Chapter 233
“Believe it or not, I owe you one. I’m Pell, shepherd of the wilderness. I hope we get to meet again sometime.”
Shepherd Pell spoke. With the moonlight at his back, Encrid nodded.
Watching Encrid, Pell couldn’t hold back.
“I’ve never seen a genius like you.”
Encrid didn’t bother denying it.
Honestly, even if Pell had said, ‘Is your head broken or something?’ he would’ve let it go.
That’s how much joy and exhilaration filled his whole body.
He was drunk on the realization of something new—enough to want to test it over and over.
“Can I get cut one more time?”
That’s why. Even seeing Pell’s face scrunch up in horror, even knowing his own words sounded like something only a madman would say, Encrid couldn’t help himself.
“Um, uh, well, yes.”
The loser had no words. He just did as he was told.
The so-called ‘The Veteran who ended the war’ looked at him with eyes full of anticipation even as he was stabbed in the forearm. Pell thought his opponent was truly insane.
He’d once been called the Mad Captain—maybe that nickname wasn’t a joke after all.
It suited him even better than ‘The Veteran who ended the war.’
No, maybe all geniuses are like this?
Thinking back, there was someone like that even among his own people.
Did he need to go mad to catch up with that person too?
This was the moment Encrid turned someone else into a lunatic.
Of course, Encrid had no idea.
After being cut again.
“Die!”
A clear command, a will, a pressure—came through screams and howls.
Encrid gathered his resolve and answered.
“No.”
He rejected it. This was the second time, but he already felt like he didn’t need more practice.
‘It’s not hard.’
That made it all the more enjoyable.
He’d always had to struggle and writhe to learn anything. He’d had to flail and fight for every step.
To learn the Heart of the Beast, he’d had to actually die, not just overcome death.
Nothing had ever been easy.
This wasn’t easy either.
He’d spent more than four hundred days on it, after all.
But once he understood ‘refusal,’ it felt as natural as if it had always been a part of him.
He felt like nothing in the world was easier.
After rejecting the second will, his head spun.
That’s what happens when you focus too hard.
Drip.
His nose started to bleed.
“…Are you all right?”
Pell asked. Encrid checked the time and answered.
“Maybe I can do one more?”
Maybe he could try just once more?
At that, Pell’s face twisted like he was witnessing something unspeakable.
In the end, Encrid took a third stab.
A slash on his forearm, another cut left behind.
“Die.”
Dizziness swallowed his mind. His opponent’s will, command, and pressure tried to suffocate his heart, crush his throat, burst his chest.
Encrid answered lightly.
“No.”
Immediately after rejecting the pressure and command, Encrid closed his eyes. He lost consciousness.
“Huh? Madman?”
He thought he heard Pell call him something strange just before he passed out.
“Captain!”
And maybe heard Vell’s voice shouting from behind.
Anyway, Encrid fell with a smile.
—
The surging black river looked, in a way, like a thick, dark fog.
A boat floating atop the black clouds, a ferryman on the boat, a violet lamp.
It was the same as always.
He’d seen this view every time he talked to the ferryman.
But if something had changed—
“You.”
The ferryman stopped mid-sentence.
Encrid looked at his face. Where before he could only see a hint of one eye, now he could see his eyes, nose, mouth, and skin.
His skin was the color of gray stones.
Black eyes that matched the river, a high bridge of a nose, dull gray lips.
No matter how you looked at it, it didn’t resemble a human.
But he didn’t look like a giant, a Frok, an elf, or a dragonkin, either.
That was only natural. This being was something outside Encrid’s understanding.
Maybe something like a god.
Or maybe a demon.
“Is getting stabbed your hobby?”
Why did he say things like that with that face?
Encrid figured his own behavior probably had something to do with the ferryman’s change in tone.
“I actually prefer injections.”
Hadn’t their conversations always gone like this?
The ferryman changed the subject.
“You walk because you’re crazy, and you see because you’re crazy. So? How do I look? Can you see my face?”
The ferryman asked.
Encrid answered honestly.
“You wouldn’t be popular with anyone, male or female.”
Maybe demons or the offspring of demons would find him appealing.
The ferryman just snickered in reply.
His mouth didn’t change, but the sound of laughter filled the space.
His mind grew distant, his vision faded.
It sounded almost like there was disbelief in the ferryman’s laugh, but Encrid had no way of knowing what he really felt.
When Encrid disappeared, the ferryman mumbled above the black river.
“So, how does it feel to be over the wall?”
