"It's the wrong path. In the end, this is where it stops."
The ferryman said.
As usual.
Encrid thought this as he gazed at the ferryman.
Gray, cracked skin, eyes without pupils, and a mouth that looked like the abyss of a bottomless pit.
Every time he spoke, it seemed as if darkness seeped from his mouth.
That darkness whispered despair, urged surrender, and pleaded for giving up.
Why was he pleading so persistently, like a child throwing a tantrum? Even a four-year-old wouldn't beg this much.
"You harbor blasphemous thoughts."
The ferryman was as perceptive as Rem. Encrid was the same both inside and outside of his dreams.
"No, I'm not."
He firmly denied it.
"...You've reached a wall you built yourself after all your struggling. How ironic."
There he goes, pleading again.
"You're harboring blasphemous thoughts again."
"No, I'm not."
Would the essence change just because it's in a dream?
Of course not.
Encrid's specialty shone here without fail.
The ferryman almost got angry at Encrid's shameless reply, but the patience he'd cultivated over the years wasn't so shallow as to be shaken by this.
"Be careful."
"Yes."
Why did he answer so obediently? That made him even more annoying.
The ferryman missed his body. He missed the days when he had a physical form.
If only he had hands and feet, some tools to act physically.
"How does it feel to face an insurmountable wall, especially one you built yourself?"
Instead of answering, Encrid tilted his head.
Only one day had passed. Wasn't it too early to talk about feelings?
That's what he thought.
"Blasphemy!"
"Yes."
"Be careful!"
"Yes."
"Just don't answer."
"..."
Encrid half-opened his mouth, then closed it.
"Go."
"..."
"Get lost."
"..."
Encrid pressed his index finger and thumb to his lips, pretending to sew them shut and nodded his head.
It was a sincere gesture of respect for the ferryman's request not to speak.
Encrid thought so as he distanced himself from the dream.
The purple-lit lantern on the boat wobbled over the rippling river. It was the ferryman's arm trembling.
"Is my heart shaken this much?"
The ferryman muttered in a flat, emotionless tone. Left alone again on the boat, he looked at the spot where Encrid had been.
In the end, everything would come to an end someday.
No one can withstand facing the same today over and over.
Encrid, too, would eventually remain on the river, meeting his end. The ferryman knew this.
Yet, it was still fascinating. Enjoyable, even.
Some days were already familiar to the ferryman, but some days didn't even appear in his foresight.
It wasn't that 'today' had changed. A day that never existed before had appeared.
And this was that moment.
The ferryman had guarded the boat for countless years. He reflected on those years.
Had there ever been such a case?
No, there hadn't.
That's why it was fascinating. That's why the long-forgotten thrill arose.
Even though Encrid was annoying, the ferryman still found himself sympathizing with the one who bore the curse.
That too was a curious feeling.
For the first time since becoming a ferryman, his thoughts diverged in multiple directions.
There was a part of him that sympathized with Encrid, a part that found him annoying, a part that wished to hinder him, and a small part that wondered: what if this guy actually breaks free of 'today'?
It was a meaningless question.
No matter what happens, the end is predetermined.
The ferryman knew that from experience.
But still, just in case...
'What if he disregards all cause and effect and moves forward?'
It seemed impossible for one human's will to achieve such a thing.
But the ferryman pondered, what if?
* * *
'Failure.'
Encrid had failed, but he didn't dwell on the cause. He never thought it would work on the first try.
Instead, he tried to relax, to release the tension he hadn't realized had built up.
At sunset, his favorite time of day, he began the regular opening of his Will.
It was one way to loosen the tension.
Encrid took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling, as he continued his previous train of thought.
He woke up, practiced the Isolation Technique to loosen his body, ate excessively, defecated, rested, and waited for the sunset.
It was a routine.
A Knight is someone who reflects on their methods.
'How to cut down a thousand men.'
How is such a thing possible?
The various methods shown by those who became Knights.
Encrid still ate heartily. He stuffed his stomach with food. It was necessary preparation, and eating when possible was an old habit.
"Did something go wrong in your stomach?"
Rem's idle comment in the dining hall was ignored.
"Good eating is also part of the training."
Audin's words were also disregarded.
"How about a sparring match?"
On his way out of the dining hall, Ragna spoke to him. Was he looking more anxious today than yesterday?
Maybe.
The first thought that came to mind after starting a new day of repetition was to relax the tension.
Instinctively, his muscles must have tensed, and his nerves were on edge. It was something he acknowledged.
