Chapter 137 - A New Day

In moments of crisis, humans sometimes exert strength beyond their limits. Drawing out that strength even under ordinary circumstances was the Heart of the Superhuman, a name meant to describe drawing directly upon the heart of the beast. Back in Rem's tribe, they said that using this technique brought the god they worshipped, or some shamanic power, into their bodies. Yes, there was a shamanic effect involved. But a god? That was so much wild-dog howling. 'But it's a far cry from an actual spell. That's the point.'

Having experienced it himself and devised the technique, Rem had his own theory. 'Something comes out inside the body and makes the heart beat faster. That's how it works.'

The human body was mysterious. This was one of its mysteries. Something inside the body started working, strength flooded the muscles, and then the Heart of the Superhuman activated. So it was neither a spell nor a divine possession. When had he first realized this? Surrounded by countless axe blades, on the brink of death, something had gushed forth inside him. When it reached his muscles, he had been able to exert several times his usual strength. How had that happened? After investigating and studying it, he realized his heart had beaten several times faster than normal as blood began racing madly through his body. It did require a shamanic trigger, but that was not its foundation. He thought it was a matter of concentration, or perhaps sensation. "Concentrate. Again."

Rem spoke as he continued thinking. Encrid stood before him, and soon they placed their hands over each other's hearts. With that damned concentration-enhancing technique the lazy bastard had taught him, it might work. Well, if it didn't, it didn't. Rem had already half given up. What else could he do? Even back in his tribe, only a handful had grasped it. Every one of them had possessed a body beyond merely robust, as solid as an iron wall, yet they had still narrowly escaped death several times. ["I just dipped my feet in some river and came back."]

He had often heard remarks like that. In short, the vessel came first with the Heart of the Superhuman. Even if properly activated, it would wreck the body before anything else. Could the Platoon Commander handle it, then? The vessel itself wasn't bad. That bodily abuse the hulking religious nut had taught him to perform every morning was precisely what tempered the body. Had the hulking religious nut not done it, Rem had considered helping forge the Platoon Commander's body through other means. But the big zealot's method had seemed more efficient, so Rem had left him to it. The vessel, then, was more or less ready. That didn't mean he intended to force the issue. If possible, he would hammer the technique into him, but if it was too much, he would naturally give up. "Feel it."

Encrid listened to Rem. Listened faithfully, with his mind composed and his attention fixed on every word, as always. But there was something he had already realized. It went back to when he had learned Concentrate on a Single Point from Ragna. Ragna was a genius. He would have learned anything easily, understood anything readily. What had he said back then? 'Was it that the fear of death improves concentration?'

That was only half right. What Encrid had truly needed was an opponent who would make him pour out every last drop of his ability, right down to the bottom. This was similar. 'No, is it the opposite of back then?'

A small realization had led him to a conclusion. It began with asking what the Heart of the Superhuman was. Under severe pressure or in similar circumstances, humans sometimes displayed strength beyond their limits. It could happen. That was where his idea came from: to attain the Heart of the Superhuman, he needed to feel the pressure of impending death. Through his past battles, through the life he had lived, Encrid had accumulated all kinds of experiences. Repeating today had layered on still more. This was the conclusion he had drawn from those experiences. "More."

Something from Rem's hand touched Encrid's heart. Normally, he conveyed only a sense of what it should feel like, applying subtle pressure around Encrid's heart. That was how it had been until now. This was where Rem employed the shamanic effect. A transfer of sensation, perhaps. At any rate, he used it to convey the feel of making the heart beat faster. "More."

Encrid spoke with his eyes half closed, concentrating with everything he had. "How many times have I told you? You have to be careful with this."

The word 'careful' had come from a man considered not merely bold, but insane. It sounded like a warning that a mistake could kill him. Danger, crisis, pressure. Things that required caution. Encrid needed them. The feeling of bracing himself on the edge of a precipice with a gale at his back. A moment when a single misstep could mean death. Pressure that deliberately dying, that suicide, could never provide. A moment that demanded the utmost desperate struggle. He needed a crossroads where, quite literally, one wrong move would kill him. And if he could face it while feeling the sensation that set his heart racing, all the better. "More."

Encrid spoke again, his eyes still half closed. Rem's brow furrowed. Had the man truly gone mad? Rem was the one people called a lunatic, but this fellow seemed to have gone further off the deep end. "Let's stop."

