Chapter 292

‘What the hell is with that guy?’

Lykanos had heard the name Encrid and had a rough idea of his strength. No—he thought he understood it well enough.

That’s why he revealed his trump card.

It was supposed to be a guaranteed win.

And yet, he dodged it.

All Encrid suffered was a single arm injury. Not even severed—just stabbed deeply enough to disable it for a while.

‘Tch.’

Lykanos was caught off guard. It was the first time he’d drawn his sword and failed to accomplish his objective.

A sword technique known by only two people in the world.

A thrust based on speed, a hidden blade inside a mace—how could someone not even a knight avoid it?

And that wasn’t even the end of the swordplay.

Even after losing an eye, Lykanos sent a hand signal.

His backup plan—a second hidden blade.

“Kill him.”

The unit he had personally raised charged, but even they couldn’t kill him.

‘I lost an eye, too.’

Half the world was now shrouded in darkness.

He’d smeared crushed herbs over the eye, but it didn’t dull the pain.

It hurt like hell.

Unless a high-ranking priest showed up right now, he was going to be one-eyed for life. That pissed him off.

Failure and injury.

Two strokes of misfortune stacked together, and rage surged within him.

“This situation is fucking lovely. Hahh…”

Lykanos let out a string of curses and took a deep breath to calm himself.

“Have the others moved?”

He asked.

“Yes.”

Came the prompt reply.

Lykanos composed himself, recalling the orders he’d given.

Getting worked up wouldn’t change anything.

Just because a hidden technique and a handpicked unit had failed didn’t mean there was no next move.

He wasn’t a genius strategist, just a simple man—but surviving in this world had taught him a few things.

‘Humans are creatures with weaknesses.’

No one exists without a weak point.

Even the so-called geniuses.

They all have openings. How do you find them?

You poke. Try this, try that. Keep at it. If even one attempt lands, that’s all it takes.

There isn’t a body that a blade won’t pierce.

That includes knights. Let your guard down, and the blade will cut through skin, muscle, and into your guts.

“Dig in. I don’t care how. Find out what the hell that bastard is.”

Even before the battle began, the Black Blade Bandits had started collecting information.

As a thief organization embedded in the kingdom, their hands moved quietly and persistently.

They ousted Markus, roped in Azpen, partnered with the Cult of the Demon Realm—and while at it, investigated the so-called elite of the Border Guards.

That’s when they came across this guy named Encrid.

‘Being good with a sword isn’t everything.’

They first tried to recruit him.

The Black Blade Bandits could offer anything.

Women. Gold. Power.

Break him in. Once trained, he’d be their slave.

But he wouldn’t even entertain it. Didn’t flinch.

‘Didn’t work?’

They were baffled.

If persuasion failed, just get rid of him. Easy. Sticking some metal in his gut was no big deal.

But that didn’t work either.

‘That didn’t work either?’

Neither assassin blades, poison, nor sweet words worked.

So, did he have no weakness?

The leader of the Black Blade Bandits personally stepped in.

He analyzed Encrid’s past, his current behavior, his emotions, any anomalies—then shaped a mental profile and handed it off to Lykanos.

“He’s a lunatic?”

Lykanos was dumbfounded. The guy was a romantic.

Someone who drew his sword to save others.

A total madman.

No wonder he’d earned the name ‘madman.’

Even Swallow Dagger’s last words had gotten out.

For a few coins, plenty of people were willing to spill what they saw.

Throw on the mask of a bard and pretend to collect stories, and the fools would spill everything.

‘He cooperated just because a few hostages were taken?’

Was it because he was confident in his strength?

Maybe he really meant it when he said he wanted to save people.

Everything they dug up and pieced together led to one conclusion.

‘Will this work?’

Even Lykanos wasn’t sure. He was just trying something.

He didn’t even think of it as a real solution. If Encrid had died by his blade or one of his men’s, this wouldn’t have been used.

It wasn’t anything complicated. Sneak into the Border Guards, kidnap a few kids, strap scrolls to them, and send them in. The scrolls were mobile explosive magic.

A long-failed tactic from a fallen kingdom.

The spell was powerful but only worked at close range—a blinding flash explosion.

It inflicted massive damage even on the caster if not properly protected. The mage who created it called it a failure.

