Chapter 710 - By the Law of the Continent
By the law of the continent, normally there would be no reason for the members of Yohan to obey the words of someone who wasn't the head of the family.
"What's he saying?"
It would've been natural for them to ignore him completely with that kind of reaction.
However, this was one of those moments when orders or commands were necessary—and more than that, it was Enkrid, so it was fine.
More precisely, it didn't feel unnatural to listen to him.
Enkrid had spent time eating, sleeping, and swinging swords alongside them.
Especially, the time spent sparring with swords had been intensely intimate.
Even as an outsider, as someone not of Yohan blood, Enkrid was a man who matched the tone of the family better than anyone.
In any case, Enkrid was now ready to draw the sword named Yohan from its sheath and wield it.
It was right as Ana Hera launched the attack, and the monsters stationed before the head of the family, Alexandra, and Rhinox began to move.
The horde of monsters closed the distance toward the fortress the head of the family had created, forming an organized shape around the Scaler.
They weren't just charging—this was a coordinated encirclement.
Had Enkrid seen it, he would've truly applauded the one who had trained the monsters to move like this.
Since Ragna hadn't heard Enkrid's order, he remained standing behind the head of the family—in what might be called a rather ambiguous position.
"Father."
Ragna called out to his father's back.
His gaze was fixed forward, and his greatsword was unsheathed, its tip resting on the ground.
To the untrained eye, it was a meaningless stance, but in truth, it was a posture from which he could strike at any time.
It meant he was ready to fight whenever necessary.
That stance was strikingly similar to his father's.
Naturally so—Ragna had learned the sword by watching his father.
He made his father his goal, and while getting beaten up by his mother, he picked up the sword.
That was Ragna's beginning.
"Speak."
His father replied, still facing away.
The monsters were approaching.
There was no chance they would kill him, but this could still be Yohan's final hour—and thus, his father's last moment as well.
"What do you want to leave behind for the next generation? What have you left behind?"
Perhaps he had picked this up from Enkrid.
He suddenly found himself curious about his father's dream—what he truly wished for.
"My body can no longer recover. I know it better than anyone."
The answer came without hesitation, as if he had been waiting for the question.
At a glance, it might've sounded like nonsense.
But if his father had judged this to be the time to say it, then Ragna had no choice but to listen.
"Take the sunrise. But give up the family."
Tempest knew well that his body was no longer what it used to be.
He had no desire to miss the chance to say in person what he had once passed through Enkrid.
Still turned away, he added:
"I will entrust the family to Odincar."
Was this meant to set Ragna's heart at ease?
Judging by tone alone, it sounded utterly indifferent.
Like someone casually offering a piece of candy.
But they were talking about the head seat of the family and the sacred sword Sunrise—neither something to be spoken of so lightly.
It wasn't that his father lacked sincerity.
He simply had a long-standing habit—he couldn't express emotion with words.
Only a few people, like his wife and Grida, knew this secret.
Though it wasn't a grand secret by any means—those who knew, simply knew.
Ragna had always known it, at least intellectually.
'I understand now.'
But now it struck deeper.
His father's resolve sank into him like a blade scraping past skin and muscle, cutting down to bone.
His father always spoke with sincerity.
He might stay silent, but once he opened his mouth, only the truth would come out.
Unable to show emotion, yet filled with love for his wife, his family, and his clan—
His chosen way to express that love was to speak with nothing but honesty.
Even if he told his child "I love you" a hundred times, the child might still look at him indifferently.
So as a father, he did the only thing he could: speak from the heart every time he spoke.
That was the vow and will of Tempest Yohan.
The path the father had chosen now touched the son's heart.
He was sincere.
The son who once wandered lost through the world had returned, grown.
Now, he could understand his father's heart, and truly listen to his words.
The family cannot be passed to him.
Ragna's home was no longer Yohan.The reason Odincar had been left behind—someone willing to give his life for Yohan—was the same.
He would lead the clan in Ragna's stead.
And to Ragna, his son—he would give the sunrise and his freedom.
"Then I suppose this battle will be my final duty, Father."
Ragna responded in time with his father's rhythm.
