How does one block lightning?
'Today' repeated itself.
It didn't matter whether the ferryman was watching or not, Encrid remained constant.
As always, he was unchanging.
There was no difference between when he first held a sword and declared he would become a mercenary, or when he was beaten and struck the sword against a tree. The same could be said for now.
Well, there was something that had changed.
His vision had changed.
What he saw had changed.
The way he thought had evolved.
His body had transformed.
The sword he held had changed.
His dream had come closer.
And yet, Encrid was still Encrid.
He pondered day after day.
'How do I block it?'
It was a question without an answer.
Of course, that was not a problem.
It had always been like this.
For Encrid, finding answers was rare.
Everything around him told him to give up.
It forced him to settle for today.
Even the thought of giving up came to mind.
Whether it was the ferryman's trick or just the way things were, there was never just one way to survive today.
'What if I took everyone and ran?'
What if he woke up in the morning, dragged his aching body, and fled like a madman?
There were many carriages at the Green Pearl camp.
What if he picked one and ran?
Would the Knight chase him all the way to the Border Guard?
The Knight usually appeared by evening. Would he pursue if Encrid made a break for it in the morning?
Could he even follow?
Who knows?
In truth, it didn't matter.
Encrid would not do that.
Running away was easy, and there were many ways to do it.
Even if Garrett grabbed him, it wouldn't matter.
'I should go to the rear and rest.'
Or.
'I have urgent business and need to return.'
That would be enough.
Who could argue with the hero who had led them to victory on this battlefield and was now their greatest champion?
A subtle air of excitement had already begun to brew within the camp.
When Aspen retreated, there would be a party.
They would tear into meat and drink wine.
Could they look forward to such a tomorrow?
"It's despair."
The ferryman's words echoed in his mind.
"You cannot overcome it."
The ferryman repeated the same words.
It was just a distraction.
Nothing would change anyway.
In his mind, Encrid endlessly swung his sword.
He sought a solution, a way forward.
'What if I deflect it while retreating?'
How could the sword tremble and sway like that?
How could he make his blade meet the other sword?
Encrid thought of the curse of repeating 'today' as a gift.
The agony of death was always the same, no matter how many times he experienced it.
But he endured it for the thrill that followed.
Thus, he welcomed the Knight's sword over and over again.
The relentless focus in the repetition of 'today' burned brightly.
That's why Encrid saw more.
"Honor."
It was when the Knight spoke of honor and demanded that he block the sword just once.
In that instant, Encrid saw everything as if it had been cut off.
Part of this was due to the ominous shackles that had bound him when today began.
The extreme activation of his Sense of Evasion had heightened his focus.
That heightened sense drove his concentration even further to the limit.
'The blade?'
As he moved to deflect while retreating, the blade accelerated.
The speed had changed.
Before the blade could pick up speed, Encrid saw something.
A tremor.
It trembled.
He was sure he had seen it.
At the same time, Encrid's sword met the Knight's at an angle.
It was an all-out effort that left his muscles feeling as if they were tearing apart.
Though Encrid didn't see the Knight's face, too focused on the blade, the Knight's expression had shifted from boredom to a hint of surprise.
Of course, that surprise faded quickly.
Clang.
As the blades clashed, the shortsword split the Dwarf's gladius.
'The advantage of the weapon means nothing.'
There is none.
Thud.
The heart was pierced.
Encrid died.
It was another repetition of 'today', once again.
The same sequence occurred, with a slight twist added this time.
As he blocked with the gladius, Encrid activated the 'Will of the Moment', fully accepting that his left arm's muscles might burst.
It was a gamble.
'Will' is ultimately a mysterious force that manifests through the user's body.
It wasn't something to attempt with an unhealed body.
He felt his left arm's muscles tearing, but Encrid managed to drive Ember in the direction he wanted.
It worked.
The Knight's sword trembled and bent as it pierced his heart, but it didn't completely shatter him.
Even if it was just for a moment, he had bought some time.
For a brief instant, death was delayed.
"Guh!"
Encrid staggered backward and spat out a mouthful of blood.
Simultaneously, his body collapsed to the ground.
He tried to support himself with his left hand, but there was no strength, causing him to lurch forward.
He was on the verge of falling.
Thud.
Someone caught his falling body.
When he looked down, he saw feet.
Sinar had caught him with her thigh.
Encrid didn't make the same mistake twice.
He pressed his right hand against the ground.
There was no energy left to stand.
The shock to his heart caused blood to continuously pour from his mouth.
"What's this?"
Sinar spoke.
At that moment, something swooped above the Knight's head.
It was Ragna.
His sword violently sliced through the tent roof.
Rip!
The sound of the tent tearing echoed as his blade shot downward with terrifying speed.
The sword struck faster than an arrow, plunging from above.
When asked about lightning, Ragna hadn't been speaking lightly.
