Chapter 311 - Praise from the Ferryman

He received praise from the ferryman. Two of the men chanted the same incantation. Water rose from the stream, blocking his path like a wall. A light swipe of the gladius parted it, but the gap immediately filled again. He might as well have been cutting water. The wall was only five paces wide, but that was not all. "Hear me, hear me, hear my words." At the other two men's incantation, rounded masses carrying something like water clubs emerged beside the wall. Their heads were smooth, their chests thick. They had something resembling hands, but writhing currents instead of feet. Something like water spirits. Or golems made of water. Whatever they were, part of a spell world had manifested in this one. "Stop him." At the mage's command, the two footless water ghosts crashed toward him, foam churning around their lower bodies. They did not run; "crashed" suited them perfectly. Their bodies rose and fell as they surged at him like waves. Encrid thrust Spark forward. A Fairy sword might have some sort of magic on it. Of course, it did not. Spark was the product of exquisite metallurgy, not spells. Spark pierced the water. Apparently not feeling so much as a prick, the spirit swung the water club joined to its hand without hesitation. Encrid withdrew Spark and leaped aside. BOOM! The water club slammed into the ground, gouging it out. Judging by that crater, he could not dismiss the club just because it was water. A single exchange gave Encrid his answer.

'The casters.'

Fighting the spells would get him nowhere. He had to kill the people casting them. But two were using water barriers to restrict his vision and movement, while the other two obstructed him with spirits. They even seemed to realize they could not kill him and devoted themselves to holding him up. Whenever he tried to disengage, the spirits swelled enormously and surged toward him, making them hard to ignore. They had not delayed him long before three Hurrier swordsmen were at his back. "Didn't think I'd see you again today," Encrid muttered.

He meant it. He had done almost the opposite of yesterday, so why was the result so similar? "Don't talk to him. He's mad."

"What a pathetic trick."

"You know me? Again? I don't think we've met." All three greeted him with enough passion to kiss him. Not with their lips, of course. It would be a deep kiss of steel, their swords meeting his guts. Encrid adjusted his grip. His arm muscles trembled. He had barely rested since yesterday. However well trained his body, that did not change the fact that he had pushed it too hard. 'This is rough.'

There was only so often he could stand being this breathless. His heart hammered. He steadied his ragged breathing and took in the mages' water ghosts, the three Hurrier swordsmen, and the mass of soldiers. Giving up was not an option. He would not let any day go easily. And he did not. He fought back, killing two mages and all three Hurrier swordsmen. "Yes, this makes sense. Urgh."

The last swordsman said it as he coughed up blood and died. An arrow of water, rather than an ordinary arrow or quarrel, punched a hole in Encrid's thigh. Without his inner armor, it would have struck his belly. What made it even shittier than an ordinary quarrel was that it vanished after doing its job, leaving blood gushing out. An arrow left in the wound would at least have stemmed the bleeding. Instead, he was losing a considerable amount of blood. It had struck a bad spot. The Isolation Technique included a way to stanch bleeding by strengthening the muscles. He used it, but a blood vessel had torn. Muscles could do nothing about that. Blood loss made his head spin. Even so, his concentration held. Bold to the very end. With the heart of the beast beating within him, he did not falter. Adrenaline was surging through him, too. "You're wearing something valuable," a surviving mage said. The man approached, perhaps letting his guard down, and Encrid kicked off with one foot. A charge made with Limping Step. Blood sprayed from his wounded thigh. Before it struck the ground, he was within reach of his opponent. He had long since lost his sword, so he punched the man in the head. CRACK!

"Urk!" The skull split, spilling blood and brains. No human could survive that. It was a punch delivered with all his strength. This was the natural result. His opponent was not even wearing a helmet. As Encrid took one more mage with him to the grave, spearheads came at his back. THUNK-THUNK-THUNK! Steel searing like heated iron tore through his back, severing his spine and shredding muscle, bone, blood vessels, and organs. He could never grow accustomed to the pain of giving his body up to steel. But he could endure it. "Die, you monster."

"Die."

"Die!" The enemy soldiers thrust their fear into him along with their spears. Something crazed showed in their eyes. The eyes of men driven to the brink, he thought. Encrid remained calm. He died without a scream or a groan. To be honest, he did not even have the strength to open his mouth and let out a breath. That was how he died. Enduring the agony of death never grew familiar, but...

'Whew.'

