Frokk replayed the scene in his mind.
‘I thought he would win.’
He was a man I had taught, one with considerable talent. I never liked his personality, but that wasn't my business. A soldier who specialized in the thrust.
One whose talent was quite useful. He wasn't the type to die in a minor skirmish like this. If he'd been left alone, he would have at least reached the skill of a company commander level.
Frokk thought about why the soldier had died.
‘A lack of experience?’
No, how many soldiers have I raised this way? He wasn't someone who would die over something so trivial.
‘Was it a bad matchup?’
Therefore, he was unlucky. He was forsaken by the Goddess of Fortune. Frokk let out a rumbling laugh.
‘Luck is a skill, after all.’
As he entered the friendly camp, his adjutant approached him.
“I’ve been looking all over for you, General.”
“Oh, have you?”
“Did you visit the enemy territory?”
“I just went out for a bit of fun.”
“You seem to be in a good mood.”
“I saw a man get stabbed right ‘there’ and die.”
To Frokk, the heart was a forbidden word. He loathed even seeing someone next to him get stabbed there and die. But here was Frokk, laughing as he said it.
The adjutant should have suspected a bug had gotten into the general’s head. But the adjutant did not suspect. An experienced Frokk would sometimes utter the word heart.
And the General Frokk before him was a veteran soldier. Enough of one to spit out the word heart if he so chose. So he could even laugh while watching someone die from a pierced heart.
To be precise, when he saw something even more interesting than a man dying from a pierced heart, this Frokk could laugh.
“You must have seen something amusing.”
“Well, just… a fellow who was strangely interesting.”
He couldn't be an ally. If he were, Frokk would have brought him back already. Frokk spoke nonchalantly and walked on with heavy steps.
The skin on the soles of Frokk’s feet was thick. He didn't even need boots. In fact, it was so slippery that some Frokk would occasionally embed nails in their soles.
However, General Frokk was the type who looked down on Frokk who would embed such things as nails in their feet. If accompanied by excellent senses and proper training. Even slippery soles could become a weapon.
‘He perfectly mimicked the thrust.’
It was not in the realm of talent. Frokk’s eyes could discern the degree of skill an opponent had mastered. General Frokk had seen the enemy soldier's thrust.
Thanks to that, he could tell.
‘A technique forged and reforged countless times.’
It was less a learned technique and more one mastered by risking his life. A realm of immense effort, not talent.
‘His talent was meager, after all.’
It wouldn't be impossible if luck piled up tens, or hundreds of times. If he could survive seeing countless thrusts right before his eyes, then such a movement might be possible. Everything else was a mess, but that one thrust was worth watching.
But did this make sense?
‘With that kind of skill?’
Surviving on the battlefield time and time again? To say he learned by risking his life was proof that he had survived by a thread each time. It was a movement that could only be shown by repeatedly clashing and being broken by opponents stronger than himself.
Did this make any sense? It didn't. And that's what made it interesting.
‘It would be nice to see him again, but…’
General Frokk thought such a thing would not happen. The Goddess of Fortune is unfair. She plays favorites.
She may bestow all her luck upon one person. But even that luck has its limits.
‘He must have used up a lifetime of luck.’
He wouldn't see him again. That didn't mean he would die today. He had kicked him out of excitement, but the man had somehow blocked it.
And seeing the two who came to protect him at the end, it didn't seem like he would die on the battlefield now. Still, it didn't seem like it would last long. Charging recklessly at opponents superior to oneself might improve one's skill even with meager talent.
But you would need hundreds of lives for that.
“General.”
“Let’s eat.”
Frokk put the thought aside and decided to end his interest in the matter. It was time to focus on other things.
Namely, eating.
And planning a strategy. At the general’s words, the blond adjutant nodded.
“Let’s go. I will prepare a meal.”
He saw a ferryman. Enkrid realized he was on a small boat.
‘A dream?’
Hadn’t something like this happened once before? It was a very old memory. When was it?
‘The first time I reawakened.’
