Chapter 3 - A Day
The same day as yesterday.
"Was it a dream?"
It felt so vivid—was it really just a dream?
Enkrid was dumbfounded.
Dream, or reality?
The day unfolded almost identically, leading to the battlefield.
Another skirmish.
Fighting in a similar spot made the phantom of yesterday overlap in his vision, as though he were reliving it.
"Didn't this happen yesterday too?"
He shook his head to dismiss the thought.
It must be a distraction.
Just a dream.
Perhaps he was lucky to have experienced a precognitive dream?
"Does that even count as lucky?"
He didn't know.
He couldn't know.
Enkrid was confused.
Especially when the greased shield shattered.
"Damn, that was close."
When Bell muttered those words, the feeling intensified.
"Bell, did getting your head split make you lose your senses?"
He reflexively repeated the exact words he'd remembered saying before.
"What nonsense are you talking about?"
Bell grumbled as he got back on his feet.
Enkrid glanced at him, deep in thought.
Bell was about to die.
Should he just watch?
And he did.
It felt unreal, so he let it happen.
A flash burst through, shattering Bell's skull.
His eyeball popped out, striking Enkrid square in the chest.
"What's with the dazed look?"
Rem saved him again.
"What?"
"Have you finally gone mad?"
Rem twirled his finger by his temple while holding an axe in his other hand.
"Today, that hawk-eyed bastard or whatever he calls himself is showing up, so I'm off to deal with him. Try to keep it together, alright? I swear, leave you alone for a second, and you'd be dead."
"Take care of yourself first."
The words spilled out instinctively.
Rem tilted his head in confusion but walked off.
"Seriously, just focus already," he muttered before disappearing.
Enkrid picked up a discarded axe in his left hand instead of a shield and gripped his sword in his right.
He stood on the battlefield, feeling unsettled.
As he endured, an enemy soldier closed in from the front.
It happened in an instant.
The man was skilled with his footwork.
One of his swordsmanship instructors had once said that seventy percent of swordsmanship was in the footwork.
The blade gleamed as it approached, and Enkrid once again faced the brink of death.
In that fleeting moment, his focus sharpened.
A dot appeared.
The dot grew smaller, then suddenly larger.
Enkrid watched it intently, right up until it turned into a blade piercing his throat.
"Ah."
There was no scream, no groan.
His neck had been impaled.
A hissing sound escaped his throat as air leaked out.
Agonizing pain spread from his throat to his entire body.
Gripping his neck, Enkrid collapsed to the ground.
Blood gurgled and spilled.
"I'll show mercy."
The enemy soldier murmured as he watched briefly, then plunged his sword into Enkrid's head.
Darkness came again.
And then, Enkrid heard it once more.
Clang, clang, clang.
The sound of a ladle striking a pot.
"Why the hell do you look so out of it first thing in the morning?"
It was Rem, sitting next to him, holding his boots.
Another day.
The same day.
"Was that a dream?"
"Did you have a nasty dream or something?"
"Right. Just a dream."
"Ah, damn bugs."
Rem shook a bug out of his boot, spat, and crushed it underfoot.
It was the third time Enkrid had seen that scene.
He sat there, unarmed, unarmored, staring blankly.
"This is a dream?"
The day began again.
Bell died.
Rem saved him.
Rem left to hunt down a hawk-eyed archer.
And a skilled enemy soldier blocked Enkrid's path.
"Who are you?" Enkrid asked.
The enemy didn't respond, thrusting his sword instead.
That thrust—so precise and elegant—it always amazed him.
Thump.
His heart raced.
His focus peaked.
Enkrid could see the tip of the blade more clearly than before.
He twisted his body to evade.
Rip!
The result wasn't ideal.
The graceful thrust didn't pierce his neck but tore a deep gash along its side.
Burning pain radiated from the wound, spreading through his body.
Once again, he fell to the ground.
Blood poured out.
"I'll show mercy."
The blade came down on his head.
Clang, clang, clang!
"Argh!"
He woke up screaming.
The pain was still vivid.
He touched his neck.
"Nightmare? Did some witch take your virginity in your sleep?"