His blade had become lightning.
After imbuing his sword with the 'Will of Severance', he showcased the swordsmanship of the northern House of Zaun.
It was the Zaun family's Middle Sword Technique - Lightning Strike.
Boom!
That was the sound of Ragna's blade.
The Knight responded by thrusting his sword upward.
What about the lightning strike?
It was no coincidence that he was called a Knight.
Nor was it by chance that he wielded the 'Will'.
The Knight was capable of things that mere fragments of Will couldn't accomplish.
He caught Ragna's sword with his left palm while thrusting his own sword.
Encrid observed it all.
He didn't loosen his focus for even a second, determined to miss nothing.
He didn't care that his body was dying.
'Ah.'
Even to Encrid's blurred vision, it seemed the Knight's sword had multiplied into dozens.
"Grrk."
Encrid coughed up not only blood but now also bloody foam.
Seeing this, Sinar, who stood beside him, spoke.
"A Fairy who loses their partner never forgets revenge."
When did they become partners?
What kind of relationship do they have to be talking about revenge?
Still, it was reassuring.
To make jokes at a moment like this, Sinar truly was a Fairy who could handle anything.
Ragna, pierced by the Knight's sword, tumbled to the ground.
It was a fatal wound.
His eyes went dark, lifeless.
A hole had been pierced in his heart—it was inevitable.
"Damn."
Krais blocked Encrid's path again.
This time, Dunbachel was with him.
Growl.
And was Esther any different?
Oh, do these guys have no intention of running away?
This time, it was Ragna who had died.
Was it because he got excited and attempted a big technique all of a sudden?
Even so, thanks to that, the Knight's body had changed as well.
Through the fading vision of the dying Encrid, he could see the Knight inspecting his palm between Krais and Dunbachel.
Blood dripped from the tip of the shortsword onto the ground.
Blood also flowed from the Knight's left hand, dripping onto the floor.
The blood was an extremely deep crimson.
"I was cut?"
The Knight muttered.
It made sense.
Even though it was infused with 'Will', the opponent was nothing more than an incomplete fragment.
He was a Knight.
And yet, his palm, cloaked in 'Will', was cut?
Could it really be cut?
"I was cut?"
The Knight muttered again.
That's how shocking it was to him.
Whether by fortune or misfortune, Encrid could only witness up to that point before closing his eyes.
The time he bought by sacrificing his left arm had run out.
"Guueeck."
He tried to hold it in, but in the end, Encrid collapsed, letting out a sound akin to an unpleasant scream.
It was his limit.
"You always go out in the noisiest way."
As Encrid lay dying, he heard Krais's voice—melancholic yet chilling.
Encrid closed his eyes, died, and woke up to start 'today' all over again.
The trembling blade, the bending sword.
Above all, the image of the Knight when he last faced Ragna remained vivid in his memory.
The Knight had adjusted his stance and his footwork.
He had changed his attack after assessing his opponent's skill.
If the Knight had always attacked with the same predictable trajectory, Encrid would have already defeated him long ago.
"Good."
"What is?"
"Good!"
"What's good?"
Is it normal for someone to wake up in the morning shouting like a madman?
Krais asked repeatedly from the side, but Encrid was completely immersed in his own world.
It was a focus he had never experienced before.
"Has he hit his head?"
Krais muttered nearby, concerned that this time Encrid had really suffered a serious injury.
Even Sinar shared similar thoughts.
The guy who had always been strange had become even stranger.
But then again, that was part of his charm.
Encrid went through several more repetitions of 'today'.
During that time, he carefully organized the things he had realized.
In one of the more recent 'todays', he saw a fascinating scene.
By chance, Ragna and Sinar attacked together, and the Knight's sword let out a strange sound as he parried.
Wooooong!
It was a sword that hummed and vibrated as it cried out.
The sword's name was Blade Echo.
Also known as the Echo Blade.
The sword sang, and a visible white light emanated from the Knight's eyes.
It was the manifestation of 'Will'.
Wooong-!
Slash!
The Knight's shortsword drew arcs of white light to the left and right.
Ragna's sword, caught in the trajectory of that light, was split in two, and Sinar's sword was also severed.
Encrid, who had charged first, once again gained a brief reprieve.
He saw it clearly.
'With an old shortsword?'
At this point, it was no longer just a skill, but a mystery, even a Divine Technique.
Both the Naidil and Ragna's sword were cut.
One was a famous blade, and the other was so thick that the mere idea of slicing through it seemed absurd—yet they were both severed.
Not even a spark flew.
'Like cutting through a rotten branch.'
Was this all possible with just the power of 'Will'?
What exactly is 'Will'?
What is the force of one's determination?
Encrid pondered, but no answers came.
His thoughts began to shift toward more advanced and constructive ideas.
The Knight, after killing Ragna or cutting off his arms and legs, often muttered similar words.
