As the Ferryman of the Black River had said, Enkrid's daily life was like repeating today. His days were filled with nothing but training.
"Control, control, I said control."
Sparring with Rem focused on Enkrid perfectly controlling his body and sword. The chilling killing intent he sometimes felt was a trick played by Jacksen's eyes, staring at him from some hidden place. Jacksen had a talent for making one's body dry up just by looking at them.
It felt like he would die if he let his guard down for even a moment. Jacksen himself did nothing, but his gaze alone made him think such thoughts, which was truly maddening. Finding Jacksen, who unleashed his killing intent every time, was also part of the training.
He tried to expand the realm of his hearing and five senses to do so, but he failed every time. The concept of the 'Gate of the Sixth Sense' didn't resonate with Enkrid.
"It doesn't come easily."
Jacksen stubbornly repeated the same act. Enkrid started to lose weight. The training was that difficult to endure.
But he didn't tell him to stop.
"Cut it out, you sly wildcat. You're really getting on my nerves."
"A barbarian like you felt my killing intent? My subtlety must be lacking."
"You let it slip on purpose, yet you talk so smoothly. Axe, where's my axe, my aaaaaxe to split that wildcat's head open."
Watching the withering Enkrid, Rem would throw in a word or two on his behalf, and naturally, an argument would follow. Then, Enkrid would have to stop Rem, who was looking for his axe while humming a tune.
"I'm doing this because I want to."
"Damn it. I'm just saying do it in moderation, in moderation."
For someone who talked about 'moderation', there wasn't a day Enkrid's entire body wasn't covered in bruises. It was thanks to being hit by Rem's fists and axe. Rem didn't know how to do things in moderation either.
Enkrid wondered if Rem was in any position to say that, but he didn't tell Rem to stop either. What would have happened if he hadn't trained his body with the Technique of Isolation? He probably wouldn't have been able to endure it like he was now.
Whenever Audin had a chance, he would ask.
"You can rest if it's hard, brother."
This bastard definitely seemed like a devilish monk, not a man of god. Rest if it's hard. It's okay to stop.
He always had such words on his lips. It was truly the whisper of a devil. If he said, "Should I?"
Audin would hastily charge at him, saying, "Looks like you need to train your mental strength too."
"Mental strength comes from physical strength. This is a secret, but I'll only tell you, brother. In truth, mental strength comes from muscle."
A single joke would not only increase the weight he had to lift that day, but the Technique of Isolation and wrestling would also become more aggressive. The crazy holy man had a hobby of tormenting people by imitating a devil. Not that he was complaining about it.
Sometimes, very rarely. Whenever he felt so exhausted that he wanted to rest, Audin's devilish whispers served to awaken Enkrid's spirit.
"I'd like to rest a bit today."
He would say this on purpose, knowing how Audin would react. Then, Audin would say with a wide smile, "It must have been manageable for you." It was a process of knowing it was a provocation and preparing a corresponding training regimen to shove into Enkrid's body.
It was grueling and arduous. No one would say this wasn't arduous. However, the results of his training were steadily accumulating in his body more than ever before.
He still couldn't block Rem's axe when it became a flash of light. But he could now block two out of three whip-like axe swings without losing his balance. While sparring with Ragna, his ability to read his opponent's moves improved.
If before he was busy just seeing one step ahead, now his means of weaving together several feints to make his opponent move as he intended had become sharper. Ragna and Rem were distinctly different opponents, but both were helpful to Enkrid. But his detection of Jacksen's killing intent was still completely blocked.
‘The Gate of the Sixth Sense.’
How many times had he repeated the process of goosebumps covering his entire body? The thought that he had to receive that gaze, that killing intent, at any time, sent a chill down his spine. It was terrifying.
Just as terrifying as dying and repeating today. He had met an assassin twice so far. Both times he had to repeat the day, but he had never felt a killing intent like this.
They said a well-trained assassin showed no killing intent at all. Enkrid recalled the assassins he had met. The first was in the medical tent.
‘I heard a sound rather than felt killing intent.’
Was that guy clumsy? The second time, when facing the half-elf who threw the whistling throwing knife, he tried not to miss any of the guy's movements, not even the twitch of a fingertip. He had to stare with wide-open eyes.
Both were far from what could be called utilizing the sixth sense. Before he knew it, the harsh cold of winter, the end of the four seasons, began to slowly bow its head. It couldn't be called warm yet, but the weather was gradually getting milder.
If it rained when it was supposed to snow, it would become the spring rain, a sign heralding the start of a new year. Still, the cold would linger for a while. This region was originally like that.
A place where the cold lasted long. Thinking of assassins naturally led his thoughts there.
‘They said they were persistent, but are they not coming anymore?’
The Grey Dogs, the special unit Azpen prided itself on, were relentless bastards. Hadn't he experienced that firsthand?
‘Sending an assassin just to catch one soldier.’
He was keeping it in mind, but there were no signs of an attack. To be honest, he wondered if he could even react if someone were targeting him right now. He was too busy being tormented by Rem, Ragna, Audin, and Jacksen.
