Capítulo 161: Chapter 313 - Light in the Darkness
There are things that remain darkness if unknown, but become light when understood.
Enkrid had grasped and recognized this truth.
And now, having glimpsed the path illuminated by that light, he shifted his approach.
In previous iterations of today, he had prioritized intent over instinct, believing that to be the best way to save the child.
This time, he would blend instinct with intent.
"The belief that brute force is the solution…"
Such a narrow mindset.
He discarded it.
The wall was not rigid.
What confined him in today wasn't just the enemy's spears and swords.
Certainly, those weapons were direct threats—real, physical forces that had pierced his flesh and broken his bones.
But was that all there was to it?
Was the physicality of the weapons the true barrier?
No, the true cage was the strategist's mind—the design of a masterful tactician, under whose palm Enkrid had unknowingly danced.
"Where do I start, then?"
As today repeated once more, Enkrid awoke with one objective: to break free of this day.
The answer was hidden in what he had already experienced.
Only now did Enkrid admit that his mind wasn't as sharp as he once thought.
The endless cycle felt like a repetition of the same mistakes.
Previously, the Ferryman's cryptic words had narrowed his vision.
If not for the Ferryman's aid, he wouldn't have seen the true wall beyond the false one.
Or perhaps it would've taken much longer.
Did it matter?
No.
Even without the Ferryman, he would have repeated today hundreds or even thousands more times, flailing against the wall.
He wouldn't have given up.
Eventually, he would have overcome it.
He suddenly thought of the young herbalist boy.
The child he had saved, whose mother had thanked him. Yet, he hadn't actually seen the boy.
Had his words back then been spontaneous, or had he truly yearned for a life of gathering herbs?
What was his dream?
In a world like this, where dreams seemed like a luxury, the question itself felt strange.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Even so, he would ask.
Even so, he would dream.
Muttering to himself, Enkrid stood, only to immediately spot an enemy soldier.
He had slept longer than usual—something different from the other todays.
"Here—!"
The soldier didn't finish his cry.
Enkrid lunged, clamping his hand over the man's mouth.
But another soldier nearby shouted in alarm.
"Ambush!"
Ambush? Hardly. They were the ones intruding while he rested.
With a thought, Enkrid gripped the first soldier's jaw and pulled.
Crack.
The sensation of the dislocated jaw traveled through his fingers.
It was the kind of brutal feat Audin would appreciate, but for Enkrid, it had become second nature.
After countless repetitions of today, his techniques were honed to perfection.
"Argh!"
The soldier resisted, throwing a punch despite his broken jaw.
Enkrid caught the incoming wrist, twisted it sharply, and spun behind him, locking the soldier in a hold.
Snap.
The sound of bones misaligning followed.
"Grrrk!"
With his jaw dislocated, the soldier couldn't even scream, only drooling as his face turned pale.
Would taking a hostage work?
He already knew the answer: it wouldn't.
"Fire!"
As expected, it failed.
Thwack thwack thwack!
A barrage of bolts flew toward him.
Enkrid flung the soldier's body forward and rolled to the side.
Thud thud thud!
Over a dozen bolts pierced the drooling soldier's body, killing him instantly.
Enkrid drew his sword mid-roll, spotting another enemy soldier nearby.
Their eyes met briefly before Enkrid struck.
A blue arc of light traced a sharp half-circle.
Whack!
The slash cleaved the soldier's helmet and skull in one motion, splitting them like an orange, the rind and flesh still faintly connected.
The contents, however, were not fruit but brain matter and blood.
Splatter.
Blood sprayed onto Enkrid's face, but he paid it no mind.
Instead, he sharpened his sense of evasion, heightening his instincts and intuition.
He had experienced something like this before.
A similar today.
Back in the cobbler's basement at the Border Guard market, where the mage had set traps.
That was the day.
"Pure instinct."
He had to rely solely on his senses to navigate the spell traps back then.
The scale and circumstances were different now, but so was he.
Far different.
Was it thanks to the Ferryman's advice? Or perhaps sheer luck?
Enkrid didn't dwell on it. He realized that beyond instinct and intuition, there was another essential component.
"Strength is also necessary."
It wasn't enough to merely dismantle the enemy's strategy or avoid their traps.
Understanding and evasion weren't the endgame.
He had to combine them with sheer strength.
That was the answer.
As his honed senses detected looming threats, Enkrid incorporated his strength into the calculations.
"Here."
He began to move.
Enkrid died six more times after that.
As always, he didn't waste a single day.
Even so, it took seven more iterations of today to succeed.
The nearly 400 previous cycles made it possible.
By now, he had encountered every tactic the enemy strategist had prepared.
Though he couldn't fully grasp how these strategies interlinked or the exact nature of their warfare, he relied solely on his intuition.
Guided by instinct, he judged each moment with split-second clarity, sensing danger and exploiting gaps.
Disguising himself as an enemy was futile.
Hiding was even worse—the shaman always found him.
Taking hostages didn't work either.
