Chapter 117 - The Left Hand

Running away had never been an option. Even if escape were the only answer.

'There's nowhere to go.'

Besides, he could see a way forward. How could he turn his back on it? The signpost before Encrid posed a question: Could he scale the wall without his right hand? If you had no teeth, you chewed with your gums. Wasn't that how the saying went? The headman of a slash-and-burn farming village had once told him that. He had rather liked it. Without a sword, he would take up a spear. Without a weapon, he would fight with his fists. Without either arm, he would bite. Without legs, he would walk on his knees. 'So.'

Without his right hand, what did he have left? Darkness, the abyss, fear, pain. Things that seized Encrid whenever death came. Yet even in that darkness, he always saw light. "Give up."

It felt as though someone were saying it to him. As though someone were driving him into the worst possible situation. Saying the words himself made it feel all the more so, yet in truth, he was untroubled. Why was that? He didn't know. Encrid was well aware of how he differed from others. How could he not be? He had watched fellow mercenaries who had lived by the sword retire one by one. And there had been others, too. ["I can't do this. With so many monstrous bastards out there, what the hell am I doing with a sword? It's fucking ridiculous."]

He had watched people crumble, envious of others' talent. Encrid envied that talent, too. But envy alone changed nothing. He could not let a single day slip by. Rain or snow, he had to swing his sword one more time. It was the only way he knew. So that was what he did. Was it hard?

It wasn't easy, but neither was each day a swim through a sea of agony. He simply had to do it. So he had. Death was no different. He knew he only had to endure it, so he endured. That was all. 'For now.'

He ought to try a few different things. Hadn't his previous repeated todays taught him?

'There isn't just one path.' Three paths. If he could make use of everything in his way as he repeated today, he would. He knew now that desperate struggle wasn't the only answer, as it had been before. And so he could begin the morning with a smile and a greeting.

"Good morning." Esther stared at him with weary eyes. What was with this human, greeting her so cheerfully first thing in the morning? That was what her gaze seemed to say. "Get some more sleep."

Encrid tucked Esther into the blanket he had been lying under. Normally she would at least have squirmed, but she meekly allowed herself to be bundled inside. Once he had tucked her in, he went outside. "Whew."

He exhaled, then began loosening up with the Isolation Technique. As always, warming up his body set his mind working briskly. ["A sound mind dwells in a strong body, brother."]

When Audin had said that, he had thought it nonsense. Now he was beginning to understand. It really did work that way. The more he trained his body, the clearer his head became. With each drop of sweat, his mind grew sharper and worked faster. His splinted wrist wasn't broken. He had broken it by overstraining it just before his death, but it had returned to its original state. What he gained through training—the conditioning of his muscles, the techniques ingrained in his body—all remained when today repeated. But his injuries did not heal. The damage stayed with him; healing required getting past today. So he couldn't wait for his right wrist to recover and then scale the wall. 'Relax your shoulders.'

Look broadly, and sometimes deeply. Keep thinking, keep searching for the best path. Then follow the path he found. What should his first step be? What else? Finish what he had started. The thing he did every day, over and over. What he had been doing before he died: conditioning and training. The only difference was that he would use his left hand instead of his injured right. "If you're going to watch, tie this first."

At his abrupt remark before beginning, Vengeance came over from where he had been idly watching. "Am I your subordinate? Who are you to order me around?"

Encrid held out his sword, and Vengeance tightened the grip's binding despite his grumbling. Seeing this bastard's head come off had felt fucking awful. So had seeing Esther hurt. The moment he saw the black panther with lakes in her eyes go flying, something like rage had surged through him. If he had to put that feeling into words, it would be damn it, or fuck. 'What have I ever done to make them die in my place?'

The bitterness lingered. Vengeance's severed head and Esther being flung aside rose like afterimages in his mind. 'And why does Esther have to be so weak today, of all days?'

What was that panther normally like? Vicious. A beast that clawed and tore at soldiers' shins and took their lives. A predator that would scramble up and rip out your throat in an instant if you underestimated her size. And yet she had been beaten so helplessly?

