The ferryman biting his tongue and stuttering? At first, Encrid thought it was a new kind of joke. There were no fairy jokes, so why not ferryman jokes?
Of course, it wasn’t.
As his thoughts accelerated, they raced toward a conclusion: walking fire and its opposite.
When fighting Walking Fire, what was needed was to focus all his strength into a single strike. But that wasn’t the answer.
In fact, it was a method he’d already attempted during the countless todays he had endured. Channeling Willpower into a full-strength slash didn’t work.
‘Then what about the opposite?’
Encrid’s instincts had grown sharper than ever, honed to a degree unimaginable in the past. Alongside this, the repeated iterations of today had allowed him to accumulate and organize an enormous amount of understanding, information, and experience.
Because of this, Encrid began to glimpse beyond the limits of what he understood. Just as one can infer the meaning of a word from its context, the knowledge he gained through repetition allowed him to deduce outcomes from causes.
It was through inference and deduction that the faint glimmer of a conclusion became visible—a light.
‘The ferryman’s words are incomplete.’
They were, after all, merely fragments—words constructed by taking only the first letters.
‘Is he just messing with me?’
Encrid couldn’t deny a faint unease at the back of his mind. But if there was a method to try, wouldn’t it be ridiculous not to attempt it? So, he chose to focus on the present instead.
The ferryman’s advice was broad, and Encrid interpreted it in his own way.
‘Remember the time I fought Walking Fire.’
What followed was a recollection—a replay not of the moment he learned the technique but of the circumstances surrounding it. He recalled the day he faced Walking Fire, the mindset he had, and the thought processes he went through.
Even a scratch would mean death.
Even the smallest wound meant death.
‘Then don’t get hit.’
He remembered the fight, peeling away layers of flames as if shedding skin, enduring through sheer grit.
‘Endurance.’
A sudden memory emerged—someone who had mastered endurance as their specialty. Lierbart, the chimera Knight heralded by Count Molsen, had honed his stamina as his greatest weapon.
Though he had employed unethical methods, such as modifying his body, Lierbart ultimately failed to achieve his goals. Nevertheless, fighting him had been instructive, as had enduring Walking Fire.
The library of his experiences opened.
He reviewed what he had learned, recalling and replaying it in his mind. In doing so, he refined his knowledge and burned it into his body, embedding theory within it.
Meaning.
‘A sword that can even block waves.’
Implementation. Blocking every attack that came his way.
Training. Dozens of methods to hone the skill.
When meaning, implementation, and training were established, it became a sword technique. Now, it was time to manifest it with his body. The preparations were complete.
The One-Killer’s attacks were all lethal. Every slash of its blade wasn’t just threatening—it was utterly terrifying.
To block such a foe, Encrid would need to execute dozens—no, hundreds—of extraordinary strikes.
‘One wrong move means death.’
The electrifying tension, the thrill, the exhilaration coursed down his spine.
On this new today, the One-Killer struck as if it had been waiting for him. The blades on both its arms moved independently, like separate entities. It was reminiscent of the Valen Dual Sword Technique.
Facing this discordant rhythm of blades, Encrid wielded a single Silver Sword.
‘Calculation.’
He dissected the incoming attacks, recognizing their sequence and understanding them in terms of time. This was the realm of insight, aided by his accelerated thoughts.
His heart pounded, sending blood surging through his body. Along with it, his Will surged, amplifying his resolve.
Clang!
The Silver Sword intercepted an oblique slash, deflecting it. Without pausing, he swung the blade to intercept the next attack. He had to keep moving. The blade he swung turned to block an incoming thrust, leaving no time to breathe or even blink.
As he drew the sword back, he shielded his face just in time. The One-Killer’s foot slashed upward, a short sword-length blade erupting from its sole, stopping just shy of his jaw against the Silver Sword.
Clang, clang, clang!
The blades grated against each other, each asserting its dominance.
‘I see its intent.’
