Chapter 799: That Swordsmanship
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 799: That Swordsmanship
He spoke with a grin that bared his teeth, his thick, powerful forearms on full display.
“I’ve never lost.”
Raaargh—!
Even on horseback, one would have to crane their neck back to look up at the giants lined up opposite the blonde man.
The monstrous roar of the one who stepped forward shook the very air, making the fine hairs on the man's skin stand on end.
Giants? No, they were similar, yet fundamentally different. They had yellow or red skin and wielded massive, spiked clubs.
The one who had roared was clad in iron from head to toe. It resembled a knight’s heavy plate armor, though the craftsmanship was crude and primitive.
Yet, despite the rough armor, the sheer presence radiating from the massive bulk within was the real deal.
Just looking at it was enough to make one’s head spin. Even so, the man remained nonchalant. He even snorted, his voice dripping with confidence.
“I told you. I don’t lose.”
Their numbers were few. Their individual strength was lacking. That was the cold reality. Yet, the man was always brimming with certainty. He had to be.
As the leader of the group, he had to possess an unyielding will. If his mind crumbled first, the entire unit would shatter.
“Watch.”
He stepped forward to face the mutated giant. Though Encrid did not know it at the time, it was a Jotun—a specific type of giant monster.
While they shared a similar appearance, they were an entirely different species from the true Giants, who were recognized as one of the intelligent races.
Some scholars occasionally debated whether Giants could truly be considered "intelligent," but even so, they were not to be compared to these giant-type monsters.
This wasn't just a nickname like "red-blooded demonic beast"; these were genuine, mindless monsters.
The man fought fiercely and won. His blonde hair was soaked in blood and his arm was shattered, but he successfully severed the giant’s neck.
“I don’t lose.”
Confidence—no, a glimpse of the anxiety hidden beneath it flickered in his eyes. He plunged his sword into the giant’s heart and roared toward the heavens.
Aaaaargh—!
The cry of victory echoed across the battlefield.
*
“I’ve never seen anyone improve as fast as you.”
“Because I’m a genius.”
Because the man possessed such outstanding talent, his life appeared to others like a shining star.
At least, that was how it seemed to everyone else. No matter how steep the cliff, he could climb it by repeating "today" over and over again.
When everyone else gave up, he alone swung his sword to turn the tide of the battlefield.
He fought giant wolf demonic beasts, he fought massed monstrosities formed from hordes of Draugr, and he kept fighting to win a tomorrow that never seemed to come.
He endured and endured.
And then, one by one, he sent away those who stood by his side. On the outside, the man seemed perfectly fine.
There was a "today" that he repeated to protect someone. There were days he achieved his goal, and days he did not.
Encrid watched it all.
‘Let’s fight as if this were the first time.’
The man repeated his resolve like a mantra. Every day, he brainwashed himself. And then, his lover died.
She had made love with him during the day and died in the evening. While the man was out fighting, the rear had been raided. That was the moment the man finally broke.
And so, he chose to remain in that "today" forever.
Repeating the same day, he held the woman, loved her, and whispered sweet nothings as if it were always the first time.
“Don’t you have to go to the battlefield?”
“No. What matters to me is this moment.”
If you could only live for one day, what would you do?
Even if he were bound to "today" for eternity, he would give up anything to be with this woman.
That was the very reason he had tried to move forward despite bearing the curse of regression in the first place.
He did not dream of saving the world; he dreamed of a life with her.
“Elena.”
The man was trapped inside "today" with his lover. That was the end of his story.
“Move forward, as if you have never crumbled.”
That was the life this man had once dreamed of. It was his ideal attitude toward life—the state he ultimately wished to achieve.
He did not regret repeating "today" with his lover. However, the version of him that belonged to the battlefield had desired something else.
It was the accumulation of that lingering attachment, regret, remorse, and longing that delivered these words to Encrid.
Encrid knew that what he had heard in the midst of battle was no hallucination.
“Fight as if this were the first time.”
The man who had been floundering in the dream suddenly stared intently at Encrid.
Everything in the city was dyed in shades of gray, and a purple hue washed over the man’s blue eyes.
