Chapter 293

“So seriously, why are you doing this?”

Hm. He’s still here.

Krys was still in front of him.

He waved a hand in front of Encrid’s face and spoke.

“Can you see me? Hellooo? Can you hear what I’m saying?”

“What are you doing?”

“Ah, so you can hear me now.”

“My ears work fine.”

“Your brain, not so much.”

Should he smack him for the attitude?

Was Krys acting out because Rem was out goofing around?

Before he could act on it, Krys spoke up.

“If this is about that weird question earlier, ask Esther. And you do realize we have a mountain of urgent shit to deal with, right?”

“I’ll give you full authority. Handle it.”

“Oh, come on, then I’ll just run away!”

“Anything but that.”

Krys mouthed a curse too crude to say aloud and turned away.

“Why is this my life…”

His lament sounded oddly affectionate. At least he wasn’t running yet.

Encrid placed his hand on Esther’s head again.

Even if she couldn’t turn human, the knowledge inside her wouldn’t just vanish.

From everything he’d seen, Esther wasn’t just any mage.

She seemed special—even among those who wielded the mystic.

Maybe she knew something.

He wasn’t expecting much when he asked.

“Esther, you heard that, right?”

It was just a casual remark.

Esther slowly lifted her upper body.

If she were human, there’d be cracks and pops, but her panther body just stretched like a bow and straightened.

She started scratching something on the ground with her claw.

‘Scratch, scratch.’

A simple drawing.

One shape. Then three lines behind it.

What was this? The kind of drawing that makes you stop and think.

Was it abstract?

Esther drew a long, pointed shape a little off to the side.

Definitely abstract.

Encrid took a moment to appreciate her artistic vision.

Clearly, she’d never studied art. Magic and drawing were two different things. There was once a mage who claimed magic was art—total bullshit.

Esther smacked the long pointed figure with her paw and then swiped across the other shape.

The dirt floor was immediately scuffed.

Her so-called easel returned to being just dirt.

Encrid was good at paying attention and reading between the lines.

Even if the teacher was garbage, he could still learn. He did it again this time—reading the intent behind those vague shapes and lines.

“Cut it before it goes off?”

Esther let out a low ‘krrr’ and curled up.

It was cold, so clearly she was opting for more sleep.

Encrid took that as her complaining about the cold and carried her back into the tent.

‘Fwoosh.’

He laid her next to the torch stand. As he stretched his body and relaxed his muscles, Audin entered.

Krys was likely out bouncing around trying to figure something out.

Ragna had more drive than ever, probably training nearby.

Jaxson? Who knew. He was always doing his own thing.

That left just Encrid and Audin.

“Brother.”

Audin called to him. Encrid already knew what he was going to say.

It was about recovery.

Since Audin had divine power, he could likely heal his lingering injuries.

If only his right arm and left leg worked properly again—

‘It would be a lot easier…’

But was it right? Could it be called the right path?

Encrid was exceptionally perceptive.

And that let him piece together some things.

Audin hadn’t shared his past in detail, but his actions, attitude, and the things he’d said so far made it easy to guess.

‘He was either exiled, under divine restriction, or has some other reason he can’t freely use his divine power.’

Back when Audin had used healing on him, he’d acted casual, but Encrid had noticed the toll it took.

“I can’t fully heal you, but I can reduce the pain.”

“No thanks.”

He refused quickly. It wasn’t worth it.

He wouldn’t be fully healed anyway, and easing the pain meant nothing.

Pain was proof he was alive.

Now, more than ever.

When the scroll on the kid’s body exploded, he had felt himself being torn apart.

And what about the kid?

‘He must’ve hurt even more.’

The thought infuriated him.

He didn’t know who thought up this sick tactic—

But he sure as hell wasn’t going to let it play out the way they planned.

As ridiculous as this move was, he wasn’t going to run from it.

He wanted to slash it straight-on. Cut it. Crush it.

And thanks to Esther, he now had a way.

‘Cut it first.’

It was that simple. Almost anticlimactic.

He pulled out some seasoned jerky and fed it to Esther.

The panther took it between her teeth and chewed neatly.

“Brother, do as you will.”

Audin spoke and turned away.

‘He’s an interesting man.’

It was like he instinctively understood Encrid’s condition.

The restrictions, the limits on divine power.

He couldn’t know for sure. It had never been explicitly stated.

But it seemed he just knew.

