Chapter 312

What is the wall?

"I’ve taken the wrong path."

Enkrid rubbed his ears, as though shaking off something he had misheard.

What had he misunderstood?

"Focus on the wall."

The ferryman continued speaking.

Though doubts arose, the words rang clearly in his mind.

"Focus on the wall."

In other words, look at it properly.

What is the wall?

It is the number of those who stand in his way.

The quality of the forces.

The Hurrier family’s swordsmen, mercenaries, Gray Dogs, mages, shamans.

The terrain itself.

This was the answer Enkrid had come to after much thought.

‘Increase my strength and break through.’

But there were obstacles every time.

Once, just when he thought he had barely escaped...

"Gray Dogs never miss their target."

The most persistent ones—more than even Rem—stood in his way.

They charged at him even if their heads were severed.

Gray Dogs—persistent lovers of their task.

After overcoming them, they were already in his way again today.

Included in this were mercenary Cent and the three Hurrier family swordsmen, followed by mages, then shamans, and now Gray Dogs.

Meanwhile, the regular soldiers kept rushing in, attacking again and again.

Though Enkrid repeated his experiences, each day was different.

The order of arrival varied, and the ways of fighting changed.

Enkrid wasn’t an expert in military strategy.

But one thing was clear.

‘I think I’ve fallen into something here.’

So, what should he do?

What would be needed to break free?

He still thought the answer was strength.

Some days, he didn’t face the Gray Dogs; other days, he didn’t meet a shaman or mage.

Some days, he didn’t even encounter Cent.

Now, seeing him was almost a welcome change.

Naturally, the days he met him were more frequent.

"Oh, Cent, nice to see you."

"Do you know me?"

The mercenary swordsman from Valen, always acting familiar.

He was a good friend when practicing the sword’s art of false movements.

Enkrid pierced Cent’s neck with his sword, breaking through the human wall that blocked his path.

And then, he died again.

He met today.

He tried to climb down to the base of a cliff, hoping for an escape, only to die in the process.

He threw himself into the valley waters, only to be severely punished by the mage.

By then, Enkrid had come to believe that the walls were five in total.

The mercenary Cent and his band.

The three Hurrier family swordsmen, now known by name—Loch, Merier, and Leblanc.

Four mages who summoned water spirits or shot water cannons.

The water whip was particularly dangerous.

It was a rotating stream of water that, if it caught your arm, could easily tear off the protective armor, causing great damage.

Even the mages appeared exhausted after using it.

And then there were the shamans.

They often used the spell "Invisible Force," which wasn’t difficult to counter.

Although invisible, they could still be sensed.

They could be avoided with the right instincts.

However, their methods were frustrating—sticky like glue beneath his feet, making movements cumbersome.

The shamans also typically worked with heavily armored infantry carrying long spears, which made them quite tricky to handle.

Lastly, there were the Gray Dogs.

In terms of raw force, the Gray Dogs seemed the weakest.

But in terms of persistence, they were the most formidable.

If you judged by stubbornness and tenacity, they could be given a double thumbs-up.

No matter how he faced them, these were the ones he encountered today.

Thus, five walls.

Mercenaries, Hurrier swordsmen, mages, shamans, Gray Dogs.

If only he could break through all five at once.

But that was impossible.

No matter how he tried, it was always impossible.

And now, archers, crossbowmen, spearmen, and heavy infantry joined in.

Among them were even fairy soldiers who shot arrows beautifully, and beastmen with unpredictable movements.

It was a relief there were no Frokk, dragonkin, or giants.

Should he consider these as six walls?

Adding in those forces?

‘Not good.’

Although he murmured this inwardly, Enkrid still found enjoyment in it.

He made the most of the new time granted by repeating today.

He fought, he struggled.

And used everything he had learned.

Under the unusually warm winter sunlight, this was the result of everything he could do.

It wasn’t good.

‘The experience of massacre.’

The experience of killing and being killed became almost second nature.

He had killed so many times that the smell of blood had dulled his senses.

But today, he still couldn’t see a way out.

So the ferryman’s words stuck in his ears.

He had faced five or six walls head-on.

