Today repeated itself. Enkrid spent every single one of those days valuably. Not a single day was wasted.
‘I’m mediocre.’
When it came to the sword, he could be neither a man of talent nor a prodigy. A genius was, of course, out of the question. After the eighth failure, Enkrid thought.
‘I tried to finish the meal with one poke of the fork.’
He, who was not even talented, let alone a genius, had tried to do just that. Enkrid divided his tasks.
‘I will go half of a half-step at a time.’
There was no room for boredom. The repeating today, and his skills that grew along with it. It was a drug.
Enkrid found this situation endlessly enjoyable.
‘There are many good points.’
The best part was that he could constantly experience real combat. And it was a rich experience, one paid for with his life. Enkrid made the most of it, using his days to the fullest before heading out to the battlefield.
Training the Heart of the Beast. Learning new swordsmanship. The repeating time also allowed him to memorize the events happening around him.
A good example was the gambling game in the next barracks that started with breakfast.
“Damn it! You cheated, didn't you?”
“What do you mean, cheated, you bastard. I’m just lucky.”
A familiar morning scene. It wasn't cheating. He knew because he had seen it several times.
The dice always showed the same numbers, and Enkrid knew it. He walked past it and lived another day.
It repeated.
The repeated real combat broadened Enkrid’s perspective. To be precise, he had a lot of time to think, so the scope of his thoughts widened.
‘I don’t have to go out of my way to bat away an arrow to save Bell.’
That was something only a first-rate mercenary could do. Enkrid cleanly gave up, and by doing so, he was able to save Bell.
Thwack!
It was simply a matter of finding a sturdier shield. The arrow lodged itself in the round shield. No matter how skilled the archer, they couldn't pierce the head of a soldier hiding behind a shield.
“... Where did you pop out from?”
Bell, who had fallen, said with wide eyes.
“How long are you going to roll around on the ground? Get up, now.”
Enkrid roughly wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, then kicked Bell in the rump. Rubbing his rear, Bell headed back to the battlefield.
‘If I save him here, will I be able to see his face tomorrow?’
He didn't know. He had just made this the first point. To tear through the battlefield and save Bell, that was the small goal Enkrid had set for himself.
He accomplished it on the twenty-fifth today.
“Well, well. Look who it is, the Mother from the monastery. If you have time, save me too. Instead of saving some loafer from another unit.”
It was a daily routine for Rem to pop up from behind and spout nonsense. Every time he saved Bell, Rem would spew a different repertoire of crazy talk. And every time, Enkrid would retort.
Mother was the title for the nun in charge of a monastery.
“You are excommunicated. You’re too ugly.”
The monastery only accepts believers. Excommunication was a command to leave the Mother’s embrace, in other words, to be kicked out of the monastery. It was a rather high-level joke to have with Rem.
“A dirty world that discriminates based on looks, ptooey.”
Rem, undaunted as always, charged forward. He was probably going to catch that guy with the hawk eyes or whatever. Enkrid knew without being told.
Even after repeating the day about fifty times, Enkrid could not defeat the enemy lancer. He had been lucky enough to block several attacks once, but at that moment, someone popped out from the side and smashed his head with a hammer.
“No need to drag this out, is there.”
The one who had smashed Enkrid’s head said. Enkrid didn't even know how he had been hit. His vision suddenly spun, and the ground was rushing up to meet him.
He didn't even have the presence of mind to shake his head. He just felt a sticky liquid flowing down his face. When he came to his senses, even just a little, he only realized that he had dropped his sword and was on his knees.
“This must be painful. This is a mercy.”
Immediately, a blade pierced his neck, forcing him to struggle in agony. A blade dug into his neck. A pain he could never get used to shot through his entire body.
The pain of having his neck gouged with a heated iron skewer ripped through his brain. As he died, Enkrid blinked. The blood that had entered his eyes stained the world red.
Beyond that red-stained vision, he saw the red eyes of the enemy soldier with the sword, visible through his helmet. They probably weren't actually red, but that's how they looked at the time. A thin pleasure flickered in the enemy soldier's eyes.
Having died so many times, he was starting to see all sorts of things. It was likely thanks to his trained Heart of the Beast.
‘What a pervert.’
His goal wasn't to grant mercy, but to kill in that way because he felt ecstasy from murder. The man always thrust his blade into the neck and pulled it out slowly. He probably got erect feeling another's last breath scatter through the sword.
