"Hey, when you die, it’s over. Don’t you know that?"
In the blurred afterimage, a bearded man spoke in a scolding tone.
His name was Ryan, a man who usually traveled with a few capable fighters to protect traveling merchants and others.
Interestingly, he called his group the "Comrades' Association".
Some mercenary groups had peculiar names, so everyone just accepted it, but Encrid later heard that Ryan had named it so because he was a former soldier of the southern empire.
Everyone who followed him had once served under Ryan's command, which explained the name.
It was a name hard to forget. Within the reach of his strength, Ryan always protected the weak and once had Encrid's back when he was wandering cluelessly across the continent.
"When you're dead, what use is anything?"
That was what Ryan always said.
Encrid could never say that everyone in the Comrades' Association was a good person, even if beaten to death, but Ryan was a man of loyalty.
"You only have one life. Just one."
If you die, it’s over. So don’t do foolish things if you want to live.
That was the gist of it. Encrid did listen to Ryan’s words, but he lived his life as he chose.
He would listen to most advice, but there were things he would never yield on.
The blurred afterimage resembled a misty lake at dawn. Ryan’s hazy figure distorted until it became an indistinct shape without a face.
"If you have nothing and no strength, stay out of the way."
There were too many who had spoken to him with contempt to remember each one.
As the mist blurred again and faded, the master of the nighttime scent appeared and shouted.
"How do you block spells? Here, take it. Spring spells and summer spells."
But why was she swinging a sword?
Behind Esther, who was slashing her sword, Sinar waved her arms toward the sky while holding flowers and trees.
Then, from the sky, Rem fell. A huge, enormous Rem.
It was a nightmare.
After that, Audin became so skinny he flew around, and Jaxon opened a salon with dozens of women.
Encrid tried to ask if he had gone into business with Krais, but he couldn’t open his mouth.
He also saw Luagarne swinging Lawford like a whip while clutching Pel in her right hand.
He saw Dunbachel, having become a true beastman in the East, laughing as she transformed into a manticore.
Teresa slashed her sword at Dunbachel, calling her a monster.
Along with the hallucinations, he heard phantom voices.
"Let your guard down, and you’ll die."
‘Whose voice was that?’
Bang! Bang!
A deafening noise struck his ears, and when he turned his head, he saw Eitri hammering a human body inside a furnace.
‘That’s me.’
Looking closely, it was true. Eitri was hammering his own body.
The moment he realized it, he became fully aware of the burning heat coursing through his entire body.
He wondered if he might even breathe fire at this rate, but even a dragonkin couldn’t breathe fire.
Maybe Esther could, though.
Should he ask her to show it when they returned to the Border Guard?
'Yeah, she'd love that.'
If he actually asked, she would probably stare at him with sheer contempt.
As the heat swept through his body, he saw flowers blooming, butterflies fluttering into flames, and piercing into his heart.
"If you die here, this place will become your prison."
Another phantom voice.
Then came a flood of hallucinations he didn’t even want to remember.
The world spun, suddenly became cold, and he saw someone splitting open a belly and playing with the intestines, only to find it was a child he had once failed to protect, smiling innocently with pitch-black eyes.
It was as if the child was saying, "It’s fun to stir the intestines."
And then, with the flowing river, all the pain disappeared.
When Encrid opened his eyes, he found himself again on that familiar ferry.
His body was leaning against the railing, and the ferryman still stood before him in the same posture.
Standing like a deeply rooted tree, holding a purple lamp.
Even the ferryman appeared hazy, as if seen through a mist of sand—clear proof that Encrid’s body wasn’t normal yet.
Each time the purple lamp swayed, its light raced across the black river, only to be swallowed up.
Watching it, he thought the river looked as if it were devouring the light itself.
"If you die here, you’ll endlessly fight sickness and die over and over. Then you won’t even get to enjoy your swordplay anymore."
Hearing that, Encrid blinked five times.
Very slowly.
Then he opened his mouth and carefully chose his words.
"My hearing seems damaged. Could you repeat that?"
"My words are woven from Will and sent directly to your mind. Your hearing has nothing to do with it."
Encrid knew that too. He was just surprised to hear the ferryman give such a straightforward encouragement.
"Is this a hallucination?"
When he asked, the ferryman simply continued speaking.
"How long can you keep postponing death? How long will lucky deaths stay at your side?"
