Chapter 320

Second Praise: The Morning of Today Has Dawned

Enkrid repeated the same day once again.

The chain of ominous feelings, which surpassed the sense of evasion, still tightened around his body.

His limbs stiffened, unable to move.

In the meantime, it was no different from watching someone die today.

By the time evening approached, Enkrid spoke his mind.

At least, he had made the necessary preparations.

"Ragna, hold the sword and rest."

He had said it in advance, but the sword was not the problem.

He was exhausted.

He was injured.

He was not in his best condition.

Knowing that didn’t stop him.

And that’s why it was a disaster.

The knight killed all of his comrades once again.

The third day passed, and then the fourth day passed.

It repeated.

Ominous feelings, tightening chains, the deaths of his comrades, his own death, pain, and sometimes meeting the ferryman of the river.

“Despair.”

The ferryman came again, planting the word "despair" in his mind.

Enkrid did not respond.

“Despair.”

Twelve days passed.

The same day repeated, again and again.

Tied to the chain of ominous feelings and stopped, Enkrid filled his eyes with the death of his comrades.

He had never turned away.

He couldn’t.

Kraiss, whose fighting skill was poor, insisted on blocking his way.

The one who talked of fleeing every day—why was he turning his back in this moment?

This was a curse.

And because of that, it never dulled.

Both physical and inner pain were the same.

He had to endure the same pain always.

He had to witness everything always.

Enkrid had never intended to turn away, but pain was pain.

"This is despair."

The ferryman, with a light tone, passed by.

It was the twenty-second day.

He squirmed.

The moment Shinar’s chest split open, Enkrid’s fingers twitched.

It was a repetition of today, slightly different from the previous twenty-one.

"Fiancée."

She did not die.

In the first day, he thought she had died, but she was not an ordinary swordswoman.

With age, she twisted the sword’s trajectory and minimized the wounds.

In that, two swords techniques—one striking and one parrying—were mixed.

As for Ragna, he did not compete by speed against his opponent’s strikes.

Instead, he stood firm with his sword raised, enduring with strength.

They were people with much to learn from.

He squirmed.

Ragna, Kraiss, Dunbakel, Esther.

After witnessing their deaths, Enkrid regained the freedom of his hand.

"Finally moving."

And he spoke a simple sentence.

"Hmm?"

Yet, the blade in the hands of the man with brown hair pierced his heart.

Enkrid died again.

The water swayed.

The sword was the river, and the ferryman.

He kept appearing, as if with no work to do.

"Despair."

The ferryman’s empty gaze was directed at Enkrid.

Enkrid stared at the ferryman indifferently.

Though the word "despair" was always spoken, there was never a sign of weariness or boredom.

Enkrid’s body began to fade as he watched with indifference.

It was time to return to reality.

He had to live through today, watching the death of his comrades again.

It was the moment to face the repetition of death.

And with that, his body and face dissolved into smoke.

The ferryman looked at Enkrid.

He, the ferryman, never spoke through expression.

However, sometimes he did express part of his feelings.

It was the same this time.

As the time in the dream came to an end, Enkrid’s body blurred, and the ferryman expressed a part of his feelings.

He conveyed his meaning with words.

"Smile?"

The river disappeared.

Enkrid awoke from the dream.

So, it was the beginning of the repeating day.

It was the thirty-second day.

"Bad omen," Enkrid muttered as soon as he woke up.

The first thing he did was dismiss the past day as just a dream.

In fact, rather than dismissing it as a dream, it was better to call it the first step to move forward.

A day where nothing could be done?

Wasn’t that quite unpleasant?

It even felt like bugs were crawling all over his body.

"What’s the dream?"

Kraiss, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, asked from the side.

"You died in the dream."

"That’s unlucky."

Enkrid replied honestly, and Kraiss responded sincerely.

"I dreamed you died too, Ragna.

Hold onto your sword."

"Really unlucky words."

Ragna also replied with sincerity, making it a rather cozy morning.

Although Ragna didn’t believe in superstitions, hearing such words suddenly was unsettling.

Especially when those words came from Enkrid.

"Is it right to talk nonsense like that from a barbarian?"

Ragna, rarely, muttered some complaints.

It was an indifferent tone, but the content was quite something.

Enkrid reacted as expected.

"Is it an insult?

A duel challenge."

Who’s saying it’s similar to Rem?

With a lighthearted jest, Enkrid threw the words back at him, and Ragna didn’t respond.

Enkrid moved more energetically today than any other day before.

Despair? That was not a word that easily reached his heart.

It was a harsh situation, he admitted.

The opponent was absurdly monstrous, he admitted.

But the answer was clear.

‘Once.’

If he could endure the first strike, the opponent would retreat.

So, is this despair?

No.

Even if there was a way to avoid it, it wasn’t the path Enkrid would take.

The opponent was a knight.

Even if he was a reaper, Enkrid still felt pure joy as his dream drew nearer.

Along with the pain, there was also a thrill.

The death of his companions was buried as a dream, and he moved on to the next. Enkrid made that his starting point.

