Chapter 230
‘Will knowing let you overcome it?’
The Boatman’s question lingered in his mind.
Encrid also remembered his own answer.
‘Doesn’t matter if I know.’
He meant it. Not a single lie.
Above all, he simply enjoyed facing the shepherd so much.
How to put it?
The half-blood giant, Swallow Blade, Count Molsen’s escort, the rapier knight.
And all the others who had stayed by his side.
Rem, Ragna, Jaxson, Audin.
Facing all of them didn’t stir him as much as this.
Their skills were similar, but it was the shepherd’s attitude, age, everything that made the difference.
Most of all, he felt as if he was going further.
It’s not like Encrid’s skills had soared with just a single duel or a single death.
His dulled senses had sharpened, his bold heart had given him a body that finally moved as he wished.
Even with superhuman focus, able to dodge arrows as they flew—
Still, he couldn’t ignore that feeling, that sense of progress. That was what brought him ecstasy.
“Stars are out.”
Before Vell could come for him, Encrid stepped outside.
Stars sparkled above and two moons hung in the sky. A dual moon night.
Tonight was brighter than usual.
The autumn night air was far cooler than any summer.
A cool breeze brushed beneath his ear—soon it would be true cold.
Short autumn. Encrid liked the weather.
Wondering what he was up to, Rem poked his head out of the barracks.
“Still mosquitoes out here. What are you doing?”
Bzz.
Even before he finished, a mosquito zipped past Encrid’s ear.
Encrid’s left hand shot up and he caught it, killing it.
Clenching his fist, he turned and said,
“I’m going for a walk.”
“Out of nowhere?”
“I’m in the mood.”
“You’re getting sentimental, huh. What, upset about losing so often?”
Encrid took a step and asked,
“What would you do if you had to beat someone without even letting them graze you?”
“I’d bash in their skull before they could move.”
Rem answered right away. Encrid was always asking out-of-the-blue questions, after all.
After answering, Rem picked at his ear and continued.
“You know what? Captain, your questions are always random.”
“Is that so?”
Encrid agreed.
Why not?
There were times only he could walk.
Days only he could experience.
Moments only he could enjoy.
His questions came from those moments, those stretches of time.
“They really are random.”
Encrid answered offhandedly and kept walking.
“Make sure you visit the temple soon. I’m pretty sure your head is truly busted.”
That guy.
Rem’s mouth really was a problem—wasn’t it the same line the Boatman had thrown at him?
Anyway.
Encrid thought that sometimes, walls just showed up randomly.
Was it the Boatman’s mischief?
Or maybe life itself was just like this.
A death that comes at the most unexpected moment, impossible to predict—if this too was a wall, then just learning about it by dying once wasn’t enough to overcome it.
Even so—
‘Ah, this is going to be fun.’
Encrid felt an uncontrollable joy.
He walked on and soon met Vell coming from the opposite direction. Of course, he’d headed out this way, knowing he’d run into him.
He was on his way to the city gate.
“Oh? Where are you headed?”
Vell asked.
“Where are you going?”
“I, uh, was just about to go fetch you, Captain.”
The same conversation as the day before.
Encrid recalled what he knew.
The priest, the moment he was cut, the shriek that rattled his mind, the howls from hell itself.
It wasn’t just a sound—more like something grabbing his ankles from below.
But that wasn’t the important part. Whatever burrowed into him wasn’t a spell or poison.
If anything, it was the scream of someone twisted by malice.
‘For now.’
He set those thoughts aside. First came the fight. The duel. Even without his sword, the opponent’s skills were outstanding.
Let’s see—maybe I’ll start off like Rem this time.
Encrid couldn’t hide his delight. He couldn’t stop smiling.
Seeing that, Vell tilted her head.
He really didn’t look like a normal person.
“If you’re feeling sick or anything, I could send him away, you know.”
Vell said, a little worried.
“No.”
Encrid was firm, standing tall with wide eyes and a straight back.
“Huh?”
“I said no.”
With a tone like an admonition, Encrid stepped out lightly.
If his squadmates knew the truth, they’d all shake their heads.
Was this really the walk of a man heading toward death?
He looked more like a kid going on a picnic.
With that light and lively step, Encrid headed out the gate.
Again, after a familiar exchange—
“All right.”
Encrid took his stance, and the opponent drew a dagger.
Exhilaration, excitement, anticipation hammered in Encrid’s heart, making his skin tingle all over.
Encrid followed Rem’s advice.
Thud.
In one breath, he pushed the [Heart of Monstrous Strength] to the max and swung his sword.
Fwoosh.
Heavy sword style—Lion’s Slash.
A downward swing, a blow so forceful it could cleave a moving body in an instant.
His opponent reacted, deciding this wasn’t something a dagger could block.
Clang! Thunk!
He drew his sword halfway out of its rod-like scabbard, gripping the hilt with one hand and the scabbard with the other to block.