If Encrid had been there, he would’ve nodded a hundred times to that question.
—
When he opened his eyes, it was immediately clear that today was no longer repeating.
“Why’d you come back from going out last night with stab wounds? Wait, you got stabbed on purpose? Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve drawn a prettier design with my axe.”
It was impossible to make sense of Rem’s words right after waking up.
Encrid let Rem’s words wash over him as he lifted his head.
Pell was probably gone.
Vell was likely the one who carried Encrid back.
Vell had watched the fight, so he probably said a thing or two.
Even if he hadn’t wanted to, after seeing Encrid brought back in the middle of the night, Rem and the others wouldn’t have let it go.
A quick thought, and the situation was clear.
Rem’s words made sense now.
“Does your axe have anything in it?”
“Murderous intent?”
Rem shot back without missing a beat. Is this guy bored?
“What about Dunbakel?”
“Passed out.”
What did he do to make a beastkin pass out?
Dunbakel wasn’t that fragile, after all.
Well, maybe not as tough as a giant, but still.
“Are you going out again today, brother?”
Audin asked. Encrid realized he’d missed morning training.
The sun was already high. Even with his regenerative body, to sleep until noon?
‘Pushing my body too hard.’
He was starting to get the hang of what ‘Will’ was.
He couldn’t quite define it yet, but showing the will to refuse had become as easy as pulling a coin from his pocket.
But doing it and enduring it were two different things.
“Sniff!”
He blew his nose, and out came a blood clot.
“That’s gross.”
Rem grumbled. With an axe at his belt, a bit of sweat on him, and having heard Dunbakel had fainted, it looked like he’d just come in from knocking someone out.
Only Rem and Audin were there watching as he woke up.
Well, Esther was napping in the corner, too.
No one was surprised or panicked by Encrid fainting—he wasn’t the type to be felled easily.
They only asked who the opponent was.
Of course, there was nothing for Vell the deliveryman to report.
“Who was it?”
It was a question about who’d come for him last night.
For Encrid, it was an opponent he’d spent more than four hundred days with, so he felt familiar, comfortable.
“Pell.”
That’s why he just gave the name outright.
“Oh, Pell. Yeah, it was Pell.”
Rem replied without changing expression.
That was a slip.
“The shepherd of the wilderness.”
Encrid corrected himself.
A crazy group that herds sheep while fighting monsters and beasts—that’s the shepherds of the wilderness.
Anyone who’s lived by the sword on the continent would know the name.
“Hm? What were those guys doing here?”
“How should I know?”
Maybe they were wandering in training, or just passing through on business.
Come to think of it, he never asked.
“Seemed like you had fun?”
Rem asked again. What’s with all the questions today?
“Quite.”
“You passed out smiling, captain. I’ve never seen you flip your eyes back while fighting me.”
Smiling as you fainted…
Encrid just gave a small laugh and shook his head.
“That’s enough. Move.”
Since he’d missed morning training, he finished that first.
“I’ll go to the market this afternoon.”
“Is that so, brother?”
With the same gentle smile, Audin nodded.
No one tried to stop Encrid. Rem, having asked everything he wanted, tossed his axe aside and went to wash up.
After finishing up with the Isolation Technique, checking his gear, and swinging his sword a few times in the air, Encrid got ready to head out.
Jaxson came in and then went right back out.
Krys came in and asked if his body was all right.
“You’re at the age where you should eat something good.”
He joked around a bit, too.
Encrid told him to hand it over if he had anything good and enjoyed a new today.
There’d been over four hundred days.
He’d sparred and trained with these people in that time, but being stuck in frozen time wasn’t always enjoyable.
This new today greeted him.
It wasn’t always the same, but it was a today only he remembered.
That’s why he passed by the others as indifferently as possible, not saying much more.
He’d already learned why repeating days that only he remembered was a curse.
That’s why he could move on. He could forget the time he’d endured alone.
Above all, what he’d learned through overcoming that today—refusal—filled him with so much satisfaction that his joy was greater.
“What’s got you so happy?”
Just as he was heading out, Ragna asked. Seemed like he was planning to tag along, sword dangling at his waist.
It wasn’t a good sword—just another picked up from the last battlefield.
Maybe he should get him a decent one someday.
Ragna’s tone was rough, almost confrontational, but Encrid knew he didn’t mean it that way, so he answered simply.
“Because the weather’s good.”
At that, Ragna looked up at the sky.
Yesterday, the weather had indeed been good. But today was a bit gloomy. The clouds were turning a deep gray.
