Rem crouched in front of the corpse, whose head had been split open and was starting to rot, and split its chest open with a dagger.
The decaying flesh tore weakly, and the blade that sliced through the flesh was stained black.
The rigor mortis had already loosened, so cutting through the flesh wasn't difficult.
Even if there had been rigor mortis, it wouldn't have mattered.
From the chest of the corpse emerged a heart, clearly gnawed away by insects. A heart full of holes and bite marks.
The black blood had congealed into a slimy substance.
"Look at that."
The Captain would return, but assessing the situation was a basic task.
That's why Rem had cut into the corpse's chest.
No one there knew it, but Rem's understanding of sorcery had deepened significantly compared to before.
He had realized some things through his talent, but killing the Immortal Madman and changing his outlook on life after seeing Encrid had also contributed.
In any case, examining the traces of sorcery gave him a rough understanding of the situation. Specifically, it was about grasping what the opponent had done.
"It's not a typical spirit."
It's an external art. In other words, it was a technique that borrowed power from another being.
After a few thoughts ran through his head, he arrived at a conclusion.
"Lucky, aren't you."
Rem had arrived at the same conclusion as Geom Nares: fate had tilted a little more in enemy's favor.
He had also figured something else out. Something extra—the nature of the external force.
The Sacred Cult of the Demon Realm, the heretics, worshiped demons as gods. Priests were those who borrowed the power of gods, so it made sense that the heretics could do the same.
In other words, by praying to the master of the Demon Realm, they borrowed their power.
"Should that count as divine?"
If Audin knew, he would be furious and kick up a fuss, calling it blasphemy.
Anyway, with the teachings of the Apostles, techniques borrowing the power of demons, and a sorcerer of genius talent involved...
"So, they performed a ritual to worship a demon as a god?"
He understood the principle, and he could see the flow of what had happened. Yelling about it wouldn't solve anything.
There would have been more sacrifices, likely sent to the intended destination.
"It's not the Demon Realm."
Rem nodded and muttered to himself.
"He couldn't have gone far."
"He wouldn't have died either."
Luagarne, standing nearby, added.
It was obvious.
At most, it would take about half a month on foot.
They had probably placed other sacrifices at the destination, so it wasn't thrown into the Demon Realm. The Demon Realm's known as Silence, but that didn't mean anyone could enter it easily.
Whether it was a sorcery of spatial transference or something else, they couldn't have sent people to a place they hadn't seen. It wasn't the Demon Realm.
Moreover, Silence would react when disturbed. The fact that nothing had happened was evidence that it wasn't that place.
'For a sorcery of this level, the sacrifices must have all died.'
The worst-case scenario was beyond the River of No Return.
If not, he'd find his way back from some field under the stars in the western plains.
That was Rem's judgment.
That night, the moon rose. Two moons illuminated the western lands, and the stars shone brightly in the sky.
"Aren't you worried?"
Luagarne asked, looking at Rem.
While Rem had been inspecting the corpse and organizing his thoughts, he had moved back and was sitting by the fire, gently roasting some wind rabbit meat. If he made even a small mistake, it would burn quickly and taste terrible. Cooking meat required precision.
Rem stared at the flames as he answered.
"If he was the kind of person who could die from something like this, he'd have died long ago."
He was right.
Luagarne had been momentarily flustered by Encrid's disappearance, but now she had calmed down.
The same was true for Dunbachel. The beastwoman briefly nodded in acknowledgment when Rem arrived and said he would come back on his own.
Rem had briefly considered the worst-case scenario, but he didn't believe the Captain would die from something as unfortunate as this.
A hundred attempts would fail a hundred times. No, even a thousand times—and it would still fail. It was something born of sheer luck.
Die from something like this? Ridiculous. He had survived countless brushes with death.
And if he did die?
Just a stray thought. Rem quickly dismissed his negative thinking.
'After coming all this way with sorcery, you're asking if this is it?'
Rem decided to wait with peace of mind. What would change by fretting?
"Everyone, just focus on your own tasks. Do you think searching will make anything appear? Besides, as long as it's not the desert, he'll come back on his own."
"And if it's beyond the River of No Return?"
"He'll still come back."
The chief had asked, and Rem had answered without hesitation.
If asked how, the answer would have been, "I don't know."
Encrid would return, as he always did.