A mouthless ferryman. A voice filled with curiosity. It awakened a distant memory.
‘Back then.’
He had thought it was just a meaningless dream. What importance was a ferryman met in a dream?
“So, you managed to survive the day?”
The ferryman spoke. Just like then, Enkrid couldn't say a word. It seemed that only listening was permitted here.
“You have eyes but cannot see, a mouth but cannot speak, and ears but cannot truly hear.”
The ferryman spoke as if singing. His words were indeed mixed with melody and rhythm. He couldn't even blink.
He couldn't control any of his five senses, not a single thing. It was suffocating and frustrating.
‘What can I do now?’
If this is a dream, shouldn’t I be able to cast spells from my hands or something? It's a dream, but it's not a dream. Realizing this, Enkrid knew that all he could do was listen.
“Can you keep enduring? Can you do it? They will continue to block your path.”
He didn't know what he was talking about. Didn't he just say he had ears but couldn't truly hear?
“You cannot even hear my name yet.”
He looked at the ferryman. A faint image formed over the black shroud. It was as if dewdrops formed like the morning mist were blocking his sight.
That's how blurry it was. Everything was black. At first, he thought he only lacked a mouth, but there was nothing.
“What you can hear now is my whim, and my goodwill.”
He speaks and then chuckles. It wasn't that he could see him laughing. It was as if the other was letting him know that he was laughing.
‘So what am I supposed to do?’
“Child, nothing has ended, and you cannot escape. The ‘wall’ blocking your path will always be there. That will be your fate.”
The word 'wall' sounded strange. It felt as if he had said something else, but it was heard as 'wall'. What on earth was this?
“Can you survive?”
He didn't know what kind of nonsense this was, but.
“What a foolish question.”
Huh?
I can speak? There was no time to question it. The other seemed more surprised.
“You…”
The ferryman whispered something, but his consciousness quickly faded.
Splash.
The boat disappeared. Enkrid fell deep into the water. Above the water, beyond the mist, the black mass conveyed its words, no, its will.
“You won't remember this. But.”
Heh heh.
The ferryman laughed and continued.
“You really are an interesting one.”
That was the end of it. He lost consciousness as he fell deep into the water. Enkrid sank into the deep abyss.
“... Who is the hero of this battlefield?”
“Sir Cyprus!”
“Who is the master of this battlefield?”
“Sir Cyprus!”
“Who is it that runs toward tomorrow?”
“Sir Cyprus!”
“Who is it that delivers judgment!”
It was a song. A cheerful melody, a thick voice, a song with perfect rhythm.
‘A military song?’
No, it wasn't a military song. He had learned a few military songs since joining this unit, but there was nothing like this. What he had learned here were more like chants with only a rhythm, rather than songs.
We will win! With the protection of the undying sun! The power of the great god is with us!
That sort of thing. There was no melody, just shouts yelled out at the top of their lungs. But this had a melody and a living rhythm.
It was a familiar song, too.
‘A bard’s song.’
Not all bards were the same. Among them were those who took a side and followed an army to boost morale. This must be one of those cases.
What kind of bard would want to create and sing hymns glorifying Sir Cyprus? Moreover, that fellow had probably never even seen the knight named Sir Cyprus.
“You’re awake?”
He turned his head at the voice and saw Rem. His side throbbed like crazy. As he raised a hand to touch it, Rem caught it with a smack.
“It wasn't quite broken, so don't you worry. But they say your head got a good shake. Now, how many is this?”
Rem held up a few fingers, folding and unfolding them as he waved his hand.
“Screw you.”
Enkrid tried to process the current situation.
‘Today’ was over.
Just facing that fact was making his mind race. It was difficult to entertain Rem’s jesting.
“See, I told you he’s lost his mind. It’s me, Rem, your Squad Leader’s eternal partner.”
“Crazy bastard.”
“Have you forgotten me? That would be too hurtful.”
Enkrid closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. He had made it through the day. That meant a day had passed.
