Chapter 688: A Familiar Face

Enkrid had experience as both a pathfinder and a bounty hunter. It was from a time when he did anything and everything just to earn a few krona.

But that didn’t mean he approached the job with a half-hearted attitude. Reading signs like footprints in soil or snapped branches to determine direction was second nature to him.

Especially when branches had been intentionally bent upward to mark the way—clearly Grida’s doing.

Branches naturally bend downward or forward as one moves through. If they bent upward, someone did it deliberately.

At regular intervals—roughly every thirty steps by a grown man’s stride—branches pointed the way. A subtle kindness from a skilled guide for those following behind.

So chasing them down was easy. The trio ahead would unavoidably be slower than him, especially since Ragna was carrying Anne and would have some restrictions in movement.

Still, Enkrid wondered if something had happened to the group ahead.

Did the enemy prepare more traps?

He pondered while running. Could the mage have predicted they would deviate from the expected route?

If so, perhaps a secondary large-scale curse—like the one that disoriented direction—lay ahead.

A double barrier?

No way to know unless he saw it himself. He kept moving, legs churning as his mind turned.

And somewhere in his mind, for fun, he kept reflecting.

Swordsmanship.

He couldn’t help it.

He had just discovered the concept of calculated swordsmanship.

Naturally, that implied the existence of an opposite: instinctive swordsmanship.

Interesting.

The thrill of discovery brought a shiver of joy. Something new had come to him, and it didn’t feel far off. It was so exciting he felt like he might die from happiness.

If I die from happiness and repeat the day, what would the Ferryman say?

He hadn’t heard it aloud, but he could almost hear a sarcastic voice.

“...Did you really just say that?”

Maybe he’d get to see the Ferryman’s dumbfounded expression one day.

In any case, when he split perspectives into calculation and instinct, the special traits of his squadmates became clear.

Audin and Jaxon calculate.

They always considered the situation, the variables, and thought ahead.

Ragna and Rem follow instinct.

They didn’t think—they felt.

But they turned everything to their advantage.

One more outlier: Shinar.

The fairy’s techniques involved harmony—turning the opponent’s strength against them.

She’s a balanced type.

And the flaws of balance she compensated for by weaponizing her opponent’s strength.

Winter mountain breeze.

Her swordplay was a balance of calculation and instinct.

Enkrid still remembered the swordsmanship Shinar had displayed after resettling her village. He hadn’t understood it then—but he did now.

She read some of my movements. The rest, she matched with instinct.

Judging by that, Shinar might’ve been the most skilled of them all.

“There's no such thing as perfection. It’s a matter of who’s sharper.”

Jaxon’s words echoed in his head, and he found himself agreeing. In the end, the sharpest one wins. So Shinar and Jaxon’s approaches weren’t mutually exclusive.

Whatever the case, Enkrid now knew what he had to do.

Instinctive swordsmanship.

He’d master it next. Not just hiding his specialty—developing another.

The words in his mind answered the very question he’d asked himself during the duel with Audin before they left.

***

“Think he’ll be okay?”

Magrun adjusted his pace as he asked. He was referring to Enkrid, who had stayed behind.

The night was still long. It was unlikely the ambush would be the last. Magrun was sure of that.

Whether spell, curse, or monster—something would try to block their path. That was only natural.

He didn’t doubt Enkrid’s safety, but the identity of the one behind these attacks was still unclear. That uncertainty made him uneasy.

It was Ragna who answered.

“He’ll be better off than if I had stayed. He looked like he was having the time of his life.”

Enkrid fought better when excited. And he never forgot his responsibilities while doing so.

Magrun had spent two months watching him.

Yeah, that tracks.

Even in just two months, Enkrid had earned that kind of trust.

Still, some part of him felt like he should worry. But no matter how feral the Scalers were, they couldn’t possibly overwhelm a knight—especially not Enkrid.

And that was the truth.

Even Magrun saw that Enkrid wasn’t just any knight.

“I’d say it was the best choice in that moment.”

Grida agreed, though even she was quietly impressed.

Enkrid always seemed to make the best decision—even under pressure, even with limited time.

It’s like he’s someone who’s gone through this same situation countless times before.

And she wasn’t wrong.

In his repeated “todays,” he had made these decisions over and over. Sometimes he’d had to make them under excruciatingly short time limits.

That ability to judge and act quickly was one of the many things Enkrid had earned through his endless regressions.

Grida didn’t know that, so she chalked it up to talent.

Honestly, had the whole group stayed behind to fight, they’d likely have lost more time instead.

If the monsters had split their forces and pursued both parties, we’d have had an easier time.

They still had reserves. Grida, Magrun—both capable fighters. If Magrun had another fit from his condition, that’d be trouble—but he seemed stable for now.

In short, by making a snap decision to stay behind, Enkrid prevented delay and forced the monsters into his terms.

With no colony leader commanding them, the Scalers couldn’t act tactically.

Still not sure why a special specimen showed up, though.

But now wasn’t the time to think about that.

Everything will become clear once we reach Zaun.

Once there, most of these uncertainties would have answers.

No way they’re unaware of what’s happening out here.

Especially since Odinkar had gone ahead to warn them.

While Magrun was deep in thought, Enkrid rejoined the group.

He wasn’t out of breath—just a little excited.

“It’s time to learn instinct.”

“...What?”

Grida had been about to say, “Good job out there,” but stopped to ask instead. What the hell was he talking about?

“I’ve got a decent grasp of the path. The wall isn’t that high.”

Enkrid spoke again and quickly caught up to Ragna.

Ragna, hearing him, offered no reaction.

“The hell are you saying, you lunatic?”

