Chapter 379

"Andrew, yeah, try it like that."

Nineteen cycles had passed.

Enkrid ordered Andrew to stab at him with his sword.

He needed someone’s help now.

And so, he began.

Enkrid initiated training where he met the tip of Andrew’s sword with the tip of his own.

“…This is an absurd training method.”

By the thirty-sixth time Andrew voiced his amazement, Enkrid managed to meet his sword’s tip against Andrew’s for the first time.

Not while standing still, but while moving at a moderate pace.

It was, of course, difficult. Incredibly difficult. And because of that difficulty, the satisfaction of succeeding surged through his entire body.

Of course, there was little time to enjoy the thrill.

To truly master it, he would have to repeat this countless times.

Even so, he couldn’t deny it—it was exhilarating.

Ding!

A crisp, rare sound rang through the air.

“…Is this actually fun for you?”

Andrew asked. Even as they clashed swords, energy radiated from Enkrid’s entire being.

Joy. Pure, unfiltered joy.

Like a child playing endlessly with a toy, completely immersed.

Andrew couldn't help but see it that way.

“Yeah. Very, very much.”

Enkrid emphasized each word with meaning.

‘Why?’

Andrew couldn’t comprehend it. But for Enkrid, it was as natural as breathing.

“This is fun for you?”

“Yeah, very much.”

“This?”

“Uh-huh?”

Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.

Their sword tips clashed over and over again.

After another forty cycles of Andrew’s exasperated admiration, Enkrid, now drenched in sweat, finally nodded.

“That’s enough.”

Then, he called for Rem.

“Rem, swing your axe.”

Time to switch partners.

Rem snorted, grinning, and, without hesitation, swung his axe.

Even the slightest margin of error was unacceptable.

There could be no openings, no gaps.

If he didn’t deflect perfectly, he wouldn’t be able to redirect Rem’s axe without taking a serious hit. Half-measures wouldn’t suffice—he had to completely deflect it.

That was the next step.

After the sword-tip meeting training came the axe deflection training. But it wasn’t just about parrying—it was about making the tip of his sword meet the edge of the axe.

"Are you fearless, or just brainless? Get down on your knees immediately!"

Like clockwork, the magistrate arrived mid-training. Every time he saw Enkrid practicing, he had a similar reaction. And every time, Enkrid responded thoughtlessly.

“Oh, you’re here?”

At this point, it was almost welcoming. After all that training, it was time for real combat practice.

With the internal familiarity built from repeated days, Enkrid even raised a hand in greeting.

The magistrate’s face turned red with fury.

He thought he was being mocked.

And, of course, he was.

"You son of a—!"

Before he could finish, Enkrid silenced him with a persuasive kick.

Then, he had Dunbakel demonstrate the difference in strength to the guards.

He assigned Ragna and Dunbakel to Squire Rophod.

And after that?

He sent Rem to rescue Marcus while he himself faced off against Jaxon and the assassins.

“Stab…”

Before the words could even fully leave his mouth, Enkrid moved.

Jaxon immediately responded, leaping to the side.

Silently. Without a sound.

Using the magical artifact on his body, Jaxon erased his presence and disappeared.

Enkrid took the initial attention, allowing Jaxon to slip in, further disorienting the assassins.

They became confused, unable to decide who to focus on.

And then, before long, every assassin turned their blades toward Jaxon.

Watching it unfold over multiple repetitions, it almost seemed as if their primary goal had always been to kill Jaxon.

Why?

The thought suddenly struck him. Several ideas flashed through his mind.

He let them all pass.

The suspicion lingered, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

He rode One-Eye to meet Aisia and once again repeated the day.

Deflecting Rem’s axe perfectly took less time than expected.

Of course, it wasn’t like Rem had gone all out.

It only took ninety-six attempts.

Now that he had fully ingrained the fundamentals, it was possible.

The various weapon training sessions had also helped.

The more he experienced, the more he learned about his own sword.

Naturally, Rem scoffed at it every time.

“That kinda thing’s supposed to come naturally when you get better. You’ve got a weird body.”

According to Rem, at a certain level of skill, things just click—but that wasn’t the case for Enkrid.

It was like he had to build every little step by hand.

Like stacking stones into a tower, carefully ensuring it wouldn’t collapse.

It was an apt metaphor.

Without mastering each fundamental step, nothing became second nature to him.

For those who lacked talent and relied on effort, what was the most crucial thing?

Time.

And time, cursed though it was, had been given to him in abundance.

“The weirder part is how you suddenly look like a completely different person overnight.”

Even Rem found him baffling.

By all rights, Enkrid had no talent.

