Chapter 294: The Ferryman Said
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 294: The Ferryman Said
He drifted along the dark river aboard a ferryboat.
A lone violet lamp hung motionless, its light failing to pierce the surrounding gloom. It was barely enough for him to see his own hands.
Though the sight was familiar, it felt exceptionally eerie today. Even the Ferryman’s voice carried a new, oppressive weight, reverberating in his chest and rattling his mind.
Encrid asked, focusing on the word that intrigued him most.
"A path?"
Didn't he enjoy watching me suffer, blocked by the wall? So why is he giving me advice now?
"Step back and observe. If you evade, a path will open."
Normally, if he survived the day, everything would simply start all over again. In other words, evasion could never be the way to reach tomorrow.
Yet, the Ferryman was telling him to flee?
The Ferryman’s voice grew heavier still.
"Evade."
The ringing voice penetrated his entire body, churning his innards. There was no physical pain; it was a matter of perception. No—since this was the world of the mind, it wasn't even perception. It was a mental phenomenon.
What mattered was not the effect of the voice, but the intent behind it.
Encrid did not doubt the Ferryman. Nor did he doubt the Ferryman's purpose. The Ferryman’s goal was to keep him trapped in "today."
Perhaps because he recognized this, a line from the scriptures Audin recited daily suddenly came to mind:
"The devil always comes disguised as an angel."
"Evade."
The Ferryman threw those words at Encrid once more, scrambling his mind. With that, the black river suddenly receded. Encrid experienced the bizarre sensation of opening his eyes even though they were already open, welcoming a new "today."
The Ferryman’s words lingered in his mind more intensely than ever before. It was different from usual; normally, his dreams remained faint memories, but this time, it felt as if he had been brainwashed.
Run away. Turn back. Just abandon that one child, and you can easily get past today. That is enough.
I see. Encrid finally understood the situation.
The Ferryman had offered him an easy way out. He chewed over the words, feeling a rising urge to do exactly that.
"Do we really have to go this far?"
He let Krais’s slightly altered words drift past. The Ferryman was right. His urges, his desires, and his reason all pointed toward that single, easy path.
But why, at this very moment...
"I'll pretend to know you later. If I make a famous potion, I might even give you one, so you'd better stay on my good side."
...did he think of that little girl, chattering away with her hands on her hips and her chin held high?
Originally, Will—specifically, Rejection—only responded to direct pressure. He could only reject techniques like intimidation stemming from willpower, or the primal fear that monsters instilled in humans.
Encrid knew this instinctively, but he still muttered inwardly:
I reject it.
The "easy path" still echoed in his mind. Over and over, his reason told him it was the right choice. His instincts agreed. Yet, Encrid stepped to the front of the battlefield, limping.
"...Are you stepping forward today as well?" the soldier standing beside him asked.
Encrid’s face was covered in tiny scratches.
"I will step forward tomorrow, too."
Replying, Encrid threw off his leather helmet. A helmet narrowed his vision and muffled his senses. This time, he would thrust his sword before the spell could even activate.
By the fastest path.
He drew a line of movement in his mind and visualized the actions required to execute it.
A biting north wind brushed past his cheek. Though it was daytime, the sky remained dark. Amidst the cold, sharp wind, the scent of the battlefield pierced his nose—blood, iron, excrement, dread, terror, excitement, and tension.
Everything dissolved into odors interpreted by his brain. His five senses merged into one, opening the Gate of the Sixth Sense.
Single-Point Focus activated, burning his brain and slowing the battlefield to a crawl. Soon, a child came running. He blocked out the surrounding noise. There was no need to hear. He focused on nothing but the child. There was no need to see anything else.
Seeing, hearing, smelling, and feeling blurred together, drawing a single line. Point and point.
I, too, shall become a single point.
He perceived himself as a point and the running child as another. He sought the fastest path connecting them.
He bent his right knee deeply and then snapped it straight. Even without Will infused into them, his brutally trained thighs propelled Encrid’s body forward at a terrifying speed. At the same time, he thrust the sword in his left hand.
To the watching soldier, the blade appeared before the body did. The blue-tinted steel surged forward faster than an arrow.
Encrid met "today" faster than any today before.
He saw the child’s face. The eyes. The nose. The shape of the mouth. Overlaid upon it, he saw the face of the child who was already dead—the one whose dream had been to become a herb-gatherer.
The sword pierced near the child’s shoulder. With minute control, he severed the strap slung over the shoulder. With a snap, the scroll—cut in half and dangling against the child’s chest—poured out light.
It was a failure.
*
"How foolish."
The Ferryman’s tone was flat, devoid of emotion.
Encrid did not reply. He acted as he had before, repeating the exact same today.
When do people despair? If something is impossible from the start, they are often calm. They accept it; they recognize the end. But what if it is almost within reach, yet never quite touched?
That is when despair creeps in. And what if, at that moment, someone shows you a side path—a shortcut?
Since becoming what he was now, the Ferryman had harbored a question about this being, the likes of whom he had never seen before.
Why does that human not give up?
Why does that human not despair?
Why, how, by what means can he be like that?
His questions bred doubt. And that doubt led the Ferryman to make a second proposal after eighty-six "todays" had passed.
"It is too late to regret."
At the sudden remark, Encrid tilted his head. To express that much emotion in the world of the mind was surprising, but since there were already so many shocking things about the human before him, the Ferryman moved on.
"But since I am generous..."
"Generous?"
