Chapter 823 - Five, Three, Two
It wasn't that he could actually smell the liquor.
Enkrid gathered his senses.
He had fallen asleep right after drinking, but he had seen everything and heard everything.
His memory hadn't been cut off, so he remembered it all to the very end.
Everyone had made a drunken fool of themselves before falling asleep, and nothing had happened.
Rem had howled like a wolf, calling for Ayul.
Jaxen, seeing that, had thrown a dagger, saying, 'Pure love doesn't suit you. So die.'
Ragna had woken up in his sleep and shouted that it wasn't heat, but the blade.
And Audin had begun to sing, 'Lord, Lord, Lord,' and Enkrid could understand why he hadn't made holy chants his main focus.
His voice was booming, but his pitch was off.
When he sang quietly, it seemed to be more or less in tune, but had that been achieved through effort, or perhaps effffort?
'They say singing is a talent?'
It was a thought that popped up out of nowhere.
Who had said that?
Nurat's face came to mind, and the face of a now-forgotten person flashed by.
That is to say.
'Commander Garet?'
Garet Guyro, that was the name.
He had been a man with an outstanding talent for singing and had retired from the military, saying he would live as a bard.
After that, news of him was heard every now and then.
He had composed the songs 'Demonic Knight' and 'Heartbreaker', but the word was that his talent for composing was not that great.
When Krais felt anxious, he felt pressure, and to relieve that pressure, he would chatter.
It had been a part of that chatter.
"Don't you remember Garet Guyro? He's become quite famous these days."
"Who was that again?"
It was too much to ask a man who repeats the same day to remember every passing connection.
"Sometimes he seems like an idiot."
Enkrid had flicked the forehead of the muttering Krais.
"Ouch, my head's going to explode."
"So what?"
"No, just saying."
He had become famous for his talent in singing, but he was worried because he had no talent for composing, or so Krias had said.
He had also said a letter had come from his lover and guard, Nurat.
"Your thoughts are wandering."
At the Ferryman's words, Enkrid lifted his head.
It was a strange thing.
This was a dream, or a world of the mind.
To be thinking of other things in such a place.
And again, he thought that today's Ferryman was kind and gentle.
Even when Enkrid was lost in his idle thoughts, he had waited, just standing in his place.
"What is it?"
Enkrid asked.
He wasn't the type of being to call him just to see his face, without any business, was he?
"Behold."
The Ferryman abruptly extended the hand that wasn't holding the lamp.
In that hand, a long staff had suddenly appeared.
A black-bodied staff with a purple light flowing through it as if pulsating.
He had wondered what it was, but Enkrid reflexively took a stance.
A sword with the exact same shape as Dawn was now in his hand.
Whoosh.
The spear flew in.
A spear is a long weapon.
It meant it was a more advantageous weapon than a sword when fighting at a distance.
The ferry boat had suddenly widened, and there was enough space to move.
The wooden planks that made up the floor felt harder than marble.
He raises his sword and parries the spearhead.
Ting.
If you deflect the direction of the force that came in as a thrust, an opening is created.
If you dig in during that gap, it now becomes the distance of the one holding the sword.
It was a simple line of thought, but all of this was done not by calculation but by intuition.
That is to say, as soon as he had deflected the spearhead with the flat of his sword, he had ducked and charged forward.
Then, in Enkrid's eyes, he saw the butt of the spear shooting upward.
'If that hits, I die.'
This time too, because he had known in advance, he was able to put the brakes on his body, pull back his sword, and swing.
CLANG—!
A clear noise erupted as the staff and the blade met.
With the noise, the offense and defense ended, and the sparring match also stopped.
The Ferryman had at some point retreated far back.
A distance of over ten paces.
And yet, his voice was heard very clearly.
"It is a Killing Stroke."
The Ferryman said.
It was not difficult to understand the meaning.
There were many similar techniques in swordsmanship.
If one were to examine its principles, the first was Armor Break.
'To crush one who is wearing armor.'
In terms of technique, it referred to aiming for the parts that were not covered by armor.
'Like the staff that aimed for my neck just now.'
Even if you aim for the armor, it was to swing with sufficient strength toward a part unprotected by it.
The second was to attack with a part that was not the blade.
That meant an attack that relied on the blade usually took on a different form.
In other words, it meant it becomes a fatal means with an element of surprise.
'A technique that decides the match in an instant.'
It was similar to Fel's.
The point that it was a method of deciding the match in a single blow was the same.
