Chapter 312 - What Is the Wall?

What is the wall? "You've taken the wrong path." Encrid dug a finger into his ear in the world within his mind. Had he misheard? "Look the wall squarely in the face," the ferryman continued. Suspicion came first, but that did nothing to obscure the words. Look the wall squarely in the face. He was telling Encrid to see it properly. What was the wall? The sheer number of people blocking him. The quality of their troops. The Hurrier family's swordsmen, the mercenaries, the Gray Hounds, the mages, the shaman. The terrain itself. So far, all his deliberations had led Encrid to one answer.

'Grow stronger and fight my way out.' Yet difficulties awaited him at every turn. Once, just as he thought he had finally scraped through, ["The Gray Hounds never lose their prey."] men even more relentless than Rem had blocked his path. They threw their bodies at him even as their heads went flying. The Gray Hounds, the Persistent Lovers, had arrived. Once he overcame them, they too became part of today. They were included now. First came the mercenary Sent and the three Hurrier swordsmen, then the mages, then the shaman. Get past all those, and there were the Gray Hounds. All the while, ordinary soldiers kept attacking, again and again. Though he repeated what he had already experienced, every today was different. The order in which they approached changed, as did the way they fought. Encrid knew little of the art of war. But one thing was certain.

'I've been caught in something.' Then what should he do? What did he need to escape? He still believed the answer was strength. Some days he never encountered the Gray Hounds. On others, he passed through without meeting the shaman or the mages. Some todays he never even saw Sent, though by now he was almost happy to see him. Naturally, they met more often than not. "Oh, Sent, right? Good to see you." "Do you know me?" The Valen Mercenary Sword Technique: Feigned Familiarity. He was a good fellow to practice illusion swordsmanship on. Encrid pierced Sent's throat with Spark and broke through the human walls hemming him in. Died again. Greeted today again. Climbed down the cliff to see if there was a way out below, and died. He also threw himself into the ravine's waters, only for the mages to teach him a painful lesson. By then, Encrid reckoned there were five walls in all. Sent and the other mercenaries. The three Hurrier swordsmen, whose names he now knew: Roch, Merier, and Leblanc. The four mages summoned water spirits and fired water cannons. Their water whip was particularly dangerous. Its swirling current could grind an arm guard to pieces the moment it caught an arm, though using it left even them panting. He had seen their faces go pale several times, too. Then there was the shaman. He mainly used a spell called Unseen Force and was relatively easy to handle. Being invisible did not mean it had no detectable presence. Encrid could dodge it with his dodging sense. But many of his tricks were irritating, such as suddenly making the ground beneath Encrid's feet sticky, as though coated in glue. Worse, the shaman was always accompanied by a large body of heavily armored infantry carrying long spears, making him quite troublesome. Last were the Gray Hounds. In terms of fighting ability alone, they felt like the weakest link. But in sheer relentlessness, none could match them. For persistence and tenacity, they deserved a thumbs-up. No, two thumbs-up. He ran into these people during today no matter what he did. Five walls: the mercenaries, the Hurriers, the mages, the shaman, and the Gray Hounds. It seemed he could escape if he broke through all five at once. But that was impossible. No matter what he tried, it was impossible. Mixed in among them were archers, crossbowmen, spearmen, and heavy infantry. There were even a few Fairy soldiers who were excellent shots, and Beastmen who attacked with unpredictable movements. He could only be grateful there were no Frogs, dragonfolk, or Giants. Then should he count six walls? Include those troops as well?

'Not good.' Despite that inward mutter, Encrid was still thoroughly enjoying himself. He made full use of the time each repetition of today gave him. He struggled desperately, again and again. Put what he gained to use, again and again. He had done everything he could beneath sunlight mild for winter, and this was the result. It was not good.

