rain grew heavier. Maybe it was because the Brides of Plague had retreated back to their hidden lairs.
Even with the overwhelming scent and odor of the battlefield, Encrid could still sense another, sweeter scent mixed within.
No spells had been unleashed yet. Even in this downpour, his sharpened intuition caught the faintest scent.
Zaun had Knights, and Hescal was clever. Would he really have launched this fight knowing about the Knights without preparing a countermeasure?
This had to be one of those measures.
Drmule, that self-proclaimed god who spread disease, was surely the source of this threat.
‘This battle was orchestrated by Hescal.’
And Encrid saw that Hescal’s plan hadn’t collapsed yet.
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