“You were exactly the image I wanted and hoped to be,” he said. Then, a black robe draped over his shoulders, wrapping around his body.
He was a part of the Ferryman.
“We likely won’t meet again, but move forward, Encrid.”
A part of the Ferryman was cheering for him. Even in the dream, his desperate sincerity was palpable.
The moth, trapped on a ferryboat after its repeated "today" had ended, wished to find a flame and burn itself out at any moment.
He wished to vanish from this world just like Elena. Since she was gone, he wished to die as well.
Yet, his entire existence remained trapped upon the ferryboat.
“But still... let’s meet again.”
With those final words, sprays of water rushed in from all directions, filling the surroundings with black river water. Before he knew it, a ferryboat appeared beneath his feet, keeping him afloat.
On that boat stood the Ferryman, holding a lamp. Black voids took the place of his eyes, and the backs of his hands, exposed beneath the robe, resembled a gray wasteland.
Encrid locked eyes with those black pupils.
No words were spoken. However, he could tell that the entity known as the Ferryman was not a single being. He had realized that long ago.
The Ferryman was not one; they were a collective of prisoners and jailers who had ultimately succumbed to and been trapped by "today."
*
Encrid woke from the dream and fell into deep thought.
“Did you have a nightmare?”
Rem, who had woken up at some point, asked. Encrid did not answer, appearing entirely absorbed in his own mind.
“Did you dream of something shitty?”
“Not really.”
Only then did an answer come.
Had the story of the blonde knight and his lover struck a chord in his heart? Was it that lingering melancholy that clings to you after waking from a gloomy dream?
It was not.
That swordsmanship.
Encrid was completely immersed in the swordsmanship the blonde man had shown in the dream. The man had frequently fought opponents much larger than himself.
A historian might have called it the Era of Giant Beasts, but Encrid was no historian, so he didn't know the name.
He did, however, know one thing.
Swordsmanship forged through fighting opponents several times larger than a human.
He focused on the techniques. He memorized every single move the blonde man had displayed.
Setting aside his physical talents, his memory had always been exceptional. Moreover, he had now risen to the rank of Knight and was in the process of creating his own swordsmanship.
In Encrid’s eyes, the core of the techniques and the method of their execution became clear all at once.
If he chewed on it over and over, he would be able to sublimate it into a truly formidable style.
If the Ferryman could read his thoughts—especially the blonde Ferryman—he would have felt quite bizarre.
‘Swordsmanship, not my love story with Elena? Even in that moment, you're thinking about swordsmanship? Again? This guy is a real lunatic.’
He likely would have said something like that.
“No training. Absolutely not. Stop, hold it right there,” Rem chattered from beside him.
No matter how crazy he was about training, with his body in this state, rest came first. Encrid had no intention of training yet.
However, his quiet contemplation looked to Rem like he was debating whether to go out and swing a sword.
And somehow, the way Rem tried to stop him grated on his ears.
“Am I a dog?”
“A dog in heat and a captain crazy for training are synonyms.”
Encrid thought it wouldn’t be too difficult to smack Rem’s head using only his feet, but he refrained.
For one, it was true that he shouldn’t overexert himself. Rem was also in a state where even a minor impact would make him cough up blood.
When asked what on earth he had done to himself, Rem had given a bizarre answer.
“I was planning to kill that horned idiot who supposedly had wanderlust. That’s all.”
He spoke with a laugh, but it was a smile meant to hide his pain. Encrid, suddenly recalling Elena and the blonde man from his dream, spoke.
“Don’t do anything that would make Ayul sad.”
“Hey, don’t meddle in other people’s family affairs.”
After that, the group spent their time sleeping and eating like the dead. On the morning of the second day—exactly forty-eight hours after the battle ended—a troop of soldiers appeared in the distance.
If they were enemies, it would have been incredibly troublesome.
Encrid still couldn’t use his arms, and Audin couldn’t use his divine power freely. Luagarne had only her right arm left and was busy regenerating the rest, so she was completely out of the fight. Roman had also been heavily wounded.
He was being treated for a deep gash on his thigh; if things went slightly wrong, he would be limping for the rest of his life.
“Limping a bit doesn’t mean you can’t be a knight, right?” Roman spat out, as if he had come to terms with it.