Rem cracked a crude joke.
"There's a bug in your boot."
Enkrid covered half his face with his hand as he spoke.
The pain of dying was terrible enough.
But what the hell was going on?
He couldn't fathom it.
"What? How'd you know that?"
Rem shook the bug out of his boot, spat, and crushed it.
"Just did."
"Are you some kind of prophet?"
"No."
He waved the question away.
Enkrid finished preparing for the day as usual but stopped before heading out.
"Rem."
"What now?"
"My head hurts. Sort out breakfast yourself and tell anyone looking for me that I'm in the barracks, unwell."
"Lazy much?"
Rem chuckled.
He was quick to laugh.
If this wasn't a dream...
If he was truly reliving the day each time he died...
Was that even possible?
Could such a thing happen?
Enkrid needed time to process.
He returned to the barracks, removed his gear, and sat down.
He thought and thought again.
How could this happen?
"What's the cause?"
A thought struck him, and he fumbled through his belongings.
The necklace the village chief had given him was gone.
"Is it because of that?"
Desire?
A wish?
"A blessing?"
No, could this even be called a blessing?
It was just the same day repeating over and over.
Even among the Blessing-class artifacts, Enkrid had heard tales, but none of them mentioned anything like this.
"Isn't this more like a curse?"
He rubbed his neck absentmindedly.
The pain was horrifying.
Each death hurt worse than the last.
The weight of his thoughts felt like it might crush his head.
By lunchtime, Rem brought him food.
"What's wrong with you? Are you really just slacking off?"
His expression suggested he didn't think that was likely.
Enkrid was known for his diligence.
"Yeah."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
Enkrid nodded twice.
"Strange. Well, rest up then. There's a battle later this afternoon, so make sure you're ready. I'll cover for you until then."
Rem left.
Time passes.
Yet, there's no way to organize his thoughts.
This isn't something that can be sorted out by thinking about it.
***
A shout pierces the air.
The ground trembles.
The battle begins.
Enkrid had no intention of stepping out.
If he went out, he'd die to that piercing strike.
So he chose to endure.
But he couldn't keep holding out forever.
No soldier in a battlefield, even one in pain, could shirk their duty indefinitely.
"Everyone, gear up and move out! It's a battle!"
A sentry making rounds shouted the command inside the tent.
Enkrid donned his equipment and stepped outside.
The fighting began anew.
This time, he stayed much farther back than the day before.
Neither Bell nor Rem crossed his path as he endured.
Suddenly—
The frontlines wavered, rippling with disarray.
The enemy's movement was unusual.
The allied forces were being pushed back.
Before he knew it, Enkrid stood at the very front.
And there, he encountered that man again.
Was it coincidence, or was it fate?
He didn't know.
But one thing was clear—no matter where he went on the battlefield, he'd either die or face this man.
Thus, the question wasn't "why" but "how."
Not why they kept meeting, but how he'd survive.
The piercing strike.
The blade came flying at him.
"What was that technique's name again?"
Rem had once insisted he focus on learning techniques, saying even mastering just one could save his life on the battlefield.
He'd also told Enkrid to keep calm even if trapped in a monster's den.
What Enkrid was attempting now was something Rem had taught him.
Something about a heart.
The name flitted through his mind, elusive.
But even without fully remembering, the technique shone once again.
Enkrid noticed he was holding his breath as he stared at the incoming blade.
Thump.
His heart pounded.
He analyzed the timing and angle of the blade as it approached his throat.
He flung his body sideways, rolling clumsily across the ground.
But he survived.
His relief was short-lived.
Thud!
A blow struck the back of his head, followed by searing pain.
His mind went hazy.
He didn't even realize he had fallen.
An enemy from behind had slammed his helmet with an axe.
As he lay there, dazed, he looked up—
"I'll show mercy."
The piercer stabbed him again.
Thunk.
The sound of hammers pounding echoed once more as Enkrid opened his eyes.
Another day, another repetition.
"Don't think about it."
Whether the talisman was a blessing or a curse—he wouldn't think about that.
