Chapter 707 - Why Would I Be Fine
Enkrid speaks to Ragna like cutting through fog.
"At best, only half will make it."
Lying down, Anne half-raised herself and said this while looking at those leaving.
She didn’t even blink, her gaze fixed.
Seen from the front, you might have spotted their backs reflected in her large eyes.
Enkrid and Ragna.
Grida, who had been lying down, turned to Anne at her words.
"I’m sorry, Ragna. I said I could fix everything."
Only half could be cured.
And that was assuming the ones walking out there didn’t die in the fight.
That’s how it sounded to Enkrid.
Anne could’ve made excuses, explained, given a valid reason.
But she didn’t.
Even a genius can’t rush time.
The cursed illness had tormented Yohan for a long time, because someone had turned this place into a testing ground.
The malice behind it was vicious.
If Anne had just one more year, she wouldn’t be saying this now.
She would’ve said she could save seven out of ten.
If she’d had three more years, she would’ve said something else entirely—
That no one would die from illness.
She would’ve declared that with confidence.
But right now, she couldn’t.
To apply the medical techniques Anne had developed through alchemy, she needed to run multiple trials and observe the reactions over time.
Before the absolute lack of time, what use is talent?
What difference is there between that and a crumbling autumn leaf?
"I’m sorry."
Anne says again.
Ragna’s gaze also remained fixed outside, like Anne’s.
He saw the backs of those who had been born and raised in the Yohan household.
And then Grida Yohan, his sister, added her voice.
"No one blames you."
Ragna couldn’t find the way.
He didn’t know how to fix a direction.
He’d never thought of that as a flaw.
If anything, he saw it as a gift.
New roads, new worlds, new things—they always welcomed him.
A road walked by day became a different road by night.
Is that a curse?
No way.
But when he held a sword, he could see the road.
Walk it clearly.
Even see where it ends.
On the sword’s path, Ragna had nothing left to learn.
And so that road held no appeal.
That’s why he left home.
A deviation from a plainly visible path, a choice made in pursuit of life—call it what you will.
"Ragna, this is where you were born and raised."
Enkrid speaks.
And Ragna reflected on what he had done since returning to Yohan.
’I didn’t want to find the sunrise.’
Why not?
He asks himself the question, starts to search for the answer.
"The answer is inside. What I’ve built up becomes my landmark."
The words Enkrid had repeated countless times—now, they reached Ragna too.
What did Enkrid mean when he said Ragna had the right to be angry?
"They poured filth on your home, hurt your family, and tried to destroy the place you were born in."
This is why the sunrise doesn’t matter now.
By instinct, he’d swung his sword at empty air.
Then, like a mad dash that suddenly halts, he’d stopped cold.
He’s not afraid that he’ll leave nothing behind.
He just had to stop.
It was instinct.
Intuition.
Like a god had drawn the line.
And now he understood the reason.
’Because my family is in danger.’
Enkrid might call Yohan a minor house, but to Ragna it was the field where he once ran and played, the place where those who raised him lived, and where everything began.
In short, home.
The prodigal son had long since returned—but only now had he opened his eyes.
His father had withered into half his former self.
His mother’s face now carried a harshness he had never seen.
His sister had a hole in her belly.
The rest of his kin coughed blood, stricken with illness.
"There’s someone out there who did this."
Enkrid said.
"I know."
Ragna answered.
Yes, now he understood. Why he was angry.
Did he hold back, thinking someone might accuse him of it?
"A single swing of a sword can’t make up for all the time you were gone."
After that, Enkrid offered something like advice, though it didn’t quite sound like it.
It implied that just because Ragna came back after the family fell into ruin and swung his sword a bit harder, it didn’t mean everyone would suddenly praise him.
Whether Ragna understood or just let the words wash over him, he still replied.
"Not my concern."
Enkrid nodded to himself at the sight of Ragna.
Yeah, that’s more like Ragna.
Then he brushed aside the memory that had come to mind.
There was no need to dwell on things that only grew more painful with thought.
Right now, all he had to do was make sure his friend and fellow soldier didn’t end up seeing the same things he once did.
"Grida."
"Speak."
"Protect Anne."
"Even if you hadn’t asked, I was already ready to stake my life on it."
Grida wasn’t the only one left.
After Hescal departed, there were still some suffering so badly from seizures they could hardly breathe.
Anne had saved them.
Among them was the sword-bearing page who had guided them at first.
Even he, now only thirteen years old, was outside the scope of Anne’s magic.
That child was terminal.
Caught in the most toxic of the many seeds sown by that madman lurking behind all this, out there.
His insides were slowly being devoured by growing lumps of flesh.
He couldn’t go out and fight—one of the few children left behind.
"I’ll protect her too."
The boy spoke.
But did he really understand what he was saying?
At the very least, he seemed to know more than Ragna had at his age.
Just from the way he spoke, it was clear.
"I’m not in fighting condition, but if someone comes after the healer, I can at least land one good hit."
Yes.
That much seemed true.
There was a fierceness in the boy’s spirit that couldn’t be overlooked.
"Someone used poison before, right? And Anne’s magic saved everyone when you took them down? If it’s someone like that again, I can at least hold my own."
Grida added those words.
Probably to reassure.
She had a hole in her stomach.
She could still fight, but if she went all out, she would die.
That must not be allowed to happen.
It was simple—just don’t let anyone get behind you from now on.
What you must protect is at your back.
That will become your legacy, even after you’re gone.
Ragna looked at Anne.
"If I come back alive..."
