Chapter 322: How Do You Block Lightning?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 322: How Do You Block Lightning?
Today repeated.
Whether the Ferryman watched or not, Encrid remained steadfast.
He was as he had always been: unchanging.
Whether it was when he first picked up a sword to become a mercenary, or when he swung his blade at a tree after being beaten to a pulp, he was no different now.
No, some things had changed.
His vision had changed.
The things he looked at had changed.
His way of thinking had evolved.
His body had changed.
The sword in his hand had changed.
His dream had drawn closer.
Yet, Encrid was still Encrid.
Day after day, he pondered the same question.
How do I block it?
It was a question without an answer.
Of course, that wasn't a problem. It had always been this way. For Encrid, problems with easy answers were rare. Everything around him urged him to give up, forcing him to settle for the present.
Ways to quit often crossed his mind. Whether it was the Ferryman's trickery or simply the nature of his situation, there was never only one way to get past today.
What if I take everyone and run?
What if, the moment he opened his eyes in the morning, he dragged his aching body and fled like a madman? There were several carriages in the Greenpearl Camp. What if he hijacked one and just bolted?
Would the Knight chase them all the way to the Border Guard? The bastard only showed up in the evening; if Encrid made up his mind to run at dawn, would he give chase? Could he even catch them?
He didn't know. In truth, he didn't need to know.
Encrid would never do that.
The ways to escape were plentiful and easy. Even if Garret tried to stop him, asking where he was going in such a state, it wouldn't matter.
“I need to go to the rear and rest.”
Or,
“I have urgent business to attend to back home.”
Who would dare object to the primary contributor, the most decorated hero who had led this battlefield to victory?
Within the camp, a subtly festive atmosphere had already begun to form. Once Azpen retreated, the celebration would begin immediately. They would feast on meat and drown themselves in alcohol.
Could he welcome such a tomorrow?
"It is despair."
The words the Ferryman kept repeating clawed at his mind.
"You cannot overcome this."
The Ferryman repeated the same words over and over. They were idle thoughts, but even so, nothing changed. Encrid swung his sword endlessly in his mind. He searched and devised ways.
What if I deflect it while stepping back?
How could a sword shake and bend like that? How could he make his own blade connect with it?
Encrid viewed the curse of the repeating day as a privilege. Though the pain of death was the same even after a thousand times, he endured it with the ecstasy that followed the agony.
Thus, he faced the Knight's sword again and again. It was a repetition of today, fueled by a burning focus. Because of this, Encrid was able to see more.
"It is honor."
The Knight arrived, speaking of honor and telling him to block just once. For a split second, Encrid saw every movement as if it were broken down frame by frame.
The Shackles of Ill Omen, which had constricted his body since the day began, played a part in this. It was a result of his Sense of Evasion activating to its absolute limit. That sensation pushed his concentration to an even higher peak.
The blade?
As he tried to step back and deflect it, the blade accelerated. Its speed shifted. Encrid saw something just before the acceleration.
Tremble.
It vibrated. It definitely looked that way.
At the same time, Encrid aligned his sword diagonally against the Knight's blade. It was a desperate struggle, executed while feeling as if every muscle in his body were tearing apart. Because he was focused entirely on the blade, Encrid couldn't see the Knight's face, but a hint of surprise, rather than boredom, flickered across it.
Of course, it vanished instantly.
Clang!
The moment the blades clashed, the shortsword sheared through the dwarf's gladius.
An advantage of weaponry?
There was no such thing.
Thuck.
His heart was pierced.
Encrid died.
He died, and today repeated once more.
This time, he followed a similar pattern but threw in another trick. As he blocked with the gladius, he activated 'Moment's Will', fully prepared to let the muscles in his left arm rupture.
It was a gamble. After all, 'Will' was a power and a mystery generated through the user's physical body. It was not something he should be doing with a body that hadn't properly recovered.
He felt the muscle fibers in his left arm snap, but Encrid ultimately thrust the spark in the direction he wanted. It worked. Although the Knight's sword trembled, bent, and pierced his heart, it didn't completely shatter him.
It was only a little, but he had bought time. Though brief, his death was delayed.
"Cough!"
Encrid staggered backward, coughing up a torrent of blood. His body collapsed. He tried to support himself with his left hand, but with no strength left in it, he tilted forward.
Just as he was about to fall—
Catch.
Someone caught him. Looking down, he saw the top of a foot. Sinar supported Encrid's body with her thigh.
Encrid didn't repeat the same mistake. He braced himself with his right hand. He had no strength to stand. Due to the shock to his heart, blood continuously poured from his mouth.
"What is this?" Sinar asked.
At that moment, something flew over the Knight's head with a whoosh. It was Ragna. His sword violently tore through the tent roof.
Riiip!
