Chapter 45 - Countless Battles (1)
"Come on!"
Vengeance, the platoon leader, shouted as he swung his sword down.
The mustached man held his sword horizontally to the ground and executed a middle guard.
The clash of their swords resounded.
Clang!
As soon as the swords collided, the mustached man stepped forward, pressing his weight against his opponent to push him back.
Focused solely on swinging his sword, Vengeance was helplessly flung backward.
"Ugh!"
Losing his balance, he not only stumbled but rolled backward several times.
A cloud of dust rose where his body came to rest—right beside Enkrid.
Vengeance's and Enkrid's eyes met.
A brief silence hung between them.
A cold breeze whistled through from somewhere.
Vengeance's face turned bright red.
Carefully choosing his words, Enkrid finally spoke.
"…You came to save me, right?"
Vengeance's pupils quivered violently.
"Why is that guy so strong?"
Enkrid let out a bitter laugh.
No, seriously—he came to save me, so why did he go down in one hit?
Vengeance rolled himself upright again, grabbed the sword lying on the ground, and assumed his stance once more.
"You damn bastard," he spat, glaring at his opponent before yelling out.
"Shoot!"
Half of Vengeance's squad were archers.
"Shoot him down!"
At his command, arrows flew through the air.
"Block them!"
"Raise your shields!"
Several enemy soldiers trailing closely behind the mustached man stepped forward, raising their shields.
Thud, thud, thud!
The arrows struck the shields.
The timing was impeccable.
Peering over the top of a shield, the mustached man glared menacingly at Enkrid.
Then, he snatched a shield from one of his subordinates.
You've got to be kidding me.
Gritting his teeth, Enkrid forced himself to his feet.
Burning pain flared from the bolt embedded in his leg and back.
There was no time to groan.
Growl.
Beside him, a panther bared its fangs.
Meanwhile, the mustached man was closing in with the shield in hand.
"You lunatic!" Vengeance cried out in shock.
Enkrid, suppressing the pain, drew the short sword from Vengeance's belt.
Shing.
By then, the mustached man was almost upon them.
There was no room to retreat.
Whoosh.
Vengeance slashed diagonally across to intercept the opponent's sword.
His intent was to halt the charge with sheer force.
Feigning a collision, the mustached man twisted his wrist and pulled his sword back, diverting Vengeance's strike.
Swish.
Vengeance's blade sliced through empty air.
Behind him, the panther leaped.
But the mustached man wasn't like ordinary soldiers.
Angling his shield downward, he blocked the panther's trajectory and shoved it aside.
Clang!
The panther let out a cry and was sent flying.
All of this happened within mere seconds of the clash.
Enkrid tightened his grip on the short sword, focusing his mind entirely.
In that moment, everything else faded, leaving only him and his opponent.
A singular focus.
The pain, the relief, and the surge of emotions triggered an intense state of concentration.
Time seemed to stretch.
Through this heightened awareness, Enkrid could see the bloodshot eyes of the mustached man.
He could also see his hand.
The man had gripped the pommel, just above the hilt's end, extending his sword's reach to deliver a decisive slash.
Raising his blade, he swung downward in a sweeping arc.
When did he even lift his sword? The blade was already falling—a guillotine descending.
The mustached man's strike seemed to demand, "Repeat this day again and again."
Enkrid refused.
Holding his breath, he had no room to exhale.
There was no time to whine about the pain.
He couldn't rely on the basics Ragna had taught him this time.
Then…
What among the dozens of techniques he had learned, practiced, observed, and mimicked could he use now?
Countless battles, relentless research, and the constant effort to learn and adapt had led him here.
His body moved instinctively, raising the short sword.
He knew it couldn't withstand a direct clash—it would shatter.
The mustached man was certain of his victory.
He believed he could finally take the life of the detestable opponent before him.
Whoosh.
Ting, chiiing. Crack!
In the end, the mustached man's strike failed.
