Chapter 704 - Now Is the Time
Heskal.
Heskal was a truly cunning man.
When he left, he not only harmed several people, but also sowed the seeds of discord.
"One side saw Heskal kill their friend."
With bloodshot eyes, it was natural to be trembling with betrayal.
"I saw it with my own eyes, Riley."
He looked ready to draw his sword at any moment.
"Damn it, if it weren’t for my father, you’d have died last year!"
The other side hadn’t seen Heskal commit the act directly.
And up until now, Heskal had lived a life of devotion in Yohan—saving others, caring for them, loving, and raising a child.
That child had become a central figure among one of the factions.
Though he walked with a limp, his swordsmanship was as sharp as that of the giantkin Ana Hera.
His name was Riley Yohan.
Wasn’t it said that Heskal personally developed the one-legged sword technique for him?
Even Enkrid had sparred with him a few times.
The unique rhythm of that style made it quite enjoyable to go up against.
If one had to categorize it, perhaps it was a finishing-style technique.
’He wasn’t just ordinary.’
Not saying that because of the limp.
Everyone within the boundaries of Yohan was like that.
A system for geniuses—that is, a place that offered training for the gifted, encouraging them to keep improving and pressing forward.
That was the basic requirement for anyone wanting to remain in Yohan.
’But what if you don’t have talent and still want to endure?’
He naturally tried applying the question to himself, but found no answer.
There was no teaching here for the average.
To keep that drive to improve, someone had to guide you—but begging alone wouldn’t get you a sword teacher.
No one would just hand over their art.
Every teacher had a different method, but no teacher would pour passion into someone who couldn’t keep up.
’No point in offering something like Krona either.’
These people merely enjoyed watching talent shine.
So those who were average or below wouldn’t even get a chance to learn.
It was cold, but that was probably why Yohan had become what it was today.
But are all people the same?
Could it be that everyone in Yohan only cared about swordsmanship?
Even among Frogs, there were those who crafted ornaments.
There was a Dwarf who’d sold off his artisan pride to some barmaid.
And at border guard, there was even a Giant who wanted to be a merchant.
’People aren’t all the same.’
It was something he’d learned through life.
Heskal’s son was special in that way.
No one thought he possessed great talent.
The reason Riley was who he was today was because someone had persistently taught and cared for him.
Someone had made a limping cripple into a swordsman.
And that someone was Heskal.
There was no need to say it twice.
Kwaaaaa—
It made sense—if the earlier downpour had continued, the entire continent would have drowned.
The land of Yohan, nestled above the basin, wasn’t just soaked—it was fully drenched and muddy.
Splattering muck stained boots and trousers.
Patriarch Tempest Yohan had declared that the current priority was reconnaissance and combat.
’At this rate, the enemy will show themselves.’
They would appear at their desired moment and place.
Choosing when the battle started was now the enemy’s prerogative.
They had yet to reveal themselves, but Yohan had.
It was inevitable.
The actual fight would come later.
From Enkrid’s perspective, the more urgent task was calming the internal strife.
That’s why he was watching, wondering what the Patriarch would do.
Ragna, having heard a rough explanation from Rhinox, came over and said:
"There was someone with Odincar’s face."
That meant someone had altered their face.
The implication was clear—Ragna was also questioning whether it was truly Heskal who had done all this.
Even though Ragna had only seen him a few times as a child and after coming here, he still found it hard to believe Heskal would do something like this.
That’s how deeply Heskal had earned their trust.
"It’s Heskal."
The Patriarch replied, cutting off any pointless back and forth.
He was saying he understood everything Ragna’s words implied—and thus, his response was firm.
Enkrid hadn’t known, but the Patriarch had already learned about Ragna’s group being ambushed and had even retraced the events in reverse.
It hadn’t happened in his own backyard, but close enough.
Fooling all the surrounding patrols?
Not even he could manage that.
So, the conclusion was clear—there was an accomplice.
But how far did the assistance go, and for what purpose?
That part remained a mystery.
’Then what can I do?’
The Patriarch asked himself and answered.
When lost on the path of swordsmanship—what do you do?
’You wait until the path reveals itself.’
