Chapter 601: Can You Really Not Be Cut?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 601: Can You Really Not Be Cut?
"Is your head just for decoration?"
It was a saying used when one felt frustrated looking at someone who didn't know how to think.
In other words, the Ferryman was currently frustrated with him.
Encrid clasped his hands and assumed an attentive posture. While giving proper reactions was part of being a good listener, the posture one showed toward the speaker was also incredibly important.
He leaned his head toward the speaker to show he was listening, nodding while making eye contact to signify he was paying close attention. When Encrid did just that, the Ferryman asked:
“What are you doing?”
“Preparing to listen.”
“To what?”
What else could it be? It had to be whatever hint the man who called him frustrating was about to drop.
Encrid answered silently with his eyes.
“You really are a crazy bastard.”
The Ferryman threw out the high praise and followed up with a question.
“Do you think it can be blocked just because you try to block it?”
With that, his vision blurred. The Ferryman began to scatter like grains of sand. The dream was ending. Encrid didn't gain some thunderbolt-like realization from the Ferryman's words. Rather, it just left him with a certain sense of frustration.
It was an uncomfortable feeling, like something was snagged in his mind.
“What kind of ghostly nonsense is that?”
So he asked.
At Encrid's words, the Ferryman smirked.
“Live eternally. For that is your path.”
To Encrid's ears, those words somehow lacked weight. It sounded as if he were spitting them out of obligation, simply because they had to be said.
“I refuse.”
He replied, and when he opened his eyes again, it was today—waking up from a nap.
‘Do you think it can be blocked just because you try to block it?’
Wasn't he struggling desperately to do exactly that?
Even while harboring doubts, his body reflexively did what it had to do. He was going to slice up the flames.
Slicing the flames. It sounded like a poetic expression when put into words, but it was a physical act that Encrid performed directly.
In this "today," he ran, grabbing only his Ink Gold Longsword and cutting the straps of his armor to discard it.
“What is it? Where are you going?”
As he dashed forward without a word, Luagarne asked from behind, and Delma, holding a water cup, blinked. Feeling a bit sentimental, Encrid spoke.
“I won't let it reach this far, kid.”
The response to the words he spoke in passing seemed to reach him only much later. This was because his thoughts had accelerated, and he was running to match that speed. Even so, he did hear Delma's voice.
“Pardon?”
That single-word question was all. Since Delma didn't understand what it meant, he would only be blinking his eyes.
‘I won't let it reach here. I will block it.’
Encrid spoke the words, raising a sword in his heart. And so, he began to repeat today once more.
Because there was little time to ponder, there were "todays" where he rushed forward with accelerated thoughts.
There was also the Ferryman, who occasionally appeared when he died.
“I shall tell you the way.”
From the very next today, the Ferryman's demeanor changed. In this altered state, the Ferryman was unprecedentedly kind. Without a hint of frustration, he offered advice freely.
“If you cannot abandon everything, abandon a part of it. Give up the area around the slums, complete your preparations, and face it. Then you will be able to endure.”
What the Ferryman meant was this: use the time it took for the Walking Fire to burn the people, children, mothers, buildings, horses, and the stable keeper in a portion of the city to prepare himself.
“Are you sick somewhere?”
Encrid replied faithfully to the Ferryman's words. The Ferryman in subsequent loops was similar.
“Sacrifice is inevitable.”
“Those destined to die must die.”
“No one will bless what you have accomplished.”
“For what purpose do you struggle so desperately?”
“Somehow, just hold out at the entrance of the town square. Then it might just work. Heheh.”
He veered toward hindrance rather than help, spitting out useless words. His mockery, meanwhile, was flawless.
Listening to all this, the words that came to mind were those.
“Do you think it can be blocked just because you try to block it?”
That single line the Ferryman had uttered before his change of heart.
“I told you, I'm struggling desperately to block it.”
It was a statement that made him reply to the empty air for no reason. Afterward, it was much the same. He repeated today, and he burned to death.
Delicacy was added to Encrid's swordsmanship, but that didn't change things significantly. Because he never took any today lightly, his skills improved, and there was a process of growing accustomed to drawing out Will while cutting the formless shape of the flames.
He passed through, and passed through again, the todays where he repeated what he had learned and realized.
It felt like exploring an endless cave. It was an exploration accompanied by the pain of burning to death as the price for not giving up.
Until now, Encrid did not feel that his method was wrong.
Slice and endure.
Because that was the only path where light was visible.
However, just because light shone down did not mean it was the only path. Sometimes, a path lay hidden in the darkness, and that path might be the right one.
In truth, whether a path was right or wrong, correct or incorrect, was entirely a matter of personal choice.
For Encrid, there were simply two paths.
These were two paths separate from what the Ferryman had previously suggested. One was to repeat what he had been doing all along, ultimately preventing the flames from burning everyone. Some would die. The city would burn, too.
