He was praised by the ferryman.
Two men chanted the same spell.
The current of the stream rose like a wall in front of them.
With a light strike from his gladius, the current parted, but it quickly filled back in.
It was like trying to cut water with a sword.
The width of the water wall was only about five steps, but it wasn't the end.
"Listen, listen, listen to me."
In response to the other two's incantation, a round mass emerged next to the water wall, holding what looked like a club made of water.
Its head was smooth, and its chest was thick.
It had something resembling hands, but instead of feet, its lower half was just writhing water.
It resembled a water elemental.
Or perhaps a water Golem, but whatever it was, it was an incarnation of the spell world manifesting in this one.
"Stop him."
At the wizard's command, the two water spirits without legs created bubbles around their lower bodies as they charged forward.
It wasn't so much running as it was crashing toward him—an expression that fit perfectly.
Their bodies surged up and then crashed down like waves as they charged.
Ember was thrust forward.
It was a Fairies sword, so maybe it had some kind of enchantment on it.
Of course, it did not.
Ember was the result of exceptional metallurgy, not a product of any spell.
Ember stabbed into the water.
The spirit, apparently unfazed, swung its watery club with no hesitation.
Encrid withdrew Ember and leaped to the side.
Smash!
The water club slammed into the ground.
He could see the ground was dented.
Judging by the crater left behind, he realized he couldn't underestimate the water club.
From just one exchange, Encrid found the answer.
'The caster.'
There's no point in fighting a spell directly.
You have to kill the caster.
But two of them had created the water barrier to block sight and movement, while the other two moved the spirits to obstruct him.
What's more, it seemed they knew they couldn't kill him, so they were fully focused on holding him down.
Even though he hadn't been struggling for long, Encrid now found himself with three Hurrier family swordsmen at his back.
"I didn't think I'd see you again so soon."
Encrid muttered.
He was serious.
It was almost the opposite of yesterday's actions, yet the result was turning out the same.
"Don't talk to him. He's a madman."
"Quit the nonsense."
"Do I know you? Seen me before? You seem new to me."
All three radiated an energy that made it seem like they were ready to greet him with a kiss.
Not with lips, of course—this would be a deep kiss between blades and entrails.
Encrid adjusted his grip on his sword.
His arm muscles trembled.
From yesterday to today, he hadn't had any proper rest.
No matter how well-trained a body is, overexertion takes its toll.
'This is tough.'
He was out of breath—this wasn't the first time.
His heart pounded like a drum.
He steadied his ragged breathing and surveyed the water spirits conjured by the wizards, the three Hurrier family swordsmen, and the group of soldiers.
Giving up was not an option.
No day is easily lived.
And so he did it.
He fought back and killed the two wizards and the three Hurrier family swordsmen.
"Yeah, this is how it's supposed to be... cough."
The last dying swordsman spat out blood as he spoke.
Encrid had a hole in his thigh, not from regular arrows or quarrels, but from a water arrow.
Had he not been wearing inner armor, the arrow would have pierced his stomach.
If there was anything more troublesome than a regular quarrel, it was that the water arrow did its job and then disappeared, leaving blood gushing out in its place.
If the arrow had stayed embedded, it might have at least slowed the bleeding, but the blood flow was relentless.
It had struck a bad spot.
Among the techniques of The Isolation Technique, there was one that stopped bleeding by strengthening the muscles.
He tried that, but the blood vessel was torn.
This was something that couldn't be managed with muscles.
The blood loss made his head spin.
Yet, his focus did not waver.
Until the end, he remained resolute.
With the Heart of the Beast still beating, Encrid did not falter.
Adrenaline was also surging violently through his system.
"You're wearing something valuable."
The surviving wizard spoke.
Lowering his guard, the wizard moved closer, and Encrid kicked off the ground with one foot.
It was a charge using the Limping Step.
Blood sprayed from his wounded thigh.
Encrid closed the distance to his enemy before the blood could even hit the ground.
Having already lost his sword, he slammed his fist into the wizard's head.
Crack!
"Ugh!"
The skull shattered, spilling brain matter and blood.
No human could survive that.
It was a punch with all his strength.
This was the normal result.
The opponent wasn't even wearing a helmet.
Having taken one more wizard down with him, a spear blade flew towards Encrid from behind.
Thwack!
A searing hot metal tore through his back, slicing through his spine, shredding muscles, bones, blood vessels, and organs.
No one ever gets used to the pain of offering their body to metal.
But it can be endured.
"Die, monster."
"Die."
"Die!"
The enemy soldiers thrust their spears, even pouring their fear into the strikes.
In their eyes, Encrid could see a glimmer of madness.
They had the eyes of those cornered on the edge of a cliff.
Encrid remained indifferent.
There was no scream, no groan, he simply died.
To be honest, he didn't even have the strength left to open his mouth and exhale one last breath.
And so, he died.
You never get used to the pain of death.
Sigh.
With a single breath, he pushed aside today's pain.