If the caster’s safety didn’t matter?

If it was strapped to someone else via scroll?

If you could remotely trigger it?

It required a lot of resources. Inefficient.

But to change the course of a battle, all you needed was to pin down a small elite force.

You didn’t need to kill them—just stop them.

That’s how the tactic was born.

Lykanos didn’t waste time wondering if it would work. He acted.

Sometimes, action beat overthinking.

This was one of those times.

A tactic once devised by a strategist from a fallen kingdom was now being reused by Lykanos.

“Will this even work?”

One of his underlings voiced doubt.

In a world of kill-or-be-killed, what good was a kid he’d barely met?

Most people would trade their mother’s life to save their own.

And would anyone even recognize the brat? There were plenty of kids running around the territory.

“You want me to strap one to you instead?”

Lykanos bared his fangs. Herbal fluid dripped from his mouth, a sickly green ooze.

It looked grotesque.

The subordinate lowered his head and moved.

‘Fucking useless idiot.’

Lykanos scoffed at the half-hearted resolve.

This was what it meant to use any means necessary.

You keep poking until you find a soft spot.

That’s how the Black Blade Bandits did things.

During the night, several bandits infiltrated the Border Guards.

Some were caught, beaten to a pulp, killed, or forced to flee by some guy named Frok.

But they managed to kidnap one kid.

Barely.

That alone made Lykanos’ head throb.

‘Are these guys really from the Black Blade Bandits?’

Sure, from the kidnapped kid’s perspective, it was a nightmare—but would this really shake the battlefield?

Would it have any real effect? Probably not.

A mother might grieve her lost child, but deep down she knew the kid wasn’t coming back. That was the world they lived in.

‘Fuck. Is this really going to work?’

One of the subordinates, doubtful even as he worked, wrapped the scroll around the kid’s body.

A mage muttered something behind them, eyes hollow and lifeless.

It was unintelligible. Creepy bastard.

“All set.”

“Send him.”

The mage was an old man with a strawberry nose dotted with black spots.

As instructed, they pushed the kidnapped boy forward.

“P-Please… don’t kill me.”

Tears and snot streamed down the child’s face as he begged.

A bandit drew a dagger and lightly slashed the boy’s cheek.

Blood spattered.

“If you don’t wanna die, do as you’re told. We’ll send you that way.”

The trembling boy ran forward.

He didn’t cry. He clenched his teeth and endured. Dragging his shaky legs, he moved.

The Baron of Tarnin saw the child being taken but didn’t care.

What’s the big deal about a few dead kids?

Even if they were his own subjects, it wouldn’t have mattered—but this one was from the Border Guards, a rebellious faction.

If sacrificing a villager meant victory in war and becoming the ruling lord of the area?

Of course he’d force the sacrifice.

Tarnin was greedy.

‘High Lord!’

His vague ambition was on the verge of reality. His heart throbbed with desire.

Forming an alliance with the bandits, strapping scrolls to children, wrapping them in iron thorns—none of it mattered.

Even if they crowned him with a thorned crown, he’d accept it.

“Go.”

A bandit prompted. The boy walked forward.

Past the arrow range, straight into enemy territory.

Though trembling, he kept walking and running.

Back toward the land where he once lived.

No one shot arrows. No one blocked his approach.

Instead, someone stepped forward. Who it was didn’t matter.

The mage maintained the magical link between the scroll and his own magic world.

A single mistake would damage his entire inner world. A dangerous job. Even success would leave a mark. A stupid job.

Which is why it worked.

What kind of lunatic mage would do this?

Only an old, sickly one—driven not by pursuit of mystery, but by greed—reduced to a tool of the bandits.

“Explode.”

The mage whispered.

—

The Ferryman’s eyes appeared. He swung his violet lantern and spoke.

That voice still pierced Encrid’s skull.

“Is this fun for you?”

He hadn’t fully grasped what had happened. Encrid only recognized one thing—he had died.

He spoke to the dream-being before him.

“Long time no see.”

He greeted him warmly, but the Ferryman showed no emotion. As cold as ever, he replied,

“It won’t be fun.”

The black river faded. Encrid opened his eyes, beginning another repeated day.

“Are we seriously doing this again?”

Krys grumbled as Encrid sat up and ate breakfast.

