Chapter 295: What is Your Dream?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 295: What is Your Dream?
Encrid stopped in his tracks and looked up. A gloomy sky, heavy with drab clouds, met his gaze.
It looks like something is about to fall.
How many times had "today" passed by now?
It was different from before. Previously, no matter how many times he regressed, he had always kept a meticulous count of how many times he had repeated the day. He had memorized each "today" in a unique way.
But not this time.
Why was it different? Why was he perceiving it so differently than before?
Because my vision narrowed.
He had felt as though he could simply sweep away the obstacle right in front of him and move forward. Encrid, being human, had grown impatient. That impatience had eaten away at his perspective, blocking his view and preventing him from truly assessing the situation.
He felt like a racehorse—fitted with blinders, forced to run while looking only straight ahead.
Who had done this? The situation had. And the Ferryman had added his own spoonful of seasoning to the mix.
Was I played?
Or did I learn?
He had learned. There was always a lesson to be found in everything.
Encrid felt the wind as he looked up at the darkening sky, inhaling the scent of the battlefield that had lingered for two days. It didn't end with just seeing, hearing, and feeling. Encrid forgot the gazes of others. He briefly forgot where he was. He even pushed the immediate crisis to the back of his mind.
And then, he reviewed.
He retraced and retraced the "todays" he had lived through so far. This was a first-time experience even for Encrid. No matter how slow the child’s steps were, it wasn't a long time. Within that brief window, his review began and ended.
The Ferryman’s words were a problem, but...
It was more his own fault for focusing so single-mindedly on one thing.
A Single-Point Focus can also blur one’s vision.
Everyone questioned Encrid’s actions. It was strange enough that he was stepping forward just because a single child was running toward them. It was also strange that he had walked out alone, as if to greet the child.
But then, instead of continuing toward the child, he had stopped dead in his tracks. That was the strangest part of all. It was a series of baffling actions that left everyone watching utterly bewildered.
"Fuck, what is he doing?" one of the enemy soldiers muttered.
"Just watch," a mercenary from the Black Sword said, smacking the soldier on the head.
Friend or foe, the current situation was simply nonsensical. And why wouldn't it be? On one side, a child was running out, and on the other, the man hailed as the hero of the Border Guard—who had just been locked in a life-or-death struggle with the enemy commander—had stepped forward.
Though utterly absurd, the onlookers expected Encrid to embrace the child. Or, if not that, treat the child as an enemy and cut them down. When humans observe a situation, they instinctively infer what will happen next. That is called anticipation.
Right now, Encrid was drawing everyone’s eyes with actions that defied all expectations.
"It’s going to snow," Encrid muttered as he stood isolated on the battlefield, but no one heard him.
Seriously, what was he doing? A mix of confusion and absurdity stayed the hands of both friend and foe, forcing them to watch the unfolding scene.
The old mage, who had connected his thread of mana to activate the scroll, remained deeply focused. If he looked away for even a second, the thread of spellpower linked to the scroll would snap. If that happened, he wouldn't be able to trigger the scroll remotely.
The child had no room to look around. They had only run because they were told to run.
I want to live, the child desperately wished. Though they instinctively knew survival was impossible from the moment they were captured, a sliver of hope pushed them forward. Somehow, though they didn't know how, they might live. Who knew if the Goddess of Fortune might shed a tear for them?
Luck was always a variable.
I will survive, no matter what.
Instead of crying, the child’s survival instinct kept their feet moving.
The moment Encrid perceived the surrounding situation and completed his review, he realized the factors he had missed.
The scroll...
Someone is watching and detonating it. They won't be far. They're within my line of sight. It wasn't a trick they expected much from in the first place. Yet, it turned into an excellent trap. How? Because they know me.
His intuition flared once more. Now was not the time for intense focus. If someone was watching him, he just had to hide his intentions and buy time.
How to hide my intentions from the opponent?
By drawing their gaze away with unexpected actions. It was the basics of the Valen-style Mercenary Sword.
Thus, Encrid displayed his swordsmanship. He mixed in what he had learned from watching Krang as well. Krang knew how to capture the attention of those around him and project an overwhelming presence.
Encrid mimicked that.
With a hand gesture and a subtle shift of his body, he drew back his injured foot and gathered strength in his right foot for a Limping Step. He made a motion that made it obvious to anyone that he was about to spring forward.
If Krang commanded attention through speeches, Encrid gathered everyone’s eyes through movement. From a posture poised to leap at any second, he placed his hand on the sword’s grip.
He’s drawing.
He’s going to strike.
It was a sequence of movements that made everyone think exactly that. Only then did the child spot Encrid.
Ah, I’m going to die.
The child gave up on life. Their steps slowed.
Encrid entered the mage’s field of vision. The mage prepared to trigger the scroll, widening his sight to lock onto the target precisely. He intended to activate the magic once the child took five more steps.