"Such a waste. Why did you even try?"
He coveted Ragna's talent.
Encrid reflected on how Ragna had faced the Knight.
He pulled out everything etched into today's repetition.
He recalled Sinar's defiance.
He remembered Krais's death.
And he also recalled Dunbachel's desperate struggle.
In addition, he revisited his own death again and again, thinking of the Knight's sword.
Swordsmanship, the blade, and sheer desperation.
All these things whirled together, entangling in his mind like a storm.
"That place is a swamp, those who fall in cannot escape."
The ferryman still tried to drag Encrid into some abyss from time to time, but it was in vain.
"Aren't you busy?"
Encrid would sometimes ask first.
On those days, the ferryman would fall silent.
Encrid thought it almost seemed as if the ferryman was sulking.
It was a ridiculous notion.
After all, wasn't the ferryman something beyond comprehension?
And so, on the fifty-sixth repetition of 'today', Encrid's thoughts circled back.
'How do you block lightning?'
He repeatedly asked himself the question, pondered it, and then asked Ragna and Sinar.
No day was wasted, he did everything he could.
Yet every time, he died after seeing the Knight's sword bend and sway as it approached.
He died seeing the trembling blade.
Ember was cut, and the gladius was cut.
He never saw Blade Echo again.
That had been a stroke of luck, something that would require coincidence and fortune to recreate.
To others, it might seem as though the Goddess of luck was stalking him, but Encrid knew very well that he wasn't so fortunate.
So, he couldn't expect the same luck twice.
If it wasn't luck, then he'd have to deliberately synchronize with Ragna and Sinar again.
'But I don't want that.'
His heart refused to move in that direction.
It would mean accepting the deaths of the lazy, joke-loving Fairy and others as a premise.
He would have to push them toward death.
That was something he could never tolerate.
Witnessing others gain a reprieve before dying was something he could justify as a step toward 'tomorrow', but to push them directly?
'I'd rather grip my sword and charge myself.'
That was how he felt.
So, he swung his sword alone, agonizing and pondering.
Endless reflection and contemplation, even if it led to the smallest progress, always brought Encrid back to his original question:
How do you block lightning?
"It begins with perceiving its true form."
That was something Ragna had said.
Now, Encrid understood.
You had to see and recognize it before you could block it.
"Then, you just need to react to its speed."
That was Sinar's advice.
React, then strike.
Block it.
"And after that, you just need to 'do it well'."
Ragna's words.
Everything was captured in that single word—'well'.
In any case.
"Phew."
The Knight's sword.
The Knight's strike.
Wasn't it exhilarating?
"Again."
He couldn't help but speak to himself.
A smile accompanied it.
Encrid felt an unprecedented surge of exhilaration from within the repetition of 'today'.
Though his dreams had come to him like the Grim Reaper, the sword he wielded seemed to have become his guidepost.
That guidepost felt like a light descending into a dark tunnel.
What seemed to the ferryman like utter darkness and despair was, to Encrid, light and joy.
Today had begun once again.
The seventy-second cycle—his body was still a wreck, but as always, Encrid moved.
He had seen Ragna's sword strikes as he lay half-dead.
He had watched Sinar's desperate struggle more than ten times.
The method?
He didn't know.
Tomorrow?
It would not come.
But he didn't care.
And for this reason, the ferryman couldn't understand Encrid.
Among the many repetitions of 'today', there were days when an inexplicable surge of confidence arose.
Of course, he died again.
Then came twelve more cycles.
The Knight's sword was always one that seemed possible to block but never was.
On the ninetieth cycle, the Knight drew his sword, furrowed his brow, and said,
"You."
Then, looking at him, the Knight continued.
"What a waste."
Encrid wasn't particularly overjoyed by the remark, but to say he didn't feel some sense of pride would be a lie.
Though, at that moment, he felt nothing.
He was too focused.
It had always been this way.
Whenever he faced the Knight, he immersed himself and concentrated completely.
Even the slightest lapse in focus would result in his heart being cleaved without gaining anything.
Though it felt like his mental strength was being worn away, he couldn't afford to loosen his concentration.
Still, he would never forget that the dream—appearing as the Grim Reaper—had recognized him.
The Knight spoke again of honor and one chance.
Encrid exhaled and prepared himself.
It seemed like he could block it, but he couldn't.
That meant something was wrong.
Did he need to rise to the Knight's level here and now?
No, that was impossible.
Just having fragments of 'Will' wasn't enough to get there.
Then how?
Woooong.
At the moment he heard the faint hum of Blade Echo, the Knight's sword mercilessly split his heart.
Thud.
It was faster than before.
Blade Echo, here?
Ah.
It truly was like lightning.
At the same time, lightning struck Encrid's mind.
A bolt of clarity hit him, illuminating the path beyond today and into tomorrow.
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