“Huh? Eh? How did you know?”
“I'm not a prophet.”
At Enkrid's words, Rem shook a bug out of his boot and onto the ground, then spoke with a tone full of conviction.
“Did you put it there, Squad Leader?”
“I didn't.” “Hmph.”
Rem didn't withdraw his suspicious gaze. Enkrid paid no mind to Rem's stare. That wasn't what was important.
Enkrid crushed the bug Rem had dropped with his foot.
A crunch.
A rather unpleasant sensation traveled up through the sole of his boot.
“Ptui.”
Enkrid spat, roughly mixing the bug's remains with the dirt on the ground before speaking.
“You can teach me the Heart of the Beast, right?”
“Hmm? You remembered that?”
Rem asked as he fixed his boot and stood up.
“It's not something I'd forget.”
“And what about the time you were pouring liquor down your gullet, trying to forget?”
It was like that back then. The scene of his neck being cut by an axe kept appearing in his dreams, so life truly didn't feel like living.
“Can you do it? Or not?”
“What's with all this fiery passion today? Fine. Let's do it.”
Rem nodded his head.
“Jacksen, can you handle the morning duty? I'll do it tomorrow.”
One needed to eat to have strength, but there was no need to waste time on things like washing dishes.
“Yes, of course.”
Jacksen was the squad member who smiled readily and got along well with others. He had such an unremarkable personality that it was a mystery why he was even here. When he first saw him, Enkrid had thought that Jacksen played the role of a mediator here.
Jacksen ruffled his reddish-brown hair and went outside the tent. Rem, who had been staring blankly at him, blew his nose with a snort.
“There's something about that bastard that just rubs me the wrong way.”
Of course, if Jacksen had been performing his role as a mediator well, Enkrid might never have come here in the first place. While Jacksen got along so well with other units, he was actually on bad terms with the members of the fourth squad. Except for Enkrid, of course.
Enkrid was strangely trusted by his squad members. Whether it was because he wordlessly granted their various requests, or because his skills were so pathetic he seemed destined to live his whole life as a Ten-man Squad Leader, even Enkrid didn't know. He just thought it was probably one of the two reasons.
Rem started walking toward the tent's exit. Enkrid followed behind him.
“He's a shady one. I have a bad feeling about him, so it would be best not to get too close.”
And what about you? Enkrid asked back only in his head. Was this something the guy who got into a fight with his superior at his previous unit and shattered his jaw should be saying?
To him, Rem was a benefactor. But other units, especially the first platoon he used to belong to, would glare at Rem as if they wanted to kill him. The guy who did that to their Platoon Leader's jaw wouldn't look very appealing, would he?
Enkrid didn't argue. Arguing wouldn't change anything. It was a waste of time.
He'd rather spend this time learning more of the Heart of the Beast. There were many things to do besides learning the Heart of the Beast from Rem.
“It's even more suspicious seeing how close he is with the bastards from the first platoon.”
Right, let's just say that's true. When Enkrid didn't argue back, Rem stopped walking.
“Why?”
“Squad Leader, you're really strange today. Isn't this usually the timing for you to say something?”
That's right.
Normally, he would have said something like it wasn't the place of a guy who shattered his superior's jaw to talk. If not that, he would have told him to not even look at him if he wasn't going to get along.
He thought it was better to keep them apart so they wouldn't fight, rather than forcing them to get along. That was also Enkrid's secret to leading the unique Four-Four-Four Squad, also known as the Death Squad.
“I have nothing to say.”
Enkrid cut him off. Rem scratched the back of his head.
“What a strange day.”
After eating breakfast, the two found an empty lot on the outskirts of the barracks. It might seem odd to see someone training on a battlefield. But Enkrid had always been like this.
To those who knew him, it wasn't anything special. Even passersby didn't pay them much mind. And so, the instruction of the Heart of the Beast began again.
“... Have you been secretly learning from someone else? That can't be.”
“I just repeated what I learned.”
“It gets this good just from training?”
Another death was another experience. It was easier for Enkrid to steady his mind than before. Seeing this, Rem gave him a puzzled look but let it go with a “Fine.”
