Chapter 293 - He Began Training

"I'm asking why you're doing this." Hmm. He hadn't left yet. Krais was still standing in front of him, waving a hand before his eyes as he spoke. "Can you see this? Hello? Can you even hear me?"

"What are you doing?"

"Looks like you can hear me now."

"There's nothing wrong with my ears."

"Can't say the same for your head." Should he give him a smack for getting uppity? Was Krais running wild because Rem was off playing somewhere?

Before Encrid could use his hands, Krais spoke. "If this is about that strange question earlier, ask Esther. And do you realize we have a mountain of more urgent problems right now?"

"I'll give you full authority. Handle it."

"Oh, fuck, then I'm running away!"

"Except that." Krais silently mouthed an unspeakable curse and turned away.

"Why is this my life?"

The lament sounded endearing. At least he wasn't saying he would run away right now. Encrid rested his hand on Esther's head again. Even if she couldn't become human, the knowledge inside her wasn't going anywhere.

From what he had seen, she was no ordinary mage. She seemed exceptional even among the spell-slingers who made wonders real.

Might she know something, then? He didn't ask with any great expectations. "Esther, you heard that, right?"

He merely tossed out the question. Esther slowly rose, lifting her forequarters first. A human's joints might have cracked and popped, but her supple panther body merely curved like a bow, then straightened.

Once up, she drew something on the ground with a claw. SCRITCH, SCRITCH. It was a simple picture. One shape, with three lines behind it.

What was this? Her drawing skills certainly gave him something to puzzle over. Abstract art, perhaps? A little way from the first shape, Esther drew something long and pointed.

Abstract art, then.

Encrid spent a moment appreciating her artistic vision. She hadn't studied drawing. Spells and pictures were two different things. He had heard of a mage who prattled on about spells being art. What bullshit. Esther tapped the long, pointed shape with her paw, then swept it across the shape on the other side. The dirt was quickly scuffed up. The easel displaying her artistic vision became plain dirt again. Encrid knew how to listen, and he was quick on the uptake. He could learn even from a terrible teacher. This time was no different. He read the intent hidden among the abstract shapes and lines. "Cut it before it activates?"

Esther gave a low growl and curled up. It was cold, so she meant to get some more sleep.

Thinking she seemed to be complaining about the cold, Encrid picked her up and went back into the tent. FWOOSH. He laid the panther beside the torch stand and was twisting his body a little to loosen and stretch his muscles when Audin entered. Krais would be running all over the place, hoping to find some way forward. Ragna, more motivated than ever, would be practicing his swordsmanship nearby.

Jaxon, he had no idea about. He would be doing fine somewhere.

That left just Audin and himself. "Brother."

Audin called to him. Encrid knew what he would say without hearing the rest. It concerned healing. With his divine power, he could likely heal the injuries still lingering in Encrid's body.

If only he had the use of his right arm and left leg back now. 'It would be much easier.'

But was that right? Could he truly call it the right path? Encrid was very quick on the uptake, and there were things he had figured out. Audin hadn't recounted his past in detail, but putting together his actions, his usual manner, and everything he had said made some things easy enough to infer. 'He was expelled, or he has bindings, or there's some other reason he can't use his divine power freely.'

Audin had pretended nothing was wrong after healing him before, but Encrid had more or less noticed that using divine power had consequences. "I cannot heal you completely, but I can ease the pain."

"No need." The refusal came swiftly. Above all, there was no point. It wouldn't heal him completely, and easing the pain meant nothing.

Pain was evidence that he was alive. All the more so now. When the scrolls or whatever wrapped around the child had exploded, he had felt his body being torn to shreds. Had he been the only one?

'I think it must have hurt the kid even more.' Thinking about it made his blood boil. He didn't know which bastard had come up with this, but he had no intention of letting things go that bastard's way.

He didn't want to dismiss it as some outrageous dirty trick and dodge it. He wanted to face it head-on, to slash, strike, stab, cut, and beat it. And thanks to Esther, he had found a method in just one day.

'Just cut it first.'

Nothing could be simpler. For a wall, it was almost anticlimactic. He took some seasoned jerky from inside his clothes and put it in Esther's mouth. The panther took it between her teeth and chewed away diligently. "As you wish, brother."

Audin turned away after speaking. 'What an interesting brother.'

He seemed to have sensed Audin's condition. The bindings, the restrictions on his divine power, and such.

He couldn't know the full story. Audin had never told him. He could only have picked it up from observation. And yet he was being considerate of Audin? In these circumstances?

