Chapter 598: A Mere Three Days
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 598: A Mere Three Days
The Evil Eye, the city, the people, the criminal guild—it had all been a single, elaborate trap.
And the Apostle of the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult, who had orchestrated this snare, had not underestimated her target in the slightest.
Not even for a moment.
Would a knight really fall for something as simple as an Evil Eye?
Of course not. That was why Apostle Anella had shared her plan with no one.
She needed to ensure her opponent wouldn't sense a single ripple in the air. To that end, she had sent those who served her to their certain deaths.
"Go. Show me what you can do. Can he truly cut you down without even looking? What if, while he is distracted, you drive a psychokinetic spear through his heart? Even a knight is not immortal."
"I will surely bring back his head. I shall offer it to the Demon God."
She had sent a cultist harboring the Evil Eye, fully expecting the target to see through it. Her prediction was flawless.
As the Evil Eye died and the connection to the mindscape severed, her shared vision vanished as well.
The Apostle sat demurely upon the scorched earth, her hands clasped in prayer.
Those who knew Apostle Anella called her the Angel of Disaster. The title was earned through her unique ability. By sacrificing her own lifespan and offerings, she could manifest forbidden spells born of pure catastrophe. The disaster she had prepared this time was 'Walking Fire.'
Forbidden spells fundamentally craved life. She had specifically researched only those spells that demanded her own years as a sacrifice—the perfect mechanism to fully utilize her supernatural gift.
When she first began her preparations, she estimated the spell would burn away half of her remaining life.
But after witnessing Encrid’s presence firsthand, she changed her mind.
When he had thrown that fork, tracing the exact path of her hidden gaze—how it had startled her.
Because of that, she felt a flicker of pity.
What a waste. What a tragic, beautiful waste.
Why had a talent who should have been embraced by the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult strayed onto such a misguided path?
It was too late to turn back now. She had urged him several times to turn around, to find the light, but he had refused. Now, only punishment remained.
Had she not used an entire city as bait for this very purpose?
As the saying goes, the bigger the bait, the better the catch. So, she had cast the city into the flames.
And the pitiful soul who should have stood with them beneath the light had taken the bait.
O, Demon God.
Like the Apostle of Curses, she possessed a supernatural ability to drain the lifespan of others and use that stolen time to fuel her absurd sorcery.
And so she did. She summoned disaster. Borrowing the name of the Demon God, she chanted the incantation.
She burned away every year she had gathered until now. She had estimated half, but it wasn't nearly enough; she had to incinerate the vast majority of her remaining life to complete the spell.
"Arise, O fire that coveted the sun."
Blood trickled from her eyes. A shape of flame rose before her, taking a human-like form. It was smaller than a giant but larger than a man. Surging flames enveloped its body like thick fur. It had no facial features and no intellect. It was not a living thing; it was merely a spell.
However, the thing had legs. Thus, the name of the spell: 'Walking Fire.'
The fire walked. It headed toward Cross Guard.
*
Tranquility, the chirping of birds, and the harmony of winter flowers against the blue sky briefly transported Encrid to another world.
He fell asleep for a moment. It wasn't a long rest—just a brief nap, a moment of peace.
Then, in an instant, Encrid felt his drowsiness vanish. His body reacted instinctively. Though it had been a sweet, dreamless sleep, his sixth sense suddenly flared with alarm.
A dizzying sense of foreboding stabbed at his heart. Why? What was the cause? His gaze shifted.
Whoosh.
In the distance, he saw flames rising. It was a fire that anyone could tell had been artificially ignited.
Why is it warm?
Through the winter wind blew a warm breeze—no, a hot, ominous gale thick with dread.
He sprang to his feet, scanning his surroundings.
Far off, he saw a person engulfed in flames, screaming as they fled.
"Aaaargh!"
It was a blaze. More precisely, a monster made of fire. Part of the flames that formed its body flared into the air like a mane, and its fiery feet seemed to walk on empty space, hovering just above the ground.
The creature appeared infinitely light, yet seeing the destruction it left in its wake made it seem impossibly heavy.
It did not speak. Fire has no voice.
It merely unleashed its heat.
"What is this...?"
Delma, who had been bringing water, came face-to-face with the flames. The boy was simply unlucky.
The few conversations they had shared before his nap flashed through Encrid's mind.
Delma was going to inherit the inn. If he didn't die, that was his future—but if left like this, he would burn to ash.
Whoosh.
The winter flowers turned to soot. The trees caught fire, and a path of flame trailed behind the creature.
The moment Encrid locked eyes with the fiery monster, the world ignited. Whoosh! The fire spread to everything.
The flames dyed his face red, and the heat weighed down on his body like lead.
