The ferryman finally burst into laughter.
"Well."
Just one word, 'well'.
Silence followed, as expected.
It was cold.
Of course, it was winter, so the chill was there.
The flames in the brazier flared up with a whoosh.
At that moment, a gust of wind swept in through the entrance of the tent.
A bitter winter wind.
If it had been a regular person, they might have felt like a dagger had flown straight into their heart.
But there were no ordinary people here, least of all Encrid.
"I would say the same thing."
Krais quietly added.
It wasn't incorrect.
Naturally, Encrid wasn't fazed.
Since when was Ragna ever good at speaking?
Even that brat Rem, who liked to press forward at his own pace, wasn't much better at teaching.
So, there was no need to feel flustered.
"Explain it."
"How do you stop lightning when it strikes?"
For Ragna, that was the best he could do.
Of course, to everyone else, it was the worst possible explanation.
But did that matter?
Not in the least.
As always, Encrid was a very good listener and could become an equally good student.
He knew how to truly listen.
Or, you could say, if the other person couldn't explain well, Encrid would press them for answers, squeezing out the details until he understood.
"You can't stop it."
Encrid responded.
"You can stop it."
Ragna added.
"Then how? Not just 'well'."
It would have been nice if Ragna had gotten better at explaining by now, but that was asking too much.
Ragna couldn't find the words, wasn't a good speaker, was picky about food, and didn't have the best personality.
He wasn't one to care about reputation and did things his own way.
Some days, he couldn't even be bothered to speak at all.
When put like that, it sounded like a mess, but when it came to wielding a sword, Ragna was unmatched.
Truly the best of the best.
"You sense the sign and then strike it down."
Ragna gave his best explanation.
This was the best he could offer.
It was a matter of instinct and talent.
Encrid was relentless.
He kept asking question after question and received answers.
Ragna spoke as clearly as he could within his limits.
It wasn't enough to form a perfect mental image.
Nothing came to mind.
But, this wasn't the end.
'If death could be postponed.'
You'll be able to make better use of today.
If they put Ragna at the forefront, they might even see Ragna withstand the Knight's sword.
Of course, Encrid wouldn't do that.
Making the best of today and knowingly sending Ragna into something unbearable were two different things.
That was a line that should not be crossed.
It was a line drawn in his heart ever since the first of many repeated days.
For some, that became a belief, and for others, it took the form of something called honor.
'Honor, huh.'
Before the reaper who speaks of honor arrived, Encrid had to do everything he could.
Within the questions and answers, he conjured imagery and pondered deeply.
This wasn't the end.
"Sinar."
The Fairy, too, intended to withstand that strike.
She reacted.
How was she capable of that?
"Do you know how to stop lightning?"
"Dodge before it strikes."
"What if you can't?"
"Then use something else as a lightning rod."
She nonchalantly struck her nails together as she spoke, half-jokingly, but with a glimpse of wisdom.
There was something philosophical hidden beneath her jest.
Something accompanied by deep insight.
"Nails are easy to draw, good for cutting, and can deflect and block well."
"What if you had to block a Knight's sword?"
It was a sudden question, but no one found it strange.
Encrid had always been like this.
He was obsessed with the sword, grasping at an unreachable dream.
That's what had made him who he was now.
It was something everyone acknowledged.
So, him spouting this kind of nonsense had become familiar.
Even Krais regarded it as just part of daily life.
Dunbachel, on the other hand, was waiting eagerly, hoping Encrid would ask her next.
"Before the opponent takes a step, before they even place their hand on the sword, I would have already drawn mine."
As Sinar spoke, she felt as though she were being drawn into Encrid's energy.
What was this man?
He had been like this before, but now he had become an even greater flame.
To her, it seemed as if a fire spirit had taken hold of him.
'No, it's not fire.'
It was a vortex of desire, passion, and joy.
A whirlwind of emotions pierced the sensitive heart of the Fairy.
If Frogs recognized talent, Fairies felt emotions.
It was a trait of their species.
To live on the continent, one had to dull this trait and ignore what needed to be ignored.
Just as Frogs had to get used to the word 'heart', Fairies had to learn to ride the waves of emotion.
