322 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Chapter 322. How Do You Fend Off Lightning? Today repeated itself. Regardless of whether the boatman was watching, Encrid remained steadfast. As ever, he was unchanging. Whether it was when he first held a sword declaring he’d become a mercenary, or after being thrashed and swinging his sword at a tree, it wasn’t any different from now. No, there were indeed differences. His vision had changed. What he saw had changed. The way he contemplated had evolved. His body transformed. The sword in his hand had changed. His dream was closer. Yet, Encrid was still Encrid. Day by day, he pondered. ‘How do I stop it?’ It was a question with no answer. Of course, this was no cause for concern. It had always been that way. For Encrid, problems that came with solutions were rare. Everything around him whispered of surrender. Forced him to simply settle for today as it was. Even the idea of giving up crossed his mind. Whether it was the boatman’s trickery or its inherent nature, there was never just one way to get through today. ‘What if I took everyone and ran?’ What if he woke up in the morning, took his aching body, and ran like mad? There were several carriages at the Green Pearl camp. What if he simply picked one and fled? Would the knight pursue him all the way to Border Guard? It was usually evening when he appeared; would he chase after him, if he started running in the morning? Could he even be pursued? He didn’t know. In reality, there was no need to know. Because Encrid wasn’t going to choose that path. Running away was easy, and there were plenty of methods. Even if Garret tried to catch him, it wouldn’t matter. ‘I should head to the rear and rest.’ Or he could simply say: ‘I have immediate tasks to attend to back home.’ Who would dare oppose the principal contributor and top honoree of this victorious battle? Within the camp, there was already a subtle sense of excitement. As soon as Azpen withdrew, there would be a party. They would feast on meat and drink to their hearts’ content. Would they see such a tomorrow? “Despair,” The words that the boatman repeatedly murmured churned in his mind. “You cannot overcome it.” The boatman repeated the same words. They were mere distractions. Yet nothing would change because of them. In Encrid’s mind, he tirelessly wielded his sword. Sought out methods, deliberated. ‘What if I deflected while retreating?’ How was the sword so fluid and elusive? How could he bring his blade to meet it? Encrid considered the curse of today’s repetition a privilege. Even as the agony of death repeated a thousandfold. He endured with the ecstasy that would come after the pain. Thus, he faced the knight’s sword over and over again. Today repeated with burning concentration. Because of that, Encrid could see more. “Honor.” It was when the knight, who encouraged him to block just once, mentioned honor. In an instant, all the scenes appeared to disconnect. The shackles of ominousness that bound him at the start of today contributed to this. It happened thanks to his heightened sense of evasion. This sharpened his focus to its peak. ‘The blade?’ As he attempted to deflect while retreating, the blade accelerated. Its speed changed. Encrid saw something just before the blade accelerated. A quiver. It certainly looked that way. Simultaneously, Encrid laid his sword against the knight’s at an angle. The sensation felt like every muscle in his body was tearing, a desperate move. So focused on the blade, he couldn’t see the knight’s face, but a hint of surprise replaced the knight’s usual indifference. Of course, it vanished quickly. Tsss. The moment blades connected, the shortsword cleaved the dwarf’s gladius. ‘The advantages of a weapon...’ Were nonexistent. Thud. His heart was pierced. Encrid died. Died, only to repeat today once more. This time, he executed a similar approach but added another tactic. Simultaneously blocking with the gladius, he engaged ‘Will of the Moment,’ even if it meant tearing the muscles of his left arm. Half of it was a gamble. ‘Will’ was a mystical force emerging through the user's own body. It wasn’t something to be attempted with an unhealed body. He felt the tendons of his left arm tearing, but Encrid finally managed to direct the spark in his desired direction. Thanks to this, the knight’s sword wobbled and bent, though it pierced his heart; it didn’t shatter completely. He had bought just a little time. His death was postponed, however briefly. “Urgh!” Encrid staggered backward, blood spewing from his mouth. At the same time, his body sank. He tried to brace himself on the ground with his left hand, but his strength failed him, and he leaned forward. On the brink of collapse. Thump. Someone caught his falling body. As he glanced downward, he saw feet. Sinar supported Encrid with his thigh. