Chapter 117: Left Hand
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 117: Left Hand
He hadn't even considered running away in the first place.
Even if fleeing were the only logical answer.
‘I have nowhere to go anyway.’
Above all, when the path forward was right in front of him, how could he possibly turn his back on it?
The signpost before Encrid posed a single question: Could he scale the wall without his right hand?
If you don't have teeth, you chew with your gums.
The chief of a small slash-and-burn village had once said that. Encrid had taken quite a liking to those words.
If he had no sword, he would hold a spear. If he had no weapon, he would fight with his fists. If he had no arms, he would bite. If he had no legs, he would crawl on his knees.
‘So.’
If he had no right hand, what was left?
Darkness, the abyss, dread, pain. The things that seized Encrid every time death claimed him. Yet even in that suffocating darkness, Encrid always looked for the light.
"Give up."
It felt as if someone were whispering those words in his ear, as if he were driving himself into the worst possible corner. Saying it aloud made the situation feel even more dire, but in reality, he felt nothing.
Why was that? He didn't know. Encrid was well aware of the difference between himself and those born with gifts. How could he not be?
He had watched his fellow mercenaries, men who had shared the same rough life of the blade, retire one by one. And besides them...
"I'm done. There are too many monsters out there. Swordsmanship? What a joke. It's all bullshit."
He had seen those who crumbled, consumed by envy of others' talent. Encrid, too, envied such talent. But envying it changed nothing.
He couldn't let a single day slip by. Rain or shine, snow or storm, he had no choice but to swing his sword just one more time. Because that was the only way Encrid knew how to live.
So, he did just that.
Was it hard? It wasn't easy, but it wasn't as if he were drowning in a sea of misery every day either. It was simply something that had to be done.
So, he just did it.
Death was the same. He knew he just had to endure it, so he did. That was all.
‘For now.’
He needed to try everything. Hadn't he learned from his previous, repeated "todays"?
‘There isn't just one path.’
Three paths. If he could repeat "today" by utilizing everything that blocked his way, then that was what he would do. He knew that struggling blindly like before wasn't the only answer.
And so.
"Good morning."
He began the morning by offering a bright greeting.
Esther stared blankly at Encrid with weary eyes. Her gaze seemed to ask: What is wrong with this guy, greeting me so cheerfully first thing in the morning?
"Go back to sleep."
Encrid tucked Esther back into the blanket he had been lying on. Normally, she would have squirmed, but today she let herself be rolled up quietly.
After tucking her in, Encrid stepped outside.
"Whew."
He exhaled slowly, warming up his body using the Isolation Technique. As always, the physical exertion made his mind spin with sharp clarity.
"A sound mind dwells in a sturdy body, Brother."
When Audin had said those words, Encrid had thought it was nonsense. But now, he understood. The more he trained his body, the clearer his thoughts became. His mind sharpened in tandem with the sweat he poured.
His splinted wrist was not broken. Though it had snapped from overexertion right before his death, it had returned to its original state upon the reset.
The things he had trained—muscle development, mastering techniques—all of it remained even when "today" repeated. But injuries did not heal. Wounds remained on his body, and recovery could only happen once he moved past "today."
Thus, it was impossible to scale the wall with a fully healed right wrist.
‘Relax the shoulders.’
Keep the vision wide, yet focused. He connected his thoughts, searching for the best path, and then headed toward it.
What should the first step be? What else could it be?
Just finishing what he had been doing. The very thing he did every day, the thing he repeated. What he had been doing right before he died.
Conditioning and training. The only difference was that he was using his left hand instead of his injured right.
"If you're going to watch, tie this first."
Before he began, Encrid spoke abruptly. Vengeance, who had been watching blankly from the side, approached.
"Am I your servant? Ordering me around like this?"
When Encrid held out his sword, Vengeance grumbled but tightened the leather strap on the grip.
Seeing this bastard's head roll off felt absolutely godawful.
It was the same when Esther was struck down. The moment he saw those lake-like eyes and the black panther flying through the air, something akin to rage had surged within him. If he had to put that feeling into words, it was a goddamn mess—absolute bullshit.
‘What did I even do for them to try and die in my place?’
A bitter aftertaste lingered. Like a ghost, the image of Vengeance's severed head and Esther being thrown aside flashed in his mind.