So, did anything change?

No.

Dreams flowed through the repeating days as the ferryman spoke again.

"You can’t cross it unless you understand."

"The wall is one."

Enkrid listened carefully to those words.

Several more days passed.

Listening didn’t immediately lead to change.

He only thought about it.

He met the ferryman once again.

"Hey, aren’t you tired of this?"

This time, the ferryman said something trivial.

"It’s not that I’m tired; it’s just hard."

So, it wasn’t boring.

Was the unclear future consuming his mind?

If he were to collapse this easily, he would never have dreamed of it.

Enkrid kept thinking, grinding his mind.

What is the wall?

It was the return to square one.

"How much should I say to make you understand?"

The ferryman sneered at him.

Enkrid found it strange that he could read his emotions.

"Are you mocking me?"

Had he misunderstood?

"Do I have to say it?"

The ferryman immediately became expressionless, showing disdain.

Enkrid realized, as their meetings increased and his path was blocked, he was solving his curiosity.

"Why a ferryman?"

Wouldn’t a gatekeeper dragging hellhounds be more fitting?

Why the river, the ferry, and why the ferryman?

"The boat can go anywhere."

"What does that mean?"

"I’m not saying this for you to understand."

After meeting the ferryman several times, Enkrid realized something.

The ferryman had multiple personalities.

His mood changed at random.

"You shouldn’t be curious."

There were days when he played the role of a weighty figure.

"I call you a bastard."

He spoke in a fluttering manner.

"Have you looked at the wall?"

The ferryman only spoke of the wall.

"Curious, are you?"

At least the ferryman sometimes offered some kindness.

When asked what he was doing, the kind ferryman answered:

"I’m steering the boat."

He gave some answers but never the ones that would be understood.

"I see."

"You will also steer the boat."

The ferryman spoke, and Enkrid let it pass.

After over three hundred days, Enkrid felt the limits of his skills.

‘It’s difficult to increase my abilities.’

He had felt the same way when facing the piercing techniques.

There were limits to what could be gained in certain moments and situations.

If tomorrow doesn’t come, nothing will change.

Therefore, the wall of today must be overcome.

‘Five or six walls.’

No, one wall.

Could he collapse all five into one?

Would he focus everything into one spot?

He acted on his thoughts, doing what came to mind.

He fought against all five forces, struggling to push through.

He died.

The four mages and the shamans worked seamlessly together.

Though they weren’t familiar with each other, they quickly coordinated.

He confirmed Cent’s special skill once again.

It was better to strike from behind than face him head-on.

He had been forcing direct confrontation every time.

But now, Enkrid realized that Cent was always aiming for his back.

‘They’ve been targeting my back every time.’

He hadn’t realized.

It took over three hundred days for him to figure that out.

But it still wasn’t the answer.

Next, he captured an enemy soldier.

Originally, ten enemies moved as one, but those going to relieve themselves moved in groups of three.

"I need to pee."

Enkrid had hidden his body as soon as he woke up, and this yielded a result.

"Go together, all three of you."

Following the command from the squad leader, Enkrid joined them.

Among the three soldiers, one was relieving himself, and Enkrid swiftly twisted the neck of one, using his sword to create a hole in the neck of the other two with his blade.

Afterward, Enkrid hid the dead soldier among the bushes and stripped one of them of their clothes.

It was more labor-intensive to change the clothes than to kill.

After hastily putting on the soldier’s clothes, Enkrid thought quickly.

"An ambush!"

He shouted quickly and moved toward a different group, not the one he had originally been with.

What would happen if he managed to escape this time?

Should he decide to avoid it and return to today?

Was it really necessary to overcome the five walls?

But the ferryman had said there was only one wall.

If you don’t know, you can’t cross it.

‘What don’t I know?’

He didn’t know either.

Though his enjoyment was fading, despair did not take its place.

Enkrid kept searching for a way out.

Wandering and digging for answers was one of his specialties.

"Did you shout?"

This was the moment when he met another squad.

The enemy soldiers didn’t give him any ground.

They were on guard.

Why?

They were dressed the same, weren’t they?

Could it be that every soldier knew each other’s face?