With one deep breath, he pushed the pain of the previous today aside. There was no dream. The ferryman did not appear. His third today simply began. And on that third today, he sprinted down yet another route. Even so... "Why the hell is there a cliff here?" He had not climbed very far up the hill, yet a precipice greeted him. Could he survive jumping? Even with luck, he would end up half crippled. And that would take the goddess of luck making a determined effort to win his heart. It would take that much luck just to end up crippled. In other words, falling meant death. "That will be your grave." Behind him were the same three Hurrier swordsmen, mercenaries who knew how to fight, and a shaman he had never seen before. 'I went a different way today, too.'

Unable to raise his right hand, Encrid scratched his chin with his left. Something was odd here. How did the result always turn out the same? He fought, instinctively searching for an answer. His third today ended with a spell. Encrid was struck by a technique called "Unseen Force." Something genuinely intangible shoved and battered his body. Of course, he had already killed Sent and the three Hurrier swordsmen and thrown his gladius at the last shaman's head. He took the blow after killing everyone who needed killing. "Faaall!"

After the shaman shouted, the gladius embedded itself in his head with a thud, like an ornament. Encrid fell off the cliff. Unsurprisingly, he discovered that falling to his death was truly horrible. First his breath caught, then the impact battered his entire body. Even then, death did not come quickly. The pain was really something. The fourth today passed, then the fifth. On the ninth, he died again. This time, a Hurrier swordsman dropped his sword and clung to Encrid. The briefest opening appeared, and one of the mercenaries slashed Encrid's throat with a poisoned knife. He had exhausted too much strength wiping out their heavy infantry. His body slowly stiffened. There was nothing he could do. His dodging sense could only sustain him for so long. No human could hold out against such numbers. Twenty-five todays passed. Death took different forms, but they were alike. Wherever he went, this was a labyrinth with no escape. A maze. He was trapped. It was a prison. The sky had become a ceiling, the wind iron bars, and every last one of those officers wanted him dead. Around then, he realized something. It was an extension of a realization from an earlier today. Why had saving the child always produced the same result? Even though he acted differently every time? 'Someone was watching and activating the scroll.'

The same was happening now. Someone outside was directing the troops to kill him. That was why the result stayed the same, no matter which way he went. Then how was he supposed to overcome this? He knew it was a wall now, but how could he get over it? On the thirty-fourth today, the ferryman asked again.

"You can answer today, I see. Well, are you enjoying yourself?" He had the leisure to answer now. He even felt like talking, so he answered honestly.

"A little." There was much to think about, however, so he paused briefly before continuing.

"A lot." A mind the ferryman could never understand. Encrid smiled. It was simply his nature. People despaired when everything was dark and they could not see the way ahead. Encrid had always been different. Even in utter darkness, he found joy in moving forward. He knew he could add something new to each change. He had not figured out a single thing yet, but that changed nothing. He could welcome it gladly even without knowing. "You truly are insane."

Encrid received praise from the ferryman.

* * *

Long ago, the continent's foremost master of warfare and strategy had said that five things must be considered before going to war. First, were the king and his people of one mind? A war in which a king ignored his people, swayed by his own desires, could never be welcomed. Second, had the season's heat and cold been considered?

Third, had the terrain been thoroughly assessed?

Fourth, was the commander taking the field sufficiently capable?

Fifth, were the army's organization, chain of command, and supply system solidly connected? In short, the five were the king's governance, suitable timing, knowledge of the terrain, the commander's ability, and organizational structure. Abnaire had paid somewhat more attention to the third, fourth, and fifth. He had lost the second by beginning a battle in the cold from a disadvantageous position. The first concerned the king's political ability and could be examined once he returned. As for terrain, he had reshaped land that originally favored the enemy. In some places he dug pits. In others he laid nets. He had put considerable effort into the fourth: the commanders taking the field.

"Do you intend to bury the name of the Gray Hounds here? If not, do your duty." The right provocation, and rewards to follow. Even if the Gray Hounds fell here, they would be reborn. Their current commander had agreed to accept the sacrifice. He had stepped forward out of patriotism and loyalty. Abnaire had used that. The fifth, organizational structure, was what Abnaire had focused on most. Criminals. Men with families back home. He had given them a chance to change their lives with this one battle. Desire and threats. Those two weapons held the army together. Encrid did not know exactly what Abnaire had done. He did not even know the enemy commander's name. But one thing was certain: he felt as though he stood on a cliff with every way blocked. Even so, he took it in stride. He rose, opened his eyes, and repeated today. This time, he charged straight toward what he believed was the center, and Sent greeted him first. It seemed this was their first meeting with Encrid completely uninjured. "You're not going anywhere."

