Chapter 700: The Storm After the Calm

The /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ calm before the storm is always just that—calm, until the storm comes.

That’s how it was for Enkrid now.

“Nothing in particular that needs doing.”

It felt like something was about to happen, but there was no immediate threat before his eyes.

Grida seemed busy, but Enkrid had no reason to go poking around everywhere.

So instead—he simply spent the entire day swinging his sword.

He’d done the same back in the Border Guard, but in Zaun, he did it even more. Besides, this place encouraged that sort of behavior.

No one found it strange. On the contrary, they marveled at how dedicated an outsider could be, and they enjoyed the moment with him.

What Enkrid taught was novel to them—reason enough to enjoy it.

All of Zaun craved new techniques.

“Rest day’s over! Time to fight!”

A boy shouted that before dawn and charged at Enkrid as he warmed up.

And—

“Wanna melt in the arms of this beauty?”

—came a cry from the most beautiful woman of the giant race—by Zaun’s standards, at least.

Next to her, a cackling laugh that was impossible to imitate came from an old swordsman named Lynox.

“Hey, this is my home. You think you can keep fighting like you used to—‘calculating’ things—in my backyard?”

That came from Grida, who had vanished for a few days, only to reappear acting as if nothing had happened—despite scouring the area and suspecting something was brewing within Zaun.

“You’ve got dark circles. Are you sleeping properly?”

“...Haven’t been sleeping well lately. Maybe because I’m back home.”

Or maybe it was because the tension was eating her alive.

When you string a bow and keep it drawn too long, the bow and string both degrade quickly.

Humans are the same.

Even knights, though they might be wired with thicker nerves, are still human at the core.

No knight could rest easy in the tense air flowing through Zaun right now.

Well—normal people couldn’t. Enkrid, on the other hand, was sleeping just fine. Eating well too. So was Ragna.

“You said you were going to get the sunrise. Where is it?”

That was Enkrid, casually asking the lounging Ragna next to him.

Ragna wiped the sweat off his forehead and turned his head toward where the clan head might be.

Of course, he was looking in the wrong direction—toward the road that led out of Zaun.

“...Hmm.”

Ragna paused, choosing his words carefully. That was new.

Back during the Mad Squad’s early days, the disaster-prone squad that preceded the Border Guard, he used to speak without thinking.

Now he was thinking. That struck a chord with Enkrid.

As Ragna hesitated, a boy nearby muttered,

“My muscles are tightening up just right. Oh yeah, this is good. Real good.”

During his time training and sparring, Enkrid had taught them the Audin-style physical conditioning method.

Some of Zaun’s youth adapted to it instantly—this boy was one of those living proofs.

He mumbled to himself while lifting a boulder, making the muscles in his back twitch. His body was already well developed, so the weight kept increasing rapidly.

Zaun had its own training methods, which Enkrid had observed and learned. But when it came to pure physical strength, nothing surpassed Audin’s method.

Audin had refined and rebuilt the training regimen of a sacred warrior monk from the Holy City of Legion, adding theoretical principles tailored to Enkrid.

It was a testament to Audin’s genius.

If he saw this now, he’d probably beam with pride.

"Excellent work, brother! Sister! Have I mentioned your strength surpasses that of most men!"

He might shout that aloud.

These kids had adapted surprisingly well to Audin’s form of torture.

And because they had such intense drive and competitiveness, they pushed themselves even harder when their peers excelled—there was no reason their skills wouldn’t improve.

After watching for a while, Ragna finally spoke.

“I thought it was urgent. But... I just don’t feel it.”

“Why not?”

Enkrid asked, since he couldn’t guess the reason either. Ragna didn’t seem to know where his own feelings were headed. He was lost again.

“I wonder that myself.”

He said it flatly, but to Enkrid, it seemed like frustration—or maybe anger—was simmering beneath.

And then, without any more explanation, Ragna just kept swinging his sword. So did Enkrid.

Meanwhile, Anne, off to the side, kept fidgeting with something—always doing something.

Enkrid glanced over now and then.

“Did you extract poison from a corpse? No, you kept the infected person alive and drew it from them. Right? Am I right?”

She asked like that sometimes.

“Right.”

Enkrid agreed despite having no idea. Anne’s sheer presence demanded an answer.

She’d pulled over a table from somewhere, sat in a corner of the training yard, mixing and pouring things, sniffing liquids, carefully handling them with green-hide gloves.

From behind, all you saw was her small back, but her entire body radiated focused will.

You could feel she was doing something important. Enkrid’s sensitive perception caught the pressure emanating from her.

“That’s Will.”

So, Anne was a genius too. That conclusion came naturally.

“This much is nothing.”

Anne murmured, completely absorbed. She probably didn’t even realize Enkrid was watching.

“I can do this. I will destroy this damned thing.”

She kept muttering to herself.

If someone saw her eyes right now, they’d probably be burning with fire.

“How many days has she been like that?”

Enkrid asked Ragna, who was posted in front of the quarters.

“Since she arrived. Hasn’t stopped once.”

Ragna trained nearby and rarely left her side.

Enkrid nodded and turned to leave.

That’s when Ragna said—

“She said she likes me.”

“...Rem?”

“If you say something that disgusting again, even as a joke, I’ll cut out your tongue.”

“Apologies.”

“Anne said it.”