In other words, no one would die.

So, only a clear answer remained.

‘Just endure it.’

What if he couldn’t?

He would keep trying until it worked.

If necessary, he would do whatever it took to make it happen.

Would he have to watch his comrades die over and over?

If that was despair?

‘It’s flimsy.’

How many “todays” had he already passed?

There were many ways to break the cycle of repeating days.

Did a repeated day always have to end the same way?

He already knew the answer.

Now that he could do things he couldn’t before, despite his body being paralyzed, it was possible.

Enkrid first gathered his gear, which was set aside in a corner of the barracks.

Should he wrap himself in bandages, even under armor?

No, that wouldn’t matter.

Didn’t he see the knight’s sword?

No armor could stop it.

Even Shinar’s armor wasn’t ordinary, and it simply shattered.

There was something in that single strike.

Enkrid could already sense what that was.

‘Will.’

A knight uses ‘will’.

Enkrid recognized that for sure.

Then, what should he do?

Maybe he could let it go for now?

Would the snake sword work?

He had already forgotten how bad his own body was.

Another day passed.

"Good work, everyone."

Enkrid always said similar things.

Even if things repeated, some things should not dull.

Enkrid didn’t forget that.

After some trivial words passed, one phrase stood out.

"‘It’s demonic.’"

Kraiss’s words were followed by a ripping sound. The man with brown hair entered the tent.

It always started the same way.

"Sorry."

The man said, and Enkrid began preparing.

“If it’s just once, I’ll let it go.”

That would be the way he respected his own honor, he seemed to think.

He acted like he didn’t want to do it.

But he still couldn’t block that one strike.

While the man spoke, Enkrid moved.

In truth, Enkrid didn’t even properly listen to what the man said.

He had heard it too many times already.

Some things become numb after repetition, but other things don’t.

The things that stuck in his mind were just annoying.

Honor, whatever it was, didn’t matter right now. His focus had ignited.

Even as the chains of dread tightened around his body, Enkrid had already started overcoming them once.

He commanded his body, from the tips of his fingers to his muscles, to move.

Enkrid’s feet naturally fell forward.

His body moved as he willed.

The sense of dread still clutched at his throat, but it didn’t matter.

He could ignore it.

At least he was moving.

The man, seeing that Enkrid was walking despite ignoring his words, focused his gaze on him.

Enkrid spoke.

“I go first.”

“Fiancée.”

Shinar tried to stop him, but it was already too late.

“Isn’t it me you’re aiming for? Or not?”

As he spoke, he took another step forward.

He was right.

With all the “todays” he’d passed, he had already figured out what he needed to.

To get past this today, he had to recognize and face what was necessary within it.

‘The author’s goal is me.’

When faced with that, Enkrid wouldn’t look away.

He acknowledged what he had learned through careful recollection and confronted the man.

The knight raised his sword.

With a ting, the sword was unsheathed—an iconic weapon of the reaper.

A dream-formed reaper wielding a weapon.

“Splendid. You.”

He swung his sword.

Wham.

Enkrid tried to block, but the opponent’s sword reached him first.

Was it faster than Lykanos?

Was it similar to Jaxon’s unkillable thrust?

Enkrid had seen this kind of strike countless times, but this was his first attempt at blocking it.

He could feel the difference in speed.

The opponent had started from his feet, thrusting the sword without any transfer of force, making it impossible to read the timing.

‘I was too slow.’

Enkrid accepted that.

He was slow, and he missed. So, it was only natural that his heart was pierced.

Death approached.

Still, Enkrid grinned.

Wasn’t this the first thing he wanted?

The reaper saw that.

‘Crazy bastard.’

The reaper saw through Enkrid in an instant.

The opponent was not normal.

But for Enkrid, that was irrelevant.

He was simply satisfied that his trick had worked.

Shinar, Ragna, Kraiss, Dunbakel, Esther—if he didn’t want to see their deaths, he just needed to act first.

His vision dimmed.

Death was coming.

The darkness churned; the river of swords was upon him.

It wasn’t time to open the world of dreams, but still, the ferryman managed to break through.

As he passed, the ferryman offered another praise.

“Crazy bastard.”

That kind of praise was already the second time.

Enkrid barely left a reply.

“Thanks.”

There was no time to say more.

Was it an illusion, or was the boat on the churning river shaking even more than usual?

Who knew?

In any case.

‘My body moves.’

Now, all that was left was to endure.

“Phew, good.”

“What’s good about this?”

Kraiss asked as soon as Enkrid woke up.

“Don’t mind it.”

Enkrid thought about it.

Could he recover his body right away?

No.

Thinking, he picked up Ragna’s sword and set it beside his bed.

“...What is this?”

"Want to spar?"

"Keep it."

It's easier to act than explain the reason.

Anyway, to get some heat in the body, it was important to keep moving without stopping.

Next to the stove, he stretched his muscles and performed movements that stimulated his regeneration.

But his mind didn't stop.

How can I block it?

He still felt lost.

Just because he could move his body didn’t mean he could block the strike right away.

