311 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

311. The ferryman praised him. Two men chanted the same spell. The current from the stream rose up like a wall blocking the path ahead. With a light swing of his gladius, the water split, but it quickly closed back up. Cutting water with a sword was futile. The water wall spanned only five steps wide, but it didn't end there. "Listen to me, listen to me, hear my words." Beside the wall, under the influence of another incantation, emerged rounded figures wielding club-like water weapons. Near the head, they were sleek, while closer to the torso, they thickened. They had semblances of hands, but where feet should be, sloshing currents took their place. They resembled water spirits, or perhaps golems made of water, a portion of the spell's world realized in this realm. "Block him." At the wizard's command, two legless water apparitions surged forward, causing a froth at their base. Charging wasn’t quite right—crashing was more fitting. Their bodies rose up and then descended, advancing like crashing waves. Thin flames lashed out. The elven blade might have had some enchantment on it, though none appeared to be present. The flames’ brilliance was a result of superb metallurgy, not any spell. The flames pierced the water. The spirit, unfazed, swung the water club attached to its arm without hesitation. Enkrid retrieved his weapon and leapt aside. Boom! The water club smashed the ground. A crater formed where it struck. Clearly, the water club couldn’t be taken lightly. Through a single exchange, Enkrid found the answer. 'The caster.' There’s no sense in fighting against the spell. He needed to kill the one casting it. But two had already created a water barrier to limit his vision and movement. The other two manipulated the spirits to hinder him. Moreover, they seemed aware they couldn't kill him and focused solely on dragging him down. When attempting to escape, the spirits expanded significantly, quivering as they approached, making them hard to ignore. Before long, Enkrid found himself facing three swordsmen of the Hurio family. "I didn't expect to see you again today." Enkrid muttered. He meant it. He acted nearly opposite of the day before, yet the result was eerily similar. "Enough with the chatter. He’s crazy." "Enough with the nonsense." "Do you know me? See me again? Don’t recall meeting." All three seemed eager to give a warm greeting—a passionate kiss not with lips, but with steel meeting his insides in a deep embrace. Enkrid adjusted his grip on his sword. His arm muscles trembled. He hadn’t had proper rest from the day before to now. Despite being well-trained, exhaustion was undeniable. 'Tiring.' Struggling to catch his breath was becoming frequent. His heart pounded intensely. He steadied his breath and took in the wizards’ water apparitions, the three Hurio swordsmen, and the soldiers. Giving up wasn’t an option. No day was passed easily. He did as much. He resisted, and killed the two wizards and the three Hurio swordsmen. "Yes, that's right. *cough*." The last dying swordsman spat blood as he spoke. Enkrid suffered a wound in his thigh from an arrow made of water, not ordinary arrows or quarrels. Had he not been wearing inner armor, it would have pierced his abdomen. If anything surpassed ordinary quarrels, it’s the water arrows that perform their duty and vanish, leaving blood to flow freely. Had the arrow remained lodged, it might have staunched the bleeding, but the bleeding was far from trivial. The site of the injury was problematic. Among isolation techniques, there’s one that uses muscle reinforcement for hemostasis. He tried, but the blood vessel was torn. Muscles couldn’t address this. Blood loss caused his head to spin. Yet his focus remained unwavering. Until the very end, defiantly. With the heart of a beast beating within him, Enkrid was unshakable. Adrenaline surged explosively. "You’re wearing something precious." Remarked a surviving wizard. Seeing him close the distance incautiously, Enkrid launched himself off the ground with one foot. It was a limp-laden assault. Blood sprayed from his wounded thigh. Enkrid closed in before his blood touched the ground. He struck with his fist instead of a lost sword. Crack! "Ugh!" With a smash, his skull cracked, spilling brain matter and blood. No human could survive that. It was a punch with all his might. This was normal. His opponent hadn't even donned a helmet. Having sent another wizard on their way, a spearhead flew at Enkrid from behind. Crunch! Molten-hot iron tore into his back, severing his spine, ripping through muscle, bone, blood vessels, and intestines. Pain from dedicating one's body to metal never becomes familiar. But enduring it is possible. "Die. Monster." "Die." "Die!" Enemies thrust their spears with a fear that echoed through the blades. From their eyes, a spark of madness was visible. They seemed like cornered wild animals. Enkrid was calm. No screams, no groans at death. To be honest, he was too spent to even open his mouth for a final breath. Thus, he died. Overcoming the pain of death never becomes familiar. 