WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 692: Blind Spots, Errors, and Contradictions

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Even after hearing the Emperor's name invoked, the family head refused outright, not with some reasoned argument, but with a single flat no, and the recruiting officer let out a pained groan without pressing the matter further.

"You stubborn old mule."

That was all he muttered.

Loud enough for everyone to hear, but the family head ignored even that, turning his gaze elsewhere as he spoke. The easy familiarity in their tones made clear the two went back a long way.

"Everyone who comes this far has their own reasons. Ragna has stated what he wants."

After that firm refusal, the family head's gaze came to rest on Ann, who had already finished eating.

'Consideration?'

He had waited until Ann ate her fill. His words carried no warmth, no outward softness, but asking now, at this moment, said something his voice did not.

'Does he make a habit of speaking through action rather than showing feeling?'

Instead of letting it show?

That thought crossed Enkrid's mind.

The others seemed used to this and said nothing. Alexandra Zaun only smiled quietly.

Her eyes traced Ann's face, her hands, her posture, though there was no ill intent in that look.

Ann swallowed once and said what she had come to say.

"I heard you have been suffering from a long illness. I may be able to cure it."

Not a guarantee, but the way she said it carried something absolute, a resolve that did not waver.

Seen like this, her backbone was not slight.

'Willingly drinking medicine that could kill her, falling asleep, trusting her life to Ragna, none of that is something ordinary nerve can manage.'

That was Enkrid's assessment.

"She is speaking of the divine punishment laid upon us," Grida added by way of explanation. Each member of the Zaun family carried a chronic ailment of their own. In recent years the severity had only grown worse.

Even at Ann's words, the family head did not stir. Not so much as the corner of his eye shifted.

'Is that face even capable of changing expression?'

He looked like the sort who would stare blankly even if one of his arms were cut off.

'No. He would not just stare.'

If the fight were over, he would stop the bleeding. If it were not, he would trade the arm for the other person's throat. That quiet, constant momentum he carried was still remarkable.

He looked like someone who might draw his sword at any moment, and yet equally like someone who might stand unmoved and watch even if ambushed out of nowhere.

Unpredictable. That was the word for it.

"A son who wants to see the sunrise," the family head said.

He paused, let his gaze pass over the room, then continued.

"And a presumptuous young woman who claims she can cure an illness."

"And Schmidt," his wife added, gesturing toward the recruiting officer with a glance.

So the recruiting officer's name was Schmidt. He and the couple had clearly known each other for some time.

"Tempe, this proposal benefits you and your house as well."

Schmidt's tone shifted. Before, he had spoken as an Imperial recruiting officer. Now his voice was warmer, familiar.

"I still refuse."

The family head answered again with the same unmovable will. No feeling in it, but the intent behind the words was plain.

Schmidt groaned again.

"What is your name?"

Alexandra set down her fork and knife and neatly stacked her dishes before looking toward Ann. Ann tidied her own utensils in kind before answering.

"Ann. I am an alchemist, but the work I do is healing. Even here, there must be someone people go to when they fall sick. What I do is something like that."

Any community living together would have someone to turn to when illness came.

"When we fall sick, or when the symptoms of the illness we spoke of appear, we go to Milestia. She is also the godmother of these children."

Alexandra spread a hand toward Ragna and Grida as she said it, then turned a steady look on Ann. Was that gaze searching? Or suspicious?

Grida had called it divine punishment.

'A sentence handed down from heaven.'

Much the same as what others called a curse.

Magroon, too, had shown nothing when Ann said the affliction was a disease to be treated rather than a curse. No offer to let her examine him, no trace of hope, not just a refusal to say the words, but no sign of such a thought at all.

'They have no expectations.'

They had seen other healers. They had tried everything. That was why.

'Or perhaps Milestia is so remarkable a healer that they know: if she could not do it, no one else is likely to either.'

The first place Magroon had gone upon arriving was almost certainly wherever Milestia was. The state of that body throughout the journey had been clearly off.

People said an alchemist's skill was measured in years. No matter how gifted, this was a field where time itself could not be shortcut.

Ann looked barely twenty. That youth was another thing working against any expectation anyone might place in her.

So.

'The family head will refuse.'

A prediction based on logic.

The family head held a brief silence, then spoke.