There were no dreams.
The ferryman didn't appear.
He merely started the third day.
And on this third day, he ran down yet another path.
And yet.
"Why is there a cliff here?"
He hadn't climbed the hill that high when a cliff greeted him.
Would he survive if he jumped?
He'd need a lot of luck just to end up half-paralyzed.
Even becoming half-paralyzed would require the Goddess of luck to be seriously smitten with him.
Without that kind of fortune, it's likely he'd just end up dead.
In other words, falling meant death.
"That will be your grave."
Behind him were still the three Hurrier family swordsmen, a mercenary who could hold his own in a fight, and a sorcerer he'd never seen before.
'Even though I came from a different direction today.'
Encrid scratched his chin with his left hand, the right one still immobile.
This felt strangely familiar.
How is it that the outcome is always the same?
He instinctively fought back as he sought an answer.
The end of this third day was met with a curse.
Encrid had been hit by a technique called Invisible Force.
Indeed, some invisible power had shoved and struck his body.
Of course, this happened after he'd already thrown his gladius into the heads of the mercenary Cent, the three Hurrier family swordsmen, and the final sorcerer—he'd killed them all before taking that hit.
"Fall!"
The sorcerer shouted, just before Encrid's gladius stuck into his skull like an ornament.
Encrid plummeted off the cliff.
Naturally, he experienced firsthand just how horrific a death by falling could be.
At first, he couldn't breathe, followed by an all-encompassing shock to his entire body.
Yet, the fact that he didn't die quickly made the pain all the more excruciating.
The fourth day came and went, followed by the fifth.
On the ninth day, he died again.
This time, one of the Hurrier family swordsmen dropped his sword and grabbed onto Encrid, holding on tight.
In that brief opening, one of the mercenaries slit his throat with a poison-laced dagger.
At that point, Encrid had already exhausted himself wiping out their heavily armored infantry unit.
His body slowly stiffened.
There was nothing he could do.
Even his Sense of Evasion had its limits.
No human could hold out against such overwhelming numbers.
Twenty-five days had passed.
The form of death varied, but it was always similar.
No matter where he went, he could not escape this labyrinth.
It was a maze.
He was trapped.
The sky had become his ceiling, the wind his iron bars, and every single one of the officers wished for his death.
By then, he'd realized something.
It was an extension of what he'd realized in the previous 'today',
Why did the same result always occur whenever he tried to save the child?
Even though he acted differently every time.
'Someone has been watching and triggering a scroll.'
It was the same now.
Someone outside was manipulating the forces, ensuring his death.
That's why, no matter what he did, the outcome was always the same.
So, how was he supposed to overcome this?
He recognized it as a wall, but how was he to get past it?
On the thirty-fourth day, the ferryman appeared once again and asked him:
"Today, you'll be able to answer me, won't you? Well, are you enjoying this?"
He now had the leisure to respond.
Moreover, he even felt like speaking, so Encrid answered honestly.
"A little."
After pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts, he continued.
"A lot."
It was a mindset the ferryman could never comprehend.
Encrid smiled.
It was in his nature.
While most people fall into despair when faced with darkness, unable to see the way forward, Encrid was always different.
Even in darkness, he found joy in moving forward.
He understood that he could always add something new to change.
He hadn't figured anything out yet, but that didn't change anything for him.
Even without knowing, he could still face things with joy.
"You truly are a madman."
The ferryman praised him.
* * *
Once, the greatest military strategist on the continent said that before going to war, one must consider five things:
First, are the hearts of the King and the people united?
A war fought for a King's selfish desires and ignoring the will of the people could never be supported.
Second, are the seasons, such as the cold or heat, taken into account?
Third, is the terrain thoroughly understood?
Fourth, is the Commanding Officer capable?
Fifth, is the military organization, the command hierarchy, and the supply chain solidly established?
To summarize: the King's politics, the timing, understanding of the terrain, the Commander's ability, and the military's structure were the five key elements.
Of these, Avnair paid particular attention to the third, fourth, and fifth.
The second had been lost, as the battle had begun during an unfavorable season.
The first was an issue of political power, which would need to be examined later.
As for the terrain, they had reshaped an originally disadvantageous land.
In some places, they dug into the ground.
In others, they laid traps.
As for the fourth, they took great care in selecting the right Commander.
"Do you plan to bury the name of Gray Hound here? If not, then do your job."
With the right incentive and promises of future rewards, even if the Gray Hound unit fell, it would be reborn anew.
The current Commander was prepared to make sacrifices.
He was driven by patriotism and loyalty.
Avnair exploited that.
The fifth, the organization's structure, was where Avnair was most meticulous.
Criminals, those with families back home—this battle offered them a chance to change their lives with just one fight.
Desire and fear—these two weapons held the military structure together.
Encrid didn't know exactly what Avnair had done.
He didn't even know the enemy Commander's name.
But he was sure of one thing.
