Chapter 312: What is the Wall?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 312: What is the Wall?
“You have taken the wrong path.”
Encrid mentally picked at his ear.
Had he heard that right?
“Face the wall directly,” the Ferryman continued.
Doubt was his first instinct, but regardless of his skepticism, the words rang out with crystalline clarity.
Face the wall directly.
It meant to look at it properly.
But what was the wall?
To Encrid, it was the sheer number of those blocking his path. It was the caliber of the enemy forces—the swordsmen of the Hurier family, the mercenaries, the Grey Dogs, the mages, and the shamans. It was the very terrain itself.
This was the answer Encrid had reached after endless contemplation.
Build up my strength and break through.
Yet, every time he tried, new obstacles lay in wait. Once, just when he thought he had finally slipped away—
“The Grey Dogs never lose their target.”
Bastards even more relentless than Rem blocked his path. Even as their heads were severed, they threw their dying bodies at him. The Grey Dogs—those persistent lovers—had arrived.
Once he overcame them, they too became part of his "today." They were now a permanent fixture of the loop.
First, it had been the mercenary Scent and three from the Hurier family; then the mages; then the shamans; and once he cleared them all, the Grey Dogs. Meanwhile, hordes of ordinary soldiers lunged at him relentlessly.
Even though he was repeating an experience he had already lived, every "today" felt different. The order of their approach shifted, and their fighting styles evolved.
Encrid was no expert in military strategy, but one thing was certain.
I’ve definitely been caught in a trap.
So, what should he do? What did he need to escape this place?
He still believed the answer lay in martial prowess. On some days, he didn't encounter the Grey Dogs; on others, he managed to bypass the shamans or mages. On one particular "today," he didn't even run into Scent.
By now, he was almost glad to see them. Naturally, there were far more days when he did.
“Oh, Scent, isn't it? Good to see you.”
“Do you know me?”
The Valen-style mercenary drew his sword, confused by the familiarity. He was a good partner for practicing the Illusion Sword.
A Spark pierced Scent's throat, and Encrid broke through the human wall closing in from all sides... only to die once more.
Facing "today" again.
He tried crawling down the cliffside to find an exit, only to die. He threw himself into the valley stream, only to be brutally beaten to death by the mages.
Around that time, Encrid reckoned there were a total of five walls.
First: Scent and his band of mercenaries.
Second: The three swordsmen of the Hurier family—by now, he even knew their names: Roch, Merier, and Leblanc.
Third: The four mages, bastards who summoned water ghosts or fired water cannons. The water whip, in particular, was lethal—a spinning lash of rushing water that could grind away his arm guards in an instant. Even the mages themselves gasped for breath when using it; he had seen their faces turn pale from the strain several times.
Fourth: The shamans. They mainly used a spell called 'Invisible Force,' but they weren't too difficult to handle. Just because it was invisible didn't mean it lacked a presence. It was avoidable enough with his Sense of Evasion. However, their tricks were infuriating—like making the ground beneath his feet as sticky as glue without warning. To make matters worse, the shamans were always shielded by heavy infantry units wielding long spears.
Fifth: The Grey Dogs. In terms of pure combat power, they were the weakest link. But when it came to sheer tenacity, they were the absolute worst. If there were an award for persistence and ruthlessness, he’d give them a double thumbs-up.
No matter what he did, these were the constants of his "today."
The five walls: the mercenaries, the Huriers, the mages, the shamans, and the Grey Dogs. It seemed he simply needed to break through all five at once.
But it was impossible. No matter how he looked at it, it was simply impossible.
Mixed in with them were archers, crossbowmen, spearmen, and heavy infantry. Among them were elven snipers and beastmen who moved with erratic, predatory speed. He was just thankful there were no Froks, dragonkin, or giants.
In that case, should he view it as six walls? Including the regular troops?
This is bad.
Contrary to his internal grumbling, Encrid was thoroughly enjoying himself. By repeating "today," he made full use of the time he had been granted. He struggled desperately, utilizing every scrap of experience he gained.
Under the warm winter sunlight, this was the result of doing everything humanly possible.
And it wasn't good.
The experience of slaughter.