"If you need anything, say so. Ann. And Grida, you have been away a long time. I think it would be better to have a familiar face helping."

"Yes. Of course."

The prediction was wrong.

"Ragna. Are you ready?"

The family head's gaze settled on Ragna's forehead. The torn hair and the marks of being struck were plain to see.

"Not today."

Ragna answered, and the family head moved to close the gathering, dishes being tidied, a word of rest for everyone before they left.

Enkrid slipped a question in.

"Why haven't you asked what I came here for?"

Alexandra answered in his place.

"It seemed too obvious."

Too obvious. Enkrid knew he was not such a simple person.

Being straightforward was not the same as being simple.

His being here was to protect Ann. He had also intended to report what had happened on the road. And as Ragna's friend, he was here in Ragna's corner. On top of that, what was unfolding inside Zaun right now was not simple at all.

Enkrid had been ready to wade into that complexity if it came to it, so he knew his business here could not be summed up in a sentence or two.

Which meant that remark about it being obvious had a blind spot. Call it an error.

'Or outright contradiction.'

Enkrid settled on that quietly. Whatever they said, he would point out the contradiction.

He had just finished steeling himself for that when the family head spoke.

"Tomorrow morning, let's take turns sparring, you and me, then you and my wife."

Enkrid answered without missing a breath.

"Yes. Let's do that."

A sparring match. Could the rest not wait a little, then?

Odinkar's disappearance? He had left on his own. That made it not a disappearance but a departure, voluntary or otherwise.

Ragna had said he was going out for a while when he left as a boy, and returned only now as a grown man.

If Ragna had done it, Odinkar could too.

And even setting that aside, didn't they say a man sometimes needed a den to crawl into alone?

Maybe this was just that time for him.

The ambush on the road here?

Would telling the family head about it now change anything?

Someone had tried to kill Ann and obstruct the journey. That was the whole of it. And Grida and Magroon would surely relay all of that themselves.

'It is not my place to bring it up.'

So sparring it was.

Nothing too complicated about it. Enkrid could find the simple view even when things were complicated.

'That is the kind of person I am.'

Enkrid drew his rational conclusion and was satisfied with it.

"Then I will see you tomorrow. You may go. Have someone show them to their rooms."

Everyone filed out without a word. Only Schmidt, the Imperial recruiting officer, stayed seated.

Passing out through the entrance of the dining room that doubled as a reception hall, Enkrid's eyes briefly touched on Schmidt.

"This way, please."

A neatly dressed attendant guided Enkrid out. As the dining room door swung shut behind him, Schmidt's voice came through the narrowing gap.

"Are you truly going to do this?"

Not deep bitterness exactly, but the weight of someone laying blame.

The double doors closed, and the long seam where they met seemed to divide two separate worlds.

Through that seam, the family head's eyes met Enkrid's for a moment.

'Amber, perhaps.'

Reflecting the lamplight, those eyes glowed a faint orange.

Thud.

The door was heavy, and its closing had weight. With that sound came Schmidt's voice, pressing.

"Say something. You know this is not for my sake."

There was nothing careless in those words. Anyone listening could hear the worry underneath.

'If not for himself.'

Then for whom?

The question came, but it was not his to answer. For now, there was tomorrow to prepare for.

Enkrid turned his back to the closed door and walked.

Being a knight did not change what needed doing with his own hands. A sword swing could not scrub the sweat smell baked into the elven undershirt he had been wearing for days.

Same went for the dust layered into the cloak he used to block the wind, and the pebbles and black mud packed into the soles of his boots.

A sword could not fix any of it.

Something a man had once said came back to him, a man who had mastered the mercenary trade and was still eating steel at close to fifty, rightly called the Mercenary King.

Surviving that long was itself proof of something about his character, and proof the goddess of fortune had chosen him.

Anyway, he had said:

"Fighting is seven parts preparation out of ten. It goes without saying that the one who sharpened his blade and kept his gear in order has the advantage."

Agreed. Enkrid had taken those words like jewels and kept them close.

'The boot soles I could probably handle with a blade.'

He stood in front of the room he had been assigned and scraped the soles of his boots clean with the tip of his shortsword.

Boots reinforced with troll hide from the Pen-Hanil range and iron plating. Worn smooth in places from long use, but still solid.