It felt as if he were standing on the edge of a cliff, surrounded on all sides.
Despite that, Encrid remained calm.
He rose, opened his eyes, and repeated the day once more.
This time, he charged straight into what he believed was the center, and mercenary Cent greeted him first.
It seemed like the first time they'd met without Encrid being injured.
"You're not going anywhere."
"Nowhere?"
"You're not going anywhere."
Cent gritted his teeth and readied his stance.
Behind him was the guy who had slit his own throat with a poisoned dagger. Encrid still didn't know his name.
No way to escape this day came to mind. The path ahead was uncertain. The signposts that had once been clear were now blurred again.
But
"Are you smiling?"
Cent raised his eyebrows at the sight of Encrid's face.
Who would smile in a situation like this? Cent doubted Encrid's sanity.
A true madman.
Encrid felt overwhelmed, but he was enjoying it. Even though he couldn't see the way forward, he didn't feel suffocated. No matter what blocked his path, he would find a way through.
And where would that path lead him?
Because he never gave up, never retreated, and pressed on—even stitching together his torn dreams—he kept moving forward.
Encrid smiled.
He had gained much in the past.
Hadn't he already lived through countless 'todays'?
What had he learned from all those days?
The experiences he had accumulated made him embrace the uncertain future with joy.
"Kill him!"
Behind Cent and the two mercenaries, a group of archers rushed forward.
Cent, having faced Encrid several times, would fall in just three sword strikes this time.
If Encrid threw his gladius, it would take even less—two strikes at most.
Should he throw it?
No, that wasn't an option.
He had to fight a long battle.
Throwing a weapon in a one-versus-many situation was never a good idea.
However, since this was the start, his hands still gripped a steel sword gleaming with a blue hue.
This one was worth throwing.
It was a sword that would always break after a few swings.
Luckily, Encrid still had two more swords at his disposal.
He stepped forward with his left foot, drew his sword with his right hand, and threw it.
The movement was smooth.
He had done it many times before.
After repeating this day countless times, he didn't waste the opportunity.
Encrid honed everything he had.
Even the art of throwing a longsword had become second nature.
It was an adaptation of the throwing technique used with daggers.
Thud!
Cent, startled by the sword flying at him with a 'whoosh', hastily deflected it.
Encrid stomped the ground and activated Momentary Will.
This was the second proof that he hadn't been wasting time.
It was the second 'Will' he had acquired by learning the fastest sword technique, the Quickest Strike.
With his willpower fueling him, he dashed forward.
Everything around him blurred and rushed past.
The muscles in his thighs bulged, almost bursting from the acceleration.
His blood pounded through his veins like the gallop of a wild horse.
Encrid extended Ember.
The thrust, enhanced by his momentum, pierced Cent's throat.
This time, he started today by killing Cent.
"Peekaboo."
He had stabbed and taunted Cent, though Cent probably hadn't even heard it properly. Still, it was enough to terrify the mercenaries behind him.
"You crazy bastard!"
Swearing out of shock—that's how you could tell a true mercenary.
As Encrid thrust with his gladius, and the enemy tried to block it, he followed up with a stab from Ember.
With two uses of Momentary Will, he swiftly dispatched the two mercenaries.
Afterward, he encountered the heavy infantry and the three Hurrier family swordsmen.
Amid the ranks of crossbowmen and archers, there were even a few Fairies.
Some of them were frighteningly good with their bows.
They targeted him only when his movements finished, aiming for the moments when his breathing faltered.
Of course, this wasn't his first time experiencing this.
Encrid endured.
Longer than before. With each repetition, he lasted longer.
Throughout fifty repetitions of 'today', Encrid fully mastered Momentary Will.
He refined his swordsmanship even further.
He created a second sword technique, after the Snake Sword.
'Should I call it Stab Sword?'
His naming sense was still the worst.
Naming it Stab Sword just because the fight ends with a stab?
As he reviewed and fought, he changed the name.
'Lightning Slash.'
A lightning blade. A flashing strike. That sounded better.
He thought over Lightning Step a few times too.
A fitting name added more power to the technique.
Fourfold Sword and Lightning Slash.
Snake Sword and Lightning Blade or Lightning Thrust.
Both were good.
Along with swordsmanship, he learned much from the ongoing battles.
He improved his footwork after dying in a pit of poisoned arrows.
After getting tangled and dying in a net, he mastered a technique to slice through loose nets instantly.
'It's not useful for cutting through harder things, though.'
Now he could perform Steel Slash while moving.
The Middle Sword Technique was a destructive technique that added power to sword strikes.
He had incorporated that as well.
The days kept repeating.
Today continued. And continued again.
For a hundred and five repetitions of 'today', Encrid kept training.
He kept refining the techniques he had learned so far.
His techniques became sharper and stronger.
But he still hadn't escaped Avnair's trap.
Then, on the two hundred and fifty-fifth day, the ferryman said something unexpected.
In the previous days, he had told him to give up, but today, he said something different.
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