“From what I can see, Squad Leader, you've got a talent for it. To be able to do this much.”
Rem said something similar to what he'd said yesterday.
Talent, huh?
If only that were true. A moment ago, he had ultimately failed to dodge Rem's axe. The axe had stopped right in front of his Adam's apple.
It was so close that a flick of the wrist would have left a long scar on his neck.
“That was a close call.”
Rem said with a smirk. He seemed proud that Enkrid was learning like this. A sense of satisfaction was laced into his smile.
Enkrid felt it too.
“What do you have to do to be able to swing an axe like that?”
That axe swing from a moment ago. Rem's axe was faster than the thrust that had killed him so many times. The axe blade had neared the skin of his neck, almost touching it, in the blink of an eye.
In reality, Enkrid hadn't even blinked, but he had still lost track of the axe blade's movement.
“Hmm, talent?”
For the first time in a while, Enkrid thought that Rem was a real prick. He'd always been this kind of guy.
“If training was all it took, would there be anyone in the world who couldn't handle a blade?”
Rem chuckled.
Just as Enkrid had read the satisfaction on Rem's face earlier, he now realized that this bastard enjoyed teasing him. He was a strange bastard. Then again, who in this squad wasn't strange?
“What if I train more? Try harder? Swing my sword without even sleeping?”
Enkrid asked back reflexively. It was a dilemma he had held for a long time. If you have no talent, should you give up?
Enkrid didn't give up. If he had chosen to advance instead of giving up, what did he possess? Only the ability to move forward without getting tired.
If the so-called geniuses took ten steps, he only had the will to walk steadily, half a step or a quarter step at a time, without rest.
“My goodness. You're really strange today. Did you drink a potion of seriousness or something?”
Rem said as he roughly hooked his axe onto a rope tied around his waist.
“No.” “Squad Leader.”
Rem called Enkrid, his smile gone. He met Rem's eyes. After a short silence, Rem opened his mouth.
“People die if they don't sleep.”
A twitch.
The moment Rem finished speaking, his cheeks trembled as he tried to hold back his laughter, before he finally burst out laughing. It was his answer to the question about what would happen if he swung his sword without sleeping.
“Piss off.”
Enkrid gave him the continent's universal finger curse. Raising his middle finger. Rem cackled and said they should go get some lunch.
Enkrid didn't pester him to teach more. You can't be full from the first bite. Enkrid knew this fact all too well.
After lunch, he reviewed the swordsmanship he possessed. The basic swordsmanship of stabbing, slashing, and swinging. What he learned after the basics was the Vallen-style mercenary swordsmanship.
It wasn't shoddy. He had put in quite a bit of legwork, and it cost a good amount of money. It wasn't a swordsmanship one could learn for a few silver coins.
Vallen-style mercenary swordsmanship. It was the swordsmanship of Vallen, who, though he never reached the level of a knight, was quite famous in the mercenary world. If one had to classify it, it belonged to the Illusion Sword school.
He didn't know how Vallen originally used it. But he had managed to master several techniques himself. Enkrid poured his efforts into that.
‘After death, the same day repeats, but what remains in the body does not disappear.’
The Heart of the Beast wasn't learned with his head, but ingrained in his body. That meant what remained in his body was still there. He pushed his body to its limits.
He swung his sword so much that the palms of his hands, thick with calluses, split open again. Normally, soldiers don't use swords. A spear is the standard issue for most.
Being the Four-Four-Four Squad Leader was a privilege he had earned. Enkrid didn't want to let go of his sword. He trained again and again.
His grip ached, but he endured it. His stomach churned because his food hadn't finished digesting, but he endured it. He focused every sensation, from the tips of his toes to the tips of his fingers.
The Illusion Sword is a sword of deception. He was taught to use anything and everything as a means to deceive the opponent. In fact, a few techniques of the Vallen-Style Swordsmanship were already spread throughout the mercenary world.
For instance, a technique where one pretends to fall and then stabs the opponent. You couldn't call it cheap. Why should doing whatever it takes to survive be considered cheap?