It was a baseless belief, but some would call it trust.
He would become a Knight, keep his promises, and...
He'd even get to taste Rem's heirloom weapon.
That was how it would be. Three days had passed since Rem inspected the corpse. Encrid had not returned, and there had been no signs of him.
* * *
Meditation, thought, pondering.
Doing such things made the day pass quickly.
At one point, Rem tried to gauge the direction by watching the setting sun. But that didn't work.
How does the sky here function?
The bright sun had set, but there was no sense of direction.
The sunset simply faded, and before he knew it, the pale twilight had turned into night.
The pitch-black night, without light, was all around in the desert.
The next visitor after the vanishing heat was the cold.
Night had fallen, and suddenly the temperature plummeted.
"Why is it so cold all of a sudden?"
It occurred to him that he might freeze to death.
Either way, he needed to find his way.
Encrid looked up.
Stars filled the night sky, scattering like countless white dots before his eyes.
There were too many stars. Way too many.
"What is this?"
The people of the West called this place the River of No Return that one could not return from.
It was exactly as they said.
This was a land with no markers to guide him.
"Should I call it the Sky Barrier of Stars?"
Talking to no one, Encrid muttered to himself in the empty void.
Clouds that blocked sunlight were called sunlight barriers, and canyons that shielded against sandstorms were called sandstorm barriers.
So, should this be called the Sky Barrier of the Milky Way? Doesn't that make sense?
He had heard that in the West, they referred to the starry river in the sky as the Milky Way.
That information came from Ziba.
Apparently, sometimes in the western sky, a river of stars in various colors would appear.
They called it the Milky Way.
During the day, the scorching heat would cook people alive, while at night, the freezing cold would try to kill them.
'Am I going to freeze to death here?'
Before the thought could fully form, a gentle warmth rose from his chest.
Heat that instantly made him forget the cold.
Encrid reached into his coat, grabbed the source of the warmth, and pulled it out.
Under the night sky, on the vast sea of sand, a dagger was emitting a soft red glow. It was a gift from a young blonde Junior-Knight.
"It's a dagger that holds warmth."
That's what Hira had vaguely explained.
The heat radiating from the dagger formed a thin barrier around his entire body, helping to ward off the cold.
Encrid had gained warmth. The gift had fulfilled its purpose.
What next?
He needed to find direction.
Was there anything that could help?
Encrid took stock of the items he carried.
Aker, Gladius, Ember—his main weapons.
In addition, he had a throwing dagger pouch strapped to his chest with six throwing knives, a hidden dagger strapped to his ankle, and armor made from spider shells—breastplate, shoulder guards, arm guards, and shin guards.
"Lucky Fish, right?"
The preserved food he had packed without much thought.
A bracelet Ziba's mother had given him.
A recurve bow made by a craftsman from the city of Oara.
A dagger that emitted warmth and light, and a returning dagger.
The last dagger had a long blood groove carved down the center. Wasn't it called the misfortune-and-D dagger?
Commonly known as a talisman, it wasn't even sharpened.
Curses were the ferryman's domain, something he always chewed up, cooked, and consumed, so it wasn't particularly significant.
There was nothing among his belongings that could help him find direction at that moment.
Weapons and preserved food were all he had.
Encrid had to make a choice.
Move or stay?
Of course, the answer was obvious.
If standing still wouldn't change anything, then moving was the kind of person Encrid was.
Step by step.
Encrid started walking.
The starlight, countless as if pouring from the sky, opened up his view. He could see nothing but sand, yet he kept walking diligently.
He walked the entire day like that.
Thanks to the warmth of the dagger, the cold was not a threat. That was fortunate.
As he walked through the night, he tore his underclothes and roughly wrapped them around his head.
If the sun rose like this, his scalp and face would be thoroughly cooked. His face and the back of his neck were already burning.
The sun rose again.
"It's impossible to walk during the day."
Thanks to the warmth of the dagger, the cold was bearable, so walking at night was the better choice.
He decided to breathe slowly and walk long distances only at night, and so he did.
Was there another way?
Perhaps.
He could pour all his strength into running. If he unleashed his Will and sprinted at a speed beyond normal humans using his thigh muscles, could he escape the desert in one go?
And what if he failed?
How many times could he attempt this Will-powered sprint? Ten times? Twenty times?