Encrid drew his sword and lunged.
Stepping forward, he swung his blade. Infusing it with Will, he slashed at his opponent.
Every movement was executed in a single breath, without a shred of waste.
Whoosh!
There is no sensation of cutting.
Clink.
At the same time, a strange sound rang in Encrid's ears. It came from the sword in his hand. A blue light shattered and scattered over the blade like breaking glass.
The magic Esther cast for me.
The protection had dissipated. The Walking Fire reached out its hand. Reflexively, Encrid extended a Spark to pierce the creature's arm.
Spinning in place, a gust of wind whipped up around Encrid's body.
Fwoosh!
The Spark pierced the creature's arm precisely, but it didn't matter.
The hand extended by the Walking Fire had already completed its task. Encrid had failed to stop it.
A thread-like stream of fire reached Delma.
Boom!
Flames erupted and exploded. Delma didn't even have time to scream.
The monster had merely reached out, and the fire swallowed the boy faster than an arrow. Instead of a cry, the smell of burning flesh filled the air. The other thread-like streams of fire soon erupted into towering blazes as well.
"Hah!"
Encrid recalled the Spark, raised his Ink Gold Longsword, and brought it down with a shout. The blade severed the creature's arm. The severed limb flew to the side, struck a building, and exploded.
Boom! The compressed air swept through the surroundings like a tempest. A chain of explosions followed.
"Aaaargh!"
"Save me!"
"Why?! Why is this happening?!"
"Urgh!"
"Rennie? Rennieeee!"
A hellish pit of fire unfolded. The pressure from the explosions pushed against his body, but Encrid held his ground, forced to witness the tragedy. Everything was burning.
People, buildings, children, Delma, the inn, fools, lovers, families, fathers, mothers—everything.
"What are you?"
Encrid asked, a wave of revulsion washing over him. The dizzying sense of foreboding remained.
"A forbidden spell? It's the Walking Fire!"
He heard Luagarne's voice behind him.
The conclusion was simple.
Encrid could not cut the flames. The monster scattered fire, and in the end, everything burned to the ground.
Luagarne burned to death, and Encrid held out until the very end before he, too, succumbed.
Burning to death was twice as painful as withering away. His entire body was ablaze—a pain incomparable to anything he had ever felt.
Though he was clearly burning, it felt as if spears made of ice were piercing his marrow.
Thus, Encrid died. Darkness fell. The darkness lasted a long time.
Then, as if waiting, a swaying sensation returned.
Splash.
He was on the gunwale of a boat, where the current rocked his body. The Ferryman was looking at him, smiling. Encrid could not bring himself to smile back.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" the Ferryman asked.
In his final moments, Encrid had reflexively held on, watching the world end in fire.
The trees that bloomed in winter had burned.
The inn had burned.
Delma had burned.
Luagarne had burned.
And he himself had burned.
"Is it not your turn to enjoy yourself?" the Ferryman continued. "Go enjoy yourself some more, and then we shall talk."
Before Encrid could reply, the Black River vanished, and the purple lamp faded into dust.
Everything dispersed like grains of sand.
Opening his eyes, Encrid realized it was not morning.
Right after my nap?
Was sleep the key to rewinding the day? No. Was it the Ferryman's prank? Perhaps.
He had no time for contemplation. He had opened his eyes because of that same sense of foreboding.
He felt the exact same dread.
Ominous. So ominous. And this time, he knew what was coming. He was repeating the day.
Encrid sprang up as if launched by a spring.
"Whoa! What's wrong? You startled me!"
Delma, who was nearby, spilled some water from his cup and spoke in surprise.
"Go to your uncle. Now."
Encrid spoke and ran. He sprinted toward the heat that could no longer be called a breeze—toward the source of the disaster.
Whoosh.
"What is that?"
"What crazy bastard is playing with fire?"
"Fire! Fire!"
The blazing flames and the presence of the Walking Fire were unmistakable.
Encrid drew his sword mid-stride. Shring. The tip of his blade pointed to the sky and fell in an instant.
Bang!
Encrid's sword split the fire. But the split flames merely spread to the left and right, causing twin explosions.
Blue light scattered like grains of sand over his blade. The magic shattered. The flames erupted. He had cut it, but it remained uncut.
"No, it cannot be cut. It is the Walking Fire."
He heard Luagarne's words again. Encrid did not die instantly. The body he had forged through endless training allowed him to endure the heat, and the Walking Fire did not target him first.
"Look at me!"
Encrid shouted, chasing the creature, but it was a being devoid of reason.
Once again, the flames consumed everything.
"Delma!"