Even after realizing that, Enkrid was calm. Having crossed the threshold of death countless times, a natural boldness had taken root. That was only to be expected.
And then.
“Are you having a secret rendezvous behind my back or something?”
On the eighty-sixth day, Rem said abruptly. At Rem’s words, Enkrid furrowed his brows. What kind of nonsense was this?
“What?”
“The Heart of the Beast, you learned it from me. But there’s no way it could be trained this much on your own.”
The axe blade had stopped barely a finger's breadth from his eyeball. It was a distance where the wind pressure alone would have damaged his cornea if it had been any closer. Thanks to that, Enkrid could only see half of Rem’s face beyond the sharply honed axe blade in his vision.
But even in a moment like this, his breathing didn't falter one bit. It was a strength brought by the Heart of the Beast. A boldness that allowed him to endure, even knowing pain was coming.
Looking into Rem’s questioning eyes beyond the axe blade, Enkrid thought.
‘So this can happen too.’
His Heart of the Beast had been trained by repeating today, so for the one who taught it to him, it must be a baffling situation. The reason he had only just realized this was because Rem was usually the type of squadmate who acted without thinking.
Rem talked a lot of nonsense, but he wasn't the type to question things. But the Heart of the Beast must be a different story. Because he was the one who had personally taught it.
Enkrid did not make a pathetic excuse. There was no need to. He could just think it over for the rest of today, and then fix it when today began again.
Tuk, Rem pulled the axe back. Enkrid’s vision cleared. There wasn't a single scratch on his face.
Rem handled the heavy axe as if it were his own hand. Having pulled back the axe, Rem scratched his head with the end of the handle.
“I don’t get it, I was just wondering if you learned more from some other guy besides me.”
Even as he said it, his face showed that he didn't think it made sense. Enkrid was the Four-Four-Four Squad Leader, and this damn squad was a gathering of delinquents who wouldn't listen to anyone if he wasn't around. Enkrid had never left this squad since learning the Heart of the Beast from Rem.
Therefore, he wouldn't have had time to learn, even if he wanted to. Rem had been watching Enkrid all this time. It would be a different story if he had secretly learned while standing watch, but.
That didn’t make sense either.
“Your sword skills are at a level where if you died this afternoon, I’d just say ‘Oh, well,’ but how can only your heart’s hide get thicker?”
What a way with words. He would indeed die this afternoon. Rem had said it without knowing anything, but it felt like the words carried a hidden barb.
“I’ve been on the verge of death about eighty times.”
Answering roughly, Enkrid thought. He wouldn't be able to learn more of the Heart of the Beast from Rem. No excuse could perfectly resolve the suspicion of this man from a barbarian tribe.
‘I can’t just say, I learn from you every day as today repeats, and I also learn by dying, and that’s how it happened.’
But he could probably gloss over it. Rem wasn't such a picky man. And indeed, he was right.
It didn't even take much time.
“Let’s just say that’s the case. They say sometimes the Goddess of Fortune unknowingly drops a coin.”
It was a common saying for soldiers who survived by sheer chance. Did that also apply when learning a secret art like this? What did it matter if it didn't?
As long as Rem let it go, that was all that mattered.
“Thanks to you, it’s more interesting than before. Your skills have improved a bit. What have you been doing in secret?”
“Something painful enough to kill me.”
Enkrid did not lie.
“Right, a man’s got to have a few secrets. That’s what makes a man a man. I know a thing or two.”
Rem didn't even care about that. He just said his piece as usual and raised his axe.
“Another round?”
Rem said, holding his axe. Enkrid silently raised his sword. If saving the falling soldier Bell was the first goal.
The second, and final, goal was to kill that thrusting pervert bastard. The one who felt ecstasy every time he killed someone. The preparations for that were steady.
And so, on the one hundred and eleventh day, it was time for his spar with Rem. Enkrid pulled his arm back, flexing his muscles. He stretched his left foot forward, trying to step on Rem’s foot.
Rem quickly pulled his foot back, and seeing this, Enkrid planted his left foot on the ground instead of Rem's foot, using it as a pivot to twist his waist and swing his sword with all his might. The foot was a feint. A move aimed at Rem’s retreat.
He put strength into his muscles and thrust his sword. In a fleeting moment, Enkrid saw Rem’s arm bend like a whip. It was such an unrealistic sight that it looked as if the axe in his hand was bending too.
