Chapter 3 - A Day

A day exactly like yesterday. 'A dream?'

It had been so vivid. Had it really been a dream? He was bewildered. A dream, or reality? After spending a day much like yesterday, he found himself on the battlefield. Another melee. Fighting in much the same spot, he couldn't help feeling as though a phantom image lay over everything. 'Didn't this happen yesterday?'

He cut off the thought and shook his head. A distraction. It must have been a dream. Had he been lucky enough to have a prophetic dream?

'Is luck even what gives you prophetic dreams?'

He didn't know. He had no way of knowing. Encrid was confused. All the more so when his oiled shield split apart and Bell said,

"Fuck, I nearly died." "Bell, did splitting your skull make you lose your mind?"

He reflexively repeated the words he remembered.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Bell scrambled to his feet. Watching him, Encrid thought: Bell would die soon. Should he just stand by and watch?

He did.

It felt unreal, so he let it happen. A flash burst Bell's skull, and an eyeball flew out to strike Encrid's chest again. "What do you think you're doing, spacing out?"

Rem saved him again.

"What?"

"Finally lost your mind?"

Rem twirled a finger beside his ear. Encrid could see the axe in his hand. "That bastard called Hawk's Chick, or Claws, or whatever is here today. I've got to go get him, so pull yourself together. Tch. Can't leave you alone without worrying you'll drop dead the moment I turn my back."

"Worry about yourself." The words came automatically. Rem tilted his head but stepped away.

"I keep telling you to focus. You never listen."

Muttering, he left. I picked up an axe from the ground to replace the shield in my left hand and stood on the battlefield, sword in my right.

Something felt wrong. As he held his ground, an enemy soldier closed in from the front. It happened in an instant. This one knew how to use his feet.

One of his sword instructors had said something about that. That seventy percent of swordsmanship was footwork, wasn't it? A blade appeared, and Encrid faced death once more. In that fleeting instant, his concentration shone. He saw a point. It shrank, then quickly grew.

He watched it to the very end. Until that point became a blade and pierced his throat. 'Ah.'

Neither a scream nor a groan escaped him. His throat had been pierced. Only the hiss of escaping air came from it. Horrific pain spread from his throat through his entire body. Encrid clutched his neck and fell to the ground. As blood gushed out of him, the enemy soldier watched for a moment.

"Mercy."

With that, he drove his sword point into Encrid's head. Darkness came again. And Encrid heard it again.

CLANG, CLANG, CLANG.

A ladle striking a pot. "I'd like to know why you're looking at me like that first thing in the morning."

It was Rem beside him, speaking with a boot in his hand. Another day. The same day.

'A dream?' "Have a shitty dream or something?"

"Right. It's a dream, isn't it?"

"Ah, fuck. A bug."

Rem shook the bug out of his boot, hawked up some spit, and crushed it underfoot. It was the third time Encrid had seen this. Encrid put on neither his boots nor his equipment. He simply sat there.

'This is a dream?' The day began again. Bell died, and Rem saved him. Rem left to find the archer whose nickname was some part of a hawk's body. The skilled enemy swordsman barred his path. "What the hell are you?" Encrid asked.

Without answering, the enemy stabbed at him. That stab impressed him every time he saw it. THUMP.

His heart beat. His concentration took hold. Encrid could see the sword tip more clearly than before. He twisted aside to dodge. RRRIP!

The result was far from good. The graceful stab failed to pierce his throat, but tore away a great chunk of the side of his neck. Searing pain spread along his neck and through his whole body. He fell to the ground again. Blood gushed out.

"Mercy."

The blade fell toward his skull. CLANG, CLANG, CLANG!

"Aah!"

He woke with a scream. The pain was vivid. Encrid rubbed his neck. "Nightmare? Did a witch take your virginity?"

Rem was spouting stupid jokes.

"There's a bug in your boot," Encrid said, covering half his face with a hand. The pain of dying was bad enough. But he couldn't even begin to understand what was happening. "What? How'd you know that?"

