Chapter 166: What Can a Single Human Standing Alone Do?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 166: What Can a Single Human Standing Alone Do?
What exactly was the sense of evasion?
It wasn't a simple technique for dodging.
Thinking back, there had been many anomalies. Encrid had managed to leave a scratch on Rem’s cheek once, but... had he ever actually seen his squad members get hurt like that?
Whether they were sparring with him or fighting on a chaotic battlefield, they never seemed to take damage. They didn't suffer wounds. Unless they intentionally allowed themselves to be hit, they fought as if the very concept of injury was foreign to them.
How was that possible?
The sense of evasion.
It was more than just a way to move. He had grasped a faint inkling of its true nature, and from this moment on, he intended to dissect it piece by piece until he understood it completely.
Facing the rushing gnolls, Encrid swept his hands through the empty air.
To an untrained eye—especially to Krais—it might have looked like he was merely flailing, but the reality was far different.
Thwack-thwack-thwack!
Using his hands as bowstrings, his chest as a launcher, and the elasticity of his entire body as a spring, he unleashed his daggers.
The blades transformed into beams of light, burying themselves in the skulls of leaping hyenas and the throats of charging gnolls. The motion of drawing and throwing was terrifyingly fast, a blur that defied the eye.
Had his throwing skills improved in the meantime?
Indeed they had. It was the result of the balanced development of his isolation technique, his physical conditioning, and his newfound mastery over his own body.
Three monsters died in an instant. Their corpses tumbled across the dirt, their remaining momentum carrying them forward. Other gnolls and hyenas tripped over the fallen, but more simply trampled over the tangled heap of bodies to press the assault.
The frantic, pattering sound of footsteps grated on his ears.
"Cultists!"
Beside him, Luagarne drew and cracked her whip. She spat out the same cry as before and dashed forward.
"Damn it! What is this?!" Krais’s startled voice rang out.
"Kyah!" Esther moved to guard the flank.
"Wh-what... Aaaargh!" Even the scream of the laborer who had stepped out to relieve himself joined the cacophony.
It was exactly the same as before.
But Encrid met it differently this time. His hands moved without rest. This was his second "today." It was slightly different from the previous loop, leaving him with a fraction more breathing room.
Since he already knew an indiscriminate wave of monsters was coming, he threw every single dagger he possessed.
Screeech!
Whistle Daggers and common blades alike—he threw them all.
Though he slaughtered the rushing beasts by the dozens, one fact remained unchanged: there were too many of them. The horde became a tidal wave once more. Those that leapt over the piles of corpses lunged straight for Encrid.
"In front of you, Boss!" Krais shouted, drawing his shortsword with a sharp clang.
Encrid regulated his breathing.
He focused on what he had realized in the previous "today"—the sensations he could only feel when fighting with his life on the line. He sharpened the blade of his senses, entering the realm of the sixth sense and intuition.
He systematically blocked and deflected the gnolls' attacks, thrusting his sword into every opening. He fought more vigorously than ever before. If nothing else, Encrid was confident in his stamina. Combined with his accumulated experience, he was like a hydraulic press grinding down the monstrous tide.
Crunch!
One head was severed. Another beast was skewered.
Clangs, thuds, and the sound of tearing flesh echoed in rapid succession. Watching this, Krais’s eyes widened in shock.
Is he a monster?
The same impression he’d had when looking at Rem or the other squad members surfaced again. Encrid’s movements were simply incredible. He blocked everything; he deflected everything. With every swing of his sword, gnolls and hyenas died helplessly.
Whether Krais was moved, astonished, or babbling nonsense, Encrid didn't notice. He heightened his concentration, naturally entering a detached world.
He cut off all awareness of his surroundings. It was a world where only the sword remained.
Time slowed down. There was only the enemy and himself, the sword and the world, and his razor-sharp intuition. It was the absolute limit of what a single human standing alone could do in the face of a raging wave of monsters.
Encrid swung his sword.
Even so, the outcome did not change.
Noon arrived again. Under the bright sunlight, though his injuries were less severe than before, both of his thighs were deeply slashed. He had failed to dodge those two damn gladii.
This time, Krais’s corpse couldn't even be found.
Encrid endured for the exact same amount of time in this repeated day.
