320 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Chapter 320 Exalted Praise - The Second Morning Dawns Encried once again repeated the same day today. The chains of unease that transcend evasion still constricted his body. His limbs were frozen, unable to move. Once again, as on other days, he watched someone die. By the time evening approached, Encried spoke up, having prepared to the bare minimum. "Ragna, grip your sword and rest." Though mentioned earlier, the problem wasn't the sword. He was exhausted. Injured. Far from being in optimal condition. Knowing doesn't necessarily prevent. And so, it was a calamity. It wasn't called a calamity for nothing. The knight once again killed all his comrades. The third day passed, and then the fourth. It repeated. Unease, chains that bind, the death of comrades, his own death, pain, sometimes meeting the ferryman of the river. "This is despair." The ferryman once again planted the two characters of despair in his mind. Encried did not respond. "This is despair." Twelve days went by. Repeating the same day over and over again. Bound by the chains of unease, unable to move, Encried carried the deaths of his comrades in his eyes. Not once did he avert his gaze. He couldn't. Krais, with poor fighting skills, insisted on blocking his path. The one who spoke of fleeing every day, why would he turn his back on me in this moment? This was a curse. Hence, it didn't dull. Neither the physical pain nor the internal pain. The same pain had to be endured always. He always had to watch everything. Encried never thought of averting his eyes in the first place, but pain is pain. "This is despair." The ferryman with a light tone passed by. It was the twenty-second day. Twitch. After Shinar's chest split, Encried's finger twitched. It was slightly different from the previous twenty-one days. "Fiancé." She didn't die. He thought she had in the original day, but she was no ordinary talent either. She altered the sword's trajectory with Nightil, minimizing her injuries. Within that lay a fusion of a flowing swordstyle and a receiving swordstyle. What about Ragna? He resorted to enduring the opponent's swordfight with his speed instead. He chose to stand firm with his sword, opting for strength to endure. They were people from whom much could be learned. Twitch. Ragna, Krais, Dunbakel, and Esther. After witnessing all their deaths, Encried finally regained control of his hand. "Finally, I can move." And a simple remark. "Uh?" Yet, the man with brown hair still drove the blade into his heart. Encried died again. Swaying. The black river and the ferryman appeared. Having no other tasks, he kept reappearing. "This is despair." The ferryman communicated the meaning with his unfocused gaze fixed on Encried. Encried looked at the ferryman indifferently. He would say despair each time, neither weary nor bored. As Encried indifferently watched, his body began to fade gradually. It was time to return to reality. He had to live today again, watching his comrades die. It was time to face the repeated day of death once more. Thus, his body and face began to fade like smoke. The ferryman looked at Encried. He, the ferryman, spoke not with expressions. But sometimes, he expressed a portion of his emotions. Even now, it was the same. As time in the dream came to an end and Encried's body began to fade, the ferryman expressed some of his emotion. He even conveyed it in words. "Are you smiling?" * * * The river vanished. Encried awoke from his dream. Thus began the repeating today. The thirty-second time. "Quite a troublesome dream." Muttering immediately upon waking, this was the first thing Encried did. Dismissing each passing today as a dream. In truth, it was more a first step forward than dismissing it as a dream. Unable to do anything in today. Isn't it rather unpleasant? He felt as though insects were crawling all over his body. "What kind of dream was it?" Krais asked, rubbing his eyes on one side. "A dream where you die." "Inauspicious." To Encried's candid statement, Krais also replied sincerely. "I also dreamt of your death, Ragna. Keep your sword ready." "Truly inauspicious words." Ragna, too, responded with sincerity, making it quite a warm morning. Even though Ragna didn’t believe in superstitions, such sudden words could weigh on one's mind. Especially since the one speaking was Encried. "Is nonsensical talk from that barbarian rubbing off on you?" Ragna, a rare instance of a complaint, though his tone was indifferent, the content was hardly fitting. Encried naturally reacted. "Is that an insult? Are you challenging me to a duel?" How could this be compared to Rem? He joked back lightly, and Ragna offered no response. Encried moved his body more vigorously than on the passed days. Despair—such a notion was not one that easily adhered to his heart. Acknowledged as an extreme situation. Acknowledged that the opponent was of an absurdly monstrous level. But the answer was clear. "Once." Withstanding the first strike meant retreat. So was this despair? No. Even if there was an escape, he wouldn't have chosen to flee. The opponent was a knight. Even if that opponent became a god of death, Encried felt pure joy that his dream was approaching. As much as pain, there was ecstasy. Burying the death of comrades as dreams and moving forward, Encried