The morning of 'today' has dawned once again.
Encrid repeated the same 'today' once more.
The chains of ominousness, beyond the Sense of Evasion, still tightened around his body.
His limbs were stiff, unable to move.
Meanwhile, nothing was different about watching someone die.
By the time evening approached, Encrid said what needed to be said.
At least the bare minimum of preparation.
"Ragna, hold the sword and rest."
Though he had said it beforehand, the sword wasn't the issue.
He was exhausted.
He was injured.
He was far from being in his best condition.
Knowing this didn't mean it could be stopped.
That's why it was a catastrophe.
It wasn't called a catastrophe for no reason.
The Knight once again killed all of his comrades.
The third ''today'' passed, and the fourth ''today'' followed.
It repeated.
The ominousness, the tightening chains, the death of his comrades, his own death, the pain, and sometimes, he met the ferryman of the river.
"It's despair."
The ferryman again planted the two words, despair, in his mind.
Encrid did not respond.
"It's despair."
Twelve ''today's' passed.
The same 'today' repeated over and over.
Bound by the chains of ominousness, trapped in stillness, Encrid filled his eyes with the deaths of his comrades.
He never once looked away.
He couldn't.
Krais, terrible at fighting, yet insisted on standing in his way.
The one who talked about running every day—why was he showing his back in front of him now?
This was a curse.
That's why it didn't dull.
Neither the physical pain nor the inner pain lessened.
He always had to endure the same pain.
He always had to witness everything.
Though Encrid had never intended to look away in the first place, pain was still pain.
"This is despair."
The ferryman, with a light tone, passed by.
It was the twenty-second 'today'.
Wriggle.
Just after Sinar's chest was split open, Encrid's finger twitched.
'Today's' repetition was slightly different from the past twenty-one 'todays'.
"Fiance."
She didn't die.
In the first 'today', he thought she had died, but she was no ordinary person either.
She twisted the sword's trajectory with Naidil and minimized the damage.
Within her moves were two blended sword techniques: one for striking and one for defending.
What about Ragna? He didn't bet on speed against his opponent's sword strikes.
Instead, he stood his ground with his sword, enduring with strength.
They were people with much to learn from.
Wriggle.
Ragna, Krais, Dunbachel, Esther.
After witnessing all their deaths, Encrid regained freedom in his hand.
"Finally, I can move."
And a simple phrase.
"Huh?"
Yet the man with the brown hair still thrust his blade into Encrid's heart.
Encrid died again.
Splash.
It was the black river and the ferryman.
With nothing else to do, he showed up again.
"It's despair."
The ferryman, who had conveyed his meaning, directed his unfocused gaze towards Encrid.
Encrid looked at the ferryman indifferently.
Even though he spoke of despair every time, there was not a hint of weariness or boredom in his expression.
As Encrid continued to watch, his body slowly began to fade.
It was time to return to reality.
Time to live through another 'today', where he would have to witness the deaths of his comrades again.
It was the moment to return to the repeating day of death.
His body and face blurred like smoke.
The ferryman watched Encrid.
He didn't speak through expressions.
But sometimes, he would express a part of his emotions.
Even now, he did.
As the time in the dream came to an end and Encrid's body blurred, the ferryman conveyed part of his feelings.
This time, he even put them into words.
"Are you smiling?"
* * *
The river disappeared.
Encrid woke up from the dream.
Thus began another repetition of 'today'.
The thirty-second time.
"What a disturbing dream."
Encrid muttered as soon as he got up.
This was the first thing he did.
Dismissing the passing day as a dream.
Though, to be precise, it wasn't so much dismissing it as a dream, but using it as the first step forward.
A day where nothing can be done.
It's quite, no, extremely unpleasant, isn't it?
It felt like bugs were crawling all over his body.
"What kind of dream was it?"
From the side, Krais, wiping the sleep from his eyes, asked.
"A dream where you die."
