The same today, yet a different resolve
‘Cut the throat and escape. That’s the first goal. Cut the throat and get out.’
Of course, it was easier said than done.
Encrid, as always, did not let any day go to waste. Dying to gather information or train his judgment wasn’t an option.
Each time today repeated itself, he tirelessly sought a way to end it, refusing to succumb to weariness.
Perhaps that was why the ferryman found him so remarkable.
“Trying to run before you can walk?”
The ferryman sneered.
If he were human, perhaps his tongue might’ve slipped. But the ferryman wasn’t human. He conveyed his intentions through will, not speech.
After all, this was either a mental projection or a dream. Biting one’s tongue to speak wasn’t even possible here.
Yet, in the second iteration of today, the ferryman spoke as if he were a human who’d bitten his tongue. Encrid found it curious but didn’t dwell on it—his mind was preoccupied with the demon known as the One-Killer.
‘He wields two swords with equal strength.’
The demon could even control the force behind each blade. Encrid had shattered the sword in its left hand, only to find its force diminished. As a result, the right-hand sword slashed his shoulder.
The cunning demon retreated after slashing his shoulder.
“If only I had countered and gone straight for the throat… Damn creature.”
Encrid muttered dispassionately about the demon’s cunning nature. It used deception frequently—was this typical of demons, or was it simply vile and despicable?
Not that Encrid was one to judge, given his own reliance on deceptive tactics with the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique. Techniques that worked well when he used them always seemed dirtier and more troublesome when the enemy did the same.
‘Is it because it’s a demon? Does that make it acceptable? Is it unbearable? Exhausting? Should I collapse? Lie down and just breathe?’
A dark night with no moonlight—a wall darker than such a night stood in his way. But despair and hopelessness weren’t necessary. When you can’t see, you can crawl, feeling your way upward.
That’s exactly what Encrid did.
When he used the Deceptive Slash maneuver from the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique, he slashed the demon’s throat first but got his foot pierced. When he tried deception again, he was countered and stabbed in the thigh instead of slicing the demon’s neck.
He was slashed across his arms, fingers, legs, and shins, sustaining injuries evenly.
He couldn’t always dictate the crucial moments of a fight. Skill-wise, they were neck and neck, though Encrid felt slightly outmatched. Victory and defeat alternated, repeating endlessly.
However, as he replayed today over and over, Encrid began to read and memorize the enemy’s patterns.
What once took 180 attempts to win could now be resolved in just three moves. In another instance, 300 bouts of clashing blades turned into a fiery dance amid sparks.
“Soft as silver. Too soft.”
In the midst of it all, the ferryman would hurl words that bordered on insults.
“To start a fire, you need wood and straw.”
Sometimes he spoke as if imitating a sage.
“Such arrogance. Save everyone? Guard your comrades’ backs? Too much, too much.”
Between the ferryman’s words, Encrid endured dozens of repetitions of today.
“So, will you save me?”
Conversations like this with Sinar played out. The words weren’t always identical—after all, the future is fluid, and even the same day can differ.
“Will you wield that sword for me?”
“Can I stand at your back, too?”
“You’re ready for the wedding, right? As soon as we return alive, you’ll be married.”
And when the last comment surfaced, Encrid gave a resolute reply.
“Am I just going back?”
“No, stay and help.”
Sinar’s words pierced him to the core every time. Fighting and clashing with the One-Killer demon was exhilarating, but her words brought pain, like standing unshielded in a downpour. It was a long-fermented anguish compressed into a single moment.
The ferryman spoke again.
“Foolish boy. You don’t know when to quit? Don’t make me laugh. Change your mindset. Repeating the same day will drive you mad. That’s the path you’re on.”
But Encrid ignored the ferryman, focusing his thoughts entirely on one point. It wasn’t the first time he’d done so.
He even used the ferryman’s words as markers to count how many iterations he’d gone through. After all, the ferryman’s comments varied, and Encrid began to remember them.
In the second today, he couldn’t walk, and the ferryman had mocked him for it.