Kaaang!
The Lion’s Slash was stopped. Both of them pushed against the clash.
Krrrk.
The two swords introduced themselves.
Steel played its song.
With blades crossed, Encrid and the shepherd locked eyes.
For a moment, they measured each other’s abilities.
Encrid realized—maybe this man’s skills were even greater than they seemed, repeating the same day over and over.
‘If someone who usually uses a sword is wielding a dagger instead?’
Then it was no wonder.
Of course, it didn’t matter. Whether the opponent drew his sword or not, that was his choice.
Encrid had decided to stick to what he’d chosen.
Vell, watching from afar, swallowed nervously.
That was when the two blades parted.
Soon, a fierce battle unfolded, just like the repeated days before.
Encrid pressed the attack. He ignored the shallow cuts from the dagger. As long as he avoided the vital spots, he kept pressing to land a decisive blow within the range of his sword.
Trusting his instincts and physical talent, he aimed to finish it with a single strike.
Eventually, the shepherd drew his sword again.
This was a different style from when Encrid’s forehead had been cut.
Ting! Tang! Kang!
The shepherd brushed aside Encrid’s sharp one-handed thrusts with his dagger, then used his other hand to toss the sheathed sword up, drew the blade, and threw away the sheath.
Encrid, immersed again, reacted to everything.
He retrieved his sword by force after striking the dagger, which made the next blow a heavy downward chop, and when the flying scabbard struck his forehead, he blocked it without closing his eyes.
As long as he didn’t lose sight of the enemy’s blade, he could dodge it.
With [Perception of Evasion], it wasn’t impossible.
Fwoosh!
When the shepherd grabbed the airborne sword, the blade curved like a snake and sliced Encrid’s cheek.
He dodged, but missed by half a finger.
It was a brutal, close match, both locked in immersion.
‘I saw it.’
His opponent was no pushover. In Encrid’s judgment, this man was above Swallow Blade.
To not even get grazed by such an opponent was—too hard.
But that didn’t mean he would give up.
He just reflected on what he learned from today’s duel.
Screeeeech.
Again, a scream pierced his ears.
“Damn, damn, I shouldn’t have slashed again. Did it without thinking.”
He heard the man muttering.
Wails, as if from the depths of hell, grabbed at his ankles.
His body grew heavier.
With one experience, Encrid already knew what was happening.
But even knowing the pain, it could kill him, not stop him.
“What is that sword?”
“…Do you know it?”
“I feel like I’m about to die, so just answer.”
“You’re still talking after being cut? That’s amazing. It’s a sword with a demon’s soul. I swore never to use it on people. Sorry.”
It was a rambling answer. The guy still didn’t have his head on straight.
“All right, I get it. Pell.”
“…Did I tell you my name?”
He hadn’t. He’d heard it on the first “today.”
That was the end.
Dead.
“You’re insane.”
The Boatman showed up for the second time in a row.
Seeing him, Encrid spoke his true feelings before he knew it.
It wasn’t intentional. This was a dream—so he couldn’t hide his true heart.
“Are you bored these days?”
The Boatman rocked on his boat. The violet lamp swayed too.
A brief, utterly silent moment passed—the black river made no sound.
At the end of that silence—
“You son of a—”
The Boatman tried to spit a curse, but Encrid woke up.
He immediately grilled Ragna.
“Is there a sword art that can block all sword strikes?”
“Where did you hear that? That’s the ultimate form of the Flowing Sword style.”
A flowing sword, a drifting blade.
A sword style that attacked and defended at once.
“Can you do it?”
“The basics.”
If there was an attack that even [Perception of Evasion] couldn’t avoid—
‘Then just block it.’
That’s what he decided. After learning the basics of the Flowing Sword from Ragna, he set out again that evening.
Still—
‘Today should be even more fun.’
After two experiences, he’d picked up some of his opponent’s habits.
He planned to use that today.
And so, on the third “today”—
“Do you know me?”
“No.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that? Is pretending to be close your habit?”
The shepherd tilted his head.
Encrid ignored him.
They sparred again. What he thought was a habit turned out to be a trap—he learned that the hard way.
He barely managed to withstand it and traded swords again and again.
Flick.
This time, the blade grazed his thigh.
Without armor, the blade cut through his pants and left a wound.
Again, screams. Again, the wails from hell.
He tried to say something, and got a similar question.
“Do you have it?”
What did he keep asking about?
“What?”
With a look that said, Isn’t it obvious? the shepherd answered.
“[Will].”
“No.”
After that, Encrid managed only a few more words before dying again.
How should he put it? This death left him feeling uneasy. It wasn’t that his head was cut off, or his heart was destroyed.
What was the cause of death this time?
‘Cardiac arrest?’
Even for Encrid, who’d died many times, feeling his heart stop so clearly wasn’t common.
Something crawled in from the wound, writhing through his body and into his mind.
That was all. If he had to describe it—
‘It’s like a bug got inside me.’