He lifted one and sniffed. No sour reek.

Grida, whose years as a guide were extensive, passed by and tossed a small leather pouch his way.

"Put that inside. Should take care of the smell."

He caught it with a slap. White stones were inside, and looking closer, he saw they were soap, old and dried out. Left in a dry boot overnight, they would pull the smell right out.

"Where are you headed?"

"Been a while since I was here. Thought I'd have a look around."

Grida said it as she moved off, and the setting sun threw a shadow ahead of her. That shadow shrank fast and vanished.

Her pace was no different from the way she had walked getting here, exactly as quick as needed.

Either she had many places to stop, or there were things she needed to find out. One of the two.

'I should do some laundry.'

Enkrid thought it, then found the well inside the castle grounds, drew water, and washed his undershirt and cloak, wringing them out.

A sword could not make a cloak clean, but a knight's considerable strength was undeniably excellent at wringing laundry.

Qua-ddeuk.

The sturdy cloak twisted and gave up its water back to the ground.

Ragna and Ann came out sometime after and did much the same.

A few maids came over and handed them small wooden clubs for beating the laundry flat. Their eyes were dark underneath, and they looked somehow unwell.

"Are you all right?"

Ann noticed and asked.

"I am fine."

The maid answered. Enkrid's eyes passed over the maid's hip as she did. Even the maids here wore blades.

"Then."

He checked his gear, worked through the backed-up laundry, looked over the shortsword and the horn-blade dagger, and by the time he was done, night had fallen.

He had arrived while the sun was still up, but washing and eating and getting everything in order had eaten the hours without his noticing.

He lay down on a mattress stuffed with feathers and wool, and drowsiness came quickly.

Being a knight did not mean doing laundry with a sword, and his stamina was not without limit either.

Rest when rest was needed. Enkrid decided this was that time.

Ragna had the room to his left, and Ann had the room beside that.

His thoughts lasted a moment, and then he was asleep.

When he opened his eyes, the Boatman drifted past him like something glimpsed in passing.

The owner of that lamp and its distasteful glow spoke.

"Guard it."

No object. Which made the exact meaning hard to pin down.

* * *

"Schmidt. This conversation is over."

Alexandra shook her head.

While the maids and pages cleared the table, the three of them moved to the small sitting room adjoining the dining hall.

Schmidt took a sip of the tea steeped from dried flower petals. His throat was dry. Their stubbornness made no sense to him, and that was why.

"Alex. You need help."

Schmidt was desperate, but he knew nothing would move without their consent.

"That does not mean we can take the name of shield and become a duchy of the Empire."

Tempest Zaun, head of the family, laced his fingers together and rested his chin on them as he answered.

"Tempe."

"Enough, Schmidt. I will not accept an Imperial title."

The Empire had been asking Zaun to come under its banner for a very long time.

We will grant you the title of duke. Be the shield of the east. Shield-Duke was what they called it.

Tempest Zaun, who went by the nickname Tempe, had refused every time.

"Curing the illness requires the Empire's resources."

Schmidt said it plainly.

The Empire was not a group that led with goodwill. They calculated profit, strictly and always.

Schmidt wanted to help these people, but for that to happen, Zaun had to reach out first.

"We do not need it."

The family head shook his head.

"It is not a curse."

Schmidt said it again.

The family head said nothing. That mouth, shut like a clamshell, once closed was not easily opened. Schmidt knew this well.

He turned his gaze. Alex, the woman who had once been his stepsister, shook her head.

"Let it go, Schmidt."

"Why?"

"I have told you this many times. The family head will not swing a sword for someone else's sake just to save his own life. In Zaun, each person has the freedom to swing a sword for what they themselves want."

Fill what is lacking with a sword. Seek freedom through a sword. That was what Zaun was, and why it would not become the Empire's shield.

So if the family head chose to become the Empire's shield here and now, they would no longer be Zaun.

They would only become a blade to cut whatever enemy the Emperor pointed at.

Zaun did not pursue that kind of life. So they could not do it.

"What does any of it matter if you die?"

Schmidt was frustrated, but he knew again that this time too, he would not get what he wanted.

There were things in this world worth more than a life. Some called it a dream. Others called it pigheadedness or stubbornness.

The family head had something like that too.

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