The fact that the spearhead was a feint and the following attack with the staff was the real one also made it an attack that used several psychological devices.
"Be faithful to the basics, but do not try to gauge your opponent."
As soon as he heard it, he mulled over the meaning of the words.
The Ferryman taught, and Enkrid listened, lowering his sword.
It was something born from experience or realized through death.
The sword in his hand suddenly disappeared, and the staff the Ferryman had been holding scattered like smoke.
"Was it fun?"
The Ferryman asked.
Enkrid, as if to ask if he wouldn't spar one more time, held up his empty hands and spoke.
"I think it would be more fun if we did it a few more times."
The Ferryman, instead of granting Enkrid's wish, spoke.
"It is said that if you know an opponent's desires and fears, you can know them."
The purple lamp was tranquil.
Today, even the river was less choppy than usual.
The top of the ferry boat was that quiet.
Even when they had swung the staff and sword a moment ago, it had been like moving on a steel ferry boat placed on the ground.
As Enkrid stared blankly, the Ferryman's mouth opened again.
"Do you wish to know the desires of the demons?"
As soon as he heard it, he knew.
An offer.
And a temptation.
"I will tell you of their fears."
The Ferryman did not end his words there.
He continued.
"And you can have a pleasant dream like this every day."
It was a declaration that he would give the one who was mad for techniques, swordsmanship, sparring, practice, and training what he loved most.
And on top of that, he would also tell him the identity of the enemy shrouded in a veil of mystery.
Of course, he wasn't saying it without any conditions.
Since the Ferryman always had something he wanted.
"Repeat the day you have spent today. Ten times will be enough. It is simple. Right now, say that you wish to die. Then it will be done. After that, you just have to commit suicide nine more times before the day ends. It is not a difficult task."
He had died in so many varied ways until now.
For Enkrid, a few suicides were nothing.
That's right.
It was not a difficult task.
And yet, Enkrid did not open his mouth easily.
The ferry boat was calm, and the river was less choppy than ever before, but for some reason, his stomach still felt like it was churning.
Silence fell between the two.
The dry lips of the Ferryman, reminiscent of a wasteland that had not seen a single drop of rain for months, opened again.
"Five times?"
The number decreased.
Enkrid knew what the Ferryman wanted.
He wanted a day that was not dark, a peaceful day without thunder and lightning.
The one thing he desired while urging him to repeat that day was this.
The Ferryman desired peace.
'Go forth, as if you have never once died.'
It must be a different Ferryman from the one who had said that.
But what they wanted was consistent.
Well, could it be a little different for each Ferryman?
Enkrid, knowing that he could not know everything, did not try to know such things.
"Will you do it?"
He finally opened his mouth and asked back.
"How about three times?"
He knew that today was precious because it would not return.
Enkrid knew that even if he were given some magic that would allow him to arbitrarily repeat the day, he would not do so.
Because he had to move toward tomorrow.
Because though he had used death to repeat the day as an opportunity, he must not become complacent.
There was no wavering in his upright conviction.
"Two times?"
The number the Ferryman desired decreased further, but Enkrid did not grant it.
"You will regret it."
In the end, a curse came out.
"Aren't you tired of saying that?"
The Ferryman realized that he had repeated a similar threat.
"...You will truly regret it."
It seemed this Ferryman was a little lacking in vocabulary.
Enkrid opened his eyes.
It was after those who had been sprawled out, drunk, had woken up one by one.
"Why am I here?"
Ropord blinked his eyes, looking at the clothes and boots he had taken off and folded.
"What kind of liquor did you bring?"
Jaxen also added a word.
He looked at Rem with languid eyes.
Jaxen was not ignorant when it came to liquor.
But the liquor he had drunk yesterday was something even he could not handle.
"Ah, I don't know, you bastard. Anne said she would make a liquor that doesn't build up a resistance in the body but gets you drunk quickly."
"That's a drug, not a liquor."
Anne, who had come in the morning, took his words.
"I was wondering what you were going to do with it. I told you. That's something that people whose daily lives are impossible because of alcohol should drink a little bit of every day."
Anne's scope of research was wide.
The recent wealth of the Border Guard had given birth to leisure, and that leisure had given birth to various hobbies.
Among them, some had developed problems from excessive drinking, and the man who had placed his dreams in running a Salon had discovered that and dreamed of a liquor that would get you drunk but with less of a burden on the body.
Since you couldn't sell tea at a Salon.
