Chapter 682: I Don't Mind Any Kind of Fight
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 682: I Don't Mind Any Kind of Fight
'A sharper jawline?'
For some reason, the Ferryman looked slimmer today, as if he had lost weight. However, he wasn't the type to offer an answer even if Encrid pointed it out.
So, Encrid kept his mouth shut. Neither of them spoke, and a heavy silence blanketed the river.
With no words exchanged, they simply stared at each other through the intervening fog.
Encrid quietly observed the robed figure beyond the thin, black mist. The Ferryman remained motionless and silent. There was no vibration in the air, nor any preparatory movement.
And yet, though Encrid hadn't blinked once, he realized the Ferryman was suddenly right in front of his nose.
It was impossible not to be startled. Still, it wasn't enough to make him panic or leap back in fright. Encrid remained calm even within his world of consciousness. It was a boldness that had become as natural as breathing.
The Ferryman silently reached out. A palm, cracked like parched earth in a drought, came into view.
Something seemed to wriggle within the dark crevices of his skin. The moment Encrid focused on those wriggling black lines, he was no longer standing on the ferryboat atop the black river, but somewhere else entirely.
'An illusion.'
He didn't need to think long; he recognized it instantly.
It was never easy to deduce the Ferryman's intentions. This remained true even though they had met countless times, and the figure was his constant companion through these repeated days. The illusion shown by the Ferryman filled his vision.
"Urgh."
He couldn't see the ground or the sky. Only a blurry figure was visible through the black soot, but it wasn't hard to recognize who it was.
'Ragna.'
Ragna coughed up blood, wiped his mouth, and raised his head to speak.
"Since you said you don't mind any kind of fight, don't try to avoid this one either."
Who was he talking to?
Behind the blurry figure, the faint silhouette of someone collapsed was barely visible. It was impossible to tell who it was from the shadow alone. Ragna's form scattered like smoke and vanished. Because it had appeared right in front of him, it felt as though Encrid could reach out and touch it, yet there was a bizarre sense of distance.
It felt as if he were watching and listening from a vast, unreachable void. Immediately after Ragna vanished, another figure rose from the soot.
"…Admit it. If it were me, I could have cured everything. I won."
"You stupid bitch. If you're dead, you lost."
"I am the Elixir, the Panax, and the Remed Omnia."
What kind of nonsense was this?
It was a succession of incomprehensible words. Encrid brushed aside the unfamiliar terms and focused solely on grasping the situation. Anne had been attacked by someone, and these were her words right before her death.
'Who is she talking to?'
The interlocutor was not visible. Even the voice was distorted, making it impossible to distinguish whether it belonged to a man or a woman.
"If you die, you lose. You are nothing."
Anne coughed violently, then dissolved into smoke and vanished.
The smoke coalesced once more, and this time, a stranger appeared. He was a middle-aged man with thick eyebrows, hollow cheeks, and a robust build. Since only his physical appearance was visible, Encrid couldn't read his aura or presence, but there were things he could deduce just from what he saw.
His hollow cheeks and lack of excess fat meant that even at his age, he continued to train or strictly manage his body.
'He reminds me of Graham.'
Even in his old age, there was a Castellan in the Border Guard who had never let go of his sword and had reached the level of an Associate Knight. He was the very epitome of human triumph, serving as an inspiration to all the soldiers.
"It is never too late. There is only the 'me' who did not act."
It was a saying Graham constantly kept on his lips. He was also a man who had interpreted and digested Encrid's own words in his own way.
The fact that he instinctively thought of Graham meant the stranger was likely similar to him. Since Encrid was a knight who had specifically trained his Sensory Technique, his intuition was closer to a highly accurate prediction.
The unfamiliar man spoke with a hardened expression.
"Are you saying all of this is my fault?"
Another plume of smoke rose, sketching a different figure. It was Ragna. His chest was drenched in dried, stiffened blood, and a crusty beard of gore clung to his clean-shaven jaw. Holding his sword, Ragna asked:
"Is it not, then?"
Perhaps the man had paused before speaking in reality, but to Encrid, the answer came after a brief silence.
"…This is my best."
"Bullshit."
In contrast, Ragna replied without even taking a breath.
The smoke faded away, and before he knew it, Encrid was back on the boat. The Ferryman, who had been right in front of him, was now back in his original position, holding his lamp with his back turned.
