Chapter 823: Five, Three, Two
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 823: Five, Three, Two
It wasn’t that he actually reeked of booze. Encrid pulled himself together. He had fallen asleep while drinking, but he had seen and heard everything.
His memory hadn't failed him; he remembered every last detail. Everyone had simply passed out after their drunken antics, and nothing else had happened.
Rem had howled like a wolf, crying out, "Ayul!"
Sachsen, watching him, had thrown a dagger, muttering, "Pure love doesn't suit you. Just die."
Ragna had bolted upright from his sleep, shouting that it wasn't heat, but a blade. Meanwhile, Audin had started singing, "Lord, Lord, Lord," making it abundantly clear why he didn't use holy spears or chants as his primary strength.
His voice was booming, but he was completely off-key.
When he sang softly, he seemed to manage to stay on pitch. Was that the result of effort—or rather, effooort?
Is singing a talent?
The thought suddenly crossed his mind.
Who had said that? Nurat's face came to mind, followed by the fleeting image of someone now forgotten.
Right.
Squad Leader Garret?
Garret Gairo—that was his name. He was a man with a great talent for singing who had retired from the military to live as a bard.
Since then, news of him would drift in from time to time. He had composed songs like Knight of Demonic Charm and Heartbreaker, though the consensus was that his songwriting talent wasn't quite as impressive as his voice.
Whenever Krais felt anxious, he would feel pressured, and to relieve that pressure, he would chatter.
This was a snippet of that chatter.
"Don't you remember Garret Gairo? He's actually gotten quite famous lately."
"Who was that again?"
It was too much to ask a man who repeated the same day to remember every passing acquaintance.
"Sometimes you seem a bit dense."
Encrid flicked the forehead of the muttering Krais.
"Ow! My head's going to split!"
"So what?"
"No, I'm just saying."
Garret had become famous for his singing, but he was supposedly struggling because he lacked the talent to compose. Krais had mentioned receiving a letter from Nurat, Garret's lover and guard.
"Your thoughts are long."
At the Ferryman's words, Encrid raised his head. It was strange. This was a world of dreams, a mindscape. To be distracted in such a place was unusual.
And once again, today's Ferryman was remarkably kind and gentle. Even when Encrid fell into idle thoughts, the Ferryman simply stood in his place, waiting.
"What brings you here?" Encrid asked.
The Ferryman wasn't the type of entity to summon him just to chat without a purpose.
"Look."
Without warning, the Ferryman extended the hand that wasn't holding the lamp. In that hand, a long polearm had suddenly appeared. It was a pitch-black shaft with a pulsing purple glow flowing through it.
Encrid wondered what it was, but reflexively took a stance. Before he knew it, a sword identical in shape to Dawn was in his own hand.
Whoosh!
The spear lunged forward. A spear was a polearm—a weapon far more advantageous than a sword when fighting at a distance.
Imperceptibly, the ferryboat had widened, offering ample room to move. The wooden planks forming the deck felt harder than marble.
He raised his sword and deflected the spearhead. Ting! Deflecting the force of the incoming thrust created an opening. If he slipped inside that gap, he would be within a swordsman's range.
It was a simple train of thought, but all of this happened through intuition, not calculation. The moment he deflected the spearhead with the flat of his blade, he ducked and lunged forward.
Then, Encrid saw the opposite end of the spear shaft whip upward.
If that hits, I die.
Because he had anticipated it this time, he was able to brake his momentum, pull back his sword, and swing.
Clang!
A crisp metallic ring erupted as the spear shaft met the blade. With that sound, the exchange of offense and defense ended, and the spar ground to a halt.
The Ferryman had already retreated far back, a distance of over ten paces. Yet, his voice carried with absolute clarity.
"It is a Killing Strike," the Ferryman said.
Understanding the meaning wasn't difficult. There were several similar techniques in swordsmanship. To break down its principles, the first was armor-breaking—crushing those clad in plate. In terms of technique, it meant targeting the unarmored areas.
Just like the spear shaft that aimed for my neck a moment ago.
Even if one targeted the armor, it meant swinging with enough physical strength to shatter the parts left unprotected by it.
The second principle was attacking with a part of the weapon other than the blade. This meant that an attack usually reliant on the edge transformed into a different shape. In other words, it became a lethal, unexpected method.
A technique to decide the match in a single instant.