"As always," he thought.
He would win with his arms and legs, as he always had.
Burn marks scarred his back, and the wounds from previous battles still weighed on him.
The aftermath of what felt like an eternity of fighting lingered in his body.
"Absolutely maddening."
Enkrid muttered to himself, his words spilling out unbidden.
To walk a path as it reveals itself—every hair on his body stood on end. The sheer thrill coursed through him. The elation of it was nearly unbearable, a rush of excitement that verged on madness.
Progress didn't solely mean a growth in strength. The act of moving forward, of evolving, sent a euphoric wave crashing through him. He realized this truth and could only revel in its joy.
"Chase him!"
The result of all his desperate struggle thus far had led to this moment. Certain of his first move for this day, Enkrid ascended a tree and began moving swiftly through its branches. His eyes scanned the surroundings for his target.
It wasn't easy.
"There he is!"
The shout rang out behind him.
"Not so fast!"
One soldier's head served as his foothold as he leaped, while his sword cleaved cleanly through the neck of an adjacent archer. Fighting relentlessly, darting and weaving amidst the chaos, he finally saw it.
"Urgh!"
A shaman.
As soon as their gazes met, an invisible shockwave engulfed him.
The Sense of Evasion flared within Enkrid, showing him the very structure of the spell in vivid detail—not with his eyes, but through sharpened intuition. The heightened clarity of his honed instincts allowed him to perceive the oncoming, shapeless attack as clearly as if it were visible.
It wasn't even a challenge. He ducked just in time to evade the shaman's invisible strike.
The shaman, unperturbed, moved their lips again, weaving a new spell. But Enkrid had already anticipated this moment. His muscles tensed as he gathered power in his legs, a coil of explosive energy ready to spring.
The frozen soil beneath him gave way with a muffled crack.
The Will burst forth.
Boom!
The ground ruptured beneath him, scattering dirt and rocks like a geyser as Enkrid surged forward. It was a charge that could be mistaken for the force of a battering ram.
With the speed and momentum of a lightning bolt, he slashed his gladius. His movements were a series of seamless transitions: relaxation, tension, explosion. The power transferred from the ground to his torso, and finally to the blade, creating a strike that cleaved through the shaman's torso.
Boom!
The force of the blow resounded like thunder, and the shaman's upper body erupted upwards. The devastating combination of speed and power tore their body apart.
'That's one.'
It was only the beginning. Shamans always radiated an ominous presence. Their elimination was a necessary step to ensure progress.
This required strength.
The next steps, however…
Surrounded by encroaching dread, Enkrid moved toward the least oppressive zone. To the enemy, his actions must have seemed utterly insane. He appeared to run directly toward the most fortified areas, where heavy infantry held the line with their solid formations.
"Block him!"
The commander's shout pierced the air. For many, this day was their one and only. For Enkrid, it was his several hundredth.
"Nilf, the situation!"
Abnaier had cornered Enkrid entirely—or so it seemed.
In truth, he had killed him hundreds of times. But for someone repeating today, death was merely a postponed opportunity.
Enkrid had been nearly trapped. The strategist's intricate snares had proven formidable, invisible daggers poised at his heart.
And yet, there are those who wrench such blades free and press on.
"It's bad.
Even eels don't slip away like this. It's as if he knows exactly what's coming."
Abnaier was receiving constant updates on Enkrid's position. His intent to kill this man was absolute.
A faint twitch formed on Abnaier's brow—a rare sign of his irritation. His fingers drummed against his thigh, not out of anxiety but from intense focus.
He had no intention of letting his prey escape.
"Press him. Don't give him a single gap to breathe.
"Where are the Grey Dogs?"
"They're pursuing. He's cutting through the densest concentrations of troops, making it hard to follow."
"Does he know the layout?"
Could he?
When faced with overwhelming numbers, human instinct dictates moving toward gaps, natural openings in the formation.
Abnaier had accounted for this. He created those gaps deliberately, positioning Grey Dog, mages, and shamans to exploit them.
On the table before him, pieces were scattered, and he quickly rearranged them.
'If he's interpreting my strategy and countering it, I can adapt as well.'
Originally, Abnaier had stationed elite swordsmen from the Hurier family in low-density zones to intercept him. Now, he moved them all toward Enkrid.
"Pursue him. Relentlessly."
'You are no knight,' Abnaier thought.
And thus, you cannot break through a wall forged by a thousand soldiers on your own.
Organizing an engineering unit to build stone walls—where exactly was that done?
The cliffs?
The hidden traps in between?
Over eighty pits had been dug.
It wasn't as if the slow advance was for no reason.
Bang!
Abnaier's hand slammed down on the podium.
'After all this effort, it would make no sense to let him escape.'
Foreboding—an ability inherent to everyone.
Enkrid's sixth sense and intuition leaned closer to a gut feeling than reason.
He hadn't grasped Abnaier's intent.
'It feels like something bad will happen if I go this way.'