The way Encrid chimed in showed his resolve remained steadfast. In the world of the mind, one spoke with Will, not a physical body. His manner was irreverent, but the Ferryman ignored it. Realizing that playing along would only make him look ridiculous, the Ferryman continued.
"I will give you one more chance."
"Again?"
The interruption was grating, especially with the way Encrid tilted his head and furrowed his brow in mockery. However, the Ferryman had long since transcended humanity; he remained composed. Had he been a mortal, he would have spat out curses.
"Do not let the subject of the wall approach. Cross the river before it reaches your side."
The Ferryman maintained his solemn aura. Encrid, still in the same posture, asked back:
"The river?"
The Ferryman took a breath—something he had no physical need for. He took a deep breath, then banished his opponent. Only after Encrid vanished from the mindscape did he freely express his true feelings.
"That bastard."
It was a short, thick expression of his will. Despite how much he had shoved his own will into Encrid’s head...
That bastard is going to do whatever he wants anyway.
He had a premonition that Encrid would betray his intentions. Realizing this, the Ferryman let out a chuckle.
"Hah."
It was the first genuine emotion he had shown since becoming a Ferryman—a laugh that was half-exasperated, half-amused.
*
He keeps talking nonsense. Is he bored?
Encrid was someone who, by nature, never took detours. He chose instead to trample over any obstacle in his path. Naturally, he flatly ignored the proposal.
His head was filled with only one thought: Can I be faster than this?
Connecting point to point, his brain burning with concentration, it felt as if his eyeballs were about to pop out. Even so, it was a failure.
Then what was speed?
He had seen many swords that embodied kwae (speed) from the concept of Jeong-Jung-Hwan-Kwae-Yu. The answer came suddenly, and easily.
"When I was pickpocketing, my hands weren't the fastest. But I was the best at it. Even if my hands were a bit slow, I was quick-witted. You just do it when they aren't looking. Why try to compete with hand speed when they're staring right at you? Only idiots do that."
It was something Krais had said in passing while Encrid was exchanging strikes with Ragna and listening to Audin explain preemptive techniques from Valaf-style Martial Arts.
Krais hadn't meant anything deep by it. In fact, his next words were likely his true point:
"The opponent came here knowing us. This is like trying to steal a pouch of Krona with fast hands while they're staring right at you."
He was saying that because the situation was so dire, they needed a variable. Encrid hadn't replied then. He couldn't. Krais’s words had struck his mind like lightning.
Outside the range of perception.
Speed was relative. If you show your intention to the opponent, no matter how fast you are, you are slow. If they know your intention, they will prepare.
"Uh, he's doing it again. You can't hear me, can you? Hey? Enki, you bastard?"
Krais waved his hands and jumped up and down, but Encrid heard nothing. He submerged into his own world, his mouth hanging half-open. Yet, his thoughts did not stop.
"Stop it," Ragna said, dragging Krais away.
Encrid was in the middle of breaking the prison trapping his thoughts.
A human can convey meaning with a single hand gesture. Techniques to steal an opponent’s gaze—sleight of hand—worked that way. It was a technique common in gambling dens.
Intention was like that.
Deception.
One could deceive an opponent with intention alone. Speed was acting outside the opponent’s perception. Was this a battle of speed fought in plain sight? No. At least, Encrid did not accept it as such. The "wall" this time was whether he could save the child or not. He had decided so himself.
Therefore, what he needed was an Illusion Sword or a Technique Sword. In Valen-style Swordsmanship, there were countless such techniques.
Ah.
Realization followed. Lightning struck inside his skull once more. What was speed? It was simply acting outside the opponent’s perception. Ending it without even showing the opponent a "fast" sword.
The Mu-sal Thrust that Sachsen had shown him flashed through his mind. He added something new to it.
The Sense of Evasion prioritizes instinct.
The Sense of Evasion avoids everything caught within the realm of the Sixth Sense. What if he layered intention on top of that? What if he gave direction to instinct?
It was a path he hadn't seen until now because he had been so focused on raw speed. But there was more than one path.
And it would be even better if it were absolutely fast as well.
They said if you chase two rabbits, you will catch neither. But his accumulated experience, his left arm trained through countless failures, and his speed... all of them now showed him the path of those two running rabbits. He felt as though he could catch both.
Above all, the training he had done with Sachsen was of great help. Had he not trained to use the Sense of Evasion at close range? What was the meaning of dodging those stones?
A question must have an intention. And training, too, was a path leading toward a result.
Encrid’s result was singular.
Intention upon instinct.
The Sense of Evasion was a feast of instinct, making the body react to the Sixth Sense. It was a technique born from the instinct to protect one's own body.
Encrid twisted that technique.
Infused with intention.
It was a concept that could well be called the Sense of Attack.
Crack.
The psychological shackles planted by the Ferryman shattered. An "easy" wall that seemed within reach, yet could not be crossed—the proposal offered at that moment—everything was a trap. Everything was a prison binding him.
But Encrid did not even set foot near that prison. He ignored the proposal and carved a new path.
Ah.
At the end of his realization, a new "today" was already waiting for him.
"Today as well..."
"What does not kill me..."
He stood at the vanguard. He cut off the soldier beside him, who asked the same question every day. The soldier blinked, meeting his gaze.
"...only makes me stronger," the soldier finished.
In truth, the saying went, "The pain that kills me makes me stronger," but Encrid preferred this version now.
Encrid stepped forward, cutting through the biting north wind. From the far side of the battlefield, the child wrapped in scrolls came running.