Chapter 321 - In the End, the Ferryman Laughed

In the end, the ferryman laughed.

"Well."

Well. Just one word. Naturally, silence followed. A chill settled over them. It was winter, after all.

The fire roared in the brazier just as a gust blew in through the tent entrance. An icy winter wind. An ordinary person might have felt as though a dagger had flown straight into their heart. But no one here, Encrid included, was ordinary.

"Even I could say that," Krais put in quietly. He wasn't wrong.

Naturally, Encrid wasn't fazed. Since when had Ragna been good with words? That bastard Rem, who pushed ahead at his own pace, wasn't much of a teacher either. There was no reason to be disconcerted.

"Explain."

"How do you block a lightning bolt?"

This was the best Ragna could manage. To everyone else, of course, it was the worst possible explanation. Was that a problem? Of course not.

As always, Encrid could be an excellent listener and an excellent student. He knew how to listen properly. No, when the speaker couldn't explain something, he could practically interrogate the answer out of them.

"You can't," Encrid answered.

"You can," Ragna added.

"Then how? And don't say 'well.'"

It would have been nice if Ragna had grown a little more accustomed to explaining things by now, but that was asking too much. He couldn't find his way, wasn't good with words, was picky about food, and hardly had a pleasant disposition. He didn't care about his reputation and did whatever he pleased. Some days, even speaking was too much bother.

Put that way, he sounded hopeless. But when it came to wielding a sword, Ragna was the best. Truly the best of the best.

"Read the signs first, then strike."

Ragna gave the best explanation he could. That really was his best. This lay in the realm of instinct and talent.

Encrid was persistent. He asked countless questions and listened to the answers. Ragna explained as well as he could. No complete mental image took shape for Encrid. Nothing came to him. But this wasn't the end.

'If I can delay my death.'

He could make fuller use of today. If he put Ragna in front to accomplish that, he might even get to watch Ragna meet the knight's sword. Of course, Encrid would do no such thing.

Making full use of today and sending Ragna out first, knowing he couldn't withstand the blow, were two different things. That was a line he must not cross. It had existed in his heart since his very first repeating today. For some, such a line became a conviction. For others, it took the name of honor.

'Honor.'

Encrid had to do everything he could before the reaper who spoke of honor arrived. Through their questions and answers, he formed mental images and thought them through. Nor did he stop there.

"Sinar."

The Fairy, too, had made a capable attempt to meet that strike. She had reacted. How had she managed it?

"Do you know how to block lightning?"

"Dodge before it strikes."

"And if you can't?"

"You could use this as a lightning rod." She tapped Nidle as she spoke.

There was a hint of learned meaning in the half-joking words. Something born of deep understanding.

"Nidle is easy to draw, good for cutting, and good for deflecting and blocking."

"What if you had to block a knight's sword?"

The question came out of nowhere, but no one found it strange. That was simply the kind of man Encrid was. Obsessed with the sword, he clung desperately to a dream that would never come true. That had made him who he was today. They all acknowledged it.

They were used to him spouting nonsense like this. Even Krais watched as though it were just another ordinary occurrence. Dunbachel waited with a look that said she wished he would hurry up and ask her.

"I would draw my sword before my opponent took a step, before their hand reached for their sword."

As Sinar spoke, she felt herself falling under Encrid's spell. What was this man? He had been like this before, but now he had become an even greater blaze. To her eyes, it almost seemed as though a spirit of flame dwelled within him.

'No, not flames.'

A maelstrom of longing, passion, and exhilaration. Those intense emotions pierced the sensitive Fairy's heart. Where Frogs saw talent, Fairies sensed emotion. It was a trait of their race.

To live on the continent, they needed to dull that sensitivity and ignore what ought to be ignored. Just as Frogs had to grow accustomed to the word "heart," Fairies had to learn to weather the waves of emotion without trouble. In that respect, Sinar had adapted exceptionally well to life on the continent.

And yet.

'So hot.'

Encrid hadn't raised his voice. He hadn't acted impatient or waved his arms and legs about. He had merely said a few words while warming up. Merely approached her and spoken.

Yet that heat warmed Sinar. It stirred her Fairy blood. It made her serious. Her answer came without amusement (not that her face usually showed any) or jest.

"A knight's sword is a calamity. How would you stop something called a calamity?"

Answering with a question was precisely what he needed now. Could human strength stop an earthquake? A raging whirlwind? A flood? A typhoon? A downpour? A drought? These were natural disasters.

Knights were called man-made disasters: calamities wrought by humans. Of the dragonfolk, Fairies, Giants, dwarves, Beastmen, and humans, humans were the most numerous and dominant people on the continent, which had also helped earn knights that name. But simply calling them calamities was more direct.

Naturally, Fairy knights existed too. Didn't Beastmen call their equivalent Heroes? Even among human peoples, there were those who used other terms for beings much like knights. The terminology wasn't what mattered.

Sinar recalled the past, regarded the present, and envisioned the future.

'A way to go further.'

Long ago, Sinar Kirheiss had given something up and seen her own limits. She had lost the path forward. Yet giving it up was also what had allowed her to come this far. It was a contradiction.

Did the fish that got away simply look bigger? Or had she realized that she needed that lost fish if she wanted to stand beside the man before her?

'Perhaps.'

How would it feel to watch this man die by a knight's sword? By coincidence, the Fairy's sensitivity and keen mind had predicted exactly what was to come.

'It would hardly be pleasant.'

She would likely regret it then. She would think often of the fish that got away.

'Pointless thoughts.'