That couldn't be helped. Enduring while protecting everyone was beyond difficult—it was impossible.
It would be one thing if the blazing seed known as the Walking Fire attacked only him. But its target was the city itself.
If it had reacted to provocations alone, things wouldn't have been this difficult.
When burning to death, it was difficult to maintain a train of thought. The pain was so horrific that even Encrid occasionally felt hesitation creep in. It was just that agonizing. Such moments passed by.
Even so, the strength in his swinging sword did not falter.
On one of those repeated todays, Encrid pulled out his mirror as he ran and asked:
“Can't a spell like that just be cut down?”
He hadn't intended to change his method of gathering information from Esther. It was just a provocative remark that slipped out reflexively as he recalled the words, 'Do you think it can be blocked just because you try to block it?'
Even as he ran, he could see Esther's expression shift on the other side of the mirror.
A sneer, a cold smile, settled on her face. At the same time, her treasury of knowledge unlocked. Her mind was indeed a treasury. After all, a witch's knowledge was no different from treasure.
“I wonder if you really could? Theoretically, it is possible.”
At those words, Encrid's ears twitched. Beyond just being intrigued, a part of his ear muscles reacted like an elf's.
“A spell is a phenomenon, and that phenomenon represents power. Because any spell is a force emitted based on mana. What does this mean? What if a power far superior to the spell of the Walking Fire is concentrated? What if an individual's Will is superior to the mana borrowed from Mother Nature? Then it would be possible. Hmph.”
The 'hmph' she tacked on at the end was so quiet it was barely audible.
To be honest, Encrid was too shocked to even hear it properly.
‘To stand superior to the mana of Mother Nature?’
Encrid had cut down a fireball sent by a spell before. When was that? It was so long ago that it was blurry, but he recalled some guy named Swallow Blade using a scroll.
How did he cut it then? He hadn't hesitated. He had just slashed it. He had done so solely by bolstering his Will.
‘Why can't I do that now?’
Because the fire moves?
To borrow Esther's words, it would be because the mana of Mother Nature pushed back against the Will he swung.
That was why, even if it was cut, it wasn't truly cut. Instead, it exploded.
His thoughts continued. He died while facing the Walking Fire, following the habits ingrained in his body. He died saving a child, died saving a mother. The agonizing flames burned his entire body, his mind. Today returned once more.
“Mana can also be viewed as a concept of supplier and consumer. What lies between supply and demand? Hmm? If that is cut, then yes. Just as you said, it can be cut.”
The road connecting the spell and the caster is mana.
His provocative question had drawn out more of the treasure contained within Esther's treasury. Encrid indulged in that treasure.
It wasn't that he understood the complex world of spells, nor had he theoretically constructed a new system.
Rather, it would be more accurate to say he had thought of a slightly more brute-force method.
Betraying his own heart, which did not want to burn to death yet again in this newly started today, Encrid spoke.
“It's the Walking Fire.”
It was like a word muttered to the empty air, but Luagarne, suddenly poking her head out from behind, asked back:
“Do you mean the Forbidden Word Spell?”
Instead of activating the mirror, Encrid took a step forward and said:
“I shouldn't have tried to block it from the start.”
“What?”
“Instead of blocking it, I should have cut it down.”
“...What are you talking about?”
To Luagarne, it looked as though he had suddenly woken up from a good sleep only to spout crazy nonsense.
“Do you think it can be blocked just because you try to block it?”
Those were the Ferryman's words.
What a crazy Ferryman.
Encrid thought that as he ran.
If he was going to tell him, he could have done so a bit more kindly.
The Ferrymen who sneered at him as they watched him struggle desperately to block it? What they were all saying was clear. It all boiled down to a single fact.
‘Do not block.’
You don't block it; you cut it down to destroy it.
What must one do to cut it? Slicing and enduring was, in a way, a struggle born of desperate contemplation.
Because that path alone seemed to have light filtering through, there had been no other answer.
But now, he saw another path leading to tomorrow.
‘Did she say I have to stand superior?’
Esther had said so.
It meant crushing the spell of the Walking Fire with sheer force.
But did he need to be superior at all times? Probably not.
Thought acceleration did not occur. This didn't even require acceleration. It was because it boiled down to a single, simple act.
“Can you really not be cut?”
Encrid asked as he stood before the Walking Fire. The spell, lacking reason, could not answer.
However, Apostle Anella, who was watching Encrid through the spell, heard that question.
*
Anella would only wonder what kind of crazy nonsense this was, but Encrid was absolute sincerity itself.
For there were existences in the world that could not be quantitatively evaluated.
Encrid was exactly that kind of human.
Apostle Anella had observed and studied Encrid.
She believed that if she burned the city, he would not easily give up. But would he go so far as to risk his life?
From here, it was a fifty-fifty chance. Whichever path he took, it was a win for Anella. She had an angle for every outcome.