The act of killing and being killed became second nature. He killed until his sense of smell was completely numbed by the iron scent of blood. Yet, he still couldn't see a way out of "today."
The Ferryman's words naturally struck a chord. He had faced the five or six walls directly. Did anything change? No.
As he dreamed amidst another repetition, the Ferryman spoke.
“If you do not know, you cannot cross. The wall is one.”
Encrid took those words to heart.
Several more "todays" passed. Internalizing the advice didn't bring instant change; it only gave him room to ponder. Later, he met the Ferryman once again.
“Hey, aren't you sick of this?” the Ferryman asked, tossing out a trivial remark.
“Rather than being sick of it, I find it difficult.”
That was why he wasn't bored. Was the uncertain future consuming his mind? If he were the type to break down over something like this, he wouldn't even be dreaming.
Encrid racked his brain over and over. What is the wall?
It was right after he returned to the starting point.
“How much do I have to tell you, how much do I have to do for you to understand?” the Ferryman asked sarcastically.
Encrid, finding it fascinating that he could read emotion from the entity, asked back, “Are you being sarcastic, by any chance?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you?”
The Ferryman immediately showed disgust, his face remaining a blank mask. Encrid only knew he was disgusted because the Ferryman projected the feeling.
As his path remained blocked and his time with the Ferryman increased, Encrid sought to satisfy his usual curiosity.
“Why a ferryboat?”
Wouldn't a gatekeeper dragging a hellhound be more fitting? Why a river, why a ferryboat, and why a ferryman?
“Because a boat can go anywhere.”
“What does that mean?”
“I didn't say it for you to understand.”
Having met him repeatedly, Encrid realized something: the Ferryman seemed to have multiple personalities. His temperament changed on a whim.
“Do not harbor curiosity,” he would say on days when he put on airs.
“I call you a bastard,” he’d snap with a flippant tone on others.
“Have you faced the wall directly?” This Ferryman only talked about the wall, no matter what Encrid said.
“You certainly have a lot of questions.” And then there was the relatively kind Ferryman who would at least engage in conversation.
When asked what he usually did, the kind Ferryman replied, “I steer the boat.”
He spoke, though he never promised his words would make sense.
“I see.”
“You, too, shall steer a boat,” the Ferryman said. Encrid brushed it off.
Over the course of more than three hundred "todays," Encrid felt the limits of his growth.
It's hard to improve my skills any further.
It was a sensation he’d felt when facing the Stabbing Freak. There was a limit to what could be gained in a single moment or situation. If he didn't reach tomorrow, nothing would truly change. Therefore, he had to overcome the wall of "today."
Five, or perhaps six walls.
No—a single wall.
Five into one? Should he try herding them all into one place and taking them down together?
He acted on the thought. With immense effort, he herded the five groups together and fought.
He died.
The four mages and the shaman coordinated with terrifying efficiency. They didn't even seem to know each other, yet they fell into sync instantly.
He also reconfirmed Scent’s specialty. The bastard preferred stabbing from the shadows rather than a frontal clash. Encrid had repeatedly forced him into a duel, but Scent always triggered Encrid's senses, allowing Encrid to detect him first.
So he was aiming for my back every single time.
He hadn't realized it until now. He only learned this after more than three hundred "todays."
Regardless, that wasn't the answer.
Next, he tried infiltration. He kidnapped an enemy soldier. Normally, the soldiers moved in squads of ten, but those going to relieve themselves moved in groups of three.
“I need to piss.”
This was the fruit of hiding and waiting the moment he woke up.
“Go together, the three of you,” the squad leader ordered.
Encrid followed. He snapped the neck of the soldier who was urinating and pierced the throats of the other two with Sparks. After hiding the bodies in the bushes, Encrid stripped one of them. Changing clothes took more effort than the actual killing.
Roughly throwing the uniform over his shoulders, Encrid used his wits.
“We're under attack!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, sprinting toward a different unit.
What would happen if he escaped like this? Would it be judged as an evasion and send him back to the start? Would it only count if he truly destroyed those five walls?
But the Ferryman said the wall was one. He said if you do not know, you cannot cross.
What is it that I don't know?
He didn't know that either. Though his enjoyment was gradually fading, despair did not take its place. Encrid wandered, searching for a way. Wandering, digging deep, and enduring were his specialties.