It was similar to Pel's style. It shared the characteristic of deciding the outcome in a single blow. And in the sense that the spearhead was a feint while the subsequent strike with the shaft was the real threat, it was also an attack that utilized psychological tricks.
"Be faithful to the basics, but do not measure your opponent."
The moment he heard it, Encrid chewed over the meaning of the words. The Ferryman taught, and Encrid lowered his sword, listening intently. It was something born of experience, or perhaps realized through dying.
Before he knew it, the sword in his hand vanished, and the spear the Ferryman held dispersed like smoke.
"Is it enjoyable?" the Ferryman asked.
Encrid showed his empty hands, hinting at whether they could spar once more. "I think it would be even more enjoyable if we did it a few more times."
Instead of granting Encrid's wish, the Ferryman said, "It is said that if you know your opponent's desires and fears, you can know them."
The purple lamp was still. Today, even the river rippled less than usual. The ferryboat was just that quiet. Even when they were swinging the spear and sword earlier, it felt as though the steel ferryboat had been placed on solid ground.
As Encrid stared blankly, the Ferryman spoke again.
"Do you wish to know the desires of the demons?"
The moment he heard it, he knew. It was an offer. A temptation.
"I shall tell you their fears."
The Ferryman did not stop there. He continued.
"Furthermore, you will be able to have such enjoyable dreams every single day."
It was a declaration that he would give a man obsessed with technique, swordsmanship, sparring, and training exactly what he loved most. On top of that, he would reveal the identity of the enemy shrouded in mystery.
Of course, this wasn't an offer made without conditions. The Ferryman always wanted something in return.
"Repeat the day you just spent. Ten times will do. It is simple. Say right now that you wish to die immediately. That is all. For the remaining nine times, you only need to commit suicide before the day ends. It is not a difficult task."
He had died in so many different ways by now. A few suicides were nothing to Encrid. Indeed, it was not a difficult task.
Yet, Encrid did not easily open his mouth. Though the ferryboat was quiet and the river was calmer than ever, his stomach somehow still felt uneasy. Silence settled between the two. The dry lips of the Ferryman, reminiscent of a wasteland that hadn't seen rain in months, parted once more.
"Five times?"
The number had decreased.
Encrid knew what the Ferryman wanted. He wanted a day that wasn't dark, a peaceful day without thunder and lightning. In urging him to repeat that day, his desire was singular.
The Ferryman desired peace.
Go forth as if you have never died.
This was likely a different Ferryman from the one who had uttered those words. Yet, what they desired was always the same.
Well, perhaps each Ferryman was slightly different? Encrid knew he couldn't know everything, and he didn't even bother trying to understand such things.
"Do you think that's possible?" Only then did he open his mouth to ask back.
"How about three times?"
Encrid knew that today was precious because it would never return. He knew that even if he were granted some magic to arbitrarily repeat today, he wouldn't do it.
Because he had to move toward tomorrow.
Though he used repeating today through death as an opportunity, he must not grow complacent. There was no shaking his steadfast conviction.
"Twice?"
The number the Ferryman wanted had shrunk even further, but Encrid did not yield.
"You will regret this."
In the end, a curse slipped out.
"Aren't you tired of saying that?"
The Ferryman realized he had repeated similar threats before.
"……You will truly regret this."
It seemed this particular Ferryman was somewhat lacking in vocabulary.
Encrid opened his eyes. The others, who had been sprawled out drunk, were waking up one by one.
"Why am I here?" Ropode blinked, looking at his clothes and boots, which he had taken off and neatly folded.
"What kind of alcohol did you bring?" Sachsen chimed in. He looked at Rem with drowsy eyes. Sachsen was no stranger to alcohol, yet even he couldn't handle what they had drunk last night.
"Ah, I don't know, you bastard. Anne said she was making some alcohol that doesn't build up a tolerance in the body but gets you drunk instantly."
"That's medicine, not alcohol."
Anne, who had arrived early in the morning, joined the conversation. "I wondered what you were going to do with it. I told you, didn't I? That's for people whose daily lives are ruined by alcohol to drink a little bit of every day."
Anne's scope of research was broad. Recently, the wealth of the Border Guard had given birth to leisure, and that leisure had led to various hobbies. Some of them had developed physical issues due to excessive drinking. Upon discovering this, a man who dreamed of running a salon envisioned an alcohol that would get people drunk but put less strain on the body.
After all, he couldn't just sell tea at a salon.
