Chapter 599: How Far Will You Protect?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 599: How Far Will You Protect?
“Doing bad things might feel easy in the moment, but you won’t sleep well at night. If you keep at it, your conscience will never give you peace. So why bother? It’s better to just live right.”
These were the words of a friend who seemed like a fool but possessed a strange wisdom—one of the five who guarded the underground.
“What if you get used to it? What if the unease in your heart simply fades away?” Encrid challenged.
“I don’t want to get used to it,” the friend replied instantly. He didn't hesitate for even a second.
“I see.”
The friend had visited that morning while Encrid was drenched in sweat from training. When asked why he’d come, he simply said he wanted to say thank you. The conversation had unfolded naturally as they exchanged a few words.
Later, Delma brought him water and asked if he needed anything. Delma’s uncle, though still wary, no longer tried to push Encrid away. The uncle looked at Encrid with eyes full of respect and reverence, much like Castellan Louis.
There were many in the city who looked at Encrid with such eyes. But were those the only eyes watching him? Far from it.
“They say if anyone does something wrong, you’ll track them down and kill them all. That’s the rumor. Some are even saying they need to strike you first before you kill them.”
According to Delma, that was the reality. There were those who perceived Encrid as a threat. Though they whispered such things in the dark, none dared to actually act on them. The Castellan was keeping a vigilant eye on the city, organizing his forces to maintain order. And even without that, there was no way Encrid would fall to the likes of them.
As Delma’s words made clear, there were still those in the city who harbored malice or wished to cause harm.
“The Demon God shall descend and purify everything!”
One woman had gone mad, raving such nonsense. There were others who glared at Encrid with daggers hidden up their sleeves, and still more who watched him from the shadows. Some were paupers or those lost to drugs, while others watched him out of sheer, trembling anxiety.
“Even after you saved them, they act like that?” Luagarne muttered, watching them.
“Understand them. They are fools,” the 'wise fool' had said during his visit.
“I don’t really know. I know things are good right now, but I also feel… anxious,” Delma added. Having never felt safe a day in his life, the boy admitted he was afraid of change.
Yes, there would always be people like this, and people like that.
Encrid recalled his former swordsmanship instructor, the man who had taught him on the beach long ago.
“I was an executioner,” the instructor had once told him. “I didn't need to know if the person standing before me was a sinner, a victim of a frame-up, or just a scapegoat. All I had to do was swing my sword. A mask with nothing but eye slits was my helmet and my greatest weapon.”
The man had looked deeply troubled when he spoke. It seemed as though he wanted to erase his entire past. When Encrid asked him after a few drinks if he would undo it all if he could, the instructor said he would do so in a heartbeat—though he knew it was impossible.
Thinking about it now, even though Encrid could repeat this single day, he too was unable to return to any point further back in his past. Not that he repeated today by choice, either.
“Among the people I killed, there was a child. Yes, a child. The child’s mother asked me… why her child had to die.”
The instructor had said his past was nothing to be proud of.
“I swung my sword without a single thought.”
Yet, even then, his skill at butchering people only grew. He realized he possessed a natural, terrifying talent for it. Then, one day, the question from that child’s mother changed his life.
“I regret it,” he had said, his voice heavy with remorse.
What had his life been like after that? Encrid only knew fragments. After quitting his job, the instructor never killed recklessly again. Above all, he never killed an opponent who could not resist.
Using the swordsmanship he had mastered as an executioner, he began working as a mercenary. From surviving day by day to eventually reaching an independent city on a remote corner of the continent, he had become obsessed with saving people rather than killing them.
“Does doing this bring back the dead? No. But this is how I will live.”
Did he kill more people, or did he save more? There was no way to know. Encrid believed that one could not simply weigh good and evil on a scale to judge a person’s life. He wasn't talking about forgiveness, either.
He simply had something he valued above all else. It was the anchor dropped into the sea of his life. It was the moon guiding the starlight, the signpost marking his path.
“Your goal is to protect those within the line you’ve drawn, isn’t it? Then it’s simple. Take them all to the underground shelter. You certainly have the ability to do so.”