Grida muttered. She was so thrown off that she didn’t see a tree root and tripped slightly—only to smash the root with her foot and keep moving. Knights had that kind of strength.

Crack!

The root snapped, spraying sap and splinters.

“Is he poisoned?”

Magrun turned and asked, slowing his pace.

“No. That’s just how he is.”

Ragna answered.

Even after two months of watching Enkrid, this level of madness was new to them.

“I’m striking with instinct now. Not judgment—instinct.”

Enkrid muttered, not ignoring them, but not exactly addressing them either. Then, just as quickly, he followed with something normal.

“All the Scalers are dealt with.”

“You’re telling us now?”

“There were four black ones. Are they common in this area?”

“You’re asking now?!”

If that was a colony, Border Guard and Martai would both be in trouble. That meant a monster nest barely ten days away on horseback.

And a special unit to boot.

They’d already seen Jericks the Ghoul in Oara. They knew monsters could train and evolve. So this was a threat.

They used psychokinesis. One had armored scales.

More precisely, two psychokinetics, two iron-skinned monsters.

“No, I’ve never seen anything like them before.”

Magrun gave up on expecting answers and just replied. His face had darkened since they set out. He was worried. About Zaun. About his own condition.

“Weird. There’ll be more ambushes.”

Enkrid said again. Most would treat this as more than “weird,” but not Enkrid—not after everything he’d seen.

And if there was nothing they could do about it now, then this was the best approach.

The others understood that. They moved on.

The only thing that mattered was whether another ambush would come.

“We expect it too.”

Grida nodded.

“It’ll take over ten days like this.”

Magrun agreed.

“We’ll know what’s going on once we get to Zaun. Odinkar went ahead too.”

Grida added. Magrun picked up the pace again.

He kept his senses sharp for signs of danger, though they slowed slightly to maintain awareness. Rushing blindly and missing something wasn’t worth it.

They minimized conversation. Talking would only dull their awareness.

They ran through the night. But no further ambush came.

At dawn, Magrun stopped, and Grida spoke up.

“How about we push through to evening, even if it’s rough? Freckles will probably sleep better.”

“Agreed.”

Enkrid nodded.

They ran again. Sweat clung to them as they crossed ridge after ridge.

There was no time for luxuries like washing.

They refilled water at a stream. Caught a few animals.

Though the Pen-Hanil Mountains had monsters and beast-creatures, normal animals also lived there.

After all, beast-creatures were simply animals corrupted by monster blood.

Deeper in the great forests, it was all monsters—but that was a separate hellscape.

They caught a few animals, roasted them over an open fire, and ate. No seasoning. Just meat.

It reeked—but at least they had something.

Even Anne ate and drank when she awoke.

“I can’t sleep any more with drugs. It’d harm my body.”

When that happened, she clung tightly to Ragna’s back and endured.

“Ugh, this is actually torture.”

It wasn’t as fast as a horse, but clinging to someone moving through uneven terrain was still exhausting.

Enkrid, though, was impressed.

This wasn’t a run across plains. It was a mountain crossing.

They leapt over boulders, kicked up dust, ran hard.

The dry dirt got into everything. Pick your nose—black. Scratch your ear—black.

Three days passed.

Enkrid, Ragna, even Anne all expected something to happen by now—but nothing did.

They remained on alert, but heard nothing—no scent, no signs.

They crossed more ridges, hiked steep inclines, got covered in dust, crossed a broad stream.

The stream was only waist-deep, but gambesons and cloaks became burdens when wet, so they had to strip down to thin trousers, hoist their weapons and bags overhead, and wade through.

Honestly, Enkrid thought this would be a perfect ambush spot. But even then—nothing.

Eventually, they reached it.

“This is the Lapata Gorge. You’re probably curious about the name, but there’s no time. Too bad.”

Magrun said, gesturing to the path flanked by steep earthen walls. His tone was firm—but Enkrid had come to understand him.

He’s saying he’s sorry he can’t explain it.

His tone might be sharp, but the meaning was simple.

Like someone wanting to explain the beautiful scenery of their hometown to a friend.

But some bastard had ruined that plan.

Which made passing through this gorge feel even more unpleasant.

But the alternative path was too long—so they pushed forward.

“...Why hasn’t anything happened?”

Grida muttered.

“Seriously.”

Ragna replied.

It was ironic.

Even when they were just a stone’s throw from Zaun—no ambush.

Enkrid found that strange.

Why?

He got a glimpse of the answer when they finally arrived.

Zaun sat nestled in a basin atop a mountain ridge. At first glance, it looked like a close-knit village.

A few stately buildings stood out, and everyone carried a sword. Other than that, it could’ve been any remote mountain village, far from monsters or beast-creatures.

And standing at the gate was a man Enkrid recognized.

Strangely enough—it was a familiar face.

Not one he’d seen in real life.

“You’re late, Grida.”

The man stood beside a gate of tall pointed wooden stakes—taller than a grown man. The gate was open behind him.

When Enkrid saw him, he thought of a gate that could never be breached. A sword that could never break.

He’d never seen such things. But looking at this man, he imagined them.

That’s how strong his presence was. At rest, he was a mountain.

And when he moved, he would be a storm.

Enkrid’s sharpened intuition saw it clearly.

In dreams, he’d noticed the thick brows, the lean cheeks, the solid build.

But face-to-face, it was his presence that spoke first.

“That’s the head of the house.”

Magrun said. But Enkrid had already figured it out.

The head of Zaun. The leader of the family that raised knights. Who else could it be?

“You’ve brought guests.”

The head of house said.

And as his presence pressed ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) down, Enkrid instinctively activated his Will, resisting the subtle pressure—and felt a creeping doubt.

He doesn’t know who we are?

If Odinkar had arrived first, that shouldn’t be possible.