There was a time when his life did not even permit him to be greedy. A life of dreaming and gazing upon that dream, yet struggling all the same, knowing it was unattainable. Such was Enkrid's life.
But that was no longer the case. He could reveal his desires and charge forward. No, in fact, it was more advantageous now.
After the warm-up exercises, it was time to briefly learn how to throw knives from Jacksen.
“I want to learn more.”
“I thought you were at a beginner's level.”
Jacksen muttered as he watched Enkrid throw a knife. Enkrid replied nonchalantly.
“There was a fellow on the battlefield who threw them like this. I learned by watching.”
Jacksen stared at Enkrid, his face expressionless.
“Believe me, it's true.”
“Is that so?”
Of course.
Wasn't this how geniuses acted? While living as a dullard, he had seen countless times what geniuses, or those with talent, did. Now, he acted like one, pretending to be a genius.
It was a feat only possible because he was repeating today. Revealing his desire was advantageous because he had to maintain this attitude. And what were geniuses like?
Knowing that what lay before them was something to be seized, they would not hesitate to express their desires. Above all, he was also being sincere. If judged solely on the desire to learn, Enkrid was second to none on the continent.
“Very well.”
It was always the same. His hesitation was brief, and what followed was steeped in seriousness. Jacksen taught him properly.
It was quite an enjoyable time. Enkrid repeatedly practiced how to hold and throw the knives. In a short time, he was drenched in sweat.
“Didn't you say you had to go on duty?”
“It's fine.”
It was just enough to warm up his body, not to the point of overexertion. Today had begun once more. No, to be precise, it was the seventh today.
Instead of having Jack and Bon on his left and right, Enkrid walked on the far left.
“It's more comfortable for me to be on the far left. It's a jinx.”
What could they do when Enkrid took the lead and said this? Jack and Bon had nothing to say.
“Is that so? Well, that's peculiar.”
“Yes, please walk wherever you feel comfortable.”
The sweat cooled quickly, but the heat warming his body from within remained. Though it was the seventh time he had repeated this day, the air felt strangely different. The sunlight pierced through the cold wind and touched his skin.
The chirping of a winter bird brushed past his ear. The sensation of his feet on the soil and the reverberation of the ground with each step felt good. The air, the ground, the soil, the wind.
All of it enveloped, brushed against, warmed, and lingered before flowing away. The sky was clear too. The harsh cold of winter, the fourth of the four seasons, had arrived, heralding the end of the year and delivering a biting, knife-like wind.
But even that wind brought more refreshment than chill. On these repeating days, he had always endured with fierce intensity. Yet, for some reason, he felt a little more relaxed today.
A sense of peace enveloped his body. Not that he had forgotten the intensity. It was simply comfortable.
This path he walked, this moment, everything.
‘Why do I feel so at ease?’
He didn't know. Even though he knew he would die soon. Even though the moment of agony, of facing death, was approaching.
Even though no matter how many times he did it, dying never became familiar, always feeling like the first time.
“The throw is instantaneous. Before that, you relax your entire body. Let your whole body hang loose and concentrate amidst the calm. It will be difficult.”
Jacksen was only half right. It was difficult, yes, but not so much that he would give up. Difficult, but doable.
It was an ability granted by the Heart of the Beast: boldness. Boldness allowed him to watch everything unfold to the very end, even with death before his eyes. And Single Point Focus made him perceive the same situation in a way he never had before.
Thus, the combination of boldness and concentration allowed Enkrid to grasp the very edge of talent. Ordinarily, he would not have been able to obtain either boldness or concentration like this, but the current Enkrid now held two threads.
‘It’s working.’
Just a few lessons and a few repetitions. With only three or four sessions of repeated training, it became second nature to his body. Luck played a large part in it.
He had grasped something that he shouldn't have been able to, even with countless repetitions. That slender thread was an unparalleled joy to Enkrid. It was a joy he had never felt before.
“Are you alright?”
Bon asked from beside him. Walking along with a dazed look before breaking into a grin, he couldn't have been in his right mind. It would be a relief if he wasn't drooling.
“Ah, um, I’m fine. I’ve made a spectacle of myself.”
Enkrid walked on, needlessly wiping the corner of his mouth. Watching his cheerful steps, Jack and Bon exchanged glances. Jack asked with his eyes.
‘That bastard seems a little crazy, don’t you think?’
‘I think so too.’
