Chapter 102: Even If Luck Doesn't Favor You (4)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 102: Even If Luck Doesn't Favor You (4)
"Which did you find more amusing?"
Being skewered by arrows and dying like a kebab?
Being strangled by a mage's vines and pierced by thorns?
Or having your entire body torn apart by Lycanthropes?
The Ferryman, who had suddenly appeared, spoke with a laugh. It was a laugh that could only be perceived because he permitted it.
Once again, the sensation was incredibly fascinating. How should he describe it? It was as if someone was simply informing his mind that the Ferryman had laughed. He knew the Ferryman was laughing, but he hadn't actually seen a smiling face, nor had he heard the sound of laughter. His mind simply perceived the concept of the other’s mirth.
Having heard the question, Encrid answered. He spoke toward the Black River, the ferryboat, and the Ferryman. He couldn't even tell if his answer was directed at the entity, the vessel, or the water itself. Still, he was able to open his mouth.
"The arrows were the best."
It was certainly better than being torn to pieces by a pack of Lycanthropes or strangled by a mage's vines.
"...Go mad. Lose your mind like that and keep me entertained."
Was it just his imagination, or did the Ferryman seem momentarily lost for words? Encrid wasn't mad. Not at all. He had simply answered immediately because there was no need to hesitate.
"I was being rational."
"You crazy bastard."
The Ferryman, who had started with a laugh, ended in annoyance. Of course, this too felt as if the information was being projected directly into his head. He didn't know if the Ferryman had actually gotten angry; he only perceived that the other was irritated.
That was the end of it.
Pitch-black darkness painted over the Black River. He closed his eyes, then opened them.
It was dawn, before the sun had risen. Still the same today.
Encrid stood up lightly. There was no heaviness in either his body or his mind. Of course, the phantom pain of being torn apart by werewolves—his entrails shredded by claws as he died—still lingered, but...
"Phew."
He decided to dismiss it with a single sigh. Even if he couldn't truly forget the sensation, he would be fine once he moved his body and swung his sword.
Encrid was calm. Both in his attitude and his mind.
Relax the shoulders.
Normally, this would be the time he would desperately scheme, struggling just to survive and escape the cycle. But Encrid was serene, like a quiet lake. Had he not realized something new?
Is struggling desperately the only answer?
Surely not. His march toward tomorrow remained unchanged. However, sprinting blindly at full speed wasn't necessarily the fastest way to get there. And there was no absolute need to reach the end as fast as possible, either.
There are three paths.
He got up and moved his body as usual. As he did, he began to organize his thoughts. It started with the ghouls.
Those bastards, too.
It was strange. They seemed to be moving under someone's orders, or at least behaved like a group experienced in such operations.
A mage must be involved.
That mage was on an entirely different level from the ones he had encountered before.
Letsha of the Rose Vines.
The name he had heard was vivid in his mind. Could he take her down? There was no need to ask such a question, really. He had to.
Next, his thoughts turned to the pack of Lycanthropes. It was a process of reviewing his experiences in reverse order.
It's a trick played by the mage.
He was certain of it. If he scaled the castle wall, the mage greeted him. If he headed for the Dog Hole, a unit blocking both his front and rear appeared. In the front, elite soldiers armed with broad shields and long spears blocked the way, while an archer unit cut off the rear. It was a perfect setup.
Unless they knew beforehand...
He didn't know how the information had traveled, but the conclusion was that the enemy had already read their movements.
So, is there a spy?
If there were, it would have shown somehow when the Lycanthropes attacked. Or perhaps the information had been leaked through some other means. It was indeed a situation the Ferryman would laugh at. All three paths could be considered walls. And they weren't walls that could be overcome simply by training.
Should I say I'm just incredibly unlucky?
How was it that there was always a new way to die every single time?
However, did anything change just because luck didn't favor him? No. Encrid remained the same. Unchanged. There was no way his heart would waver.
Clack.
Encrid retied the wrap on his sword's hilt. It was a sign of starting a new "today."
Encrid divided his morning schedule in his head and moved accordingly. After the Isolation Technique came swordsmanship training. Then, practicing the Hidden Knife again.
"Could we have a spar?"
He asked Finn and trained in Valaf-style Martial Arts.
"Is someone chasing you? You seem even more rushed today for some reason," Torres said as he packed his gear.
Encrid watched Torres strap on a belt with eight knives, wondering just how many blades the man had hidden on his body. He thought for a moment and replied, "I'm just doing my best every day."
