Chapter 230 - Ah, This Will Be Fun

["Would knowing let you overcome it?"]

The ferryman's question lingered in his mind. Encrid remembered his own answer, too.

["It doesn't matter if I don't know."]

He had meant it. There hadn't been a single lie in those words. Above all, fighting the Shepherd was simply too enjoyable. How could he put it? The half-Giant, Swallow Blade, Count Molsen's bodyguard, the rapier swordsman. And those who stayed beside him: Rem and Ragna, Jaxon and Audin. This opponent spurred him on more than any of them.

Their roughly equal skill, the man's attitude and age—all of it must have played a part. More than anything, Encrid felt he was moving forward. His skill hadn't actually improved by leaps and bounds from a single spar, a single death. Not even with his once-dull senses sharpened, his fearless heart, and a body that now moved as he intended. Not even with superhuman concentration that let him see incoming arrows and dodge them.

Still, he couldn't dismiss that sense of moving forward. Not when it brought him such exhilaration. "The stars are out."

Encrid stepped outside before Bell arrived. Stars twinkled overhead, and two moons hung in the sky. Both moons were out. It was an exceptionally bright night. The autumn night was incomparably cooler than summer. A cool breeze brushed beneath his ears. Soon enough, it would turn cold.

Autumn was short, but Encrid liked the temperature. Wondering what the man was up to now, Rem poked his head out of the quarters.

"Still mosquitoes out here. What are you doing?" BZZZ.

No sooner had he spoken than a mosquito flew past Encrid's ear. His left hand shot up, snatching it out of the air and killing it. With his fist still clenched, he turned.

"Going for a nighttime stroll." "All of a sudden?"

"I'm in the mood."

"Well, aren't you feeling sentimental. Why? Pissed off about losing every time?" Encrid took a step and asked, "What would you do if you had to beat someone without letting them so much as graze you?"

"Smash their head before they could move." Rem answered readily. Encrid had always been prone to asking questions out of nowhere. Then he dug at his ear and continued.

"You know something, Captain? Your questions really come out of nowhere."

"Do they?" Encrid agreed. Why wouldn't he?

There was time that he alone walked through. A today that he alone experienced. Moments that he alone enjoyed. His questions arose because he had lived those moments, that stretch of time. "I suppose they do."

With that offhand answer, Encrid walked away.

"Make time to visit a temple, will you? Because from where I'm standing, that head of yours looks spectacularly broken." That bastard.

His mouth was always the problem. Hadn't the ferryman started saying strange things thanks to that bastard Rem?

Anyway. Encrid thought that walls, too, appeared before him quite out of nowhere. Was this the ferryman's trickery? Or was life simply like that?

An unexpected moment, a wholly unforeseeable death. If this was another wall, like the ones before, what he had learned from a single death wouldn't be enough to overcome it.

Even so... 'Ah, this will be fun.'

Encrid felt an irrepressible delight. He walked on and soon met Bell coming the other way. Naturally—he had chosen his route knowing where Bell would come from. He was heading toward the gate.

"Oh? Where are you going, sir?" Bell asked.

"Where are you going?"

"Well, I was on my way to fetch you, Captain." The same conversation as in the day before followed. Encrid reviewed what he knew.

A priest. The screams that shook his head from the moment he was cut, the hideous cries that seemed to rise from a bottomless hell. They had felt less like sounds than something dragging at his ankles from below.

But that wasn't what mattered. Whatever had burrowed into his body was neither a spell nor poison. If he had to describe it, it was someone's venomous scream. 'For now.'

He put those recollections aside. The fight came first. The contest came first. Even without that sword, his opponent's skill was superb.

Let's see. Should he start the way Rem would?

Unable to contain his delight, Encrid kept smiling. Bell tilted his head at the sight. No matter how he looked at it, didn't this man seem a little off?

"If you're not feeling well, I can send him away."

Bell spoke out of concern.

"No."

Encrid was adamant. He opened his eyes wide and straightened to his full height.

"Huh?"

"You mustn't." Having stressed that point, Encrid walked on with remarkably light steps. If his company members knew his situation, every last one would have shaken their heads.

Could those possibly be the footsteps of a man approaching death? Wasn't he walking like a child going on a picnic?

With light, jaunty steps, Encrid passed through the gate. Another familiar conversation ended.

"Well, then."

Encrid took his stance, and his opponent drew a dagger. Exhilaration, excitement, and anticipation drummed against Encrid's heart, raising gooseflesh all over his body.

Then he followed Rem's advice. THUMP.

In an instant, he unleashed the Heart of the Superhuman at full power and swung.

WHOOSH.

The Heavy Sword Technique's Lion Cut.

His sword swept down in an overhead cut—absurdly fast, a dynamic stroke powerful enough to cleave a moving body in one blow. His opponent reacted. Had he judged the blow beyond what a mere dagger could block?

CLANG! CLACK!

He half-drew the sword from its black, rodlike scabbard and blocked, one hand on the hilt and the other gripping the scabbard.