The two conversed with only their eyes and hand gestures. It was a familiar routine. It was a sign language they had used since their days in the Thieves' Guild.
“It's a nice day,” Enkrid said.
“It's freezing to death out here,” Jack said with a pout.
Normally, he would have to flatter his target to lower their guard, but his target was so relaxed before he could even try any tricks that a sense of defiance naturally arose. He really wondered what was up with this bastard.
“Of course it’s cold. It’s the last of the four seasons.”
Winter is harsh. But one must not let the harshness and cold fool them into missing its warmth. Relaxing the body wasn't something that could be achieved by simply thinking about it.
Jacksen's demonstration surfaced in his mind. And over it, the half-elf assassin was superimposed. To relax the body, the mind must first be at ease.
Mental burdens, threats, and anxieties. Enkrid cast them all aside. Within his relaxed mind, the scene of the half-elf throwing the whistling throwing knife replayed endlessly.
In truth, it was no different from repeating today. What does one learn from defeat? And what had he learned from a situation where he had thrown his life away countless times?
He had passed the stage where he had to throw his life away to gain something. He repeated the questions over and over. Thanks to his moderately relaxed body and mind, his steps were somewhat fluid.
He was walking, but without the rigid discipline required for patrol duty. Walking like that, he soon found himself in the market.
“Hey, Squad Leader, what’s got you in such a good mood?”
Jack stopped and asked. He probably wasn't genuinely curious. He could be seen subtly shifting his body as he spoke.
Bon also paused his steps. Both of them moved into positions to apply pressure. They turned towards Enkrid, blocking the view of those around them, ready to draw their blades and strike at any moment.
Enkrid kept both of them in his sight and took a single, deep breath. Then, he extended his foot. He tapped Jack's shin with the tip of his boot.
He thought his body and mind were relaxed, but his body moved more in line with his will than ever before. It was a bizarrely timed kick that the opponent couldn't possibly react to.
Tap.
“Ugh!”
Jack, struck on the shin, bowed his head. Enkrid, with a light movement—so light one might call it cheerful—pressed down on the back of Jack's head with his left hand and raised his knee.
Thwack!
A sound like slapping dough erupted. Jack’s head was thrown back up. His face, nose bridge broken and a mess of blood, came into view.
“Dammit, I can’t give it to you for that price!”
It was a beat faster than usual. A movement separate from the plan he had laid out for today. It wasn’t intentional.
His body was simply moving as it pleased.
‘Does it matter?’
Enkrid didn't mind. It felt as if he had downed a drug that muddled the mind and induced pleasure. Even if he had actually taken a drug, it wouldn't have mattered.
His body felt that light.
“What the!”
He could see Bon's surprise. Enkrid's hand was already moving toward the startled Bon's neck.
“Tch!”
The startled Bon pulled his head back. It was expected. When he moved with the element of surprise, Bon always reacted in one particular pattern.
He had seen that pattern more than five times already. It was familiar. Instead of his extended left hand, Enkrid stomped his left foot on the ground and twisted his body in the opposite direction.
He pivoted on his left foot and spun. Instead of facing forward, he turned sideways and extended his right hand. In an instant, his arm's reach lengthened, and his right hand touched the face of the retreating Bon.
It couldn't have just ended with a touch.
Pow!
The snapping punch created a sound like a leather drum bursting. Enkrid's fist, heated by strength, speed, and focus, shattered Bon's face as well.
“Guh!”
Clutching his face, Bon staggered back three or four steps. Watching this, Enkrid smoothly turned his body back. Was it because he had started a little early?
He didn't know. Just because today repeated didn't mean the same things always happened. Everything could change.
Enkrid knew this very well. Where he looked, he saw the half-elf. Without even having shed his rags, the man's hand moved.
From bottom to top. A streak of light followed his right hand and flew towards him. He hadn't prepared any means of defense.
But.
‘Does it matter?’
For a moment, time slowed down. This was the second time Enkrid had experienced this. It was a moment when concentration broke its limits.
A gap in time that those who had entered the realm of genius would frequently encounter. A similar sensation had manifested when he deflected the mustached soldier's strike in the final battle with Azpen. It was the same now.
Of course, Enkrid didn't realize it. His mind was still half-entranced. His entranced mind, his blazing concentration, his razor-sharp senses, the beast's boldness.
He saw the streak of light. It allowed him to predict its destination.
‘Can I dodge it?’