"You'll ruin your body like that."
His body wasn't so fragile that it would break from just this.
"Shall we go then?" Finn, who had kept him company since the morning, spoke.
It was the moment Encrid's training, which had started at dawn, came to an end. Since he couldn't go soaked in sweat, he quickly changed his clothes before setting out. On the way, Finn mentioned that the scouts of Azpen were not to be taken lightly. It was something he had already heard many times.
As they pushed through the bushes, Finn pointed at a delicious-looking berry. "That's poisonous."
"I should be careful, then," Encrid replied immediately.
"You're a bit strange."
"In what way?"
Torres, who was cutting away the bushes with a dagger nearby, chimed in. "You act like you know everything. It almost looks like you've been here before."
Was this a woman's intuition, or a ranger's instinct?
"It's my first time."
"Drop the formalities."
"Sure."
Is she going to suggest sleeping together again?
She had done so on the very first "today." Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Finn didn't bring it up this time. Instead, she merely looked at Encrid with a strange gaze. Even if the day repeated, not everything happened exactly the same way. A few minor details would always change.
Thus, they arrived at the entrance of the Dog Hole.
"How deep does this go?" Encrid asked right before entering.
"Hmm? If we walk briskly, it takes less than an hour."
"I see."
"Why do you ask?"
"Just curious."
"Are you scared of dark places? Don't worry. Big sister will hold your hand."
"It's not that."
Finn chuckled and spoke. "The ranger goes first."
They took the path leading down, using the mound as a shield. The same sequence of events unfolded. Encrid didn't give the two any warnings, nor did he make any special preparations. Instead, he memorized everything that occurred.
What should one do when surrounded?
He had never asked any of his squad members such a question. Consequently, he had never learned the answer. However, there was one thing he knew from his experiences so far: he must avoid getting into such a situation in the first place. If it could be avoided, that was the correct choice.
Then, what if it couldn't be avoided? That was something to ponder from now on. Encrid was in the middle of searching for that answer.
"Welcome!"
The enemy came into view. It was a unit armed with long spears and shields—at least two squads. Several torches brightly illuminated the space before them.
Creeeak.
As if they had been waiting, a crowd of enemy soldiers armed with shortbows blocked the rear.
There seem to be about twenty here as well.
Turning his gaze back to the front, he looked at the man who appeared to be the commander. He was poking his head out from between the shields, wearing an iron helmet that covered down to his forehead, leaving only his eyes visible. Though faint, a sense of glee could be seen in his gaze—the satisfaction of a predator welcoming its prey.
"You wildcat bitch," the commander sneered.
"Damn it."
Finn, after looking back and forth, drew her dagger in a reverse grip and lowered her stance. Her left hand obliquely shielded the front of her face, while her right hand was pulled back, hiding the knife from the opponent's view. She indeed looked like a wildcat hiding its claws.
Torres quietly slipped into the shadow cast by the torches. The gaze of some of the soldiers holding shortbows in the rear followed him instantly.
Sharp eyes.
It meant they were properly trained soldiers. As expected, once you fall into a trap, it's over. It was a trap that no one below a knight-level could escape. Both Finn and Torres were excellent combatants, but if only this weren't a cave—if only they weren't blocked from both front and rear—it might be worth a shot. Here, it was impossible. They could resist, but they would die.
Just before the commander could shout an order, Encrid stepped forward.
"Wait."
He showed his left palm. He hadn't even drawn his sword. It was a gesture showing he had no intention to fight.
"I don't think he's the type you can reason with," Torres muttered.
Finn was still glaring forward with fierce eyes.
"What is it?" the commander asked, his voice dripping with the leisure born of absolute certainty.
Encrid needed to close the distance. Because, as Torres said, the man wasn't someone who could be reasoned with. He simply needed a brief moment. Before the fight broke out, before the opponent moved violently, there was something he had to check.
Tap, tap.
Stepping forward with both hands raised to demonstrate his lack of hostile intent, Encrid's gaze scanned the opponent's armor and clothing, which were clearly illuminated by the torchlight.
The dust...
Quite a lot had accumulated. This was a tunnel that took barely an hour to walk through. The dust on the enemy soldiers' bodies did not look like it had accumulated in just a single day.
They haven't been waiting just for today.
He threw out a question to confirm his suspicion. "How many days have you been waiting?"
"...What?"
Perhaps because he had hit the mark, a hint of fluster mixed into the enemy commander's voice. That was all the confirmation he needed.