It wasn’t that.

"Dry flower."

There was a code word.

Could he find it after repeating a few more days?

Anyway, he was exposed.

It was time to fight again.

The frantic battle continued.

In the following day, he stole another enemy’s uniform, and this time he asked first.

"Dry flower."

"Enemy!"

The enemy immediately shouted.

What had he done wrong?

Enkrid couldn’t understand the difference.

In reality, it was simple.

Abnaier hadn’t underestimated Enkrid.

He had been digging into him over and over.

He had studied Enkrid as a person.

And what he learned was:

"He’s also skilled in tricks.

A master of deception—an instinctive strategist."

It was one of the methods Abnaier had prepared in case Enkrid tried to sneak out.

The code word "Dry flower" wasn’t just about saying the phrase—it was about performing an action simultaneously.

You had to speak and move together.

When the action was performed, the soldier would identify their unit and respond.

It wasn’t very complicated, but you could never figure it out unless you knew it.

Abnaier was thorough.

He ensured Enkrid couldn’t overhear the code and escape.

He also made sure that soldiers recognized each other’s faces.

He differentiated the uniforms to make identification easier.

No matter how many times Enkrid repeated today, he couldn’t figure these things out.

Most importantly, Enkrid also had an instinctive feeling after doing it a few times.

This wasn’t the path.

‘It’s a bit troublesome.’

Enkrid calmly refocused.

‘What have I missed?’

He pondered and reflected.

Since he hadn’t forgotten his strengths, he repeated the process.

He recalled the ferryman’s words.

After repeating the day and experiencing death, Enkrid understood.

‘The wall is one.’

What is the wall?

It’s something to overcome.

‘The wall is one.’

After repeating this phrase over and over, he understood why the ferryman had said it.

"I understand."

"What?"

The realization hit Enkrid just as Cent was in front of him.

The mercenary’s eyes widened in surprise.

What was he going to do with that surprise?

Enkrid didn’t hesitate. He struck Cent’s chin with the sword in his hand.

Crack!

The jawbone shattered, and teeth flew into the air.

Without missing a beat, Enkrid decapitated Cent.

Thud!

The severed head hit the ground.

"Kill them!"

The battle continued, and once again, Enkrid fought and fought.

Before dying, he managed to evade the enemies several times, buying himself some time to catch his breath.

He had mastered the art of prolonged combat by now.

Every time he steadied his breathing, his thoughts became clearer.

Enkrid knew that to move forward, he needed a method.

‘If you don’t know, you can’t cross it.’

Of course.

It wasn’t about the wall, it was about understanding the method first.

It wasn’t five walls.

‘Strategy.’

Or tactics—whatever you call it, it was a wall of military strategy.

To get out of the trap laid by the enemy commander, Enkrid needed to think like them.

‘How?’

He wasn’t like Kraiss.

So, what should he do?

Enkrid searched his memory.

He had once had a similar conversation with Kraiss.

When that memory resurfaced, so did the solution.

No, the path ahead was still long, but he could now see how to find the method.

"I think there are two types of people who use their heads."

One type predicts everything and prepares for it, and the other moves based on instinct.

Both need to be sharp-witted."

Kraiss had continued:

"The leader is more of the latter type.

He’s far from the former."

Enkrid didn’t ask why.

But...

He had replayed over three hundred days of today.

The moments he had to let go in the heat of battle came rushing back.

The things that had warned him, slipping through his senses.

Why had he ignored them? Why had he overlooked them? Why had it been necessary?

‘To overcome the wall in front of me.’

His vision hadn’t narrowed.

This was different from before.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t cross the wall; he simply hadn’t known it.

The moment he saw it, Enkrid realized what he had to do.

‘Minimal combat, a fight to survive.’

He had to use intuition, instinct, and sense to outmaneuver the enemy’s strategy.

That was the way.

‘You don’t have to fight everything.’

What Abnaier had never understood.

What he had misunderstood.

One thing was that Enkrid repeated today.

The other thing was that Enkrid’s mind worked better than he expected.

"Ah."

On the three hundred seventy-eighth day, Enkrid found the path.