Rem dumped the bug out of his boot, hawked up some spit, and crushed it underfoot.

"Just did."

"Are you a prophet?"

"No."

Encrid waved a hand as he spoke. He finished getting ready as usual, then stopped on his way out.

"Rem."

"What is it?"

"My head's killing me. Get your own breakfast. If anyone asks for me, tell them I'm sick in the barracks."

"If you feel like slacking off, sure."

Rem chuckled. He laughed easily. What if this wasn't a dream? What if everything repeated after he died? Was that really it? Could something like this happen?

Encrid needed time to sort out his thoughts. He went back into the barracks, took off his equipment, and sat down. He thought and thought. How could this happen? 'What caused it?'

Something occurred to him, and he fumbled inside his clothes. It was gone. The necklace the farming village's headwoman had given him was gone.

'That caused this?'

His longing? His wish?

'A blessing?' No, could this really be called a blessing? It was only the same day repeating. Besides, Encrid had heard a few things about artifacts that bestowed blessings—the blessing class of artifacts—but he had never heard of or seen anything like this. 'Isn't this closer to a curse than a blessing?'

Thinking that, Encrid rubbed his neck. It hurt terribly. Every time he died, it hurt like hell. His head felt ready to burst with tangled thoughts. When he skipped lunch too, Rem brought him something to eat.

"What's got into you? Do you really just want to slack off?"

His manner suggested he found that hard to believe. Even here, Encrid was known for his diligence. "Yeah."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Encrid nodded twice.

"Well, that's a first. Get some rest, then. They say there's a battle late this afternoon, so rest up. I'll make an excuse for you. Get yourself back on your feet by then."

Rem left. Time passed. There was no way he could sort out his thoughts. This wasn't the sort of thing that became clear just because you thought it through. "Aaaah!"

He heard a roar of voices. The ground shook. The battle had begun. Encrid had no intention of going out. If he did, that stab would kill him. He meant to hold out where he was.

But he couldn't hold out forever. He was mere battlefield fodder; feeling ill didn't give him the right to turn his back on a battle. "Everyone, gear up and get out there! We're fighting!"

A guard was making the rounds of the barracks. Encrid put on his equipment and went out. He fought again, much farther back than yesterday. He held his ground without seeing either Bell or Rem, but suddenly the ranks ahead surged. The enemy's movements were ominous. His own side was pushed back. Before he knew it, Encrid stood on the front line. And there was that man again.

Was this coincidence, or inevitable? He didn't know. But one thing was certain: wherever he went on the battlefield, he would either die or meet this fellow. Which meant this was the time to consider how, not why. Not why they kept meeting, but how he could survive. A stab. The blade flew at him.

'What was that technique called?' Rem had told him about a technique, urging him to concentrate. He'd said that knowing this alone would keep him from dying for nothing on the battlefield. He'd also said that even trapped in a monster's den, you had to calmly catch your breath.

What Encrid was attempting now was something Rem had taught him. He'd called it some kind of heart. The name flitted through his mind, just beyond reach.

That skill whose name he couldn't even remember shone again. Watching the blade, Encrid realized he was holding his breath. THUMP.

His heart pounded. He saw the timing and angle at which the blade would enter his throat. He threw himself sideways. He rolled gracelessly across the ground, but he was alive.

His joy was short-lived. THWACK!

A blow struck the back of his head, followed by horrific pain. His mind went blank. He didn't even realize he'd fallen. Another enemy soldier had struck his helmet from behind with an axe. After the blow, he looked up through a daze.

"Mercy."

The stabbing bastard drove his blade down again.

THUNK. CLANG, CLANG, CLANG!

He opened his eyes again. The same day repeating. 'Don't think about it.'

Don't think about whether the necklace was a blessing or a curse. Don't think about what was happening, either.

There were two things to think about now: surviving the battlefield, and doing whatever it took to make that happen. "There's a bug in your boot."

"Huh? Are you a prophet?"

"What was that thing called? The thing you tried to teach me before?"