They didn't wait because they were absolutely certain.
What was it? What made them wait here? He was curious, but curiosity wasn't what mattered right now. The outcome was. The fact was that they had been waiting here for days.
"You hid your presence quite well," Encrid spoke again, every word meant to probe the opponent.
There was no way the commander would know that. "This bastard. What are you? Are you a mage too?"
Was a mage involved here too? Just what kind of woman was Letsha of the Rose Vines?
"It's Letsha."
He took it a step further while he was at it.
"...Fuck, I don't know what you're talking about. Just die!"
That was as far as the conversation went. Soon, the enemy soldiers rushed in. Arrows and long spears targeted Encrid, Finn, and Torres. The commander gestured to order his unit and stepped back.
Finn looked as though she wanted to kill that bastard of a commander, but she had no way to break through the soldiers who blocked the front with shields and thrusted with long spears. Her specialty was difficult to utilize in a place like this; she could only display the combat power of an ordinary soldier.
Torres was different. He kicked off the wall, executing a movement that defied the opponent's expectations, and flicked his hand in midair. Four throwing knives flew from his hand. Even to Encrid's eyes, it was hard to see exactly where they were flying. It was Torres's hidden trump card, but...
Thud, thud, thud.
It wasn't enough. Both the archers and the infantry covered their entire bodies with thick, leather-bound shields.
If I'm going to aim, I should target their toes instead.
That was as far as he got. Putting aside the solution to overcome this wall for now, Encrid decided to execute what he had planned.
Facing trained elite soldiers—and a large number of them at that—was a highly unfamiliar experience for Encrid. Why would those weaker than him ever target him as a group? He simply hadn't possessed that kind of strength before.
In the meantime, his means of swinging a sword had increased. He had killed the Stabbing Freak and cut down Mitch Hurier. Assassins had targeted him as well. But this was truly a first: a fight where he stood as the minority against a group, a unit, an army. On a battlefield, he could utilize surrounding allies. But here, there was no such opportunity.
In that case... wouldn't this actually be an opportunity to grow my strength?
Once he thought of it this way...
"This is fun."
The words slipped out of his mouth naturally.
"You crazy bastard!"
A pikeman, looking utterly disgusted, thrust his spear down at the laughing Encrid. A guy who, right before dying, was muttering that it was fun while blood poured from his mouth certainly wouldn't have looked normal.
Of course, Encrid didn't care about such things. His mind was filled only with thoughts of testing this and that right away.
Single-Point Focus and Blade's Sense aren't enough.
If his vision narrowed against multiple enemies, there was no hope. What if he slashed and crushed them with the Heavy Sword Style, just like when he faced the ghoul pack or the demonic beasts?
No.
The opponent wasn't a beast, but a military unit capable of employing strategy and tactics. He racked his brain and pondered. It was the same as usual. The only difference from before was that his shoulders were slightly more relaxed.
Thus, for several days, if his attempts to enter through the Dog Hole didn't go well, he went to meet the mage on the castle wall. When he got stuck while pondering after being caught countless times by Letsha's vines, he danced with the werewolves under the moonlight.
Of course, the end of that dance was always death.
Because Encrid had made up his mind, he felt no impatience. He simply did his best in every moment. Relaxing his shoulders did not mean he intended to waste his days.
Thus, at the end of forty-two "todays," he mastered the Hidden Knife.
"How... how can you do that?"
Naturally, Torres's eyes went wide like a startled rabbit. To him, it seemed as though Encrid had mimicked his secret technique in just a single day.
"I got lucky."
It was a lame excuse, but Torres had nothing to say in response.
"In just one day?" he could only mutter.
Since showing off the Hidden Knife to Torres wouldn't make him any more proficient in it, Encrid put Torres's mind at ease by letting the day repeat over seventy times, far past the forty-second mark. He no longer demonstrated the trick of the Hidden Knife in front of him. Now, it was enough to keep repeating it on his own.
Day by day, his mastery of Valaf-style Martial Arts also grew. This was thanks to his spars with Finn, who was trained in Eilkaraz-style Martial Arts.
After repeating and repeating the day like that, Encrid realized something. The Hidden Knife, Valaf-style Martial Arts, dealing with the mage on the castle wall, building his grip strength while climbing the ramparts, and training his swordsmanship while facing the pack of werewolves...
All of it.
He felt there was no longer any need to repeat them.
What would be next?
It was time to move past today and head toward tomorrow.