In that sense, Sinar was a Fairy who had adapted very well to life on the continent.
And yet.
'It's hot.'
Encrid didn't raise his voice.
He wasn't frantic.
He didn't flail his arms or legs.
He had simply loosened up and said a few words.
He had approached and spoken.
And yet, the heat from him inflamed Sinar.
It stirred the blood of the Fairy.
That made Sinar serious.
The smile—though she rarely smiled anyway—and the jokes were gone from her response.
"A Knight's sword is a disaster. How would you stop what you call a disaster?"
Asking the question back was the answer needed right now.
If an earthquake occurs, can it be stopped by human power?
What about a whirlwind?
A flood?
A typhoon?
A torrential downpour?
A drought?
These are natural disasters.
"A Knight is called a 'Man-Made Disaster', a calamity created by humans."
Among the Dragons, Fairies, Giants, Dwarves, beastmen, and humans, it was the humans, the most numerous on the continent, who earned this nickname for their Knights. The more direct term, 'Disaster,' seemed more fitting.
Of course, there were Fairy Knights as well. Beastmen had a similar concept, which they called 'Champions'. Even within the human race, there were those who weren't called Knights but were referred to by similar terms.
The terminology wasn't what mattered.
Sinar recalled the past, looked at the present, and envisioned the future.
'The way forward.'
Sinar Kirhais had faced her limits in the past by giving something up.
She had lost the path to advance further.
Yet, it was precisely because she had given up that she had made it this far.
It was a paradoxical situation.
Was it just a case of 'The one that got away seems bigger'?
Or had she realized that to stand by the man before her, she needed that 'missed catch'?
'Maybe so.'
What would it feel like to witness the man before her fall to a Knight's sword?
By some chance, the Fairy's sensitivity and sharpness accurately predicted what was to come.
'It won't be a pleasant experience.'
If that were to happen, she'd probably regret it.
That missed opportunity would come to mind more than once.
'Useless thoughts.'
Outwardly, Sinar remained composed, but inwardly, she shook her head.
Such useless, pointless thoughts.
Encrid had been lost in thought, contemplating Sinar's question.
Ragna had spoken of lightning.
Sinar's response likely followed in line with that.
At least the Fairy had shown some consideration in her explanation.
Listening to both of them, a sort of conclusion formed in his mind.
'How do you stop lightning?'
That was the first question to answer.
"Aren't you going to ask me?"
Dunbachel approached as Encrid was deep in thought.
"About what?"
"The Knight's sword, or whatever."
"Go get some rest."
Dunbachel was still lacking.
There was no need to ask her, just in case.
And even if Encrid didn't ask, Dunbachel was the type to answer anyway.
"Just block it with a loud 'Clang!'."
Right, got it.
Encrid patted Dunbachel on the shoulder.
"That was incredibly helpful."
His tone was devoid of any emotion.
"Really?"
"Really."
With a half-hearted nod, he sent Dunbachel back to her bed. Watching this, Krais gave an admiring comment.
"I think when the Captain joins a salon, he'll be the best employee."
Encrid had no desire to become the best at charming noblewomen with his skills.
For the rest of the evening, they rested, ate, pondered, swung their swords in the air, checked their armor, and exchanged a few words of encouragement.
It was mental preparation.
Tonight, there were no absurdities like talk of demons or the like.
The reason was the strange aura of intensity that Encrid's demeanor and gaze projected.
He didn't say it out loud, but that gaze and attitude kept striking at Sinar's heart.
Of course, she controlled her emotions well enough to prevent her heart from racing.
Then the Knight appeared.
"Just once. Block me just once. That is the least you can do to uphold my honor."
Why does that guy always say things no one asks for?
Encrid gripped his sword and swallowed his breath.
How would he block lightning?
First, he needed to meet the sword head-on. That was the beginning, wasn't it?
The Flowing Sword, Encrid's first sword style, the Snake Sword.
Why wouldn't it be able to deflect lightning?
"...It's almost like you've been waiting for this. How strange."
The Knight said.
Encrid didn't reply.
His concentration burned, shattering the chains of unease.
