Chapter 377: Meeting of Sword Tips
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 377: Meeting of Sword Tips
A violet lamp swayed over the rippling black river. As the ferryboat rocked, Encrid’s body swayed along with it.
As he sat silently at the edge of the boat, the ferryman spoke again.
"There is a very easy path."
Encrid did not answer. The ferryman continued, "Run away."
His lips barely moved, yet his voice echoed, lingering over the water.
"Run away and do not face your death. If you do, I will take care of the rest."
Instead of answering, Encrid cast his gaze downward. He looked like a man whose mind was consumed by a thousand different thoughts.
The ferryman’s mouth opened once more, his hollow, echoing voice drifting over the deck.
"If you dislike fleeing, then use your tongue. Persuade your opponent and prepare for what comes after. The two of you could easily handle it together."
If Aisia and Encrid joined forces, they would be able to face the one who appeared afterward. Because Encrid was repeating this "today," he already knew the future. While every loop wasn't identical, the grand framework remained unchanged.
In their previous clash, Aisia’s stamina had been drained and she was injured. The same went for Encrid. If the two of them joined forces while uninjured and at full strength, the next opponent was someone they could easily handle. In fact, they might even seize victory.
Since it was a life-or-death struggle, having the two of them on the same side would certainly provide an advantage. Of course, victory was never guaranteed.
"Do you want to know exactly what 'the wall' is?"
The ferryman’s words, as always, were devoid of emotion. He merely stated facts—meaning without feeling.
Encrid listened, yet remained silent. Was he chewing over his own thoughts?
The ferryman tapped the bottom of the boat with his toe.
The ferryboat rocked violently at the stomp. Encrid, who had been sitting, pressed his hands against the floor to keep his balance. From that position, he finally raised his head.
A vacant gaze, a face lost in thought, a half-open mouth. This was what the ferryman saw.
Just as focus seemed to return to Encrid’s eyes, he asked, "Pardon?"
"What did I just say?" the ferryman asked, suppressing a rare flash of irritation.
Encrid blinked twice and replied, "Ah, I didn't hear you."
It was the truth. He had been so focused that the words hadn't registered. Encrid, as always, answered with absolute sincerity.
"...Go."
The ferryman’s mouth moved before his thoughts could catch up.
His words hadn't even entered this bastard’s head. It wasn't a matter of going in one ear and out the other; it wasn't that Encrid had rejected them in rebellion. He had simply ignored and swallowed them up. Even for the ferryman, it was an unpleasant realization.
"Huh?"
Seeing the dumbfounded Encrid ask again felt detestable, even though the ferryman knew the confusion was genuine. Innocence could sometimes be a weapon that planted seeds of frustration in another's chest.
"I said, go."
The ferryman didn't bother getting angry. It was enough to send him off. He had his reasons, after all.
I shall watch.
Whatever Encrid was thinking, whatever he intended to do, the ferryman would find out by watching.
"Ah, yes."
Without even looking embarrassed, Encrid nodded.
Soon, Encrid’s figure blurred and vanished from the ferryboat. Left alone, the ferryman stared into the darkness in silence.
Encrid would likely repeat this exact same day. And he would face this moment again. He would meet him in the darkness, atop the ferryboat. It was only natural. The ferryman saw the repeating "today" in advance.
What was meant to happen would happen. What was destined would occur as destined.
Of course, the fellow named Encrid had surprised him a few times, but that was the extent of it. Moreover, there was no wall that could be overcome in a single day. The repetition of today was a continuation of pain and suffering. It was structured to be that way. Such was the core of the curse.
Yet, to a madman, even pain became ecstasy.
Madman.
The ferryman’s gaze blurred. It was directed not at the black river, but toward Encrid, who was bound to repeat his life. Because of the curse, Encrid’s figure remained visible to him.
The ferryman watched.
Encrid repeated the exact same day.
Waking up at dawn to train his body. Kicking the sheriff instead of persuading him. Sending Ragna and the beastman Dunchabel to face the forces advancing from the outside. Embarrassing the companion standing beside him by telling the group of assassins that it hurt, and that he had indeed been stabbed.
