Capítulo 173: Chapter 321 - A Battle of Wits
"Will."
Just one word.
The silence that followed was natural.
It was cold, after all—it was winter.
The fire in the stove crackled as flames shot up.
At that moment, a cold wind swept in through the entrance of the tent.
The biting winter wind.
If it were a normal person, they might have felt like a dagger had been driven into their heart.
But there were no ordinary people here, not even including Enkrid.
"That's something I would say too," said Krais, adding his comment casually.
It wasn't an incorrect statement.
Naturally, Enkrid didn't flinch.
Was there really anyone who could outdo Ragna when it came to speaking?
Even that bastard Rem, who pushed people into his own rhythm, didn't have much skill in teaching.
So there was no reason for Enkrid to be surprised.
"Explain it."
"If lightning strikes, how do you block it?"
For Ragna, this was the best explanation.
Of course, to others, it might have seemed like the worst possible explanation.
But did that matter?
Not really.
As always, Enkrid was a great listener and could easily be a great student too.
He knew how to listen well.
In fact, one could say that he was the kind of listener who would press and extract answers if the other person couldn't explain things well.
"You can't block it."
Enkrid responded.
"You can block it."
Ragna added.
"How?"
"Well, speak clearly."
Ragna wasn't exactly used to explaining, but he did what he could. He wasn't overly ambitious about it.
Ragna wasn't the best at finding paths, speaking well, being particular about food, or even having a good personality.
He didn't care much about his reputation and lived his life as he saw fit.
There were days when he even found speaking a hassle.
But when it came to wielding a sword, Ragna was top-notch.
Truly the best of the best.
"First, you sense the signs, then strike."
That was the best explanation Ragna could give.
It was all about instinct and talent.
Enkrid was persistent.
He asked question after question and listened carefully to the answers.
Ragna spoke as best as he could, but it wasn't a fully formed concept yet.
Nothing concrete came to mind.
Still, this wasn't the end of it.
"If we can delay death..."
Today could still be used fully.
If Ragna were at the forefront, it was possible to see him block a knight's sword.
But that wasn't how Enkrid was going to proceed.
He wouldn't throw Ragna into danger just to fully use today.
That was a line Enkrid wouldn't cross.
It was a line that had been formed in his heart from the very first repetition of today.
For some, this line turned into a conviction; for others, it became something named honor.
"Honor."
Before the reaper who speaks of honor arrives, Enkrid knew he had to do all he could.
In the questions and answers, he implemented his vision and strategy.
This wasn't the end.
"Shinar."
The fairy too could take a blow from the sword.
She reacted.
How could she do that?
"Do you know how to block lightning?"
"You just avoid it before it strikes."
"What if you can't avoid it?"
"You could use a lightning rod."
She spoke with a dry humor, but there was a philosophical undertone in her words.
It was something accompanied by a deep realization.
"These rods are easy to pull out, good for cutting, and also good for blocking or redirecting."
"What about blocking the knight's sword?"
That was a sudden question, but no one found it strange.
That was just how Enkrid was.
He was obsessed with swords and fought for dreams that seemed impossible.
And that's what made him who he was now.
Everyone accepted that.
So it was nothing unusual to hear him spout such nonsense.
Even Krais simply watched with an air of familiarity.
Dunbakel looked like she was waiting for someone to ask her instead.
"Before the opponent even steps, before they even grab their sword, I'll draw mine."
Saying this, Shinar seemed almost drawn into Enkrid's magical aura.
What was it about him?
It had been the same before, but now he felt like a greater flame.
To her eyes, it looked as if a fire spirit had possessed him.
"No, not fire."
It was desire, passion, and ecstasy all mixed together.
The intense emotions pierced the sensitive heart of the fairy.
While the Frog saw talent, the fairy felt emotions.
It was the nature of their species.
To survive on the continent, one had to dull this nature, ignore what didn't matter.
If the Frogs had to grow accustomed to the word "heart," the fairyes had to learn to ride the waves of emotions.
In that regard, Shinar was a fairy who had adapted exceptionally well to the continent.
Still…
Enkrid didn't raise his voice.
He didn't act hurriedly.
He didn't flail his arms or legs.
He simply relaxed his body and spoke a few words.
He approached and opened his mouth.
Yet, that heat stirred Shinar.
It touched the fairy's blood.
That was what made Shinar serious.
With a face usually void of laughter—and devoid of it now as well—she responded without any humor.
"The knight's sword is a disaster.
How will you stop the disaster you call it?"
Asking a reverse question was likely the answer that was needed right now.