After that, all his focus was directed toward watching his opponent, bringing it all to a point.
He needed to see how the Knight's sword would begin its assault, without any preparatory movements.
"Indeed."
Sinar muttered from behind.
"Are you some kind of prophet?"
Krais was baffled.
"Was the whole point just to hold the sword?"
Even Ragna shared the sentiment.
Was Esther not surprised either?
Dunbachel stiffened when she saw the opponent.
"What is that?"
It's a monster, one that triggered the survival instincts of any beastman.
Whoosh.
The sword flew.
First, he had to meet it.
Blocking lightning would come next.
Whirr.
Encrid saw a vision.
He saw the sword bending before him.
It swayed, piercing toward his own sword, as if confronting his blade head-on.
It was strange, so much so that he doubted whether he had seen it properly.
And then his heart split apart.
* * *
The ferryman saw both the inner world of imagery and the reality beyond it.
Even the present could not escape the ferryman's gaze.
He witnessed the death of the cursed.
That was his only amusement and joy.
But this time, the cursed individual was quite unusual.
'Laughing?'
He laughs as he dies.
He laughs despite the pain.
He laughs even as the agony surges through his entire body.
Even as he's trapped in a dark pit, he laughs.
For Encrid, it was simply enjoyable, for he had seen something new, but for the ferryman, it was something neither familiar nor ordinary.
The ferryman continued to observe.
In the endless repetition of 'today', Encrid died and died again.
He laughed as he died, pondered as he died, thought as he died, and worried as he died.
What sort of pleasure could one find in such repetition?
None.
The ferryman knew that.
He knew it all too well.
He knew better than anyone why the repetition of 'today' was a curse.
"That guy's a madman."
The ferryman muttered to himself.
"Despair... doesn't become despair?"
He asked himself again.
"Even agony, ignorance, and despair fail to stain his will."
He repeated the thought to himself.
And so, he observed Encrid as he died.
He watched.
He kept watching.
Dying, and dying again.
"Do you still find this enjoyable?"
He would ask sometimes when they crossed paths.
"Hmm? What did you say?"
Encrid would reply, not really listening.
He was fully immersed in his current situation, giving it his all.
Seeing nothing, hearing nothing, focused solely on one thing.
And in that, he found enjoyment.
The ferryman recalled an old proverb from the continent, something he had heard long before he became a ferryman.
Because he had been robbed of the gift of forgetfulness, it was easy to remember the past.
'Those who know are not as good as those who love, and those who love are not as good as those who enjoy.'
To know means to have grasped something.
To grasp something means to believe that what you know is the absolute truth.
Thus, it leads not to effort, but to stagnation.
One stops, satisfied with the present.
To love something gives one the power to make an effort.
Because you love it, you strive for it.
Therefore, instead of stagnation, there is progress.
However, the effort comes with expectations.
One strives because they think of what comes next.
To love something is a driving force.
It is the power of the heart that compels one to make an effort.
To enjoy something, however, is to be consumed.
It means forgetting oneself, forgetting the situation, and being fully immersed in the moment.
Like when, as a child, you lose track of time while playing for the first time.
If, even as an adult, you can still experience that.
If only you could, you would find yourself immersed, without even realizing that you've forgotten yourself or that you're focused.
But, is such a person even possible?
No.
The ferryman had never seen anyone like that.
Usually, people wear down.
They erode.
Their hearts fade.
Their efforts wane.
They grow weary.
They tire.
They become soaked in exhaustion.
They fall into depletion.
They are consumed by despair.
That's how it was for everyone.
But in the ferryman's eyes, there was one who wasn't like that.
Undoubtedly, this was the first time he had seen someone so utterly mad.
This person kept repeating 'today', over and over.
Yet the repetition did not become a shackle or a prison for him.
The bars could not contain the man called Encrid.
Still, the ferryman's gaze remained clear.
He continued to watch.
The shackles of today were strong.
They were heavy.
Unbreakable.
So, what was to be done?
Encrid had given an answer.
Shackles?
Why not run with them?
In truth, it seemed he didn't even realize he was shackled.
"Hah."
The ferryman finally laughed.
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