"Anywhere?"

"Nowhere." Sent clenched his teeth and took his stance. Behind him stood the man who had slashed Encrid's throat with a poisoned dagger. Encrid still did not know that bastard's name. He had no idea how to escape today. The future was uncertain. The signposts that had guided him until now had blurred again. But... "You're smiling?"

Sent raised his eyebrows at Encrid's face. Could someone who smiled in this situation be sane? He questioned Encrid's mental state. A complete lunatic. Encrid was at a loss, but happy. He could not see the way, yet he did not feel stifled. Whatever barred his path, he would break free. Where would that take him? Because he did not give up, because he did not retreat, because he had kept moving even if it meant stitching his tattered dream back together, Encrid smiled. He had gained so much before. Had he not already lived through countless todays? What had all those todays given him? With all that experience behind him, he could gladly accept even an uncertain future. "Kill him!"

Archers swarmed up behind Sent and two other mercenaries. Having faced Sent so many times, Encrid needed only three sword strokes this time. Two at most if he could throw his gladius. Should he? No, he could not. There was a long fight ahead. Letting go of a weapon was no good when fighting alone against many. But since they had met right at the start, he still had his gleaming blue steel sword. That one he could throw. It broke after a few swings every time anyway. Fortunately, he had two more swords available. Left foot forward, he drew the sword with his right hand and threw it. The motions flowed smoothly together. He had done this a few times. He had not spent these repeated todays idling. He had honed what he possessed. That was how he had learned to throw a longsword: an application of the Throwing Sword Technique, meant for daggers. CLANG! Startled by the sword whizzing at him, Sent hurriedly knocked it aside. Encrid stamped down and activated the Will of the Instant. His second piece of proof that he had not been idling. It was the second Will he had gained while learning the fastest sword, the swiftest strike. He overlaid an instant with determination and ran. His surroundings whipped backward. His thigh muscles swelled as though about to burst from the acceleration. The blood in every vessel seemed to pound. It raced through his body like a galloping wild horse. Encrid extended Spark. The thrust following his acceleration pierced Sent's throat. This today began with killing Sent. "Peekaboo."

Since he had stabbed before taunting, Sent probably did not even hear him properly. But it was enough to terrify the mercenary behind him. "You crazy bastard!"

Cursing first when startled. A born mercenary indeed. Encrid extended the gladius as though to thrust, then stabbed again with Spark while his opponent knocked it aside. Two uses of the Will of the Instant neatly disposed of the two mercenaries. After that came heavy infantry and the three Hurrier swordsmen. He spotted a few Fairies among the crossbowmen and archers. Some of them were astonishingly good shots. They targeted only the ends of his movements, striking at gaps when his breathing faltered. Of course, this was nothing new. Encrid endured. Longer than the first time. Longer with every repetition. Over fifty repeated todays, Encrid properly mastered the Will of the Instant. He refined his swordsmanship once more. He even created a second sword technique after Snake Sword. 'Should I call it Poke Sword?'

His naming sense was still atrocious. Poke Sword, because one poke finished it. As he alternated Review with combat, he changed the name.

'Lightning Flash.'

A lightning blade, a flashing blade. That sounded better. Lightning Step. He turned it over in his mind several times. A fitting name lent a technique greater power. Serpent Sword and Lightning Flash. Snake Sword and Lightning Blade, or Lightning Stab. Neither was bad. Beyond swordsmanship, the ongoing fighting taught him much. Dying beneath volleys of poisoned arrows in a pit improved his footwork. Dying tangled in nets taught him to slice through a coarse mesh in one stroke. 'It won't match Scission, but...'

He could now manage a Steel Cut even while moving. The Heavy Sword Technique added strength to produce destructive power. He learned and internalized that, too. Today repeated. Today continued. On and on it went. Throughout a hundred and five todays, Encrid trained. He revisited every technique he had learned. They became cleaner and stronger. But he could not escape the trap Abnaire had laid. Then, on the two hundred and fifty-fifth today, the ferryman said something utterly unexpected. In earlier todays, he had told Encrid to give up. This time, he said something different.