Chapter 12: Two Days
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 12: Two Days
General Frok replayed the scene he had witnessed in his mind.
‘I thought he would win.’
The soldier was a man Frok had personally trained, a man with decent talent. His personality hadn't been to Frok's liking at all, but that was none of his business. He was a soldier who had focused entirely on the thrust—a man whose talent was quite useful.
He wasn't someone who should have died on a minor battlefield like this. If left alone, he would have reached the rank of company commander at the very least.
Frok pondered why the soldier had died.
‘Was it his shallow experience?’
No. Frok had raised plenty of soldiers this way. The man wasn't the type to die from a lack of experience alone.
‘Was his opponent simply too tough?’
In other words, he was unlucky. He had been abandoned by the Goddess of Fortune.
Frok chuckled, a raspy, gurgling sound.
‘Luck is a skill, after all.’
As he entered the friendly camp, his adjutant approached.
"I've been looking for you for a while, General."
"Oh, really?"
"Did you go into enemy territory?"
"Just went out for a bit of fun."
"You seem to be in a good mood."
"I saw a guy get stabbed in 'that place' and die."
To a Frok, "heart" was a forbidden word. They loathed even the sight of someone being stabbed there. Yet, here was Frok, laughing as he spoke of it.
The adjutant should have wondered if the General had lost his mind. But he did not doubt him. A Frok as experienced as he was could bring themselves to utter the word "heart" if they chose. General Frok was a seasoned soldier—seasoned enough to spit the word out if he set his mind to it.
So, he could laugh even after seeing a heart pierced. To be precise, this Frok could laugh because he had seen something far more interesting than a pierced heart.
"You must have seen something interesting."
"Well, just... a guy who strangely caught my interest."
He probably wasn't an ally. If he were, Frok would have brought him back long ago. Frok spoke nonchalantly as he trudged along.
A Frok's soles were thick; they didn't even need boots. In fact, because their feet were so slippery, some Froks occasionally drove nails into their soles for traction. However, General Frok looked down on those who did so. If accompanied by excellent senses and proper training, even slippery soles could be turned into a weapon.
‘He copied the thrust perfectly.’
It wasn't a matter of talent. Frok's eyes could discern the level of skill an opponent had mastered. He had watched the enemy soldier's thrust, and because of that, he knew.
‘That was a technique tempered and refined countless times.’
Rather than something merely learned, it was a technique mastered at the risk of one's life. It was a realm of monstrous effort, not talent.
‘Because his talent was shallow.’
If luck piled up dozens or hundreds of times, it wasn't impossible. If one survived after seeing a thrust countless times right before their eyes, such movement could be achieved. Everything else about the boy was a mess, but that single thrust was worth looking at.
But did this make sense?
‘With that kind of skill?’
Surviving on the battlefield time and time again? Learning it at the risk of his life proved that he had survived by the skin of his teeth. It was a movement that could only be forged by clashing against and being broken by opponents stronger than himself, over and over again.
Did it make sense? No.
That was why it was interesting.
‘It would be nice to see him again.’
General Frok doubted that would happen. The Goddess of Fortune is unfair; she plays favorites. Sometimes she showers someone with luck, but even that luck has its limits.
‘He must have used up a lifetime's worth of luck today.’
They wouldn't meet again. That didn't mean the boy would die today, though. Frok had kicked him out of pure excitement, but the guy had somehow blocked it. Besides, seeing the two who came to protect him at the end, it didn't seem like he would die on the battlefield immediately.
Still, it wouldn't last long. If you recklessly throw yourself at opponents superior to you, your skills might improve despite meager talent—but you would need hundreds of lives for that to work.
"General."
"Let's eat."
Frok pushed the thought aside. Now was the time to focus on other things. Namely, eating and formulating a strategy.
At the General's words, the blonde adjutant nodded.
"Let's go. I will have the meal prepared."
*
He saw the ferryman.
Encrid realized he was sitting on a ferryboat.
‘A dream?’
He felt like this had happened once before. It was a distant memory. When was it?
‘When I first woke up.’
The mouthless ferryman. A voice tinged with curiosity. It awakened a faint memory.
‘Back then...’
He had thought it was just a nonsense dream. What did a ferryman in a dream matter?
"You managed to survive the day, I see?" the ferryman said.
Just like before, Encrid couldn't say a word. It seemed that listening was the only thing permitted to him here.
"Though you have eyes, you cannot see; though you have a mouth, you cannot speak; though you have ears, you cannot truly hear."
The ferryman spoke as if singing. His words carried a distinct melody and rhythm. Encrid couldn't even blink. He couldn't move a single thing at will, his five senses included. It was suffocating.
‘What can I do right now?’
If it were a dream, shouldn't he be able to conjure spells or move freely? It was a dream, yet it wasn't. Realizing this, Encrid knew that listening was his only option.
"Can you keep holding on? Can you really? It will keep blocking your path."
He didn't know what the ferryman was talking about. Hadn't he just said that though he had ears, he couldn't truly hear?
"You cannot even hear my name yet."
Encrid looked at the ferryman. A blurry image formed over the black veil. It was as if water droplets, like dawn dew, were blocking his vision. Everything was black. At first, he thought only the mouth was missing, but there was nothing there at all.
"All you can hear right now is my whim, and my goodwill."
The ferryman giggled. It wasn't that Encrid could see him laughing; it felt as though the entity was simply letting him know he was amused.
‘So what do you want me to do?’
"Child, nothing has ended, and you cannot escape. The 'wall' blocking your path will always be there. That will be your fate."
The word "wall" sounded strange. The ferryman had actually said something else, but it translated in Encrid's mind as "wall." What on earth was this?
"Can you survive?"