The Ferryman chimed in. It was the moment of reflection at the end of the day. Encrid looked at the Ferryman, who had intruded as a hazy illusion.
At some point, the people, the air, the wind, and the sunlight all came to a halt. As everything froze, the surroundings turned gray. It was the end of the recalled memory.
The Ferryman was right. It was the logical path. Just as he said, Encrid could save Delma, the fool and his friends, Delma’s uncle, Luagarne, and the Castellan by taking them with him.
The Walking Fire would burn the city. Once it found nothing left to consume, it would vanish. If he protected them until then, it would be over. There was no need to risk his life, nor any reason to scale a wall where no path could be seen.
Within the gray world, Encrid stared blankly at Delma.
“What do you think that child will grow up to be?” he asked the Ferryman without shifting his gaze.
The Ferryman could not answer. He was no fortune-teller. Encrid had asked, but he didn't know the answer either. No one could.
Delma could become an innkeeper. He could become a hunter. Or perhaps he might wander the turbulent continent, harbor a grand ambition, and found a kingdom. Couldn't that be possible too?
“No one knows. No one,” Encrid continued.
With gray eyes, the Ferryman quietly observed the man destined to live eternally due to a curse. Encrid was the only one who held color within this gray world.
“And?” the Ferryman asked.
Encrid brought up the very question the Ferryman had posed earlier—the one that had sent ripples through his heart.
“How far must I protect?”
The Ferryman played along. “Indeed. How far will you protect?”
People, lives, his back. In other words, the lives of the people living behind his back. That was what he had resolved to protect. But was protecting just that enough?
If so, if that was all, there would be no reason to live such a tumultuous life. Was there any reason to save the Saintess of the Theocracy far away? None. Why bother with a child he didn't know? They weren't standing behind his back. Thus, there was no reason to save them.
Encrid knew he had wavered. The Ferryman’s words had reached his heart for the first time. To save only those within my reach. Those who care for me. After all, his connection to this city was a mere four days. It was true. Undeniably true.
Slap!
Within the gray world, Encrid slapped his own cheeks with both hands. The world blurred, and he returned to his original dream—the world of the Black River. Atop the swaying water, the Ferryman stood holding a lamp, looking at him.
Encrid was not protecting a mere four-day connection. What he protected was something else entirely.
“They, too, will have opportunities. I will protect that potential.”
Within Cross Guard, there was a bastard hiding a dagger, fearing Encrid’s sword. There were assassins. There were those intoxicated by the cult. There were unforgivable villains. There were husbands who beat their wives and mothers who beat their children. There were children who stabbed their parents and scoundrels who lived by extortion.
And yet.
There was a child who had set his heart on becoming an innkeeper. There was an adult who cared for that child so he wouldn't starve. There were fools who had joined a thieves' guild only to have their fingers severed while trying to protect the citizens. There was a Castellan who could have easily fled but stayed behind, claiming he loved everyone in the castle. There were those who remained by that Castellan’s side, even though they had nothing to gain.
There were the righteous. There were the wicked. And all of them were living in the now—the present moment.
Encrid wished to protect that fleeting instant. No one knew how they might change in the future, yet the flames pouring down right now—a forbidden magic cast solely to kill him—would erase the tomorrow of everyone in this city.
How could he possibly tolerate this?
The End of War. He wished for the war to end. Why? Because he had to plant the seed of potential called 'tomorrow' for everyone.
The End of War. He wished for the war to end. Why? Because who knew how the 'me' of today might change tomorrow? He did not want that potential to be snuffed out.
He wanted to erase the Demon Realm. For monsters and demonic beasts were creatures that existed only to slaughter tomorrow.
The Ferryman asked once more. “How far will you protect?”
“My tomorrow, and the tomorrow of these people as well.”
Encrid raised his hand aboard the boat floating on the Black River. Though his hand was empty, the Ferryman saw a sword. An intangible blade represented his will. His words manifested his resolve. Encrid had found his answer.
Cackle, cackle.
Pfft, hahaha!
Hahaha!
Kee-hee-hee-hee.
What a foolish answer.
Are you an idiot?
If that is your will...
I shall respect it.
