Chapter 58 - Having It Let Him See

Once, his life had not even allowed him the luxury of wanting more. He dreamed and yearned, yet knew his dream was beyond him, and could only struggle desperately toward it. That had been Encrid's life.

But not anymore. Now he could bare his desires and pursue them. No, doing so actually worked to his advantage.

After the exercises that warmed his body came a brief lesson from Jaxon in throwing blades.

"I want to learn more."

"I thought you were a beginner."

Jaxon murmured this after watching him throw a blade. Encrid answered casually.

"I saw someone throw like this on the battlefield. I learned by watching."

Jaxon regarded him expressionlessly.

"Believe me. It's true."

"Is that so?"

Of course. Wasn't this what geniuses did? Throughout his life without talent, he had seen countless examples of what geniuses—or those said to have talent—could do. Now he was pretending to be one of them. Pretending to be a genius. Repeating today made that possible.

That was why baring his desires worked to his advantage: he needed to maintain that attitude. What were geniuses like? Knowing that what lay before them was theirs to seize, they would never hesitate to express what they wanted.

Above all, his desire was genuine. When it came to eagerness to learn, Encrid had no equal on the continent.

"Very well."

It was always the same. A brief deliberation, followed by utter seriousness. Jaxon taught him properly. It was quite enjoyable. Encrid practiced gripping and throwing the blades again and again. Before long, he was drenched in sweat.

"Didn't you say you had duty?"

"It's fine."

He was only warming up, not exhausting himself.

Today had begun again. More precisely, this was his seventh today.

Rather than walk between Jack and Bo, Encrid took the far left.

"I'm only comfortable on the far left. A superstition of mine."

What could they do when Encrid announced that first? Jack and Bo had nothing to say to it.

"Really? That's an odd one."

"Of course. Walk wherever you're comfortable."

His sweat soon cooled, but the warmth inside him remained. Though he had repeated this day seven times, the air felt curiously different.

Sunlight pierced the cold wind to touch his skin. Winter birdsong brushed his ears. He liked the feel of dirt beneath his feet and the earth's vibrations with every step.

The air, the ground, the dirt, the wind. Everything enfolded him, brushed past him, warmed him, lingered, then flowed on. The sky was clear, too.

Winter, the fourth season, had arrived with bitter cold, announcing the year's end with a gift of flesh-cutting winds. Yet even that wind felt more refreshing than cold.

He had always fought fiercely to endure each repeating today. Somehow, though, he felt a little less tense this time. Peace enveloped him. Not that he had forgotten his fierce resolve. He simply felt at ease. With this road, this moment, everything.

'Why do I feel so at peace?'

He didn't know. He knew he would die soon. The pain was approaching, the moment when he would struggle desperately as death came for him. No matter how many times he died, he never grew used to it. It always felt like the first time.

["The throw takes an instant. Until then, release the tension throughout your body. Let everything go loose, and concentrate in that calm. It will be difficult."]

Jaxon had only been half right. It was difficult, yes, but not enough to make him give up. Difficult, but manageable.

Boldness—the power granted by the heart of the beast. It had let him watch everything to the very end, even with death before his eyes. Concentrate One, or Concentrate on a Single Point, had let him perceive the same situation as never before.

Together, boldness and concentration had let Encrid catch hold of the very edge of talent. Ordinarily, he could never have gained either this way, but now he had those two threads to grasp.

'I can do it.'

Just a few lessons and a few repetitions. With only three or four rounds of practice, his body was learning. Luck had played a major part. Something that normally would have eluded him through countless repetitions was now within his grasp.

That slender thread brought him boundless joy. An exhilaration unlike anything he had known.

"Are you all right?"

Bo asked from beside him. Walking along blank-faced, then breaking into foolish grins could hardly be called normal behavior. He was lucky he wasn't drooling.

"Ah, um, I'm fine. Sorry for making a spectacle of myself."

Encrid needlessly wiped his mouth as he walked. Watching his buoyant steps, Jack and Bo exchanged glances. Jack asked with his eyes:

'Is this bastard a little nuts?'

'Looks that way to me.'

