Chapter 12 - Two Days

The Frog replayed what she had seen.

'I thought he'd win.'

She had taught him herself, and he had possessed considerable talent. She hadn't liked his personality at all, but that was none of her concern.

A soldier trained primarily in stabs. A fellow with quite serviceable talent. He wasn't someone who should have died in a trifling battle like this. Given time, his skills would have reached at least company commander level.

The Frog considered why the soldier had died.

'Because he lacked experience?'

No. She had raised plenty of soldiers this way. He wasn't someone who would die from so little.

'Because he met the wrong opponent?'

In other words, he had been unlucky. The goddess of luck had turned her back on him. The Frog gave a gurgling laugh.

'Luck is part of skill, too.'

As she entered her own camp, her adjutant approached.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, General."

"Oh, have you?"

"Were you in enemy territory?"

"Just went out for a bit of fun."

"You seem to be in a good mood."

"I saw someone die from a stab through 'that spot.'"

To Frogs, heart was a forbidden word. Even watching someone nearby die from a stab through it filled them with revulsion. Yet here was a Frog smiling as she spoke of it.

The adjutant ought to have wondered whether there was a bug inside the general's skull. But no such suspicion arose.

Experienced Frogs sometimes even said the word heart. And the Frog general before the adjutant was a seasoned soldier—seasoned enough to say heart aloud if she chose.

So she could smile after seeing someone die from a pierced heart. More precisely, this Frog could smile if she saw something even more interesting than a death by a pierced heart.

"You must have seen something interesting."

"Well, just some fellow who caught my interest, for some reason."

He couldn't be on their side. If he were, she would already have brought him back.

The Frog spoke casually and strode on. Frogs had thick soles and needed no boots. In fact, their soles were so slippery that some Frogs occasionally embedded nails in them.

But the Frog general disapproved of Frogs who put things like nails in their soles. With keen senses and proper training, even slippery soles became weapons.

'He copied the stab exactly.'

That hadn't been talent at work. A Frog's eyes could gauge how thoroughly someone had mastered a technique. The Frog general had watched the enemy soldier stab, and that had told her.

'A technique tempered over and over, countless times.'

Rather than something he had been taught, it was a technique he had risked his life to master. Not talent, but an appalling amount of effort.

'Because his talent was meager.'

With dozens, hundreds of lucky breaks, it wasn't impossible. If he survived seeing that stab countless times right before his eyes, he could learn to move like that. Everything else was a mess, but his stab alone was respectable.

But did that make any sense?

'With that pitiful level of skill?'

Surviving battle after battle? Having risked his life to learn it proved he had survived by the narrowest of margins just as often. He could only have learned to move like that by repeatedly challenging stronger opponents and getting beaten.

Did that make any sense? No. Which was why it interested her.

'It would be nice to see him again.'

The Frog general didn't think that would happen. The goddess of luck was unfair. She played favorites, sometimes heaping her favors on a single person. But even luck had its limits.

'He must have used up a lifetime's worth.'

She would never see him again. That didn't mean he would die today. She had kicked him in her excitement, but he had somehow managed to block it. And judging by the two men who had come to protect him at the end, he wasn't likely to die on this battlefield.

Still, that wouldn't last long. Hurling yourself recklessly at opponents stronger than you would improve your skills even with scant talent. But you'd need hundreds of lives.

"General."

"Let's eat."

The Frog ended her musings there and put him out of her mind. It was time to focus on other things. Namely, getting something to eat and devising a strategy.

The blond adjutant nodded at the general's words.

"This way. I'll have your meal prepared."

* * *

He saw a boatman. Encrid realized he was sitting in a ferry.

'A dream?'

Hadn't something like this happened once before? It was quite an old memory. When had it been?

'When I first woke up again.'

A mouthless boatman. A voice filled with curiosity. He dredged up the faint memory.

'Back then...'

He had thought it was a meaningless dream. What did some boatman he met in a dream matter?

"You actually made it through the day?"

The boatman spoke. Just like last time, Encrid couldn't say a word. Listening seemed to be all he was permitted to do here.

"Eyes you have, yet cannot see. A mouth you have, yet cannot speak. Ears you have, yet cannot truly hear."

The boatman spoke as though singing. There was actual melody and rhythm in his words.

Encrid couldn't even blink. His senses, his movements—nothing was under his control. He felt stifled and trapped.

'What can I do right now?'

If this was a dream, shouldn't he be able to shoot spells from his hands and such? It was a dream, yet not a dream. Realizing that, Encrid knew listening was all he could do.

"Can you keep enduring? Can you really? I'll keep standing in your way, you know."

He couldn't understand what the boatman meant. Hadn't he just said that even with ears, Encrid couldn't truly hear?

"You cannot even hear my name yet."

He looked at the boatman. A vague image formed against a black veil. It was as though droplets of morning dew obscured his vision. That was how blurry it was.

All black. At first he had thought only the mouth was missing, but there was nothing at all.

"What you can hear now is my whim, and my goodwill."

The boatman giggled after speaking. Encrid didn't know because he could see him laughing. Rather, it felt as though the other was letting him know he was laughing.

'And what am I supposed to do about that?'

"Child, nothing has ended, and you cannot escape. There will always be 'walls' barring your way. That will be your fate."

The word walls sounded strange. It felt as though the boatman had actually said something else, but Encrid had heard walls. What on earth was this?

"Can you survive?"

He had no idea what this bullshit meant, but...

"Of course I can."

Huh? He could speak? There was no need to dwell on the question. The other seemed even more surprised.

"You..."

The boatman whispered something, but Encrid's consciousness quickly began to fade.

SPLASH.

The ferry vanished. Encrid sank deep into the water. Above the surface, the black mass beyond the dew conveyed words—no, its will.