'She did seem drained.' In any case, they were risking their lives for him. Encrid decided to do the same. He would stake his life on each stroke of his sword. If he could put that resolve into his training, he would. "You really are mad. When it's time to rest, you should rest."

Vengeance handed back his sword. Encrid took it in his left hand and replied,

"Sorry about Jenny." "... You knew?"

Vengeance ruffled his own hair, then said bluntly,

"I know it wasn't your fault." This bastard really was strange. His moods swung all over the place. He had been so angry when Encrid hadn't understood. Encrid patted his shoulder with his injured hand.

"Somewhere on this continent, there must be a woman who doesn't care about looks."

"... You son of a bitch." Watching Vengeance's face twist made him feel much lighter. Yes, this was the appeal. He understood Rem now. There was a reason the man teased and tormented people. Vengeance retreated, grumbling. Encrid stood with his sword in hand, its point angled skyward from his left hand. What had he experienced in the repeated today, the today in which he had died? He had revisited his past. Refined his foundations. Immersed himself. Lost himself in his own world. It had been bliss. A different kind of joy from before. The pleasure that came only from losing himself entirely in one thing. Having shaken off the lingering afterimages by joking with Vengeance, Encrid immersed himself fully in his own world and relived the experience of the previous today. Repeating and reflecting. This time, even the leather binding around his sword's grip stayed intact. ["It starts with your feet."]

Countless sword instructors had passed through his life. He revisited their teachings. The foundations. Standing before walking, crawling before standing. Back to the basics. Things he had to learn before considering The Oniak Sword Technique. Repetitive drills to make the sword in his hand move as he wished. That was what Encrid practiced. SWISH! WHOOSH, WHUFF.

Fairly sharp sounds mingled with the dull ones. He swung his sword over and over, losing track of time. TWEEEEET!

A whistle sounded a long blast. "Hm?"

Vengeance, who had been watching in a daze for some reason, reacted first.

"What's happening!"

He shouted and turned, and Encrid emerged from the world he had immersed himself in. HISS.

Sensing the change in the air, Esther emerged from the tent and stood beside Encrid. He tapped her head with his fingertips.

"Stay out of it today. You're tired." What was with this human? The words naturally left Esther wondering. He sounded as though he knew she was exhausted today. Had he noticed what she had done to relieve his fatigue yesterday? Of course he hadn't. He knew only through his experience of repeating today. "Captain!"

Krais came running into view, shouting. Encrid planted his sword point firmly in the ground for a moment and considered. Should he switch to his right hand? Would that accomplish anything? The injury wouldn't heal. Death would only return him to the beginning. He would use his left hand. Hadn't he already decided that? There was nothing to agonize over. Encrid wasn't the sort to brood and torment himself in the first place. Remaining trapped in today wasn't an option. Neither was running away. Then all he had to do was find what he could do, and do it. This was it. CLATTER.

He pulled his sword from the ground, scattering a few pebbles, and leveled it ahead. "... I'll have to make an offering at the temple when I get back."

Mitch Hurrier spoke as he appeared, treading over the gravel. Soaking-wet hair, a sword in his hand. A refined stance and a sharp gaze. He was certainly different from before. "What are you babbling about?"

Beside Encrid, Vengeance leveled his spear with a near snarl. Next to him, Esther let out an actual growl—a deep rumble rising from the back of her throat. The sound would have made a timid man's knees buckle, but Mitch Hurrier's steps never faltered. He walked steadily closer without hesitation. "I'll go first."

As Encrid spoke and stepped forward, Krais cried urgently from behind him,

"Captain, your wrist!" Big-eyes seemed thoroughly shaken, too. Enemy soldiers had attacked out of nowhere, and their own men were dropping all around them.

"Aaargh! Agh!"

"Fuck! Stop them!"

"Kill them!" Noise filled the air. Amid the clash of steel, Mitch Hurrier stopped walking. Encrid answered Krais.