Rem blinked several times, then said,

"The heart of the beast?" Right. That was the name. The heart of the beast.

How could someone with a mere human heart keep their eyes wide open on a battlefield full of flying spears, swords, and axes? With the heart of a beast, they could. So take one into your chest.

Rem's words came back to him. "Teach me again."

"Huh?"

Rem looked incredulous. Encrid understood why. Once, he had struggled desperately to learn, and Rem, won over by his passion, had struggled desperately to teach him. In the end, Encrid had learned nothing, and Rem had taught him nothing. The foundation of the training was supposedly keeping your eyes open at the critical instant. But keeping them open until you were a breath away from death took more than ordinary courage. And simply keeping them open wasn't enough. In Encrid's estimation, Rem was better than most first-rate mercenaries. The crux of the training was to watch his axe until it was practically halfway into your neck, then dodge. "Let's do it. The training."

Passion blazed in Encrid's eyes. A flame had been lit in his chest.

'Does it matter whether it's a blessing or a curse?' He had no talent. He knew that. And time was fair to everyone. That was why the untalented could never beat a genius.

But what if time wasn't fair?

Even a curse would do. This was a lifeline. A line he could follow forward. "Fine by me. Lately you've been as listless as a mutt that's lost its bone, but seeing you so full of energy today perks me up too," Rem said, rising.

"Right after breakfast."

"Sure. Let's do that." They ate breakfast and washed the dishes. They had the same silly conversation about how he'd dreamed of becoming a knight, and Rem laughed at him.

Then it was time for the lesson. "Forgotten how the training goes?"

"Not at all."

It had left such an impression that Encrid had had nightmares about Rem's training. Nightmares of that bastard's axe cutting through his neck. "Let's get started."

The point of the training was simple: when the axe came to cut his neck, keep his eyes wide open and dodge. If Rem made a mistake, Encrid would die.

Before, that fear had kept him from doing it properly. But things were a little different now. 'Even if I die, it's just clang, clang, clang again.'

Time to throw fear out the window. He awakened the concentration he had learned in his first death—the heart of the beast. Encrid's heart began to beat. Its startled pounding settled into a steady rhythm. A beast did not startle easily. The slower heartbeat brought composure.

Composure was the essence of the heart of the beast. A calm mind let him take in the axe blade's path. He had never stopped training to control his body. Seeing the path and dodging wasn't difficult.

The axe blade sliced through the air. At the right moment, Encrid slid his right foot back and pulled his body away. The axe passed before his eyes. "... Been practicing behind my back?" Rem asked.

"A little."

"Good. That's good. But you were a little early just now. Dodge at the very last moment." This was training to give his heart a thicker hide. Rem swung his axe. Encrid waited until it was on the verge of cutting into his neck, then dodged.

"Ha! Even in my tribe, only a handful could learn to do this. Amazing." The morning's training ended. Rem patted Encrid's shoulder.

"Well done. At this level, you should be able to handle the clumsy ones in a real fight."

"What about the ones who are better than that?"

"What are you trying to ask?"

"What if I run into someone like that?"

"Do you really need to ask?" When Encrid simply stared at him, Rem continued, his eyes asking what had got into the man today.

"You run." Yes. Run away. Meeting someone stronger on the battlefield and taking them on was madness. Encrid had survived this long because he had good instincts and knew his limits.

And now... "So practicing this against someone who isn't clumsy would be even better, wouldn't it?"

"A hundred lives wouldn't be enough if you trained like that." Rem chuckled. Listening to him, Encrid thought it felt as though he had just gained hundreds of lives.

Blessing or curse.

'If I can use it, I'll use every bit of it.' That was how Encrid had lived until now. And having lived that way, he meant to keep doing so.

He would face that stab. That was his plan. Wasn't the man a fine training partner? The pain of dying was horrific, but the reward was just as great. For the first time in over a decade, Encrid felt the joy of growing stronger.

A joy that filled his heart to the brim. A fulfillment no drug could match.