The deeper meaning behind his words was likely nothing more than a show of respect for his father's will.
"And my wish… is for a stable home.Preferably one without curses or disease."
The family head spoke again.
"No one will be able to stand in the way of my father's dream."
Ragna answered.
The two different statements strangely intertwined, each becoming words meant for the other.
Then the monsters came like a crashing wave, and Ragna instinctively shielded the family head's back as he waited for Enkrid's voice.
He believed Enkrid would say exactly what he needed to hear.
So for now, all he had to do was wait.
A command.
Ragna said to himself and stepped back.
What should one do when their dream crosses paths with the will of another?
The answer, of course, lies in the law of the continent.
Might makes right.
The Empire was built on that idea, and so was the world Enkrid knew.
In the end, only the dreams of the victor remain.
This battlefield is no different.
One dreams of change, while another fights to protect what they have.
"That's a foolish thing to do."
Said the one who dreamt of change.
"Hescal, you've never once beaten me."
Came the unspoken reply from the one who stood in defense.
It wasn't said aloud, but the exchange might as well have been.
Their conversation took place through action.
Swoooosh.
The downpouring rain never ceased its chorus.
Crack!
And the occasional thunderbolts added their weight to the orchestra of war.
This is war—where wit, knowledge, and strength are pitted against each other.
Enkrid sent Ana Hera and Kato forward.
They were faster on their feet than anyone else.
And on this side, there was a man who couldn't move as swiftly, but whose swordsmanship wouldn't fall behind either of them.
"Riley holds the center! Ivan, Lennon, Rontis—go left and hold the line! Those who were with them before, line up behind them on your own! Betty, Ludens, Carl—you take the right! You're the support! Fight like you're protecting our backs! If it breaks, we lose!"
Intuition is a tool that pulls from experience and information to draw answers even from the subconscious.
That's what Enkrid was using now.
The time he'd spent training and sparring in Yohan had not been in vain.
He knew Yohan.
Not everything about it, but enough to lead.
Still, this is bad.
A creeping sense of dread gnawed at his brain like claws scratching his eyeballs.
Ssshhhhhhh!
The Scalers shrieked in unison, spreading their disruptive cries.
That was their specialty—distorting perception.
And just like that, plague maidens began floating in midair, drifting through the battlefield.
They didn't send them toward the family head on purpose.
If the family head or Alexandra were in their path, those wraiths would've been instantly cleaved through with Will or other means.
Hescal clearly knew how to manage a battlefield—deploying the right force to the right place.
Now, the summoned wraiths began spreading disease as they floated forward.
"Get them out and spread it."
Enkrid ordered, eyes fixed on the wraiths.
Anne wasn't foolish.
And Enkrid, even less so.
They had already prepared for this.
While Enkrid spent his time in duels and drills, Anne had gathered herbs and made medicine.
Before they departed, she handed everyone clumps of amber-colored powder.
Following Riley's lead, everyone pulled out the powder and coated their blades.
"Once your dress is on, start dancing!"
Even with that ominous pressure hammering his mind, even when the situation was anything but favorable—
"It's going to be fun."
Just as Luagarne once said, Enkrid moved those around him with a rising sense of thrill.
In a battlefield like this, wielding soldiers was no different than wielding a blade.
"I won't lose."
Even as the thrill coursed through him, a fierce determination surged from deep in his gut—not to lose, no matter what.
"What kind of crazy talk is that?"
Even in this madness, Riley reacted to Enkrid's nonsense.
He drew a throwing dagger and reached his right arm behind him.
His foot was crippled, so he had trained extensively in throwing techniques.
It wasn't the same style as Jaxen's, but there was something worth learning from it.
He balanced on one leg, using his entire body like a launching platform.
Using the planted foot as an axis, his whole body spun like a whirlwind, and his outstretched arm snapped forward like a whip.
Pang!
As his arm split the air, the dagger shot forward, piercing through the heads of two Plague Maidens in an instant, vanishing into the storm beyond.
It was a technique that used the full force of his body's muscles to throw a blade.
Hard to use in succession—he poured enough force into the throw that his hand nearly touched the ground from the recoil.
