Chapter 575: Between an Imperfect Tomorrow and a Perfect Today
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 575: Between an Imperfect Tomorrow and a Perfect Today
Sinar was the next to step forward, but she met the same fate.
It wasn't a desperate struggle where they fought with their lives on the line, of course. One could call it a disastrous matchup, or perhaps simply a glaring disparity in skill.
Encrid didn't consider his own skills exceptional among knights, but encountering someone so clearly superior was still a shock. Moreover, his opponent wasn't even trying to kill them. He had no choice but to admit defeat. Overdear had bested them both, yet neither had sustained a serious injury.
After the bout, Overdear’s gaze shifted toward Audin.
His eyes were reminiscent of an elf’s—emotionless and dull, like eyeballs rendered in monochrome.
“Heretic Audin, I have heard of you,” Overdear said.
An Apostle of the God of War gifted with divine talent—it was a name that commanded recognition. It was famous enough that even Overdear, a paladin who inherited one of the names of the Seven Martyrs of Abundance representing the Holy Order, knew of him.
A brief silence fell, mingling with the setting sun and stifling all sound. Even the demonic beasts that had been howling in the distance fell quiet, leaving the world still. Only the chirping of insects and the whistling of the wind remained.
*
Caw—!
For some reason, Rem, Ragna, and Sachsen had all gathered at the training ground in front of the barracks. A crow flew over their heads.
Caw!
A magpie flew right behind it, as if in pursuit. It was as if the birds were holding a joint training session today, making a constant racket as they circled overhead. They had already heard the crow's call several times.
“How many times is that now?” Rem muttered, squinting at the sky.
The Western Twins folded their fingers to count. “The third?”
“We’re seeing a lot of black birds today,” Rem grumbled. A distinct sense of foreboding settled in his gut.
Crows were highly intelligent, sometimes used as messenger birds. However, they were notoriously difficult to train and handle, making them a rare sight in official capacities. They frequently flew off to follow their own whims mid-journey. Without a proper trainer or a druid, their high intelligence usually meant they would just eat the offered food and disappear.
The crow that had just passed was likely not a messenger. After all, there was no urgent news that needed to reach the Border Guard right now.
“Tsk.”
Rem clicked his tongue. In the West, there was a superstition that a crow flying at sunset brought ruin. He knew the origin of the myth, so he didn't truly believe it. Long ago, a shaman who scattered curses had used crows to rain a plague down upon the Western tribes. That was all. However, having grown up with the story, it still left an unpleasant aftertaste.
Along with that uneasy feeling, seeing the others gathered here by chance made him want to ask a question. It was highly unlikely, but maybe these bastards knew something he didn't—or maybe they were just pretending not to.
Of course, the probability of them having an answer was as low as a lazy drunk with no sense of direction going for a stroll and returning perfectly on time, but he asked anyway.
“You guys know the Captain’s weakness too, right?” Rem asked casually.
Sachsen, who was carving wood with a knife, glanced at Rem but didn't answer. Rem supposed he should be grateful for the glance; normally, Sachsen would have ignored his babbling entirely.
“Did you get your tongue cut out while fooling around? Hey, blood-crazed brat.”
Rem threw a barb at the "stray cat" and called out to the other man. Unsurprisingly, Ragna didn't even pretend to hear him. He might truly not have realized Rem was addressing him. Since the title was wrong to begin with, his ears automatically filtered it out. Besides, he was currently immersed in a proper training session for the first time in a while.
To be precise, while teaching Ropode recently—or rather, beating him senseless—Ragna had realized something new, and he was currently reflecting on it.
Whoosh, whoosh.
Ragna swung his sword up and down with indifferent precision. A vein popped on Rem’s forehead.
“That bastard, seriously...”
Would he only listen if Rem chopped off an arm with an axe? Or should he just cast a curse on him? He was seriously contemplating the latter when Sachsen finally spoke, as if to himself.
“Lacks the knack for condensing power into a single strike.”
It was short and blunt, but a solid observation. Accurate, too. However, Rem hated the tone and the attitude.
“Should I seriously find you a public speaking tutor? Did you forget how to speak politely?”
Reaching the rank of knight hadn't changed Rem or Sachsen. The same went for Ragna.
“It will take a long time again,” Ragna finally spoke, stopping his sword mid-swing. He had filtered out the insults and listened only to the core of the question.
What he said was the absolute truth. Hadn't they all been watching Encrid this entire time? Whether he was slow or took a detour, he always eventually reached his destination. He was not a man who would stop walking before he got what he wanted.
Awakening his Will and rising to the rank of a knight... it wasn't that Encrid hadn't changed. He mastered techniques and devised his own swordsmanship at a dazzling pace. It was a genuine pleasure just to watch him grow. Luagarne had even intentionally sat this trip out, claiming that if she stayed by his side, she’d get so absorbed in spectating that she’d neglect her own training.