"Stop. I don’t want to hear any talk about coming back or dying. Just come back. If things get dangerous, I’ll yell out for you. Then you can come back and protect me."
Ragna gave a silent nod.
"I will."
If he were to die here, what would remain behind?
That woman—who exuded life even while being tormented by guilt over being unable to save people through no fault of her own.
Ragna opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.
He swallowed the words:
"The version of me you remember will be what remains."
"Let’s go."
Enkrid said, stepping forward.
Ragna followed behind.
Behind me.
Anne wouldn’t be the only one left behind.
That man, who’d clawed his way up just to have the right to be angry with Ragna, would remain too.
And the ’me’ that man remembered would be left behind.
They exited the estate and began walking.
Before long, they encountered another member of the family, walking at a slower pace.
A short-haired woman.
She glanced at Enkrid and asked:
"So, Enki—why are you helping, this is not your fight?"
One of the few people who had grown attached to Enkrid during his time here.
Maybe it was for his friend.
Maybe to protect those who stood behind him.
There were plenty of reasons.
But he wasn’t the type to say something so sentimental out loud.
Ragna thought that and walked a bit to the side.
He hadn’t spoken much with the family members, as he’d mostly stayed near Anne to protect her.
The woman found him hard to approach.
Tap.
Enkrid matched her pace and opened his mouth.
"Samcheol."
"...What?"
"Keeps whining that it wants to play."
The madman said this as he gave a tap to the sword hanging at his waist.
Swaaah.
The wind scattered the rain like needles across their faces.
The woman from Yohan who had spoken earlier took half a step away from Enkrid.
"So what that healer said was true."
A madman who talks to his sword, was it?
"Yeah, yeah, Samcheol. It’s going to be a fun day."
Enkrid ignored her and gently stroked his sword, as if to comfort it.
Seeing that, the woman resumed walking and pulled farther away.
He wasn’t trying to tease anyone.
But then, should he have just said that he really didn’t like the bastard who trashed his friend’s house?
Or maybe that he hoped at least one less person he’d grown fond of would die?
How embarrassing.
It was better to admit that he was genuinely serious about this fight.
Samcheol was crying.
That wasn’t a joke, either.
The blade let out a high-pitched hum—resonating with Enkrid’s Will.
Of course, it wasn’t the sword truly crying, but a phenomenon caused by it being imbued with Will.
"Why mock them?"
Ragna pressed the point toward Enkrid.
He wasn’t scolding him, but he had caught on that the jest was excessive for someone hiding his real feelings.
"Me?"
"Isn’t it obvious?"
"If someone asked you what would be left behind after you’re gone, what would you say?"
Enkrid turned Ragna’s own words from earlier back at him.
"What do you think? Those who saw my blade in action, that’s who’ll remain."
Even through the streaking rain, his grin was clear.
Ragna chuckled.
Right, they were on their way to face the ones who had wrecked his home like this.
Of course he had a reason to smile.
Though to ordinary people, this might seem like the mindset of a madman.
Yohan was situated atop a basin, so the road up to it was a gentle slope.
It was paved wide and smooth, and the people of House Yohan often called it the Pilgrimage Path of Blades.
They believe in a sword god, don’t they?
Enkrid also walked this path now.
Puddles of muddy water had formed here and there due to the storm, but the path remained even and steady.
Though they did not preach divinity, they revered and worshipped the sword.
Because this was the road taken in honor of the sword god, they called it the Pilgrimage Path.
Down the slope of that gently curving path, those who had orchestrated this incident were gathered.
The rain and wind obscured the distant view.
Even so, they could see the head of the enemy—presumably the family head—and the ones blocking his path.
Enkrid and Ragna stared at the back of the family head.
Before he even said a word, he drew his sword.
His opponents reacted.
Two scalers—beasts with red and black scales—rushed him from both sides, and the family head stepped forward alone.
Did Anne concoct something for him?
Truthfully, most of the potions made by that genius healer were likely closer to stimulants, meant to make them able to fight right now.
She had said that proper treatment would take time.
In any case, did the family head take the drug?
The pressure emanating from him was twice as heavy as before.
A thick, weighty aura like a massive blade stood tall in the curtain of rain.
"Why are they unharmed?"
Hescal couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this shocked.
It had been years since he’d been this surprised—startled enough to mutter to himself without realizing.
Those who should have been writhing in pain were instead standing tall.
And it didn’t look like they were forcing themselves.
A man beside him—said to be Dmule’s disciple—spoke.
"I don’t understand."
He was over seventy.
Blind since childhood, he had opened a new eye on his forehead in place of his lost vision—a reprocessed Evil Eye extracted, studied, and refined.
Thanks to that, he could see clearly through the pouring rain.
"Someone interfered. Wasn’t that healer woman killed?"
Hescal, known for his superior analytical ability, replied as he took in the situation.
"The one after her must’ve failed."
The answer was simple.
That girl Anne did this.
It was instinct speaking.
There had to be a reason Dmule had tried so hard to kill her.
Dmule already knew who Anne was.
The moment he heard Hescal’s report, he’d declared she had to die.
Because "those fated to die must die," he had said.
So he tried to kill her because she could stop his plague.
The first plan Hescal had prepared bore no fruit.
And yet, Dmule’s disciple showed no signs of panic.
Neither did Hescal.
"She merely delayed the inevitable. Who could possibly halt something our master prepared for years—in just one day?"
That, too, was true.
Even without that, Hescal believed the outcome of this battle wouldn’t change.

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