“Were you the one who shouted?”
That was the moment he encountered another unit. The enemy soldiers did not let him get close. They were on guard.
Why? Even though he wore the same uniform? Did they all know each other's faces?
No, that wasn't it.
“Withered Flower.”
There was a password. How many more "todays" would he have to repeat to find it out?
At any rate, he was exposed. It was time to struggle desperately once more. A frantic battle ensued.
In the next "today," he stole a uniform again, but this time, he initiated the prompt.
“Withered Flower.”
“Enemy!” the opponent immediately shouted.
What did he do wrong? Encrid didn't understand the difference.
The reality was simple. Abnayor did not underestimate Encrid. He had analyzed him thoroughly, over and over. He had studied the man named Encrid.
His conclusion was: “He is clever. He is also skilled in deception—an instinctive tactician.”
This was one of the measures prepared in case Encrid tried to trick his way out. The key to the password wasn't just saying "Withered Flower," but performing a specific gesture. The words and the gesture had to be executed in tandem. Upon seeing that action, one had to state their unit and receive the proper response. It wasn't overly complex, but it was impossible to figure out if you didn't already know it.
Abnayor was thorough. He prevented any chance of Encrid overhearing the password and slipping away. He had adjacent units familiarize themselves with each other's faces. He even introduced subtle differences in their uniforms for verification.
These were things that could not be figured out no matter how many times one repeated "today." Above all, after a few attempts, Encrid's intuition kicked in—an intuition that this was not the path.
This is a bit of a headache.
Encrid calmly steeled his mind. What did I miss?
Contemplation. Review. Because he had not forgotten his strengths, he repeated the process. He reflected on the Ferryman's words. Only because he had repeatedly lived through "today" and experienced death was he able to realize it.
The wall is one.
What is the wall? It is something that must be crossed.
The wall is one.
He repeated the words to himself countless times. Finally, he understood the reason behind the Ferryman's words.
“I've got it.”
“What?”
The realization struck right in front of Scent's face. The mercenary's eyes widened in surprise.
What was the point of staring? Encrid smashed Scent's jaw with the hilt of his sword.
Crack!
The jawbone shattered, and teeth sprayed into the air. He immediately slashed the bastard's neck with his gladius.
Slash!
The severed head hit the dirt.
“Kill him!”
Once again, he fought. Right before dying, he shook off his enemies multiple times to catch his breath. He had mastered the art of dragging out a fight. Every time he caught his breath, his thoughts became clearer.
Encrid had to know the method to move forward.
If you do not know, you cannot cross.
It was obvious. He had to grasp the method first, not the wall. It wasn't five walls.
Strategy.
Or tactics, or military doctrine—a wall that deserved such names. He had to escape the very trap laid by the enemy commander.
How?
He was not Krais. Then what should he do?
Encrid searched his memories. He had once shared a similar conversation with Krais. As that conversation came to mind, the method revealed itself. He still had a long way to go, but he could see the trail.
“From what I see, people who use their heads are divided into two types,” Krais had said. “One is the type who predicts and prepares for everything, and the other is the type who moves on instinct in the moment. Both require a good brain, though.”
Krais had continued: “You, Boss, are strictly the latter. You're far from the former.”
He hadn't asked why then. However, Encrid now recalled each and every one of the past three hundred-plus "todays." The moments he had simply brushed aside while fighting like a madman began to overlap. Things that had squeezed through the gaps of his senses to sound a warning.
Why did he brush them aside? Why did he ignore them?
Because I was too focused on the wall right in front of me.
His vision had narrowed. This was different from before. He couldn't cross because he hadn't known what the wall truly was. The moment it became visible, Encrid realized what he had to do.
Minimal combat. A fight for survival.
Instead of desperate struggling, he had to use intuition, instinct, and his sixth sense to dismantle the enemy's military strategy. That was the path.
If I don't have to fight everyone...
It was something Abnayor could never have known, and something he had completely miscalculated.
First, that Encrid was repeating "today." Second, that Encrid's brain worked far faster and sharper than he ever imagined.
“Ah.”
On exactly the three hundred and seventy-eighth "today," Encrid found the path.