Be it swordsmanship or life, it was the same for him. One and the same.
Year after year, even as his illness worsened, the Patriarch showed remarkable patience.
Tempest feel emotions more faintly than ordinary people.
He struggled to empathize with others’ feelings.
That made "whimsy" the least fitting word for him.
His patience was among the best on the continent—a rare strength born of emotional deficiency.
And to add, the only time he ever spoke of emotions was when crossing blades.
He overcame his emotional emptiness with the sword.
A fitting warrior for Yohan’s philosophy.
He waited.
He had learned that the so-called family curse was actually an illness.
Even when the number of afflicted suddenly surged and inexplicable symptoms arose, he endured.
But now there was a problem.
The disease progressed far faster than expected, burdening his body.
More than half the day, he couldn’t muster any strength.
His lungs had shrunk, and breathing had become short.
Seizure-like convulsions struck without warning.
Ordinary illnesses could be brushed off easily—but this was a disease carefully spread and worsened over years.
It was eating away at him.
Still, he held on.
In the meantime, he did what he could.
"Odincar, go fetch Grida and Ragna."
By sending Odincar out, he both protected him and removed him from the circle of suspicion.
Even if Odincar didn’t want to go...he obeyed.
"There’s a monster of a man at Border Guard, sir."
Judging by Odincar’s words when he returned, caked in dust, it hadn’t been a dull trip.
Casting aside his thoughts, the head of the house stepped between the ones who were fighting.
"I can’t believe it."
Riley Yohan spoke.
He was the son raised by Heskal.
Though not related by blood, everyone believed otherwise.
And because of that, the fact that Heskal didn’t take Riley with him only complicated people’s thoughts.
Anyone would begin to suspect Riley.
If it were Heskal, of course he should’ve taken Riley.
That was the perspective everyone held.
The head of house looked across at those glaring with bloodshot eyes from the other side of Riley.
"I just came from wrapping bandages around Grida’s abdomen. She barely survived."
One of them spoke.
It seemed he had seen Grida get stabbed up close.
"It was Heskal himself. Who else could’ve done this if not him? The swordsmanship, the mannerisms—everything was the same."
His tone was calm, but there was a fire beneath it.
A fire that wouldn’t easily go out, even in this downpour.
The head of house looked around to both sides.
No one was spared from the rain.
Riley’s pupils trembled violently.
Seeing the silent head of house, he was nearly losing consciousness.
Was I abandoned?
That dagger-like thought stabbed at his heart again and again.
He had always suffered from loneliness, and if he wasn’t acknowledged by someone, he would be consumed by despair.
And he too bore the name Yohan.
"Riley."
"...Yes."
"Go ask him. If Heskal appears, ask him the question you carry in your heart. Until then, endure."
He didn’t need to hear an answer.
Riley gave up making excuses for Heskal.
The head didn’t tell him to draw his sword and charge—he told him to ask.
So he had to wait.
The group had split into two, and Riley’s side was clearly at a disadvantage.
If swords had been drawn, unless lightning struck down repeatedly to take his side, Riley’s group would’ve lost.
"We will fight. Until then, conserve your strength. That’s an order."
A command from the head of house was absolute.
Unless Yohan itself was in danger, he didn’t issue orders.
That was well known to all.
And since they weren’t soldiers, no one raised their voice.
Swaaaaaa—
Through the slightly thinning curtain of rain, lightning flashed white.
KWA-BOOOOM!
It was as if a god stretched out a finger to strike down vermin, but failed.
The bolt struck the far end of the basin, ripping through the ground.
If it had landed on this side, it might’ve taken one or two with it.
Though it narrowly avoided the tall lightning rod placed at one side of the basin, it still missed its mark.
"The only thing we can trust is the sword in our hands. Remember that."
The head said, turning his body first.
Enkrid watched it all and gave a nod.
There’s no need to suppress this discord.
No need to trust everyone behind his back either.
The only thing he could believe in was the sword in his hand.
Well, Rhinox was carrying six of them, but still.
Instead of a speech, the head had spoken truth and promised everyone
later
During that time, Ragna had approached and reported what happened inside.
Once he finished, Enkrid replied.