‘It'll work out somehow.’
Right now was not the time to worry about the Grey Dogs or grey cats.
‘It's a gift for the me of tomorrow.’
The time he poured into his body today, the training resulting from it, was always a gift. For the me of tomorrow would accept today's pain as pleasure.
Mitch Hurrier blew away the winter air in the middle of the sparring pit. Steam rose from his entire body as he moved and swung his sword. Mitch forgot the cold.
He pictured only the sword, himself, and his opponent. He swung and swung again. As soon as he got up from his sickbed and recovered, Mitch Hurrier acted like a man crazed by the sword.
It was a weighted practice sword, its blade made thick and heavy for training. The sword drew several lines in the air before stopping, its tip held diagonally as if to pierce the sky. Afterward, tendons bulged on Mitch's arm muscles, and the tip of the sword cut through the air.
Swoosh— From top to bottom. It was a strike that would have given goosebumps to anyone with a discerning eye. The sword drew a line perpendicular to the ground, its tip not wavering in the slightest as it drew a perfect straight line.
The fact that he could show such a strike after swinging a sword three times heavier than an ordinary longsword for hours was itself an astonishing feat. Mitch Hurrier had become a tree that grew by feeding on defeat.
‘So he can't die like that.’
While he was bedridden, he heard they had sent an assassin after the man who had struck him down. He was so irritated when he heard that. But the assassination failed.
That made Mitch happy.
‘You must die by my hand.’
And on the battlefield, at that. Ever since his defeat by the soldier named Enkrid, surpassing that man had become Mitch Hurrier's reason for living, his goal in life.
"It is good to see, but also not good to see."
His father sternly rebuked Mitch for it. Becoming a mad dog crazed by the sword was not what the head of the family wanted in a family member. But what did that matter?
It was better than sending an assassin using the Grey Dogs' name for the sake of the family's honor.
‘My way is much more sound.’
Mitch smiled.
Hoping and longing to one day meet the opponent who had stabbed him on the battlefield. And that was not likely to be a vain delusion. Keeping in mind that they had been defeated by the enemy's knights on the previous battlefield, Azpen was gathering a large-scale army.
‘See you on the battlefield.’
His opponent's face was clearly etched in his memory. He would never forget it for the rest of his life. Because it was the first time he had lost like that.
Thanks to that, for the first time in his life, he became a training addict who never left the sparring pit. The commander of the Grey Dogs, who had seen Mitch's condition, stopped the original plan to send more assassins.
"You think you can get him if you meet again?"
"I will meet him. And I will kill him."
After hearing Mitch's answer, the commander dropped the assassin issue. It meant they would not be sending anything after that soldier again.
"Let's take back what I said about you changing. That seems right."
Rem said after their spar of trading blows had ended.
"It looks like you've hit a plateau."
The foul-mouthed barbarian rarely spat such venomous words at Enkrid.
"Is it a habit of yours to stop whenever it feels like your skills are improving?"
Enkrid didn't bother to argue with those words. Because it wasn't hard to understand why he was acting like that. It's usually like that.
Growth that halts just when the teacher is showing passion. It can be frustrating for the one watching. Rem wasn't the only one.
"It's strange how you can't seem to apply anything. Even though you mastered the fundamentals so quickly."
"Usually, when someone's skills improve in a short time, you'd say they have talent, but... Squad Leader, it feels like you're just barely keeping up."
"Your skills definitely improved in a short period of time, though."
Ragna could be sharp at times. In any case, he also said the same thing as Rem. Audin was similar.
"Brother, only training can make your body move as you think. It will come with repetition. I mean, that's usually the case, but, hmm, Squad Leader brother, you are a bit slow."
He had a long way of saying Enkrid was running in place. Jacksen didn't say much. After all, Enkrid hadn't been able to grasp even a thread of this Gate of the Sixth Sense, or whatever hole it was, from the very beginning.
It was the morning training session. The standing army was made up of those whose profession was to train their bodies. They weren't called professional soldiers for nothing.
It was a place where everyone trained their bodies like that. Rem, who had been concentrating on his training, occupying the center of the long corridor, suddenly stopped.
"Let's call it a day."
"Alright."
Rem left Enkrid and went inside their quarters. He hadn't given up. He didn't think that for a moment.
It was just that what was needed now wasn't simple sparring.
"Real combat."
At his murmur upon entering the quarters. Aster peeked up at him. The eyes of the other squad members also glanced at Rem.
Soon, for the first time since joining the squad, Ragna, Audin, Rem, and Jacksen were in agreement. When Enkrid came inside after them, Jacksen grabbed his arm and said.
"Let's take a request."
"Huh?"
"It's time for real combat. It would be great if we could throw you onto a battlefield and have you come back alive, but well, that's not something we can do right now."
Rem added.
Everyone seemed to share the same opinion. Enkrid was newly surprised by their attitude.
‘I knew they wouldn't give up, but...’
