Chapter 320: High Praise
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 320: High Praise
The second "today" dawned.
Encrid lived through the exact same day once again.
The shackles of ill omen, which bypassed even his heightened senses, still bound his body tight. His limbs were frozen; he couldn't move. Meanwhile, watching his companions die was no different this time around.
As evening approached, Encrid said what needed to be said. It was the bare minimum of preparation.
"Ragna, hold your sword and rest."
He had warned him in advance, but the sword wasn't the issue. Ragna was exhausted. He was injured. He was far from peak condition. Knowing the disaster was coming didn't mean he could stop it.
That was why it was called a disaster. It wasn't a title given lightly.
The knight killed all of his companions once more.
The third "today" passed, and then the fourth.
It repeated.
The ill omen, the tightening shackles, the deaths of his companions, his own death, the pain—and occasionally, he met the Ferryman of the river.
"It is despair."
The Ferryman appeared again, planting the word despair into his mind. Encrid did not answer.
"It is despair."
Twelve "todays" passed.
He repeated the exact same cycle over and over again. Bound and frozen by the shackles of ill omen, Encrid watched his companions die with his own eyes. Not once did he look away.
He couldn't.
Krais, despite his terrible fighting skills, insisted on shielding him every time. Why did a guy who talked about running away every single day show his back to the enemy in this moment?
It was a curse. Because of that, Encrid could not grow numb. The physical pain and the internal agony were one and the same. He always had to endure the same suffering. He always had to watch it all unfold.
Encrid had no intention of looking away in the first place, but pain was still pain.
"This is despair," the Ferryman said in a casual tone as he passed by.
It was the twenty-second "today."
Twitch.
Immediately after Sinar's chest was slashed open, Encrid's finger moved. This iteration was slightly different from the previous twenty-one.
"Fiancée."
She didn't die instantly. He had thought she died on the first day, but she was no ordinary fighter. She deflected the trajectory of the sword with Naidel, minimizing her wounds. Within that single move, two swordsmanship styles were blended: deflecting and parrying.
And what about Ragna? Instead of trying to match the opponent's strikes with speed, he raised his sword and braced himself to endure with sheer strength.
They were people from whom he had much to learn.
Twitch.
Ragna, Krais, Dunchabel, Esther. After watching all of them fall, Encrid finally regained freedom in his hands.
"Finally moving," he remarked briefly.
"Hmm?"
Even so, the blade held by the brown-haired man pierced straight through his heart. Encrid died once more.
Splash.
The Black River and the Ferryman. The entity kept showing up as if he had nothing better to do.
"It is despair."
The Ferryman's unfocused gaze turned toward Encrid as he delivered his message. Encrid stared blankly back. There wasn't the slightest hint of weariness or boredom in the Ferryman's voice, despite repeating the word "despair" every single time.
As Encrid watched indifferently, his body slowly began to fade. It was time to return to reality. He had to live through "today" again, watching his companions die. It was the moment he had to head back to the cycle where death repeated.
As his body and face blurred like smoke, the Ferryman looked at Encrid. The Ferryman did not speak through facial expressions, but occasionally, he expressed a fraction of the emotions in his heart.
This was one of those times.
As the time in the dream drew to a close and Encrid's body faded, the Ferryman put his feelings into words.
"Are you... smiling?"
*
The river vanished.
Encrid woke from his dream. In other words, it was the start of the repeating "today."
It was the thirty-second time.
"What a rough dream," Encrid muttered the moment he woke.
The first thing he did was dismiss the past "today" as just a dream. In truth, rather than simply dismissing it, he used it as the first step to move forward.
A "today" where he could do absolutely nothing was incredibly—no, quite unpleasant. It felt as if bugs were crawling all over his skin.
"What kind of dream was it?" Krais asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes nearby.
"A dream where you die."
"How unlucky."
At Encrid's blunt words, Krais replied with equal sincerity.
"Ragna, I dreamed you died too. Keep a grip on your sword."
"That really is an unlucky thing to say."
Since Ragna also replied with sincerity, it was a truly heartwarming morning. It wasn't that Ragna believed in superstitions, but such sudden words were bound to weigh on his mind—especially since the one saying them was Encrid.
"Did you catch that habit of talking nonsense from that barbarian?" Ragna let out a rare complaint. His tone was indifferent, but the jab was sharp.
Encrid reacted naturally. "Is that an insult? I challenge you to a duel."
How dare he compare him to Rem?
Since Encrid shot back with a casual joke, Ragna didn't bother to reply. Encrid moved his body more vigorously than on any other past "today."
Despair—that was a word that didn't easily reach his heart. He admitted it was an extreme situation. He admitted the opponent was absurdly, monstrously strong.
But the answer was clear.
Just once.
If he could endure the first strike, the opponent would leave.
So, was this despair? No. Even if there were a way to avoid it, he wouldn't. The opponent was a knight. Even if that knight came as the Grim Reaper, Encrid felt pure joy that his dream had drawn near.