Encrid’s skills grew day by day. He was incomparable to the man who had first arrived as their Squad Leader. Yet, they weren't completely satisfied.
Why? Because it was a waste of his potential.
The massive reservoir of Will sleeping inside him was a powerful force that could make him forget exhaustion entirely. But no matter how high the grade of the steel, if you don't hone the edge, it remains a blunt instrument. If you can't shape it into a blade, it’s hard to even grip and swing effectively.
To Rem, Sachsen, and Ragna, Encrid’s weakness was clear. Thanks to his absurd mass of Will, he would never run out of stamina, but the amount of Will he could channel into a single strike was meager. That was a hurdle that could only be cleared once he found the "knack" for it.
Rem knew this. He had only asked to confirm. Fortunately, there was no ingenious shortcut he had missed. Or rather, that was only natural. In the end, they were just like him.
“I’d rather teach a ghoul how to speak than talk to you guys again.”
Rem spat a sarcastic blessing at the two and turned away. He had only brought it up because they happened to be in one place. It was something they all knew but didn't speak of, and besides, he didn't think Encrid was ignorant of it either. Would a man who spent every waking moment swinging his sword and reviewing his battles not know his own flaws?
Of course he knew.
*
Audin knelt on one knee in front of the Saintess and looked ahead. He had watched the fight between Prophet Overdear and Encrid, and he had predicted the outcome before it even began.
‘It’s bad.’
There was a fact that not only he, but also Rem, Ragna, and Sachsen knew. Encrid possessed an inexhaustible well, but the bucket he used to draw that water was far too small. The amount of water that could be drawn at once was limited by the size of the bucket. Such was Encrid’s current state.
Overdear’s staff suddenly burst with light, and Encrid was pushed back as he repeatedly blocked the blows. It must have been a baffling and frustrating experience.
One of the techniques that martial monks—often called monks—learned once they reached a certain level was 'Holy Penetration,' which bypassed an opponent’s Iron Armor to strike their internals directly. Crusaders and paladins learned the art of Iron Armor before becoming knights. Since everyone poured their hearts into tempering that defense, it was only natural to research ways to shatter it. Martial monks were the specialists who mastered those methods.
‘I haven't taught him how to counter that yet,’ Audin thought.
Holy Penetration made the limbs creak and stiffen. It wasn't a devastating blow, but it caused a lingering discomfort. In a fight between knights, if one’s body became even slightly unresponsive, the victor was decided.
If it were those bastards Rem or Ragna, they would have instantly expelled the divinity by bursting Will or sorcery power from their entire bodies. Encrid tried something similar, but his opponent kept repeating the action, causing an irritating accumulation of divinity that hindered his physical movements. The more they clashed, the more disadvantageous it became. The divinity, imbued with Overdear's will, acted as a physical obstruction.
Even so, Encrid did not easily give ground.
“Impressive.”
“Indeed.”
Even in the heat of it, Encrid spoke and smiled as he swung his sword. His blade was fierce, powerful, and fast. It was a speed that Audin, who had not yet awakened his own divinity, would find hard to track. There was a level of sophistication to his movements; if one missed even a single shift of his body, from his ankles to his shoulders, they would lose track of the point of impact entirely.
However, that was as far as it went.
His tempered body and the Will he unleashed were out of balance. Power was there, but the Will concentrated within the strike was insufficient. No, normally it would be considered a great amount, but his opponent was simply too formidable.
Overdear was a thoroughly complete warrior. He lacked nothing in speed, strength, or technique, and his divinity continuously eroded Encrid’s rhythm. Encrid could hold out, but he could not win. That was the conclusion Audin reached, and the result was no different.
It didn't look like they had fought to the death. The same applied to Overdear.
Sinar stepped up next, but her matchup was even worse. Her strikes could have been fatal to Overdear—if there was an opening to pierce. But creating that opening was nearly impossible.
‘An attack that won't work against someone clad in divinity.’
Her specialty, the Energy Blade, was fundamentally incompatible with Holy Armor. Wrapping one’s entire body in divinity like iron cladding was the very definition of Holy Armor. It was so sturdy that it ignored most conventional attacks. The faint light shimmering on Overdear’s body was proof.
The Energy Blade made contact, but the blade Sinar had formed by gathering vital energy shattered into pieces with a sharp clang. In the aftermath, the light surrounding Overdear’s body wavered briefly, but the blade simply dissolved into nothingness, and the paladin's aura returned to normal.
The one with the denser power held the advantage, and for now, Overdear’s divinity was far denser. To an incomparable degree. Thus, Sinar was forced back. Naturally, she hadn't revealed her trump card either, but even if she had, victory wouldn't have been guaranteed.