If someone were to say that a knight would not act that way, Enkrid would not argue with them. That person had their own values. And he had his own.
The time he was allowed was half a day. His legs weren't trembling. If they gave out from just this, the daily physical training he had been doing would have been meaningless.
Enkrid's legs were sturdy.
“Having a sturdy body is quite an advantage.”
Rem said to Enkrid when he returned. A messenger had just come and gone. The sixth repetition of today; he could guess the flow of time just by looking at the sky.
“It's a body trained for over 20 years.”
Enkrid replied curtly and moved back to the platoon's position.
“Work hard so that sturdy body of yours doesn't get demoted to a training dummy.”
Just before the battle began, Rem cackled again.
“You have to do duty tomorrow.”
Jacksen added from the side. One of them seemed to be teasing him. The other seemed to be expressing his will not to be on meal duty for two days in a row.
Well, whatever their expressions, it seemed they both wished for him to return alive.
“See you later.”
The sixth today began. And Enkrid killed the enemy more easily than on the fifth day. He tripped the first enemy who charged at him and smashed the back of his head with the edge of his shield.
The second enemy, he stabbed after feinting with his sword.
Vallen-style swordsmanship.
A technique he had learned separately by putting in the legwork and money, not one commonly known in the mercenary world. He was told the wavering tip of the blade was in itself a heat haze that confused the opponent's vision. He put what he learned into practice, and it worked.
He felt a sense of accomplishment. The joy of growth, a feeling of fulfillment, once again filled his chest. What he had achieved through the repetition of a single day was not insignificant.
Enkrid did not spend his days carelessly just because he came back to life after dying. In fact, it was the opposite. He was more fierce.
More engrossed. More immersed.
He had to be, for he had lived with the yearning and desire not to miss an opportunity if one came. And so Enkrid did. He cut, struck, and knocked down enemy soldiers.
The repeated battles provided him with a different kind of experience.
‘Heart of the Beast.’
He could see things he hadn't seen on previous days. Before he knew it, it was the moment Bell fell. Since he fought in the same place every day, he saw Bell every time.
He couldn't just fall back from the front line or move to another location as he pleased. Rashly crossing the front lines was a suicidal act. It's not easy to arbitrarily change one's position on the battlefield.
‘My skills are not at that level.’
Enkrid knew himself well. He had more leeway, but he was not at the point where he could break through the enemy soldiers or perform acts close to gambling. Furthermore, he was not skilled enough to anticipate the arrow of a seasoned archer in advance.
Thwack!
Bell's head exploded again.
“Damn it.”
He had tried so hard to save him this time, but he failed again. Enkrid immediately ducked his head. As if on cue, an arrow pierced the empty air.
A sharp whoosh lingered by his ear. It was a practiced movement, as if he had anticipated it.
“Your senses seem sharp today?”
Rem said, having approached at some point.
“Go on, go take the head of the bastard who shot that arrow.”
“That's what I was about to do. Since your senses are sharp, take care of yourself.”
Rem leaves.
He once again meets the enemy lancer whose specialty is the thrust. Enkrid failed again. This time, he dodged the club of a soldier charging from behind, but the guy right next to him threw a throwing axe.
It was a damn mess. The seventh morning dawns.
“I put the bug there.”
He said to Rem.
“Are you crazy? Have you lost your mind?”
“I'm not crazy. To not let my heart waver even in a situation like this, that's the Heart of the Beast, right?”
“Hmm?”
“Teach me.”
Today begins again. Rem blinked his eyes, then accepted.
He learns. He masters.
He swings his sword. This time, he didn't even try to save Bell. To save him, he had to be able to read when the arrow would fly.
If he couldn't do that, he could only rely on luck. How does Rem dodge the arrows? Enkrid moved his body, holding the question in his mind.
He died to the thrust again.
“It's mercy.”
That damn mercy.
He dies.
And so the eighth, ninth, tenth, eleventh, twelfth…… over a hundred deaths, Enkrid repeated the today that began with death.