Heading to the royal palace, and cutting down the ill-fated connection blocking his path without hesitation.
He slashed and killed. There were no long conversations.
"You raped the maid, right? Last time, I cut you down without even asking."
"What?"
He completely ignored the opponent’s bewilderment. He had absolutely no interest in the past standing before him. Since he had almost killed the master of the curse, one might expect him to harbor a grudge, but no such thing was visible. It wasn't that it didn't exist—rather, he was just fixated on something else.
Instead of the bewildered man, Encrid looked at the maid. When he asked with his eyes if it was true, the trembling maid nodded.
After that came the process of swinging, slashing, and killing.
Thus, he faced the wall once more. It was the female knight with orange hair.
"No further."
She blocked his path. Encrid raised his sword. There were no questions. It was bound to happen anyway, so there was no reason to ask.
No, that wasn't the thought process driving him. For a brief moment, the ferryman caught a glimpse of Encrid’s mind. It was filled with anticipation.
That bastard.
He was here because he wanted to clash with the wall. He had run all this way just to cross swords with that female knight.
The repetition of the exact same today. Even if the fine details weren't identical, it was a similar day.
Of course, there were differences. A change had occurred during his training after waking up in the morning.
"Rem, how did you do that?"
It was around the time the morning sun passed directly overhead. Regardless of what the sheriff came and babbled about, Encrid conversed with the man named Rem.
"You rascal! How dare you engage in idle chatter when I have personally graced you with my presence!"
"Wait a moment," Encrid said, then asked again.
Before him stood the sheriff, his mouth agape in sheer bewilderment.
"Sword Tip Aiming. You blocked it with your axe blade."
"It’s called Axe Blade Aiming," Rem replied, blinking as he gave a short, simple explanation. "You just have to cover it well."
In truth, Rem couldn't offer any further explanation, and Encrid, deciding there was nothing more to hear, turned away. That was what was different in this repeated today.
"You insolent wretch!" the utterly ignored sheriff roared in rage.
That was all.
Afterward, Encrid raised his sword before the wall that was Aisia, tried some trick, and met a similar result. He was slashed, stabbed, and defeated. He lay sprawled on the ground.
There was yet another difference from the previous loop—something the ferryman already knew, but Encrid did not.
His gaze swept behind Aisia. The man Aisia had called "Senior" did not appear.
Instead, Aisia simply said, "I will go check the rear," and departed. That was the end of it. After a brief moment, everything went black, and the day ended once more.
The ferryman looked at the opposite side of the ferryboat. Fragments like grains of sand gathered. The grains began to take a human shape, transforming.
It was Encrid.
The ferryman felt a surge of curiosity. Since there was no need to hold it back, he spoke.
"I will ask you one thing."
"Huh?" Encrid was there, his gaze still vacant.
"What were you thinking about earlier? You couldn't even hear me speaking right in front of you."
Encrid opened his mouth readily. It wasn't something to hide. He only wondered why the ferryman was asking.
"I was thinking about how to block Sword Tip Aiming."
Seeing the passion and heat in those eyes, the ferryman was certain: Encrid was focused entirely on one thing.
He only saw the opponent holding the sword before him. Wall or no wall, he only looked at that, only perceived that, and poured all of his attention into it.
The ferryman uttered words he didn't need to say, but could within his authority.
"Do you consider that to be the wall?"
He intended to tell him it wasn't. He was about to tell him to face the real wall.
"I don't know."
Such a thing... The rest of the phrase was omitted.
Is that even important? That's not what's important to me. This was also left unsaid.
Do you have anything else to say? If not, I'd appreciate it if you left me alone to ponder. This was omitted as well.
The ferryman felt a strange emotion: bewilderment. He was taken aback. Because he had encountered an innocence devoid of any hidden intent, the words he had carefully crafted to toy with his opponent crumbled into nothingness. They dissolved into the darkness, crushed and swept away.
"Do as you wish," the ferryman replied, reading his inner thoughts.
Sure, do whatever you want. What you are looking at right now is not the wall. It was an answer that left those words unspoken.