"I see."
"They’re targeting Anne."
"Then we make sure they don’t even get the chance to think about it."
Simple words, but their will was unshakable.
They both had the same resolve—to never forgive the face of the one who did this.
The rain looked like it might be letting up a little, but it still showed no signs of stopping completely.
A strong wind blew, and if one wasn’t careful, it felt like it might lift them off the ground.
That’s how powerful it was.
"This is bad. Real bad. Damn it, even my old condition is acting up."
Said Rhinox, furrowing his brow as he approached.
"What condition?"
"Sometimes I lose strength in my hands. I was holding on thanks to the meds from Mileschia."
"Condition, my foot!"
It was Anne’s voice.
As a gust strong enough to uproot a tree swept through, Anne dove into Ragna’s arms to hold her ground.
She shouted out, voice full of frustration.
"That’s not a condition! Someone
spread
that illness!"
Rhinox understood how grim the situation was.
That’s why he hadn’t even had time to be shocked by Heskal’s betrayal.
There were more than a few people groaning from their illnesses flaring up.
And if the enemy attacked now?
Well, it wouldn’t be easy.
Not even close.
Rhinox voiced his thoughts.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Get everyone inside! I can’t explain it out here!"
It was dreadful weather.
Anne felt like a few more drops would pierce holes through her skin.
Ragna wrapped his cloak around her head and lifted her into his arms.
He carried her into the building.
The only somewhat sturdy place was the mansion where the head stayed.
"Head!"
Rhinox, realizing hand signals would be useless, rushed over to relay Anne’s words.
"Do as the girl says."
The head made his decision, and everyone followed Anne inside.
She had gone in first, grabbed a towel, and roughly dried her hair and body before stepping onto the staircase.
The first floor had flooded—it was no place to stand.
"What about Grida?"
Anne asked, shaking water from her hair.
"Bring her."
The head responded immediately, and several, including Ana Hera, moved.
Ana Hera mentioned that Grida was her one and only friend.
Even giants spoke of friendship and loyalty.
And what a fierce blow it had been.
Yohan was left in chaos.
Standing above the stairs, Anne looked down at the gathering below.
She had been all over the estate, collecting symptoms from those afflicted.
In her head were formulas for treating hundreds of illnesses—some learned from her malicious master, some she discovered herself, and some she wrung out of Krais at Border Guard with bribes of krona.
"Everyone, tell me your symptoms again, and bring me the herbs I name. Can you do that?"
"We can."
Surprisingly, the head answered first.
Enkrid, knowing the head felt no emotions, could still tell what he was feeling now.
Restlessness.
The head could not express it with words—only through his actions.
"He even looks a little excited."
Of course, from the outside, it was impossible to read any emotion on his face.
"Then please do it."
Ragna shouted loud enough for everyone in the loosely gathered crowd to hear.
"Line up."
Order would definitely be more efficient.
The moment Ragna finished speaking, the head of the house stepped to the front.
"It’s time."
The head said.
It probably meant he was correcting his earlier words of "Not now."
Anne stared at him with a baffled look.
"Your illness isn’t something that can be cured with a snap, sir. I told you it can’t be done now."
"...Then a medicine that slows the symptoms is fine. One that works instantly when I drink it in battle."
"That’s a pretty specific request."
"Is it not possible?"
Anne wasn’t tense, so she didn’t even pretend to catch her breath.
She answered right away.
"It’s possible."
There was a lot to do.
With talk of enemies possibly invading from outside, it was her job to make sure these people could fight in top condition.
That meant she was busy—and even before her hands could get busy, her mind had already kicked into full gear.
There was no time for nerves.
"Do you have centella?"
"...What’s that?"
The person directly behind the head was Rhinox.
Anne asked the man behind her, and he responded with a question of his own.
"It’s green, shaped like this—go find it."
Ann gestured with her hands to describe it, though it wasn’t easy to understand.
"Go to Mileschia’s lab and bring anything that looks like a herb. Make sure it doesn’t get wet."
The head immediately gave the order.
He seemed just as busy.
Fetching herbs without getting them wet in this storm would be no easy task, but the ones still in decent shape began moving.

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