The Ferryman did not speak, yet words echoed. To be precise, they were words delivered by a countless, unfathomable existence wearing the mask of the Ferryman. Dozens of intentions overlapped, entering Encrid’s mind in an attempt to corrupt his resolve, but it was futile.
The Will of Rejection had already taken deep root within Encrid. No matter what the opponent said, even if it meant becoming the enemy of everyone on the continent, he would reject anything he did not deem right.
“You are a madman,” the gray-faced Ferryman spoke, holding up his lamp.
Encrid knew this was the moment he would wake from the dream as everything around him drifted away. Yet, in that fading moment, the Ferryman’s face seemed to smile.
‘It must be an illusion.’
The Ferryman smiling was something utterly unimaginable. It was on an entirely different plane from the smiles of Sinar or Esther.
And so, Encrid was cast out of the Black River.
The Ferryman remaining on the boat cackled even after pushing Encrid away. There was no falsehood in that laughter. It was a genuine laugh.
Imparting a lesson. How long had it been since he last did such a thing? Swordsmanship? That was no lesson. A mere physical technique was something one could figure out on their own. Awakening the spirit that takes root in the mind, the resolve harbored deep within the heart—that was a true lesson.
If this wasn't enjoyable, what could be? Though called eternal life, in reality, he was a fellow who should have been screaming in the prison of "today" until he became one with the river. Instead, he was struggling.
Before he knew it, the Ferryman found pleasure in watching that struggle. Of course, not all Ferrymen shared the same sentiment.
“A practical problem remains, O prisoner who dreams of mortality,” the Ferryman spoke to the empty air. Somehow, those words seemed to reach the awakened Encrid.
*
“A practical problem remains, O prisoner who dreams of mortality.”
Encrid heard those words the moment he woke. It was the start of the brief "today" that he had repeated countless times. His thoughts accelerated, one leading to another in rapid succession.
And with it came his answer to the Ferryman’s words.
‘I know.’
The practical problem—the Walking Fire—remained. It was a spell that had forced him to watch people burn to death, helplessly, over a hundred repetitions, without ever finding a single clue.
Yet strangely, Encrid felt that the helplessness he had carried until the very last "today" had vanished. In truth, perhaps he hadn't actually been helpless all this time.
‘It was a matter of the heart.’
Since he hadn't decided on a path, it was only natural that he couldn't reach his destination. Now, he had chosen his path. He had cleared the soot remaining in his heart and given his resolve a voice.
Only one thing remained: to cut down the entity known as the Walking Fire.
How does one cut what cannot be cut? If the answer had come to him immediately, he wouldn't have felt helpless in the first place. So, what should he do?
“I’m going to die,” a groan escaped Encrid’s lips. This was a rare occurrence.
But it was only natural. When it came to what he had to do, there was only one way: to keep trying until it worked. However, he decided to change his approach slightly.
“Lua, tell me everything you know about the Walking Fire.”
There was no time to spare. He listened with accelerated thoughts, then charged. He swung his sword at the Walking Fire, pouring his entire being into the strike. He channeled his Will, elevating it to a state of near-omnipotence.
Fwoosh!
Encrid threw his body forward. A single strike was all he could manage before the intense heat of the Walking Fire consumed him.
Sizzle.
His scale armor melted, fusing to his skin. It hurt like hell. His eyes seared in their sockets, the world turned red, and nothing remained but the agonizing heat.
Encrid died once more.
Only after burning to death twenty-five more times...
“You can call me an idiot.”
Encrid spoke the moment he woke. It was a mutter born of sheer exasperation.
“What?” Luagarne approached, puffing out her cheeks and rolling her eyes. She was confused by his sudden outburst.
“I’m serious,” Encrid said, pulling out the trump card hidden in his breast pocket.
It was a mirror. Esther’s mirror, which she had told him to look into whenever he felt uneasy.
Who knew magic best? A mage, or a witch. And among them, there was someone of outstanding ability.
The witch, Esther. She was the black-haired beauty currently blinking at him from beyond the glass.
“Do you know of the Walking Fire?” Encrid asked.
The black-haired beauty beyond the mirror nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.