Rem began to lower his hand as he spoke. Encrid caught his wrist. With his left hand on Rem's chest and his right gripping the wrist of the hand against his own chest, Encrid spoke again. "Do it."

Encrid's gaze was lowered, so Rem couldn't see his eyes. Had the bastard truly lost his mind? "Are you insane?"

Rem's gaze turned fierce. Wasn't this practically asking Rem to kill him with his own hands? Some things could not be solved with passion and desire. Sometimes a man had to step back and acknowledge his limits... Rem's thoughts broke off. A voice pierced his musings, his reason, his emotions. "Just do it."

It was an order. An order he had to obey. If words held power, Rem felt it now, despite the absence of any spell or incantation, let alone that 'power' said to belong exclusively to knights. Deep in his heart, what was Encrid to Rem? Encrid lifted his gaze. The two men's eyes met. Fire met fire. Different colors, but flames that would burn each other utterly. Blue fire tangled with gray. They glared at each other as though ready to kill. Was there anything to gain from winning this struggle? Nothing. At best, it would leave a man half crippled. Not Rem, but the man standing before him. So why? And yet Rem simply wanted to do it. He found himself wanting to. He had to obey this man's command. He felt that he should. That he wanted to. Was it his own instinct that made this impossible to ignore? Or had he become too intoxicated with this man who was his Platoon Commander? "Do it."

Encrid spoke once more. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

Cursing, Rem constricted Encrid's heart. The thought crept into a corner of his mind that Encrid must have something to rely on if he was demanding this. Having justified it to himself, Rem applied his strength in earnest. THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP! Thrash wildly and send blood coursing through the whole body. The pressure of that surging blood would feed back into the heart. Then it would grant the entire body, the muscles, monstrous strength beyond their limits. THUMP. Encrid felt horrific pain. Swords and spears had pierced him. Arrows had buried themselves in him. He had died again and again, enough that he should have grown numb to pain. Yet for some reason, each death felt different. Death brought to mind the ferryman of the black river. THUMP. THUMP. THUUUMP. Encrid's eyes flew wide. Rem stared into those bloodshot eyes. "Damn it."

Why had he done it? Why had he listened to this man? Rem regretted it. Encrid was satisfied. He smiled. That small realization would serve as a signpost on the road ahead. THUMP. His heart gave one final beat and stopped. Something pushed beyond its limit had struck his heart and brought it to a halt. That meant death. Darkness began to stain his surroundings. "Stop."

Jaxon's voice came through the gathering darkness. "You mad bastard."

He heard Ragna's voice too. "Brother, what have you done?"

He felt a rough hand grip his wrist, but it was all too late. Neither divine power nor any miraculous medicine could revive someone whose heart had stopped, whose body lay in death's cradle. Encrid died. It was a different sort of experience. In a way, it could be called suicide. But however much he pondered how to attain the Heart of the Superhuman, he felt there was no other way. This was the result of a today spent struggling desperately, believing this to be his best option. He could simply give up on the Heart of the Superhuman? If he had intended to give up and move on like that... 'I would have settled.'

He would not settle. He would advance. Even half a step at a time. If he couldn't manage that, he would crawl. A reverberation wracked his entire body. He had already endured every wave of pain. Something swayed. The darkness faded, and when he opened his eyes, he saw the ferryman of the black river. There were no words. Only when the ferryman chose could Encrid hear his laughter or speech. Now, he offered neither. Encrid felt only a gaze staring blankly at him. A gaze that held nothing but curiosity and bewilderment:

'What the hell is this bastard?' When Encrid opened his eyes again, it was early dawn. The beginning of a day like any other. Sitting up in his bed, he let out a deep breath and spoke. "I think it's absolute shit, Rem." "... I'm awake, you know. I can hear you." "I know." "And you're calling me shit first thing in the morning? Did I turn up naked in your dream or something?" "No. It's just shit."

A technique he had to stake his life on just to get a taste of it. Wasn't that a truly shitty technique? Even so, in the day just before he died, the day Rem couldn't remember, Encrid had smiled. He had been satisfied. Every moment that revealed a path brought him ecstasy. "Good morning."

With that casual remark, Encrid went outside to begin his day. "... Thought you said it was shit."

Behind him, Rem grumbled, his lips jutting out. Their Platoon Commander wasn't normal either, he thought. He wasn't wrong. Encrid greeted a new day. A spring day, in that season said to hold magic. It was still spring in the world, and he would have to enjoy this spring for a while. Remaking his heart could hardly be easy. "What a fine day."

