“Come on!”
Platoon Leader Benzens shouted, bringing his sword down. The mustached man held his sword parallel to the ground and struck at the midsection. The swords of Platoon Leader Benzens and the mustached man met.
Kaaang!
The moment their swords clashed, the mustached man stepped forward, putting his weight into it and pushing his opponent back. Benzens, who had focused only on swinging his sword, was helplessly thrown backward.
“Ugh!”
Having lost his balance, he wasn't just pushed back; he tumbled backward, rolling over and over. A cloud of dust rose from where he rolled. Benzens's body came to a stop right next to Enkrid, in a position with his head between his legs.
The eyes of Platoon Leader Benzens and Enkrid met. A brief silence hung between them.
Whoosh.
A cold wind blew from somewhere. Benzens's face turned beet red. Enkrid chose his words carefully and said.
“…You said you came to save me.”
Benzens's pupils trembled violently.
“That bastard, why is he so strong?”
Enkrid let out a hollow laugh. Seriously, you said you came to save me, so why did you get knocked out in one blow? Rolling his body once more to get up, Platoon Leader Benzens grabbed the sword that had fallen to the ground and took his stance again.
“Shit, this bastard.”
He glared at his opponent and shouted.
“Fire!”
Half of Benzens's platoon were archers.
“Fire at will!”
At his command, arrows flew.
“Block them!”
“Raise your shields!”
A few enemy soldiers who had been following closely behind the mustached man rushed forward and raised their shields.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
The arrows were blocked by the shields. The timing was impeccable. The mustached man peeked his head over a shield and glared at Enkrid with menacing eyes.
Then he snatched a shield from one of his men. This is crazy. Enkrid grit his teeth and shot to his feet.
A searing pain, as if burned, shot through his leg and back where the quarrels were embedded. There was no time to even let out a groan.
Grrr.
Beside him, the panther bared its fangs. In that time, the shield held by the mustached man drew much closer.
“You crazy bastard!”
Benzens shouted in surprise. Enkrid endured the pain and pulled out the shortsword tucked into Benzens's belt.
Clang.
In that moment, the mustached man was right in front of him. He didn't dare to jump back.
Hwoong.
Benzens swung his sword, forming a diagonal line with his opponent's blade. He intended to stop the charge with brute force. The mustached man feigned a clash, then bent his wrist, pulled his sword back, and let Benzens's sword glide past.
Swoosh.
Benzens's sword cut through empty air. Behind him, the panther kicked off the ground with a powerful push. The mustached man was different from an ordinary soldier.
He lowered his shield diagonally, blocking the charging panther's path and knocking it aside.
“Khang!”
The panther, letting out a cry, was sent flying sideways. All of this happened within just a few seconds of the charge. Enkrid, gripping the shortsword, heightened his focus.
Soon, only he and his opponent remained in his mind's eye. It was Single Point Focus. The injury, the relief, the shift in his emotions—it all led to a state of high concentration.
For a moment, he had the illusion that time was slowing down. In Enkrid's eyes, he could see the mustached man's bloodshot eyes. At the same time, he also saw his opponent's hand.
The mustached man was holding the very end of the grip, just above the pommel. His intention was to extend his reach and cut him down in a single blow. Just like that, he drew an arc with his sword.
From top to bottom. He didn't even know when the sword had been raised, but it was coming down. The blade was bearing down.
It was like the blade of a guillotine. The mustached man's blade seemed to be saying, "That's enough," telling him to repeat the day again. Enkrid hated that.
He swallowed his breath. There was no time to exhale. Even less time to whine about the pain.
What he had learned was the Northern Heavy Sword technique, but right now, he couldn't get through this with the fundamentals Ragna had taught him. In that case. Among the dozens of sword styles he had learned, practiced, watched, and copied, which one could he use now?
Because he had suffered countless times, studying and studying again. Because he had always maintained an attitude of watching and learning. His body raised the sword according to instinct.
A shortsword is weak against impact. If he blocked with force, the sword itself would break. The mustached man was sure of his victory.
That he could take the life of the detestable man before him.
Hwoong. Ting, chiiiiing. Pak!
To put it simply, the mustached man's strike had failed. It had only cut Enkrid's shoulder. It was a deep cut and blood gushed out, but he wasn't dead.