From that posture, Encrid executed a technique. It was called swordsmanship, but it was an art that could hardly be classified as such. Whether this could truly be considered swordsmanship was debatable, but that fellow Valen had called it both a technique and an art.
Valen-style Mercenary Sword: Distraction.
Flinch.
In the middle of his lunging posture, Encrid shuddered his shoulders and snapped his head to the side. Though his expression was invisible from a distance, anyone could see he had turned his head in sudden shock. Humans convey intention through action, even without speaking.
You don't hide your intention; you layer it.
All he needed was a split-second opening. At that snapped head, even the mage was momentarily thrown off.
Is there something over there?
For a brief moment, everyone’s attention shifted to the side. This was true for Lycanos and the entire enemy force, and even the allied commander Graham, Audin, and the madmen of the company were fooled.
It was perfect. And there was absolutely nothing there. Only a gust of wind blowing up dust. A dry, harsh, bone-chilling wind.
"We’ve been fooled!" Lycanos roared.
In that split second, Encrid lunged forward. The Sense of Evasion was something triggered by instinct. Encrid layered his intent over it. Combining every single "today" he had lived, his Fastest Sword flew.
The tension in each joint of his left fingers was perfect, and his extending muscles were fluid. Conversely, his body felt heavy. The air pressed against him as if he were submerged in mud. Amidst the pressure of the mire-like air, his head and eyes burned hot.
He saw the child’s startled eyes, the runny nose, the agape mouth. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. In a world where everyone else had slowed down, Encrid alone thrust his sword forward.
Whoosh. The wind was pushed back.
His blade sliced the string securing the scroll. Thrusting and curving to the side, he severed every binding point. Minor cuts appeared on the child’s body where the blade had passed. It was a strike that relied entirely on raw speed, not finesse. He wasn't capable of the miraculous feat of cutting only the outer clothing.
Snip.
The severed scroll flew into the air. Encrid scooped up the child and leaped sideways as if flying. The wound on his left shin burst from the violent movement, but now was not the time to worry about that.
The old mage hadn't completely looked away, but a lapse had occurred in his focus. Because of that, the spell’s activation was slightly delayed.
Flash! The scroll flared with light once more.
Encrid rolled on the ground, holding the child tight. A searing heat swept across his back. It felt as if a tongue of flame were licking his spine.
His back burned. But he was alive. And he had saved the child in his arms.
"Haaah."
As he exhaled, his hot breath brushed over the child’s hair. He lay sprawled sideways on the ground.
"...Ah."
Everyone fell silent. They were utterly speechless at what Encrid had just pulled off. His allies were no exception. Meanwhile, Encrid caught his breath for a moment while holding the child and asked, "What is your dream?"
"...Huh?"
Still too dazed to know whether they were dead or alive, the child couldn't answer properly. It seemed they had wet themselves; Encrid's thigh felt damp. Ignoring the waste running down his armor, Encrid asked again.
"I asked what you want to be when you grow up."
It was a casual question. It was meant to reassure the child, prompted by a memory of a past moment. It didn't have a deep meaning, but...
"A-A-An herbalist. I’m going to be an herbalist like my mother," the child spoke. Those eyes, once paralyzed with terror, now spoke of life. They spoke of the days ahead.
It was a resilient child. A child who had kept moving, running toward death while desperately craving life.
Encrid had wanted to be a knight. The childish dream of his youth had brought him to the present. He often asked himself what he swung his sword for. The answer was not yet decided.
However, today, his sword would be swung for a child with a dream.
"Then live to see it through."
He stood up. He pushed the child behind him, almost tossing them.
"Your back, your back..." the child muttered in a trembling voice.
"Run. Don't look back," Encrid shouted, answering the child’s murmur without even pausing to catch his breath. "Ragna!"
Come support my flank.
He didn't need to explain; Ragna would know what to do.
Encrid’s gaze snapped forward. It was right after the spell had failed. Lycanos was charging with a terrifying expression. Around him, men with bloodshot red eyes were rushing forward, wielding single, skewer-like swords. Their condition was bizarre, as if they were drugged. Their limbs were swollen with unprecedented muscle mass. They kicked off the ground with their thickened legs, surging forward menacingly.
"Kill him!" Lycanos roared, discarding the scabbard of his mace.
He had seen that strike just now. If he met it carelessly, he would be the one to fall. The opponent’s injuries didn't matter.
Encrid also raised his sword. The blue-glowing longsword in his left hand pointed toward his foe. He leveled the tip of his blade, ready to meet the oncoming enemies.
Skewer-like swords lunged from four directions—left, right, above, and below—with Lycanos charging straight down the middle. The blades aimed at him seemed to arrive simultaneously, but they didn't. There were slight, minute differences in timing.
He could see them.
In Encrid’s vision, points appeared once more and connected. Squeezing his muscles, he swung his sword.