He wouldn't dwell on what was happening to him.
He only focused on two things:
Surviving the battlefield.
And doing whatever it took to achieve that.
"There's a bug in your boot."
"Huh? Are you a prophet now?"
"What was that thing you tried to teach me before?"
Blinking, Rem thought for a moment before replying,
"Heart of the Beast?"
Yes, that was it.
The Heart of the Beast.
No mere human heart could remain steadfast amid the spears, swords, and axes of the battlefield.
But with the Heart of the Beast, it was possible.
So he must make it his own.
Rem's words resurfaced in his mind.
"Teach me again."
"What?"
Rem looked flabbergasted.
Enkrid understood his reaction.
Once, he'd been desperate to learn, and Rem, charmed by his enthusiasm, had been equally eager to teach.
In the end, Enkrid had learned nothing, and Rem had taught nothing.
The training started with a simple principle: never close your eyes in the critical moment.
But keeping your eyes open until the brink of death wasn't something just anyone could do.
And merely keeping them open wasn't enough.
In Enkrid's eyes, Rem's skill surpassed that of most elite mercenaries.
The core of the training was watching and dodging until Rem's axe was already halfway through the neck.
"Let's do it. Train me."
Enkrid's eyes burned with determination.
A fire ignited in his chest.
"Does it matter if this is a blessing or a curse?"
He had no talent—he knew that.
And time was fair to all.
Thus, a dullard could never outmatch a genius.
But what if time wasn't fair?
Blessing or curse, it didn't matter.
This was a lifeline, a rope to pull himself forward.
"You've got guts today. Seeing you fired up like this gives me energy too," Rem said, standing.
"Right after breakfast."
"Agreed."
After eating and washing their bowls, they shared idle dreams of becoming knights.
Rem laughed at the notion.
Then came the training.
"You remember the method?"
"Perfectly."
The training had been so intense it haunted Enkrid's nightmares.
He could never forget Rem's axe carving through his neck in those dreams.
"Let's get started."
The premise was simple.
When the axe came to cleave his neck, he'd open his eyes wide and dodge.
If Rem made a mistake, Enkrid would die.
That fear had once held him back.
But now things were different.
"If I die, I just hear the banging again."
It was a time of fearlessness.
Enkrid drew on the focus he had gained through countless deaths and awakened the Heart of the Beast.
His heartbeat steadied.
What once raced in panic now calmed, bringing tranquility.
The beast didn't startle easily.
The slowed heartbeat granted clarity and composure.
This composure let him track the axe's trajectory.
Dodging wasn't hard.
His body had been conditioned through constant training.
When the axe swung, he stepped back, his right foot retreating as he leaned away.
The axe swept past his face.
"Have you been practicing in secret?" Rem asked.
"A bit."
"Good. But your timing is a little early. Wait until the last moment."
The training was about thickening the metaphorical hide of the heart.
Rem swung the axe again.
Enkrid waited until the blade was practically kissing his throat before dodging.
"Ha! Even in my tribe, only a few could master this. Impressive."
Morning training concluded.
Rem patted Enkrid's shoulder.
"Well done. You should handle average fighters on the battlefield just fine now."
"And those who aren't average?"
"What are you asking?"
"What happens when I face one of them?"
"Are you seriously asking that?"
Enkrid's silent stare prompted Rem to continue, though he looked bemused.
"You run."
Exactly.
You flee.
Challenging someone stronger than you on the battlefield was lunacy.
Survival required awareness of your own limits.
And yet—
"What if I trained against someone better?"
"You'd die a hundred times over, and it still wouldn't be enough."
Rem chuckled, shaking his head.
Enkrid, hearing that laugh, thought to himself:
What if my life had just multiplied a hundredfold?
Blessing or curse, it didn't matter.
"If it's useful, I'll use it."
That's how he'd lived so far.
And that's how he'd keep living.
Even if it meant confronting that piercing strike again.
What better training partner could there be?
The pain of death was excruciating, but the rewards were immense.
For the first time in over a decade, Enkrid felt the joy of growth.
A sense of fulfillment unlike any other—a high no drug could match.