Chapter 792: This'll Be Fun
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 792: This'll Be Fun
"You're here," Encrid said.
"You blocked it, Brother."
Their voices overlapped. The moment Encrid saw the Balrog's kick coming, he had crossed his arms in an X-block. He hadn't just taken the hit; he had actively resisted the Balrog's crushing pressure in real-time.
Naturally, it was Audin who caught Encrid as he was sent skidding back.
A wave of warmth radiated from the hand supporting his back—Audin was already channeling his divine power.
"I'm not hurt," Encrid repeated.
"So it seems. What kind of fun are you having after ditching us?"
Rem's voice chimed in from behind Audin. Encrid caught an unfamiliar nuance in Rem's speech.
‘Us?’
Had Rem always been the type to use a word like that?
He had probably said it without thinking. It felt incredibly awkward when remembering their early days in the Troublemaker Squad, but things were different now. They had spent enough time together that the word "us" actually fit them quite well.
Beside Rem, Ragna stood with his usual expressionless mask, while Sachsen narrowed his eyes, letting his arms hang loose at his sides.
Sachsen was likely sizing up the opponent. Knowing this was no ordinary foe, he didn't make a reckless move.
That was their battle stance. Everyone, including Rem—and especially Audin, whose hands glowed with a faint, holy light—kept their eyes locked forward.
Even by standards other than Sachsen’s, the presence before them was bone-chilling.
The flames of the campfire flickered as if alive, stretching out until they touched what had been Oara's shadow. The fire circled the edge of the darkness, and from within, claws, horns, a head, and a chest studded with black crystals coalesced into a physical form.
It was like a crouching bear rearing up to its full, terrifying height.
Although it wasn't in the Balrog's memory from just a moment ago, Encrid remembered a peculiar detail. Using Audin's supporting hand as leverage, he stood up straight and asked, "Binding me with intimidation and striking immediately?"
Normally, the Balrog only used his pressure to test an opponent’s mettle, but this time he had launched a direct attack. It was a departure from his usual pattern.
—You throw questions at me right off the bat, mortal.
The Balrog was remarkably quick-witted. He easily grasped the intent behind the sudden question. Of course, Encrid knew his opponent would understand. After all, it was a face he had seen so often he had almost grown fond of it.
He could practically read the demon's mood just by looking at him. Then again, the Balrog's expressions were fairly simple and straightforward; reading him wasn't exactly a difficult task.
"I tend to do that when I'm curious."
Their conversation was bizarre. One side—the human—spoke as if he knew his opponent intimately, while the other—the Demon of Struggle—maintained a distant, predatory curiosity. Neither of them cared about the oddity of the exchange.
"You two seem close."
Sachsen's words grew clipped whenever he was annoyed. Just like now.
"Is that so?"
Encrid brushed it off casually. Audin let out a hearty chuckle, his face still wearing a serene smile.
Although Sachsen had chimed in, the others didn't pay much attention to the banter. The moment they saw the figure rising from the shadow, they had all entered a state of absolute combat readiness.
One slip meant death. Their skin tingled with the sheer electricity of the tension.
Anyone too dense to read the atmosphere in this room couldn't even be called a knight. If an ordinary person stepped in here, their heart would stop or their lungs would shrivel. That was the weight of the pressure crushing the room. Though the area had transformed into a Labyrinth resembling the Demon Realm, the quality of the air wouldn't have been any different even if they had met in an open field. The momentum exuded by those gathered here was a weapon in its own right.
Completely unaffected by the collective pressure, the Balrog conveyed his thoughts.
—I came because I was summoned, though I had no expectations. And yet...
He conveyed his will not through vocal cords, but by vibrating the air itself. It was a familiar sensation to Encrid, but to the others, it must have seemed like a bizarre demonic trick. Still, they were skilled enough to grasp the general principle just by watching.
And even if they didn't, they wouldn't care.
As the Balrog spoke, the corners of his mouth curled up, and the flames inside his eyes swirled. Encrid had seen this countless times. It was an expression of ecstasy, amusement, and predatory satisfaction.
