Chapter 233 - Because It's a Fine Day

"You may not believe me, but I owe you a debt. I'm Pell of the Shepherds of the Wastes. I hope we can meet again someday, when the opportunity arises."

Encrid nodded at Pell's words, the moonlight at his back. Pell looked at him, then could no longer hold his tongue.

"I've never seen a genius like you."

Encrid did not bother denying it. In truth, even if Pell had asked whether his head was broken, he would have cheerfully let it pass. Such was the exhilaration, the joy filling his entire body. He was intoxicated with discovering something new, so much so that he wanted to test it again and again.

"Could you cut me once more?"

That was why. Even as Pell's expression crumpled, even knowing that only someone with a broken head would say such a thing, Encrid could not help himself.

"Um, uh, well, yes."

The defeated had no say. Pell did as he was told. The man called the War-Ending Soldier stared at him expectantly while taking a blade to the forearm. Pell thought he was mad.

He had heard the nickname Lunatic Company Commander before. So it wasn't just idle talk. Didn't that suit him better than War-Ending Soldier?

Or were all geniuses like this? Come to think of it, there was someone of much the same breed in his own group. Did he need to go mad himself to catch up to that one?

It was the moment Encrid led another man astray. Naturally, Encrid was unaware of it.

Once the blade cut him again, he heard:

"Die!"

A clear compulsion amid the screams and howls. Determination. Pressure. Encrid gathered his mind and answered.

"No."

He repelled it. This was only his second time, yet he felt as though he needed no further practice.

'It isn't difficult.'

That, too, was immensely pleasing. Every time he learned something, he had to struggle and struggle. Flounder and fight desperately. To learn the heart of the beast, he had needed not to transcend death, but to actually die. Not one thing had come easily.

He could hardly call this easy, either. It had taken more than four hundred todays, after all. Yet once he understood "refusal," it came as naturally as though it had always been part of his body. It felt like the easiest thing in the world.

After repelling that determination a second time, his head did spin. That happened when he concentrated too hard. Blood trickled from his nose, too.

"... Are you all right?"

As Pell asked, Encrid gauged the time and said,

"Could we do it once more?"

Surely one more would be all right?

Pell's face twisted as though he had witnessed something he should never have seen. In the end, Encrid took a third cut. Another diagonal slash marked his forearm.

"Die."

Dizziness invaded his head. The other's determination, compulsion, and pressure suffocated his mind. It sought to constrict his throat and burst his heart. Encrid answered with the utmost ease.

"No."

The instant he refused that compulsion and pressure, he closed his eyes. He passed out on the spot.

"Huh? Sir Lunatic?"

He thought Pell had called him something strange before he lost consciousness.

"Captaaaain!"

He thought he heard Bell's voice from behind him, too. In any case, Encrid collapsed smiling.

* * *

In a way, the rippling black river looked like thick, black mist. A boat afloat upon black clouds, the ferryman aboard it, a violet lamp. The same sight as always. He saw it whenever he spoke with the ferryman.

There was one difference, though.

"You."

The ferryman broke off.

Encrid looked at his face. Where only one eye had once been faintly visible, he could now see eyes, a nose, a mouth, and skin. Skin the color of gray pebbles. Black eyes that matched the river, a high nose, and dull gray lips.

There was nothing human about his appearance. Nor did he look like a Giant, Frog, Fairy, or dragonfolk. That was only natural. He was something unknown, beyond Encrid's comprehension. Perhaps something akin to a god. Or a demon.

"Is getting sliced open your hobby?"

Why did someone with that face talk like that? Then Encrid thought he himself was partly to blame for the change in the ferryman's speech.

"Getting stabbed is more to my taste."

Didn't their conversations always go this way?

The ferryman soon changed the subject.

"Madness lets you walk, and madness lets you see. How does it look? My face?"

Encrid answered his question honestly.

"You wouldn't be popular with either sex."

Perhaps demons, or those called demons' bastards, might find him appealing.

The ferryman merely cackled in reply. His mouth remained still; only his laughter echoed through the space.

Encrid's consciousness grew faint and distant, his vision fading with it. There seemed to be bewilderment in the ferryman's laughter, but he had no way of knowing what the other was thinking.

Above the black river, where Encrid had vanished, the ferryman murmured,

"Well? Did it feel good to get over that wall?"

Had Encrid been there, he would have nodded more than a hundred times.

* * *

The instant he opened his eyes, he knew today had not repeated again.

"How does a man go out for the evening and come back sliced up? And you let him do it on purpose? Why didn't you ask me? I could've drawn you a prettier pattern with my axe."