"Why are you showing me this?" Encrid asked.
The Ferryman turned his head. The face visible beneath the hood of his robe was pitch black, just as it had been when Encrid first greeted this day. No eyes, no features—nothing could be seen.
Then, not a spoken voice, but a single thread of intent carrying meaning flew over and touched his forehead. It was closer to a transmission of pure meaning than spoken words, but Encrid translated that meaning into language to comprehend it.
— You will be able to remember this as well, won't you? Do not forget.
And then, he woke up.
He was in the dim twilight. It was reality, possessing a completely different texture and color from the vision.
"Did you have a nightmare?"
Hearing a voice, he tucked his chin and looked down to see Magrun standing right in front of the tent. It was early evening. Behind Magrun's back, a deep blue sky was visible as the twilight drew to a close. His shadow cast a faint black silhouette on the ground, stretching all the way to Encrid's feet.
"Not a nightmare," Encrid replied.
He stood up, thinking that the Ferryman's intentions were still as difficult to read as ever. The statement that he was different from the Walking Fire had definitely been advice. What he had done before was interference.
Though it was called advice, the Ferryman had never once told him what he actually wanted to hear. Ah, considering that advice is highly likely to be something the listener doesn't want to hear, perhaps he should be called an excellent advisor?
It was merely a passing thought. A joke he couldn't share with anyone.
Well, putting jokes aside, what was this about? He had merely shown him a few people and let him hear a few lines of dialogue. The Ferryman himself hadn't uttered a single word. Even the message he conveyed at the end seemed somehow different from his usual way of transmitting intent.
"Nothing happened, right?"
"Not so far," Magrun replied.
The attack wouldn't end with just one. Magrun had judged so as well. In fact, everyone shared a similar thought. Encrid was of the same mind.
"You look like you just met some 'thoughtful scholar' somewhere," Magrun said, watching the shift in Encrid's expression as he woke.
"What?"
"It's a famous joke in the Empire."
"What kind of joke?"
While Encrid stretched to loosen his body, which had stiffened during sleep, Magrun squatted in front of the tent, resting his chin on his hand. He had brought it up himself, but then paused, wondering where to even start—or rather, questioning whether it was even worth explaining.
Magrun brushed aside his hesitation and continued. After all, it was up to the listener to make sense of it.
"Well, you know, just some trivial saying. It sounds really lame when I try to explain it, but... scholars are naturally people who claim to be wise, and they're so full of themselves that they don't care about the listener's feelings. Among them, a 'thoughtful scholar' is one who softens the atmosphere with a joke to lower the other person's guard, and then says what they want to say, leaving the other person's head in a muddle. That's the joke. The 'thoughtful' part refers to easing the tension, but in the end, the story they bring up is still something only they can understand. Explaining it makes it sound really weird."
"Yeah, it is weird."
"Look, people from the Empire get it instantly. It's not my fault."
"I never said it was your fault," Encrid said as he stepped outside.
To one side, Ragna was staring blankly at the sky, while Odinkar stood idly by a horse, stroking its mane. Anne was right beside Ragna, and Grida was looking up at the stars, charting their path.
"It won't rain," Grida spoke, sensing his presence.
Encrid glanced up at the sky, nodded in agreement, and then looked at Anne.
"Anne. Did you get some sleep?"
"No."
Encrid didn't ask why. She had been drenched in the blood of demonic beasts in the evening, stayed up all night, and then heard that there were monsters and mages targeting her. In such a situation, there weren't many people who could sleep soundly, except perhaps for those in the Order of Madness.
"Try to get some sleep tonight. I don't think we'll be slowing down our march."
"Yes."
It wouldn't be easy, but Anne wasn't foolish enough to complain in a situation like this.
"Let's rest for one more day," Grida suggested.
She meant they should spend one more day here rather than setting off in the middle of the night. They had stayed in this spot with that very intention from the start.
Grida lit a campfire, and Encrid pulled out the preserved rations he had brought. He poured water into a pot and boiled a stew with jerky and vegetables for dinner. He also took out a few pieces of pemmican, chewing and swallowing them thoroughly. Although Krais had supposedly improved the flavor, it was still closer to food eaten purely for survival.
To this, he added what was specifically called knight's rations. It was a powdered food made from dried meat, fish, and fruit; when mixed with a moderate amount of water, it provided several times more calories than pemmican.