"My left hand's fine." What kind of lunacy was that?

Krais's large eyes widened further. He couldn't make any sense of the bullshit his platoon commander was spouting. No one there could. It was more than enough to sound like nonsense. Yet for all his words, Encrid's spirit matched his opponent's. The enemy's presence spread through their surroundings, bearing down on them. Vengeance felt himself shrink. So this was what it meant to overwhelm everyone around you. Even Esther felt the pressure, to say nothing of Krais. They couldn't count on help from the soldiers around them. They knew one wrong turn could mean death. Yet why, even under such pressure, did Encrid's back look so broad? He stood there. Stood before them. Showed them his back. Those few facts seemed to push the pressure away. A spirit to match the enemy's own. Yes, they could almost see it. Mitch Hurrier and Encrid exchanged looks.

"I hoped we'd meet again."

"Because I opened your eyes?" Mitch's brow creased slightly. Unsettling an opponent with words was among the most basic fundamentals of the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique. Having shaken his opponent with knowledge gained from repeating today, Encrid waved his injured right hand as though it meant something. Mitch reflexively moved his sword. After surprising him with words and deceiving him again with his right hand, Encrid drove the sword in his left upward in a stab. The double draw of the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique. His left-handed stab was far from perfect. It didn't satisfy him, either. He had only practiced with it for about two days. CLANG!

Blocked. The clumsy stab was part of it, but more importantly, Mitch Hurrier's skill had improved beyond recognition. In some ways, almost as much as Encrid's had through repeating today. Mitch knocked aside the rising stab with his own sword and stepped forward with his left foot. One fluid movement followed another. His blade traced a smooth arc across Encrid's chest. SCRAAAPE.

Encrid reflexively retreated, and his leather armor withstood Mitch's blade once. But that was its limit. HISSS!

Esther tried to leap in from behind him again.

"You crazy bastard!"

Vengeance exploded in anger.

"Captain!"

Krais shouted. None of it affected Mitch Hurrier. Whatever anyone said, he did what he had to do. As though he had anticipated Encrid's retreat, he switched his leading and trailing feet, closed the distance, and stabbed. SHUNK!

"What about your right hand?"

Mitch asked with his sword still buried in him. Encrid raised his right hand to show him. Splinted. Injured. "Mm."

Crimson blood spilled from Encrid's mouth as he tried to answer.

"You were unlucky." CRRUNCH.

The blade came free. A man with a split heart could not live. After that, Krais said something, Vengeance lunged in, and Esther lunged in too. Honestly, why did they keep doing that? Following it all, Encrid met the darkness of the abyss along with the pain. Death had come again. Then he opened his eyes and resumed his left-handed training. Some days, he devoted himself quietly to practice. Other days,

"Jenny was a woman with good taste."

"... Do you want me to kill you?"

He teased Vengeance for no reason. He repeated today a dozen or so times that way. Sometimes he heard Krais shout in agitation,

"Your right hand's injured!"

"I told you, I've still got my left."

"What the hell are you talking about!" Mixing in the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique hadn't worked at all. So next he incorporated wrestling techniques. Before drawing his sword, he threw his last whistle dagger, then closed the distance and feinted a draw as he hooked Mitch's leg. Mitch resisted the trip simply by bending his knees and lowering his center of gravity.

"Not a chance." Then it was back to swinging his sword. At first he hadn't lasted even one exchange. After around thirty repetitions, he began lasting two, then three. On the forty-second today, something changed for the first time without Encrid intending it.

"Let's have a round."

Vengeance, who had been watching, abruptly challenged him to a spar. Feeling sweat run down his forehead, Encrid tilted his head.

"With me?"

"Who else would I mean?" Encrid nodded. It was practically a habit. He never refused a spar. Normally, Vengeance would have been no match for him, but Encrid was wielding his sword in his left hand now. "No holding back."

Vengeance extended his spear as he spoke, looking quite menacing. TING.

Encrid tapped the spearhead with his sword in greeting. The spar had begun.