He didn't mind. This was a day with a signpost in sight. After that, Encrid died countless more times. There were days, however, when he failed to die and simply lived out the day. His death had been deliberate. Would he pass into the next day, then? The thought occurred to him, but that first death seemed to have set the point of repetition. Quite apart from his curiosity about what would happen, there were days when he couldn't persuade Rem, couldn't die, and instead pushed his body relentlessly. At the end of such a day, he would sleep and wake back in the original today. A branching point that began with death, perhaps? How did this work? The question arose, but he quickly dismissed it. What good would thinking do? He would simply work his body for the rest of today. On days when he had to live through today without dying, there was nothing for it. Even though he brought his presence to bear on Rem and spoke with utmost sincerity each time, the results varied. "Trust me and do it." "No, fuck, do you think this makes any sense? You're driving me insane."

On the days he succeeded, when he persuaded Rem, he saw an expression he had never seen on the man's face. A strange mixture of confusion, alarm, disbelief, and something like intoxication. "No. Some things just can't be done."

When the opposite happened, he saw an expression of firm determination. What separated those two versions of 'today'? There didn't seem to be much difference. He spoke sincerely in both cases. There was one difference. After roughly sixty-six repetitions, he thought he more or less understood. Beyond sincerity and earnestness, what was missing? "Do it."

He had to command him. Why? Why did someone of Rem's caliber obey him so faithfully? Curiosity stirred, but he put it aside. With time, a chance to learn would come. Now was not that time. "Do it."

"Do it."

"Do it."

"Do it."

"You will do it."

"Do it."

"I said, do it."

"I told you to do it."

"Do it."

"You will do it."

"All you have to do is do it."

"Just do it."

"Shut up and do your job." He endured countless todays. Today passed, then another today, then today again. "Huh? What?"

At some point, he no longer needed Rem's touch. It was around the time he passed eighty repetitions. After that, it did feel as though he was going fucking berserk all by himself. He had internalized the sensation and no longer needed Rem to produce it for him. After repeating it over and over, the ferryman of the black river appeared in his dreams again. "That was not a wall."

The ferryman spoke, and Encrid listened. He still couldn't answer. There wasn't even a fragment of emotion in the ferryman's words. A ferry floating on a black river. A ferryman. Undulating water. Encrid was aboard the boat. "Go."

At the ferryman's words, Encrid opened his eyes. He didn't particularly question those words, nor did he pry out of curiosity. He couldn't even ask why Rem obeyed his commands. What good would it do him to know the thoughts of a ferryman whose hobby was rowing? Only the words that it hadn't been a wall lingered deep in his heart. What was a wall? An obstacle that made him repeat today. The ferryman must mean that what Encrid was doing now was independent of the ferryman's will. 'And what am I supposed to do about that?'

Of course, it was none of Encrid's concern. Whether those words lodged deeply in his heart or barely pierced it, he pulled them out and threw them away. With so much to do, he could afford to ignore trifles. "Good morning, Rem."

Encrid greeted him and rose. "Huh? How'd you know I was awake?" "Just did."

How else would he know? He had repeated this well over a hundred times. A new day began. Encrid activated the Heart of the Superhuman. THUMP! His heart beat, filling the muscles throughout his body with strength. Blood raced madly. A horse galloped through his blood vessels as though they were well-paved roads. THUMP. And his heart did not burst. "... I'm going to ask you just two things."

Rem spoke immediately afterward. Encrid had deliberately timed the display for when Rem came outside, so he would see it. He had to show him that he had learned it properly. That he had done it. "First, are you from the West, by any chance? Second..."

Rem chose his words, then asked carefully. "Were you actually a genius all along?"

Encrid let out a chuckle. To hear those words from Rem. He hadn't expected it at all. "No to both."

At his matter-of-fact answer, Rem gave him an incredulous look. "And you managed that in one day?"

Encrid couldn't call it one day. But to Rem, that was what it had been. He had watched Encrid master overnight a technique he hadn't even been able to get a feel for. His skin flushed red all over, Encrid spoke, now equipped with the Heart of the Superhuman. Puzzling over it, marveling, finding it absurd, all of that was fine, but... "Care for a spar?"

Didn't Rem feel like working his body right now? "Tsk. Fine by me."

Rem agreed. He wasn't the sort of man to dwell on questions either. CLANG. Sword and axe exchanged greetings. Sparring again. Another bout. A moment to measure his growth.