"Bad luck."
Krais responded sincerely to Encrid's honest words.
"Ragna, I also dreamed of you dying. Hold your sword."
"Truly bad luck."
Ragna replied with sincerity as well, making it a truly heartwarming morning.
Though Ragna didn't believe in superstition, anyone might feel uneasy hearing such a comment.
Especially since it was coming from Encrid.
"Did you catch some nonsense from that barbarian?"
Ragna rarely expressed complaints, but he did now.
Though his tone was indifferent, the content wasn't quite right.
Encrid gave an expected response.
"Is that an insult? Are you challenging me to a duel?"
Was he comparing him to Rem?
Casually mixing in a joke, Encrid responded lightly, and Ragna didn't bother answering.
Encrid moved with more energy than in any of the previous days.
Despair? That was not something that easily reached his heart.
He acknowledged it was an extreme situation.
He acknowledged that the opponent was unbelievably monstrous.
But the answer was clear.
'Once.'
If he could withstand the first strike, the opponent would retreat.
So, is this really despair?
No.
Even if there was a way to avoid it, he wouldn't take it.
The opponent was a Knight.
Even if they came as a Grim Reaper, Encrid felt a pure joy at the approach of his dream.
With the pain came exhilaration as well.
Bury the deaths of his comrades in dreams and move forward. For Encrid, this was the starting point.
In other words, no one would die.
Thus, only a clear answer remained.
'Just endure.'
And if he couldn't?
Then keep trying until he could.
Do whatever was necessary to make it happen.
That was all there was to it.
Did he have to witness his comrades die over and over?
If that was despair?
'It's weak.'
How many times have these days passed?
There were many ways to break the repetition of 'today'.
Does a repeating day have to unfold in exactly the same way?
He already knew it didn't.
He could now do things he hadn't even considered when he couldn't move his body.
Encrid began by gathering his gear from the corner of the tent.
Should he wrap himself in bandages and armor?
No, that wouldn't mean anything.
Hadn't he seen the Knight's sword?
Armor wouldn't stop it.
Even what Sinar wore wasn't ordinary armor, yet it was still cut through like nothing.
That strike carried something within it.
He had an idea of what it was.
Will.
The Knight was one who used Will.
Encrid clearly recognized this.
So, what should he do?
Should he just deflect it?
Would the Snake Sword work?
By now, he had already forgotten about the battered state of his own body.
Another similar day passed.
"You've all worked hard."
Encrid always said something similar.
Even though things repeated, there were some things that shouldn't be dulled.
Encrid didn't forget that.
After the usual words of thanks and some other trivial conversations passed.
"It's a curse, a curse."
With Krais' words, there was a loud tear, and the tent was ripped apart as the man with brown hair entered.
The same beginning as always.
"Sorry about this."
The man spoke, and Encrid began his preparations.
"If you stop my strike once, I'll leave. That would be the only way to respect my honor."
He acted like he was doing something he didn't want to do.
And yet, he couldn't block even a single sword strike.
While the man continued speaking, Encrid moved.
In fact, he didn't even properly listen to what the man said.
How could he? He'd heard it too many times already.
There are things that grow dull through repetition, but there are also things that do not.
The words that stuck in his memory had grown tiresome.
Honor, or whatever—his focus flared.
The shackles of ominousness tightened around his body, but he had already begun to overcome it once.
From the tips of his fingers, he commanded every muscle in his body.
Move.
Encrid's foot naturally stepped forward.
His body moved as he willed.
Though the ominousness still tightened around his neck, it didn't matter.
He could ignore it.
After all, he was moving.
The man noticed the one who took a step without listening to his words.
His gaze turned toward Encrid.
Encrid spoke.
"Me first."
"Fiance."
Sinar tried to stop him, but it was already too late.
"Looks like I'm the target, huh? Or am I wrong?"
He said this as he took another step.
He was right.