Clang!
It happened in an instant. The axe blade, after bending, shot up like a lightning bolt. It struck the sword Enkrid held.
The sword flew upwards. The sword, which had slipped from Enkrid’s hand and shot up, spun in the air before landing on the ground with a smack. It was the sound of the sword’s flat side coincidentally hitting a stone embedded in the ground.
He could see the sword rolling on the ground.
“Let me see.”
Rem suddenly approached and grabbed Enkrid’s wrist. His hand trembled from the shock of dropping the sword. Rem looked at Enkrid’s hand, clicked his tongue, and said.
“This should have bled a little.”
“What?”
He should have controlled his strength, but what kind of thing was this to say after swinging an axe like a brute.
“That thrust was decent, it was decent, but, well, it was a little lacking. I’m not good at these explanations, but what I mean is, your palm should have been torn apart just now. Not just letting go of the sword.”
“Never let the sword leave your hand, even in death?”
Enkrid raised the end of his sentence, his right hand still held. It was something he had heard countless times from his swordsmanship instructors. Counting the repeating days was an arduous task.
Enkrid remembered them by starting each day a little differently. His memory had been exceptional since he was a child, after all. Until now, that memory hadn't been of much help in swordsmanship.
Of course, it was helpful now. Especially when ruminating on what his instructors had taught him. He had just spoken while chewing on that lesson.
“What kind of bullshit is that? If you need to, you throw the sword in your enemy’s face. Ugh, alright. Let's make it simple. That thrust just now, where were you aiming?”
Rem snorted at those words and spoke. Enkrid could not answer easily. This thrust was his secret move.
It was a technique he had learned by being stabbed in the neck over a hundred times by the enemy lancer. From the overall posture, the position of his feet and the shift of his center of gravity when using the sword, the movement of his muscles, the direction of his toes, to the way he gripped the sword.
He had stolen and mimicked everything.
“That last sword strike, it looked plausible on the surface, but, well, damn it. This is so hard to explain. Here, look at this.”
Rem lowered his axe and drew a large circle on the dirt ground. It was about the size of a human head.
“Let’s say our destination is somewhere around here.”
As he spoke, Rem moved his axe over the circle before making a dot with a jab.
“But we’re actually going to go here.”
At first, Enkrid wondered what this meant. But the time he had spent learning from swordsmanship instructors had not been in vain. Even though it was a crappy explanation, he understood it instantly, like a pickled fruit melting on his tongue.
‘The target point.’
What was embedded in the thrust he had just delivered? Did he want to be praised for doing well? Did he want to be acknowledged, that since he mimicked it well, he too had at least a speck of talent?
What was the point? What was a sword for? It was for cutting and stabbing opponents, a lethal weapon.
Among them, the thrust could be called the basic of swordsmanship, used to aim for a single point. It was especially used in rapier arts. He had heard there were even knights whose main weapon was a thin blade used to pierce the gaps in armor.
“I really can’t explain it any better. You let go of the sword so easily because you assumed I would naturally dodge or block it. But that thrust just now needed to be certain. Bang, I’m going to stab you. You can’t dodge. You needed to show that with conviction.”
After speaking, Rem was still mulling over whether he had explained it properly. Since he was a guy who played at his own pace, he was terrible at explaining. However, if the other person roughly understood, then even this explanation that sounded like the neighbor's dog barking could be called excellent.
Therefore, to Enkrid, it was an excellent explanation.
‘Because there was no conviction in my sword.’
The thrust just now was the thrust of a third-rate mercenary. On the one hundred and eleventh day, Enkrid understood. He performed the full-power thrust until the one hundred and twenty-third day.
And on the one hundred and twenty-fourth day, his palm was torn apart by Rem’s lightning-fast axe blow. It wasn't just torn, it was burst open. Blood trickled down from his palm.
Enkrid saw it and smiled. Because he had achieved what he desired.
“Are you completely crazy now? Don’t you know there’s no one more dangerous on the battlefield than a crazy ally? No, why do you keep laughing.”
Seeing this, Rem showed a rare sign of panic, but Enkrid couldn't hold back the laughter that was coming out.
“Shit, stop laughing. You look like a madman.”
Rem said, watching him. This was what happened on the one hundred and twenty-fourth ‘today’.