"You won't remember this. But..."

The boatman continued, chuckling.

"You really are an interesting child."

That was the end. Sinking into the depths, Encrid lost consciousness. And so he descended into the deep abyss.

* * *

"... Who is the hero of this battlefield?"

"Cyprus!"

"Who is the master of this battlefield?"

"Cyprus!"

"Who races toward tomorrow?"

"Cyprus!"

"Who passes judgment!"

Singing. A lively melody, a deep voice, perfectly in time.

'A marching song?'

No, it wasn't a marching song. He had learned several since joining this unit, but none like this. What he'd learned here were less songs than rhythmic battle cries.

We will triumph!

Blessed by the sun that never sets!

Filled with the power of the chief god!

That sort of thing. No melody, just shouts bellowed at the top of their lungs. But this had melody and a lively rhythm. It was a familiar song, too.

'A Bard's song.'

Not all Bards were alike. Some took sides and accompanied armies to raise morale. That was probably the case here, too. What Bard would want to compose and sing some hymn of praise to Cyprus? Besides, that fellow had probably never even seen the knight called Cyprus.

"Back among the living?"

He turned toward the voice and saw Rem. His side throbbed like mad. When he raised a hand to touch it, Rem caught his hand.

"Just shy of breaking, so don't worry. But they said your skull got a proper rattling. Now, how many fingers?"

Rem waved his hand, folding and unfolding several fingers.

"Go fuck yourself."

Encrid tried to take in the situation. 'Today' was over. Just confronting that fact left his head spinning. He couldn't humor Rem's jokes.

"See? Told you he'd lost his mind. It's me, Rem. Your best friend forever, Squad Leader."

"Crazy bastard."

"Have you forgotten me? That really hurts."

Encrid closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. He had made it through today. Which meant a day had passed.

His thoughts were scattered. The dream had been too chaotic.

'Didn't he say I wouldn't remember?'

Yet it remained so vivid. The black water, the ferry, the boatman with no eyes, nose, or mouth. He remembered everything the boatman had said, too. It did feel slightly hazy, like something from the distant past.

His memory, at least, had been good since childhood. Encrid remembered it all.

"I haven't forgotten, Noble Hunter."

He recited what had once been Rem's nickname.

"Shh. I told you that was a secret."

Only then did the jokes stop. Rem gave him a reproachful look. Why bring that up? That was probably what it meant.

Encrid collected himself. First things first.

"What happened to me?"

Only then did he get a proper account. The dead soldier, his own astonishingly improved skills, and the Frog.

'A frog butted in?'

He'd spent years working as a mercenary, but this was his first time seeing a Frog in person. His first time being hit by one, too, of course. He was lucky it hadn't broken every rib he had.

What if you faced a Frog on the battlefield?

["Run."]

["Hide."]

["Die."]

Three seasoned mercenaries had given different answers. But they all came down to the same thing. If you couldn't run or hide, you died.

That was how dangerous and fearsome Frogs were. All warrior races were like that. Giants, dragonfolk, Fairies—every one of them was born with abilities superior to humans'.

Yet humans produced the most who rose to knight level. That was probably why humanity held the greatest power on this continent.

"Then I 'personally' carried you on my back and ran off the battlefield. A truly perilous journey. Nearly got me killed."

He wouldn't be talking like this if it had really been dangerous.

"I owe you."

"Then you can take ten turns washing the dishes for me, no complaints."

This fucking bastard. Encrid sighed inwardly but nodded.

He told Rem to leave if he was finished, but Rem stayed put, wearing his usual smile.

"Been practicing alone? Where I couldn't see?"

Encrid looked at him, wondering what he meant now.

"Your heart has really matured."

Hmm?

"I taught you. Did you think I wouldn't recognize it?"

'Ah!'

Encrid realized Rem had been watching him. Of course. That was how he'd been able to help at just the right moment.

"It just happened. A few brushes with death, and I started to get it."

He'd already thought up plausible excuses dozens of times. This was the most plausible of them. It was also the truth, without a single lie mixed in. Just a little understated. He could hardly say he hadn't merely had a few brushes with death, but actually fucking died.

"Well done."

Only then did Rem rise from his seat.

"Get plenty of rest. You need to heal before there can be a next time."

Only then did Encrid look around. He was in the Medical Barracks, where the wounded were gathered.

Should he get up? When he tried to sit up, a bleary-eyed soldier seated to one side spoke.

"You mustn't move yet. You'll make it worse if you strain yourself. Your head took quite a jolt."

It seemed even a military physician had come to see a mere rank-and-file soldier. An ordinary soldier was lucky to have a comrade who knew a little about herbs when he got hurt. If not, he often simply died.

'Somehow I made it all the way to the Medical Barracks.'

How he had gotten here didn't matter. He could find out later. More importantly...

'I made it through today.'

What mattered was that a new day had begun.

He looked toward the tent entrance. Light shone through a gap. Not sunlight. Flickering torchlight, with shadows passing to and fro.

The Bard was still singing.

"Who is the hero!"

"Cyprus!"

A group of soldiers shouted the response.

He had made it through today and lived into the next day. But it seemed he'd spent the entire morning and afternoon unconscious, only waking in the evening.

"Has a day passed?"

He asked the medic standing by.

"A day? It's the second day already."

That must have been quite a blow. Encrid closed his eyes at the thought.

Whatever the case, what mattered was that he had made it through today. He had beaten that stabbing soldier. Surpassed him through skill.

Then Encrid thought about the boatman. He recalled his words and turned them over in his mind. How could he not? The boatman had said it would repeat.

Which meant...

'If I die, today repeats again.'

The boatman had spoken as though sentencing him to punishment. But...

'Why would that be a punishment?'

To Encrid, it wasn't a punishment. It was a reward.