Chapter 640: Just the First Syllables
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 640: Just the First Syllables
It was the same "today," but his mindset had shifted.
'Let's take his head and get out of here.'
That was the primary goal. Decapitate the enemy and escape. Naturally, it was no simple task.
As always, Encrid never wasted a single "today."
He didn't just die to gather information or sharpen his instincts. In this endlessly repeating loop, he tirelessly sought a way to win and bring the cycle to an end.
Had his persistence finally impressed the Ferryman?
Perhaps.
"Geot... Geot-neun—you can't even walk, yet you try to run."
The Ferryman bit his tongue. If he were human, such an act would be physically possible. But the Ferryman was not human. He conveyed his thoughts through sheer will, not vocal organs. Furthermore, this place was either a mindscape or a dream. Speaking while biting one's tongue should have been an impossibility.
Yet, the Ferryman he faced in this second "today" spoke exactly like a human who had bitten his tongue. It was highly unusual, but Encrid didn't stop to question it.
His mind was entirely consumed by the demon known as One-Killer.
'He wields two swords with equal strength.'
The demon could even manipulate the weight and force behind his blades. Encrid had managed to shatter the sword in the demon's left arm, but it had been a feint, a strike devoid of power. Because of that, he had been slashed across the shoulder by the blade in the right hand.
The insidious bastard had sliced his shoulder and immediately retreated.
'If that had gone as planned, I could have blocked and taken his head. Damned bastard.'
Encrid calmly cursed the demon's cunning.
To rely on tricks so frequently—was it typical of a demon? Or should he revile the creature for being so underhanded?
Then again, this was hardly something a practitioner of the Valen-style mercenary sword should complain about. After all, a technique that felt effective when used by oneself always seemed troublesome and cheap when employed by an enemy.
'I suppose it's only natural, since he's a demon.'
But did that make it painful? Was it too hard? Was he exhausted? Should he collapse? Should he just lie face down and merely breathe?
It was a pitch-black night, a night where not a single ray of moonlight shone.
A wall darker than the night itself blocked his path. Even so, there was no need for frustration or despair. If he couldn't see, he would simply grope his way up the wall with his bare hands.
And that was exactly what Encrid did.
When he used the Valen-style mercenary sword's Feigning Defeat, he managed to slash the demon's neck first, but his own instep was pierced in return.
When he tried the Valen-style mercenary sword's Deceptive Breath, he was deceived instead, failing to take the head and taking a stab to the thigh.
His forearms, fingers, legs, and shins were all sliced in turn.
He couldn't even force a decisive clash every time. Though they said the difference in skill was paper-thin, he couldn't deny he was slightly outmatched. Thus, moments of victory and defeat constantly alternated.
Of course, as he repeated "today," Encrid began to read and memorize his enemy's patterns.
He even managed to end a duel that had previously taken a hundred and eighty exchanges in just three clashes.
He danced against a backdrop of sparks, clashing swords over three hundred times.
"As soft as silver. Far too soft."
In between the fighting, the Ferryman incessantly hurled words bordering on condemnation.
"To kindle a fire, one must have wood and straw."
At times, he spoke as if mimicking a sage.
"Excessive greed. To save everyone? To protect their backs? Overreaching, utterly overreaching."
Amidst the Ferryman's prattle, Encrid repeated "today" dozens of times.
"So, will you save me?"
He exchanged the same words with Sinar. Of course, the dialogue was not always identical. The future was variable, and a "today" once experienced could never be perfectly replicated.
"You're saying you will wield that sword for me?"
"Was I allowed to stand behind your back as well?"
"You've made all the preparations for the wedding, I assume? The moment we return alive, we wed."
Indeed, such words were exchanged. And when those last words were spoken, he would always give a firm reply.
"Am I just going back?"
"No. Help me."
Sinar's single sentence pierced his chest every time. It was as vivid as the joy he felt clashing with the demon One-Killer. Just as one could not avoid a sudden downpour, he felt the weight of her words. It was a concentrated agony she had harbored for a long time.
Once again, the Ferryman spoke.
"Half-wit. You don't know how to give up? Laughable. Change your mind. Repeating the same today will drive you mad. That is the path you shall walk."
Encrid focused his thoughts entirely in one direction. Consequently, he didn't pay close attention to what the Ferryman was saying. It wasn't the first time, after all.
However, he used the voice as a guide for his days. He roughly counted which "today" it was based on the Ferryman's remarks. This was why he had inadvertently memorized the Ferryman's script.
In the second today, the Ferryman had bitten his tongue, saying he couldn't even walk.
What was next? He searched his memory to engrave the sequence. Using the Ferryman's words as landmarks was a trick he had used several times in previous loops.
"Answer me. Do you not need advice? Even if you do not answer, I shall tell you. That is my generosity. Behold, the way to escape today."
It was during one such today.
As they repeated the battle, Encrid concluded that One-Killer’s display of pure, unadulterated bloodlust was itself a cunning ploy.
'He even hides a blade in his toes?'