For a brief moment, a newfound restlessness had surged. On days like this, sure, swinging a sword and breaking a sweat would have been relieving, but Encrid shrugged it off.
"Let's do it tomorrow."
Who knows when that tomorrow will come, but he postponed the sparring.
"Are you hurt?"
Luagarne asked.
"No, I'm not."
Encrid answered with a smile and spent the day much like he had yesterday.
In the meantime, he continued his earlier thoughts: the method to cut down a thousand men.
A Knight would have their own extraordinary means.
For instance, if it were Oara, she would use her chain-like sword.
A sword that continues and continues without stopping, even after cutting down one, two, three, four, ten, or twenty men.
When would that sword stop? Only when an unforeseen force intervened.
What about Ragna?
Ordinarily, he'd be slower at cutting down men than Oara. But if the enemies were grouped, it might be a different story.
Encrid imagined Ragna slicing through and cutting a tightly packed phalanx.
It was a mistake to form a dense formation in front of Ragna.
That sword was not something any Junior-Knight could even think of blocking.
If Oara's sword pauses at a wall, Ragna's sword would smash and break through any feeble barricades.
Who's superior? There's no such thing. You'd have to see them fight to know.
When steel cuts through flesh, death is fair to all.
How would others fight against a thousand men?
Rem would probably jump around like a grasshopper, swinging his axe here and there.
He'd throw, strike, and cut.
If Encrid had to pick the fastest among them to cut down a thousand men, he would choose Rem.
What about Jaxon?
The image of him cutting down a thousand men was hard to picture.
If you asked him, what would he say?
"Does it have to be a thousand?"
Wouldn't he rather target the commander if there were a thousand men?
That's probably how he'd look at it.
The thought made Encrid chuckle.
"Did you think of something funny? You can share it with me."
Esther's voice came from nearby. Encrid opened his eyes slightly and looked at the black-haired, blue-eyed wizard.
The nickname 'Black Flower' suited her well.
Black hair, gleaming skin, large eyes, a prominent nose, and red lips.
She had striking looks by anyone's standards.
And with her ample chest peeking through her robes, most men would likely volunteer to be her slave.
"Nothing."
Encrid closed his eyes again. Esther didn't say anything further.
Watching Esther retreat and sit down, Encrid resumed his thoughts.
He didn't know much about the Knight of Aspen, so he couldn't conjure an image of him.
As for the Mercenary King, he didn't seem like the type to face a thousand men alone.
What about Audin? How would Audin fare?
Even without reaching the rank of Knight, it felt like he could reduce a thousand men to a bloody mess.
It seemed possible.
But what if you were the one defending against a Knight's sword or fist?
What if you were a soldier facing a Knight?
Mere luck wouldn't be enough to block a Knight's blade. Even if the Goddess of luck showered you with kisses, you'd only barely survive.
'That's how it would be.'
Few Knights had actually slain a thousand men. Still, Knights were called those who could slay a thousand.
They were called disasters. What made them so?
It was Will.
The intangible force known as willpower was the source that allowed them to transcend their limits.
The sun began to set.
Today was similar to yesterday, but in some ways, it was a different day.
Odd-Eye approached, and Teresa hummed a song.
It was only humming today, but it was still pleasant to hear. Audin tapped his fingers on his left hand, keeping the rhythm.
Uncommon, isn't it?
Seeing Audin keep the rhythm, it seemed he could play at least one instrument well. His sense of timing was...
"The start of martial arts is in the feet. Moving your feet is rhythm, don't forget, brother."
That's what Audin had once told him.
Encrid moved his Will in rhythm, matching the beat like a song.
Thud-thud, thud-thud. Thud-thud-thud.
Like beating a drum, he drew out his Will and planted it in his feet. He had already practiced drawing and controlling his Will.
Now, instead of controlling it, he needed to plant it and forget about it.
He had to forget about it while still keeping the Will in place.
'Can you forget something while maintaining it?'
Yes, you can. He'd learned something from Jaxon.
It was the method of opening your senses unconsciously.
"When you master sense techniques, your ears open. Just because you can see and hear everything doesn't mean you should observe everything or listen to everything. If you try to be aware of every little thing happening around you, you'll go mad. So it's essential to filter out what's unnecessary."
'Instinct.'
That's why something beyond the five senses was needed.
It wasn't about processing every bit of information that comes in through your senses but about instinctively filtering it.
You engrave the instinct to detect danger in your bones, unconsciously maintaining the sense techniques.