What came next? He racked his memory to keep the sequence fresh.
“Answer me. Don’t you need advice? Even if you don’t, I’ll tell you anyway—that’s my generosity. Here’s how you escape today.”
Then came today.
Encrid concluded that the demon’s overwhelming malice was itself a cunning ploy. Hidden blades in its toes? Even its human-like form was a deception. Blades could emerge from anywhere on its body.
Despite not wearing a helmet, it avoided targeting its head, seemingly focused on inflicting wounds elsewhere. Yet it concealed a devastating blow capable of splitting a skull.
It’s strong.
Not just strong—one of the most formidable opponents Encrid had faced. Its strength, speed, judgment, and weapon usage were all exceptional.
Its lack of form or pattern made it harder to predict, attacking with stabs, slashes, and strikes.
Even as Encrid thought this, the ferryman revealed his purpose.
“Listen and ignore me, and you’ll stay here forever. So pay attention, prisoner.”
Encrid’s awareness was split between analyzing the present and seeking solutions.
“Raise your shield.”
The ferryman said.
“A shield?”
Encrid replied.
“Yes, use Frog, a human, or a fairy as a shield. Let them take the blow, and you can kill it.”
The ferryman’s voice burrowed into Encrid’s being, leaving him no choice but to hear it.
“Ah, sure.”
Encrid dismissed the suggestion as absurd, though there was some logic to it. If he used others as meat shields, he might win.
Yet, he partially adopted the advice, kicking a monster’s corpse and using it as a shield. The scene must’ve looked ridiculous.
As one observer, Luagarne, remarked during one of these fights:
“Humans are irrational, but that demon acts rationally.”
While the demon’s cunning was logical, Encrid countered with irrationality. Biting down on a dagger, using corpses as weapons, or smashing the stone floor to gain an edge.
If someone were watching, they’d call it a stark contrast.
Encrid repeated today, walking an illogical path. Using Deceptive Slash, clashing again and again, and rejecting what felt like poison.
In the midst of it all, he learned. His heightened senses revealed more. The demon also drew its power from the same source as magic—an essence from the air, refined and wielded.
And he learned of Sinar's resolve.
She was prepared to kill everyone, including herself, to end the demon. Her words, drawn from countless repetitions, were seared into him:
“If you all go back and wait, I’ll end it myself.”
Even if it took a hundred or a thousand years, she was prepared to stay by the demon’s side and die with it. The Fairy Clan shared her resolve, ready to sacrifice everything to kill the demon.
They Say Fairies Are Not Driven by Grudges. And yet, why do they fight so desperately?
“The choice was wrong. Instead of ignoring the monsters, we should have found a way to fight and kill them.”
These were words Encrid had once heard from Bran. Considering this, the Fairy Clan seemed to have turned the rudder of their ship, shifting their course to achieve stability and peace through struggle rather than patience.
A resolve to fight, not endure, to attain peace.
It was likely that their preparations for this had been underway in stages—sending some fairies outside, establishing trade and connections, all part of their plan.
Encrid selectively interpreted, analyzed, and absorbed information, taking only what was necessary and discarding the rest. Yet, he still hadn’t discovered how to kill the demon.
That didn’t mean he wasted time. There wasn’t a single day he spent idly. Not knowing meant he had to keep struggling until he did, so that’s what he did.
At least he learned that the One-Killer refined magical energy as its source. This refinement produced an effect similar to Willpower.
‘Monsters naturally refine magic to use it.’
When refined magic imbues a beast, it becomes a monstrous beast.
While strategizing during combat, bits of insight seeped into Encrid’s accelerated thoughts. He didn’t reject them.
What separates Willpower, Divinity, Sorcery, and Magic? Where do their boundaries lie?
‘Boundaries aren’t what matter—definitions are.’
That was the conclusion his thoughts reached.
Willpower was the result of a trained body and relentless effort.
Magic aimed to alter everything, as Esther demonstrated—transforming clothes, turning magical energy into fire or ice, even crafting visible things like icicle spears. Its essence was transformation.