Along with the pain came a sense of ecstasy. Burying his companions' deaths as a mere dream and moving forward—Encrid took that as his starting point. He would let no one die.
Therefore, only one clear answer remained.
I just have to block it.
If he couldn't? He would keep trying until he could. If necessary, he would do whatever it took to make it happen. That was all there was to it.
He had to watch his companions die every single time? If that was despair, then it was a flimsy thing.
How many "todays" had he already overcome? There were many ways to twist a repeating day. Did the cycle absolutely have to play out the same way? He already knew it didn't. He could now do what he hadn't even been able to think of before because his body wouldn't move.
Encrid first gathered his gear from the corner of the barracks. Should he wrap himself in Bandage Armor? No, that would be pointless. He had seen the knight's sword. It wasn't something armor could block. What Sinar wore was no ordinary armor either, yet it had been sliced right through.
Something was imbued in that strike. He thought he knew what it was.
Will.
A knight was one who used Will. Encrid recognized this clearly.
Then, what should he do? Should he try deflecting it first? Would the Snake Sword work? He had already forgotten that his own body was a mess.
A similar "today" passed.
"You all worked hard."
Encrid always said similar things. There were things that must not grow dull, even if they repeated. Encrid did not forget that. After a few more trivial remarks, including his words of appreciation, Krais spoke.
"It's a demonic charm, a demonic charm."
Right after Krais finished speaking, rip, the tent tore open, and the brown-haired man entered. It was always the same beginning.
"I'm sorry about this," the man spoke, and Encrid began his preparations. "Just once, and I will leave. That is the least I can do to respect my honor."
His attitude suggested he was doing something he disliked. Yet, they hadn't been able to block even a single strike.
While the man was speaking, Encrid moved. In truth, he didn't really listen to what the man said. It wasn't like he was hearing it for the first or second time. If some things grew dull through repetition, others did not. The words etched in his memory were simply tedious now.
Honor or whatever, his concentration blazed. The shackles of ill omen wrapped around and tightened on his body, but since he had already begun to overcome them, he commanded his muscles from his fingertips to his core.
Move.
Encrid's foot lifted naturally. His body moved according to his will. The ill omen still wrapped around and choked his neck, but it didn't matter. It was easy enough to ignore.
After all, he was moving now.
The man first noticed the guy who was taking a step forward instead of listening to him. His gaze turned toward Encrid.
Encrid opened his mouth. "Me first."
"Fiancée!"
Sinar tried to stop him, but it was already too late.
"I seem to be the target. Am I wrong?" he said, taking another step.
He was right. Through the "todays" he had lived so far, he had figured out everything he needed to know. To overcome today, one had to recognize and face what was necessary in this very moment.
His target is me.
If Encrid stepped forward showing such spirit, the man's personality was such that he would never ignore it. Having spoken what he realized through his combat review, he faced him.
The man—the knight—raised his sword. With a sharp clink, he drew a chipped shortsword. That was the Grim Reaper's weapon.
The Grim Reaper of this dream raised his weapon.
"You are quite bold."
He swung his sword.
Thud.
Encrid tried to block, but the opponent's sword was faster. Was he faster than Lycanos? Was it similar to Sachsen's Mu-sal Thrust? He had seen it countless times, but this was his first attempt at blocking it.
Encrid felt the difference in speed. Starting from his feet, the opponent unleashed his sword without any visible transmission of force. It was truly a sword whose timing could not be read.
I was slow.
Encrid accepted it as such. Since he was slow and missed it, it was only natural that his heart was split open. Death approached.
Even so, Encrid smirked. Hadn't he accomplished the first thing he wanted?
The Grim Reaper saw it too. He's a madman.
He saw right through Encrid's true nature in an instant. The opponent was not normal. Of course, that was none of Encrid's business. He was simply satisfied that his trick had worked.
If he didn't want to see Sinar, Ragna, Krais, Dunchabel, and Esther die, all he had to do was step forward first.
His eyes closed. Death had arrived.
Splash. The Black River.
Even though it wasn't the right moment to open his mindscape, the Ferryman had forced his way in, opening the world even if only for a brief moment. He left behind high praise as he passed by.
"Crazy bastard."
That was already the second time he had received such praise. Encrid barely managed to leave a reply.
"Thanks."
There was no time for a long conversation. Was it just his imagination, or did the ferryboat drifting away on the river seem to rock violently? There was no way to know.
In any case.
My body is moving.
Then, all that was left was to withstand it.
"Whew, good."
"What's so good?" Krais asked at the words Encrid uttered the moment he woke up.
"Don't worry about it."
Encrid pondered. Could he recover his body right now? No. Thinking, he picked up Ragna's sword and propped it up next to his cot.
"...What is this? You want to spar?"
"Just keep it with you."
Action was easier than explaining the reason. In any case, to warm up his body even a little, it was important to keep moving. Beside the brazier, he performed a series of movements to stretch his muscles and stimulate his body's regenerative powers.
Even so, his pondering did not stop.
How do I block it?
