Chapter 705 - Information is key
Since they belonged to someone who was now dead, they were effectively keepsakes.
They might carry sentimental value for someone, but there was no time for sentimentality right now.
Paying respects to the dead would come after everything was over.
Holding back on using resources in a crisis—that was the act of a true idiot.
Some herbs that could afford to get wet were completely soaked by the rain, and the rest were tightly wrapped in oil-soaked cloaks and such.
Enkrid recognized, at most, three of the herbs.
Even with his rough-and-tumble experience in various places, which gave him some knowledge of emergency treatment, that was all.
After all, many of the treatments known among soldiers and mercenaries were old folk remedies without proven efficacy.
Like spitting on a wound because "spit keeps it from rotting."
Many herbs looked familiar but had unknown names.
Others were too soaked to even identify properly.
"Give them all to me."
Anne climbed the stairs and spread the herbs out along the hallway floor.
She placed her own bag beside them and began sorting and organizing the herbs.
Her hands moved without hesitation.
She recognized the herbs at a glance and worked quickly.
Ragna stood silently behind her.
Everyone, including the head of the house, simply watched Anne’s hands without a word.
Some might have felt uneasy, but most looked calm.
Part of it was because everyone in Yohan had nerves of steel, but more than that, it was probably due to the composure of the head of the house himself.
He casually dragged a chair over and sat down, then took off his wet boots, smacked them against his hands to shake out the water, turned them upside down, and stared indifferently out the window.
Swaaaah! Boom!
Amid the crashing of thunder and the howling storm came sharp sounds—
tap, crack, snap, thud, grind.
Anne was crushing and mixing herbs in a small mortar, blending them with liquids.
She had already finished sorting.
Now, she got to work.
Ana Hera brought over Grida and laid her down nearby.
She hadn’t been carried like dead weight—just weakened.
Grida had lost a lot of blood and her complexion was pale, but her eyes were still vivid and alert.
Even as she lay down, she didn’t let out a single groan.
She endured the pain.
"Take care of her."
The giant spoke.
Anne didn’t even look up as she gave a half-hearted reply.
"Yeah, yeah."
It sounded like she was brushing her off, but no one said a word.
Anne immediately slipped a knife under the bandages around Grida’s abdomen and sliced them open with a single pull.
Her swift movements were sharp enough to rival Ragna’s blade work.
She examined the wound closely, then poured a potion over it.
The liquid from the metal vial splashed onto Grida’s stomach.
Bububububu...
Bubbles frothed from the wound, and Grida’s body trembled violently.
A few people watched intently.
Is that stuff... safe?
Some likely had their doubts.
Anne didn’t pay any attention to them.
She checked that the bubbles had cleared, then handed Ragna another vial.
"This goes on now."
Ragna poured the liquid over Anne’s hands, and she moistened her fingers with it, then picked up a needle and thread.
The liquid on her hands dried quickly, as if it scattered into the air.
She threaded the needle and began stitching the wound.
It was the first time Enkrid had seen this kind of treatment.
It was also the first time he’d seen Anne move with such practiced skill.
The needle pierced skin.
Was it less painful than being stabbed?
Heskal had stabbed her in the gut, after all.
That was a surprise attack.
Now she had to lie there watching a needle sew her own flesh.
A stab was over in an instant, but this pain was prolonged.
It should’ve hurt more now—yet Grida remained calm.
Her brow twitched with each stitch, but she didn’t cry out.
And when she finally spoke, her anger seemed more about the situation than the pain.
"So... it wasn’t father. That’s a relief, I guess. Damn it, but I still feel like I got played."
She muttered from where she lay.
Some listened closely.
Others didn’t react.
"You didn’t suspect Heskal?"
The head of the house turned his gaze from the window to Grida, gave her a glance, then looked out again.
Enkrid was getting used to his mannerisms.
He could tell why the man kept staring out the window.
Next to him, Alexandra was explaining something to Schmit.
The more she talked, the more serious Schmit’s expression became.
"I did suspect him. I prepared for it. Still got hit."
Grida was blunt.
It wasn’t that she lacked competitiveness—she just prioritized what came next over what had already happened.
Guardians of Yohan were always preparing for the future.
Enkrid finally understood what being a "guardian" meant.
Which is why he couldn’t grasp Heskal’s behavior.
Grida’s actions matched the role of a guardian.
But Heskal?
The man had served as a guardian for decades.
Why suddenly betray that now?
"Not my problem."
His job was clear.
If he wanted to find out why, he could always ask while holding a blade to the man’s throat later.
"Is there any faster or more effective method?"
And if someone still didn’t talk even with a blade at their throat?
Then no method would work anyway.
Well, technically, there were psychological tricks—deception, pressure, manipulation.
With those, sure, you could probably draw something out.
"But does it really matter?"
What’s done is done.
What lay inside Heskal’s mind didn’t matter anymore.
Enkrid’s gaze drifted to the limping swordsman—Heskal’s son.
What he wanted most was to run confidently on both legs.
In swordsmanship, not being able to use your feet puts you at a disadvantage.
That’s why he trained for a single-strike style—putting everything into one decisive blow.
He even learned to fight with one leg.
All of it, made possible by Heskal.
Right now, the person who most wanted to know what was going on inside Heskal’s head was probably Riley Yohan.
And yet even he didn’t know.
The subtle anxiety in his face, his tightly sealed lips, and the occasional flicker in his eyes—they revealed his unrest.
’Can he even fight properly like that?’
If your heart isn’t steady, your sword won’t be either.
Did the Lord have a role in mind for Riley Yohan?
’Like... maybe to shake Heskal’s concentration?’
The child he had raised for over ten years now called out to him and asked,
"Father, why did you do it!"