He should’ve hit his limits.

He should’ve been standing at the edge of a cliff.

But instead, he was walking on air.

And as he walked, the path formed beneath his feet.

He had deflected Rem’s axe.

He had grown. Improved.

His skill development was unnatural.

Even prodigies didn’t change overnight. They always showed signs.

‘Wait, maybe he did show signs.’

Rem scratched his head.

The body, the techniques, the hours of training—all had been in place.

So, was Enkrid someone who stacked everything up, only to explode with growth in a single moment?

‘That doesn’t make sense.’

Then again, he had seen enough impossibilities to stop questioning them.

No point in arguing over it.

“Jaxon.”

Having successfully deflected Rem’s axe, Enkrid moved on to Jaxon.

He was the only one whose precision came close to Shinar’s.

That wasn’t to say Ragna and Rem lacked finesse.

They, too, could be precise and meticulous. The higher one’s skill, the more versatile they became.

But everyone had their specialty.

Jaxon’s precision was nearly fae-like. That was one of his strongest attributes.

"Shake it up."

Enkrid had Jaxon shake his sword’s tip, forcing them to meet and clash repeatedly.

Sometimes, he would face off against Aisia.

"If you don’t have a lover waiting for you, why not stick around a bit longer?"

He tried persuading her once, but Aisia never listened.

"I have something to confirm."

She always said the same thing and turned away.

And then—darkness.

The day reset once more.

“Shit, what the hell did you do?”

Rem looked bewildered in yet another new today.

Jaxon, on the other hand, stared at Enkrid with a glint in his eyes.

And so, training resumed.

With each passing cycle, the repetition stacked upon itself, anchoring his reality.

Sometimes, the Ferryman would appear.

And he would laugh.

A laugh filled with expectation.

That’s how Enkrid saw it.

Chuckle, chuckle.

Laughter drifted over the black river. The flickering lamp’s glow wavered alongside it.

Enkrid wasn’t particularly concerned about being mocked.

Whether it was the Ferryman or someone else didn’t matter.

Since childhood, he had swung his sword, run, fallen, fought, and risen again—amidst countless jeers and ridicule.

Mockery was familiar.

A mental attack like that held no meaning for him.

So, he woke up again.

And repeated the day.

Training. Refining.

By the time he met Jaxon’s sword tip with his own—

By the time he roughly deflected Aisia’s precise blade—

“…How?”

Aisia was more surprised than she had been in a long time.

“It just happened.”

It wasn’t a matter of mere luck.

A thrilling sensation rushed through his entire body, making him grin.

Seeing that, Aisia pulled her sword back slightly.

“Even your face is a weapon.”

Then she stepped back and raised her sword once more.

“Do it again.”

And so, he did.

Their blades clashed.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“You’re trying to deflect it like Rem? That’s sloppy.”

She spoke abruptly and then started shaking her sword tip.

What now?

He had never seen her do this during their duels.

Her sword tip wavered. Before long, multiple shimmering points appeared before his eyes.

If he were to block this like Rem, he would have to parry each individual strike.

Through repetition and training, he could undoubtedly engrain that technique into his body.

But that wasn’t his path.

‘I must build my own process.’

He had already gained everything he could from mimicking Rem.

“You bastards keep breaking through my techniques. Did I seem easy to you?”

Aisia spoke.

There was no resentment in her tone.

She was impressed that Enkrid could match her technique by deflecting with precision, but she had expected him to copy what Rem had shown him. A talent like that had to be hidden away, waiting to be unleashed.

Otherwise, how could he have honed both swordsmanship and physical combat so effectively?

Regardless, she was a knight of the order, standing above squires.

She had faced countless challenges like this. It was nothing new.

“If you think this was all it took to stop me, you better fix that mindset.”

With those words, she lowered her sword tip.

The multiple flickering points vanished.

Instead, she tapped the ground lightly with her foot, creating a rhythm. Her vibrant orange hair swayed with the motion.

Of course, sword-tip precision wasn’t her only weapon.

“Let’s go again.”

She said it as if it were nothing.

“As if that wasn’t obvious.”

Enkrid nodded.

With that, Silver, Ember, and the Dwarven Gift danced through the air.

Aisia’s rapier, reflecting a blue gleam, thrust, slashed, struck, and even bent unpredictably.

It was still impossible to fully defend or subdue her without sustaining injuries.

But now, he could fight her all day.

Though there was a time limit.

For some reason, this cycle didn’t reset at midnight.

Instead, the day ended the moment the sun fell.

Then, it would repeat.

He had already experienced it once and knew.