Should I call that a relief?
He saw that Esther had somehow managed to climb onto the roof of the cabin. Though some emotion seemed to linger in her large, blue eyes, he had neither the time nor the luxury to decipher it.
"Gwooooh!"
The characteristic howl of a hyena rang out, and the colony leader stepped forward. The boss of the monsters.
It was the same as before. Since his thighs were mangled and he was incapacitated, making evasion impossible, the situation was arguably worse. However, Encrid was certain of one thing: his skills were improving in the span of a single day.
Harsh and brutal as it was, the blade of his senses was growing sharper.
"See you again."
Tossing out words the gnoll couldn't possibly understand, he died, his body thrashing from the poison.
*
Blackout. The ferryman did not appear, and a new "today" began.
This time, he didn't waste time asking Luagarne pointless questions. She was someone who would leave no matter what; there was no need to indulge his curiosity. Nothing would be more futile than asking why she had abandoned the defense of this place. Even telling her to stay would be meaningless. If she were the type to stay because of a request, she wouldn't have left in the first place. Her departure meant that whatever she was hunting was far more important to her.
Instead...
Clank, clank.
"Your way of waking people up is rather unique, isn't it?"
Encrid woke himself up while packing his gear.
"The weather is nice. I thought it would be good to start early."
"Ugh. It's dawn. The moon hasn't even set yet," Krais grumbled, but Encrid ignored him.
Once again, he broke a sweat. This day was short—or rather, the time he could invest in training was short.
Then what should I do? I’ll just use the battle itself as my training ground.
And so, Encrid did exactly that.
The agony of the poison, the horrific pain and suffering? It was merely a matter of endurance. In truth, what made him forget the pain was the sheer ecstasy of growth—of moving forward even if he had to crawl.
Above all, right now, it felt as though he was walking rather than crawling. He felt himself advancing at a brisk pace. How could he not be delighted?
A little more this time.
It was a continuous series of challenges. Encrid set a simple but clear goal for himself: in this repeating today, he would delay the moment of injury for as long as possible.
At first, he was hit in the shoulder after only a few clashes. The next day, both thighs were slashed. After that, his abdomen was struck by a spearhead. Thanks to his sturdy armor, he didn't die instantly, but if his reaction had been even slightly slower, it would have been fatal.
I am lacking. So lacking.
It was objective self-analysis. Through his experiences, Encrid knew his own shortcomings.
"Brother Platoon Leader, the absolute priority in martial arts is repetition. You must make your body remember, not your head. Now, roll!" Audin’s voice echoed in his mind.
"The moment you see it, your body just needs to react. Then you can dodge. You don't need some lazy person's weird concentration technique," Sachsen’s words followed.
Normally, one would train to improve coordination—reacting the instant the mind perceived a threat—but Encrid approached this differently.
What if I make my muscles remember every single possible situation?
He did exactly that. Within the repeating today, amidst the wave of monsters.
The third today, the fourth today, the fifth today.
In every single loop, he struggled desperately, and then struggled again.
In this manner, more than twenty "todays" passed.
Training was a given, but if the wave of monsters the ferryman spoke of was a wall, it was one that seemed impossible to scale—unless he became a knight immediately, or possessed a force equivalent to one.
Even so, Encrid did not let his mind wander. He merely accumulated today for the sake of tomorrow. There were no stray thoughts. In the repeating cycle, he simply did what needed to be done.
At first, he could only handle fewer than ten enemies. After twenty days, he could stand in the very center of the gnoll horde, blocking and dodging everything for dozens of breaths.
"Wow."
It was a feat spectacular enough to make the laborer, who should have been running for his life, gape in awe. Even so, Encrid hadn't reached the level where he could weave through them without sustaining a single scratch.
Then I just have to repeat it again.
More than thirty "todays" passed. Then forty.
Getting poisoned every single time made him shudder at the mere thought of the pain. Through this, he developed a grim knack for it. Even if he was poisoned, he would endure and keep swinging.
What would happen if he charged into the middle of the gnoll horde immediately after being poisoned? Blades, hammers, axes, and spearheads would fly at him from all directions.
Thud-thud-thud-thud.