After the kick would come a chain of attacks—a relentless barrage.
Encrid determined that it was time to strike back. He launched a counter, stealing some of the One-Killer’s composure.
The One-Killer’s compressed muscles allowed for explosive charges, even when retreating. Its legs shifted into a beast-like form, enabling it to move at twice its previous speed.
The transformation in its legs wasn’t reversed joints but an adaptation similar to a predator standing on its toes, always ready to leap.
The One-Killer charged forward with blinding speed, carving fiery orange lines into the air. Its twin blades became a storm of meteor-like strikes, descending like a cosmic rain.
Encrid had to break past his limits. He had no choice. If he didn’t, he would be stabbed, slashed, or bludgeoned to death.
Breaking through his limits, his enhanced vision tracked the speed of the strikes. He surpassed human perception, his reflexes guided by Will coursing through his body.
The One-Killer’s body transformed further—its arms elongated like a mollusk’s tentacles, with sinewy muscle adding velocity to its blades.
Encrid countered, dodging, blocking, and striking back.
Blood seeped from his grip on the Silver Sword. Despite wearing fabric-wrapped gauntlets, the impact wasn’t fully absorbed. His calloused hands bore fresh wounds atop old scars.
“This is overwhelming.”
But giving up was never an option. He blocked again and again.
He lost track of time, fighting endlessly.
At some point, his eyes burned as if molten wax had dripped onto them. It was inevitable—countless decisions brought mistakes, and prolonged calculations created blind spots.
A blade extended from the One-Killer’s sinewy arm, grazing Encrid’s cheek.
Slash!
In exchange for the scratch, Encrid severed both its arms.
But the unchanging truth remained: Even a graze meant death.
Pain tore through his body like a blade slicing through his veins.
As if to mock him, a blade emerged from the One-Killer’s foot and pierced his skull. Pain erupted like lightning, surging through him.
‘It hurts.’
Darkness closed in, signaling death. Today had ended.
“Do you think that’s the answer?”
The ferryman stood on the undulating black river, holding a violet lamp, his voice indifferent. Encrid didn’t respond.
“Walking fire and its opposite.”
There was a strange disconnect between the ferryman who had spoken those words and the one standing before him now.
It felt like they were two different people.
“I don’t know.”
Encrid finally said.
“How amusing.”
The ferryman spoke without a hint of laughter.
And so today began again. It was the same start as yesterday, and the countless todays before it.
With passion as his blade and willpower as his shield, Encrid gripped his sword.
"Today will be more fun than yesterday."
It was a phrase no one could understand.
"What nonsense is that?"
Sinar asked, but there was no time for an answer. The One-Killer had already reacted to Encrid's killing intent and lunged at him.
Clang!
Blades collided, creating a harmony of steel. The battle had resumed. Encrid calculated the variables, deriving rational solutions as he fought.
He realized his growth in just one day.
If the demon’s arms and legs didn’t transform, their abilities were evenly matched—or Encrid was slightly outpaced. But when the One-Killer transformed, its power and speed vastly exceeded his own.
‘I can keep up now.’
And so he did.
Clenching his teeth, he endured and pressed on, continuing the grueling fight. The toll began to manifest in his body.
First, his eyes bled. Overheated Will burst the blood vessels in his eyes.
Next came a nosebleed. The increasing variables required faster calculations, overheating his brain until blood gushed from his nose. His lungs collapsed, and his muscles burned red-hot, leaving his body bruised as if it were painted in crimson.
“Damn it.”
That was all Luagarne could say, watching him.
Clang!
Seeing this, Pel drew the Idol Slayer, preparing to fight.
‘I’ve endured enough, haven’t I?’
But the One-Killer showed no signs of fatigue—nor did it seem like it ever would.
For a Knight, slashing a thousand enemies in a single day with momentary bursts of Will was entirely plausible. But Encrid had used Will continuously across condensed, grueling hours, cutting down what felt like far more than a thousand foes.