Divinity? It was durability. Like an unshakable boulder.
‘Faith serves as a shield.’
And when the power of a true God imbues it, it can even transform another’s body—healing being one such manifestation.
‘Which is why those fools of the Gray Divinity can’t spread the light of healing.’
Observing and experiencing phenomena led to understanding. The Gray Sacred Army couldn’t heal but retained their aggression, their corrupted divinity no longer deserving the name.
The distinction with sorcery also came into focus. While Willpower utilizes what has been trained, sorcery pulls assets from the future, beyond mere training.
‘The Heart of the Beast, the Heart of Great Strength…’
It brings forth what cannot yet be achieved. But it comes at a cost—severe muscle pain, reduced lifespan, or something equally dire.
Though these realizations weren’t immediately necessary, they became a neatly organized framework, guiding what needed to be done now.
Once again, today repeated. Hope appeared on the faces of the fairies. As the One-Killer emerged and the battle began, hope gave way to despair.
Encrid watched and endured, detached but observant.
‘Condensed muscles.’
The One-Killer possessed muscles beyond normal, denser than usual—a chimera of sorts.
‘Is this Demon Realm designed to create abnormal monsters?’
Had the One-Killer been born at the pinnacle of this purpose? Perhaps.
When luck and skill aligned, Encrid managed to sever its neck, only to learn that even decapitation didn’t kill it.
‘Heartless—no heart.’
It had no heart, so stabbing it wouldn’t kill it. It was akin to the undead corpses that Pel once fought.
So how could it be defeated?
Encrid pondered endlessly, seeking an answer.
Then he dreamed. A dream unconnected to the ferryman—random, almost absurd.
It came after he died yet again in battle—despite using Will of Rejection and all his skills, a single scratch ended him.
In this short dream, a man with blonde hair, blue eyes, thick forearms, and a pointed kite shield covering half his body appeared.
“Just the first letters.”
What? Encrid had no idea what he meant.
When the dream passed, the ferryman greeted him as always.
“So, you’ll remain in this pain-filled today, after all.”
This was after enduring more than 200 iterations of today.
“Now, give up.”
Something about the ferryman’s words felt off. It wasn’t the first time Encrid sensed this dissonance. There had been other moments when his words didn’t align.
The ferryman couldn’t bite his tongue—he conveyed meaning through sheer will, not through speech.
Thus, the phrase “Trying to run before you can walk” with a stuttered “walk” didn’t suit the ferryman.
Encrid’s accelerated thoughts bypassed steps, leaping straight to recognition and answers. He strained to recall. Remembering something said months ago was hard but not impossible.
Since he used the ferryman’s words to count the days, he could do this:
“Trying to run before you can walk.”
“Soft as silver. Too soft.”
“To start a fire, you need wood and straw.”
“Such arrogance. Save everyone? Guard your comrades’ backs? Too much, too much.”
“Foolish boy. Don’t know when to quit? Laughable. Change your mindset. Repeating today will drive you mad—that’s your path.”
“Answer me. Need advice? Even if you don’t, I’ll tell you—that’s my generosity. Here’s how to escape today.”
Take the first letters: Walk, Soft, Fire, Arrogance, Foolish, Answer.
Walk, fire, and the opposite?
Right before fighting the One-Killer, Encrid’s receptive nature—which had once helped him absorb the fairies’ societal shift—accepted the ferryman’s advice. He didn’t reject it outright.
Walk, fire, and the opposite.
On this new today, Encrid saw a faint glimmer of light.
Perhaps it was all a ploy to deceive him, but his instincts called it light. Between the dark, impenetrable walls, a crack opened, and light touched his hands.
Facing an insurmountable wall was thrilling because overcoming it brought unmatched satisfaction.
The joy set his entire body alight. Compared to before, the excitement was overwhelming.
“Hey, demon. Shall we have some real fun now?”
That joy turned toward the demon.
To those who hadn’t endured the endless repetition of today, Encrid might have appeared his usual insane self.
No comments yet. Be the first to leave a review!