‘A slender jawline?’
Somehow, today's ferryman looked thinner, as if he had lost weight, making his features appear sharper than before. But he wasn’t someone Encrid could casually comment on what he saw, so he simply kept his mouth shut.
As a result, neither of them spoke, and only silence covered the river.
With no words exchanged, they simply stared at each other with the mist between them.
Encrid gazed through the thin veil of black mist at the hooded figure. The ferryman also remained silent.
There was no disturbance in the air, no preparatory movement.
And yet, despite not blinking even once, Encrid realized that the ferryman had suddenly appeared right in front of him.
There was no way he couldn’t be startled. But that didn’t mean he had to jump in shock either.
Even within his mental world, Encrid remained composed. By now, such boldness had become second nature to him.
The ferryman wordlessly reached out his hand. His palm was cracked and dry, like parched earth during a drought.
Between the cracks of his palm, something dark writhed. The moment Encrid focused on those wriggling black lines, he was no longer standing on the ferry atop the black river.
‘An illusion.’
Rather than overthinking it, he immediately recognized it for what it was.
It was never easy to deduce the ferryman’s intentions. Even though they had encountered each other countless times, sharing these repeated journeys together, it was still difficult.
Yet again, the ferryman was showing him something.
"Ugh."
The ground, the weather—none of it was visible. Only hazy figures emerged from the black soot. Even so, recognizing them wasn’t difficult.
‘Ragna.’
Ragna spat blood, wiped his mouth, and lifted his head.
"You said you'd never turn down a fight. So don’t turn down this one either."
Who was he speaking to? Behind his blurred silhouette, another figure lay collapsed, barely visible. Just a shadow—too indistinct to recognize.
Ragna’s form dissipated like smoke. Though it seemed close enough to touch, there was an uncanny sense of distance, as if Encrid were watching from far away. Then, Ragna disappeared, and another figure rose from the soot.
"…I admit it. If it were me, I could have fixed everything. I won."
"You idiot, if you’re dead, then you lost."
"I am the Elixir, the Panacea, the Remedy Omnia."
What kind of nonsense was this?
The words made little sense. Encrid ignored the unknown terms and focused only on the situation.
Ann had been defeated by someone. And now, she was speaking on the brink of death.
'Who is she talking to?'
The opponent was nowhere to be seen. Their voice was indistinct, impossible to determine if it was a man or a woman.
"If you're dead, you lost. You're nothing."
Ann coughed blood, then faded away like smoke.
Another figure took form in the mist—a man Encrid had never seen before.
A middle-aged man with thick eyebrows and gaunt cheeks. His physique was strong and well-built.
Though he couldn’t sense the man's aura, there were things he could deduce just from appearance alone.
His sunken cheeks and lack of excess fat suggested that even at his age, he maintained rigorous training or took meticulous care of his body.
'He reminds me of Graham.'
In the Border Guard, there was an aged lord who had never put down his sword, rising to the rank of Junior-Knight.
A true testament to human perseverance, he became an inspiration to all soldiers.
"It’s never too late. Only the ones who never try are left behind."
Graham’s favorite saying.
He was the kind of man who took Encrid’s words, reinterpreted them in his own way, and made them his own.
If Encrid instinctively thought of Graham, then this man must be similar to him. As a Knight who had honed his skills and sharpened his instincts, Encrid trusted his intuition—it was more often than not a highly accurate prediction.
The unknown man’s expression hardened as he spoke.
"Are you saying this is all my fault?"
Another wisp of smoke rose and formed a different figure—Ragna.
His chest was stained with dried blood, and even though he had a clean-shaven face, blood had crusted around his mouth like a beard. Holding his sword, Ragna asked—
"Then is it not?"
The man might have had time to respond, but to Encrid, it felt like only a brief pause before the answer came.
"…This was my best effort."
"Bullshit."
Ragna countered without even taking a breath.
The smoke dispersed, and in an instant, Encrid was back on the ferry.
The ferryman, now standing in his original place, held a lamp with his back turned.
"Why do you show me these things?"
Encrid asked.
The ferryman turned his head slightly. From within the hood, his face remained as pitch-black as the first time they had met today. No eyes, no features—nothing could be seen.
Then, instead of a voice, a single thin line of meaning streaked toward him, touching his forehead.
It wasn’t speech but something closer to pure intent.
Encrid translated the meaning into words.
"You can remember this, can't you? Don't forget."
Then, he woke up.
A dim darkness surrounded him. The texture, the colors—this was reality, nothing like what he had just experienced.
"Did you have a nightmare?"
A voice spoke, drawing his gaze downward. Standing just outside the tent was Magrun.
It was early evening.
Behind Magrun, the sky was deepening into twilight, the last remnants of the day giving way to a darkening blue. His shadow stretched long across the ground, reaching all the way to Encrid’s feet.
"It wasn’t a nightmare."
Encrid answered as he sat up, still trying to make sense of the ferryman’s intent.
‘Walking Fire and him… they’re different.’
It was clearly a warning. What the ferryman had done before had been interference.
And though this was called advice, it was never the kind Encrid wanted to hear.
Then again, advice rarely aligned with what the listener wanted. In that sense, the ferryman could be considered a great advisor.
‘A wry joke.’
Not one he could share with anyone.
But jokes aside—what was this vision about?
All he had been shown were a few people and some scattered conversations. The ferryman himself had not spoken a single word. Even the last message he had conveyed seemed different from his usual method.
"Nothing happened, right?"
"So far, no."
Encrid asked, and Magrun replied.
The attacks wouldn’t end with just one. Magrun thought so too. Everyone did. And Encrid was no exception.
"You look like you've just met a 'thoughtful scholar'."