Being hacked to pieces was several times better than slowly withering away from the toxin. Thus, he threw himself into the fray, paying with his life to learn. He struggled and struggled again.
In the intervals between these loops, he also took the opportunity to ask about the cult.
"Have you heard of the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult?"
It was a calculated question. Since his time in each loop was short, he asked something new every day to use as a benchmark. Once every ten days, he would ask about the cult. That was how he kept track of the passage of time.
"A rotten pack of fanatics."
Luagarne, true to her nature as a Frok, did not hide her loathing. It was pure, intense hatred—so potent that her white cheeks flushed bright red.
"I'll kill them all. Every single one I see."
So that was why she always dashed off.
"I swore it. On my heart."
When she uttered the word "heart," Luagarne carried herself with the gravity of an experienced Frok. Though she had hesitated, she had spoken. That alone showed her conviction.
The Demon Realm Holy Land Cult.
He didn't know if that was their official name, but they were lunatics who believed their god was imprisoned in the birthplace of monsters—a place no human could tread. The cult of all cults. The greatest heresy on the continent. It was said they used humans as sacrifices for bizarre summoning rituals.
And what resulted from those rituals? Monsters. Sometimes even evil spirits. Since not all monsters were created equal, there were several famous beasts on the continent rumored to be the results of these summonings.
Encrid had thought it might be mercenary gossip, but Luagarne confirmed the truth.
"You know of the Salamander, right?"
It was a monster he couldn't possibly ignore—a beast that showered sparks from its body and spat liquid fire.
"That... is the work of those bastards."
The rumors were true.
"Because I was there."
Luagarne was the witness.
Was this information important? Not particularly. It was merely a milestone to help him remember the count of his repetitions.
The training resumed. He chewed over every mistake made in the previous loops.
It was around the time he surpassed fifty repetitions.
I pushed too hard at the start.
Because he was confident in his stamina, he had poured everything into the opening moments.
I need to redistribute my energy.
He learned how to fight while surrounded by a crowd. Such things naturally became second nature to him. Days passed until he shuddered at the mere stench of a gnoll.
Encrid repeated the day eighty-nine times, but he still couldn't stand before the leader without a scratch. In fact, the leader wouldn't even step forward until Encrid was already injured.
What used to be a struggle until noon had now extended until evening. Still, the core reality remained unchanged. Other than the fact that he could now die while watching the sunset, he still died.
"You sneaky bastard."
He had to get hurt for the boss to appear. The leader only showed himself when Encrid sustained a fatal wound—a hole in his stomach, or an ankle half-severed and dangling. It was an opponent that couldn't be reasoned with.
In his ninety-sixth "today," his life was taken by the leader's dagger. The end of his desperate struggle was always death—days that felt like a predetermined fate.
Within the repeating time, he naturally memorized the habits of the gnolls.
Gnolls have long torsos and short legs.
He learned through their very physique. Their feet were slow, but their hands were fast. They wielded human weapons without form, swinging wildly. Their strength was on par with an average man, but their charging speed was slower than expected due to their gait. They loved attacking from blind spots, and in close quarters, they didn't hesitate to bite.
He had to avoid being bitten at all costs. Their bite force was extraordinary—both the hyenas and the gnolls. Once they clamped down, they wouldn't let go unless he activated the Heart of Monstrous Strength to tear them off.
There was more to learn.
Two swords.
If he activated the Heart of Monstrous Strength while wielding two blades, for a single moment, he could achieve the impossible.
"You could slice them all up," Krais would remark, sounding relaxed.
The problem was endurance. No matter how well he managed his stamina, he couldn't sustain that peak indefinitely.
Repeat again. Dodge, and dodge again.
Originally, the sense of evasion was a realm of talent. Although Sachsen claimed he replaced talent with training, it only worked for those with a natural knack for it.
Encrid solved this by engraving it into his body, piece by piece.
His muscles remembered. By repeating the process of seeing with his eyes and reacting with his body countless times, he bypassed his mind entirely. It became an evasion technique etched into his flesh.
As he repeated the cycle, he became able to react the instant a threat entered his vision. Physical coordination had finally taken root.
The moment he saw it, he dodged. The moment he sensed it, he reacted.
The impossible had become his reality.