He hadn't been killed.
“You.”
Instead of attacking again, the mustached man's eyes went wide like a startled rabbit's. His eyes were filled with disbelief.
“Where did you learn that!”
The mustached man shouted. Enkrid answered honestly.
“I learned it while fighting.”
Mitch Hurrier had shown Enkrid the Flowing Sword, the gliding technique, countless times. His gliding technique was truly a masterpiece. It had come out unconsciously in a moment of danger.
The moment the mustached man's sword came down, he had received it with the shortsword and dispersed it by gliding it to the side. He had pushed the middle of his blade forward to receive the force, then loosened his grip and let it glide.
The distribution of force, the timing—if any one of them had been wrong, this wouldn't have been possible. It wouldn't have ended with just a cut on the shoulder. Even as he answered, Enkrid was inwardly surprised.
‘It actually works.’
He had seen it, been struck by it, and studied it countless times, but this was the first time he had actually used it. No, a technique he used for the first time without any arduous training had succeeded. It was a truly strange thing.
For Enkrid, who was so horribly untalented, it was also something unbelievable. Experiencing it for the first time, Enkrid's heart pounded. The technique of the Flowing Sword, which let an opponent's blade glide away, was a skill that couldn't even be imitated with ordinary training.
“This bastard!”
Behind the mustached man, Benzens, who had swung his sword at empty air, turned around, shouted, and charged. The mustached man spun around, struck Benzens's sword away, and once again covered his front with the shield.
Thunk!
An arrow embedded itself in the shield. A skilled archer had aimed and fired at him, and he had blocked it.
Clang! Clang!
The mustached man exchanged a few more blows with Benzens where he stood. He glared at Enkrid with fiery eyes. Enkrid was only staring at the shortsword in his hand.
It was already too late to charge again and kill him. Rather, if they got bogged down here, they would all die, so the mustached man turned.
“Retreat!”
He shouted and fell back. As he retreated, he finally said to Enkrid.
“You, I won't forget you.”
Enkrid replied with all sincerity.
“You can forget.”
He meant it. What was the point of remembering him anyway? Benzens's platoon didn't chase any deeper.
Even if they were at the vanguard, they were now far ahead of their allies. If they went any further, Benzens's platoon could be annihilated in a counterattack.
“Hey, your shoulder!”
Benzens glared at the mustached man until he had retreated, then came back and checked on Enkrid. Blood was streaming down from his shoulder. He had blocked and let it glide, but it couldn't be perfect.
Still, Enkrid smiled.
‘It actually works.’
Inwardly, he uttered the same words he had when the technique first succeeded. He tried to recall how he had made the opponent's sword glide away, but he couldn't remember it clearly. His body had moved on its own.
A sense of exhilaration welled up inside him. Because this was the first time something like this had happened.
“Hey, you crazy bastard, is this the time to be smiling?”
Benzens came over and tightly wrapped his shoulder with a cloth.
“No bandages! We're falling back immediately. Behind the Third Platoon!”
Benzens pulled his platoon back. It was a battle already won. The company commander had ordered them to pursue the enemy's rear, but not to go too deep.
Having been badly burned by the sorcery once, their side also needed to regroup.
“You've lost too much blood.”
Benzens said, supporting him. Enkrid looked at Benzens, who was holding him up, and opened his mouth.
“We have to take the panther, too.”
They had saved each other's lives. He couldn't just abandon it now.
“You crazy bastard, worry about yourself.”
Even as he said that, Benzens also took care of the panther that had been knocked aside. Wondering where it was hurt, he saw blood flowing from between the panther's teeth.
‘So that's what that wet feeling on my back was.’
Even while bleeding from its gums, it hadn't let go of him. Enkrid held the panther in his arms. It wasn't heavy.
How could it have produced such strength with a body like this?
Whimper.
The panther whimpered in his arms.
“Let's go!”
After that, Benzens supported Enkrid and left the battlefield. From that point on, Enkrid was half-conscious. It was because he had lost too much blood.
The Ferryman of the Black River appeared in the air and asked.
“Hey, why do you go that far?”
He was seeing things due to excessive blood loss. He didn't have the strength to answer and just stared, so the ferryman continued speaking.