CLANG! The Lion Cut stopped. Encrid pressed his weight into the bind, and his opponent did the same.

GRRRRK.

The two swords met and exchanged greetings. Steel began to play music against steel. Over their crossed blades, Encrid and the Shepherd locked eyes, briefly gauging each other's capabilities. It struck Encrid that the man's skill might exceed what he had seen in his repeating today.

'What if he's a swordsman who's been using a dagger?'

Then it might well be true.

Not that it mattered. Whether his opponent drew his sword was his opponent's choice. Encrid had decided to press ahead with his own. Watching from a considerable distance, Bell swallowed hard. At that moment, their blades parted. A fierce battle followed, just as it had in the repeated day. Encrid pressed his opponent hard. He ignored the dagger's minor wounds, protecting only his vital spots and trying to cut the man whenever he came within reach. He trusted his bodily senses and natural coordination, seeking to finish it with a single blow.

In the end, the Shepherd drew his sword again. This was a different strike from the one that had cut Encrid's forehead. TING! CLANG! CLANG!

The Shepherd turned aside Encrid's brisk one-handed stab with his dagger, then used his other hand to toss the sheathed sword upward. He drew the blade and flung the scabbard.

Encrid, once again utterly immersed, reacted to every move. He wrenched back the sword that had struck the dagger, then drove it down in a heavy snapping strike. He took the flying scabbard on his forehead. The scabbard smacked his forehead and bounced away, but Encrid didn't close his eyes. If he kept the opponent's sword in sight, he might dodge it. He had his dodging sense. It shouldn't be impossible. WHOOSH!

The Shepherd caught the sword he had tossed into the air. Its blade curved like a snake and tore Encrid's cheek. He had tried to dodge, but fell short by just half a finger joint's length.

A close, fierce contest, fought in total immersion. 'I did see it.'

His opponent was no pushover. Encrid judged him a cut above Swallow Blade. Avoiding even a graze from such a man's sword was difficult—far too difficult.

That didn't mean he would give up. He simply reviewed what today's close contest had taught him. AAAAAAAH!

Screams rang in his ears again.

"Ah, whew. This wasn't supposed to happen. I cut you before I knew it."

He heard the man muttering.

GRAAAH. GRAAAH.

Hideous cries, seemingly risen from a bottomless hell, seized his ankles. His body was growing heavy. One experience was enough for Encrid to know what had happened. And pain he knew could kill him, but it couldn't stop him.

"What is that sword?"

"... Do you happen to possess it?"

"I think I'm about to die. Just answer me."

"You can talk after being cut? What a peculiar man. This sword houses a demon's soul. I swore not to use it recklessly on people. So I'm sorry." A rambling explanation. The fellow was as scatterbrained as ever.

"Right. I see, Pell."

"... Did I tell you my name?"

He hadn't. Encrid had heard it on the first today.

That was the end.

He died. "You're insane."

The ferryman appeared for the second time in a row. At the sight of him, Encrid unwittingly spoke his mind. He certainly hadn't intended to. This was a dream, and that alone kept him from hiding his thoughts.

"Been bored lately?" The ferryman swayed on his boat. The violet lamp swayed with him. Silence fell. Brief, but utterly still. The black river made no sound as it flowed.

At the end of that silence:

"You son of a..."

The ferryman was trying to spit out something resembling a curse, but Encrid woke. As soon as he opened his eyes, he began pestering Ragna.

"Is there a sword technique that can block every strike?"

"Where did you hear that? That's the pinnacle of the Flowing Sword Technique."

Flowing Sword: a sword that deflected, a sword that flowed. A sword that achieved offense and defense at once.

"Can you do it?"

"The basics." If the speed and timing made it impossible to evade even with his dodging sense...

'Then I just have to block it.'

That was what he decided. After learning the basics of Flowing Sword from Ragna, he headed out again that evening.

Still, he thought:

'Today will be even more fun.' His two experiences had revealed a few of his opponent's habits. Today, he would put those to use as well.

And so came the third today.

"Do you know me?"

"No."

"Then why are you looking at me like that? Do you always act so familiar?"

The Shepherd tilted his head. Encrid ignored him. They fought again. Only after falling for it did Encrid realize that what he'd taken for a habit was a trap. He barely weathered it, then exchanged blow after blow.

SWISH.

This time the blade grazed his thigh. Since he wasn't wearing armor, it sliced through his trousers and left a wound.

Screams again. Hideous cries from the bottomless pit. When he spoke, a similar question came back.

"Do you happen to possess it?"

What did he keep asking whether Encrid had?

"What?"

The Shepherd answered as though Encrid were asking the obvious.

"Will."

"No."

Encrid barely managed a few more words before he died. How could he put it? This death was deeply unsettling. His throat hadn't been cut, nor had his heart been smashed. What would the cause of death be?

'Cardiac arrest?'