Enkrid remembered the Anne he knew from the Border Guard.

She used to pop into the training grounds constantly, always complaining about being busy but still showing up.

She brought food. Drinks. Sometimes potions for stamina recovery.

Though it all ended up in Ragna’s mouth first.

Whatever she was doing, she was always closest to Ragna.

Kraiss had known. Enkrid had known. Even Rem had known.

Anne liked Ragna.

But Ragna was oblivious.

This idiot couldn’t find a path—and couldn’t read people either.

“Now that I think about it... maybe I felt the same.”

Ragna said quietly—just loud enough for Enkrid to hear.

He meant he’d developed feelings in return. But said it in the most unromantic way possible.

“Not like I want you to pass that on.”

“Just stating it.”

Maybe he just wanted someone to know. Ragna’s thoughts were simple.

He didn’t know why, but he didn’t feel like going to get the sunrise anymore. Maybe that’s why his chest felt heavy. Or maybe his illness had worsened.

Last night, he’d coughed up blood while sleeping. He’d been fine all the way here.

Is the end approaching?

Maybe.

That would explain this moment.

A fog settled over part of his heart. So he wanted to clarify something else instead.

“But I’m not saying I’ll get closer to her.”

Then he muttered,

“Unless something changes.”

Enkrid nodded.

“All right.”

He admits he likes her—then says he won’t get close.

Sure. Mad talk. The kind of thing a madman would say.

So there’s no need to understand it.

Since the old Mad Squad days, Enkrid had long given up trying to read Ragna’s inner thoughts—or anyone else’s.

He just went outside and swung his sword again.

Dark, thick storm clouds loomed overhead like a black wall. It looked like someone had stretched a pitch-black ceiling across the sky.

That’s supposed to be a cloud? No way.

Some might say that.

But Enkrid was calm. Sure, sunlight would’ve been better, but he wasn’t about to complain.

He just did what he always did—swung his sword.

So he did.

The Ferryman hadn’t shown up again, but his words remained in Enkrid’s memory.

Protect Anne.

Enkrid didn’t mention the Ferryman. He simply passed the message to Ragna.

Something might happen to Anne—so protect her.

On the way here, they’d encountered monsters targeting her. Ragna didn’t question it. He obeyed.

The day of pretending normalcy had passed.

During that time, Enkrid fell deep into thought.

Who disturbed the family?

Someone had pulled strings. That much hadn’t changed. And now, it seemed someone was using random events as tools.

That’s all Enkrid thought—he didn’t search for an answer.

There was no need for him to play detective. Even as he saw and heard more, his stance hadn’t changed.

“Is the clan head really going to do nothing?”

He once saw Heskal ask this after returning from the retirement village.

Lynox had also asked for a private meeting with the clan head to assert his opinion. But nothing had changed.

Heskal, spending time with Enkrid, said this at one point—

“Hah... if only the clan head were a bit more assertive.”

They were training, but Heskal hadn’t been focused. His sword swings were sluggish. Enkrid retrieved Three Iron and said,

“You mean he should accept Schmidt’s proposal?”

“That’d be good too. The Empire’s arms are wide, after all.”

Empty words. Hollow sentiment. That’s how it sounded.

Enkrid didn’t know the clan head’s mind. But he understood what Heskal wanted.

His eyes were full of dreams and yearning.

“Can I ask what you want to accomplish?”

Heskal’s eyes held hope and ambition.

“I’ll tell you later.”

He smiled.

From that, Enkrid sensed his dream was no easy thing.

But he also knew—he wouldn’t give up.

It was the kind of instinct that exists between kindred spirits.

“Damn it. No trace of Odinkar anywhere.”

Grida kept scouring Zaun for several days.

Magrun was gone. Odinkar was gone. She seemed nervous.

One evening, an old woman named Millestchia came to see Anne. She was Zaun’s healer.

“What is all this?”

After hearing about Anne’s research, her eyes widened. She seemed thrilled—said it just might work.

She also greeted Enkrid in passing.

And then, on a certain dawn, Enkrid woke—not by choice.

CRACK-KABOOM!

A bolt of lightning struck, thundering in his ears.

KRAAAAAAACK!

Before the thunder even finished, rain hammered the earth. Enkrid got up and looked out the window to see rain falling so hard, it looked like steel bars crashing down.

He almost worried the ground would crack open.

“Enkrid of the Border Guard.”

And then—someone called his name outside.

Someone he hadn’t expected at this hour.

Enkrid rose and immediately checked his gear.

Three Iron. Penna. One short sword. A horn-hilted dagger. Cloth gauntlets. The fairy’s innerwear. Leather armor over his torso and shoulders.

“No point in wearing the silk armor.”

The rain would soak it and make movement difficult. He knew that from experience. His instincts kicked in.

There was no real need for full armament—but he did it anyway.

Only after preparing completely did he open the door, calm and composed.

The clan head stood there—soaked to the bone.

He spoke.

“Come with me. Millestchia is dead.”

Enkrid had no idea what he was talking about. But the clan head looked like he’d come to place blame.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

Enkrid said calmly. Water pooled around the clan head’s feet. His voice was as emotionless as ever.

“Come. Now.”

Click.

The door beside them opened. Ragna.

“Who the hell are you blaming?”

In the pitch-dark hallway, the candle’s flame flickered—and Ragna’s shadow loomed large.