That meant he had to make the most of every moment within the time he had.

“Hah… hah… Why did your skill suddenly jump?”

Aisia’s words were met with Enkrid’s amused response.

“It’s fun.”

“You lunatic.”

She couldn’t help but laugh.

After all, she, too, swung her sword, risked her life, and felt the thrill of battle.

“See you again.”

The sun set.

The day reset.

Blocked.

This was another barrier.

Once again, an impassable today.

When Enkrid opened his eyes, he decided to mimic Jaxon’s method this time.

“Next.”

Muttering to himself as he steeled his resolve had become a habit.

“What’s next?”

Andrew asked, stretching his body using the Isolation Technique.

“There’s something.”

Enkrid answered vaguely and began copying Jaxon’s style.

The way to counteract sword-tip precision was to strike before it began.

And for that, he needed one thing.

“Prediction. You must sense your opponent’s response before the moment arrives.”

“How?”

“The flicker of an eyelash, the way their muscles tense under their clothing.”

Easy to say.

Much harder to execute.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“…Nothing.”

“That was a pretty barbaric look just now.”

“What the hell are you talking about, you stray cat? That’s offensive.”

Rem cut in.

“It was the rotten stare of a spoiled fish mixed with a bad egg.”

Jaxon ignored Rem and focused on Enkrid.

Then, a throwing axe flew toward him.

Whirr!

Jaxon met the axe’s trajectory with his longsword, twisting his wrist just enough to send it ricocheting.

The axe, which had initially seemed to spin like a disc, rebounded vertically instead.

Bang!

The loud impact echoed.

A swift exchange of offense and defense.

There was technique even in blocking.

A precision worthy of an elegant sword.

After deflecting the axe, Jaxon spoke.

“A moment ago, that barbarian’s breathing was slightly faster than usual.”

Was that supposed to be an example?

He predicted the attack from Rem’s breathing?

It was likely an instinct developed from an immeasurable number of battles.

Enkrid wordlessly watched their exchange.

Jaxon was always one step ahead.

His words rang true.

It was no longer just about evasion—it was about sensing the flow of combat and adjusting all instincts, intuition, and perception to match an opponent’s one specific technique.

It was a feeling of anticipation.

As he began this new training, internalizing and refining his senses—

“This is too fun.”

He muttered to himself once more.

The Ferryman, who had been watching, felt the strong urge to click his tongue.

This lunatic had no concept of boredom, suffering, or despair.

Trapped in a closed space, swinging his sword alone, enjoying himself.

No one else shared his memories due to the repeating day.

But that didn’t matter.

It didn’t bother him.

Because Enkrid had something to share everything with.

The process of swinging his sword, the path he carved, the skill he accumulated, the changes unfolding—

That was his measure.

That was his joy.

Because he shared it all with his sword and today, it was fine.

So he copied Jaxon’s techniques.

Then, he moved on to Ragna’s.

This time, he didn’t use sword-tip precision.

He fought differently.

And that was when it happened.

Enkrid’s sword grazed Aisia’s throat.

To be precise—Silver blocked her attack, and then he drew his gladius, executing an unpredictable horizontal slash.

Fwick.

A thin cut.

A single drop of blood beaded and dripped from the wound.

The entire scene felt slow.

He had an opening.

He could push forward.

He knew that.

But while his mind recognized it, his heart didn’t act.

‘I landed a hit.’

But he didn’t finish it.

Had he pressed on, he might have suffered a wound in return.

Best case, a hole in his shoulder.

Worst case, a fatal injury.

But the opportunity was there.

And yet, Enkrid stopped.

He never got another chance.

Clang!

Their swords clashed, shifting their positions.

Aisia now stood where Enkrid had been, and vice versa.

Blood dripped steadily from her arm.

“When an opportunity comes, you take it.”

Aisia spoke.

Both of them already knew that truth.

Enkrid didn’t answer.

Aisia lowered her sword.

“That’s enough. Let’s stop here. I just need to check on something. After that, I’ll let you go. Though your reason for being here will probably be meaningless by then.”

Enkrid didn’t respond.

Aisia walked past him, completely unguarded.

Not even holding her sword.

After she left, he sat there.

Time passed.

And then, once again, the day ended.

It was the same as the dozens of times before.

Darkness.

And then—light.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the purple glow of a lamp.

The Ferryman.

Sitting atop his boat, the Ferryman finally spoke.

“That’s the wall.”

For once, he was being uncharacteristically helpful.

Which made sense.

“I told you it’d be fun, didn’t I?”

The Ferryman continued.

But to Enkrid—

This wasn’t fun at all.