Having only just awakened, he could not make sense of it. He raised his head, letting Rem's words go in one ear and out the other.

Pell would have left. Bell must have delivered him here. Having watched the fight, Bell would have had plenty to say. Even if he hadn't wanted to, Rem and the others would never have left him alone after seeing Encrid carried back from his nighttime outing.

That brief train of thought explained the situation. Now he understood Rem's words, too.

"Does your axe have something dwelling in it, too?"

"Killing intent?"

Rem shot back without missing a beat. Was the bastard bored?

"Where's Dunbachel?"

"Passed out."

What had he done to make a Beastman lose consciousness? Dunbachel seemed capable of taking a fair beating. Not as much as a Giant, of course.

"Will you be going today as well, brother?"

At Audin's question, Encrid realized he had missed his morning training. The sun was already high. Even with a regenerative body, a body that healed and renewed itself, he had slept until noon?

'It puts a strain on the body.'

He was beginning to get a rough sense of what Will was. Though he still found it difficult to define, expressing his determination to refuse now came as easily as taking a copper coin out of his pocket. Doing it and enduring it, however, were separate matters.

HNNK!

His nose felt blocked. He blew it, dislodging dried blood.

"Disgusting."

Rem grumbled. With his axe at his waist, a light sheen of sweat on him, and Dunbachel reportedly unconscious, he seemed to have just returned from beating her senseless.

Only Rem and Audin were watching him wake. No, Esther was there as well, napping off to one side.

This was hardly his first collapse, so no one panicked or recoiled in horror because Encrid had passed out. They had merely asked who his opponent was. Of course, Bell the deliveryman had no answer to give.

"Who was it?"

Rem meant the visitor from the previous evening. To Encrid, he was someone familiar, almost a friend, who had shared more than four hundred todays with him.

"Pell."

That was why he simply gave the name.

"Oh, Pell. Of course. That fellow Pell."

Rem rattled it off without the slightest change of expression. A mistake, then.

"One of the Shepherds of the Wastes."

Encrid corrected himself.

The mad band who herded monsters and demonic beasts like sheep: those were the Shepherds of the Wastes. Hardly anyone who made a living by the sword on this continent could fail to know the name.

"Huh? What brought them all the way here?"

"How should I know?"

Was he wandering to hone his skills, or had some business brought him here? Come to think of it, Encrid hadn't asked about any of that.

"Looked like you had fun?"

Rem asked another question. Why did he have so many?

"Quite a bit."

"You passed out grinning, Captain. Don't think you ever did that when your eyes rolled back fighting me."

Passed out smiling...

Encrid chuckled and shook his head.

"You're distracting me. Move."

He had missed his morning training, so he would finish that first.

"I'll go to the marketplace in the afternoon."

"Will you, brother?"

Audin nodded with his usual smile. No one tried to stop Encrid. Rem, apparently out of questions, tossed his axe aside and went to wash.

After training with the Isolation Technique, Encrid gave his equipment a quick inspection, swung his sword through the air a few times, and prepared to leave. In the meantime, Jaxon came in and went back out. Krais came in and asked whether he was all right.

"You're at that age when you need something nourishing."

He followed the question with some cheek. Encrid told him to hand some over if he had any, enjoying this new today.

There had been more than four hundred todays. He had sparred and trained with these men within them, but existing in frozen time could not be all joy.

And now he had reached a new today. Those todays had not always been identical, yet he alone remembered them. For that reason, he avoided further conversation with the others, passing them as nonchalantly as he could.

He already knew all too well why repeating a today that only he remembered was a curse. That knowledge let him move on. He could quietly put behind him the time he alone had experienced.

Above all, the refusal he had learned in overcoming that today filled him with such profound satisfaction that his joy outweighed everything else.

"What's got you so happy?"

Ragna asked just as Encrid was about to leave. A sword dangled at his waist; apparently he intended to come along. It wasn't a good sword. He had picked up yet another blade discarded on the last battlefield. Encrid thought he should find him a decent one when he had the chance.

Ragna's manner was rough, almost confrontational, depending on how one heard it. But Encrid knew he meant nothing of the sort and answered readily.

"Because it's a fine day."

Ragna looked up at the sky. Yesterday's weather had certainly been good, but wasn't it rather gloomy today? The clouds were gradually turning a deep gray. Soon they would be rain clouds; it looked as though there might be a shower.

Autumn rain heralded a change in temperature, another sign that summer was slowly departing.

"This weather?"

Ragna asked.

"I've seen nothing but clear days."

An incomprehensible answer, though perfectly natural to Encrid. He normally preferred bright days to cloudy ones, but he had seen the same weather four hundred times. He had reached the point where change was welcome even if rain poured down and filled his boots.

