Chapter 733: You Can't Gather Yesterday's Spilled Water Today
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 733: You Can't Gather Yesterday's Spilled Water Today
Years of training had ingrained habits into his very soul; he could sense a presence even in his sleep, so there was no real danger in the wilderness.
Besides, being left alone was no reason to get depressed. He didn't even have the luxury of feeling lonely.
The sword.
If anything, the silence and stillness provided the perfect opportunity to organize his swordsmanship and settle his thoughts.
Had he not learned so much in such a short time?
Recently, everything from Imperial swordsmanship to the sheer, overwhelming presence of the Imperial knight Balmung had been a masterclass.
An Imperial knight.
Encrid had spent his time dissecting Balmung, observing him with meticulous care.
With his eyes, he mapped the contours of the man's developed muscles; with his ears, he tracked the rhythm of his movements and the cadence of his breathing. He mobilized every sense to grasp the man's true essence.
What kind of experiences had Balmung accumulated? How would he strike in a life-or-death struggle?
If Tempest Zaun was a greatsword and Alexandra was a piercing thorn...
Balmung is like a man forged from a sword, a spear, and a club all at once.
The image that manifested in Encrid's mind was a spearhead, an axe, a sword, and a spiked club all protruding from between a wall of shields. In the mottled shadows between those shields, a single eye seemed to peer out, cold and watchful.
He is a master of hiding himself while thrusting his blade forward.
Superficially, he only carried a club, but he likely had a dozen hidden weapons tucked away.
Was he insidious? Rather than insidious, it was more accurate to view him through the lens of his own introduction:
I do whatever it takes to win.
Should Encrid face him with a tactical sword? With just that?
There was no chance of victory if he fought under self-imposed limits. It was a human who wielded swordsmanship, after all. Restricting oneself to a single technique was the height of folly. In a real fight, one couldn't afford to be picky.
It was just like when he had cut down that bastard Gelt—or whatever his name was—by blending Flash with the Sword of Chance.
To face Balmung, he would have to use every tool in his arsenal. Even then, the outcome would be impossible to predict.
Encrid found a suitable cave and settled in. He didn't light a fire; instead, he found some strongly scented berries nearby, crushed them, and rubbed the pulp over his body. It was a common trick known to any pathfinder or mercenary traveling alone. Masking his body odor made it easier to avoid demonic beasts and monsters with keen senses of smell. It was even better if there were traces of animal droppings nearby.
If monsters or demonic beasts were rampant in an area, normal animals would find it hard to roam. Thus, the presence of droppings meant it was a relatively safe zone. Since the Pen-Hanil Mountains were teeming with monsters, the boundaries of their territories were actually quite distinct. Otherwise, no normal beasts would survive, and the place would be crawling with nothing but monsters—making it no different from a Demon Realm.
While the heart of the Pen-Hanil Mountains was said to resemble a Demon Realm, most of the range did not. Monsters, demonic beasts, and wild animals coexisted there, which meant their territories had to be clearly defined.
Even so, if one was unlucky, they could end up as a monster's meal—but that wouldn't happen to Encrid. Only the unlucky monsters and demonic beasts would end up dead.
He wasn't in a rush, so there was no reason to sprint to the Border Guard via the shortest route. He wasn't intentionally dawdling, either; Encrid simply followed his whims. Believing he still had time to spare, he spent his hours inside the cave pondering, reflecting on what he had learned and practiced.
He sliced the air with the edge of his hand and twisted his body this way and that, refining his stances. Reflecting on the various techniques Balmung had shown him was also a valuable study. The more experience one accumulated, the greater their strength became.
Of course, I must be careful not to pick up bad habits.
Once a warrior reached the level of a knight, their physical control was extraordinary, so the chances of developing strange habits were slim.
Whenever he felt drowsy, he slept in short, broken intervals. He didn't feel particularly fatigued, though some travel weariness was bound to accumulate.
I'm in good enough shape to fight right now.
Thus passed the night of the day he parted with Balmung. It was a night when two moons hung bright and high, and the starlight twinkled fiercely as if refusing to be outshone. Using the nocturnal cries, the chirping of insects, and the rustling of leaves—the common lullabies of a summer night—he closed his eyes for a deeper sleep.
In that moment, Encrid realized he was standing on the gunwale of a boat. It was the Ferryman's invitation.