He managed to cut only Enkrid's shoulder.
Blood poured from the deep wound, but it wasn't fatal.
He hadn't succeeded in delivering a killing blow.
"You…"
The mustached man froze instead of striking again, his eyes wide in disbelief.
"Where did you learn that?" he demanded.
Enkrid answered honestly.
"From fighting."
Mitch Hurrier had shown Enkrid countless instances of flowing techniques, of deflecting attacks.
The man's technique was exquisite, and in that perilous moment, it had unconsciously surfaced within Enkrid.
As the mustached man's blade fell, Enkrid had intercepted it with his short sword, deflecting it to the side.
He'd absorbed the force with the center of the blade and loosened his grip to redirect the attack.
Timing, distribution of force—if any element had been off, he would have been dead.
His shoulder wouldn't have been the only casualty.
Enkrid himself was astonished.
"So it works."
Though he'd studied and endured countless blows, this was the first time he'd used it successfully.
For someone like Enkrid, who lacked extraordinary talent, it was almost miraculous.
For the first time, his heart raced with excitement.
The flowing technique he had just pulled off wasn't something most could replicate, no matter how much they trained.
"You bastard!"
Behind the mustached man, Vengeance swung his sword at empty air before turning and charging forward.
The mustached man pivoted, deflecting Vengeance's strike and raising his shield again.
Thwack!
An arrow lodged into the shield.
A skilled archer had aimed for him, but he blocked it.
Clang! Clang!
The mustached man exchanged a few more blows with Vengeance while glaring at Enkrid with fiery eyes.
Enkrid, meanwhile, stared down at the short sword in his hand.
There was no way he could launch another attack and kill his opponent now.
Realizing the danger of lingering any longer, the mustached man turned around.
"Retreat!"
He called out and began to withdraw, but not without turning back to address Enkrid one last time.
"I won't forget you."
Enkrid replied sincerely, "You can forget me."
He meant it.
There was no reason for the man to remember him.
Vengeance's squad didn't pursue further.
They had already advanced far ahead of their allies.
To go deeper now would risk annihilation.
"Hey, your shoulder!"
Vengeance, glaring at the retreating mustached man, turned back to Enkrid.
Blood was dripping down Enkrid's shoulder.
Though he had deflected and redirected, it hadn't been perfect.
Still, Enkrid smiled.
'So it works.'
He echoed the thought he'd had when the technique succeeded earlier.
Enkrid tried to recall how he had deflected his opponent's sword, but the memory eluded him.
His body had simply moved on its own.
Elation surged through him—it was the first time he'd felt this way.
"You idiot, is this the time to be grinning?"
Vengeance approached, wrapping Enkrid's shoulder tightly with a cloth.
"We're out of bandages! Fall back to the rear, to the Third Platoon!"
Vengeance ordered his platoon to retreat.
The battle was already won, but the company commander had instructed them to pursue the enemy rear cautiously, not too deep.
They had been badly burned by enemy magic earlier and needed to regroup.
"You've lost too much blood," Vengeance muttered as he supported Enkrid.
Enkrid, leaning on him, spoke through gritted teeth.
"We need to take the panther with us."
They had saved each other's lives.
Leaving the beast behind was not an option now.
"You're insane. Worry about yourself first."
Despite his words, Vengeance also took care of the fallen panther.
Inspecting it for injuries, he noticed blood seeping from between its fangs.
"So that's what was trickling down my back..."
Even while bleeding from its gums, the panther hadn't let go of him.
Enkrid cradled the panther in his arms.
It wasn't heavy.
How could a body like this possess such strength?
A faint whimper came from the panther in his arms.
"Let's move!"
Vengeance supported Enkrid as they withdrew from the battlefield.
Halfway through, Enkrid drifted in and out of consciousness from the blood loss.
The ferryman of the Black River appeared in the void, asking,
"Why are you pushing yourself so hard?"
The excessive blood loss had made him see things.