Encrid vanished once more. He blurred, scattered, and was gone.
Foolish.
Yet, the ferryman also hoped for something like this. Even if Encrid overcame this wall, it would leave a deep scar on him.
Heh.
The ferryman chuckled. Seeing him suffer then—nothing would be more delightful than that. The ferryman knew that if Encrid managed to overcome this wall, that victory itself would become a curse.
*
I know one thing for sure.
It would be good to try imitating Rem’s method. Not just Rem’s, but everyone’s methods at least once. After all, imitation was one of the fastest ways to understand a subject.
My own method comes after that.
If a path was visible, he walked it. That was what Encrid did.
What was the wall, and how far did it go? If he had asked the ferryman, he felt like he would have received an answer. Today’s ferryman gave off that kind of feeling. But that wasn't important. He didn't need to know.
So he didn't ask. Instead, he pondered.
"What have you been thinking about since morning?"
It was the third "today." As he stood still, lost in thought during dawn training, Rem, who had woken up late and come out, asked. Encrid threw the core question even earlier than in the second loop.
"How did you do that axe blade covering?"
Rem wasn't flustered by the sudden question. It wasn't as if Encrid acting like this was a rare occurrence. Thus, the answer came immediately.
"Aisia’s sword was aiming at me, right? I aim at the opponent’s sword tip with my axe."
The explanation was still a complete mess—chaotic, abstruse, and difficult. But if Encrid were the type to give up over something like that, he wouldn't have picked up a sword in the first place. Furthermore, Rem himself realized his explanation was lacking.
"Draw Spark and aim it," Rem said, pulling out his long-handled axe.
Though he held it lightly, it had a peculiar center of gravity and was a heavier weapon than it looked. In any case, just by Rem holding it, the sense of weight in the air changed.
Encrid drew Spark. With a sharp ting, the slender blade pointed forward. Standing like this, he wondered if the first step of imitation was to copy Sword Tip Aiming itself.
Mixing in intimidation and killing intent.
In a way, it was a technique completely opposite to Sachsen’s Mu-sal Thrust, as it was a sword style that deceived by exerting pressure on the opponent.
Encrid couldn't copy it immediately. Instead, as he held his sword in aim—
Thud.
Rem struck the tip of the sword with his axe blade. To be precise, he hit the very point of the blade with the sharpest edge of his axe.
"Get it?"
Instead of answering, Encrid fell into thought. He chewed over what Rem had just done. A physical demonstration was twice as easy to understand as words.
Rem had struck the point of Spark—the tip of the sword—with the edge of his axe blade. The edge and the point met precisely. It was a divine feat that went beyond mere trickery.
Soon, this action prompted a question: Could one make a sword tip meet another sword tip with normal speed and power?
"Ah."
A gasp escaped him.
"Try it. You'll know once you try."
Rem took a step back, and Encrid slowly held a sword in each hand—Spark and Gladius. Making the blades clash was easy. But what about point to point? What about edge to point?
If it was slow, it was possible. If he reduced his speed, it was difficult, but doable. However, tension naturally crept into his muscles, introducing unnecessary force and making the movement unnatural.
What should he do to make this natural? What kind of skill was required for this?
"That's right. You just need to know how to do that," Rem said, tucking his long-handled axe into his waist. His tone suggested he had said all he needed to say.
Encrid didn't even nod. He instantly plunged into his own world. Immersion.
Watching him, Rem thought he was a truly fascinating human being. He then looked at Andrew and brought his index finger to his lips. Though there was no sound, Andrew, who was about to say something, shut his mouth.
Stepping back three paces at Rem’s gesture, Andrew whispered, "What is it?"
"I will personally oversee your training today."
"...It's fine. I can do it alone."
"No, it's not fine. I shall carry on the Captain’s dying wish."
"Wait, Captain Encrid isn't dead."
"It's because my Continental is still clumsy."
What nonsense; Andrew had never even seen Rem speak the Language of the West. The words Andrew spoke with his expression were ignored.
Encrid, hearing the surrounding sounds, sank deeper into his thoughts. He submerged into himself, pondering.