Having decided to stand and fight rather than make a determined escape, he ought to want something done about his injuries. Yet he showed no sign of it at all.

That was what made him such an interesting man. 'I ask you, my Lord and Father in heaven: what steadies this man's heart?'

Naturally, there was no answer. But he needed none. Audin prayed silently, where no one could hear.

'My small and precious brother, if you so wish, I too shall lend what little strength I can upon this battlefield.' It was clear who his opponent would be. Audin considered smashing the skull of the one leading the wolf demonic beasts a task entrusted to him by God. After Audin left, Encrid pondered a fast sword. He kept turning it over in his mind. Review and putting his thoughts in order were among his specialties.

He did just that. 'A fast sword.'

There was what Zimmer of Martai had shown him, and examples before that. Rem was fast, and so was Ragna. "Through pain shall I advance. I shall not offer my prayers to the Lord to forget my pain, but bear the suffering He has bestowed upon me and move forward."

The big bear suddenly reciting the scriptures outside the tent was fast too. Which of them had been slow? What about the swordsman who had subjected him to intimidation?

Fast, and faster still. Most recently, there was the sword of that son of a bitch Lycanos. 'It was too fast.'

He could say with certainty that it had been the fastest of all.

Speed. What he needed now was pure speed. Encrid became absorbed in the thought, and as the same day unfolded, he went forward and swung his sword. "The pain that cannot kill me!"

"Only makes me stronger!"

Encrid stood among the soldiers roaring the chant. He was advancing along a path informed by what he had explored and learned. 'It went off around there yesterday.'

He would go out to meet the child before that point. "Huh!"

As he suddenly darted ahead of the front line, a startled soldier cried out beside him. He ignored it and ran.

His left shin throbbed as he picked up speed, but that was fine. It wasn't bad enough to stop him walking. He saw the running child's eyes go wide.

Cut.

He could see the scrolls: dull red parchment wrapped around the child's body. Swinging his sword to cut only the parchment was not difficult. Once, he wouldn't have dreamed of it, but now it was easy. He was just about to do it. Just as his blade was about to reach the child's body, light flashed. The spell detonated again. He had certainly been faster than yesterday. He had rushed out and swung his sword before the child arrived, yet it had exploded first.

Someone in the rear was controlling when the scrolls activated. The bursting light burned and crushed the child's eyeballs. Skin burst and tore, sending the organs and broken bones within flying in every direction.

His head was hot. The heat reached his eyes. His heightened concentration made him see every last detail.

Seeing it all, enduring it all, Encrid died again. 'Fucking hell.'

As a new today began, what he had seen seemed to remain imprinted on his retinas. In any case, one more repetition had told him everything he needed to know.

The same morning dawned for the third time. "Yes, that's what I'll do."

"Do you really have to go that... What? Huh?"

Answering Krais before he could speak, Encrid got up and took his sword. Esther, who had been cradled in his arms, growled in protest and slipped into the spot where he had been lying. "Whew."

Encrid steadied his breathing and went outside the tent. "... What was that?"

Krais stared blankly, bewildered.

"What else? Training."

Dunbachel supplied the perfect answer. She had seen Encrid for herself and decided to follow him. Guessing what he intended from his movements, she rose as well. She meant to give her scimitar a vigorous workout.

Without Rem around, she was getting restless. Encrid stepped outside the tent, shook off the images lingering in his eyes, and put his thoughts in order. He had seen the path forward. All he had to do was follow it. "Seriously, what the hell?"

Krais's dazed mutter reached him from behind, but Encrid cheerfully ignored it as usual. Then he gripped his sword and extended it forward.

It was madness precisely because it was so ordinary for him. He began training.

* * *

Make the most of the today he was given. Encrid did so even without intending to. He began with thought, then put it into practice with his body, making it real. As usual, Audin offered to heal him.

"No need."

He refused. It was routine. If some things changed in this repeating today, others did not. Audin's air was one of them.

Every time Encrid refused healing, he would recite the scriptures or compose himself in prayer. He looked as though he might cause some sort of trouble, but from what Encrid had observed so far, he spent the day quietly enough. "Healing?"

"No need."

The day repeated. Each time, Audin let the matter drop without asking why. Encrid, too, accepted it as part of his daily routine without questioning it. "Transform."

On one today, he even lightly tossed Esther against a wall while chanting something like a spell. He wondered whether getting her angry would make her transform, but all he got were more claw marks on his face.

In truth, he hadn't expected much. He also went poking around various parts of the battlefield and questioned a particularly skilled archer. "From this distance, could you shoot just the cloth off someone's body?"