He was still at a loss. He didn't think he could block it immediately just because his body could move. But still, it was just a single slash.
No, it isn't.
It wasn't just a single slash. It was a knight's sword.
It really is absurd.
Encrid was no fool. He knew what he had accomplished on the battlefield. His sword was not something a mere crowd of ordinary soldiers could block. He had cut down mercenaries who fancied themselves swordsmen, and even those from the Hurier family. Among them were mages and shamans.
Most recently, he had even been surrounded by enemy forces. Though he had escaped by relying on his senses, it had been no easy feat. To someone who didn't know he was repeating "today," it would seem like a mystery transcending divine skill. Since he made it look as though he had traversed those hardships with just a single sword—well, three swords, technically, but still.
"Were you a mage?" Krais suddenly asked.
Even Esther cast a questioning glance his way. Of course not. He didn't know how to use spells.
He recalled the knight's sword once more. Now, he felt like he was the ordinary soldier.
His thoughts continued. If Sachsen were here, would he have noticed? No, if Sachsen were here, wouldn't he have easily fallen to the knight as well? Or would he have managed somehow? What if Ragna hadn't been injured?
Idle thoughts.
So this was despair. Was it because the remnants of the emotion the Ferryman had shoved into his head still lingered? Encrid didn't bother to discard or erase any of it. He just let it be. It didn't matter.
What was despair? It meant severing all hope and collapsing because there was nothing left to look forward to. It meant crumbling under one's own pessimism.
None of that had anything to do with Encrid.
Trapped in "today" because he couldn't withstand the knight's strike? He welcomed it instead. Rather than living day by day without doing anything, without any motivation, watching the dreams he harbored fade, tear, and grow old...
"Let's struggle fiercely today as well."
He would rather struggle like that. Death was approaching? He didn't care. Because, in any case, he didn't live just to die.
Above all, the "todays" that had passed, the things the Ferryman had called anguish and ignorance, and the countless "todays" before that... they broke and shattered one of Encrid's shells.
Just like when he had first faced "today," his mind stood straight and upright. It was a small realization. Yet, it was also a grand realization.
There is no rule saying I can't use "today."
He had used it when dealing with the werewolf and the mage, and he had fully utilized it when breaking through the spell traps. It was an expansion of the concept. Struggle, but endure and utilize the curse of repetition.
It was the moment he consciously recognized what he had been doing with his body all along. Encrid's eyes snapped open. He knew what he had to do.
"Ragna."
"...What is it?"
Strength naturally infused his voice. Ragna reacted to the change in Encrid's attitude. What's wrong with him all of a sudden?
"On the premise that your body is perfectly fine."
Encrid's eyes sparkled. How should one describe it? A strangely excited, thrilled look in his eyes? As he opened his mouth with that expression, Ragna cut him off.
"It is fine even now. More so than yours, Captain."
Bluffing, in some ways, was the most powerful weapon. Ragna's bluff shone just as brightly as the look in Encrid's eyes.
Encrid naturally took the cue. "My physical condition is a nine out of ten."
In truth, it was a five.
"I am completely healed."
"I, too, have just fully recovered."
Sinar, who had been listening to their conversation, spoke in a low voice. "What are those two doing?"
"They're competing to see who's the bigger idiot," Krais summarized the situation.
"I'm not hurt," Dunchabel chimed in.
She was injured too, of course. Naturally, no one reacted to her words. Encrid and Ragna didn't care about their surroundings either. To be precise, since Encrid ignored them, Ragna naturally followed suit.
This was the main point:
"Can you withstand a knight's sword?"
That question, that attitude, the weight in his words and gaze, and something burning deep within, entirely separate from his bluff. All of it was a provocation.
Upon receiving the question, Ragna briefly submerged into his own world. This fight was a catalyst. Ragna could see the path. It was all too easy to see where his talent would lead him.
However, just because he could see the path didn't mean he had walked it yet. Since he lacked the experience, he couldn't know for sure. But hadn't his brilliant talent already shown him the path in advance? It was the path shown once more by the talent awakened by this catalyst.
Ragna was half-certain. That this was the path to becoming a knight.
Therefore.
"I can block it."
Excluding the bluff, he really could. If he could pave the way first with the severing imbued with Will—which he had gained this time—he could block even a knight's sword.
It was a faint certainty. It was also confidence. At the very least, he wouldn't fall helplessly to a single strike.
Pondering didn't mean clutching one's head alone and acting like an idiot. Furthermore, just as he had changed, he could faintly sense Ragna's change as well. Especially after seeing the knight, Ragna's reaction in each repeating "today" had been slightly different.
What did that mean? Didn't it mean he could see something?
It was a suspicion and a question. Encrid saw an easy and convenient path. He sought the answer from Ragna.
"How?"
Now, tell me the method.
Ragna felt as if he were intoxicated. Encrid's voice and gaze made him feel that way. So, he readily opened his mouth. He imagined and visualized the knight's sword. In terms of sheer talent, he was a man who could easily be called the best on the continent.
He did not hesitate. His mouth opened in no time.