If his body held up, that is. Even if he did that, could he escape this place?
It was unlikely.
Therefore, walking slowly and preserving his stamina was the best course of action.
Building up his strength was the right move.
As these thoughts entered his mind, Encrid surveyed his surroundings.
They say a person dies after three days without water, but that varies from person to person.
Encrid had strong basic stamina and incredible patience.
He never overexerted himself or ran hastily.
He walked calmly to conserve his energy and the remaining moisture in his body.
After walking aimlessly for ten days, a small change appeared.
A sand dune came into view, but it gave off a strange sense of unease.
When he stopped in front of it, something sharp and pointed came flying at him with a swoosh.
Encrid drew Aker and deflected the object as if pushing it aside.
Thud!
It was a tail. More precisely, it was a creature resembling a scorpion.
With a burst, the creature leaped from the sand.
Whether it was a monster or a beast, Encrid found the encounter strangely welcome.
In that moment, countless attack paths flashed before Encrid's eyes.
He could charge forward and strike with his sword, or dodge and stab with Ember.
But all those options would consume energy.
Instead, Encrid simply flicked his left hand.
In no time, the dagger in his hand flew with a ping, piercing the creature's head.
Thud!
The tough exoskeleton cracked, and a black mass spilled out in all directions.
Did it evolve that way living in the desert?
The black mass was its blood.
Its blood wasn't liquid but solid.
Not that drinking the blood of a monster was an option anyway.
Seeing it only made him thirstier.
"I'm thirsty."
His skin felt dry and parched as well.
When Encrid reached out his hand, the thrown dagger slowly flew back to him.
He felt a taut sensation like pulling on a string, and when he tugged a bit more, the dagger flew faster.
Grabbing the returning dagger, a thought occurred to him.
It was such a good weapon that he regretted not using it sooner.
Encrid straightened out his disordered gear after throwing the dagger.
He had a bow strapped to his back—it didn't feel heavy, but it was cumbersome.
He wondered why he even bothered bringing a bow when he wasn't planning to practice archery.
One monster, that was it. He kept walking afterward.
He slept in short intervals.
During the day, he sometimes rested under a sand dune.
After killing the monster, he skinned it and used its hide to create a makeshift shelter, using the bow as a support.
Carrying the bow around like this made him glad he had packed it.
The recurve bow held up well in both heat and cold.
"Though I could probably replace it with Ember or Gladius."
But he didn't discard his equipment.
After about twelve days without a drop of water, when he urinated, it was black.
It smelled foul.
It was dark urine, a sign of dehydration.
His skin had gone beyond dry and now didn't bounce back when pressed with his fingers.
His armor felt heavy, but if he discarded it, enduring the daytime heat would be even harder.
He was thirsty. It felt as if the thirst was squeezing his heart.
His lips cracked and peeled. His skin began to flake off like bark shaved with a planer.
After enduring over ten days of the extreme heat and cold, his body cried out in pain.
'Like a snake shedding its skin.'
Encrid thought, stopping for a moment. His head spun.
"Be left all alone with no one around. What is loneliness? Tremble in the face of anguish. That is the day you have chosen."
The ferryman's voice echoed from far away. There was no river, no boat, no lantern. Just his voice.
Encrid had no strength to respond and simply listened with his eyes closed.
Then he began walking again.
It was hard to tell how much time had passed.
Dizziness, headaches, suffering, and pain continued in an endless cycle.
It felt like wandering without purpose.
He didn't know the way, nor the direction.
He might wander the desert forever, dying over and over.
That was what the ferryman wanted. Encrid knew that but kept walking anyway.
Whether one was a Junior-Knight or a full Knight, a person was still a person.
Without food or water, everyone died the same way.
Even in those circumstances, Encrid resisted filling his stomach.
The preserved food was primarily salted fish. If he ate something so salty, it would only make his thirst worse.
Knowing that, he endured. His patience was remarkable.
People say you see mirages in the desert, but Encrid didn't see anything like that.
His natural resilience didn't allow hallucinations to cloud his vision.
He walked and kept walking. How many times had he pushed past his limits?
"It's hot."
When the sunlight piercing through the monster's hide seemed to slice through his head, he lost consciousness.
Thus, the cycle of today began to repeat.
He died while walking. Not even collapsing, but standing and walking until the end, when death took him.