Since it was true, Encrid merely nodded.
In any case, the only ones who could fight at all were Ropode, Pel, Teresa, and Encrid. In truth, Encrid shouldn’t have stepped forward either, though he insisted he could fight using only his legs.
The approaching group was not just one faction. A subtle boundary line was drawn between the two forces.
As the clear days continued, the rising sunlight shone as if dividing that boundary. They approached with the light at their backs. From the crowd, two figures detached themselves and rode forward.
Though the residents of the Demon Realm were anxious, they now simply trusted the Order of Madness.
Two people rode forward, and both spoke at the same time.
“Captain?”
“Brother?”
Both were familiar faces.
One was a man who had once been under his command but had now proudly revived a fallen family to become a noble. His name was Andrew Gardner.
The other was someone he had seen in passing—the leader of the Heretic Extermination Priests from the Holy City-State.
“If Krang sent you to strike me down, his head must be broken, so that can't be it. And I assume Pope Noah didn't order you to attack either?”
At Encrid’s question, the two dismounted and nodded as if it were obvious.
“His Majesty the King ordered me to help. He said to ask if there is anything you need.”
“Legion will always stand by your side. Half of it is the Pope’s command, and the other half is because my own heart moved me to come,” the leader of the priests said with a gentle smile.
Neither of them was an enemy.
In truth, Encrid had been worried about leaving the residents of the Demon Realm behind. After making such a fuss about protecting them, he couldn't just sweep the area once and abandon them.
As time passed, it was a given that monsters and demonic beasts would return to this area. As long as the Demon Realm existed, that would always be the case.
His intention to leave Roman behind was to have him protect this city while continuing his training.
Encrid calmly repeated what he had said before to Andrew. He suggested relocating a portion of City of Oara’s forces here and making this land a territory of the Border Guard.
“It is too far from the Border Guard. And it's not as if you are greedy for land. For their protection, His Majesty said he would claim this as Naurilian territory.”
My country, my people.
In the speech of Krang’s that he had heard once before, there was something the king wished to protect. Deciding to make this place Naurilian land meant accepting them as part of the nation, regardless of their appearance.
All of this was because Encrid had wanted it. Of course, Krang’s thoughts ran deeper. It was a strategic point that could exert pressure on the south while occupying a portion of the Demon Realm.
That was what he wanted from this village. Therefore, he also agreed to relocating a portion of City of Oara’s forces.
“We will help.”
In that process, Legion intervened, and Andrew displayed his noble side. In other words, he played politics.
“Let us do so.”
By maintaining a reasonably good relationship with the Heretic Extermination Priests, he forged something akin to an alliance with Legion.
Both Krang and Noah had been warily watching each other. Since there were internal issues, they couldn't openly declare a formal alliance yet. Yet, in their hearts, both felt closer to each other thanks to the focal point that was Encrid.
They intended to start their relationship by protecting this small village together. Andrew had truly become a proper noble now.
“He asked if he could drop by on his way.”
“Krang?”
“Yes.”
At Andrew’s words, Encrid nodded calmly.
They did not speak of whether they had killed the Balrog or not. Thanks to that, no one on the continent knew of the Balrog’s death. However, it was a different story for the demons coiled up inside the Demon Realm.
Furthermore, the Balrog had been playing a certain role in the southern part of the continent, whether he wanted to or not, and that role had now vanished.
Well, Encrid didn't care about such matters. That was a problem for later, and there were plenty of other people to do the thinking for him.
*
It was after Andrew and the leader of the priests joined them.
“How was she?” Roman asked. It was a quiet afternoon, a time dedicated entirely to resting.
“She still smiled as always.”
He conveyed the end of Oara once more.
Roman, who had been the last squire of Oara of the Smiling Face, fell into thought for a moment before nodding. The resolve engraved layer upon layer on his face would not be easily shaken now.
Well, if it did shake, Encrid could just beat him into shape again.
Encrid and his companions rested for another fortnight. Just before they were to leave, Zoraslav, the village chief, came to find them, carrying an object wrapped in a clean cloth.
“Please.”
As a sign of begging them to accept it, he bowed his head deeply and offered the cloth-wrapped bundle.