No. There was no time for that. The fractured gap in time was closing. Enkrid’s rapidly processing brain produced an answer.
Thud! Screeeech!
He blocked with his arm. The blade lodged itself in the left arm he used to shield his heart. The moment he thought he heard the noise scattered by the whistle dagger, a pain flared up in his forearm.
A heavy impact and the burning pain of a blade. The pain also felt distant, dreamlike. The surrounding commotion sounded faint and far away.
Once he saw it, he wanted to have it. And once he had it, he could see. Enkrid’s eyes saw the trajectory of the whistle dagger.
And so, he blocked it. He raised his head and saw his enemy. The half-elf, who had now thrown off his rags, moved both hands without rest.
He was like a living, repeating crossbow. No, he was fiercer than that. He couldn't dodge the first one.
But this time, he could. He saw the starting point of the hand, and he predicted the end point of the flying streak of light.
Whoooosh!
He perfectly dodged two, and one grazed his cheek. The three whistles of the throwing knives combined to create a strange harmony. Having dodged them all, Enkrid pulled the dagger from his forearm.
Blood flowed from his forearm, but it wasn't enough to immobilize him. He hadn't been hit where his opponent had aimed; rather, he had blocked it with the part of his body he himself had chosen. Thanks to that, though his arm was cut, he wasn't unable to move.
The piece of leather armor he had attached to his forearm had also done its job.
“This bastard.”
The half-elf, thoroughly enraged, closed the distance. As he advanced, he continued to unleash streaks of light from who-knows-where on his body. He couldn't dodge them all.
No, he might have been able to hold on longer, but. Today was different from other days. Rotten had approached from behind.
Enkrid hadn't noticed him in time. Rotten shoved Enkrid in the back.
Thud.
That was the end of it. Three throwing knives, letting out their noises, embedded themselves: one in his heart, one in his side, and one in his neck. A terrible pain washed over him.
Enkrid’s body slowly collapsed. Squeezing out his remaining strength, he managed to stay up by planting one knee on the ground with a thud. A hot gurgle rose from the back of his throat.
Unable to hold it back, he opened his mouth, and bloody foam spilled out.
Kyaaaak!
Only then did the surrounding screams register properly in his ears. His hazy mind returned to its normal state. The pain began to feel real.
The half-elf assassin approached the fallen Enkrid. His expression was anything but pleased.
“You.”
He spat out one word and said no more. It was time for him to say, "Stubborn Lovers never miss their prey." But he didn't. No, he couldn't. The assassin's eyes were fixed on Enkrid’s face.
“This son of a bitch.”
Then he glared like a poisoned toad. Enkrid was smiling.
“Kukuk.”
Even as he coughed up bloody foam, he smiled. There was bound to be a misunderstanding here. The elf felt his opponent was mocking him, but Enkrid had no such intention.
As he lay dying, he thought.
‘Only seven times.’
He had repeated today seven times. And yet, he had found more than just a breakthrough; he could see a path beyond it. Only seven times.
No, he couldn't call it 'only'. It was something he could do because he didn't know despair or frustration, running with his eyes fixed solely on tomorrow. His meager talent had created a man who strived endlessly.
And that endless effort had allowed one man to grasp the very edge of talent. It was a miracle. No, there were no miracles.
This was simply a reward earned for not harboring despair or frustration on any of the repeated todays. In the day to come, the today that would rise again. Enkrid believed he could end this.
“Crazy bastard.”
Thud!
The elf, right in front of him, pierced Enkrid’s neck once more with his long, extended blade. That was the end. The moment of death.
Death approached, and darkness blanketed the world. Beyond the darkness, he saw the ferryman plying his way across the river.
Heh heh!
He was laughing at Enkrid again. Enkrid was quite curious about the next time he would meet the ferryman. He wondered just how that sneer would change.
“Good morning.”
Waking up again to a new morning. Enkrid rose with a light heart. It wasn't perfect, but he had learned how to throw the whistling throwing knives.
And though it wasn't perfect either, he had learned the monk's basic exercises from Audin.
“It's freezing to death out here, what's got you in such a good mood?”
“Because I had a good dream.”
A very, very good dream. He had spent the day in a hazy state of mind. That day, that today.
Enkrid had caught a glimpse of the life of a talented person. And he was more than satisfied. At the same time, he saw the path forward.
The path forward, that is, the way to overcome the wall that blocked his way.