They spoke through glances and gestures alone. It was familiar work, using hand signals they had employed since their days in a thieves' guild.

"Lovely weather," Encrid said.

"It's fucking freezing."

Jack stuck out his lips as he answered. He was supposed to flatter the man until he lowered his guard, but the target was so relaxed before they had even begun that Jack felt contrary in spite of himself. What the hell was with this bastard?

"Of course it's cold. It's the last of the four seasons."

Winter was harsh. But one mustn't let its harshness and cold obscure its comforts.

Relaxing his body wasn't something he could do simply by telling himself to. Jaxon's demonstration came to mind, and the mixed-blood Fairy assassin's image overlapped it.

To relax the body, first relax the mind. Mental strain, threats, anxiety—Encrid cast them all away. In his relaxed mind, he replayed the mixed-blood Fairy throwing his whistling blades countless times.

In truth, it was no different from repeating today. What did one learn from defeat? What had he learned from throwing away his life countless times? He was past the stage where he had to sacrifice his life to gain anything.

He asked himself those questions over and over. With his mind and body suitably relaxed, his gait had grown loose. He walked without any of the stiffness expected on patrol. Before he knew it, he was in the market.

"Say, Squad Leader, what are you so happy about?"

Jack stopped to ask. It probably wasn't genuine curiosity. Encrid saw him subtly turn as he spoke. Bo moved, too. Both were shifting into positions from which to hem him in. They turned toward him, blocking the view of passersby while readying themselves to draw and stab at any moment.

Keeping both men in view, Encrid steadied his breathing once. Then he shot out his foot, jabbing Jack's shin with his toe.

He had thought his body and mind loose, yet his body obeyed him better than ever. The kick came at an uncanny moment, leaving his opponent no chance to respond.

CRACK.

"Urgh!"

Jack's head dipped at the blow to his shin. Lightly—so lightly the word buoyant could have been made for the movement—Encrid pressed down on the back of Jack's head with his left hand and drove his knee up.

THWACK!

It sounded like dough being slammed down. Jack's head snapped back up, revealing a face smeared with blood from his broken nose.

"Fuck, I can't sell it for that!"

He was a beat ahead of the usual timing. This wasn't part of today's plan. He hadn't intended it. He was simply letting his body move.

'Does it matter?'

Encrid didn't care. It felt as if he had swallowed a great dose of some drug that clouded the mind and brought euphoria. Even if he really had taken one, he wouldn't have cared. His body felt that light.

"What the—!"

He saw Bo's shock. His hand was already reaching for the startled man's neck.

"Tch!"

Startled, Bo drew his neck back. As expected. Whenever Encrid exploited the element of surprise, Bo responded in exactly the same pattern. Encrid had seen it more than five times already. It was familiar.

Instead of following through with his outstretched left hand, Encrid planted his left foot and twisted the other way. He pivoted on that foot, turning sideways rather than facing forward, and extended his right hand. His reach lengthened in an instant. His right hand met Bo's retreating face.

Of course, it didn't end with a touch.

BANG!

The snapping punch made the sound of a leather drum bursting. Encrid's fist, fired by strength, speed, and concentration, smashed Bo's face as well.

"Ghk!"

Clutching his face, Bo stumbled back three or four steps. Watching him, Encrid smoothly turned back into position. Was it because he had started a little early? He didn't know.

Repeating today didn't mean the same things always happened. Anything could change. Encrid knew that very well.

The mixed-blood Fairy stood where he was looking. Without even shedding his rags, the man's hand moved. From low to high. A streak of light flew from his right hand.

Encrid hadn't prepared any particular means of defense. But...

'Does it matter?'

Time slowed for an instant. It was Encrid's second experience of this: the moment concentration broke through its limits. A gap in time that those counted among geniuses would encounter over and over.

A similar sensation had shone through when he deflected the mustached soldier's blow in the last battle against Aspen. It did so now as well.

Of course, Encrid wasn't aware of that. His mind remained half entranced. That entranced mind, that blazing concentration, those blade-sharp senses, that beast's boldness—they saw the streak of light. They let him predict its destination.