'Hoo.' A single exhale brushed today's past pains aside. There were no dreams. The ferryman didn’t appear. He simply started the third today. And in that third today, he ran another path altogether. Yet still. "Why is there a cliff here?" He barely scaled the mound, yet an abyss awaited him. Could he survive the jump? Best case, he’d wind up half-crippled if fortune favored him. Half-crippled only with a goddess of fortune desperately wooing, otherwise it wouldn’t suffice. Such luck was needed to be a wreck—falling meant death. "That place shall be your grave." Behind him were still three Hurio swordsmen, skilled mercenaries, and a shaman he'd never seen before. 'Today again, from another direction.' Enkrid scratched his chin with his left hand, the right not having risen. There was something puzzling about it. How could the outcome always be the same? He fought reflectively, always seeking the answer. On the third today, his end came by sorcery. Enkrid was struck by a technique known as the “Invisible Force.” In reality, an intangible force pushed and attacked his body. But by then, he had already thrown his gladius into the heads of mercenary Cent, the three swordsmen of the Hurio family, and the last shaman. The one blow he received came after he had dispatched them all. "Fall!" The shaman shouted, moments before Enkrid’s gladius embedded itself decoratively in his head. Enkrid fell off the cliff. As expected, the experience of a fatal fall was truly horrifying. At first, he couldn’t breathe, followed by the brutal shock that hammered his entire body. Yet he didn’t die easily, compelling him to endure truly excruciating pain. He moved past the fourth today, the fifth today. On the ninth today, he died again. This time, one of the Hurio swordsmen dropped his sword and clung to Enkrid, creating a temporary opening that allowed one of the mercenaries to slice his throat with a poison-laden dagger. He had exhausted too much energy wiping out the enemy’s heavily armored infantry. His body gradually stiffened. There was nothing he could do. Escape through instinct only got him so far. No human could hold against such numbers. Twenty-five todays passed. The manner of death varied but felt eerily similar. No matter where he went, he was trapped in an escape-proof labyrinth. It was a maze. He was imprisoned. The sky had become the ceiling, the wind its bars, and the officers each desired his death. By then, he realized something. An extension of something he realized in a previous today. Each time he saved the child, the outcome was always the same. Despite changing his actions each time. 'Someone is watching and activating a scroll.' The same was true now. Somebody was controlling forces from outside to kill him. And so, no matter the approach, the outcomes were identical. How could he overcome this? Recognizing it as a wall was one thing, but crossing it was another. On the thirty-fourth today, the ferryman asked him once more. "Can you answer today? So, are you enjoying this?" There was now room for a response. Moreover, he felt like talking, so Enkrid answered sincerely. "A little." Though there was much to ponder, he momentarily paused then continued. "A lot." A mindset the ferryman could never fathom. Enkrid grinned. It was his nature. In darkness and despair, people succumb to hopelessness, but... Enkrid was always different. He found joy in advancing through dark uncertainty. Recognizing he could add something new amid change. Even though he hadn’t figured out much yet, it didn’t alter his approach. He could greet the unknown with joy. "You truly are mad." The ferryman offered his praise. * * * Long ago, the continent’s greatest strategist and tactician emphasized five considerations before war. First, was the heart of the king aligned with the people’s? Wars waged under a king’s selfish ambition and negligence of his people were never welcomed. Second, had one accounted for the seasons, like heat and cold? Third, was the terrain thoroughly understood? Fourth, were the leading commanders capable? Fifth, did the military structure, lines of command, and supply chains hold firm? In essence, these five: the king’s governance, timing, knowledge of terrain, the commanders' capabilities, and organizational structure. Among these, Abnayer paid closer attention to the third, fourth, and fifth. He had forfeited the second, as the battle began in an unfavorable terrain and cold conditions. The first was a matter for the king to address retrospectively. He had reshaped unfavorable land into a new battleground. Dug trenches in some areas. Set traps in others. Regarding leading commanders, he skillfully maneuvered. "Were you planning to bury the name Grey Dog here? If not, do your duty." A proper stimulus and promises of future rewards. Even if the Grey Dog unit fell here, it would be reborn anew. The current commander had accepted the sacrifice. He acted out of patriotism and loyalty. Abnayer exploited that. The fifth aspect, the military structure, was what Abnayer focused on most. Criminals, those with families back home. He offered opportunities to change their lives through this single battle. Desire and threat. These two weapons bound the military structure together. Enkrid hadn’t fully grasped precisely what Abnayer had done. He didn’t even know the enemy commander’s name. However, he was certain of one thing. Standing on a cliff surrounded on all sides. Yet