Encrid did not refuse Valphir’s proposal.
Neither the head of the house nor anyone else could stop it.
How could they, when his eyes sparkled with such eagerness?
So they did what little they could.
“Ragna has gone to retrieve the Sunrise. It’ll take a few more days. If it drags on, maybe another fortnight.”
Tempest noticed that Encrid didn’t seem particularly interested in what he’d said. His eyes were already fixed on what came next.
‘Ambition and challenge.’
If one were to name that gaze, each eye could bear a different title.
A burning desire to learn and a thirst to grow, like a roaring forge.
He had long since finished preparing to leave. That much was clear from looking at Encrid.
“You’re really going first?”
Another benefactor, Ann, spoke up. She didn’t seem intent on stopping him, just confirming.
“Yeah. Bring Ragna back. If you tell him to come alone, you won’t ever get to settle down with him in this lifetime.”
“I know that.”
Judging by how she wasn’t smiling, it was clear her words came from genuine concern.
Various people packed his bag with jerky, dried fruits, and Millestia’s special potions.
“Here, take this.”
The miserly Lynox relinquished one of his relics.
It was a rod slightly longer than a shortsword. When swung through the air, it extended with a sharp crackling sound, doubling in length and revealing a spearhead at the end.
“It’s a light spear. It’s imbued with a piercing spell, should punch through most things. And it can do some other tricks too.”
Lynox whispered the explanation, despite the item’s rarity.
“Use it well.”
Encrid simply accepted it with his usual composed manner.
He sheathed the rod at his waist, strapped on two swords, slung his backpack, and turned to leave.
The pattern engraved on his navy cloak stood out, its lines staggered at different levels.
“Will the two of you be enough? If you need more, just say so. I’ll come meet you.”
That was Grida speaking casually toward Encrid.
“With holes in the hull?”
“Am I the only person in Zaun? And who hasn’t had a hole or two in their boat before?”
Tempest watched as Encrid waved off the offer.
To a casual observer, it might seem like a simple joke between friends.
‘But that can’t be.’
He stood out too much to be ordinary.
Black hair, blue eyes like a clear lake, and that navy cloak made him look like a painting.
He was tall, with long limbs. His trained body and balanced gait gave a sense of reassurance to onlookers.
‘Most noblewomen would fall for him at first sight.’
And there was something even stranger.
Tempest tried to hold Encrid back with words before he left.
“Why don’t you ask for something?”
He had saved Zaun from disaster. He had removed the threat looming over Zaun.
‘Just two swordsmen and a young girl.’
The three of them hadn’t done everything.
But what would have happened without this man? No great insight was needed.
Either things would have gone as Hescal wanted, or the Empire, arriving late with sly smiles, would have had its way.
Their “tacit alliance” with the Empire put more weight on the “tacit” than the “alliance”.
‘The Empire always seeks to devour Zaun.’
But Zaun did not want that.
Individuals who sought personal glory could leave, but the group known as Zaun did not wish it.
Where once the Empire’s hunting dogs had stood, Encrid had taken their place.
So Encrid could have named his price.
He could have claimed the sword that was Zaun.
Even if things didn’t go entirely his way, he could at least have tried.
But Encrid of the Border Guard—Ragna’s comrade and captain—asked for nothing.
Yes, sometimes there were rare people like this.
Those who left debts unpaid, looking not to the present but far into the future.
But even they differed from Encrid. He didn’t even bother to leave debts behind.
That was the most surprising thing.
“What more should I ask for?”
Encrid tilted his head genuinely.
Though he leaned on a cane due to his injured leg, Tempest stood straight, chest out.
“Because you saved Zaun.”
No need to beat around the bush. He wasn’t good at that. He couldn’t use subtle, nuanced language.
This man knew the worth of what he’d done. He was perceptive and intelligent.
And yet—
“I’ve already received enough.”
That was all he said.
Was this impulsiveness? Or a calculated move, looking to Zaun’s future?
Tempest wasn’t sure.
Instead of schemes and calculations, he followed the fire now burning in his heart.