Encrid had seen the Balrog smirk like that over and over. Thus, he knew exactly what the demon was about to say. Since he had predicted his opponent's move, there was no reason to hesitate in landing a preemptive strike. Encrid spoke before the Balrog could finish.
"This'll be fun, right?"
Before he knew it, Encrid was wearing the exact same grin. It wasn't intentional. It was a natural expression born from a genuine mixture of anticipation and adrenaline.
Encrid had stolen the Balrog's words. In truth, it wasn't so much stealing as it was a phrase Encrid himself had often uttered in the heat of battle.
—Yes. Those were the very words I was going to say.
The Balrog conveyed his intent. He wasn't shaken in the slightest by the interruption. That was just the kind of creature he was. Regardless, Encrid was satisfied enough to have stayed one step ahead in their exchange.
Grit.
Then, the elf standing right beside Encrid ground her teeth and took a step forward. Encrid had been at the very front, but now she stood ahead of him.
Encrid saw Sinar's back. Though small in stature, her presence in his mindscape was immense. It made sense, considering what that body was capable of. Sinar's resolve was palpable. It wasn't the typical momentum seen in elves, who usually maintained a quiet, detached stance to hide their emotions.
It was incredibly rare for her to step forward with such aggression. They said an elf's intimidation didn't take a physical form, but rather manifested as a scent. It was because elves naturally utilized vital energy instead of raw Will.
A thick, heavy scent of the forest wafted through the air. Enveloped in her own fragrance, the elf spoke.
"Who struck you? Was it him? Tell me. I promise you a blood vengeance."
"Blood" and "vengeance" were not words an elf would normally use. Even Sachsen found it unexpected.
"An elf speaking of blood vengeance?"
"It was something I have always wanted to say," Sinar replied lightly.
She let the tense momentum that had caused her to grind her teeth disperse. For the first time in a long while, she cracked an elven joke that didn't involve her engagement or Encrid.
If anyone wondered why she was joking at a time like this, there was a reason. Encrid understood immediately. Fire and demons—these two elements triggered Sinar's trauma. She needed a way to ease her own suffocating tension.
"But my promise of vengeance is sincere," Sinar added.
Aside from easing her nerves, the current Sinar had completely suppressed her past wounds, doing nothing but glaring at the bastard who had dared to strike Encrid.
‘How dare you lay a hand on him?’
That was exactly what her eyes were screaming.
The stage was set. Encrid had stalled for time from the beginning, hoping they would arrive. These were people who, if he were in danger, would rush to his side even at the cost of their own lives. Preserving his own strength and meeting the enemy with their combined forces was the core of this operation.
They had made a good start.
Rem, Sachsen, Ragna, Audin, Sinar, and himself—six in total now stood facing the Balrog.
He saw Oara, who had rolled to the side, barely lifting her head. Having experienced "today" several times, Encrid knew the mechanics. When the fight began this way, instead of Oara transforming into the Balrog, she would lie sprawled to the side, reduced to a spectator.
As Oara stared in their direction, Encrid looked back at her and spoke calmly. His tone was exactly the same as when he used to tease her.
"Today is the last time."
Resolve, will, conviction, vows—all of these served to temper one's Will. Encrid pushed aside the thought of "today" restarting if he died. He forgot about the Ferryman. He kept only one thing in his mind, distilling his complex thoughts into a single, sharp conclusion.
‘Kill the Balrog.’
This was a battlefield created by expanding concepts through the repetition of "today."
Did he really have to endure all of this alone? What were the limits of being "alone"? Wasn't their help also something he had built up over countless cycles?
If one were to look inside Encrid's head, however, they would find no such philosophical musings. There was only a simple, clear intent.
‘If I can do it, I will.’
With the strength of his comrades, he could grasp victory without having to beg for it. This was a stage built on trust, not calculation.
The corners of Encrid's mouth curled up even further. Thump, thump. His heart hammered against his ribs. His Will surged wildly of its own accord. It would be a lie to say he wasn't looking forward to the carnage.
Indeed, looking at him now, the word "madman" suited Encrid perfectly. Despite dying over and over, he felt no fear. He seemed like a man who existed solely for the sake of the struggle.