And even then, he offered consideration?

In this situation?

He wasn’t fleeing. He had chosen to stand and fight—but showed no sign of asking for healing.

That’s what made him interesting.

‘O Lord Father in heaven, I ask you—what steadies this man’s heart?’

Of course, no answer came.

But he didn’t need one.

Audin prayed silently, so no one else could hear.

‘Dear, precious brother—if you so wish, I too will lend what strength I can in this battlefield.’

He knew exactly who his opponent would be.

Audin believed it was his divine duty to crush the head of the one leading the wolf beast pack.

After Audin left, Encrid returned to thinking about fast sword techniques. He kept reviewing and refining.

It was one of his specialties.

So he did just that.

‘A fast sword.’

Zimmer from Martai had shown something. And before him, others had too.

Rem was fast. Ragna was fast.

“Through pain, I move forward. I shall not offer prayers to escape it, but endure the pain my Lord has granted and continue onward.”

Even the bear-like one spouting scripture outside the tent was fast.

Who among them wasn’t?

Even the swordswoman who had once overwhelmed him with pressure.

Fast—so fast.

The most recent, of course, was that bastard Lykanos.

‘He was too fast.’

Absolutely, unquestionably the fastest.

Speed. Pure speed was what he needed now.

Encrid became immersed in it and, as he entered the same repeated day, he swung his sword again.

“Pain that cannot kill me—!”

“Only makes me stronger!”

Encrid shouted the chant alongside the soldiers.

He moved forward, carrying what he’d studied and realized.

‘Yesterday, it exploded around here.’

So he moved out ahead this time.

“Whoa!”

The sudden dash to the front line startled a nearby soldier.

He ignored it and ran.

The pain flared in his left shin, but it was bearable. He could still run.

He saw the child’s eyes widen as he approached.

Time to cut.

The scroll was visible. A dirty red parchment wrapped around the body.

Slashing the parchment wouldn’t be hard.

He never could’ve imagined doing this in the past. Now, it was easy.

Just before he acted—

Just before his blade touched the child—

‘Flash!’ Light burst. The spell exploded again.

He had been faster than yesterday, and had dashed out before the child even approached—but the explosion beat him to it.

Someone behind the scenes was controlling the scroll’s activation.

The burst of light scorched the child’s eyes and crushed them. Skin split and ripped open, guts and broken bones flying in all directions.

His head felt like it was on fire. Even his eyes burned. His heightened concentration let him see every detail.

He saw it all. Endured it. And died again.

‘Fucking hell.’

As the new today began, the image still burned into his vision.

Still, he knew what he needed to know after that last loop.

A third identical morning dawned.

“Yeah, that’s how I’ll do it.”

“Do you have to go that far? Seriously?”

He answered Krys in advance and stood up, sword in hand.

Esther, curled in his arms, growled with displeasure and slipped back into her warm spot.

“Huuhh…”

Encrid took a breath and stepped outside the tent.

“…What now?”

Krys stared at him blankly.

“What do you think? Training.”

Dunbakel gave the right answer.

She watched Encrid and chose to follow him. Seeing his movements, she guessed what he was about to do and stood up too.

Time to swing that scimitar hard.

Rem was gone. Her body was itching for action.

Encrid stepped out in front of the tent, shook the lingering image from his mind, and cleared his thoughts.

He had seen the path forward. So he would walk it.

“What the hell, seriously.”

Krys’s stunned muttering rang out behind him, but Encrid, as usual, cheerfully ignored it.

He gripped his sword and extended it forward.

His usual self—which made it all the more insane.

He began training.

—

He gave his all to the day he was given. Even unintentionally, that’s what Encrid did.

He started with questions, then turned those into action.

As usual, Audin tried to heal him.

“You want healing?”

“No thanks.”

Same thing every time.

In this endless repeat, some things changed, others didn’t.

Audin’s manner was one of the constants.

Every time Encrid refused healing, Audin would recite some scripture or assume a prayerful pose.

It always looked like he was about to do something drastic—but he never did.

“You want healing?”

“Nope.”

Just another repeat.

Audin never asked why anymore. He just moved on.

Encrid didn’t question it either. It was part of the routine.

“Transform.”

On one of those days, he even tried tossing Esther at the wall and yelling some spell-sounding gibberish.

Maybe rage would trigger the change—but all he got were fresh claw marks on his face.

Not that he expected much.