The demon's human-like appearance was a deception. Blades could sprout from anywhere on his body. Even though Encrid wore no helmet, the demon didn't aim for his head, seeming focused only on inflicting minor wounds—only to hide a killing blow capable of splitting his skull.
'He's strong.'
Not just ordinary strong. He was easily one of the most troublesome opponents Encrid had ever faced. His physical strength, speed, judgment, and weapon mastery—everything was top-tier. He thrust, slashed, and struck without any set form or style.
'Which makes him all the more troublesome.'
While he was thinking, the Ferryman finally revealed his true purpose, despite receiving no reply.
"If you let it go in one ear and out the other, you will end up staying here forever. So listen, prisoner."
Encrid was fully focused, grasping the present and searching for a way out. The Ferryman's voice resonated, digging deep into his very marrow. He had no idea how it was done, but the method made it impossible to ignore. It was like someone grabbing his ears and whispering directly into them.
Though the actual content was no different from the barking of a dog with a human face.
"Raise a shield."
"A shield?"
When he finally reacted, the Ferryman's next words were spectacular.
"Put Frok in front, put the humans in front, and let the elves take the blow. Then you can kill him."
They say the whispers of a demon are sweet. If so, was the Ferryman a demon? Probably not. To Encrid, those words didn't sound sweet at all.
"Ah, sure."
So he ignored him.
In a way, it was a rational and valid point. It meant he could win by using those around him as meat shields or blade fodder. Thus, he did accept and utilize a portion of the Ferryman's suggestion.
He kicked the carcasses of monsters rolling on the ground and lifted them with his sword to use as shields. As a result, the situation looked quite comical from the outside.
It was during one of those dozens of todays. While intentionally dragging out the fight, Luagarne's words caught his ear, and he found them hard to deny.
"Humans are irrational, yet the demon acts so rationally."
Though insidious, the demon's responses were always rational. On the other hand, Encrid did not act rationally. To break through the wall of rationality his opponent possessed, he resorted to madness. He swung a dagger held in his mouth, utilized monster carcasses, and shattered the stone floor to use as shrapnel.
If anyone were to watch the spectacle, they would see a truly contrasting sight.
Encrid repeated such todays. He walked an irrational path.
He drew the enemy's attention with feints, clashed again, and died. He even tried pushing away what he had mistaken for poison using his Will of Rejection.
It yielded. It seemed he could eliminate it.
'The problem is that my body freezes up in the process.'
This was a battle where even blinking was a luxury. He did not have the leisure to casually purge something that had invaded his body. No matter how brief, a gap would form, and in such a gap, One-Killer could slice Encrid's body into pieces and gift-wrap them.
Therefore, it was difficult to overcome what had penetrated his interior.
It was dark. No path was visible. Yet, he pressed on. As his desperate struggles continued, his knowledge grew. These were things he could see as his synesthesia developed and his vision expanded.
'The source is the same.'
This thought occurred right after Esther's words came to mind. The demon also used a formless power. Its source was mana, drawn from the atmosphere.
'He refines mana to use it.'
It was that kind of method. This was information he had groped for and obtained within the realm of the sixth sense. Subsequently, he also learned something he didn't particularly want to know.
'She intended to kill everyone and then die herself.'
Such was Sinar's resolve. These were the words that spilled out when he probed her based on the information gathered from the repeated loops.
"If everyone went back and waited, I was going to end it."
Whether that time took a hundred years or a thousand, she intended to stay by the demon's side and die with him. The same went for the elf clan. They were willing to sacrifice their entire race to kill the demon.
They say elves do not act out of grudges. Yet, why did they fight so desperately?
"Our choice was wrong. We shouldn't have ignored the monsters; we should have found a way to fight and kill them."
These were words he had heard from Bran. Based on this, it was clear the elf clan had turned the helm of the ship they had steered toward stability and peace, changing their course entirely.
'A resolve to struggle rather than show patience to obtain peace.'
Their preparations for that would have been carried out in stages. Sending some of the elves outside and opening trade was part of those preparations.
Encrid selectively interpreted and acquired information, taking what was necessary and discarding the rest. Meanwhile, he still didn't know how to kill the demon.
But that didn't mean he did nothing. Not a single day was wasted in idle complacency. If he didn't know the answer, he had no choice but to roll in the dirt until he did.
Through fighting One-Killer, he learned that the bastard refined mana and used it as his source. It produced an effect similar to Will.
'Monsters are born with the ability to refine and use mana.'
When that refined mana inhabited a beast, it became a demonic beast.
Apart from his combat thoughts, other realizations seeped through the gaps of his high-speed processing. Encrid did not bother to reject them.
What was the boundary separating Will, divine power, sorcery, and mana? On what basis was that boundary established?
'It's not a boundary that is needed. It's a definition.'
Such was the conclusion of his thoughts.
Will was built through the efforts of one's own trained physical body.
Magic aimed to change all things. This was evident from what Esther usually showed. She changed her clothes and transformed mana into fire or cold. She even created icicle spears. Mana placed its essence in change.
Divine power? It was durability. It was like a boulder that would not easily shake.
'Because they use faith as a shield.'
If a portion of a true god's power inhabited it, it could even bring about changes in another's body. Healing was part of that.