Above the black river, the Ferryman, holding a purple lamp, stared at him.
Was it the same as any other day? No, there were differences. His face was visible with greater clarity than ever before. His skin was cracked like a gray wasteland, and his face seemed longer, more gaunt. His pitch-black eyeballs revealed nothing, and the same went for his mouth. His tongue was purple, and the inside of his throat was a pitch-black darkness like an abyss.
It was the kind of sight that triggered humanity's primal fear—the fear of a deep, dark pond where one might lose their sense of direction and drown. The Ferryman's mouth looked exactly like that. He had always possessed such qualities, but today they were even more pronounced.
The Ferryman spoke, feigning a kind and gentle tone.
"Welcome."
The kindness was a facade. Encrid's sharp intuition picked up on it immediately, though he couldn't understand why the Ferryman was acting this way. Until now, hadn't he told Encrid to save Anne and protect this "fortunate today"?
Encrid had never felt any genuine goodwill from him, but today was different.
What is different?
A black shadow stretched out long behind the Ferryman. The shadow, which usually went unnoticed, was vast and wide. If one were to name that shadow "malice," it would fit perfectly.
Yes, today's Ferryman was filled with malice. The corners of his mouth curled upward, revealing pitch-black darkness instead of gums. Unlike usual, the black river was dead silent. It was as if even the water was terrified of the malice the Ferryman exuded, walking on eggshells.
"Your hospitality is excessive."
"If I do not welcome you, whom would I welcome? In this darkness of the abyss, there is only one thing that brings joy."
He spoke with that same frozen, smiling face.
"And what is that joyful thing?"
"Repeating a today filled with pleasure, ecstasy, delight, rapture, joy, and bliss."
Encrid didn't sense any baseness in the Ferryman's words. Instead, he saw obsession. Where did that obsession stem from? Wants and desires. The Ferryman was not human, but his way of thinking was not much different.
If you want to know someone deeply, you must know what they desire.
He recalled the realization he had gained from observing Hescal. Today's Ferryman was full of malice. And the reason that malice was showing...
Because he is revealing his true colors.
He was a frank and honest Ferryman. He was openly displaying the inner thoughts he had previously only hinted at. His words were thrown out with a heart full of such pure, dark intent. To repeat a today steeped in pleasure—that was what the Ferryman desired.
"What would have happened if you failed to protect Anne?"
The corners of his mouth, filled with malice, curled up in a twisted grin. Fine dust crumbled from the cracks in his gray, wasteland-like skin.
"You would have repeated a today accompanied only by sickness, suffering, and pain. That wouldn't have been bad either. Yes, not bad at all—but was that the end you desired?"
The Ferryman asked again. Encrid stared back at him without answering.
"Such a day will come eventually. A single misstep at a crossroads will bring about an irreversible time."
The Ferryman was no prophet; Encrid already knew this. Yet, the words the Ferryman spoke felt as though they would inevitably come true.
"Behold."
The Ferryman showed him things that had not happened—a today he had not yet faced. There, he saw himself dying of disease.
"If you said you enjoy any fight, you should have lived up to it."
Ragna's eyes sank as he looked at the dying Encrid. Beside him lay Anne's corpse. The surroundings were blurry, but one thing was certain: in that vision, he would be repeating today with pain as his only companion. With no one to cure him, he would only relive an eternal death.
The Ferryman's voice sounded like fingers gouging into a crack.
"I helped you."
The fingers he thrust out soon became dozens of daggers, reaching all the way to Encrid's heart. At every moment of choice, the Ferryman had intervened. He had warned Encrid before the monsters targeted Anne, and he had uttered helpful words before Encrid faced the battlefield.
Was this the truth? That wasn't what mattered. The Ferryman was stimulating the fear that any human would naturally possess. A single mistake, and he would be trapped in a horrific today.
Time that has passed does not return. You cannot gather yesterday's spilled water today.
Encrid cast his eyes down, unable to speak. To the Ferryman, this was only natural. A person forced to confront a fear they had intentionally ignored would find their thoughts grinding to a halt. All the Ferryman had to do was insert his own desires into that gap.
"Sit at the gambling table. I will make you win."
"Embrace a woman. Fall into a rapture like nothing else in this world."
"Take the drug. Feel the pleasure coursing through your entire body."
"You like the sword? Swing it. Do you want to cut down anything and everything? Do so. Do whatever you want. I will help you."