It was a move meant to carry all his will in a single throw.
'Impressive.'
Enkrid acknowledged him calmly.
Riley was also a sword of Yohan.
Despite being cut by Hescal, he stood firm, looking forward on his own.
It was time for him too—to leave his father's shadow.
'There is no tomorrow for those who do not move forward.'
Riley would see tomorrow.
He deserved that much.
Dududududu!
The lizard cavalry quickly closed the distance to where swords would reach.
A Skaler rider wielded a black wooden rod in reverse grip as he charged.
No need to ask—each of those rods was likely drenched in poison.
They clashed with Riley's group at the center and the fighting began.
"If you die before the idiot, you're even more of an idiot!"
Riley's shout rang out.
It tore through the Skalers' hissing sounds like a blade.
A rallying cry that carried far, even in the storm.
Riley had no battlefield experience, but he had learned the sword from Hescal.
And having only one leg, he was deeply accustomed to training in sync with others.
He was the only one here with the potential to command even a small unit.
And just look—he knew how to raise morale right before a fight.
Of course, it was all made possible because Enkrid had set the stage.
"Hahahaha!"
From afar, Ana Hera's laughter echoed.
The adopted warrior daughter of Yohan and a giant by blood, she swung a sword whose grip an ordinary person wouldn't even be able to wrap their hand around.
Crack! Crunch, Snap!
Ana Hera's greatsword tore into and smashed the approaching lizard cavalry that tried to close in.
"Den! Pick out ten, including yourself, and break through over there!"
Enkrid drew his sword and pointed to one side.
Den was one of those who had been out of it.
Enkrid called him because he saw him muttering, "Shit… idiot," while drawing his sword after Riley's shout.
Den wasn't especially skilled, but he was well-liked.
He was also a friend of two of the four that Hescal killed when leaving Yohan.
So, he'd glared at Riley with resentment before.
But seeing Riley charge in like that must've made him feel ashamed.
Even that crippled idiot, cast aside by his own father, is fighting—what the hell am I doing?
That might've been what crossed his mind.
Either way, he was finally ready to fight, and acted immediately.
At Enkrid's command, ten swordsmen, including Den, stepped forward.
All wielded only a single blade.
These were Yohan's finest.
Aside from those who hadn't yet awakened their talents due to lack of time, each one of them would be called a monster the moment they stepped onto the continent.
As he called them forth and gave orders, Enkrid's gaze constantly swept left and right.
Bang! Boom!
The clan leader swung his greatsword at the charging beasts, slashing and stabbing with more force than even Ana Hera.
He didn't retreat a single step.
Alexandra stood beside him, no different.
She bounded and weaved within a five-step radius of her position.
Wherever she passed, the limbs and necks of beasts lay severed and strewn.
Rhinox had drawn two of his six swords and fought with one in each hand.
In his left was the Esterk, a thin, light-bladed sword, and in his right a thick-bladed falchion.
He blocked with the Esterk and struck with the falchion.
A simple style—intercepting incoming attacks and cutting them down.
And yet, the number of monsters felled before him was the highest of the three.
Enkrid had seen it before—his swordsmanship was full of lessons worth studying.
'Deflect with the light blade, strike with the heavy one.'
He replaced the concept of blocking with the Esterk's redirection and used the falchion to attack with minimal motion but maximum power.
Truly a man who breaks a hundred techniques and creates a hundred more.
Swaaah!
Suddenly, the downpour intensified.
Perhaps because the Plague Maiden had appeared and then vanished back into her chamber.
Despite the thick smell and chaos of the battlefield, something else crept in—sweet and cloying, cutting through it all.
No spells had been launched yet, and even with the rain pouring, Enkrid's sharpened instincts picked up that faint scent.
Yohan had knights, and Hescal was clever.
Would he start a fight knowing they had knights without preparing countermeasures?
This was likely one of them.
Dmule, that creature who claimed godhood and spread plague, may be the root of the threat—
'But the one who painted this battle… is Hescal.'
And that picture of his wasn't broken yet.
That's how Enkrid saw it.
***
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