Might it work with enough skill? Shoot an arrow so its head caught only the very edge of the cloth. "Do you think that's possible?"

The soldier was so dumbfounded that he answered with a question. Encrid gave up on that. Then he would have to get close somehow. What about infiltrating before the scroll carrier set out? Could he rescue the child before any of it began? "Where's Jaxon?"

"No idea. Haven't seen him since yesterday evening."

According to Krais, Jaxon hadn't been seen since last night. Come to think of it, he was the only one Encrid hadn't seen throughout the repetitions of today. Throwing Esther and nosing around elsewhere were a kind of habit. There were cracks in the walls that made him repeat today. Hadn't he taken advantage of them time and again?

That was why he checked. He also asked around to see whether there was a mage in the army, but since when were mages so common?

'For people who aren't common, I seem to run into them a lot.'

The thought came as he idly scratched his chin. Except for a brief look around at midday, he did nothing but swing his sword. Sometimes he forgot time, forgot today, forgot his purpose. 'Ah.'

Thrusting and swinging, he sometimes entered a state of self-forgetfulness, losing all awareness of himself. Yet he never succeeded, not once.

Nine todays passed that way. He had taken none of those todays easy. Still, he failed. It seemed within reach, yet remained beyond him. 'Why?'

He questioned himself, full of uncertainty. There would be a way. No wall was insurmountable. Encrid mulled over what he had learned. Nine repetitions of today had allowed him to verify some things beyond doubt.

First, they were indeed scrolls, a spell. Esther gave a warning cry before they exploded. Someone was watching and detonating them remotely. Even if he sprinted to rescue the child, he couldn't outrun the magic's activation. That was what he knew. There were still things he didn't.

Would simply cutting the scrolls really stop them from activating? Was this the right path? Questions and doubt had surged up on the fifth today, but Encrid had brushed them aside with ease. Right or wrong, if this was all he could do now, then doing it was the right choice. ["Spend that time running instead of worrying. If you have no talent, you should at least have stamina."]

Those were the words of a sword instructor he had met in a modest trading territory. He had been the first decent teacher Encrid ever met. Of course stamina was the foundation of everything. Of course the body that put his skills into practice had to be sound. ["Don't get hurt. Neglect your body day to day, and you'll struggle all the more when it matters. And if you struggle, you fucking die."]

Drawing on countless real battles, the man had taught him practical mercenary swordsmanship. A merchant family's son who had been listening beside him said,

["Enough with the obvious. Teach us properly."] But Encrid had listened closely to the former mercenary's words. He hadn't dismissed them because the lessons cost only a few Krona. He had taken the opposite path from the merchant's brat who complained that it was all obvious.

He listened, and he acted. He swung his sword instead of worrying. He wove their words, their advice, and the lessons earned through swinging his sword into his life. 'Never neglect my body.'

He had followed that advice quite faithfully too. His shin and right arm were injured, but that was all right. Ever since circumstances had forced him to use his left hand, Encrid had worked that hand hard as well. He had never stopped training it. For every hundred downward strikes with his right hand, he made a hundred and fifty with his left.

That was why his left hand didn't feel awkward now. ["This is training for if you ever lose a leg."]

There were things he had learned from Rem as well. Anything could happen in a fight. What should he do if one leg suddenly stopped working? ["Then you fight like this."]

It was a nameless bit of footwork: changing stance and position by contracting and extending the sole of just one foot.

It was so damned difficult that mastering it had nearly killed him, but all that effort had truly not been wasted. ["A suitable way to kill time."]

Hadn't Jaxon praised it like that while watching? If he had thought it genuinely useless, he would have told Encrid to spend that time dodging daggers instead. After learning how to push off the ground with one foot, he had even given it a name.

["Let's call it the Limping Step."] He had hammered what he learned into his body, then refined it anew. Through nine todays, Encrid was working to make his left-hand sword faster than his right. It wasn't easy. There were repeated failures. Sometimes his sword just barely reached the child's body, but wherever the watcher was, the scrolls exploded at once. Encrid pictured hypothetical scenarios in his head, over and over.

'I need preparation.'

He applied what he had learned from Jaxon. What must he do to produce the fastest possible sword stroke? Could he obscure the watching eyes? Fifteen todays had passed. The wall he had thought he could soon overcome still barred his way. Anyone might have thought of despair by then. "I pity you, so I shall tell you how. There are two paths open to you."

The ferryman spoke.

Pity? The word truly did not suit the ferryman.