“You can just start over, you know.”
“It just repeats. Countlessly, endlessly.”
“Why do you try so hard?”
“It's a today that will start over anyway, so what's wrong with just living it casually?”
“Settle down, stop, polish your skills and face today again. If you die, you can start a more perfect today, can't you?”
“Ah, is it because you're afraid of death? No, you get used to it after a while. What's wrong with letting your mind go half-numb? Who's watching, who knows? That today is a today meant solely for you.”
Enkrid didn't have the energy to open his mouth. He couldn't even walk properly now, so he was half-dragged along. So he answered in his mind.
Why should I settle? Just because it repeats, just because there's another chance, why shouldn't I do my best today? If I did that, even after countless repetitions, I would still be in the same place.
Living like that, I would be trapped in today. Then there would be no tomorrow. If there is no tomorrow, there are no dreams.
If there are no dreams, then nothing has any meaning.
‘I don't want to stop.’
Even if my labored steps are only a quarter of what others take. I want to move forward. That's how I wanted to live.
Even if I couldn't become a knight, I wanted to struggle to become one.
Thud.
He had no strength to walk and his body went limp, so his foot caught on a stone.
“Don't die.”
Benzens muttered right next to his ear. His vision was blurry. He couldn't see clearly ahead.
At some point, the Ferryman of the Black River had disappeared. Enkrid felt like he was once again realizing what kind of curse this was.
“If I start over, I feel like I could do better, right?”
As one repeated today, such thoughts were bound to arise. But Enkrid was different. He always sought to walk toward tomorrow.
He knew instinctively that a failed tomorrow was better than a perfect today.
‘If I settle, it's over.’
This is why it's a curse, not a blessing. If you repeat today countless times, you can never greet the next day. At the end of his thoughts, Enkrid asked himself.
‘So, was this the best I could do?’
He didn't know. Only God would know what a perfect today looked like. The ‘today’ that Enkrid had lived was a day that was half-dependent on luck.
There was no guarantee that luck would come to him in the next 'today'. In that case, all he had to do was walk toward tomorrow, as he always had. He felt a warm body in his arms.
Looking down with blurry eyes, he saw the young black panther looking up at him. He could see its blue eyes, like lakes. And then, Enkrid lost consciousness.
He thought he might die. Then he would repeat today again. He wouldn't be discouraged just because he couldn't reach tomorrow.
Because he would repeat it, and struggle to live once more. Darkness came and enveloped Enkrid. He became a wanderer invited into the world of darkness and lost his mind.
“Did I choose wrong?”
The Ferryman of the Black River appeared. Enkrid heard him muttering to himself. He turned his head.
He could still see the smooth, black, mirror-like face with no features.
“We'll see.”
At his words, he came to his senses. When he opened his eyes, he saw the ceiling of the tent.
“Whoa, you're alive? I really thought you were a goner this time.”
Rem's voice could be heard. His shoulders, back, legs, sides—there wasn't a single place that didn't hurt. His head was dizzy, too.
“That last cut on your shoulder was a big one. Don't know which bastard did it, but they cut you good and proper.”
Rem kept chattering. Enkrid, whose consciousness had half-departed and returned, blinked a few times. Then he soon realized there was warmth at his side and lowered his hand.
A stinging pain came from around his shoulder. He felt soft fur under his hand.
“Purrrr.”
As if pleased by the touch, the young black panther made a happy sound.
‘I've made it past today.’
“You're gonna make a habit of fainting.”
“Who faints because they want to? I'm thirsty.”
“Oh, you are?”
Enkrid could see Rem sitting with his arms crossed. And Big Eyes standing behind him. Big Eyes brought him some water.
After a few sips, his throat, like parched earth given water, quickly became moist.
“Wow, our squad leader sure is tough. Look, he's alive.”
Big Eyes said, watching him drink the water.
“You lost too much blood.”
Jacksen said nonchalantly. Further in the back, the devout Squad Member was offering a prayer.
“O Lord, I offer a prayer of thanks for hearing my prayer.”
Ragna, who had been watching him quietly, spoke.
“Are you all right?”
“It's not enough to kill me.”
It was something he could say because he was alive. It was something he could say because he had passed today and met tomorrow. Enkrid gave a simple smile and lay back down.