And with that, the conversation with the ferryman ended.
Encrid, whose eyes hadn’t even fully closed, opened them once more.
Now it was reality.
His eyes were half-open but dry, making it difficult to open them fully.
Through his limited vision, he saw a familiar but still somewhat strange pattern.
It was the ceiling of a stone house, a design he had seen for the past several days. Thick wooden beams and irregular pebbles embedded alongside them.
"You're awake?"
Ann was right beside him. Encrid blinked a few times, still feeling the blurriness.
Crusts fell from his lashes. Although his eyes were still dry, the foreign substances blocking his sight were gone, clearing his view.
Ann's eyes were dark underneath, and her cheeks were gaunt. She looked exhausted.
"Hmm, I’m alive."
"Is that really the first thing you say after dying and coming back?"
"Remedy Omnia, was it?"
"You remember."
"I knew you would fix me."
The ferryman had told him to save Ann, and although Drmule had tried to kill her early for some reason.
'It must have been because she was a threatening enemy.'
It was easy to guess the cause from the result.
Moreover, Encrid had seen some of what Ann had done here. Having seen enough, he trusted her.
Even if she had failed and died, he would have made the same choices again. Even if it meant repeating today over and over.
"You were unconscious for three days."
At Ann’s words, Encrid paused before answering.
"I missed three days of training."
"…Sword lunatic."
Encrid knew he had various nicknames within the Border Guard. One of them was "Sword Lunatic", meaning someone obsessed with the sword.
"I’m joking."
Ann looked at him with a gaze that said, I know you’re dead serious, so don’t pretend to be normal.
"Ah, sure."
Though awake, his limbs still lacked strength.
He wasn’t even sure he could beat Pel or Lawford if he fought them now.
"You’ll be resting for a while. At least four more days. Eat what you’re given and sleep when you’re sleepy."
Ann said and left the room.
Next, Ragna came in, he looked relatively fine. Seeing him walking around, Encrid knew Ragna was in better shape than he was.
"Three days of rest is plenty."
"Is that so?"
Even after waking from death, it was still raining outside. Thunder rolled as well.
He closed his eyes for a moment and opened them to find Ragna gone. Maybe he had dozed off for a bit.
Turning his head, he again saw hallucinations.
No matter how great Ann was, she couldn’t resurrect the dead.
Encrid figured the head of the house had poured out his will and life force into his final sword strike.
Doing that with a sick body was tantamount to suicide.
So why was he sitting in front of Encrid’s bed?
"You’re looking at me like I’m a ghost."
Even if he didn’t show emotions, the head of the house was adept at reading others' feelings and expressions.
His left arm was bandaged, and a cloth was wrapped around one of his eyes, but Tempest Zaun sat there, alive.
"I have many things I want to say, but first things first. Thank you, Encrid of the Border Guard."
"I just lent a hand because I had some spare time while passing by."
"Are you trying to be modest? Or are you trying to show off how great your deed was by acting humble?"
Yeah, if you brought up modesty here, it would sound like that.
This was truly just a mistake born from his body not having fully recovered yet.
So it might have been better to just keep his mouth shut.
"I heard that Millestia didn't die in vain. Ann said that she had already researched ways to solve the seeds of all the diseases we contracted. Continuing that work and making the medicine wasn’t that big of a deal, she said, but I still repeatedly thanked that girl Ann. In the end, Millestia's legacy and Ann's dedication saved us all. I even get to live a few more years as a bonus."
So he came just to say it’s good to be alive.
"I came because there’s something I want to tell you, and you're the only one I'm telling. No one else will probably ever know."
What the head of the house brought up was about Hescal.
Hescal, he wasn't called the clever Hescal for nothing.
Listening to the head of the house’s story, it almost felt like Hescal was speaking through hallucinations.
"If I win, Zaun will be reborn. They will survive and become new inhabitants of the Demon Realm."
Hescal wanted Zaun to survive.
To do that, he needed to become a Divine Usurper.
By containing even a small divinity, he would be able to protect Zaun’s residents, who would become inhabitants of the Demon Realm.
The hallucination continued speaking.
"If I fail, that just means Tempest wins in all this, right? In that case, Zaun would still survive, even if wounded?"
The Hescal within the vision smiled brightly. It was a completely pure smile, one with no burden or guilt, only a raised mouth and clear eyes.
If he won, Zaun would be reborn.