‘And why was Esther so listless today of all days?’
What was that panther usually like? Fierce. She was a beast that clawed and tore at soldiers' shins, taking their lives. A predator that, if underestimated for her small size, would scramble up a man's chest and rip out his throat in an instant.
Yet she had been defeated so helplessly?
‘She did seem drained, though.’
In any case, since they were risking their lives for him, Encrid decided to do the same. He would risk his life with every swing of his sword. If he could pour his soul into his training, he would do exactly that.
"You're seriously insane. You need to rest when it's time to rest," Vengeance said, handing the sword back to Encrid.
Encrid took it with his left hand and replied, "I'm sorry about Jenny."
"...You knew?"
Vengeance ruffled his hair and spat, "I know it wasn't your fault."
This bastard really is something else.
His mood swung back and forth. He had been so angry when he didn't understand. Encrid patted Vengeance's shoulder with his injured hand.
"There's bound to be a woman somewhere on the continent who doesn't care about looks."
"...You son of a bitch?"
Seeing Vengeance's face contort made Encrid's heart feel a bit lighter. Yes, this was the way. He could finally understand how Rem felt. Teasing and tormenting people wasn't done for no reason.
As Vengeance retreated, still grumbling, Encrid stood holding his sword. The tip of the blade, held in his left hand, pointed diagonally toward the sky.
What had he experienced in this repeated today, this day of death?
He chewed over the past. He built his foundation. He immersed himself. He fell into a world of his own.
It was ecstasy. A different kind of joy than he had ever known—a pleasure that could only be felt by losing oneself entirely in a single pursuit.
The moment he shook off the lingering images of death with his banter and plunged completely into his own world, Encrid relived the experiences of the "todays" that had passed.
He repeated and reflected. This time, the leather strap wrapped around the grip didn't snap.
"It starts with the feet."
He recalled the teachings of the countless sword instructors who had crossed his path. The basics. Standing before walking, crawling before standing.
Returning to the fundamentals. These were the things to be mastered before even considering Jeong-Jung-Hwan-Kwae-Yu. Repetitive training to hold the sword and make it move exactly as he willed.
Encrid did just that.
Swish! Whoosh, whir.
A sharp sound cut through the dull thuds of the camp. As he swung his sword repeatedly, losing track of time...
Preeeeeeeet!
A long, sharp whistle blew.
"Hm?"
For some reason, Vengeance, who had been watching blankly, reacted first.
"What is that?!" he shouted, spinning around. Encrid also emerged from his state of immersion.
Growl.
Sensing the shift in the air, Esther stepped out of the tent and stood by Encrid's side. Encrid tapped her head with his fingertip.
"Don't step in today. You're tired."
What? This guy? Esther’s eyes widened. It sounded as if he knew she was exhausted. Had he noticed her attempt to relieve his fatigue yesterday?
Of course not. He only knew because of his experience through the repeated loops.
"Captain!"
Krais came running over, shouting. Encrid drove the tip of his sword into the ground for a moment and pondered.
Should I switch to my right hand? Would that even mean anything?
Injuries do not heal. If he died, he would just return to this point. He would use his left hand. Hadn't he already reached that conclusion?
There was no hesitation. Encrid was not the type of person to overthink and agonize. There was no option to remain trapped in today, and there was no option to run.
In that case, he just had to find what he could do and do it. And this was it.
Clatter.
Kicking away a few pebbles, he pulled his sword from the ground and pointed it forward.
"...I suppose I should make an offering to the temple when I return," Mitch Hurier said, stepping over the gravel. His hair was soaking wet, and a sword was in his hand. His refined posture and sharp gaze were worlds apart from before.
"What is he talking about?" Vengeance growled, leveling his spear. Beside him, Esther let out a genuine, beastly rumble from deep within her throat.
It was a sound that would make any coward's knees buckle, yet Mitch Hurier did not hesitate. Tap, tap. He closed the distance with steady steps.
"I'm going first," Encrid said, stepping forward.
"Captain, your wrist!" Krais shouted urgently. Big-Eyes seemed quite shocked as well.
An enemy had suddenly raided, and their allies were falling left and right.
"Argh! Ah!"
"Fuck! Block them!"