Outwardly composed, Sinar shook her head inwardly. Truly useless distractions.

Encrid sank into thought at her question. Ragna had spoken of lightning. Sinar had probably followed his lead. At least the Fairy had put some consideration into her explanation. Hearing them both, something resembling a conclusion came to mind.

'How do you block lightning?'

Finding that answer came first.

"Aren't you going to ask me?" Dunbachel approached and asked as he stood lost in thought.

"Ask you what?"

"The knight, the sword, that thing."

"Go to sleep."

Dunbachel wasn't there yet. There was no need to ask her on the off chance. Besides, she was a Beastman who would give her answer without being asked.

"You just block it with a clang!"

Yes, he understood. Encrid gave her a reassuring pat.

"That was very helpful." His voice held not a trace of feeling.

"Really?"

"Really."

He gave her a perfunctory nod and sent her back to her bed. Watching this, Krais marveled.

"If you joined my salon, Captain, I think you'd be my best employee."

Encrid had no desire to become the best at charming noblewomen.

Until evening, he rested, ate, pondered, swung the edge of his hand through the air like a sword, and checked his equipment. Then he thanked them for their hard work. He was preparing himself mentally.

Today there was no nonsense about him being Irresistible or anything else. A peculiar forcefulness in his manner and gaze prevented it. Though she said nothing, that gaze and bearing kept striking at Sinar's heart. Of course, she controlled her emotions well enough to keep it from pounding.

Then the knight appeared.

"Once. Block just one strike. That is the least I must offer to preserve my honor."

Why did the man always insist on saying things no one had asked? Encrid gripped his sword and held his breath.

How would he block lightning? Surely the first step was to cross blades. A flowing sword. Snake Sword, the first sword technique Encrid had created. Why should lightning be impossible to deflect?

"... You look as though you were waiting for me. How strange," the knight said.

Encrid didn't answer. His concentration blazed, shattering the chains of foreboding. Then he gathered it into a single point and watched his opponent, determined to see the start of a sword strike that came without any preparatory movement.

"Indeed," Sinar murmured behind him.

"Were you a prophet?" Krais was just as bewildered.

"Is this why you told me to keep my sword in hand?" Ragna was no different. Nor was Esther any less surprised.

Dunbachel froze at the sight of their opponent.

"What is that?"

What else could he be but a monster that set a Beastman's survival instincts screaming?

WHOOSH.

The sword came flying. First, meet the blade. How to block lightning could come afterward.

SWISH.

Encrid saw a phantom image. He saw the sword bend before him. It seemed to sway, jab at his sword, then meet his blade. So strange was the sight that he wondered whether he had seen it correctly. Then his heart was cleaved.

* * *

The ferryman could see both within the world of the mind and into the reality beyond it. The present could not escape his gaze either. He watched the cursed man die. That was his sole amusement and pleasure.

But this latest subject of the curse was truly peculiar.

'He's smiling?'

Smiling as he died. Smiling through suffering. Smiling as pain raced through his entire body. Smiling even though he was as good as trapped in a dark cave.

Encrid was simply delighted to have seen something new, but to the ferryman, this was neither familiar nor ordinary.

The ferryman kept watching. Within his repeating today, Encrid died and died again. Dying, he smiled; dying, he agonized; dying, he thought; dying, he pondered.

What pleasure could there be in such repetition? None. The ferryman knew that. Knew it very well. He knew better than anyone why repeating today was a curse.

"That bastard is insane," he muttered to himself.

"Despair cannot become despair?" he asked himself.

"Anguish, ignorance, even despair cannot taint his determination," he murmured to himself.

And so he observed Encrid dying. Looked on. Watched. As he died, and died again.

"Are you still enjoying yourself?" he would sometimes ask when they met.

"Hmm? What did you say?"

Encrid wasn't even listening properly. He was giving everything he had to his present circumstances. Seeing nothing else, hearing nothing else, he focused solely on one thing. And he enjoyed it.

The ferryman recalled a saying from the continent that he had heard long, long ago. A memory from before he had become the ferryman. Robbed of the gift of forgetting, he found it easy to recall the past.

Those who know are no match for those who love, and those who love are no match for those who delight in it.

To know was to have understood. To have understood meant coming to believe that what one knew was the accepted truth. Thus it was a path toward stagnation rather than effort. Toward stopping and being content with the present.

Love became the strength that drove effort. Because one loved something, one was willing to work for it. That meant advancement, not stagnation. Yet one made that effort in hope of a reward. Made it with the next step in mind. Love was a driving force. The strength of heart that led one to strive.

Delight was self-forgetting concentration. Forgetting oneself and one's circumstances to become immersed in the moment. Like a child losing all sense of time in a new game.

If one could do that even after growing older. If only one could, one would enter Self-forgetting: forgetting oneself, becoming immersed without even being aware of concentrating.

But could such a human truly exist? No. He had never seen one.

Ordinarily, people were worn down. Eroded. Their hearts faded. Their efforts faltered. They grew tired. Sick of it. Steeped in fatigue. Exhausted. Consumed by desolation. Everyone had been that way.

But now the ferryman saw someone who wasn't. He had certainly never seen a bastard this insane.

Today repeated, over and over. Yet repetition could not become his shackles or his prison. The bars could not confine the man called Encrid.

Even so, the ferryman's gaze did not dim. He watched.

Today's shackles were strong. Heavy. Unbreakable. What, then, should one do?

Encrid supplied the answer. Shackles? Couldn't he simply run with them on? In truth, he didn't even seem to know they were there.

"Ha."

In the end, the ferryman laughed.