Patience, a trained body, and unyielding will created this harmony.
But Encrid didn't fully comprehend his death.
"Is it the same day again?"
After staring at sand every day, it became hard to tell whether the day was repeating or if another painful day had passed.
Though he died of exhaustion while walking, the experience felt different.
The ferryman appeared a few more times.
He laughed mockingly and spoke with pity.
"Give up. Then it will be easier."
But at some point, he stopped appearing.
At other times, Encrid heard hallucinations.
"Hey. I can't speak properly right now, so if you've got any Will left, could you spare a bit more?"
It seemed to mean that. It was hard to fully understand.
In his muddled mind, Encrid followed his instincts.
"Let's go this way today."
What does it mean when even expert guides don't venture into a place? It meant that finding the way was pointless.
It was said that there weren't many guides who traversed the desert exclusively.
He seemed to recall hearing such stories.
One day, he was swept up in a sandstorm and died.
Other times, exhaustion claimed him.
Eventually, he came upon a massive river blocking his path. It was the River of No Return.
"So, this is the River of No Return."
Encrid didn't have the strength to speak, so he muttered it inwardly.
The desert was a desert, and the River of No Return referred to a vast, unending sand pit.
It was a place of death if you entered.
Encrid looked for a way to cross the pit and died of exhaustion.
After that, he changed direction.
Since he couldn't leave a marker, he used the shadow of his scorpion-skin shelter to estimate the direction.
After seeing the River of No Return, he came across a cliff.
Even if he were in perfect condition, there was no way to cross it.
He sought another path and collapsed from exhaustion, this time kneeling on one knee, panting until he died.
There were times when his throat cracked and bled, and in those moments, the wetness felt strangely welcome.
But it was also a signal of death.
He wandered like that, over and over.
He didn't know how many times he had died, or how many days he had roamed.
Even being alive was painful, and dying was painful too.
The thirst seemed to be eating away at his mind.
He constantly suffered from headaches and dizziness, making it hard to keep track of time.
The ferryman deliberately stayed away.
Encrid was dying in isolation.
Yet, he never stopped walking.
Even when walking became too difficult, he mustered his Will.
He couldn't rely on his muscles alone, so he used his Will to move.
"Legs, keep walking. Body, hold on."
When his Will circulated through his entire body, giving strength to his toes, he managed to take one more step.
After mastering the technique of enduring a bit longer, he kept walking.
On one of those days, a faint shadow appeared.
It was a clattering skeleton monster.
Beside it was a fox with large ears. A gemstone glowed on its ear. A jewel-eared fox.
Clatter!
The skeleton took a step.
Encrid's lips were cracked and dry, his cheeks hollow, and his eyes dark with sunken shadows. He would have startled anyone who saw him.
Yet he grasped his sword. The moment he saw the monster, his body reacted instinctively.
Did he have the strength to swing? He didn't know.
The ferryman watched it all.
Watching, he thought.
Was every day a crisis? Was it a continuous struggle?
That depended on the person.
The ferryman understood that too.
Was it assumed that without someone's encouragement or protection, isolation and loneliness would cause him to give up?
That wasn't the case.
Encrid, the subject of this curse, wasn't walking for the sake of support.
He was walking for what he believed in.
The ferryman's eyes glowed purple.
Encrid had lost count, but the ferryman knew this was the thirtieth day.
Only thirty days.
Because he hadn't broken, isolation and loneliness were just obstacles to be overcome.
Because his mind hadn't crumbled, thirty days were enough.
His determination brought luck.
"You're lucky."
The ferryman's words faintly lingered in Encrid's ears.
Fortune doesn't flow in just one direction.
For example, the bracelet Ziba's mother gave him protected him from the desert's blood-sucking insects.
And the bonds he had formed in the past turned into arrows that saved him now.
Ping. Thud!
The arrow that flew shattered the skeleton's skull.
Luck shifted its course.
"Captain?"
Encrid thought the voice he heard sounded familiar.
With that, his vision spun. The Will he had been forcing to remain active snapped.
At the same time, all the strength drained from his body, and the world started to spin.
After countless repetitions of today, he recognized the signs.
It was the process of losing consciousness.
The moment the string that held him together finally snapped, if the voice calling him as 'Captain' was just a hallucination, today would repeat itself once again.
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