'Experience in slaughter.' Killing and being killed had become utterly familiar. He killed and killed until the smell of blood numbed his nose. Yet he could see no way out of today. Naturally, the ferryman's words lodged in his ears. He looked his five or six walls squarely in the face. Did that change anything? No. When he dreamed again between repetitions of today, the ferryman said, "You cannot overcome it without understanding. There is only one wall." Encrid took those words to heart. Several more todays followed. Listening carefully did not bring immediate change. He could only ponder. Then he met the ferryman again. "Hey, aren't you sick of this?" This time, the ferryman spouted nonsense. "I'd say it's difficult rather than tiresome." That was why it never grew tiresome. Did the uncertain future gnaw at his heart? If this much could break him, he would never have dreamed in the first place. Encrid racked his brain, again and again. What was the wall? He had just returned to square one. "How much do I have to tell you? How much must I spell out before you understand?" The ferryman directed his sarcasm at him. Intrigued that he could read the emotion, Encrid asked, "Are you being sarcastic, by any chance?" Perhaps he had misunderstood. "Do I have to say it for you to know?" The ferryman immediately recoiled in disgust, his face expressionless. Encrid only knew it was disgust because the ferryman conveyed it to him. With his path blocked and more time to spend with the ferryman, Encrid decided to satisfy his longstanding curiosity. "Why a ferryboat?" Wouldn't a watchman leading a hellhound suit him better? Why a river, why a ferryboat, and why a ferryman? "Because a boat can go anywhere." "What does that mean?" "I wasn't saying it for you to understand." After meeting him over and over, Encrid had come to a realization: the ferryman had multiple personalities. His disposition changed on a whim. "You shall not indulge your curiosity." Some days he put on needless airs of gravity. "I call you a son of a bitch." Other times, he spoke flippantly. "Have you faced the wall?" There was a ferryman who talked of nothing but the wall, whatever Encrid said. "You certainly have a lot of questions." And there was a kind ferryman who would at least tell him something. When asked what he usually did, the kind ferryman answered, "I steer the boat." He did say things, but no one had promised they would make sense. "I see." "You, too, will steer a boat." The ferryman said it, and Encrid let it pass. After more than three hundred todays, Encrid felt the limits of his skills.

'It's hard to improve any further.' He had felt this when facing the stabbing freak, too. There was a limit to what any given moment or situation could teach him. Nothing would change unless he reached tomorrow. He therefore had to overcome the wall that was today. 'Five walls, or six.'

No, one wall. Make the five into one? Draw them all to one place and take them on? He followed his thoughts and impulses. With great effort, he drew the five groups together and fought them. He died. The four mages and the shaman worked rather well together. They did not even seem to know one another, yet quickly found their rhythm. He also rediscovered Sent's specialty. The man excelled at stabbing people in the back, not fighting head-on. Their repeated encounters had effectively forced him into frontal combat. Come to think of it, Encrid had always sensed him and spotted him first. 'He was going for my back every time.'

He had not known. It had taken over three hundred todays to realize it. In any case, this was not the answer. Next, he abducted an enemy soldier. The enemy normally moved in groups of ten, but they went in threes to relieve themselves. "I need a piss." This was the fruit of hiding as soon as he awoke and waiting it out. "Take two men with you." Encrid tagged along as they obeyed the apparent Squad Leader. Of the three soldiers, he broke the neck of the one urinating and put holes in the other two's throats with Spark. He hid the dead soldiers in the brush and stripped one of them. Changing clothes took more work than killing them. Once he had roughly pulled the soldier's clothes over his own, he improvised. "We're under attack!" He shouted at the top of his lungs and headed somewhere other than the men's original unit. What would happen if he escaped like this? Would it count as evasion and send him back to today? Would only overcoming those five walls count? But the ferryman had said there was only one wall. He had said Encrid could not overcome it without understanding. 'What is it I don't understand?'