Magrun commented, watching how Encrid's expression changed as he woke.
"What?"
"It’s an old joke in the Empire."
"What kind of joke?"
As Encrid stretched his stiffened body, Magrun crouched by the tent, resting his chin on his hand.
After a moment of hesitation, wondering how to explain, he decided to just say it—figuring Encrid could interpret it however he liked.
"You know how scholars always think they’re wise? They don’t care how others feel and talk only about their own knowledge. A 'thoughtful scholar' first lightens the mood with jokes, making people lower their guard before dropping a topic that confuses them. It’s meant to sound considerate, but really, it’s just them talking in circles in a way only they understand."
"That… sounds weird."
"Yeah, well, people from the Empire get it right away. Not my fault if you don’t."
"I never said it was."
Encrid stepped outside.
Ragna stood in the distance, gazing blankly at the sky. Odinakar stood beside him, absently stroking his mane.
Ann was by Ragna’s side, and Grida was scanning the stars to determine their path.
"No rain tonight."
Grida said upon sensing Encrid’s presence.
He glanced at the sky and nodded in agreement before turning to Ann.
"Ann, did you get any sleep?"
"No."
Encrid didn’t ask why.
"Try to rest tonight. We won’t be slowing the march."
"Understood."
It wouldn’t be easy, but Ann wasn’t foolish enough to complain about it.
"Let’s rest one more day."
Grida’s words meant they should stay an extra day rather than depart at night. That had been the plan all along when they chose to stop here.
Grida lit a campfire, while Encrid took out some preserved rations. He poured water into a pot and prepared dinner—jerky and vegetables simmering into a stew. He also took out a few pieces of pemmican, chewing them slowly before swallowing.
Krais had supposedly improved the taste, but it was still more survival food than anything else.
To this, Encrid added something commonly called Knight’s rations—a mixture of dried meat, fish, and fruit ground into powder. When mixed with water, it provided far more calories than pemmican.
Taste? That wasn’t the point. It was battlefield food.
If no battles were ahead, they would have hunted for better meals, but right now, that wasn’t an option.
A soldier fights best when properly fed. That was no different for Knights.
As he ate, Encrid considered his options. The first and easiest choice was to return to the city.
'We haven’t come that far.'
Since they had traveled here on horseback, they could just ride back.
The second option was to send Ann back while continuing forward.
'If someone is targeting Ann, the Border Guard would be safer.'
The city had Esther. With her there, any half-baked sorcerer would be useless.
There were also more allies stationed there.
'But Ann wouldn’t want that.'
The third option was to bring in reinforcements. It would slow them down, but it was the safest option.
If Jaxon had been with them last night, the enemy wouldn’t have been able to slip away so easily. Few could escape Jaxon’s keen eyes when it came to tracking and detection.
The fourth option was to continue as they were, pushing forward with their current group.
He knew he wouldn’t choose the first three options. They all meant wasting time.
At the core of this problem was their inability to fully grasp the enemy’s intent.
But at least one thing was clear, if the enemy’s goal was to eliminate Ann, they would have attacked again by now. Yet, they hadn’t.
That meant their objective might be to stall them rather than eliminate them outright. Should they pick up the pace?
'That won’t be easy.'
Encrid scratched his chin in thought.
Even if Ragna carried Ann, it wouldn’t be feasible. She wasn’t a Knight—being carried for long distances wouldn’t leave her unscathed.
And Ragna couldn’t run all day either.
A proper march wasn’t about moving at maximum speed. It was about maintaining combat readiness while minimizing disadvantages.
If Ragna carried Ann, or if Encrid himself did, they couldn’t afford to burn all their strength recklessly.
That would drain their stamina. Even if Ann endured it, there would still be problems.
"This kind of fight is a pain, isn't it?"
Ragna asked from the side.
Encrid reflexively answered as he always did, speaking his thoughts plainly, without filtering them.
This was the Mad Knights’ way of talking, something he had done for years with Rem, Ragna, Audin, Jaxon, and Krais.
Because he never hid his thoughts, they had never bothered to act hostile toward him from the beginning. His old habit guided his response.
"I never refuse a fight."
The moment he said it, Encrid flinched, eyes locked on the campfire. A shiver ran down his spine. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to the darkness beyond.
The dream. The ferryman’s dream.
"I’m not one to refuse, either."
Ragna echoed his words. He meant it.
And Encrid—
'The future?'
What if the ferryman hadn’t shown him yesterday or today, but tomorrow?
Or worse—what if he had shown him the today Encrid was about to become trapped in?
The ferryman had shown him fragments of things that would happen before. Dreams. Not everything had come true, but they had always been close.
This time, he had shown a fragmented future without saying a single word. What was his intent?
Encrid didn’t know. But he did know that overthinking in moments like this would get him nowhere.
So, what should he do?
The first step was narrowing down his options and picking the easiest one.
What could he act on right now, within his means? His gaze landed on Odinakar.
The man’s face showed signs of tension and unease. Even as he ate, he couldn’t fully hide his discomfort. And just like that, a fifth option occurred to Encrid.
'We split up.'
Odinakar was strong. If they fought to the death, even Encrid wasn’t sure he could guarantee an easy victory against him.
He also knew the way back to Zaun. And most importantly, his instincts wanted to turn back.
"Let’s send Odinakar ahead."
At the conclusion of his thought process, Encrid spoke. Grida and Magrun both turned to look at him.
"Is that a problem?"
He asked again.
The two exchanged glances.
Odinakar sat blankly for a moment before his eyes lit up. He clapped his hands together with a sharp smack and grinned.
"Right. That’s an option too. You really do like pulling unexpected moves, don’t you?"
His grin widened.
"Fine, I’ll go first."
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