Is there an alcohol that gets you drunk but reduces the strain on the body?
That had been the request. In other words, the alcohol they drank yesterday was the result of research funded by Krais's own pocket. It meant Rem and Krais had worked hand in hand to make it happen. It was to test the taste and see just how strong it was.
"We'll be fine once we sweat it out," Encrid said.
He had opened his eyes later than yesterday, but he moved his body without making a big deal out of it. Though he lived the same way every day, such consistency wasn't always identical. There were days when he skipped training. Encrid knew that was fine, as long as his persistent efforts never stopped.
"Well, you certainly drank a lot."
Anne's eyes sparkled. Ample proof of the outstanding efficacy of the alcohol—or medicine—she had made lay scattered before her. A knight got drunk, Frok got drunk, an elf got drunk, and even a half-giant had also gotten drunk.
Teresa woke up wearing only tight undergarments and began gathering her clothes. Ropode stared blankly at her. He wasn't the only one who had slept naked.
"Indeed. We'll feel better once we sweat it out."
Pel, as always, agreed with Encrid's words.
* * *
No matter what the Mad Knights did, Rem's Assault Squad went about their daily routine. It was a patrol along the foothills of the Pen-Hanil Mountains, which doubled as training.
There were areas they were responsible for along the foothills and the paths connecting the mountains to the city, and there were also areas assigned to the ten-man sword squad under Ragna. Naturally, there were also areas managed by the Holy Infantry.
Among them, Rem's Assault Squad patrolled the deepest part. Was it because they wanted to? Not a chance.
"Our squad takes the deepest part. No objections. Anyone who had one has already had their head split open by an axe, so they don't exist."
Rem didn't explain. He merely requested and wished politely. Of course, it was politeness, Rem-style. The advantage was that his psychological makeup wasn't complicated. He never spoke in circles.
He just hates losing.
They liked that about him, too. If they were going to do it, they had to be the best. Perhaps this simple way of thinking didn't stem from Rem himself, but rather because they had gathered people like that in the first place.
The number of men in Rem's Assault Squad exceeded a hundred. If you counted the reserves and trainees, it was over a hundred and fifty. And among them, there were some who truly deserved to be called the Remsault Unit.
In the Border Guard, they were sometimes called Rem's personal guard, while within the Assault Squad, they were simply referred to as the 1st Unit. There were slightly over twenty members, and every single one of them was someone who could keep up with the training Rem demanded. Moreover, several of them were from the West.
It was because they had followed Rem from the start, or because wanderers from the West had joined them. Naturally, they never belittled or fought each other over their origins. Their training was far too grueling for that. It was hard enough to forge camaraderie where none had existed.
To them, the Assault Squad was their brotherhood and family. Race or origin didn't matter. Those twenty had banded together and were currently scouring and rummaging through various parts of the mountains.
These damn mountains would become a headache if they didn't periodically clear out the monsters and demonic beasts. This was a patrol and live-combat training for that very purpose.
"Hey, have you ever seen anything like that?" one of the squad members asked. He was a fellow whose habit was twitching his eyebrows.
A warrior from the West raised his axe. "As if it wasn't hot enough already."
It was summer. Inside the mountains, it was damp and hot. Sticky sweat was pouring down. Amidst all this, a monster had appeared, its entire body made of flames. It looked like a clump of blazing firewood.
It had three legs and two heads. It was an Aberration.
"Never seen that one before."
Though they all lived like brothers, a chain of command naturally existed. Usually, a warrior recognized by Rem was the commander. His recognition meant surviving without being beaten to death by Rem's axe.
A former mercenary with a long scar near his eye, currently the commander of the Remsault Unit, spoke. "Ah, whatever. Kill it."
Would they run away just because it was a monster they had never seen before? Rem's Assault Squad didn't do that. One of the squad members reacted to those words and threw a hand axe.
The forged steel axe pierced through the monster's body.
Pop!
The flames dispersed in a circle before gathering back together. And this time, it grew an extra leg, while one of its heads became half-crushed.
Whoosh!
As the creature opened its intact mouth, flames erupted in front of it. The fire, stretching about two spans long, scorched the surrounding grass. Though the damp weather meant a forest fire wouldn't easily break out, the heat was intense.
"It's not working," said the brother who had thrown the hand axe.
It was a monster against which ordinary weapons—weapons refined from iron—had no effect. And it breathed fire, to boot.