Would Heskal be shaken?
Who could say.
Was Riley really such a risk—that he might betray them and cause this kind of chaos behind the scenes?
It didn’t seem likely.
Enkrid approached the family head, who was silently gazing out the window.
"It’s not that I got weaker. Heskal was hiding his strength. He was strong, Father."
As Grida spoke, the family head gave a slight nod of the chin—likely a sign of acknowledgment.
Still, no emotion could be seen.
"Do you see anything?"
Enkrid, who had come closer, asked quietly.
The reason the family head was staring out the window was because he knew Heskal wasn’t the only one behind this.
He suspected outside interference—someone else might be making moves.
That’s why he kept watch beyond the walls.
Some, those who were sharp or quick to assess the situation, wore similar expressions as the family head.
Well, a few of them had even closed their eyes, like blacksmiths silently sharpening a blade, focusing their attention with quiet intensity.
Take Alexandra, for instance.
After a brief conversation with Schmit, she now leaned against the wall, eyes closed, calmly regulating her breath.
Watching her, it felt like looking at a sword wrapped in thin cloth.
A blade covered not by a proper sheath, but merely with cloth, as if a scabbard would be overkill—ready to be drawn and swung at a moment’s notice.
"Nothing," the family head replied plainly.
Enkrid was finally growing used to him.
Don’t try to read his emotions.
Just observe his actions and attitude as they are.
Seen that way, his behavioral logic was rather simple.
Not that he didn’t make use of his unreadable face.
He used it as a shield, concealing his true intentions and leading others to misinterpret him.
A bit of a schemer, perhaps.
Then again, a man of his position
should
be skilled in scheming.
Viewed like this, it was clear what Yohan was.
Yohan was a nation.
In other words, the family head was the king of this small state called Yohan.
Heskal was a rebel.
Many, including Rhinox, were quietly listening in on the conversation.
But Enkrid figured there was no longer any reason to keep things hidden.
No one from Yohan would flee just because the odds weren’t in their favor.
They had to know—and fight knowingly.
The family head likely understood that, too.
It was only a matter of timing—when to speak to everyone.
Maybe he could give that timing a little nudge.
"Where is Odincar?"
"He’s hidden—made an excuse and concealed himself."
The family head answered immediately.
Clearly, they were thinking along the same lines.
This was part of the process—letting everyone know what was going on and cutting off unnecessary doubt.
To fight properly, the mind must be clear.
Some would understand this on their own, but others would be confused.
Hescal’s betrayal was that big a deal.
"And Magrun?"
"Mileschia was genuinely in danger, so I entrusted her to him. Even I don’t know where he is now."
Swooooosh.
The rain had weakened compared to earlier.
The wind, which had felt like it could tear humans from the ground like weeds, had also lost some of its force.
Clatter, clatter.
Still, the gusts were strong enough to rattle the window frame.
Enkrid recalled something Rhinox had said and asked:
"Why were Jerry, Even, Royst, and Pail targeted?"
The answer he expected came from the family head.
"They all have battlefield experience."
Heskal was clever.
He wouldn’t strike just anyone.
There was a risk of exposure—yet he still did it.
That must mean he had a reason.
Enkrid concluded as much.
Battlefield experience—meaning they had served in the military.
Enkrid scanned the room.
It was full of people with strong individual traits, including the family head, Rhinox, and Alexandra.
Each of them could make a name for themselves on the continent by skill alone.
Even crippled Riley Yohan, who was nearly losing his mind over his father’s betrayal, would be nearly unmatched if he stepped out into the wider world.
But these people didn’t know how to fight
"Was a demon involved?"
Still, they were strong.
Anyone aiming to take on such a group would need equivalent force.
His question was laced with that implication.
"I don’t know."
"Why not?"
"There are traces of the one who spread the illness, but I’ve never met them directly. I’ve been chasing them for over twenty years, aware they’re a persistent, latent threat."
"They say the hunters’ village turned. What’s the biggest danger from that?"
"We’re trapped. They’ve likely laid traps all around."
The family head answered every question plainly.
And everyone was listening.
In other words, they were trapped—and they now realized that the twisted mage, who had long spread the illness while thrusting his face up into the sky like some disgusting hobbyist, was also targeting them.
’And the ones with command experience were all taken out first.’
Anne was busy grinding herbs and mixing medicine to feed the others, but the reality was that everyone had fallen ill.
As had been said again and again, that wasn’t the important part.
The blades of Yohan sensed danger.
That’s why they said what they did.
"Well, fine. If they come at us, we just kill them all, right?"
The Destroyer, Rhinox, accepted those words without the slightest sign of anxiety.
He was a man who changed sides as easily as the mood struck him, but when it came to his family—especially the land where he was born and raised—there was no room for hesitation.
Most of those who stayed behind felt the same way.
In fact, this conversation was meant to evoke this very mood.
"If they charge, we cut them down. Simple."
"Real combat? Thank the stars. My sword’s been whining every night, begging for blood. It was driving me mad."
"You’re gonna stab Grida? You’re all dead meat."
No one was losing heart.
In the face of crisis, these people only burned hotter.
Sure, there was the occasional madman claiming his sword could talk, but at least no one had broken in spirit.
’Information is key.’
Luagarne had repeated that phrase countless times.
Her tactical thinking was so exceptional that even among madmen, no one could keep up.
Enkrid had learned that from her.
No matter the battle, there was nothing more critical than gathering intel.
That’s what Enkrid had been doing this entire time.
You had to know what the enemy was after, and what kind of danger your allies were in.
Now that he’d seen all of it clearly—
’Well.’
—it just didn’t feel like that much of a crisis anymore.

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