Now, who is the God of Battle? he seemed to ask.
Of course, as was the law of the continent, the winner was always the correct answer. Winner and loser; in the end, they would be divided into the living and the dead. It was no different from standing on the razor's edge between life and death.
A human smiling in such a situation was like a single line protruding awkwardly from a perfectly symmetrical drawing. Encrid was exactly that anomaly.
Whoosh.
As if preparing for battle, the burning line tracing the Balrog's silhouette stretched sideways like a snake, transforming into a rigid fire serpent that functioned like a whip. Next, a sword blazing with black flames materialized in his right hand. Black fire erupted from his skin, shaping itself into a blade.
It was a fascinating technique no matter how many times he saw it. The Balrog possessed the ability to store weapons within his own body. Encrid envied nothing else about the demon, but that was one trait he was slightly jealous of.
The Balrog assumed his battle stance. Watching him, Encrid laid out the tactics. There was no time for long deliberations, and even less time to discuss opinions. He spoke briefly and to the point, his words coming out as commands.
"I'll block, Rem throws, and Ragna cuts."
Of course, things wouldn't fall perfectly into place with just that. It wasn't as if the Balrog would just stand by and watch.
*
"Do you plan to memorize every single pattern?"
It was on one of those past "todays." The Ferryman had asked out of the blue. He had likely asked because Encrid's stalling tactics with his three teachers made it look like he was merely observing the Balrog's fighting style.
But could one win simply by memorizing patterns? That was the essence of the Ferryman's question. Even when Encrid partitioned and accelerated his thoughts to stay ahead in combat calculations, the Balrog leisurely shattered the premises of those calculations.
‘A single kick was all it took.’
It was a kick that felt as if a completely new entity had intervened from outside the battlefield. The reason was simple.
‘The Balrog has far more combat experience than I do. Both on the battlefield and in a duel.’
The demon didn't need to run combat calculations; he could fill any gaps with sheer, instinctive experience. He had accumulated eons of it.
What did this imply? Encrid knew that simple calculations could not block all the trajectories created by the Balrog's sword, whip, fists, and feet.
The Ferryman, who had been discussing patterns, conveyed his thoughts as if stating an absolute truth—like saying the sun would rise tomorrow.
"No matter what you do, you will eventually break. Even if you endure and endure, the end is the same. And when that time comes, you won't have a choice."
It was hard to tell whether the entity was trying to help or hinder. To the Ferryman, the future of the man named Encrid looked pitch black. This was true in two ways. First, his future would be incredibly difficult. Second, it was now hard even for the Ferryman to predict what kind of "today" would come next.
Why was his future invisible? It was because the 'record' had already been broken, meaning it could no longer be the subject of a bet. The mere fact that the record was broken had swayed the hearts of several soft-hearted fools.
"Even if you overcome this without begging, what about next time? What if an even worse 'next time' comes? You will break eventually. Even if you regret it then, nothing will change."
Encrid, who had kept silent while pondering how to fight, looked into the Ferryman's empty pupils. He didn't know what answer the Ferryman wanted, but Encrid's response was already decided. It was the upright will he had held firmly since the first time he grasped a sword.
"I'll just think about that when the time comes."
A simple, clear answer. The Ferryman was left speechless.
Just because you don't know what the future holds, do you refuse to sleep or open your eyes in the morning? The future is always a variable. No one knows how that variable will play out. Even the Ferryman didn't know. That was probably why he acted this way.
"If you're scared, just sit back and watch," Encrid spoke half-jokingly.
The Ferryman, unwilling to show his fear, was once again left momentarily silent.
"Arrogant bastard," he merely muttered.
Encrid was always the same. He simply did his best with what was right in front of him. He focused on what was within reach, what he could do, and what he had to do right now.
If he didn't do his best now, his future self would also live just an ordinary life. If he wanted to live like that, he would have stayed in a mediocre "today" long ago. He enjoyed the present. There was no one who lived more for the day than him.
Even within the vast boundaries of the Ferryman's experience, Encrid was the very first of his kind.