started from there. Simply put, he wouldn't let anyone die. Thus, only a clear answer remained. "Endure it." If not? Keep trying until it succeeds. By whatever means necessary if needed. That was the solution. Seeing his comrades die repeatedly? If that's despair? "That's shallow." How many days have passed since then? There were multiple methods to bend today's repetition. Must the repeated day be the same? He already knew otherwise. Now that he could move his body, even things he hadn't imagined doing became possible. Encried began by gathering his equipment from the corner of his tent. Should he wrap himself in bandaged armor? No, that would be pointless. He had seen the knight's sword. No armor would be able to block it. Even what Shinar had was not typical armor, yet it was simply cleaved through. That single strike had something special embedded within it. And he felt he knew what that was. ‘Willpower.’ A knight is one who wields ‘willpower.’ Encried grasped this firmly. So, what should he do? Perhaps he should try deflecting it? Would the snake sword work? He momentarily forgot the wreckage that his body was in. As the familiar day unfolded again. “Well done, everyone.” Encried would always say something similar. There are things that must not become dulled even when repeated. Encried didn’t forget that. After exchanging some more trivial words of toil. “A demon, a demon indeed.” Ending with Krais’s words, the tent was ripped open, and a man with brown hair entered. Always the same beginning. “My apologies.” The man spoke, and Encried began to prepare. “If you block me once, I will simply leave. It would be the least respectful thing to do for my honor.” His demeanor suggested reluctance in doing something distasteful. Even then, he hadn't been able to block even one swing. While he was speaking, Encried moved. In fact, he didn’t really listen to what the man said. After all, he’d heard it more times than he could count. Some things may dull with repetition; others never do. Words remaining in memory became merely tiresome. Honor or not, his focus ignited. Even though the chains of unease wrapped and tightened his body, because he had begun to overcome it once already. He commanded his entire musculature from his fingertips. To move. Encried’s feet naturally moved. His body obeyed his will. The unease still coiled around his throat, but it did not matter. It could be ignored. After all, he was moving. The man, noticing the one who stepped forward without listening to his words, focused on him. His gaze landed on Encried. Encried spoke. “Let me go first.” “Fiancé.” Shinar tried to stop him, but it was too late. “Am I the target, then? Or not?” He continued speaking as he stepped forward. Indeed. All the prior days provided enough clues. To surpass today, one must recognize and face what is needed from that today. ‘I am the target of this man.’ If he shows spirit and steps forward, it’s in his nature never to ignore. Facing him, speaking what he discerned through the restoration of the situation. The man, the knight, drew his sword. The short sword, devoid of its teeth, was the death god’s weapon. The dream-turned-death-god wielded his weapon. “How spirited, you.” He swung the sword. Thwack. Encried tried to block, but the opponent’s sword was quicker. Quicker than Laicanos? Or similar to Jaxen's thrusting technique? He had seen it countless times, yet this was his first attempt at blocking. Encried sensed the difference in speed. The opponent swung the sword without transmitting force starting from his feet. A sword utterly unreadable in its timing. ‘I was slow.’ Encried accepted it. Being slow and missing the mark, having his heart split was inevitable. Death approached. Yet, Encried smiled faintly. Didn’t he achieve what he wanted on the first attempt? The death god, too, saw it. ‘What a madman.’ The god instantly saw through Encried’s essence. The opponent was not normal. Of course, this was of no concern to Encried. He was simply content that his trick had worked. If he didn’t want to watch Shinar, Ragna, Krais, Dunbakel, and Esther dying, all he had to do was step in first. Eyelids grew heavy. Death drew closer. Swaying, the black river. The ferryman opened the realm of imagination even when there was no gap, forcing his way into the world. He passed by, leaving high praise. “Madman.” It was the second such commendation already. Encried left a response in the nick of time. “Thanks.” There was no time to speak at length. Was it an illusion that the ferry on the distant river appeared to shake greatly? One couldn’t know. Anyway. ‘The body moves.’ Now, all that remained was to withstand it. “Phew, nice.” “What’s nice?” Krais asked immediately upon waking. “Don’t mind it.” Encried thought deeply. Could he immediately recover his body? No. Thinking this, he picked up Ragna’s sword and stood it beside his bed. “…What’s this? A sparing request?” “Just keep it with you.” Actions were simpler than explanations. Anyway, it was also important not to stop moving to raise his body temperature even a bit more. By the heat of the brazier, he continuously performed movements to stretch his muscles and stimulate regeneration. Yet his pondering wouldn’t cease. ‘How should I block it?’ Still daunting. Just because he could move didn’t mean he thought he could block it at once. But it was just a single slash, wasn’t it? ‘No.’ It’s not just a single slash. It’s a knight’s sword. ‘Ridiculous.’ Encried wasn’t a fool. He knew what he had accomplished on the battlefield. His sword couldn't be halted by mere soldiers. He had cut through mercenaries who wielded swords well and even members from the House of Hurior. Among them were magicians and shamans. Most recently, he’d been surrounded by enemy troops. He managed to escape relying on his senses, but it wasn’t easy. For those unaware of today’s repetition, it would exceed the realm of magic, bordering on mystique. Carrying just one blade—technically three—it seemed he had traversed that perilous path. “Are you a magician?” Krais suddenly asking such a thing was only natural. Even Esther cast him a glance full of curiosity. Of course not. He didn’t know any spells. Recalled the knight’s sword once more. Feeling like an ordinary soldier now. Thoughts flowed. Had Jaxen been there, would he have noticed it? No, if Jaxen had been there, would he not have been easily overtaken by the knight? Would he have managed somehow? What if Ragna hadn’t been hurt? Idle musings. Is this what despair is? Were the remnants of emotions left by the ferryman still lingering in his mind? Encried didn't bother to discard or erase any of it. He let it remain naturally. It didn't matter. What is despair? It is the collapse that comes from having nothing to look forward to, severing hope. It is the crumbling of oneself in resignation. All of this had nothing to do with Encried. Being trapped in today because he couldn't withstand the knight’s blow? He welcomed it even more. Better to fiercely resist than to watch my dreams languish and decay while enduring day by day without being able to do anything or encountering any catalyst. "Today, let's live fiercely." Rather than fall to despair as death approached, he wouldn't let it faze him. Living each day to die isn’t his fate. Moreover, past days, what the ferryman called distress and ignorance, and countless days before that— They shattered and broke one of Encried’s shells. Just like facing today anew, his mind stood firm and correct. It was a small realization. Yet also a grand one. 'There’s no rule against using today.' He had exploited today when dealing with werewolves and magicians and when breaking through spell traps. It was an expansion of the concept. Despite despairing, he would endure and use the curse of repetition. The moment he comprehended through his mind what his body had been doing all along. Encried’s eyes opened wide. He remembered what he needed to do. "Ragna." "...What now?" Naturally, his voice carried strength. Ragna reacted to the change in Encried's demeanor. Why this sudden shift? "Assuming your body is fine." Encried's eyes sparkled. Perhaps it was the eyes of someone strangely elated and excited? Speaking with that expression made Ragna interrupt. “I’m still holding strong. Compared to you.” Bluster, at times, might be the strongest weapon. Ragna’s bravado shone as brightly as Encried's eyes. Encried naturally responded. "My health is nine out of ten." In truth, it was five. “I’m perfectly healed.” “Looks like I’m fully recovered too.” Shinar, having listened to the exchange, quietly spoke. “What are they doing?” “They're competing to see who’s the bigger fool,” Krais summarized. “I’m not hurt.” Dunbakel opened her mouth. She, too, had injuries. Of course, no one reacted to her comment. Encried and Ragna, too, paid no mind to what others were doing. To be precise, Encried ignored them first, and Ragna naturally followed him. The heart of the matter was this: "Can you withstand the knight’s sword?" That question, that demeanor, the weight carried in his words and gaze, something igniting besides bravado. All of it was a stimulus. Ragna, upon hearing the question, briefly delved into his own world. This fight served as an opportunity. Ragna saw a path. He knew all too easily where his talents were leading him. However, just because the path was visible didn’t mean he had walked it. Having no experience meant he couldn’t know it with certainty. Yet didn’t the illuminating talent show the path beforehand? The path shown again by newly awakened talent due to a catalyst. Ragna was nearly convinced. This was indeed the path to becoming a knight. Therefore, “I can block it.” Excluding bravado, it was possible. Using the cut imbued with ‘will,’ if he paved the way with what he gained this time, he could block the knight’s sword. It was a faint certainty. It was confidence too. At least he wouldn’t be helplessly overwhelmed by a single strike. Pondering wasn’t about being foolishly solitary. Equally, the changes in Ragna became subtly apparent, just as much as his own. Especially in facing the knight; Ragna's reactions in today’s repetitions were subtly different each time. What did that signify? Could it be a hint that something was visible? Doubt and questioning. Encried saw an easy, straightforward path. He sought an answer from Ragna. “How?” Now, then, relay the method. Ragna seemed as if he were in a state of intoxication. Encried's voice and gaze brought him to it. And so he spoke candidly. He envisioned and outlined the knight’s sword. A man said to be the continent’s finest in terms of talent. He did not hesitate. His mouth opened quickly.