The child who was supposed to inherit the inn died. The adult who tried to protect him died. The cycle repeated.
"Go do it once more."
The Ferryman offered him the same day again. It was a compulsion he could not refuse.
Encrid faced the brief, brutal day once more.
In this awakened loop, Encrid's thoughts accelerated to a terrifying speed.
Can I confront it before it enters the city?
If magic is not enough, what if I combine it with Luagarne's whip?
Should I treat it as an amorphous monster?
Lua knows something. She kept shouting 'Walking Fire'.
At the end of his racing thoughts, the decisiveness and judgment that Castellan Louis had once admired shone through.
"Lua!"
As he shouted, infusing his voice with Will, his companion Frok ran out from the side.
In this loop, Encrid had two choices.
One was to borrow the whip; the other was to ask about the Walking Fire.
Since there was no time for pleasantries, he reached out his hand.
"Give me the whip. Let me borrow it."
There was no time for explanations. Luagarne blinked once, unfastened her whip, and threw it.
She saw the desperation in Encrid's eyes. Believing he was not a man to make such a request unless it was a dire emergency, Luagarne did not hesitate.
Snatching the whip with his left hand, Encrid knew he was no master of the weapon.
But that didn't mean it was useless. He wrapped the whip around his sword and charged.
The Walking Fire met him.
The whip burned. The sword's magic shattered. The flames remained uncut.
"Once more."
The Ferryman said it again.
In the next loop, Encrid asked a question instead of taking the whip.
"What is the Walking Fire?"
Despite the abruptness, Luagarne answered immediately, sensing the urgency in his voice.
"Walking Fire? You mean the forbidden spell? Once activated, it burns everything in its path and only vanishes after its mana is completely exhausted."
Then I just need to make it consume its mana.
What if I keep cutting it? But if I cut it, it severs and explodes. If it weren't inside the city, could I endure it? What if I lure it out?
"Look at me! Follow me!"
The mindless flames did not react to provocation or human desperation.
The command injected into the Walking Fire was simple: burn the city.
The fire obeyed. This entire city was a trap, and they were the bait.
Encrid realized as the loops continued that this was a meticulously laid snare, but that realization changed nothing.
Twenty-eight days passed.
Encrid burned to death again and again. Twenty-eight times he watched Delma, the townspeople, the buildings, and the winter flowers turn to ash, black smoke choking the blue sky.
The Ferryman sat on the gunwale, drinking tea. He placed the lamp to one side and raised his cup to his lips. It was a sight Encrid had never seen before.
Was the entity truly that amused?
"How is it? This wall you've hit?"
"It hurts," Encrid answered honestly. Burning to death was a pain that could drive a man to madness.
But what was more agonizing was the lack of a path forward.
"Yes, it hurts. Shall I tell you a better way?"
"Tell me."
"You can just run away. It will not pursue you."
Encrid didn't listen. He burned to death again. Sixty more days were added to the tally.
"Shall I tell you another way? You foolish bastard—hide. If you do not want to flee alone, take the people you care about and avoid the flames. Shall I tell you where to go? I will. You saw the underground shelter, didn't you? That will be enough."
Encrid ignored those words as well. Eighty more days passed.
Until now, the Ferryman had usually said his piece and sent him back. He did so as if he knew Encrid wouldn't listen anyway.
The moment he returned after burning to death once more, he was in a hell where he could no longer even count the days.
"I shall ask you something."
The Ferryman stood up. The light of the lamp was steady; the teacup and chair had vanished. It was exactly as he had first seen it. The boat, the black river, the Ferryman, the purple lamp—the heteromorphic being with no visible face.
Nothing moved except the undulating river.
From beneath the darkness of the hood, the Ferryman asked:
"How far will you go to protect them?"
Encrid felt as if heat was still rising from his lungs with every breath. It was the lingering sensation of his internal organs incinerating—the result of his desperate, mad attempt to bite the fire in his last moments.
"What do you mean?"
The experience of one's organs melting was not something one could easily forget.
"If the meeting of people is called a connection, I am speaking of the depth of that bond."
The Ferryman spoke again. Encrid, always a good listener, understood the gist of it this time.
Without waiting for an answer, the Ferryman continued.
"A connection of a mere three days. A three-day bond with people who were not even entirely kind to you."
Encrid stared at the Ferryman. The eyes, nose, and mouth that had been invisible began to faintly manifest.
"The three days before this loop began. Judge for yourself. Is it right to risk your life on a futile effort for the sake of a mere three days?"
As the Ferryman finished, the memories of the time before his nap—the time before the world began to repeat—flashed through Encrid's mind.
A connection of three days. A mere three days. Was it worth dying for?
That was the Ferryman's question.