Unable to answer, Enkrid merely stared at the figure, who continued speaking.
"If you fail, just start over.
It repeats endlessly, doesn't it?
So why go to such lengths?
You'll relive today anyway—what's wrong with taking it easy?
Rest, stop, polish yourself, and prepare for the next perfect today.
If you die, you'll start an even better today, won't you?
Oh, are you afraid of death?
That fades with time.
Half-ignore it—what's the harm?
No one's watching.
That today is yours alone."
Enkrid lacked the strength to speak, barely able to drag himself forward as Vengeance half-carried him.
So he answered silently.
Why should I settle?
Even if it repeats, even if I get another chance, why wouldn't I give my all today?
Otherwise, I'd remain stuck, always in the same place.
Living like that would trap me in today.
Without tomorrow, there's no dream.
Without a dream, there's no meaning.
'I refuse to stop.'
Even if his steps were slower than others, even if his progress was minuscule, he wanted to keep moving forward.
He wanted to live that way.
Even if he couldn't become a knight, he wanted to fight for the chance.
Thud.
When he finally lost the strength to walk, he stumbled over a rock.
"Don't die on me," Vengeance muttered close to his ear.
His vision blurred, and the world faded.
At some point, the ferryman of the Black River vanished.
Enkrid felt he finally understood the nature of this curse.
"If you could start over, couldn't you do better?"
When you live the same day over and over, such thoughts naturally arise.
But not for Enkrid.
He always aimed for tomorrow.
Instinctively, he knew that a failed tomorrow was better than a perfect today.
'To stop is to end.'
This is why the curse was no blessing.
Repeating today forever meant never reaching tomorrow.
At the edge of consciousness, Enkrid asked himself:
'Was this truly my best?'
He didn't know.
Only the gods might know what a perfect today looks like.
The "today" he had lived was partly due to luck.
There was no guarantee that luck would carry over to a restarted today.
In that case, as always, all that remained was to keep walking toward tomorrow.
Warmth radiated from the creature in his arms.
He glanced down through dim eyes to see the black panther gazing up at him, its lake-blue eyes meeting his.
Enkrid passed out, thinking he might die.
If so, he'd just start over.
Even if he couldn't reach tomorrow, he wouldn't despair.
He'd fight and claw his way through the day again.
Darkness enveloped him, pulling him into unconsciousness like a wandering soul invited to the world of shadows.
"Did I choose wrong?"
The ferryman of the Black River appeared again.
Enkrid overheard his muttering.
The ferryman turned his head, his polished, mirror-like black face reflecting nothing.
"Let's wait and see."
With that single line, Enkrid awoke to the sight of a tent ceiling.
"Hey, you're alive? I really thought you were a goner this time."
Rem's voice reached his ears.
His shoulder, back, legs, and side throbbed with pain. There wasn't a single spot on his body that didn't hurt.
His head spun.
"The last wound on your shoulder was the worst. I don't know who did it, but they got you good," Rem said, rambling on.
Enkrid, still half out of it, blinked a few times.
He soon realized warmth at his side and reached out.
A dull ache shot through his shoulder.
His hand met soft fur.
A low, contented rumble came from the black panther.
'I made it through today.'
"You're making a habit of passing out," Rem teased.
"Like I have a choice. I'm thirsty."
"Is that so?"
Through blurry eyes, Enkrid saw Rem sitting with arms crossed.
Behind him stood Big Eyes, who handed over a canteen.
A few sips felt like rain on parched earth, soothing his dry throat.
"See? Our squad leader's tough. Alive and kicking," Big Eyes said, watching him drink.
"You've lost too much blood," Jaxen commented nonchalantly.
A pious squad member prayed in the background.
"Lord, thank you for answering our prayers," he murmured.
Ragna silently observed before speaking.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm not dying," Enkrid replied.
Because he had survived, he could say those words.
Because he had passed today and greeted tomorrow, he could smile faintly before lying down again.