He wandered the battlefield, poking around here and there.

He even asked one of the expert archers:

“From this distance, do you think you could shoot just the scroll off someone?”

Hit the edge of the cloth with an arrowhead. Simple.

“You think that’s possible?”

The archer’s look of disbelief said it all. That plan was scrapped.

So, close-quarters was the only option.

Then what about infiltrating before the scroll-carrier was even sent out?

What if he rescued the kid before anything began?

“Where’s Jaxson?”

“Dunno. Haven’t seen him since yesterday evening.”

Krys’s reply confirmed it—Jaxson hadn’t been seen since last night.

Come to think of it, even across all these repeated days, Jaxson hadn’t appeared once.

Tossing Esther, poking around—those were just habits now.

Every repeating-day barrier had some kind of loophole.

He’d used them before, many times.

That’s why he was checking.

He also asked around to see if their unit had any mages.

Of course not. Mages weren’t exactly common.

‘Though for something so rare, I sure seem to run into them a lot…’

He scratched his chin, pondering that.

Aside from a quick sweep of the area around lunchtime, he spent the day swinging his sword.

There were times he forgot the time, forgot the day, forgot his purpose.

‘Ah.’

As he stabbed and slashed, he fell into a trance—forgot himself entirely. But he never succeeded.

Nine repeated days passed.

He never once let up.

But he still failed.

He got so close—but never quite close enough.

‘Why?’

He questioned himself. There had to be a way. No wall was insurmountable.

Encrid reviewed everything he’d learned.

Thanks to repeating the day nine times, there were things he had confirmed.

First, that the scroll was indeed a magic spell.

Second, that Esther let out a warning cry just before it activated.

Third, that someone was triggering it remotely.

Fourth, that no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t beat the spell’s activation.

Those were the knowns. But there were still unknowns.

Would simply cutting the scroll actually prevent detonation?

Was this really the right path?

On the fifth day, doubts had risen—but Encrid brushed them aside.

Whether right or wrong, this was all he could do right now.

“Instead of worrying—run. If you have no talent, then at least have stamina.”

Something a sword instructor had once told him in a small trade town.

That man had been the first decent teacher Encrid ever met.

Of course physical fitness was the foundation of everything.

And the body needed to be ready to carry that out.

“Don’t get hurt. If you slack off on upkeep, you’ll flail in the moment that counts. Flail and you die.”

He’d taught practical swordsmanship based on countless real fights.

A merchant’s son in the class had said,

“Ugh, stop with the clichés. Can we just train properly?”

But Encrid had listened.

He didn’t dismiss the lessons just because he’d paid a few krona for them.

He went the opposite way from that rich kid.

He listened. He acted.

He swung his sword instead of thinking too much.

He engraved those lessons and advice into his life.

‘Don’t neglect your body.’

He’d followed that one pretty faithfully.

His shin and right arm were injured—but it was fine.

Ever since being forced to fight with his left hand, he’d trained it too. Never stopped.

For every hundred strikes with his right, he did a hundred and fifty with his left.

That’s why his left hand didn’t feel awkward now.

“I train in case I lose a leg, too.”

Rem had taught him that. You never know what’ll happen in battle. What if one leg suddenly gives out?

“Then you fight like this.”

It didn’t even have a name. It was just a footwork technique where you curled one foot and shifted your position.

It was insanely hard. Felt like he was dying trying to master it—but it wasn’t wasted effort.

“Not bad for killing time.”

Even Jaxson, watching from the side, had given that praise.

If he’d thought it was useless, he’d have told Encrid to go dodge knives instead.

After learning how to leap with one foot, he even gave it a name.

“Let’s call it the Limping Step.”

He carved what he’d learned into his body and kept refining it.

After nine repeated days, Encrid was crafting a left-handed sword strike faster than his right.

It wasn’t easy.

He failed repeatedly. Sometimes the blade got just close enough to brush the kid—then boom, explosion.

Whoever was watching remotely would detonate it instantly.

In his head, Encrid ran simulation after simulation.

‘I need preparation.’

He applied what he’d learned from Jaxson.

What did he need to do to draw the fastest sword?

Could he block the watcher’s view?

On the fifteenth day—just when it felt like the wall should be easy to overcome but wasn’t, and even the most steadfast would start to despair—

“I pity you, so I will tell you the way. You have two paths ahead.”

The Ferryman spoke.

Pity? That word didn’t suit him at all.