With the corners of his mouth curled up, the Ferryman engraved his own will into the void created by fear.
"Live steeped in pleasure within that today."
The Ferryman desired it. A today of pleasure, ecstasy, delight, rapture, joy, and bliss. A pleasure that filled one instantly. Thus, the primal fear inherent to humanity weighed heavily upon Encrid's entire body.
Protect Anne.
Everything the Ferryman had said turned on its head, transforming into a looming dread. He must have orchestrated everything for this single moment. Telling him to save Anne, helping Encrid—all of it had been part of a plan to make the stakes unbearable.
A single mistake on his part, and everyone around him would die. That today could never be undone.
Yes, he admitted it. It was fatal. Fear was consuming his entire body. It wouldn't be surprising if he broke down right here. Human willpower is not infinite; it is bound to wear down. Trapping a person with fear like this, and forcing them down a single path...
Encrid felt dread too. He was only human, after all.
But fear and dread are most terrifying the first time. The more they are repeated, the more bearable they become. Fear is likely one of the most powerful emotions that drive humanity—even more so if pleasure awaits on the flip side.
And now, Encrid distinguished between what the Ferryman could and could not do.
The Ferryman can see the present and infer the future, but he cannot know the past.
If the Ferryman knew his past, he wouldn't have resorted to such cheap tricks to shake his mind using fear. This bizarre fellow with his purple lamp didn't know who Encrid was before the today began repeating.
Encrid recalled his past. Those he had lost because he lacked the strength. Those he had failed to protect with his own hands. The times that had gone awry because of a single choice. Things he had already experienced over and over again.
"If I stop here, everything I've done up until now becomes meaningless."
As he spoke, the Ferryman's expression contorted. It was a face filled with irritation rather than a smile. Soon, the lamp shook, and the river began to churn.
"...You will regret this."
"I do that every day."
A brief silence followed. The Ferryman's face remained unchanged, yet somehow it felt as though he was scowling deeply. Then, Encrid felt his body float upward. And though it felt like part of a dream, he heard several strange voices.
"Well done."
"Brat."
"That's right."
"This is what I'm talking about. This is why you bet gold coins on the high odds."
"Look at that bastard's face."
A chorus of snickers and cackles mixed in as well. It was a chaotic mess.
So damn noisy.
Encrid woke up with that thought. Escaping the voices that might have been auditory hallucinations or a dream, he opened his eyes to look around. It was still a pitch-black night. There were no sounds of monsters or demonic beasts. He hadn't woken up due to any threat or intuition.
Encrid wiped his eyes.
Thank goodness.
It seemed he had shed a few tears in his sleep. If he had done this back at the barracks, Rem and the others would have dubbed him the "Tearful Squad Leader." And then Krais would have spread it far and wide. They really were a bunch of lunatics.
Encrid closed his eyes for a bit longer, then stood up around sunrise. He gauged his direction by the rising sun and began to walk. Rather than heading in a straight line toward the Border Guard, he took a detour, seeking a relatively easier path.
Then, he discovered something unexpected.
It was a trace of human passage. The direction of the crushed grass among the bushes and a faint, lingering scent betrayed their presence. This was near the mountain range dividing the Empire and the continent. It was not a place where humans were meant to live.
Then what was this? Traces of a hunter? It was too deep in the mountains for that. A hunter's goal was to hunt, not to commit suicide; they wouldn't venture this far.
He wouldn't be human if he didn't feel curious.
Encrid followed the trail—one that would have been difficult for anyone but him to find, discovered only through a mix of chance and luck. In this manner, he found a village.
The moment he saw it, he knew exactly what it was.
A village of hermits.
The continent's structure made it impossible for small villages to exist. Because monsters and demonic beasts ran rampant, humans huddled together in fortified cities. Yet, occasionally, there were those who failed to adapt to city life and wandered off. Those who couldn't cope with a lord's exploitation, those who were framed, or those who had committed actual crimes.
Where were such people supposed to live? They lived in hiding to survive. Since they also had to avoid monsters and demonic beasts, they resorted to all kinds of desperate measures.
The traces he saw now belonged to such a village. A brief scan showed that they utilized the natural terrain and dug traps to prevent the approach of predators.
And that's not all. They must have also exploited the territorial boundaries of the monsters.
It was a familiar sight to Encrid. After all, the village he grew up in was just like this.