What if he fought to the end? What if he didn't lose his life but was severely injured? If he suffered a major wound? Then she would spring the trap she had prepared and kill him.
What if he didn't risk his life and withdrew after holding out to a reasonable extent?
This wasn't bad either.
Knights were those who forged and wielded their Will. From what she had seen so far, a man like Encrid would not be able to bear not protecting those standing beside him.
What if he saved only a portion and escaped?
This wasn't bad either.
While this affair was partly aimed at targeting Encrid, it was also a warning to the continent that even if he stepped forward, the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult could burn down a city if they so desired.
Furthermore, she intended to use this warning to display the hidden power of the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult to the world.
With that, they would bestow true salvation upon the ignorant who had lost salvation.
“Nonsense.”
Anella spoke. It was her answer to the question of whether it really couldn't be cut. Naturally, Encrid could not hear her.
Beyond the field of vision viewed through the spell, the Walking Fire.
Encrid's calm face came into view. Although his expression hadn't changed much, his face looked somehow joyful and excited.
The blazing heat singed his hair. Beneath his singed hair, the light held in his blue eyes burned as fiercely as real flames.
*
He raised the Ink Gold and struck down. The sword, imbued with the Will to cut, cleaved the Walking Fire. It burst and exploded. In the center of the explosive pressure, his skin tore and ruptured, the flames burning his eyeballs and searing his tongue.
The damn pain returned. Yet, it felt less painful than before.
Why?
“Is that your madness?”
The Ferryman asked in his dream. Instead of answering, Encrid gripped his sword. Even in the world of dreams, his sword manifested with clear substance.
This was because his overflowing Will influenced even the world of his mind.
Today, waking up once more.
After realizing the new truth, it took exactly five more todays.
Encrid tried manifesting a fortress wall and standing it behind his back.
Then, all he had to do was channel the Will that manifested that fortress wall into a single sword strike.
He had found the way, and he moved forward. A sword strike swung while burning his life in a split second was the crystallization of rich experience, incomparable to anything else.
Encrid had undergone such experiences dozens, hundreds, thousands of times.
He gathered and combined everything he had realized while repeating today up until now.
How to emit Will? Realizing that he had to push it out naturally was something he had done a long time ago.
He had realized it in his conversation with Seiki before repeating this today, and even before that, he had seen the path through Overdear.
‘Push it out naturally.’
There were things to add to this as well. Since Will was formless, one had to feel it. Hadn't Sachsen said so? That if you feel it, you can use it.
He did just that.
Ragna had told him to concentrate when swinging, and Rem had told him to exert force in an instant.
They were all correct.
He did just that.
Explanations that had once sounded like nonsense hit home one by one.
Before his realization, they were just words, but after it, they became clearer than ever.
An inexhaustible supply of Will overflowed and loaded onto his sword.
Lacking knack and familiarity, Encrid poured in every bit of Will he could feel.
Thrummm.
The sword cried out.
If it hadn't been a sword crafted with Eitri's utmost devotion, it wouldn't have held up.
Crack.
As it was imbued with Will, a crack formed in the middle of the sword. By the time Encrid faced the Walking Fire again, his preparations were already complete.
Except for the Will loaded onto the sword, everything was the same as before.
Right now, he was running, shedding his armor as he dashed, holding only his Ink Gold Longsword.
At the moment the Walking Fire consumed two horses in the stable, Encrid faced the spell.
“Can you really not be cut?”
He asked again. The stable keeper, who had been about to rush at the Walking Fire, froze with his pitchfork raised.
It was the perfect timing.
A point in time where the Walking Fire had not yet swallowed a single person.
He raised the Ink Gold sword above his head.
Heavy Sword Style Overhead Slash.
What was loaded onto the blade was the entirety of the Will he possessed—at least, all of the formless power Encrid could feel right now.
If he had to name it, perhaps it would be the sword that cuts with the Iron Wall.
He converted the Will that had formed the Iron Wall directly into the Will to cut, and slashed.
Whoosh.
There were the countless todays he had repeated, burning to death in the Walking Fire. In all those todays, Encrid had further refined his techniques and had unconsciously emitted Will to endure, and this strike was a slash infused with all of those experiences.
His blue eyes, harboring a blue light, were hidden behind the blade.
The Will that had blocked armies with the Iron Wall fell as a blade.
Swoosh.
There was no explosion, no roaring sound.
Only the Walking Fire scattering along the path where the blade had carved.
A line was drawn where the Ink Gold passed. It was a slash that seemed to split the world.
The monstrously condensed Will instantly overwhelmed the mana contained within the Forbidden Word Spell.
It was a feat that could not even be attempted by anyone who did not possess an inexhaustible supply of Will.
And so, the spell of the Walking Fire was cut.
Puff.
With a truly anticlimactic sound of escaping air, the flames blurred and faded away.