Enkrid remained unperturbed. He awoke every day and repeated today. This time, charging directly into what he assumed was the center, Cent the mercenary greeted him first. It seemed to be the first time they met without either being injured. "You’re going nowhere." "Nowhere?" "Can't." Cent clenched his teeth and took his stance. Behind him stood the one who had once slit his own throat with a poisoned dagger. He still didn’t know that bastard’s name. No way of escaping today had come to mind. The future was opaque. All the signposts that used to be clear had blurred again. But. "Laughing?" Cent's eyebrows raised as he noticed Enkrid’s expression. Was such a reaction normal in this situation? Cent questioned Enkrid’s mental state. This guy was certifiably insane. Enkrid felt overwhelmed, yet delighted. Though unseen, he felt unrestrained. Whatever blocked his path, he would break through. Where would that lead him? Since he hadn’t given up, hadn’t retreated, he patched up his torn dreams and forged ahead. Enkrid laughed. He had gained much before. Hadn't he gone through so many todays? What had he gathered from them? From the accumulated experiences, he welcomed even an uncertain future. "Kill him!" From behind Cent and two mercenaries, a group of archers surged forth. Having faced mercenary Cent multiple times, this time, three sword strikes would suffice. If he were to throw the gladius, he could do so at most twice. Should he do it? No, that wouldn't be wise. He needed to sustain the fight for the long haul. In a situation where it’s one against many, discarding a weapon wasn’t a good strategy. However, having encountered them early on, in his hand gleamed a steel sword with a blue sheen. This one was worth throwing. It was a sword that would typically break after a few swings, fortunately leaving Enkrid with two more swords. Positioning his left foot forward, he unsheathed the sword with his right hand and threw it. The motion was fluid. He’d practiced it several times. Repeating numerous todays was not spent idle. Enkrid honed what he had. He perfected the art of throwing a longsword. It was an adaptation of the knife-throwing technique "tuk-gum-sik." Thud! Startled by the whizzing blade, Cent hastily batted it away. Enkrid stamped the ground and activated "Will of the Moment." This was the second evidence that he hadn’t just been idling. It was the second 'Will,' acquired through learning the fastest, the swiftest sword strike. Layering his will over the moment, he charged. His surroundings swiftly peeled back. His thigh muscles surged as if they would burst from the acceleration. The blood coursing through his veins pulsed with an intense beat. Blood surged through his body like a galloping wild horse. Enkrid extended his sword, the flames leaping forth. With his momentum, he thrust at Cent’s neck. This today began with Cent’s death. “Peek-a-boo.” Though it was a jab and a jest, Cent likely didn’t even hear him, but it was enough to startle the mercenaries behind. “You crazy bastard!” Their reflexive profanity spoke volumes of their nature as seasoned mercenaries. Swinging the gladius as if piercing, then thrusting again with the flames while the opponent parried. Using "Will of the Moment" twice, he swiftly dispatched the two mercenaries. Subsequently, he encountered the heavily armored infantry and three Hurio family swordsmen. Amongst the ranks of crossbowmen and archers, a few elves were visible. Some of them had a remarkable talent for archery. They targeted precisely as his actions concluded, exploiting the break in his breathing. It was, of course, not his first encounter with such tactics. Enkrid endured. Longer than before, durations expanded with repetition. During the span of fifty todays. Enkrid mastered "Will of the Moment." He refined his existing swordsmanship. He crafted a second sword technique after the snake sword. “Shall I call it the ‘Piercing Blade’?” His naming sense remained terrible. Simply naming it “Piercing Blade” because the thrust ends it all. Through reflection and continuous combat, he eventually renamed it. “Thunder Flash.” 'Lightning Blade' or 'Lightning Thrust' sounded better. “Lightning Step,” he repeated several times. A fitting name was said to lend further power to a technique. Thus, the Fourth Blade and Thunder Flash. Snake Sword and Lightning Blade, or Lightning Thrust. Neither was bad. In addition to swordsmanship, he learned much through ongoing battles. As he fell into pits and succumbed to poisonous arrows, his footwork improved. Caught and killed by nets, he learned to instantly cut through loose nets. “Won't work for cutting through steel, though.” Now he could cut through steel even while in motion. The Middle Sword Technique was a show of added strength for destructive power. He assimilated and mastered these as well. Today repeated itself. Today continued on. One after another, days merged with days. Advertisements Throughout one hundred and five todays, Enkrid trained relentlessly. He reexamined all he had learned. Techniques became cleaner, stronger. Yet he had not escaped Abnayer’s intricate trap. Thus, on the two hundred thirty-fifth today. The ferryman unexpectedly spoke. Previously, he’d told him to give up, but today he offered different advice.