'That's why those gray idiots can't cast healing light.'
Understanding followed from observing and experiencing the phenomena. The so-called Gray Divine Army could not cast healing light, but they maintained their aggressiveness. Since it was a corrupted divine power, it could no longer be called divine power.
The differences in sorcery also entered the realm of his understanding. While Will utilized what had been trained, sorcery was something beyond training—an act of drawing upon future assets.
'Both the Beast's Heart and the Heart of Monstrous Strength.'
It was arbitrarily drawing out what had not yet been achieved in the present. In return, a price had to be paid—whether suffering from severe muscle pain or surrendering one's lifespan.
In truth, none of this was immediately necessary, but as it was neatly organized, it served as an indicator of what he needed to do.
Once again, he repeated today. Hope blossomed on the faces of the elves. As One-Killer appeared and they fought, the emotions reflected on their faces shifted from hope to despair.
Encrid calmly watched and observed everything as he endured.
'Condensed muscles.'
The demon One-Killer possessed muscles of a different density, far beyond the normal category. He was close to a kind of chimera.
'Is the purpose of this Demon Realm to create unique monsters?'
Was One-Killer born because that purpose had reached its extreme? Perhaps.
There were times when, with a mix of luck and skill, he had managed to decapitate him. Thanks to that, he learned that One-Killer did not die even when his head was cut off.
'A Heartless has no heart.'
Therefore, even if stabbed through the heart, he would rise again to attack. He was the same kind as the undying drowners Pel had slashed.
Then how could he win?
He sought an answer. He sought it endlessly, and then he craved it.
Then, he had a dream. It was a dream completely unrelated to the Ferryman, one that could be considered entirely out of the blue.
It was after he had died after enduring like any other today. It was the moment of his death, caused in the end by a single scratch, despite having used his Will of Rejection and all the techniques at his disposal.
It was a brief dream.
A man with blonde hair, blue eyes, and thick forearms appeared. He held a pointed kite shield that covered half of his body and spoke.
"Just the first syllables."
He wondered what that was supposed to mean. After the dream passed, the Ferryman greeted Encrid just the same.
"In the end, you shall remain in this today, filled with pain."
This was after experiencing over two hundred todays.
"Give up now."
In the Ferryman's words, Encrid felt a dissonance. He had felt that dissonance before. There were specific "words" where that dissonance was felt.
The Ferryman could not bite his tongue. This was because he conversed by projecting his will to convey meaning. Therefore, stuttering on "Geot" in the phrase "You can't even walk, yet you try to run" was uncharacteristic of the Ferryman.
His high-speed thoughts skipped the process, perceived the situation, and sought the answer. He searched his memory. Remembering words spoken months ago was difficult, but not impossible. He could do so because, even while letting the Ferryman's words go in one ear and out the other, he had used them as a standard to count the days.
"Geot (Geot-neun got-do mot haneun nomi ttwiryeo haneunguna—You can't even walk, yet you try to run.)"
"Eun (Eun-cheoreom mureuda. Neomu mulreo—As soft as silver. Too soft.)"
"Bul (Bul-eul ireukireomyeon namuwa jipi isseoya haneun beobida—To kindle a fire, one must have wood and straw.)"
"Gwa (Gwa-han yoksimida. Modureul salligetta? Deung dwireul jikigettago? Gwahago gwahada—Excessive greed. To save everyone? To protect their backs? Overreaching, utterly overreaching.)"
"Ban (Ban-puni gateun nom. Pogireul moreundago? Utgineun soriguna. Saenggageul bakkwora. Gateun oneureul banbokhameuro micheo beoril geosida. Geuge nega georeogal girida—Half-wit. You don't know how to give up? Laughable. Change your mind. Repeating the same today will drive you mad. That is the path you shall walk.)"
"Dae (Dae-daphaera. Joeoni piryohaji anna? Dabhaji anado malhae jugennora. Geuge nae aryangida. Ja, oneureul beoseonal bangbeobida—Answer me. Do you not need advice? Even if you do not answer, I shall tell you. That is my generosity. Behold, the way to escape today.)"
He took only the first syllables.
'Geot, Eun, Bul, Gwa, Ban, Dae.'
Geot-eun bul-gwa ban-dae?
Walking is the opposite of fire.
The capacity for acceptance—which had shone even when he absorbed the shock dealt by the elven society right before fighting the demon One-Killer—now accepted the advice given by the Ferryman. He did not unconditionally reject the Ferryman's words just because of who spoke them.
'The opposite of Walking Fire.'
Awakening once more to "today," Encrid saw a small light. Perhaps it was a trick by the Ferryman to deceive him, but his intuition told him that this was indeed a light.
A light shining through a crack in the dark, solid wall reached his hand. The reason facing an insurmountable wall was enjoyable was because he knew the pleasure of overcoming it.
Once again, euphoria heated his entire body. It was twice as enjoyable as when he had faced previous walls.
"Hey, demon. Shall we have some real, intense fun?"
That joy was directed at the demon. Though to those who did not repeat today, he was merely the same crazy Encrid as always.