Chapter 725: Because You Have the Chance to Choose

The cold rain soaked the earth, and lightning roared above the black clouds.

Rrrrrrrrumble.

A white flash split the sky in the distance with a deafening crack. Even the thunder seemed to step aside, as if this moment wasn’t worth interrupting.

The thunder sounded only from afar and did not draw closer. Between the rain, silence slipped in.

After a short pause, the family head opened his mouth.

“I will take on all the curses.”

“What a joke. Why would I waste it on someone who’s going to die anyway?”

Drmul was no fool. Tempest Zaun had pushed beyond his limit to swing that sword. If he’d just left one of the guards Heskal sent to kill the family head, things wouldn’t have gone this way.

Clever Heskal, sly Heskal.

Was this poor final strategy intentional too?

‘Did he wish for this in the end?’

No answer. The dead can’t speak. And blaming the dead now was meaningless anyway.

Drmul’s blade was sharp.

Should he really kill his entire house just to save an outsider like Enkrid?

His wife, his child, his friends, his comrades—all of them?

‘The choice was already made from the start.’

Drmul wasn’t just throwing out empty threats.

If the family head seized Enkrid, the curse would be cast on him.

But would Enkrid go down quietly?

If they tried to fight and subdue him, more than a few in Zaun would have to dance with the Reaper.

‘In the end, you’ll all kill each other.’

If Enkrid died, there would be minstrels and music sent to Zaun for his funeral rites.

Eventually, Zaun would fall.

Drmul had crafted this scenario precisely to kill that smug bastard and drag Zaun down with him.

To pull off a scheme like this in such a short time—Drmul truly was no ordinary foe.

“Make your decision. Will you let him run?”

Drmul said.

Though his voice was no longer layered, it struck like lightning among Zaun’s swordsmen.

Their hearts shook. The storm had calmed, but the tension remained.

Anahera and Riley spread out, forming a loose perimeter. They were quick to act.

No matter what choice was made, the worst-case scenario had to be prevented.

If Enkrid ran, there would be no decision—just an end.

Even Lynox fell silent and stepped back.

At the very least, he had enough honor not to strike a man with his back turned.

Enkrid had fought for Zaun. His dignity deserved respect.

There was no real choice. Everything was going according to Drmul’s wishes—

—until someone dragged their feet forward and blocked Enkrid’s path.

A greatsword with a crack down the middle, about to break, was thrust into the earth. Rain poured down, drenching everything.

Between strands of wet blonde hair, red eyes shone fiercely, burning with conviction.

“Go.”

It was Ragna.

The family head’s emotionless eyes met Ragna’s.

“What are you doing?”

“I must send the Captain.”

His response came without hesitation.

Of course Ragna had doubts. But when he had to choose—this was his answer.

“I will use all my ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) remaining time for those left in Zaun.”

He would save his commander, and bear the aftermath himself. That was the path Ragna chose.

Not everyone had been infected. There were survivors—in the village of retirees, among the remaining people of Zaun.

He would ensure they inherited the sword of Zaun.

This sacrifice—it wasn’t the Captain’s fault.

But the world often demanded sacrifice, regardless of fault.

The family head knew that.

“How many will survive, I wonder?”

Drmul chuckled. And finally, to everyone present, he looked no longer like a grotesque monster—but a devil incarnate.

Could Ragna really protect Enkrid?

Aside from the family head and Alexandra, they were the most gravely wounded.

The family head’s cold gaze turned to Enkrid, and his lips moved slightly.

Though he showed no emotion, there was hesitation in his movements.

But was it right to force such a decision upon a man who had lived solely for Zaun?

Enkrid already seemed to know what his answer would be.

He swept back his rain-soaked hair and turned his body.

“Don’t run away. Even if you resent us forever and haunt me as a vengeful spirit—so be it. But, ah...”

Riley, halfway through speaking, began to cry and couldn’t continue. No one had interrupted him.

Gentle rain hid his tears.

How could they do this to the one who had fought for them?

But then, what about the ones left behind?

If you asked Riley what Zaun meant to him, the answer would be simple:

Family. Life. Everything.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Enkrid said to Riley.

Then, facing the source of the foul stench of rot, he spoke again.

“That thing—curse or disease?”

If it was a curse, it wouldn’t work. He had a Guide.

His voice was calm. His eyes steady.

Those unwavering blue eyes faced the rotten orbs across from them like a righteous pillar.

He hadn’t even used Will, yet his presence was overwhelming.

Even without exerting pressure, humans could inspire awe through their actions—like Enkrid was doing now.

Before the family head could speak, before anyone in Zaun pointed their swords at yesterday’s comrade—

“...I called it a curse, but it’s a disease.”

Drmul answered, cowed by that presence.

The legendary monster who claimed divinity was once again diminished by a single human’s stance.

The dark, vile, noxious plague spread by a demon was quelled—just by one man's conviction.

Enkrid spoke without a moment’s pause.

“Unlucky. So be it.”

He meant the disease—not the curse. He didn’t expect anyone to understand. That wasn’t the point.

“What do you mean by that?”

Drmul asked. The question slipped out in disbelief.