The bug was swift and ruthless, tearing his body apart.
It squeezed and shattered his heart.
Fourth day, fifth day.
Encrid honed the Flowing Sword style.
After repeating twenty-eight “todays”—
“Nice to meet you.”
By now, he’d gotten used to his opponent’s swordplay.
“Just so you know, if you die, it’s not my fault.”
Srrng.
After a few swings, Encrid could get the shepherd to draw his sword.
Encrid tried dodging, tried blocking.
Again and again.
The wall that appeared out of nowhere kept granting Encrid repeated deaths.
And so, on the forty-seventh day, Encrid woke and immediately muttered,
“What if I can’t dodge or block?”
Rem, who’d gotten up unusually early, asked,
“…So, tell me. What kind of dream did you have this time? I used to be pretty good at dream interpretation, you know. Come on, what was it?”
“A dream where I die just by being grazed.”
Encrid was honest.
“Come on, you have to be more detailed than that. What a terrible attitude.”
Encrid got up and moved on with his usual routine.
Isolation Technique, training, honing the Flowing Sword style—all of it.
“Did you already know some of this? Or did you learn it somewhere?”
Ragna asked as she watched Encrid’s swordplay. He meant his skills had suddenly improved overnight.
Encrid hadn’t noticed.
His mind was a mess.
‘Is the wall just about killing a skilled opponent? Is that all?’
He was pondering what a wall really was.
Thinking back, there had never been an ordinary foe among the Boatman’s “walls.”
‘Stabbing pervert.’
Right from the start.
‘Magic traps.’
Sudden traps going off.
‘Had to use only one hand.’
No wall was simple. When he went for the enemy’s banner, he’d even faced a curse.
So, what was it this time?
Around the seventieth repetition, Encrid finally landed a heavy blow on his opponent.
Thud!
A slash just below the chest made the shepherd cough up blood.
It was less the cut itself and more the impact—he seemed to have taken organ damage.
“Damn, you just charged in instead of dodging?”
Encrid took a slash from his opponent and used his blade like a club. For the first time, the shepherd spoke informally, surprise written all over his face.
“I saw an opening.”
“Even after I told you my sword would kill you if it pierced you?”
Yes, he had said that before they started.
If you’re cut, you die. Even a graze means death. He’d said he wanted to avoid letting things go that far, and just test skills through sparring.
But why should it be that way?
Encrid genuinely, truly, didn’t want that.
A fight pushed to the limit, a battle that made him pour everything out—something he hadn’t experienced since Mitch Hurrier.
‘If you’re the wall…’
What happens if we die together?
Encrid wondered.
On the eighty-ninth “today,” that question was answered.
“Gah!”
Taking the opponent’s sword, he punched a hole through the shepherd’s belly.
The blade tore skin, cut organs, and even broke a few ribs. Encrid twisted his wrist and pulled the sword free as soon as it was embedded.
Blood gushed from the twisted wound. The shepherd’s face went pale.
Blood dripped to the floor—if there’d been sunlight, you would have seen a hint of pink guts.
He held his stomach and muttered,
“Ah, I can’t die here, I’ve got so much left to do.”
His eyes faded, death clouding his face.
His gaze lingered on Encrid, then drifted into empty space.
Eventually, his eyes settled back on Encrid, and he spoke.
“This wasn’t really necessary.”
“Is that so?”
Encrid had been slashed on the nape by the man’s sword. He pressed the wound with his hand, voice gravelly. The wound wasn’t deep, but blood poured freely.
Normally, it wouldn’t be a fatal wound.
But the shepherd’s sword was no ordinary weapon.
Still, something had changed.
‘I can endure it.’
Over eighty “todays.” He’d experienced the same thing over eighty times.
Encrid had started resisting whatever dwelled in the man’s sword, almost without realizing it.
That didn’t change the outcome, though.
Death came. With a scream, something rampaged through his body, tearing through his heart and brain as if they were its own home.
“Damn it! Captain!”
Vell’s voice rang out behind him. Because death was briefly delayed, he could still hear him shouting.
He opened his eyes to greet a new day.
Encrid sat up, thinking for a moment before half-rising from bed.
He returned to routine—finishing the Isolation Technique at dawn, then coming back to the barracks.
He asked in front of the whole company,
“Anyone able to use [Will]?”
Now, even if it was just a fragment, he knew he needed to grasp it.
He decided he would overcome it when the time came.
And he thought the time had finally come.
He knew he wouldn’t surpass it in one go.
He didn’t believe he’d become a knight overnight. But he thought it was finally time to reach for a piece of it.
Encrid believed it was time to walk, and reach, and keep walking.
* * * * * * *
(T/N: Still not back to a regular upload schedule, but I’ll be uploading at least 5 chapters per series every week, in order based on the most recent series I picked up. No fixed days yet, but I’ll keep the bulk uploads coming as best as I can!)