His mind was scattered. The dream had been too chaotic.
‘Didn't he say I wouldn't remember?’
But it remained so vivid. The black water, the boat, the faceless ferryman. He remembered everything he had said as well.
It felt a little hazy, like something from the distant past, but. He had always had a good memory since he was young. Enkrid remembered it all.
“I haven't forgotten. Noble-hunter.”
He recited what was once Rem's nickname.
“Shh, I told you that was a secret.”
Only then did the jesting stop. And he chided him with his eyes. As if to say, why bring that up.
Enkrid gathered his wits.
First.
“What happened to me?”
Only then could he hear the proper story. The dead soldier, his inexplicably improved skill, and the Frokk.
‘A frog got involved?’
He had been a mercenary for years, but this was the first time he had seen a Frokk in person. And of course, the first time he'd been hit by one. He was lucky his ribs weren't all broken.
If you met a Frokk as an enemy on the battlefield?
“Run.”
“Hide.”
“Die.”
Three veteran mercenaries had each given a different answer. But the conclusion was the same. If you can't run or hide, you die.
Frokk were just that dangerous and terrifying. All warrior races were like that. Giants, dragonkin, elves.
Every race was born with abilities superior to humans. But humans were the most numerous to grow to the level of Knights. That was probably why humans were the greatest power on this continent.
“After that, I ‘personally’ carried you on my back and ran from the battlefield. It was a truly perilous road. I almost died.”
If it had been truly dangerous, he wouldn't be saying it like this.
“I owe you one.”
“If you know that, you could do my dishwashing duty for me about ten times.”
This bastard, really. Enkrid sighed inwardly but nodded. He told Rem to leave if he was done talking, but Rem didn't get up easily.
He had the same smiling face as always.
“Did you practice alone? When I wasn't looking?”
He looked at him, wondering what this was about now.
“That move for the heart… it was perfectly ripe.”
Hmm?
“Did you think I wouldn't recognize something I taught you?”
‘Ah!’
Enkrid realized Rem had been watching him. Well, he must have been watching to be able to help at the right time.
“It just sort of happened. After facing death a few times, I think I started to get the hang of it.”
He had already thought of dozens of plausible excuses. This was the most plausible one among them. It was also a truth not mixed with lies.
Just slightly downplayed. He couldn't very well say he hadn't just faced death a few times but had actually died, could he?
“Well done.”
Rem finally got up from his spot.
“Get some rest. Your body needs to recover for there to be a next time.”
Enkrid finally looked around. It was a medical tent. A place for the wounded.
Should I try to get up? As he tried to sit up, a soldier sitting on one side spoke with hazy eyes.
“You shouldn't move yet. You'll make it worse if you push yourself. Your head was shaken up badly.”
It was as if a military doctor had attended to a mere private. For a mere private, if you were injured, you were lucky if a comrade knew a thing or two about herbs. If not, it was common to just die.
‘I can’t believe I made it to the medical tent.’
How he got here didn't matter. He could find out later. More than that.
‘I survived today.’
What was important was that a new day had begun. He looked toward the entrance of the tent and saw light seeping through the gap. It wasn't sunlight.
It was the light of a flickering torch, and the shadows moving with it. The bard's song continued.
“Who is the hero!”
“Sir Cyprus!”
A group of soldiers shouted in response. He had survived today and lived to the next day. But it seemed he had spent the entire morning and afternoon unconscious, only waking up in the evening.
“Did a day pass?”
He asked a medic on standby.
“A day? It's been two.”
The shock must have been great. Enkrid thought so and closed his eyes. In any case, what was important was that he had survived today.
He had defeated that lancer. He had surpassed him with skill. Afterward, Enkrid thought about the ferryman.
He recalled his words and mulled them over. He had to. Because he had said it would repeat.
Therefore.
‘If I die, today repeats.’
The ferryman had spoken as if it were a punishment.
But.
‘Why would that be a punishment?’
To Enkrid, it was not a penalty, but a reward.