Having limbered up with the Isolation Technique and finished an abbreviated version of his morning training, he headed for the marketplace.

When he entered the inn, Allen greeted him.

"It's good to see you so often lately, but are you sure you're all right, sir?"

In Border Guard, a Company Commander held nearly the highest position anyone outside the nobility could occupy. Allen was respectful.

Encrid found the remark about seeing him often rather strange. For him, nearly four hundred days had passed before this today.

"True. I think I'll stop coming before I grow attached."

Allen laughed at Encrid's answer, apparently taking it for a joke.

Upon entering the training yard, Encrid saw the rapier swordsman leaning against a wall.

"Were you waiting?"

"I thought you'd come today."

"You first?"

"No. Our three other friends weren't keen on that."

The rapier swordsman folded his arms, then continued.

"Today is the last time. This is suffering you needn't endure. You don't have to attempt it."

"That's for me to decide. If you're scared, you're welcome to run away."

Encrid's tongue was the finest blade on the continent. Even a few unremarkable words, placed just right, became a deadly dagger.

"I see."

The rapier swordsman hated the words "coward" and "flight" so much that Encrid's reply hardened his resolve.

'With intimidation.'

Breaking that dream would be best for the man, too. To climb higher required talent. Judging by what he had observed, whatever stroke of luck had brought Encrid this far, this was his limit. The end. This fellow Encrid had drawn his well of talent dry. No, he had gone beyond that, dragging up talent that hadn't even existed. And so this was the end.

The rapier swordsman hated the words "coward" and "flight" so much that Encrid's reply hardened his resolve.

'With intimidation.'

Breaking that dream would be best for the man, too. To climb higher required talent. Judging by what he had observed, whatever stroke of luck had brought Encrid this far, this was his limit. The end.

This fellow Encrid had drawn his well of talent dry. No, he had gone beyond that, dragging up talent that hadn't even existed. And so this was the end.

Encrid walked on past the rapier swordsman. Watching his retreating back, the swordsman furrowed his brow.

Something about his gait seemed different. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it had changed. In a single day? Even if something had changed, what could it be? His attitude, nothing more.

Beside him, the barbarian soldier who had followed Encrid started running his mouth.

"Our captain sometimes gets even more broken overnight, so don't worry too much about it. Be careful, though. Push him too far, and my axe might start dancing."

"Don't worry, brother. He isn't a man who'll die from mere intimidation."

The huge, bear-like soldier added his own comment behind him.

The blond soldier passed by with his customary air of indifference. The reddish-brown-haired soldier was already settled off to one side; when had he come in? Everyone who ought to be there had gathered.

The inn's guests began emerging one by one, too: people Encrid had last faced four hundred days ago, from his perspective. Among them, Edin Molsen stepped forward first, his expression sterner than ever.

"I challenge you to a spar."

Hadn't he taken enough punishment already?

While everyone else was thinking that, Encrid wrestled with a serious question.

'What was this bastard's name again?'

It had been four hundred days. He had forgotten.

"Er, what was your name?"

That was, so to speak, the switch that sent Edin Molsen into a fit.

"What?"

Four hundred days for Encrid. Mere days for Edin Molsen. Forgotten his name? His name?

Edin Molsen lost all reason.

"Fine! I'll kill you!"

SHING!

Edin drew his sword and charged hard. His watching bodyguard frowned. To fall for a provocation like that.

Thinking he shouldn't have asked the name, Encrid put his hands and feet to work. There was no need to draw his sword.

Watching the approaching sword, he stepped as he had learned through the Flowing Sword Technique. Smooth footwork carried him clear of the blade. It looked like a rehearsed spar.

He moved aside first, and only afterward did Edin Molsen's blade slice through the space he had occupied. It was a feat made possible by seeing, judging, and anticipating in advance, but to the uninitiated it could have looked like a play. Why swing a sword where there was no one to hit?

Then the back of Encrid's hand struck Edin Molsen's wrist.

CRACK!

As he struck with the back of his hand, he stepped inside and drove his palm into his opponent's abdomen.

THUD!

The pushing strike of Balaf-style martial arts. A blow with rotational force traveling from his ankles through his waist and shoulder into his palm. Combined with Encrid's strength, it was anything but light.

But that wasn't the only surprising part. The first time he had knocked Edin Molsen down with a single blow, it had been half a gamble. Not now. He had ease to spare. It was as though he had become someone else overnight.

After shoving his opponent away, Encrid looked at his palm and thought,

'Why is this so easy?'

Had the fellow whose name he had forgotten actually grown less skilled?

That couldn't be it.