From everything he had learned from all the previous days, he had figured out everything he needed to.
In order to overcome 'today', he had to recognize and confront what was necessary from that day.
The target is me.
Facing the situation with determination, he was not the type to ever turn away.
He spoke and confronted the man, based on what he had learned through analyzing the situation.
The man, the Knight, raised his sword.
Ping!
The chipped short sword was drawn, the weapon of the Grim Reaper.
The Grim Reaper of this dream raised his weapon.
"How bold you are."
He swung his sword.
Thud.
Encrid tried to block, but the opponent's sword struck first.
Faster than Laikanos?
Was it similar to Jaxon's non-lethal thrust?
He had seen it countless times, but this was the first time he tried to block it.
Encrid could feel the difference in speed.
The opponent started from his feet and swung the sword without delivering any force from his body.
It was a sword that gave no clues to its timing.
'I was too slow.'
That's how Encrid understood it.
He was slow, and he missed it, so it was only natural that his heart was split.
Death approached.
Yet, Encrid smirked.
Hadn't he achieved the first thing he wanted?
The Reaper saw it too.
'This guy's insane.'
The Knight instantly saw through Encrid's true nature.
His opponent was not normal.
Of course, Encrid didn't care about that.
He was simply satisfied that his trick had worked.
Sinar, Ragna, Krais, Dunbachel, and Esther—if he didn't want to see them die, all he had to do was step forward first.
His eyes closed.
Death came.
Splash, the black river.
It wasn't the time to open the mental world, but the ferryman still forced his way in briefly.
As he passed by, he left high praise.
"You're insane."
It was already the second time receiving such praise.
Encrid barely managed to respond.
"Thanks."
There was no time for more words.
Why did the riverboat on the receding water seem to sway so violently? Was it just an illusion?
Who knows.
In any case.
'My body is moving.'
Now, all that was left was to withstand it.
"Hah, good."
"What's good about it?"
Krais asked as soon as Encrid woke up.
"Don't worry about it."
Encrid pondered.
Could his body recover right away?
No.
Thinking, he picked up Ragna's sword and placed it next to his bed.
"…What is this? Are you asking for a duel?"
"Just hold on to it."
It was easier to act than to explain the reason.
In any case, to raise his body temperature even a little, it was important not to stop moving.
He stretched his muscles by the brazier and performed motions that stimulated his regenerative abilities.
Still, the thinking didn't stop.
'How do I block it?'
It was still daunting.
Just because his body could move didn't mean he could block it right away.
But after all, it was just one sword swing, right?
'No, that's not it.'
It's not just one sword strike.
It's the Knight's sword.
'This really is absurd.'
Encrid wasn't a fool.
He knew what he had done on the battlefield.
His sword wasn't something ordinary soldiers could block.
He had cut down mercenaries who were skilled with swords, as well as those from the Hurrier family.
There were even wizards and sorcerer among them.
Most recently, he had been trapped in enemy lines.
He had relied on his instincts to escape, but it wasn't an easy feat.
For someone who didn't know about the repetition of 'today', it would seem like a miracle beyond comprehension.
Wielding just one sword—or rather three, technically—it looked like he had passed through that perilous situation with only his blade.
"Were you a wizard?"
It was no wonder Krais suddenly asked this.
Even Esther glanced at him with a hint of suspicion.
Of course not.
He didn't know how to cast spells.
He thought again about the Knight's sword.
Now, it felt like he had become an ordinary soldier.
His thoughts continued.
Would Jaxon have noticed?
No, if Jaxon were here, wouldn't he have been able to handle the Knight easily?
Would he have found a way?
What if Ragna hadn't been injured?
These were idle thoughts.
Is this what despair is?
Was it the leftover remnants of the emotions the ferryman had shoved into his mind?
Encrid didn't bother to discard or erase any of it.
He left it all as it was, naturally.
It didn't matter.
What is despair?