The sound of tearing fabric echoed as the sword in his hand shot forward with terrifying momentum. A blade faster than an arrow plunged from above.
When he had asked Ragna about his technique, hadn't Ragna spoken of lightning? It wasn't for nothing. His blade became lightning. Imbued with the 'Will of Severing', he showcased the swordsmanship of the Northern Zaun Family.
It was the Zaun Family Heavy Sword Style: Lightning Strike.
Crash!
The sound of thunder actually seemed to echo from Ragna's blade.
The Knight thrust his sword upward from below. What about the Lightning Strike? He wasn't a Knight for nothing. He didn't wield 'Will' for nothing. The Knight could achieve what was impossible with a mere fragment of Will.
He caught Ragna's sword with his left palm while simultaneously thrusting his own sword.
Encrid took all of this in. He did not loosen the bowstring of his concentration, determined not to miss a single detail. It didn't matter at all that his own body was dying.
Ah.
Even to Encrid's eyes, it was faintly visible. The Knight's sword momentarily appeared to multiply into dozens.
"Gurgle."
Encrid went beyond coughing up blood; bloody foam bubbled at his lips. Seeing this, Sinar spoke.
"An elf who has lost her companion does not forget revenge."
Wait, since when were we companions? What kind of relationship do we even have to talk about revenge? Encrid thought.
Still, it sounded reassuring. To have the guts to joke at a moment like this—she was an elf who could pull off anything.
Ragna rolled on the ground, stabbed. It was a fatal wound. His eyes went dark and lifeless. His heart had been pierced, but that was only natural.
"Shit."
Krais stepped in front of Encrid just as he always did. This time, Dunchabel was with him.
Growl.
Esther was no different.
Ah, do these guys have no intention of running away?
This time, Ragna was the one who actually died. Was it because he got excited and suddenly attempted a major technique? Still, thanks to that, there was a change in the Knight as well.
Through the gap between Krais and Dunchabel, the dying Encrid saw the Knight examining his own palm. Blood from the tip of the shortsword dripped onto the ground. Red blood also flowed from his left hand, dripping onto the floor. That blood was an incredibly deep scarlet.
"I was cut?" the Knight muttered.
It was only natural for him to be shocked. No matter how much 'Will' was infused, his opponent was merely an incomplete fragment. He, on the other hand, was a Knight. Yet, they had cut a palm coated in 'Will'?
This could be cut?
"I was cut..." the Knight muttered once more.
That was how shocking it was to him.
Fortunately or unfortunately, Encrid had to close his eyes right after seeing that. The time he had bought by sacrificing his left arm had run out.
"Squeeeak."
He tried to hold it in, but in the end, Encrid collapsed while letting out an unpleasant, strangled sound. He had reached his limit.
"You really make a fuss even when you're dying."
Into the dying Encrid's ears came Krais's voice—somewhat gloomy, yet chilling.
He closed his eyes, died, woke up, and today began once more.
The shaking sword, the bending sword. Above all, the image of the Knight when he faced Ragna at the very end was vivid in his memory. He changed his footwork and altered his stance. He adjusted the sword strike he unleashed based on his opponent's skill.
Indeed, if it had always been a strike of the same level and the same trajectory, he would have overcome it long ago.
"Good."
"What is?"
"It's good!"
"I'm asking, what is?"
Was it normal to shout "Good!" the moment he woke up in the morning like a madman? Krais asked repeatedly from the side, but Encrid was completely immersed in his own world. It was an unprecedented level of absorption.
"Seriously, did he hit his head? I think he got really badly hurt this time," Krais muttered.
Even Sinar shared a similar concern. An already strange man had become even stranger. Well, that was part of his charm.
Encrid spent several more 'todays'. Afterward, he organized the things he had realized one by one. During this, in the most recent today, he witnessed a fascinating scene.
By chance, Ragna and Sinar attacked together, and the Knight's sword cried out as he dealt with them.
Wring—!
It was a sword that let out a cry based on tremors and vibrations. The sword cry, Blade Echo. Otherwise known as the Echo.
The blade wailed, and a white light, visible even to the naked eye, poured from the Knight's eyes. It was the visualization of 'Will'.
Hum—Slash!
The Knight's shortsword literally drew white beams of light to the left and right. Caught in the trajectory of those beams, Ragna's sword split in half, and Sinar's Naidel was also severed.
Encrid, having charged first, had once again bought himself a brief reprieve. He could see it clearly.
With a worn-out shortsword?
At this point, it wasn't just a technique; it was a mystery, a divine feat. Both the Naidel and Ragna's sword were cut. One was considered a famous sword, and the other was so thick that splitting it seemed utterly impossible, yet both were severed. Not even a single spark flew.
Like cutting rotten twigs.
Was this possible solely through the power of 'Will'? What was 'Will'? What was willpower?