Soon it’d be dark, maybe even rain.
Autumn rain signaled a change in season, meaning summer was on its way out.
“This weather?”
Ragna asked again.
“I saw nothing but bright days.”
A mysterious answer, but for Encrid it was natural.
He’d liked bright days more than cloudy ones, but he’d lived through four hundred days of the same weather.
Now, even if it rained so much his boots filled with water, he welcomed the change.
After loosening up with the Isolation Technique and compressing his morning training, he headed to the market.
At the inn, the owner Allen greeted him.
“I’m glad to see you so often these days, but are you really okay?”
A company commander of the Border Guards was almost the highest rank below nobility.
Allen was respectful.
Encrid found it odd to hear “see you so often.”
For him, today came after nearly four hundred days.
“Yeah, maybe I should stop coming before we get too attached.”
Allen laughed, thinking it was a joke.
In the training hall, the rapier swordsman was leaning against the wall.
“Were you waiting for me?”
“I figured you’d come today.”
“You were here first?”
“No, the other three didn’t want to.”
The rapier swordsman crossed his arms and continued.
“Today’s the last time. It’s pain you don’t have to go through. You don’t have to challenge me.”
“That’s for me to decide. If you’re scared, you can run.”
Encrid’s tongue was the sharpest sword on the continent.
Even a few simple words became deadly daggers.
“Of course.”
The rapier swordsman hated the words “coward” and “run” so much that, after hearing Encrid, he steeled his resolve.
‘With pressure.’
Breaking that dream would be good for this guy, too.
To aim higher, you need talent. From what he’d seen, maybe luck had helped, but this was the limit. The end.
Encrid had drained every drop from his well of talent.
No—he’d dragged up talent that didn’t even exist.
So this is the end.
Encrid walked past the rapier swordsman.
Watching his back, the swordsman frowned.
His gait seemed strangely different.
He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something had changed.
In just one day?
Even if something changed, what could it be? It must all be a matter of mindset.
Just then, the barbarian soldier who’d followed Encrid spoke up.
“Our captain sometimes gets even more broken in just a day, so don’t worry too much. If things go too far, my axe might start dancing, so be careful.”
“Don’t worry, brother. He’s not someone who’d die just from pressure.”
After him, the big bear-like soldier added a word.
Then there was the always indifferent blond soldier passing by.
And, at some point, the red-haired soldier was already in position on one side.
Everyone who needed to be there had gathered.
The regulars at the inn—some of whom Encrid hadn’t seen since four hundred days ago—appeared one by one.
Among them, Edin Molsen stepped forward first, his face more rigid than ever before.
“I challenge you to a duel.”
Had he not suffered enough already?
That’s what everyone else was thinking, while Encrid was wrapped up in a serious dilemma.
‘What was this guy’s name again?’
It’d been four hundred days. He’d forgotten the name.
“Uh, what was your name again?”
Somehow, this acted like Edin Molsen’s berserk button.
“What?”
For Encrid, it had been four hundred days. For Edin Molsen, just a few.
You forgot my name? My name?
Edin Molsen lost his temper.
“Fine, I’ll kill you!”
Clang! Edin drew his sword and charged with force.
The guards watching frowned. How could he fall for such provocation?
Encrid regretted asking the name as he used his hands and feet.
There was no need to draw his sword, so he didn’t.
Watching the approaching sword, he moved as he’d learned from the Formed Sword Technique.
With smooth footwork, he dodged the blade. It looked almost like a choreographed sparring match.
His evasion came first, and Edin Molsen’s blade sliced through the space where Encrid had just been.
He had anticipated, judged, and predicted in advance—a feat that, to outsiders, might look like a performance.
Why was he swinging at empty air?
Next, Encrid struck Edin Molsen’s wrist with the back of his own hand.
Smack!
With the back of his hand, he closed the distance and pushed the opponent’s abdomen with his palm.
Thud!
Valaf Style Martial Arts, Push Strike.
A blow powered by rotational force, traveling from the ankle, through the waist and shoulder, to the palm.
And with Encrid’s strength added, it was no gentle hit.
But that wasn’t the only surprising thing.
Last time—back when he’d first knocked Edin Molsen down in a single strike—it had been a bit of a gamble.
Now, it wasn’t. He was overflowing with composure. It was as if he was a different person overnight.
And after pushing his opponent away, Encrid looked at his palm and thought:
‘Why is this so easy?’
Had that guy’s skills really declined?
That couldn’t be.