'Can I dodge it?'

No. There was no time. The fractured gap in time closed. His mind, racing at tremendous speed, arrived at an answer.

THUD! FWEEEE!

Block it with his arm. The blade lodged in his left arm as he brought it across his heart. Just as he registered the whistle dagger's shriek, pain flared in his forearm.

A heavy impact and the blade's searing pain. Even that pain felt distant. The commotion around him sounded faint and far away.

Seeing it had made him want it. Having it let him see. Encrid could see the whistle dagger's trajectory. That was how he had blocked it.

He raised his head to look at his enemy. The mixed-blood Fairy had discarded his rags, and both his hands were moving ceaselessly. He was like a living repeating crossbow. No, fiercer than that.

Encrid hadn't dodged the first one. But this time, he could. He saw where the hands began and predicted where the flying streaks would end.

FWEEEEEEE!

He evaded two completely; one grazed his cheek. The three cries of the whistling blades merged into a strange harmony.

Having dodged them all, Encrid pulled the dagger from his forearm. Blood ran from it, but he could still move. The blade hadn't struck where his opponent intended. Encrid had blocked it with the part of his arm he chose.

As a result, the blade had left a wound, but not one that stopped him moving. The leather armor strapped over his forearm had done its job, too.

"You bastard."

Seething, the mixed-blood Fairy closed the distance. As he advanced, he kept pouring out streaks of light from wherever he had concealed them on his body.

Encrid couldn't dodge them all. No, even so, he could have held out longer. But today was unlike the other days.

Rotten had come up behind him unnoticed. He shoved Encrid in the back.

THUD.

That was the end. Three throwing blades shrieked as they struck: one in his heart, one in his side, one in his throat. Terrible pain washed over him.

His body slowly crumpled. Squeezing out what strength he could, he dropped hard onto one knee to hold himself up. Something hot gurgled up his throat. Unable to hold it back, he opened his mouth, and bloody froth spilled out.

"Aaaah!"

Only then did the screams around him truly reach his ears. His hazy mind returned to normal. He began to feel every bit of the pain.

The mixed-blood Fairy assassin approached the fallen Encrid. His expression was far from pleasant.

"You."

He spat out that one word and said no more.

The Persistent Lovers never let their prey escape. This was when he should have said it. But he didn't. No, he couldn't.

The assassin's eyes turned to Encrid's face.

"This bastard."

Then he glared like a venomous toad roused to anger. Encrid was laughing.

"Heh, heh."

Even as he coughed up bloody froth, he laughed. A misunderstanding was inevitable. The Fairy felt he was being mocked, but Encrid had no such intention.

Thinking about it as he died...

'Only seven times.'

He had repeated today seven times. Yet he could see not merely a breakthrough, but beyond it. Only seven times.

No, he couldn't call it "only." This was possible because he knew neither despair nor discouragement, because he had run on with his eyes fixed solely on tomorrow.

His meager talent had made him a man who strove without end. And that endless effort had let a man catch hold of the very edge of talent.

It was a miracle. No, there was no miracle. This was simply his reward for never harboring despair or discouragement in any one of his repeating days.

One day—the today that would begin again. Encrid believed he could end this then.

"Crazy fucker."

THUD!

At point-blank range, the Fairy pierced Encrid's throat once more with a long, straight blade. That was the end. The moment of death.

Death approached, and darkness overturned the world. Beyond that darkness, he saw the ferryman plying the river.

HEH-HEH!

The ferryman mocked him again. Encrid was quite curious about their next meeting. Just how would that sneer change?

* * *

"Good morning."

He opened his eyes to morning again. Encrid rose lightly.

He couldn't call it perfect, but he had learned to throw whistling blades. And, though he couldn't call that perfect either, he had learned the monks' basic exercises from Audin.

"It's fucking freezing. What's so good about it?"

"I had a good dream."

A very, very good dream. He had spent that day in a haze.

In that one day, that today, Encrid had glimpsed the life of someone with talent. He could not have been more satisfied.

At the same time, he had seen the way forward. The way forward—a way over the wall barring his path.