Clash-clash-clash-clash-clash!
Five swords were deflected. Though his sword moved with terrifying speed to defend, not a single blade managed to touch Encrid’s body.
When the five swords thrust toward him, Encrid moved his feet before his blade. Extending his left foot to the side, he kicked off the ground with his right, executing a Slope Step. Naturally, his body turned halfway. Shifting his position to the left, he parried the two swords coming from his left. Moving his feet in quick succession, he took a step and a half back, then deflected the two strikes coming from the right.
Finally, using the flat of his blade, he deflected and parried Lycanos’s thrust.
A mistake!
Thinking an opening would appear once Encrid blocked his four subordinates’ attacks, Lycanos had held back from unleashing his Fastest Sword to exploit that gap. He had thrust at what he considered a moderate speed. Thanks to that, Encrid had successfully blocked all five swords.
More than anything, Lycanos was horrified when he saw his opponent’s sword speed.
"This bastard...!"
How did he get this strong so suddenly? At the very least, his strike speed hadn't been anywhere near this level, but now it had suddenly grown to rival his own.
In reality, it was a sprout born from the countless repetitions of "today" and the experience accumulated during them, but there was no way for his opponent to know that. To Lycanos, it simply looked as though Encrid had copied his specialty, the Fastest Sword, after seeing it just once.
Of course, Lycanos had also obtained his skill by watching someone else’s sword and training relentlessly, but... did that matter right now? He was merely irritated by the movement his opponent had just shown.
Lycanos was confident he could kill Encrid with just a few more swings. But things rarely go as planned.
Thud!
A crisp impact sound marked the beginning.
Squelch!
The sound of flesh tearing as skin and armor were sliced through together, followed by...
Craaaack!
"Argh!"
A death rattle echoed alongside the chaotic noise. Something crashed in from the flank, crushing the enemy forces. It wasn't a military unit. It was a single human charging entirely on his own.
Blonde hair fluttered. Having discarded his helmet, a man was seen wielding a sword as long and massive as his own body with terrifying force. His red eyes left trails in the air. Above them, his blonde hair whipped around as his greatsword followed. He swung the sword with such ferocity that the massive, thick blade seemed to bend.
Whoosh, thud!
Striking down, slashing sideways, spinning and thrusting. Every single strike was a masterpiece of slaughter. The troops Lycanos had personally raised were being slaughtered relentlessly.
"Aaargh!"
Even though they had been drugged right before the battle, they were being pushed back. The opponent was a monster as well.
"I’ve got this side," Ragna said as he approached and swept past. Blood dripped heavily onto his blonde hair—the result of an upward slash just moments ago that had split a soldier in half, showering the area with blood and entrails.
"Fuck," Lycanos glared, his eyes wide. This was a crisis. A danger. A threat.
But this couldn't be the end. Because the Black Sword wasn't the only force present here.
*
"Now is the time!"
The Wolf Bishop decided that any further delay would yield no benefit. "Destroy the infidels!"
At the bishop’s cry, the crowd of fanatics rose. In truth, their numbers weren't large, for their main force consisted of wolf-type demonic beasts. The Wolf Bishop commanded the alpha beast linked to him.
Kill them all.
Soon, the beasts surged forward like a wave. Their numbers were more than double what the Border Guard had anticipated. Over hundreds of demonic beasts emerged from all directions and charged.
"You should move as well," the bishop said, looking to his side. Standing there was the Barbarian Heretic, a man brought along as a mercenary.
The man, who stood idly spinning his short spear a few times, replied, "It’s not my turn yet."
"Why, you...!"
The Wolf Bishop thoroughly disliked him, but he had to acknowledge his skill. Had he come to obtain something for immortality and eternal youth? What a ridiculous fellow. If he truly desired something, he should have devoted himself to the faith. To try and gain something through a mere transaction was utterly laughable.
Sneering at him, the bishop followed behind the horde of demonic beasts. Soon, the bishop saw the enemy forces rushing forward.
"Heavy Infantry, forward!"
There were those stepping up to block their path, but it was laughable.
Brother.
When he called upon his Brother linked to his mindscape, a beast of overwhelmingly massive proportions rose from among the pack of wolf demonic beasts.
Awooooo!
The wolf’s howl erupted. The howl of a wolf that had become a monster, not just a demonic beast, crushed the air and radiated a crushing pressure. It was a monster that would make anyone’s knees buckle just by looking at it.
A wolf born as a monster—a Dire Wolf.
Its lusterless, pitch-black fur seemed to absorb the surrounding light, making the gloomy environment appear even drabber. Sleet was falling from above, but due to the heat radiating from the Dire Wolf, the snow melted in midair before it could even touch its body.
It felt like a reflection of their own future. As if they, too, would simply melt away into nothingness. The soldier at the front of the Heavy Infantry swallowed hard at the sight.
Can we even block that?
Doubt crept in.