“Give the disease to me. Instead of erupting in everyone in Zaun—let it all come to me. If you’re not lying.”

“I will gather my last breath and exchange it. Not with magic, but with will. I’ll pledge my soul.”

That was how the Commandment Book worked.

No trickery involved.

Drmul, once an alchemist and mage of legend, spoke with clarity and resolve.

Enkrid knew deception was possible. But Drmul hadn’t prepared such elaborate deceit for this stage—and his behavior suggested sincerity.

‘Did Drmul expect to lose?’

Probably not.

He worried about Enkrid, Ragna, and Anne—but still bet on victory.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t have come himself.

‘Whatever process brought him here—Drmul came because he believed in his victory.’

It simply hadn’t worked out that way.

Still, what if it was all a trick?

“Could you live the same day again?”

The Guide whispered in his thoughts.

Enkrid silently answered: Until it works.

“Is this real? You’d save everyone instead of yourself?”

Enkrid almost saw the Guide in Drmul now—though this man was clearly a pale imitation.

The Guide wouldn’t stoop to this kind of petty manipulation.

Besides, Enkrid had made choices like this countless times.

When he had no power, he made those choices silently.

He failed often, bounced back, was rejected.

But now he had the power to follow through.

He held Three Iron. He possessed Will that would never run dry.

So he would do it.

As he always believed. As he always wanted.

“I’ll protect everyone behind me. That’s my creed.”

Knights build their Will through oaths. Enkrid didn’t need to bet his life on them—because his Will never ran dry.

But still, he always staked everything to keep the promises he spoke aloud.

“So do it.”

There was no hesitation in his voice.

No one expected the sacrificial pawn to volunteer.

Not Drmul. Not even the family head.

“You’re seriously insane.”

Drmul was too stunned to say anything else.

“Crazy. Completely crazy.”

He muttered.

And just as Enkrid was about to tell him to get on with it—

“You lunatic—!”

A voice from behind.

Anne had appeared, having come from the manor without anyone noticing.

Her wet hair clung to her head, her small frame emphasized. The leather pouch still hung at her side.

Next to her, Grida stood with a hand on her hip and a shrug.

“Guess our healer doesn’t follow orders.”

“Well, she said treating people from behind can save even the dying—so she hurried after us.”

Anne scolded Grida, but her eyes never left Drmul.

“That’s him, right? Drmul?”

There was no point in asking why she came.

She had come. She understood what was happening. She had heard everything.

“Still alive after all that? What a monster.”

To Anne, he was as close to a personal nemesis as anyone.

Drmul glared back.

“Worthless little wench.”

Enkrid considered taunting him about how he couldn’t even lift a finger, or if the disease was all talk—

—but stopped.

He could tell. Drmul couldn’t do anything anymore.

He didn’t even have the strength to twitch a finger. Only scraps of will, only enough breath for words.

Mocking him was pointless. There was no mind left to disrupt.

“Zaun... I...”

The family head began to speak, but Enkrid remembered a vision the Guide had once shown him.

Ah—so that was now.

The Guide had shown him this before they arrived. Anne dying. Ragna furious.

But not everything the Guide showed had come true.

Even before stepping up, Enkrid had known what the family head would choose.

“Neither the disease nor the curse will be passed on.”

That’s what he would say.

In the vision, had the family head chosen differently? Maybe. Maybe he’d given in, chosen his house over his conviction.

It was always possible.

That’s why Ragna had argued. The family head would’ve insisted it was the best he could do.

“Bullshit.”

That’s what the Ragna in the vision had said.

But the Ragna here only stood silently, guarding his place.

“Is this really what you want?”

He asked Enkrid.

“You really think a disease can kill me?”

Enkrid replied lightly.

Ragna didn’t answer.

So—what had changed?

“Bastards...”

The situation between Anne and Drmul had completely reversed.

Drmul blinked slowly, and began the final spell.

“You’ll suffer endlessly before you die. I am the father of all disease! I am the god who will birth a new order on this land!”

The Commandment Book shone and then scattered.

Enkrid felt something invisible sink into him.

And that was it.

He exhaled—and heat spilled out with the breath.

It felt like his insides were burning.

“Mm...”

A groan. His legs buckled. He fell to his knees and stabbed Three Iron into the ground for support.

The blade looked like it had split into three.

“Blergh—!”

He gagged. Blood poured from his mouth.

“Son of a bitch!”

Anne screamed.

At the same time, Ragna wiped blood from his lips and said:

“You said you’d never back down from a fight. So don’t back down from this one. Don’t lose to some disease, Captain.”

Ah, that was the same.

Even in the vision, Ragna had said those words.

Enkrid focused on the voices, trying to endure.

It felt like someone was branding his throat and organs with hot iron.

“Die, all of you...”

Drmul spat his final breath.

But Anne had already stepped close and shouted with all her strength:

“You think I’ll just let that happen? I am the elixir! The panacea! The remedium omnia!”

The light faded from Drmul’s eyes.

Did he hear her?

Maybe.

Maybe it was that fear—that moment—that made him try to kill Anne all along.

Enkrid thought that far and finally closed his eyes.

So, when he opened them—would it be another repeat of the day?

Or something else?

There was no way to know... until his eyes opened.