It wasn’t surprising that his nosebleed poured like a broken dam.
‘This isn’t good.’
Encrid assessed his training methods and judged them flawed. His high-speed thoughts had reached their limits, but they were the only way he could calculate the ever-changing strikes of the One-Killer.
‘There’s a clear limit to accelerated thinking.’
What now? Was this another wall blocking his path?
No.
Even with the blood loss threatening to kill him, Encrid planted his Silver Sword into the ground to steady himself. He saw the One-Killer retreating.
“This bastard.”
At first, Encrid thought the demon targeted him solely because he was a threat. But that wasn’t it.
‘Is it as tactically intelligent as I am?’
It seemed so.
While the One-Killer’s intent was to eliminate the most threatening target, it also prioritized tactical efficiency. As soon as Encrid’s combat ability began to wane, the demon shifted its focus to the next target.
The One-Killer fought with ruthless efficiency, just as Encrid himself had done.
‘If it can kill me, the others won’t matter.’
Targeting Luagarne, Pel, or anyone else might provoke a united response, but the One-Killer avoided such a scenario. Instead, it sought any small advantage, much like Encrid had done.
Demons are rational. Indeed, they are.
"It's not over yet."
Encrid muttered.
The One-Killer didn’t respond but instead turned its blade toward the next target—Bran, the Woodguard.
“I saw this coming.”
Sinar said, rising from her seat.
Creak.
As she stood from the stone chair, something like blood vessels snapped and fell from beneath it. Blood dripped from her back.
It wasn’t just a chair, after all.
Encrid saw his comrades dying, saw the fairies uniting to fight, and saw Sinar rise to resist—but unable to fight as she had before.
Then he died.
Clenching his teeth and pushing through the pain of ruptured muscles, Encrid lunged. But the One-Killer pierced his heart in an instant.
When darkness came, there was no ferryman. Only the memory of pain lingered as his trembling body awakened.
“If high-speed thinking doesn’t work…”
Despite the pain, his mind was clear. Words spilled from his lips as his thoughts coalesced.
Theory, imagination, training, and experience merged to open a new path.
Wave-Blocking Swordsmanship.
Its meaning: A sword that can block even waves.
Its implementation: Blocking attacks.
Its training method: “Train your thoughts.”
How could one train their thoughts?
Encrid knew of two ways.
One was to think at high speed.
The other, learned in the fairy city, was: ‘Divide them.’
The One-Killer wielded its blades with both hands independently. It fought as if its thoughts were divided, utilizing its entire body. Its combat instinct had absorbed the fighting methods of the Fairy Knights.
‘Its natural combat instincts have been replaced with a fairy’s battle strategy.’
Its lethal weapons were an extension of this adaptability, both in form and thought.
The One-Killer truly embodied the phrase: “Demons are the enemies of Knights.”
And what an enemy it was.
“Then I just need to divide my thoughts.”
Encrid muttered, his eyes shining.
Instead of despairing after failure, the explorer sought new paths and took his first step forward.
Encrid continued to repeat today. He died and died again.
Five hundred and sixty-six todays passed. The ferryman stopped appearing.
Even when he did, he seemed like a third-rate actor reciting pre-written lines.
“Give up. You’re trapped in today.”
“Do you need something to hate? Then hate yourself.”
In yet another repeated today, Encrid spoke to Sinar and received the same response as the very first today.
By chance, her words matched what she had said that first day:
“Then, Encrid, will you save me?”
And his answer, unwavering:
“Yes, I will.”
Wasn’t that the purpose of his journey?
Even after more than five hundred repetitions, his resolve hadn’t faltered. The blade of his will remained sharp, undiminished by countless clashes.
His task was clear, as it had always been. High-speed thinking followed by dividing his thoughts.
There were no guarantees. As always, Encrid only challenged the impossible.
The One-Killer appeared. Watching it, Encrid thought to himself:
‘I’ve seen you so much I’m starting to grow fond of you, you bastard.’
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