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Quickly, he braced himself with his right hand against the ground. He had no energy to stand. Blood gushed from his mouth due to the impact on his heart. “What’s this about?” Sinar spoke. At that moment, something whizzed overhead towards the knight's head. It was Ragna. His sword slashed fiercely through the tent’s roof. Rip! The sound of the tearing fabric echoed as the sword in his grip thrust downward with terrifying speed. Ragna didn’t speak of lightning for nothing. His sword had become lightning. ‘Will of Severance’ embodied, he demonstrated the Northern Zau House’s swordsmanship. It was Zau’s signature lightning strike. Crack! Such a sound emanated from Ragna’s blade. Meanwhile, the knight thrust his sword from below to above. What about the lightning strike? He wasn’t a knight for nothing. He wasn’t a wielder of ‘Will’ for nothing. The knight performed feats that couldn’t be achieved with mere Will fragments. He caught Ragna’s sword with his left palm and thrust his own sword. Encrid took it all in. He didn’t let his concentration wane to catch every detail. His own impending death mattered little. ‘Ah.’ Encrid vaguely perceived it. The knight’s sword seemed to multiply into dozens in an instant. “Urrrk.” Encrid, beyond merely coughing blood, was now frothing it from his mouth. Standing beside him, Sinar commented. "A fairy who loses a companion never forgets vengeance." Wait a minute, since when were they companions? On what basis are they discussing revenge? It was somewhat reassuring. The ability to crack a joke at such a moment was testament to a remarkable kind of nerve—truly a fairy capable of anything. Ragna was pierced by the sword and lay sprawled on the ground. It was a mortal wound. His eyes went dark with death. His heart was pierced, as expected. "Damn." Kreis stood in the way just as Encrid had. This time, Dunbakel was with him as well. A low growl. Esther wouldn’t be an exception. Did these guys not intend to run away? But this time, Ragna truly perished. Was it because he attempted a grand technique in his excitement? Nonetheless, this caused a change in the knight’s condition. Amid Encrid’s dying gaze, between Kreis and Dunbakel, he saw the knight examining his own palm. Blood stained the ground from the tip of the shortsword. Blood also dripped from his left hand onto the floor. The blood was an intensely vivid scarlet. "Cut?" The knight murmured. It was inevitable. No matter how much ‘Will’ it contained, the opponent was incomplete, a fragment. He was a knight. Yet his Will-wrapped palm was cut? Was such a thing even possible? "Could it be I was cut?" The knight muttered again, signaling his shock. Fortunately or unfortunately, this was as far as Encrid could observe before he had to close his eyes. The time he bought by sacrificing his left arm had expired. "Argh." Though he tried to hold it in, Encrid fell with a rather unpleasant, scream-like sound at the end. That was his limit. "You’re really going out with a bang too, eh?" Despite the somberness, Kreis’s unsettling voice reached the ears of the dying Encrid. He closed his eyes, died, awoke, and watched the day restart once again. A wavering sword, a bending sword. Most of all, the knight's demeanor when he faced Ragna last was etched vividly in his mind. He changed his footing, altered his stance. He adapted his thrusts upon gauging the opponent’s skill. If the knight always delivered strikes of similar trajectory and caliber, Encrid would have already figured it out. "Good." "What’s good?" "It’s good!" "I’m asking, what’s good?" Was it normal for someone to rise like a madman shouting 'good' right from dawn? Kreis repeatedly questioned Encrid, but he was deeply immersed in his world. It was an unprecedented level of immersion. "Did he hit his head? This time it seems he got significantly injured," Kreis muttered to himself. Even Sinar shared the sentiment. The odd man had become even stranger, but that was part of his charm. Encrid endured a few more repeats of today. He began to collect insights from what he discerned. During the recent repetitions, he witnessed something fascinating. Once, Ragna and Sinar attacked together, causing the knight’s sword to hum in response. Woooom! It was a sword that resonated a cry born from tremor and vibration. Sword-named Blade Echo. Also known as an Echo. As the blade sang, a visible white aura emanated from the knight's eyes. It was a visualization of 'Will'. Woooom- thump! The knight’s shortsword practically painted white arcs to the sides. The trajectory trimmed Ragna’s blade in half and sliced Sinar’s daggers. Attacked first, yet Encrid managed to delay death once more. He witnessed it clearly. ‘With an old shortsword?’ It transcended mastery and bordered on mystical miracle, a divine skill. Both renowned blades of Ragna and Sinar’s thick daggers were cleaved. One was a prized sword, the other so sturdy that the notion of splitting it seemed ridiculous, yet they were cut. Not the faintest spark erupted. ‘Like slicing a rotten branch.’ Could it be possible solely through the power of 'Will'? What truly was 'Will'? What was the power of resolve? Encrid pondered but found no answers. His thoughts evolved towards more progressive, wholesome paths. At times, the knight would kill Ragna, sever his arm or leg, and utter similar sentiments: “What a waste. He should not have rushed.” He coveted Ragna’s talent. Encrid recalled how Ragna faced the knight. He unearthed lessons inscribed in the repetitious cycle of today. He also remembered Sinar’s defiance. Kreis’s demise. Dunbakel’s desperate resistance. Reflecting on his death repeatedly, he recalled the knight’s sword. Swordsmanship, sword, desperation. Everything swirled and tangled within his mind. "Such a place is a mire where those who fall in never emerge." Meanwhile, the boatman perpetually attempted to plunge Encrid into an abyss—though naturally, it was to no avail. “Are you not busy?” Occasionally, Encrid would speak first. On those days, the boatman simply kept his mouth shut. Encrid considered it a sulky silence. A futile thought. Was it not something unknowable, a profound enigma? Thus, it was the fifty-sixth day. ‘How do you stop the lightning?’ He questioned, contemplated, then asked Ragna and Sinar again. No day simply passed; he did everything he possibly could. Observing the knight's sword bend its way back in, many times he met his demise again by it. He died witnessing the sword’s tremor. Both sparks and his gladius were sliced. The phenomenon of Blade Echo wouldn’t often happen again. That was something that required both coincidence and luck. To an outsider, it would seem fortune’s goddess was relentlessly pursuing him; yet, Encrid knew well enough he wasn’t particularly lucky. Thus, relying on identical fortune was out of the question. Without randomness, orchestrating collaboration with Ragna, Sinar, and himself was necessary, but, ‘That doesn’t sit well,’ He felt no motivation for it. Such a plan presupposed the death of either the jest-loving fairy or the lazybones. It meant pushing them forward. That was an utterly unacceptable notion. Observing deaths prolonged by delays could be rationalized as preparing for a ‘tomorrow,’ a consolation of sorts. But to actively push them—it couldn’t be condoned. 'Better to grit my teeth and face it.' His heart and mind were firm. Thus, alone, he wielded his sword, agonized, and pondered. Endless pondering and contemplation, advancing even half a step forward, Encrid's musings brought him back to where it all began. How do you fend off lightning? "It starts by confronting the reality," Ragna had said. Now, he understood. To block it, you first had to see and recognize it. "Then react to the speed," Sinar had noted. Responding allows you to strike. And block. "So, you just need to do it ‘well’," Ragna concluded. Everything was encapsulated in that single word—‘well.’ Meanwhile... “Whew.” The knight’s sword. The knight’s strike. Wasn’t it truly exhilarating? “Again.” He found himself speaking aloud, accompanied by a smile. In the repeated cycles of today, Encrid felt a newfound exhilaration bubbling up within him. Though his dream had come as a harbinger of death, the sword he wielded seemed to become his guiding milestone. Thus that milestone felt like a beam of light piercing through the dark tunnel. To the boatman, who found only darkness and despair, Encrid saw light and felt joy. A new day began once more. The seventy-second day. His body was still in shambles, yet as always, Encrid moved. Half-dead, he witnessed Ragna's swung sword. He saw Sinar’s desperate resolve more than ten times after that. A method? He didn’t know. Tomorrow? It wouldn’t come. Thus, he didn’t mind. The boatman couldn’t comprehend Encrid because of this. During the repeated days, there were times when inexplicable confidence surged within him. Naturally, he died. And lived through twelve more todays after that. Though he seemed close to blocking, the blade remained unchecked—that was the nature of the knight's sword. “You.” On the ninetieth repetition of the day, the knight drew his sword and furrowed his brow. Then, staring at Encrid, he spoke. “A shame.” Encrid wasn’t overjoyed by those words, but to claim that he wasn’t pleased at all would be a lie. Of course, at that moment, he felt nothing. He was in a state of deep concentration. Always. Facing the knight meant immersion and focus. Just the slightest distraction, and his heart would be split without gaining anything in return. Therefore, even with his mental strength feeling worn away, he couldn’t afford to release his focus. Yet, the fact that what appeared in dreams acknowledged him couldn't be forgotten. The knight spoke of honor, speaking of one time. Encrid exhaled and braced himself. Though it seemed that he could block, they never truly were. Then something must be wrong. Did he need to ascend to the knight's level right here and now? No, that was impossible. Having a shard of ‘Will’ didn’t mean he could progress in that way. Then, how? Wooom. At the precise moment he heard a light Blade Echo, the knight’s sword ruthlessly cleaved his heart. Thud. It was a speed unlike before. How was there a Blade Echo here? ‘Ah.’ It was indeed like a lightning strike. At the same time, a bolt of realization struck Encrid's mind as well. The thunderbolt that hit his head illuminated a path from today into tomorrow.