It was with such a simple and brute thought process that he moved, throwing Abnaier into disarray.
As time passed, the reports kept coming.
'He's retreating again.'
What sort of madness was this?
They had laid traps for him near the outskirts. Now, he was turning back toward the center?
He had already moved beyond the range of the sorcery. He should have found a clear direction by now.
Yet, he returned to where the original encirclement had been.
Of course, it was a trap.
If he charged straight in, they were ready to capture him.
But how did he know to pull back?
"What about his injuries?"
"He's been hit by two quarrels in the back."
"And the poison?"
"We didn't coat them."
Abnaier had provided poison arrows to select sharpshooters but not all.
'Did he know and let himself be hit?'
Could he have deliberately avoided the lethal ones?
'No, that's paranoia.'
It was an exaggerated guess—a baseless delusion.
No human could discern everything.
'Unless… could he really be a knight?'
No, that wasn't it either.
While his skills had clearly advanced significantly compared to yesterday, he wasn't a knight.
And yet, he couldn't be caught.
It felt like he was placed right into Abnaier's palm, but he still slipped through as if greased.
How could that even be possible?
The news that followed left Abnaier even more dumbfounded.
"Commander."
Nilf's voice was urgent.
"Speak."
Abnaier's expression hardened as he received the report.
The man called Enkrid had been contained in his palm but managed to pry it open and escape.
This wasn't over, though.
There was more prepared.
"What about Galaph and the sub-knights?"
"A messenger has been sent."
"Tell them to come immediately!"
Galaph was a mage recruited at a great cost of gold coins.
It wasn't just gold—many promises had been made to secure him for this operation.
Even royal permission had been obtained to borrow such a valuable figure.
Yet here, Abnaier was still the commander, and Galaph would answer his summons.
Such was the agreement.
He couldn't simply send his disciples and wash his hands of the matter.
Galaph and the sub-knights were the second wall of defense, prepared in case Enkrid somehow slipped through.
Of course, they each had their tasks to complete beforehand.
Abnaier's sharp mind left no resources idle.
And he wasn't merely thinking about this immediate operation—he was looking ahead to the future after killing Enkrid and his elite companions.
'I'll turn everything around.'
He envisioned reversing the flow of the battlefield, flipping the outcome entirely.
As long as everyone executed their roles, that was possible.
Such was Abnaier's intent.
"Call in the assassination squad as well!"
After deploying Galaph and the sub-knights, he committed everything he had.
Abnaier's determination was absolute.
But things in this world rarely go as planned.
'Everything feels ominous.'
Still, there was a path.
It might not be much of a gap, but even a small one could be widened with force.
Sensing the foreboding danger, Enkrid wielded his strength.
He deliberately targeted the stone wall.
Swinging his gladius at the artificial barrier raised by enemy troops, he thought:
'This much won't break it, will it?'
Though the dwarf who forged the weapon hadn't been overly confident, Enkrid was half-certain.
This gladius was the sturdiest blade he had ever wielded.
Bang!
He struck with the flat of the blade, not the edge.
Part of the stone wall crumbled.
He kicked and pulled at it with his hands.
In the meantime, arrows flew toward him. Some he dodged, others he withstood.
He acted entirely on instinct.
Avoiding every arrow was less effective than enduring a few.
Hadn't he learned this from a week of failures?
Indeed.
Looking to the side, he spotted several longbow-wielding elves armed with poison arrows.
Had he evaded recklessly, his body might've been riddled with additional shafts by now.
The elves were quick on their feet, making them too bothersome to chase.
That area felt particularly foreboding.
The tower of experience he had built over hundreds of deaths and resets provided him with intuitive answers.
It was the foundation of the acute sense that warned him of danger.
Enkrid struck the stone wall again.
Bang!
A second thunderous crash echoed.
Pieces crumbled away.
He finally managed to carve out a gap he could crawl through, striking the man-made wall several times.
Enemy forces surged toward him, but ultimately, he found his opening.
The shoddily constructed outer section of the wall collapsed at its edge, where it met the cliffside.
What seemed like an escape from Abnaier's grasp was just beginning.
As the wall gave way, a plume of dust rose.
The dry and warm winter in the northern region made for a landscape prone to such moments.
The dust obscured everyone's vision.
"A mage!"
Leblanc Hurrier shouted.
He had just lost two of his comrades.
Of the four mages in their group, only two survived.
The earlier skirmish had been awkwardly handled.
Though Enkrid could have eliminated the remaining two mages with a bit more effort, he had withdrawn.
Had he hesitated at that moment, he would've been thoroughly pursued.
But how could anyone make such a decision in that instant?
Amid the cloud of dust rising from the crumbled stone wall, Enkrid's blue eyes glowed fiercely.
His heightened senses and instinctive sense of evasion were opening new paths for him.
Thus—
'I can see the way.'
As his senses blended and sharpened, a virtual path materialized before his eyes.
A glowing blue trail.
It was the path that would finally bring this endlessly long day to an end.
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