"If you face death about a hundred times, you'll roughly take your first steps."
Jaxon had said it as if it were impossible, but it was the easiest condition Encrid had ever heard.
It was far better than just hoping things would work out with time.
Ragna would have simply said, "Just do it, and it'll happen."
A thought crossed his mind: Ragna really was a crazy bastard with no sense of direction.
In any case, Encrid had faced death countless times. He had actually died countless times.
Engraving the instinct to sense danger in his subconscious wasn't difficult.
After repeating today over and over, it became natural.
Encrid began again, drawing out his Will, forgetting it, and engraving it into his subconscious.
Soon, the Will filling his entire body began to rampage.
The gathered intangible force formed a flow, pounding against his heart. It felt like his blood was flowing several times faster.
In reality, nothing of the sort was happening. It was merely the Will moving that way.
Crack.
Once again, his heart exploded.
Another day repeated.
The next day, his lungs burst.
The day after, parts of his intestines were scorched.
Why could he briefly release his Will but not hold it together?
He didn't know. But he'd figure it out from now on.
Encrid continued to repeat.
"Foolish."
Occasionally, the ferryman appeared, but Encrid always made the gesture of sewing his lips shut.
After about fifty days, he changed his approach.
Instead of gathering the Will in his entire body, he focused it in his feet and tried to endure.
It wasn't easy.
It would often rampage and spread through his entire body.
How could he hold it together?
Could he solve it with his senses?
For Ragna, the path was something he walked with large strides. But for Encrid, it was a road where he had to pick up every stone and clear the path one by one.
No, he couldn't even walk it in the first place.
'Does it matter?'
Encrid crawled instead of walking.
Wasn't that what he had always done?
Was going back to basics hard after all the progress he had made?
'Not really.'
Every step of the way had been a hurdle for Encrid. So overcoming hurdles didn't bother him.
Was clearing each path stone by stone enough? If so, then he would do it.
He had already seen the path. Fixing and repeating it was his specialty.
The method of activating his Will, the way he breathed, his mindset, his posture, the intangible sense for controlling his Will.
He reviewed each one, step by step. So all that was left was to do it until it worked.
What he needed was patience, resolve, and self-discipline.
Reviewing every step and retracing his path when he strayed—that required patience.
He had enough resolve to endure repeated failures without being shaken.
And his mental fortitude to withstand the Will tearing his body apart was self-discipline.
After dying countless times, he had felt his muscles, nerves, organs, and everything down to the tips of his fingers tear apart.
It wasn't as hard as it sounded.
Encrid could do it all. He was fine with it.
What he needed was simply an unbreakable dream.
And he already had that dream.
A dream that had once been torn apart and shredded into pieces.
But he had sewn that dream back together to reach this point.
For the first time, the Will starting from his feet found stability, even if briefly.
'At least my right foot.'
As a smile of joy crossed his face, the Will began to rampage.
For a moment, his right foot had succeeded, but because of that, the process of the Will burning and tearing through his body slowed down slightly.
"Step aside, brother."
Because of this, Encrid, as he was dying, could see a strange sight through his half-closed eyes.
Light flowed from Audin's entire body. Not a metaphor—the light flowed behind him like a halo.
The light shone in particles and scattered. It was Divine Power.
Audin was shining with light, blood streaming from his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears.
He seemed ready to die. His body was incredibly sturdy, so maybe he wouldn't die. But it was clear he was pushing himself to the limit.
Before the light gathered and touched him, Encrid barely dodged.
Instinctively, he sensed that using that Divine Power would either kill Audin or cause him severe harm.
Right after dodging, Encrid died. Without even the energy to say a word, he was gone in an instant.
He saw the light touching his body just before he closed his eyes, but there was no miracle.
Divine Power may be miraculous, but it couldn't bring the dead back to life.
But just before death...
"Rise, brother."
Audin's voice reached his ears.
It was said while blood poured from his eyes and nose.
Now, Encrid knew he was waking up to a new today as soon as he opened his eyes.
"You crazy bastard."
Encrid muttered as he got up, looking at Audin for no reason.
"Did you have a good dream?"
Audin said with his usual smile.
Encrid stared at him for a moment before shaking his head and standing up.
It was time to begin a new 'today'. He had succeeded with his right foot and seemed to have roughly grasped the technique.
Let the past 'today' flow away and greet the new 'today'. That, too, was something he had long grown accustomed to.
Crawling, walking, and running toward tomorrow. This was the one thing he was truly good at.
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