Encrid pondered, but no answer came. His thoughts shifted in a slightly more constructive direction. As the Knight killed Ragna, severed his arm, or cut off his leg, he had uttered similar words a few times.
"What a waste. You shouldn't have attacked."
He coveted Ragna's talent.
Encrid reflected on how Ragna faced the Knight. He drew out the things engraved in these repeated todays. He recalled Sinar's resistance. He recalled the dead Krais. He recalled Dunchabel's desperate struggle.
On top of that, he recalled his own deaths over and over, bringing the Knight's sword to mind. Swordsmanship, swords, desperate struggles. Everything tangled and swirled in his mind like a tempest.
"That place is a swamp; those who fall in cannot escape."
In between, the Ferryman still tried to drag Encrid into some abyss, but of course, it was futile.
"Aren't you busy?"
Sometimes, Encrid would speak first like this. On those days, the Ferryman would shut his mouth. To Encrid, it almost looked like he was sulking. It was an absurd thought. After all, the Ferryman was an entity whose very existence was hard to fathom.
And so, it was the fifty-sixth today.
How do you block lightning?
He repeated the question to himself, pondered it, and then asked Ragna and Sinar again. He didn't let a single today pass in vain; he did everything he possibly could.
Among those attempts, he saw the Knight's sword bend as it came in, and he died to that sword over and over again. He died even after seeing the sword tremble. His sparks were cut, and his gladius was severed.
He couldn't witness the Blade Echo again. That was something that required the help of coincidence and luck. To others, it might look like the Goddess of Fortune was stalking him, but Encrid knew all too well that he wasn't actually that lucky.
Therefore, he couldn't expect the same stroke of luck. If not by chance, he, Ragna, and Sinar would have to coordinate their timing deliberately, but...
I don't want to do that.
His heart wouldn't allow it. That would require the deaths of a lazy bum and a joke-loving elf as a prerequisite. It would be like pushing them to their deaths himself.
That was absolutely unacceptable.
He could comfort himself by thinking that watching them die while he bought time was for the sake of 'tomorrow'. But to actively push them forward?
I'd rather charge with a blade between my teeth.
That was his heart and mind. Therefore, he swung his sword alone, agonizing and pondering. Endless agonizing and pondering, taking even a fraction of a step forward in the process—Encrid's contemplation returned to the beginning.
How do you block lightning?
"It starts with facing its true form."
Those were Ragna's words. Now, he could understand. You have to see and perceive it to block it.
"After that, you just have to react to the speed."
Those were Sinar's words. React, then strike. Block.
"So, you just have to do it 'well'."
Those were Ragna's words. Everything was contained in that single word: 'well'.
By the way...
"Phew."
The Knight's sword. The Knight's strike. Was it not truly thrilling?
"Again."
The words slipped out of his mouth along with a smile. Encrid felt an unprecedented ecstasy rising within him in this repeating today. Though his dream had come in the form of a grim reaper, the sword he swung felt like it had become his guidepost.
It felt like a beam of light descending into a dark tunnel. What appeared to the Ferryman as utter darkness and despair was light and ecstasy to Encrid.
Today began once more.
The seventy-second time. His body was still a mess, but as always, Encrid moved. While half-dead, he watched the sword Ragna unleashed. And after that, he watched Sinar's desperate struggles more than ten times.
A method? He didn't know. Tomorrow? It wouldn't come. He didn't care.
That was why the Ferryman could not understand Encrid.
Among those repeating todays, there were days when a groundless confidence surged within him. Naturally, he died. After that, he experienced twelve more todays. It felt blockable, yet remained unblockable—such was the Knight's sword.
"You."
When the ninetieth today arrived, the Knight drew his sword and frowned. Then, looking at him, the Knight said, "What a waste."
Encrid wasn't overjoyed by those words, but to say he didn't feel proud would be a lie. Of course, he couldn't feel anything right at this moment. He was in a state of absolute focus.
It was always like this. Whenever he faced the Knight, he became fully absorbed. If he faltered even slightly, his heart would be split open without him gaining a single thing. Thus, even as he felt his mental strength wearing away, he could not loosen his Single-Point Focus.
However, the fact that his dream, which had appeared as a grim reaper, had acknowledged him was something he would never forget.
The Knight spoke of honor and "just once."
Encrid exhaled and prepared himself. It felt blockable, yet it wouldn't be blocked. Then something was wrong. Did he have to rise to the Knight's level right here and now?
No, that was impossible. Just because he had a fragment of 'Will' didn't mean he could advance that far.
Then, how?
Hum.
The moment he heard a faint Blade Echo, the Knight's sword ruthlessly split his heart.
Thud.
It was a speed unlike before.
A Blade Echo here?
Ah.
It was truly like lightning.
At the same time, lightning struck Encrid's mind as well. The lightning that struck his head illuminated the path to move past today and into tomorrow.