If he failed, Zaun would still be reborn.
Might as well do some cleaning along the way, too.
'There were surely some unruly elements in places like Hunter’s Village, the Intermediaries' Village, and the Retirees’ Village.'
After spending so long coiled up, some people must have gotten restless.
Living quietly in those places, frustrations must have built up, tempting some to shake the very system Zaun had built.
They would have wanted to use Zaun's power for themselves, too valuable to abandon, yet too frustrating to leave alone.
Hescal had gathered all those dangerous elements. Over time, he formed a faction of his own, uniting them under him.
"There are a few flowers and fruits that grow around here, poisonous enough to cause various illnesses if carelessly harvested. When those diseases began to worsen, Hescal saw that it was a problem that needed solving."
The head of the house’s story continued.
At some point, Hescal became aware of Drmule's presence and saw what he was preparing.
At that point, Hescal had to make a decision.
Would he go back to the clan and play an endless game of hide-and-seek until death?
'Or would he become the mastermind in the shadows, the director pulling the strings behind the scenes?'
Hescal chose the latter.
He died by Ragna’s sword, but he probably died satisfied.
He had seen the balance of the scales shift, and everything he had prepared would ultimately bring an end to the hide-and-seek game.
Hescal never once came to speak to the head of the house directly.
Even the head of the house was speaking from assumptions. But he believed Hescal had fulfilled his role as a guardian.
Hearing it, Encrid could agree.
Guardian—one who protects Zaun—Hescal had completed the duty entrusted to him.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"I just wanted to tell someone."
With that, the head of the house left, and a little later, Alexandra came in and left similar words.
"Millestia researched diseases until the moment of her death, and Hescal...
Well, he must have gone through a lot, painting this entire picture."
Her face showed a mixture of bitterness and relief. After her, Schmidt entered and spoke.
"You're really not thinking about going to the Empire?"
"Do I look like I am?"
"No."
"Then why ask?"
"I just wanted to know in case you changed your mind."
Another four days passed after waking up.
Hearing that Ann had collapsed from exhaustion, Encrid sprang out of bed.
The rain that had been falling on and off for days finally stopped completely just before dawn.
The moisture-laden early morning air swept cleanly through his lungs.
Encrid went outside and stood with the Three Iron in his hand.
'I learned a lot.'
Really, an overwhelming amount.
But sorting through it all wasn’t something he needed to do right now. He tried to recall at least one thing, but there were too many watching eyes.
"You're awake?"
It was almost as if they had been waiting for him—Grida, Anahera, and everyone from Zaun poked their heads out.
Among them, he also spotted Magrun.
"Thanks to you, I'm alive."
Upon returning, he found out that Millestia had spirited Magrun away to treat him, as his condition had worsened.
Ann must have handled the final stages of treatment.
And then, standing between them all with a serious face, the one-armed Lynox spoke.
"If you want to blame someone for what happened, take my head. But please show mercy to the others of Zaun."
Drmule’s final act had left an indelible stain on them.
They would never forgive themselves for having tried to sacrifice outsiders.
He understood that feeling. All too well, in fact. And he wanted to help them shed that burden.
"Then step over here."
Encrid tapped the ground in front of him with the end of the Three Iron.
His scabbard had burst, so he was just carrying his sword tied loosely with a string.
"Kneel and stretch your neck out."
Lynox looked flustered. He glanced between the ground, the Three Iron, and Encrid, then asked.
"…Seriously?"
Encrid answered with a grin.
"No."
"…You chickened out."
Had Encrid truly wished, Lynox would probably have offered his neck.
They were that kind of people. Those who took responsibility for their words.
Because of that—
Tap.
Starting with Lynox, every single person knelt without exception.
In the aftermath of a typhoon, on muddy, ravaged ground, they all bowed their heads.
He hadn't done it for this, but no one could dislike being shown such sincere gratitude.
"We express our thanks for the grace of salvation."
The head of the house said it on everyone's behalf.
The gathering included the head of the house, Alexandra, Odinkar, Grida, Magrun—everyone.
Among them, some were wiping away tears, and somewhere in the middle, Riley stood looking somewhat dazed.
And then, there was one person standing around awkwardly.
"What? I tried to stop you, remember?"
The one standing there, Ragna, spoke. Encrid shrugged as if to say, it's nothing.
Ragna would probably never understand the mood for the rest of his life.
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