He did not know that either. His enjoyment gradually faded, but despair did not fill its place. Encrid wandered in search of a solution. Enduring as he searched and dug deeper was another of his specialties. "Was that you shouting?" He had encountered another unit. The enemy soldiers would not let him approach. They were wary. Why? He wore the same clothes. Could every soldier here know every other's face? That was not it. "Withered flower." There was a password. Could he learn it with a few more repetitions of today? Either way, he had been exposed. Time for another desperate struggle. Frenzied fighting followed. On the next today, he stole an enemy uniform again, but this time issued the challenge first. "Withered flower." "Enemy!" The other man shouted without hesitation. What had he done wrong? Encrid could not tell what was different. The truth was simple. Abnaire had not underestimated him. He had investigated him relentlessly. Studied the man called Encrid. This was what he had learned. "He's good at clever little tricks. Good at deception, too. An instinctive tactician." This was one of his precautions against Encrid trying to trick his way out. The key to the password was not saying "Withered flower," but making the accompanying gesture. Words and movement had to come together. The other party would see the gesture, state their unit affiliation, and receive a reply. It was not particularly complicated, but impossible to work out without knowing the system. Abnaire had been thorough. He had prevented Encrid from escaping by overhearing the password. He had also made neighboring units learn one another's faces and introduced differences in their uniforms to help identify them. These were things Encrid could not learn no matter how many times he repeated today. More importantly, after a few attempts, instinct told him this was not the way. 'This is a bit of a headache.'

Encrid calmly steeled himself.

'What am I missing?' Deliberation. Review. He had not forgotten his strengths, so he repeated the process. He went over what the ferryman had said. It was precisely because he had repeated today and experienced death that Encrid could arrive at the realization. 'There is only one wall.'

What was a wall? Something to overcome.

'There is only one wall.' After turning the same words over and over, he understood why the ferryman had said them. "I've got it." "What?" The realization came right in front of Sent. The mercenary's eyes widened in surprise. What good would staring do him? Encrid smashed his sword hand into Sent's jaw.

CRACK! The jawbone shattered, sending teeth flying. He followed through by cutting off the man's head with his gladius.

SHICK!

The severed head fell to the ground. "Kill him!" Again, he fought and fought. Time and again, just before death caught him, he shook off his enemies to catch his breath. By now he had all but mastered prolonged combat. Each time he caught his breath, his thoughts fell further into order. Encrid had to understand how before he could move forward.

'You cannot overcome it without understanding.'

Of course. It was not the wall he needed to understand first, but the method. There were not five walls.

'Strategy.'

Or tactics. Or the art of war. That was the proper name for this wall. He had to escape the trap the enemy commander had laid. 'How?'

He was not Krais. What should he do, then? Encrid searched his memories. He had once discussed something similar with Krais. When he recalled that conversation, a method came into view with it. No, he still had a long way to go, but he could see how to find one. ["The way I see it, people who use their heads fall into two types. One predicts and prepares for everything. The other acts on instinct as things happen. Both need to be smart, of course."] Krais had continued, ["Captain, you're the latter taken to the extreme. You're a long way from the former."] He had not asked why. But now, Encrid went back through the more than three hundred todays, one by one. The moments he had been forced to let pass in the frenzy of combat began to overlap. Things that had slipped through the gaps in his senses and sounded warnings. Why had he let them pass? Why had he ignored them? Why had he felt he must?

'Because I had to overcome the wall in front of me.' His vision had not narrowed. This was different from before. He had simply been unable to overcome the wall because he did not understand it. The moment he saw it, Encrid knew what he had to do. 'Minimal combat. Fighting to survive.'

Not desperate struggles. He had to overcome the enemy's art of war through insight, instinct, and Sixth Sense. That was the way. 'If I don't have to fight them all.' There was something Abnaire could never have known, and something else he had misjudged. The first was that Encrid repeated today. The second was that Encrid's mind worked far more keenly than he had expected. "Ah." On precisely the three hundred and seventy-eighth today, Encrid found the way.