Even for Encrid, who died over and over, distinctly feeling his heart stop was an uncommon experience. At any rate, something burrowed into his body through the wound, rummaging through his head and shaking it. That was all. If he had to compare it to anything...

'It's like a bug got inside my body.'

That bug was swift and utterly relentless. It ripped his body to shreds, squeezing his heart and crushing it. The fourth today. The fifth.

Encrid honed his Flowing Sword Technique. As he repeated today twenty-eight times...

"Let's have a good match."

His opponent's swordsmanship was beginning to look familiar.

"I'm warning you now: don't blame me if you die." SHING.

With just a few swings, Encrid forced the Shepherd to draw his sword. He tried dodging. He tried blocking. He repeated it all.

The wall that had appeared out of nowhere gifted him death again and again. After forty-seven repetitions, Encrid muttered as soon as he opened his eyes.

"What if I can't dodge it or block it?"

It was one of the rare mornings Rem had risen early. Beside him, Rem spoke.

"... All right, tell me. What did you dream this time? I used to dabble in dream interpretation back in the day. Come on, what was it?"

"A dream where even a graze kills me."

Encrid was honest.

"Come on, you need to give me details. You've got the wrong attitude." Encrid rose and went about his usual routine. The Isolation Technique, physical training, and honing the Flowing Sword Technique.

"Had you practiced this before? Or did you learn it somewhere?"

Ragna asked as he watched Encrid's sword. He meant that Encrid's skill had grown markedly overnight. Encrid didn't register it. His mind was in turmoil. 'Is this wall just about killing one skilled fighter? Is that all I have to do?'

He was questioning the premise of what a wall was. Thinking back, none of the walls the ferryman spoke of had ever been ordinary.

'The stabbing freak.'

Right from the start.

'The magic trap.'

Then the trap that suddenly exploded.

'I had to use just one hand.'

None of the walls had been simple. When he'd headed for the enemy's banner, hadn't he faced a spell, of all things?

Then what was it this time? By the time some seventy todays had passed, Encrid inflicted a serious wound on his opponent.

THUD!

The blade swept beneath the Shepherd's chest, making him cough up blood. The impact, closer to a blunt blow than a cut, seemed to have damaged his organs.

"Fuck, you attacked instead of dodging that?" Encrid had swung his blade like a club while taking a cut from his opponent's sword. For the first time, the Shepherd dropped his polite tone. His eyes were full of shock.

"I saw an opening."

"Even after I told you a stab from my sword would kill you?" Yes, he'd said that before they began. A cut would kill him. Even a graze would kill him. He wanted to avoid things going that far if possible. He had said he only wanted a moderate spar to test their skills.

But why should Encrid settle for that? He truly, honestly, sincerely didn't want to.

A fight that pushed him to his limits. For the first time since Mitch Hurrier, here was an opponent who made him pour everything he had into battle. 'If you're the wall...'

What would happen if they died together?

The question arose in Encrid's mind. On the eighty-ninth today, he found his answer. "Ghk!"

Taking his opponent's sword strike, he punched a hole in the man's belly. His blade pierced the skin, sliced through the organs, and broke a few ribs for good measure. The instant he drove it in, Encrid twisted his wrist and pulled it out. Blood poured from the wound where the blade had twisted free. The Shepherd went deathly pale. Blood pattered onto the ground, leaving a wound that would surely have revealed pink entrails in sunlight.

Clutching his stomach, he muttered, "Ah, I can't die here. I've still got so much to do." The Shepherd's eyes dimmed. Death lay over his face. His gaze moved from Encrid to somewhere far away, somewhere in empty space. Finally it returned to Encrid.

"It didn't have to go this far."

"Didn't it?" His opponent's sword had cut Encrid's neck as well. He spoke with a hand pressed to the wound, his voice rough because of it. The cut wasn't deep. Blood streamed out, but normally it wouldn't have been fatal.

The problem was that the Shepherd's sword was anything but ordinary. Even amid all this, something had changed.

'I can bear it.'

More than eighty todays. That meant more than eighty experiences of the same thing. Without realizing it, Encrid had begun resisting whatever dwelled in his opponent's sword.

That didn't change the outcome. Death descended. Amid screams, something roamed through his entire body as though it owned the place, gouging at his heart and brain.

"Fucking hell! Captain!"

Bell's voice came from behind him. He must have heard Bell approaching and shouting because he had delayed his death. He opened his eyes to the morning of a new today. For a moment, he lay thinking with his eyes open, then pushed himself halfway up.

He returned to his routine, completing the Isolation Technique at dawn before coming back into the quarters. With every company member there to hear, he asked:

"Who here can use Will?" He now felt keenly that he needed to grasp at least a part of it. He had resolved to overcome it when the time came. He believed that time had arrived.

He wouldn't clear it all in one leap. He didn't believe he would become a knight in an instant. But for a fragment of it, the time had come to reach out his fingertips.

That was what Encrid thought.

After walking and walking, now was the time to reach out.