And so, both of them had lost.
“Did you come to rescue the Saintess?” Overdear asked.
Before the purple sunset could completely fade, a gust of wind ruffled his hair. The dust and the gouges in the ground were clear evidence of the struggle. Broken stone fragments lay scattered about. Though they hadn't fought to kill, a battle between knights had indeed taken place. It would have been stranger if the surroundings had remained intact.
Those who had originally been pursuing the Saintess had long since retreated in haste. Among them, a man named Alma had been watching the scene for some time.
Would Encrid and Sinar join forces to fight now? Or would they call Audin to join them? If they did, they wouldn't be without a chance. If they sacrificed one of the three, they would win. If they were determined to kill their opponent, the path existed.
But would he choose that path? That Captain of theirs?
There was no way.
But would he retreat? That wouldn't happen either.
Just what would happen? At this point, Audin had half-made up his mind.
‘If necessary, I will take the Saintess’s place.’
Even if his lifespan was shortened, even if he was whipped for the rest of his life, he would live that way. It was something only he could do. So he would do it. Encrid would not back down, no matter what. Even if he died. He was that kind of man. So Audin had to prevent that from happening.
“Now, please withdraw,” Overdear said again.
The amusing thing was that Encrid was not the type of person to quietly obey just because he had lost once.
“One more time?” Encrid said.
Whether it was a spar or a fight, he would not back down like this. His Will flared up, making his blue eyes shine like a burning flame. At that moment, Overdear felt an intuition—that the man before him was someone who would never give up, no matter the odds.
*
‘He’s tough.’
Naturally, Encrid knew his own weakness. When deploying the Iron Wall, he had time. If he had time to prepare, Encrid could draw out more of his Will than necessary. The technique of Iron Wall proved that.
But now was different. He had to channel that much Will in the split-second moment of a sword strike. He was trying repeatedly, but it wasn't clicking.
‘Hmm.’
Encrid organized his thoughts and adjusted his grip. Was this a crisis? It seemed so. Perhaps this was the greatest crisis he had faced since he began repeating today.
If death were approaching—if the opponent showed such intent—he could simply die and repeat. But what if the opponent had no such intention? What should he do then? That was the problem.
That paladin, Overdear, had no intention of killing him.
Thwack!
He evaded the sword swings and struck Encrid’s body with his staff, but he did not crush him. Therefore, Encrid could only endure.
In Encrid’s mind, there was no thought of joining forces with Sinar or Audin to kill the opponent. Because it required a sacrifice? No. The opponent had stepped forward alone and fought honorably, so he would do the same. Joining forces to kill such an opponent was a path he would not choose, even if it meant his death.
Then what was left?
“Thrust your head forward.”
He heard the auditory hallucination of the Ferryman.
“Go on, stick your neck out and get beaten to death.”
The Ferryman’s words echoed endlessly. What he suggested was an easy path. An incredibly easy path.
“Die like that. Die, and you can start over again. That is all it takes. Obtain today to repeat. He, too, is a wall, so you will be able to overcome him.”
To Encrid, those words sounded like an invitation to discard today for the sake of tomorrow, rather than living today to the fullest. It sounded like choosing the second-best option instead of the best possible today.
From the words spoken in his dreams to the current hallucination... if Overdear would not kill him, the Ferryman suggested he take action himself to open the door to repeating the day. For then, he would gain the opportunity to surpass Overdear.
In exchange, he would live an eternally repeating today.
“Ah, I really hate that,” Encrid muttered as he took another blow to the shoulder and stepped back.
“What are you talking about?” Overdear asked.
Encrid shook his head. “Just talking to myself.”
If someone who knew the whole situation were to ask why he insisted on taking the hard road, Encrid would answer like this:
If given the choice between an imperfect tomorrow and a perfect today, he would always choose the imperfect tomorrow.
“Stubbornness changes nothing.”
Over the Ferryman’s words, Overdear’s voice overlapped. “Being stubborn won't change anything.”
No, you don't know that.
In truth, rather than stubbornness, it was tenacity—and beyond tenacity, it was closer to conviction.
Encrid was simply doing what he always did. He stood with his sword raised, not backing down in the slightest. Just like before. Nothing had changed. He had lost, but he simply wouldn't retreat.
“Why are you doing this?” Overdear asked.
Encrid spoke the blunt truth. “I heard that just because she’s the Saintess, you lock the kid up and drain her divinity dry?”
He didn't mince words; he pierced straight to the heart of the matter. At Encrid’s words, Shilma’s shoulders flinched. She wondered what on earth this man was talking about.
Only then did Overdear’s gaze fall upon the collapsed child behind Audin.