It's when one has nothing left to look forward to, when hope is severed, and one collapses.
It's when one falls apart, consumed by self-pity.
None of that had anything to do with Encrid.
Would he be trapped in 'today' because he couldn't withstand the Knight's strike?
On the contrary, he welcomed it.
Better that than living each day, barely scraping by, with no catalyst, no purpose, watching the dream he held onto crumble and tear apart, worn out by time.
"Let's face 'today' head-on."
He would rather struggle, even if death approached.
It didn't matter.
He wasn't living just to die anyway.
Above all, the days that had passed, the things the ferryman called agony and ignorance, and all the countless days before this.
They had broken through one of Encrid's outer shells.
Just as it had been when he first faced 'today', his mind stood firm and clear.
It was a small realization.
But it was also a great one.
'There's no rule saying I can't use 'today' to my advantage.'
He had used it when he faced the lycanthrope and the wizard, and when he broke through the spell traps, he had fully utilized 'today'.
It was an expansion of perspective.
Struggle, but endure and use the curse of repetition.
It was the moment when his body's actions aligned with his mind's recognition.
Encrid's eyes opened wide.
He suddenly remembered what he needed to do.
"Ragna."
"…What is it?"
Strength naturally filled his voice.
Ragna responded to the change in Encrid's demeanor.
Why was he acting like this all of a sudden?
"Assuming my body is in good condition."
Encrid's eyes sparkled.
How could he describe it? His eyes looked strangely excited, as if he was thrilled.
He continued speaking in that state, and Ragna interrupted him.
"I'm still in better shape than you, Captain."
In some ways, bravado is the most powerful weapon.
Just like the gleam in Encrid's eyes, Ragna's bravado shone through.
Encrid naturally followed up on the conversation.
"My body is nine-tenths healed."
In reality, it was more like five-tenths.
"I'm completely recovered."
Ragna said.
"And I just now fully healed as well."
Sinar, listening to the two of them, muttered quietly.
"What are they doing?"
"They're competing to see who's the bigger fool."
Krais summed up the situation.
"I'm not injured."
Dunbachel chimed in.
She was injured as well, but of course, no one reacted to her words.
Neither Encrid nor Ragna paid any attention to the others.
To be precise, since Encrid was ignoring them, Ragna naturally followed suit.
The main point was this:
"Can you block the Knight's sword?"
That question, that attitude, the weight behind the words and the gaze, something burning beyond mere bravado.
All of it was a provocation.
Ragna, receiving the question, briefly sank into his own thoughts.
This battle had been a turning point.
Ragna could now see a path.
It was clear where his talent was leading.
But just because he could see the path didn't mean he had walked it yet.
He hadn't experienced it, so he couldn't be certain.
But hadn't his shining talent already shown him the way?
This was a path revealed by the talent awakened through this battle.
Ragna was half-sure now.
This was the path to becoming a Knight.
So.
"I'll block it."
Setting aside the bravado, it seemed possible.
A strike imbued with Will—if he could make the first move with what he had gained, he could block the Knight's sword.
It was a vague certainty.
It was also confidence.
At the very least, he wouldn't fall easily to a single blow.
Thinking wasn't about sitting alone, clutching one's head and acting like an idiot.
Ragna's transformation was as evident as Encrid's, and Encrid could subtly sense it.
Especially with how Ragna's reaction to the Knight had changed slightly with each repeated 'today'.
What did that mean?
Wasn't it a sign that he had seen something?
Doubt and curiosity arose.
Encrid saw a clear and easy path.
He sought the answer from Ragna.
"How?"
Now then, explain the method.
Ragna seemed intoxicated, as though he were under a spell.
Encrid's voice and gaze had made him that way.
So he obediently opened his mouth.
He envisioned the Knight's sword and pictured it in his mind.
When it came to sheer talent, Ragna could be considered the best on the continent.
He didn't hesitate.
His lips parted quickly.
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