321 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

321. The ferryman couldn't help but laugh in the end. "Well." Just one syllable. It was no surprise that silence followed. It was cold. Of course, since it was winter. The flames in the brazier flickered and flared up. Just then, a gust swept in through the tent’s entrance. A biting winter wind. For an ordinary person, it might have felt like a dagger had struck their heart. But there were no ordinary people here, Encrid included. "I'd say the same thing." Krais added discreetly. He wasn't wrong. Naturally, Encrid was not flustered. When had Ragna ever been the eloquent type? Lem, who drove conversations aggressively to his liking, wasn’t much of a teacher either. So there was no need to panic. "Explain it." "How do you stop lightning from striking?" This was Ragna's best attempt. Of course, to others, it was the worst explanation. But did it matter? Not really. Encrid, as always, was an excellent listener and could become an ideal student. He knew how to truly listen. Or perhaps you could say he was the kind of listener who extracted answers when explanations fell short. "You can't stop it." Encrid answered. "It is possible to stop it." Ragna added. "So how? Not 'well' or anything like that." It would be nice if he got accustomed to explaining things more clearly, but that was too ambitious. Ragna was poor at finding his words, had picky tastes, and his personality wasn't exactly nice. He didn’t care about his reputation and lived as he pleased. Sometimes, he couldn't be bothered even to speak. If described like this, he came off as a mess, but when it came to wielding a sword, Ragna was the best. The best of the best, indeed. "You identify the signs first and then strike." Ragna gave his best explanation. For him, this was the best he could do. It was a realm of intuition and talent. Encrid was relentless. He bombarded him with questions and received answers. Ragna explained to the best of his ability. It didn't form a perfect image in his mind. Nothing came to him. However, this was not the end. 'If I could defer death.' He'd have more time to make the most of today. If Ragna led the way, he might witness Ragna deflecting a knight's sword. Of course, Encrid would never do that. Making the most of today was different from risking Ragna's life knowingly. That was a line he couldn't cross. Since the repetition of the first day, this line had formed in his mind. For some, it becomes a conviction; for others, it takes root as honor. 'Honor, eh.' Before the messenger discussing honor arrived, Encrid had to do all he could. In the cycle of questions and answers, he materialized his thoughts and pondered. This wasn't the end. "Sinar." Even the fairy thought she could withstand the blow. She responded. How could she do that? "Do you know how to stop lightning?" "Evade it before it strikes." "And if you can't evade it?" "You could use an elder's staff as a lightning rod." She said this while tapping an elder. Her words, half in jest, carried a philosophical weight. It was something accompanied by deep insight. "Elders are easy to pull out, great to cut down, and perfect for deflecting or absorbing." "And if you had to block a knight's sword?" The question was abrupt, yet no one found it odd. That was just how Encrid was. Obsessed with swords and chasing unattainable dreams ardently. That’s what shaped the person he is today. Everyone acknowledged it. So they were used to him spouting such nonsense. Even Krais regarded it as just another daily occurrence. Dunbakel waited eagerly for his turn to be asked. "Before the opponent lifts a foot or raises a sword, I would draw mine." Sinar felt herself drawn into Encrid’s magnetism. What was this man? As before, but now more, he was like a raging fire. In her eyes, it seemed as if the spirit of fire dwelled within him. 'No, it's not fire.' It was a swirl of desire, passion, and ecstasy. These intense emotions pricked the sensitive heart of the fairy. Where Prok perceived talent, fairies sensed emotions. It was an intrinsic trait of their species. To survive on the continent, this trait needed tempering or disregarding when necessary. Prok had to become familiar with the concept of 'heart,' while fairies had to find their way through emotional storms. In this regard, Sinar was exceptionally well-adapted to the continent. And yet. 'It's so hot.' Encrid didn’t raise his voice. He wasn’t frantic. He simply spoke a few words while stretching. Just approached and opened his mouth. Yet that fervor inflamed Sinar. It touched the fairy’s blood. It brought seriousness to Sinar. Her response, devoid of her usual — not that she typically smiled — laughter and jest, followed. "The knight's sword is a calamity. How do you intend to stop what you call a catastrophe?" Turning the question around was precisely the answer needed at the moment. Could a human force halt an earthquake? A raging whirlwind? A flood? A typhoon? A torrential rain? A drought? Natural disasters. They called knights, man-made catastrophes, 'an inflicted disaster.' Since humans, among the successors of dragons, fairies, giants, dwarves, beastfolk, and humans, were in the greatest number, the nickname stuck to knights. But the more intuitive term was indeed 'calamity.' Naturally, there were fairy knights as well. Beastfolk used a term akin to 'hero.' Among the human race, some refer to those similar to knights with different terms. The point was not in the terminology. Sinar recalled the past, observed the present, and envisioned the future. 'The way forward.' Sinar Kirhaise had once recognized her limits, having given up something in the past. She had lost the path further. However, by giving up, she managed to reach where she was today. It was paradoxical. Is the fish that got away always bigger? Or is it because I realized that I needed that elusive fish to stand beside the man before me? 'Perhaps.' What would it feel like to see the man in front of me fall to a knight's sword? By chance, but with the fairy's acute sensitivity and sharpness, she predicted what was to come with startling accuracy. ‘Certainly not a pleasant experience.’ If that were the case, would I be filled with regret? I would probably think about that missed opportunity a lot. ‘Pointless thoughts.’ Outwardly composed, Sinar internally shook her head. Truly useless musings. Encrid, upon hearing Sinar’s question, was lost in thought. Ragna had spoken of lightning. Sinar must have spoken in line with that as well. The fairy at least wrapped her explanation in consideration. Listening to both of them, something close to a conclusion came to Encrid’s mind. ‘How does one block lightning?’ Finding the answer to that was a start. “Aren’t you going to ask me?” Lost in thought, Dunbakel approached and asked. “About what?” “You know, the knight, the sword, that stuff.” “Go get some sleep.” Dunbakel was still lacking. There wasn’t even a need to ask just in case. Besides, even without being asked, he would likely offer his input. “Just block it with a clang!” Well, noted. Encrid patted Dunbakel. “You’ve been immensely helpful.” His tone was devoid of any emotion. “Really?” “Indeed.” With a slight nod, Encrid sent him back to his bedding, prompting Krais to marvel. “I think if you ever joined a salon, you'd be the best employee.” The idea of being the best at charming ladies in a salon wasn’t appealing to him. Until evening, they rested, ate, pondered, swung invisible swords, and inspected their gear before finally speaking of the day’s hardships. It was about mental preparation. Today, there was no nonsensical talk about demons or anything like that. It was due to Encrid's strange aura of intensity and his piercing gaze. Although he didn’t express it verbally, his eyes and demeanor continuously struck Sinar’s heart. She managed to control her emotions well enough to keep her heart from racing. And then, the knight appeared. “Just once. Block it just once. It's the least I can do to protect my honor.” Why does this person always speak words that no one asks for? Encrid gripped the sword and swallowed his breath. How does one block lightning? First, he had to face the sword; that was the beginning. The flowing sword, the first sword technique Encrid created, the Serpent Sword. Couldn’t it deflect even lightning? "...It’s like you’ve been expecting this, how strange," the knight said. Encrid didn’t respond. His focus ignited, breaking the chains of foreboding. After that, he gathered his concentration to a pinpoint and watched his opponent. It was to see the beginning of the sword’s strike without the preparatory movement. “That’s right,” Sinar muttered from behind. “A prophet, are you?” Krais was equally baffled. “Was it just to hold the sword?” Ragna wouldn’t have been any different. Would Esther not have been surprised? Dunbakel froze upon seeing the opponent. “What is that?” To the beastfolk, it was a creature that stimulated the instinct to survive. Swoosh. The sword was coming. Facing it was the first step. Learning how to block the lightning came next. Whirr. Encrid saw a vision. He saw the sword bending before him. It swayed, then seemed to pierce his own sword before meeting his blade. It was bizarre enough that he wondered if he was truly seeing it correctly. And then his heart split. * * * The ferryman, observing from his realm of imagination, also saw reality beyond. Not even the present could escape the ferryman’s scrutiny. He watched the doomed draw their last breath. It was his sole amusement, his singular pleasure. Yet the target of this curse was particularly peculiar. ‘Laughing?’ He laughed as he died. Laughed through pain. Even as agony coursed through his entire body, he laughed. Trapped in a dark cave-like situation, he laughed. Encrid found enjoyment in seeing something new, but to the ferryman, it was neither ordinary nor familiar. The ferryman observed continuously. In the endlessly repeating today, Encrid died, and died again. He laughed as he died, agonized, pondered, and thought. What sort of pleasure could be found in such repetition? None. The ferryman knew this all too well. He understood better than anyone why today’s repetition was a curse. “That bastard’s crazy,” the ferryman muttered to himself. “Despair, unable to become despair?” He asked himself again. “Anguish, ignorance, despair—none could stain his will.” Once more, he whispered to himself. Thus, he continued to watch Encrid, who was dying. He observed. He monitored. Dying and dying again. “Do you still find joy in it?” Sometimes when asked. “Hmm? What did you say?” He didn’t listen properly. He entirely devoted himself to the current situation. Seeing nothing, hearing nothing, he focused solely on one thing. And in doing so, he found enjoyment. The ferryman recalled an old continent saying he had heard long ago. It was a memory from before he became the ferryman. Since the gift of forgetfulness had been taken from him, recalling past memories was easy. Knowing is not as good as liking, and liking is not as good as enjoying. To know is to understand. Once understood, one tends to believe they possess the truth. Therefore, it leads to stagnation rather than effort. Stopping and being content with the present. To like is to have the drive to make an effort. For the love of it, one strives towards it. Thus, it is not stagnation but progression. However, one's efforts are a pursuit of returns. Thinking ahead fuels the effort. Liking is a motivator. The power of the heart that propels one to effort. To enjoy is to lose oneself. To forget oneself, to forget the situation, and to be swept in the moment. Like a child forgetting time with the first play. Even as an adult, if one could do that. If one could, they would lose themselves without even realizing it. But is there really such a human? No. Never seen one. Usually, they wear down. Erode. Their hearts vanish. Effort becomes blurred. Exhaustion. Weariness. Drowning in fatigue. Complete depletion. Consumed by desolation. That was how everyone felt. But in the ferryman's eyes, there stood one who was different. Undoubtedly, he had never seen such a lunatic before. Yet still, he repeated today, over and over again. The repetition failed to become shackles or a prison for him. The bars could not contain the man called Encrid. Despite it all, the ferryman's gaze remained clear. He watched intently. Today's shackles are firm. Heavy. Unbreakable. So, what is to be done? Encrid offered a solution. Shackles? Why not just run with them on? In reality, it seemed he didn’t even realize he was bound. "Ha." The ferryman couldn't help but laugh in the end.