He didn't know what kind of nonsense this was, but—
"Of course I can."
Wait. I can speak?
There was no time to wonder. The ferryman seemed even more surprised than he was.
"You..."
The ferryman whispered something, but Encrid's consciousness began to fade rapidly.
Splash.
The ferryboat vanished. Encrid fell into deep water. Above the surface, beyond the dew, the black mass conveyed its final will.
"You won't remember this. But..."
Chuckling, the ferryman continued.
"You really are an interesting kid."
That was the end. He lost consciousness as he sank into the abyss.
*
"...Who is the hero of this battlefield?"
"Cypress!"
"Who is the master of this battlefield?"
"Cypress!"
"Who is running toward tomorrow?"
"Cypress!"
"Who is delivering the judgment!"
It was a song. A cheerful melody, a thick voice, a song with a perfect beat.
‘A military song?’
No, it wasn't. Since joining this unit, he had learned a few military songs, but none were like this. What they learned here were rhythmic chants rather than songs.
We will win!
Under the protection of the unsetting sun!
Imbued with the power of the Lord God!
That sort of thing. Shouted with raw force, devoid of melody. But right now, there was a melody, and the rhythm was alive. It was a familiar song.
‘A bard's song.’
Bards weren't all the same. Some marched with the army to boost morale. This was likely one of those cases. What bard would actually want to write a song praising Cypress? Moreover, the singer probably hadn't even seen the knight named Cypress in person.
"You're alive?"
Turning toward the voice, he saw Rem. His side throbbed with intense pain. As he reached to touch it, Rem lightly caught his hand.
"They didn't break—just barely—so don't worry. But they said your head took a real rattling. Now, how many is this?"
Rem wiggled a few fingers, opening and closing them.
"Eat shit."
Encrid tried to process the situation. 'Today' was over. Just facing that reality made his mind chaotic. It was hard to play along with Rem's banter.
"See, I told you he seems out of it. It's me, Rem, the squad leader's eternal partner."
"Crazy bastard."
"Did you forget me? That hurts my feelings."
Encrid closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. He had survived today. That meant a day had passed. His mind was scattered; the dream was too vivid.
‘Didn't he say I wouldn't remember?’
Yet it remained clear. The black water, the ferryboat, the ferryman with no face. He remembered every word. It felt a bit blurry, like a memory from the distant past, but he had always had a good memory. Encrid remembered it all.
"I haven't forgotten, Noble Hunter."
When he used Rem's old nickname, Rem hissed, "Shh, I told you that's a secret."
Only then did the banter stop. Rem glared at him, annoyed that he’d brought it up. Encrid pulled himself together.
"What happened to me?"
Only then did he hear the full story. The dead soldier, his own remarkably improved skills, and the Frok.
‘A Frok stepped in?’
He had been a mercenary for years, but this was his first time seeing a Frok in person—and his first time being hit by one. It was a miracle his ribs weren't shattered.
What should you do if you met a Frok as an enemy on the battlefield?
"Run."
"Hide."
"Die."
Three seasoned mercenaries had given three different answers, but the conclusion was the same. If you couldn't run or hide, you died. Froks were just that dangerous. That was true for all combat races—Giants, Dragonkin, Elves. Every race was born with abilities superior to humans. Yet, humans produced the most knight-level figures. That was likely why humans held the greatest power on the continent.
"After that, I personally carried you on my back and ran off the battlefield. It was a rough path, let me tell you. I almost died."
If it had been truly dangerous, Rem wouldn't be joking about it.
"I owe you one."
"If you know that, you can do my dishwashing duty about ten times."
This bastard, seriously.
Encrid sighed inwardly but nodded. Even though he told Rem to leave, Rem didn't get up. He wore his usual smirk.
"Did you practice on your own? Somewhere I couldn't see?"
Encrid looked at him, wondering what he meant.
"Your skill has matured."
Hmm?
"Do you think I wouldn't recognize what I taught you?"
Ah. Encrid realized Rem had been watching him. Well, if he was watching, he could have helped.
"It just happened. After surviving a few brushes with death, I figured it out."
He had already prepared dozens of plausible excuses. This was the best one. It was also the truth, just slightly downplayed. He couldn't exactly say he had actually died instead of just "brushing" with death.
"Good job."
Rem finally brushed himself off and stood up.
"Get some rest. Your body needs to recover for there to be a next time."
Only then did Encrid look around. He was in the medical tent, a place where the wounded gathered. As he tried to sit up, a soldier nearby spoke with hazy eyes.
"You shouldn't move yet. Overexerting yourself will make it worse. Your head took a massive shock."
It seemed a military doctor had actually visited a mere private. Usually, if a private got hurt, they were lucky if a comrade knew a bit about herbs. Otherwise, they just died.
‘I somehow made it to the medical tent.’
How he got here didn't matter. More importantly...
‘I survived today.’
A new day had begun. Looking toward the entrance of the tent, light filtered through the gaps. It wasn't sunlight; it was the flickering light of torches and the shadows of people passing by. The bard's song continued.
"Who is the hero!"
"Cypress!"
The shouts of the soldiers echoed in response. He had survived today and lived to see the next. However, it seemed he had spent the entire morning and afternoon unconscious, only waking in the evening.
"Has a day passed?" he asked the medical soldier.
"A day? It's the second day."
The impact must have been severe. Encrid closed his eyes. In any case, the important thing was that he had survived. He had defeated that soldier. He had surpassed him with skill.
Then, Encrid thought about the ferryman. He chewed over the entity's words. He had no choice, because the ferryman had said it would repeat.
Therefore...
‘If I die, today will repeat again.’
The ferryman had spoken as if it were a punishment. But to Encrid, it wasn't a punishment at all.
It was a reward.