As head of the house, this was something he had never said before.
“If you ever call for us, Zaun will stand at your side. Odinkar, you must uphold my vow.”
“Of course.”
Odinkar, standing nearby, nodded without hesitation.
Perhaps because he had seen the man named Encrid even before Tempest had, Odinkar showed no doubt.
His words were light, unburdened by emotion due to the family head’s habitual restraint. But their meaning was heavy.
Yet Encrid wasn’t surprised. Why would he be?
He glanced at them once with eyes that said “Is that all?” then nodded and turned away.
“Well then.”
Seeing this, the head of the house spoke.
“For the hero who saved the house.”
There were no cheers or tears.
Only the sound of drawn weapons.
Cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-chang.
Dozens of swords rose toward the sky, saluting their hero.
It was summer, a season of clear sunlight and lush greenery.
* * *
Ragna blinked twice before realizing this place wasn’t real.
‘The Sunrise.’
He had come to claim the sword, the heirloom and relic passed down through Zaun’s generations.
The sword’s form wasn’t fixed, and even its name, Sunrise, changed from time to time.
That was all Ragna knew. The rest came from his father.
“It’s simple. Overcome the residual Will embedded in the sword, and it becomes yours. If someone unworthy grabs it, they’ll be reduced to a fool.”
“Is that so?”
Ragna showed neither doubt nor fear. He didn’t even ask about the qualifications.
The sword had been stored in an ordinary wooden box. It was rusty, with chipped edges, hardly looking like a treasured blade.
That in itself was perhaps the best security.
What thief would suspect this was a precious sword?
And if grabbing it could drive one mad, it was even less likely to be seen as a treasure.
Next to it lay another sword, a hilt forged with silver, brought long ago by Lynox.
It looked far more valuable.
“I only swung it twice. Back then, its name was Sunset.”
Ragna reflected on his father’s words and looked ahead.
Before him stood three figures, two men and a woman.
The woman, her hair such a bright red it looked aflame, smiled brightly and spoke.
“Don’t underestimate residual Wills. They’ll kill you.”
“We’re short on time, so let’s hurry.”
Ragna immediately replied.
As they fought, he learned that these three had once been aided by Aker, an old friend.
But he let that pass through one ear.
Warnings that dragging out the fight might lead to his real body withering away went unheard.
“You’re a tough one.”
Only the woman spoke. Apparently, Aker hadn’t taught her the proper techniques, but that wasn’t Ragna’s concern.
What he sought was the heirloom weapon, an engraved sword that changed form with each bearer’s will.
“You brat, don’t you know how to respect your ancestors?”
Even hearing such words, he shrugged them off and swung his greatsword.
He watched those who shattered their limits and moved forward.
‘I can do it too.’
He had to fight all three at once. But that didn’t matter. Those who want to quit look for excuses.
Those who believe they can do it always find a way. Ragna did just that. He fought persistently, with faith.
Everyone had expected it would take at least two weeks, but Ragna woke after only three days.
“He left first?”
He heard that Encrid had already departed, but he wasn’t surprised.
At a glance, Encrid seemed like someone who calculated everything before making a move, but Ragna, having been by his side, knew a part of his true nature.
He likely just moved according to his instincts.
So it wasn’t all that surprising. Everyone except Ragna seemed shocked.
He stepped out with a heavy greatsword in hand, and he hadn’t turned into a mindless fool.
“Wasn’t Sunrise supposed to be a longsword?”
Odinkar tilted his head. That’s what most people thought.
“If it acknowledges its master, it can change its form.”
The head of the house answered. If one looked closely, he was so surprised that his eyes were slightly wider than usual.
Alexandra, who shared his bed, would’ve noticed the change.
* * *
“It all comes down to cycles. Cycles.”
Valphir Valmung, the Imperial Knight. Everyone had seemed displeased when they learned he and Encrid were traveling alone together.
But for all that, the journey had been quite enjoyable.
“Cycles. Junior-Knights imbue their Will into their skills. As they grow, they naturally use their Will. And to truly master it, they must once again consciously infuse their Will into their actions.”