He hadn't expected them to come together and suggest something like this. It was amazing enough that the lazy Ragna was actively participating. The four of them had become of one mind.
It was a sight Enkrid thought he would never see, not even in his dreams.
"Nyaa."
Aster cried at his feet. Enkrid picked up the panther and said, "Actually, I was thinking the same thing." It wasn't that he intended to throw his life away and repeat the day.
It was just that Enkrid had always forged his body and swung his sword on the battlefield, in real combat. After training and drilling, it was only natural to want to test his skills. Those packed with talent could just shake off a plateau and move on.
But he had no such talent. He just had to learn by throwing his body into what he lacked.
‘If I'm blocked and I've stopped.’
He would just do something. Whether it was struggling desperately or dancing, as always, Enkrid would grasp at straws. That was the way he had lived.
"Starting tomorrow morning, let's go out and take a request. It'd be good if there was a monster subjugation or something."
"I heard there was one."
Enkrid had already looked into it.
"So you already had something in mind."
Jacksen said.
Enkrid replied, scratching Aster's head with his fingertips, "Yeah." Hadn't Jacksen said it countless times? What was the Gate of the Sixth Sense?
To open it, he had to peek into the realm of instinct. Is it possible to perceive something with an unseen sense, not the five senses?
"It's possible. However, it's not a truly unseen sense. When a beast hunts its prey or sprints, where do you think that intuition, that judgment made within seconds, comes from? What about the sense herbivores use to avoid predators?"
That was Jacksen's definition of the sixth sense. Human senses weren't just about seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling, and touching. Sense of balance, sense of position, kinesthetic sense, sense of temperature, and so on.
The human body was composed of various senses. If one repeatedly fought with all their senses sharpened like a blade. He said one would naturally learn to read killing intent, predict, and react in the realm of instinct.
He said that when that time came, you could even dodge a knife flying at the back of your head.
"Anyone at the level of a knight can do it. Actual knights also receive this kind of training."
In the words Jacksen added at the end, Enkrid felt his rough consideration. It was uncharacteristic, but it was also a consideration typical of Jacksen.
"Got it."
It's also a knight's training. So don't give up. He had even received his encouragement.
Since he had used a beast as an example, he was thinking of meeting a monster, which was similar. A monster's instinct would also be similar. And the killing intent they emitted would be rawer than Jacksen's. Of course, not everything went according to Enkrid's thoughts.
"A request? Then handle this first. We're too short-staffed."
The next morning, as he was looking for a monster subjugation request, the squad leader from the platoon next door suddenly cut in and made a request. It was a request from a shoemaker to check out a strange noise that came from his shoe shop at night.
He said it seemed like some kind of undead monster was living underneath.
"If there was something like that in the city, there would have been an uproar long ago."
"I know. But what can I do? It's good to finish a request and get some credit. Let's just take care of it quickly. If you have time, please listen. I, uh, I even did some sewing for you before."
That's right.
It was that squad leader. The friend who had done the sewing for him when he overcame the first 'today', the squad leader who liked to drink. In the end, he nodded.
After agreeing, he planned to just relieve the craftsman's anxiety and leave. What kind of monster would come out from under his shop floor? As he stopped by their quarters to get ready.
"Aren't you going on the monster subjugation request?"
Jacksen habitually dropped the honorifics at the end of his sentences.
"Yeah, after this."
He had already said he would go on the monster request too. It seemed he could go right after this was done. This real combat would be helpful in many ways.
‘My sword, my senses, my heart, and how to use my body.’
He felt like he would grasp something if he cut down monsters. And so he arrived at the shoemaker's house.
"Here, look. When I finally opened up the floor, I found this!"
The craftsman was agitated. Enkrid was also surprised. There was a hole in the basement of the craftsman's house.
An artificial-looking cave was visible inside.
"Wait, I'll go in and take a look first."
He listened closely to what was inside, but there was no sound. Enkrid spoke and stepped into the hole the craftsman had opened.
‘I'll need a torch.’
It wasn't complete darkness. Thanks to the light seeping in through the open hole, he could see a little ahead. It was a gentle slope.
It wasn't difficult to go down. As he entered and walked a little forward, he felt like he was walking through a dungeon created by a mage or a monster. He hadn't even taken a few steps.
The light from the candle lit above still seeped in from behind him. And there he was met with a fork of six paths.
"What kind of madman made this?"
He muttered to himself. No matter how he looked at it, it reeked of being artificial. Enkrid stepped into the first passage on the left among the six.
There was no sign of anything. He took a few more steps and went inside.
Step, step.
Other than the sound of the wind passing through the passage, there were no signs of life or any other sounds.
However.
Woong— Soon, a tiny vibrating sound was heard. Enkrid saw a flash of light explode before his eyes.
B-oom.
He heard an explosion, and it felt like hot iron skewers were entering his lungs and tearing through his insides. Then his memory cut off, and morning dawned again. Naturally, Enkrid knew why this had happened.
‘I died.’
The last sensation left in his body was heat. In other words, it was a searing heat. He would have to figure out how he died from now on.