Taste? It was combat rations, not made with flavor in mind. If a battle weren't on the horizon, they might have hunted to secure a decent meal, but right now, they had no choice. A soldier had to eat properly to fight better. This was no different for a knight.
As he ate, Encrid realized there were a few more options he could choose from in their current situation.
The easiest option, and the first, was to return to the city.
'We haven't even come that far.'
Since they had come on horseback, they could just ride back.
The second option was to send Anne back and set off again.
'If they are targeting Anne, the Border Guard would be safer.'
Esther was in the city. With her there, any half-baked mage would be useless. And there were other squad members as well.
'But Anne probably wouldn't want this.'
The third was to bring more allies. It would delay them, but it was safe. If Sachsen had been here last night, the enemy wouldn't have been able to escape so quietly. In terms of detection and scouting abilities, there weren't many who could escape Sachsen's eyes.
The fourth was to keep going as they were. Pushing through with only what they currently had.
He didn't think he would choose any of the first three methods. All of them would clearly delay them. In truth, all of this stemmed from their inability to grasp the enemy's intentions. But since he felt he understood at least one of those intentions, he ruled out the first three methods.
Their delay here was also to read the enemy's intentions; in fact, this purpose weighed far heavier than the concept of resting.
'If they were truly targeting Anne, they would have made a determined effort to attack again.'
But the enemy hadn't. They had left them alone. In other words, what the enemy wanted might be to tie down the group's feet.
Should they increase their marching speed even more?
'That would be difficult.'
He thought, scratching his chin idly. Even if Ragna carried Anne on his back, it would be difficult. Anne was not a knight. Even if she traveled on someone's back, she wouldn't emerge unscathed. And Ragna couldn't run all day either.
The basics of a march were not about walking at the absolute fastest speed, but about walking quickly while maintaining combat readiness and eliminating unfavorable factors. Ragna carrying Anne, or himself carrying her and running—neither was viable. To preserve combat readiness, they couldn't just pour all their strength into charging forward with Strong Legs.
If they did that, they would have no stamina left. Even if Anne managed to endure it, problems would still remain.
"Is this kind of fight troublesome?" Ragna, who was beside him, suddenly asked.
Encrid answered reflexively, just as he always did. He blurted out his thoughts exactly as they were, without bothering to organize them. It was the conversational style of the Order of Madness, a way of speaking he had maintained for a long time with Rem, Ragna, Audin, Sachsen, and Krais. Because he spoke without hiding anything, they hadn't shown him unnecessary hostility from the very beginning either.
He spoke as his habit guided him.
"I don't mind any kind of fight."
The moment he said those words, Encrid flinched as he stared at the campfire, feeling a brief shiver. He saw Magrun standing right in front of the tent. He slowly raised his head and looked into the darkness. The reason for the shiver was the dream the Ferryman had shown him.
"I don't mind them either," Ragna chimed in. He sounded sincere.
And Encrid...
'The future?'
He suspected that what the Ferryman had shown him was not yesterday or today, but tomorrow. Or perhaps he had shown him the 'today' in which he would eventually be trapped.
Just as he had done before, the Ferryman sometimes showed him fragments of what was to happen, like a dream. Of course, not everything happened exactly as shown, but roughly similar events did occur. This time, he had simply shown him that fragmented future without saying much else.
What was his intention? There was no way to know. Encrid knew that in times like this, he shouldn't overcomplicate his thoughts.
Then what should he do? First, narrow down what could be done, and start with the easiest option. Within the range of what he could handle, what was something he could do right now?
Encrid's gaze fell upon Odinkar. Tension and anxiety were visible on the man's face. Even as he ate, he continuously showed signs of discomfort.
Following the fourth option, a fifth option had just crossed his mind.
'Split the group.'
Odinkar was a skilled fighter whom even Encrid couldn't guarantee an easy victory against if they fought to the death. He also knew the way back to Zaun, and his intuition was urging him to return.
"Let's send Odinkar ahead first," Encrid spoke at the end of his train of thought.
Grida and Magrun looked at him.
"Is that not okay?"
When he asked again, the two exchanged glances. Meanwhile, Odinkar, who had been staring blankly, suddenly got a gleam in his eyes. He clapped his hands together with a sharp smack.
"Right, there was that option too. You always did like playing an unexpected card. Fine, I'll go ahead first."