He ate well and checked his condition. The injuries were still there. He had to survive the day with this body.

He recalled the last moments.

The Black Blade Bandits had kidnapped a child and given them something to hold.

No—wrapped something around their body.

He’d identified the source of the explosion’s light.

‘A scroll?’

Nothing else made sense. Just before the child’s body exploded, a chilling sense of danger had flashed through his mind.

The light. The flicker. Pain that burned his entire body.

It felt like his flesh was being torn apart, piece by piece.

He’d felt that kind of ominousness before. A magical trap. The same kind that awakened his [Gate of the Sixth Sense].

But this time, he couldn’t dodge it. It was barreling toward him.

Ridiculous. What if he just dodged? Shot the kid with an arrow before they got close?

But to use such a costly scroll, infiltrate the Border Guards, kidnap a child?

None of it was easy.

“This is insane.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m more baffled than you.”

Krys sighed.

“Yeah, sure.”

Encrid ignored him and started thinking.

It was absurd, but Encrid had no intention of looking away.

‘A way.’

If something was in front of him, he’d break through.

As always.

Encrid focused all his thoughts in one direction.

A way to endure the explosion. A way to survive it. A way to overcome it.

And a way to save the child.

How?

Repeating the same day wasn’t new.

The first person that came to mind was Esther.

Mages wielded the mystical. The scrolls were magic.

If Esther were here, half the problem would be solved.

The problem was—she had to be in human form to cast spells. She’d said so herself.

Encrid glanced down toward his thigh.

A Lake Panther lay quietly by his side.

When he rested his hand on her back and stroked gently, she purred.

‘Isn’t it about time you turned human?’

Encrid stroked her from head to back and said,

“Transform, abracadabra.”

He was just trying it. Didn’t expect much.

But everyone had heard it. All eyes turned to him.

Dunbakel approached and placed her hand on Encrid’s forehead, mumbling to herself.

“…Does he have a fever?”

Krys shook his head silently as he watched.

“Sigh… I’ve gone mad.”

He muttered.

Esther just looked at him with drowsy eyes.

You done?

She seemed to be asking.

“Never mind.”

Encrid pressed Esther’s head again. She bowed gently and returned to her original posture.

He hadn’t really expected anything.

Esther still spent more time as a panther than as a human.

When she was human, she once said she could only manage it for a very short time.

‘Maybe not even once a week.’

Would’ve been great if she could turn human right now.

‘Yeah, right.’

Back when they’d taken down a Black Blade Bandit village, she had helped by punching out a mage who used lightning spells.

But help or not, that was a separate issue.

He hadn’t been escaping these loops thanks to anyone else.

‘This is my job.’

He thought all day.

Once that spell activated, the kid would explode.

He pulled a chair over, sat down, bent forward, resting his chin on his hands.

Dunbakel muttered to Esther to transform—only to get bitten.

“Ow!”

Teresa stayed quiet. So did Ragna and Audin.

Amid the silence, as Encrid brooded, Krys spoke in a drained voice.

“What are you even thinking about?”

Encrid knew Krys had a sharp mind. He looked at him and spoke, explaining the rough situation.

What if someone charged with a scroll wrapped around them?

“What else? If you knew in advance, dodge or shoot them.”

“That’s not an option.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“What the hell, seriously—what is it?”

Krys grumbled, but Encrid ignored him.

The cold-blooded frog-eye’s suggestion was correct.

If you knew, just dodge.

But he couldn’t.

He had drawn his sword, swung, slashed, and killed. Monsters and beasts, too.

For duty and responsibility.

It wasn’t joyless, but if all he wanted was to revel in slaughter, he never would’ve dreamed of becoming a knight.

‘Because I said I’d protect those behind me.’

That’s why he wields his sword. That’s his reason. That’s the root of his desire to be a knight.

If a child had to be sacrificed—if that was the only way—

Then even Encrid would do it.

But if it meant sacrificing a child just to escape the loop—

That was unacceptable. The beginning of his vow was conviction, and conviction comes from the heart.

He couldn’t achieve his dream by beating down and ignoring his own heart.

The knight he dreamed of wasn’t that kind of knight.

That’s why there were some things he could never give up.

The enemy’s move was absurd, but—

It worked on him.

It was a tailor-made bastard move.