It was just one strike, wasn’t it?

No, wait.

It wasn’t just one strike.

It was the knight's sword.

Unbelievable.

Enkrid wasn’t an idiot.

He knew what he had done on the battlefield.

His sword hadn’t been stopped by mere soldiers.

He had defeated mercenaries skilled with blades, and even men from the Huryer family.

Among them were also magicians and shamans.

Most recently, he had been trapped by enemy forces.

He had managed to escape relying on his senses, though it wasn’t easy.

To someone who didn’t know what it meant to repeat today, it seemed almost like supernatural skill.

He had crossed that perilous line with only a sword—well, three swords, to be precise—but it seemed as though he had done it effortlessly.

"Was he a magician?"

Kraiss asked suddenly, which was natural.

Even Esther sent him a questioning look.

Of course, he wasn’t.

He couldn’t cast spells.

He recalled the knight's sword again.

Now he felt like a regular soldier.

His thoughts continued.

Would Jaxon have noticed if he were here?

No, if Jaxon were here, wouldn't he have easily fallen to the knight as well?

Could he have done something?

What if Ragna hadn't been injured?

Such were the random thoughts.

Was this despair?

Were these the remnants of the emotions that the ferryman had stuffed into his mind?

Enkrid didn’t bother to discard or erase any of it.

He let it sit naturally.

It didn’t matter.

What was despair?

It was what happens when you have nothing to look at, cutting off hope and collapsing.

It was when you fall by your own pessimism.

All of this had nothing to do with Enkrid.

He couldn’t block the knight’s blow, so was he going to be trapped in today?

Actually, that seemed welcome.

It was better than doing nothing, trudging through the day with no change, watching his dreams burn and tear apart, grow old and wither.

“Another fierce day today.”

Let it struggle, let it fight. What if death is coming?

It didn’t matter.

After all, he wouldn’t live to die.

More importantly, all the past days, all the things the ferryman had said about suffering and ignorance, all those countless days before today...

Enkrid broke through one of his shells.

His mind was as straight and upright as when he first greeted today.

It was a small realization.

But also a big one.

There’s no rule saying I can't use today.

He had used it when fighting werewolves and magicians, and when breaking through spell traps.

It was an expansion of concept.

He struggled, but endured and used the curse of repetition.

This was the moment he recognized the actions he had done with his body now in his mind.

Enkrid’s eyes snapped open.

The task came to mind.

“Ragna.”

“…What is it?”

His voice naturally carried strength.

Ragna reacted to Enkrid’s change in attitude.

Why was he suddenly like this again?

“Assuming my body’s fine.”

Enkrid’s eyes sparkled.

What could he say? He looked strangely excited, his eyes full of excitement.

He opened his mouth, but Ragna interrupted him.

“I’m fine right now. Better than the captain.”

In some ways, arrogance was the strongest weapon.

Ragna’s arrogance shone as brightly as Enkrid’s gaze.

Enkrid naturally followed up.

“My body’s at about nine-tenths.”

It was actually five.

“I’m completely recovered.”

“I just got better myself.”

Shinar, who had been listening to their conversation, murmured.

“What are they doing?”

“Trying to figure out who’s the bigger fool.”

Kraiss summed up the situation.

“I wasn’t hurt.”

Dunbakel opened her mouth.

She had been hurt as well.

Of course, no one reacted to her words.

Enkrid and Ragna paid no attention to the others.

In fact, Enkrid ignored them, and Ragna naturally followed his lead.

The point was this.

“Can you block the knight’s sword?”

That question, that attitude, the weight in the words and eyes, and something burning in the air, aside from arrogance.

It was all a provocation.

Ragna sank into his world for a moment after hearing the question.

This battle was a turning point.

Ragna could see a way forward.

He knew too easily where his talent was heading.

But even though the way was clear, he hadn’t walked it yet.

He couldn’t be sure because he hadn’t experienced it firsthand.

But hadn’t his shining talent already shown him the way?

The talent awakened by this event had once again revealed the path.

Ragna was half-convinced.

This was the way to becoming a knight.

So...

“I’ll block it.”

If he removed the arrogance, it would be possible.

With a strike containing ‘will’, he could create the path first and block even the knight’s sword.

It was a vague certainty.

It was confidence too.

At the very least, he wouldn’t fall weakly from a single blow.

Thinking about it wasn’t just about being locked in a state of confusion and acting like an idiot.

And just as much as Enkrid had changed, Ragna’s change was subtly noticeable as well.

Especially when he saw the knight. His reactions to the repeated today were subtly different.

What did that mean?

Could he see something?

It was doubt, it was a question.

Enkrid had seen an easy, convenient path.

He had asked Ragna for an answer.

“How?”

Now, tell me the method.

Ragna seemed almost intoxicated.

Enkrid’s voice and gaze made him that way.

So he opened his mouth without hesitation.

He imagined the knight’s sword and drew it in his mind.

Talent-wise, he was easily the best in the continent.

He didn’t hesitate.

His mouth opened quickly.