"Kill them!"
Chaos reigned. Amidst the clashing of steel, Mitch Hurier stopped.
Encrid replied to Krais, "My left hand is perfectly fine."
What kind of crazy talk is that? Krais opened his already large eyes even wider. He couldn't understand his platoon leader's nonsense at all. It sounded like gibberish to everyone present.
However, contrary to his words, Encrid's spirit was second to none. The opponent's aura enveloped and crushed the surroundings. Vengeance felt himself shrinking. This was what it meant to overwhelm an environment. Even Esther felt the pressure.
They were in no position to receive help from nearby soldiers. They knew that if things went wrong, they would die. And yet, despite this crushing pressure, why did Encrid's back look so vast?
He stood there. He stood in front of them. He showed them his back. Those few facts seemed to push back the pressure.
A spirit clashing against a spirit. It felt as if they could see the sparks.
Glances crossed between Mitch Hurier and Encrid.
"I hoped we would meet again."
"And I suppose you opened your eyes thanks to me?"
At those words, Mitch's brow furrowed slightly. Shaking the opponent's mind with words was the absolute basic of the Valen-style Mercenary Sword. Encrid was using what he knew from the repeated "todays" to rattle him.
Encrid waved his injured right hand as if it were a threat. Mitch reflexively moved his sword to cover.
After startling him with words and deceiving him with his right hand, Encrid thrust the sword in his left hand from bottom to top.
It was the Valen-style Mercenary Sword: Double Draw.
The left-handed thrust wasn't perfect. It didn't satisfy him. After all, he had only been practicing with his left hand for about two days.
Clang!
It was blocked. The thrust was clumsy, but more importantly, Mitch Hurier's skills had improved beyond recognition—almost as much as Encrid’s.
Mitch deflected the upward thrust and stepped forward with his left foot. A fluid motion followed. Mitch's sword drew a smooth arc, slashing across Encrid's chest.
Rip!
As Encrid reflexively stepped back, his leather armor withstood the blade once. But that was the limit.
Screech!
From behind, Esther tried to leap in again.
"You crazy bastard!" Vengeance roared in anger.
"Captain!" Krais shouted.
Mitch Hurier remained unaffected. No matter who said what, he did what he had to do. As if anticipating Encrid's evasion, Mitch swapped his feet, closed the distance, and thrust.
Squish!
"What about your right hand?" Mitch asked, his sword still embedded in Encrid's chest.
Encrid raised his splinted, injured right hand.
"Well..." Crimson blood spilled from Encrid's mouth. "You were unlucky."
Grind.
The blade was pulled out. A man with a split heart could not survive.
Krais shouted something, Vengeance charged, and Esther lunged. Seriously, why do they keep throwing themselves forward?
After that, Encrid met the darkness of the abyss.
Death had come once more.
And after opening his eyes, he repeated his left-hand training again.
Some days, he focused quietly on training. Other days...
"Jenny was a woman with good taste."
"...I'll kill you."
He teased Vengeance for no reason.
And so, he repeated "today" about a dozen times.
"Your right hand is injured!" he heard an agitated Krais shout.
"I told you, I still have my left."
"What are you even talking about, seriously?!"
He tried mixing in the Valen-style Mercenary Sword, but it didn't work. So, he began incorporating wrestling techniques. Before drawing his sword, he threw his last remaining Whistle Dagger, closed the distance while pretending to draw, and tried to trip him.
Mitch withstood the sweep simply by bending his knees and lowering his center of gravity.
"Not so fast."
Next was the task of swinging the sword again. At first, he couldn't even withstand a single exchange, but after about thirty loops, he began to hold out for two, then three.
And on the forty-second "today."
For the first time, a change occurred that Encrid had not intended.
"Let's have a match."
Vengeance, who had been watching, suddenly requested a spar. Feeling the sweat trickling down his forehead, Encrid tilted his head.
"With me?"
"Who else?"
Encrid nodded. It was a habit; he never refused a spar. Normally, Vengeance would be no match for him, but currently, Encrid was wielding his sword with his left hand.
"No holding back," Vengeance said, thrusting his spear forward. His momentum was fierce.
Ting.
Encrid tapped the spearhead with his sword as a greeting.
It was the start of the spar.