It sounded like vague philosophy, but Encrid understood instantly, he’d experienced it with his own body.
The surges and restraints of willpower were all about naturally blending Will into one’s techniques.
‘The transformation of Will’s nature.’
That had been Encrid’s next challenge, and without realizing it, he had already overcome it.
That was why, when Tempest Zaun had spoken to him, he could honestly say he’d received much already.
Zaun had shared knowledge generously, and he was satisfied with what he had gained.
‘I’ve learned a lot.’
That thought remained unchanged.
Even though he had saved them, it was natural for Encrid not to demand anything.
And if he had taken Zaun away from its unique position, it would no longer be Zaun.
‘Zaun can dedicate itself to training because it remains isolated.’
That was why it could become what it was now.
Endless training. Eating, sleeping, waking—only to wield the sword again.
Isolation prevented them from being entangled in outside interests. In that sense, the three villages were like Zaun’s armor.
They handled external matters while Zaun focused on discipline. A simple structure.
‘As a small, elite force, they might be the strongest group on the continent.’
In the continental battlefields dominated by elite small units, Zaun’s power was no small thing.
Valmung knew much and continued sharing such insights.
They traveled briskly for hours, working up a light sweat. They had agreed not to rest while the sun was up.
They walked narrow forest paths, climbed hills, descended slopes, and leapt across streams.
For two men whose physical abilities exceeded human limits, jumping across streams wide enough for three or four people to lie side by side was nothing.
After crossing one such stream and finding a moderately gentle downhill slope, Valmung spoke up.
“Do you know why Tempest Zaun and Lynox dislike me?”
“No.”
“It’s simple. I don’t care what means I use to win.”
Methods and means carry different meanings for different people.
For example, when Encrid used the environment or provoked his opponents, that too was using any means necessary.
But the people of Zaun wouldn’t fault him for that.
They also studied tactics and enjoyed battle.
Valmung’s reason must be something else, probably something dirtier.
“I have no shame. What’s wrong with exploiting weaknesses?”
And Encrid had a broad, generous nature. He wouldn’t condemn Valphir’s methods.
Even if those methods were rough or distasteful, he could accept them.
After passing through thick brush and stepping into a muddy, landslide-damaged area that coated their boots in muck, they finally reached flat ground again.
On the way, they occasionally spotted monsters, but none were foolish enough to challenge the two.
Those that did were swiftly slain, not even delaying their steps.
Each time, Encrid observed Valphir’s techniques carefully.
Valphir didn’t even draw a weapon. He used his steel bracers to smash the monsters’ skulls.
When a giant boar beast, larger than a giant and moving on four legs, charged at them, Valphir casually twisted his body and crushed its skull with the back of his hand.
The boar-beast’s broken head flopped a few more steps before it collapsed.
Later, they also killed a horde of drowned corpses washed up by days of heavy rain—again, Valphir didn’t bother drawing a weapon.
Encrid wasn’t trying to compete, but he too had been immersed lately in developing new sword techniques and ended up punching monsters to death with his bare hands.
“The monsters were fighting in formation, weren’t they?”
Valphir commented after killing a few beasts.
“I was almost curious who trained them.”
“That’s not so unusual. Near the Demon Realm, you see it often. It’s been happening more frequently these past few years.”
The Demon Realm.
When Encrid showed genuine interest, Valphir continued.
“Just as humans learn techniques from monsters, monsters have started learning human tactics. It’s only natural that they pick things up.”
There were many reasons Encrid found this journey enjoyable.
One was the subtle tension that arose from being with only one other person.
Another was the kind of stories Valmung told, things one couldn’t hear just anywhere.
Encrid had once bought tales from bards even when he barely had any krona to his name.
He had a soft spot for stories.
“What are they learning?”
“You didn’t know? Intimidation originally belonged to monsters. In fact, the entire concept of Will techniques came from observing monsters.”
In Encrid’s eyes, Valmung wasn’t just an Imperial Knight. He was also a fascinating storyteller.
Even now, he kept sharing tales that made Encrid’s ears perk up.
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