Isn't there a liquor that gets you drunk when you drink it but reduces the burden on the body?
That had been the order.
In other words, the liquor they had drunk yesterday had been the result of research that had gone into Krais's own pocket.
It also meant it was something Rem and Krais had conspired to create.
It was to see how it tasted and also to check how strong it was.
"It'll probably be fine if I sweat a little."
Were Enkrid's words.
He had woken up later than yesterday, but he moved his body as if it were nothing.
Though he said he lived the same way every day, that consistency was not always the same.
There were days he skipped training.
Enkrid knew that was possible.
He just didn't stop his continuous efforts.
"Anyway, you all drank well."
Anne's eyes also shone.
Before her was ample proof that the effect of the liquor or drug she had made was excellent.
A knight got drunk, a frog got drunk, an elf got drunk, and a bear beastkin also got drunk.
'Ah, not a bear.'
Correction.
A half-giant had also gotten drunk instead.
Teresa got up, wearing only her tight-fitting undergarments, and gathered her clothes.
Ropord stared at her.
He hadn't been the only one who had stripped and slept.
"Right. It'll probably get better if I sweat a bit."
Fel, as always, agreed with Enkrid's words.
***
Whatever The Order of the Madmen Knights did, Rem's assault squad did what they did every day.
A patrol of the foothills of the Pen-Hanil Mountains, which also served as training.
There was an area they were in charge of on the road connecting the mountains and the city and in the foothills, and there was also an area that the ten swordsmen under Ragna were in charge of.
Of course, there was also a place that the Holy Infantry was in charge of.
Well, among them, Rem's assault squad was the innermost.
Was it because they wanted to?
Not a chance.
"Our unit is the innermost. No objections. The bastards who had objections are all gone because their heads were split by an axe."
Rem did not explain.
He just politely requested and hoped.
Of course, it was politeness in Rem's style.
The advantage was that his psychological structure was not difficult.
He never spoke in a twisted way.
'He just doesn't want to lose.'
They also liked that.
If they were going to do it anyway, they should be the best.
The simple thought structure might have been not because it came from Rem, but because he had gathered such people in the first place.
The number of Rem's assault squad was over a hundred.
If you included the reserves and trainees, it was over one hundred and fifty.
And among them, there were those who were worthy of being called the Rem's Strike Force.
In the Border Guard, they were also called Rem's personal guard, and within the assault squad, they were just called the 1st unit.
The number of unit members was a little over twenty, and every one of them was someone who could keep up with the training Rem desired.
Also, among them were many from the West.
It was because they had followed Rem from the start or because wanderers from the West had joined.
But naturally, there was no putting each other down or fighting over their origins.
That was why their training was so harsh.
So much so that a camaraderie that hadn't existed before was born on its own.
For them, the assault squad was their brothers and family.
Their race or origin was not important there.
It was as those twenty were bunched up, poking and prodding here and there in the mountains.
This mountain range would become a headache if you didn't periodically clean out the monsters or beasts.
It was a patrol for that purpose and also real combat training.
"Hey, you ever seen something like that?"
One of the unit members asked.
He was a friend who had a habit of twitching his eyebrow.
A warrior from the West held his axe.
"It's hot enough as it is."
It was summer.
The inside of the mountain range was damp and hot.
Sticky sweat was pouring down.
And in the midst of that, a monster had appeared, and its whole body was made of flames.
It looked like a mass made from a pile of blazing firewood.
Three legs, two heads.
It was a deformed monster.
"It's a new one."
They all got along like brothers, but of course, a chain of command existed.
Usually, a warrior who had earned Rem's acknowledgment was the commander.
That acknowledgment meant surviving and enduring his axe without dying.
A former mercenary and the current commander of Rem's Strike Force, with a long scar near his eye, spoke.
"Ah, whatever. Get it."
Just because it was a monster they were seeing for the first time, were they supposed to run away?
Rem's assault squad does not do that.
One of the unit members reacted to those words and threw a hand axe.
The axe, forged of steel, pierced the monster's body.
POW!
The flames spread out in a circle and then gathered again.
And this time, one of its heads was half-crushed.
Fwoosh.
As the creature opened its one good mouth, flames rose before it.
The two-hand-span-long flame burned the surrounding grass.
Though the fire wouldn't spread easily due to the humid weather.
"It's not working."
Were the words of the brother who had thrown the throwing axe.
It was a monster that was immune to normal weapons, weapons refined from steel.
And it also breathed fire.
***
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