Could an earthquake be stopped by human power?
What about a whirlwind?
A flood?
A typhoon?
Heavy rain?
Drought?
These were natural disasters.
A knight, however, was a human-made disaster, a man-made calamity.
Among all the races on the continent—humans, fairies, giants, dwarves, beastkin, and humans—the one with the greatest population was mankind, and thus, the term "human-made disaster" or "knight" was coined.
A more intuitive term would be to call them a disaster.
Naturally, there were fairy knights too.
Beastkin had a similar concept called "hero."
There were even cases where people who weren't knights but were similar in some way were referred to by different terms.
The term wasn't important.
Shinar thought of the past, gazed at the present, and envisioned the future.
"The way forward."
Shinar Kiraheis had once given up something in the past, realizing her own limitations.
She had lost the way forward.
But it was precisely because she had given up that she was able to come this far.
It was a contradictory situation.
Had the fish she had missed grown bigger in her mind?
Or had she realized that in order to stand beside the man before her, she needed that missed fish?
"Maybe."
How would it feel to see the man in front of her die from a knight's sword?
By chance, the fairy's sharpness and clarity had precisely predicted what was about to happen.
"It probably won't feel pleasant."
In that case, she would likely regret it.
The fish she missed would come to mind again.
"Useless thoughts."
Shinar shook her head inwardly, though she appeared calm on the outside.
Such pointless musings.
Enkrid listened to Shinar's question, lost in thought.
Ragna had mentioned lightning.
Perhaps that was why Shinar had spoken as well.
The fairy had at least considered her words with some care.
Listening to both of them, something like a conclusion began to form in Enkrid's mind.
"How would you block lightning?"
That was the first thing to solve.
"Won't you ask me?"
As he pondered, Dunbakel came up and asked.
"What?"
"The knight's sword, that thing."
"Go to sleep."
Dunbakel was still lacking.
There was no need to ask, just as Dunkabel could speak without being asked.
"You just block it, right?"
Enkrid nodded.
"Very helpful."
His tone was devoid of emotion.
"Really?"
"Really."
He gave a casual nod and sent her back to her bed. Watching this, Krais couldn't help but admire.
"I think the captain will be the best employee in the salon once he enters."
Afterward, until evening, they rested, ate, pondered, practiced sword movements in the air, checked their gear, and exchanged words of hardship.
It was all mental preparation.
Today, there was no talk of magic or any nonsense.
It was the strange, forceful attitude and gaze of Enkrid that had shaken Shinar's heart.
Although she controlled her emotions well, she could feel her heart racing.
And then the knight appeared.
"Just once.
Block it just once.
That is the least I can do to protect my honor."
Why did he always say unnecessary things?
Enkrid gripped his sword and took a deep breath.
How would he block the lightning?
He would have to bring his sword to meet it first; that was the beginning.
The flowing sword, Enkrid's first sword form, the Snake Blade.
Could lightning not be blocked like this?
"...It's as though you were waiting for this moment. Strange."
The knight spoke.
Enkrid didn't respond.
His concentration flared, and a sense of ominousness shattered the chains of hesitation.
From then on, his focus narrowed to a single point, his gaze fixed on his opponent.
There were no preliminary movements, only waiting to witness the beginning of the sword's strike.
"Indeed."
Shinar murmured from behind.
"Are you a prophet?"
Krais was stunned.
"Did he really tell you to hold a sword?"
Would Ragna be any different?
Would Esther not be surprised?
Dunbakel was frozen, staring at the opponent.
"What is that?"
To the beastkin, it was the instinctual reaction to something monstrous.
The sword was coming.
First, it would be about meeting it head-on.
The method to block lightning was as follows.
Swoosh.
Enkrid saw an illusion.
He saw his sword bending in front of him.
The sword wavered, and it seemed to pierce his blade, meeting the edge of his own sword.
It was so strange that he wondered if he had truly seen it correctly.
Then his heart split.
The ferryman saw not only the world of the senses but also the reality beyond.
The present could not escape his gaze either.
He was witnessing the cursed one die.
That was his only amusement and joy.
However, the target of this curse was truly unusual.
"Is he smiling?"
He smiles as he dies.
He smiles despite the pain.
Even as the pain rushes through his body, he smiles.
He smiles even though he's trapped in a dark cave.
Enkrid found it an enjoyable novelty, but to the ferryman, it was neither familiar nor normal.
The ferryman continued to watch.
In the repeating days, Enkrid died and died again.
Dying while smiling, dying while in agony, dying while thinking, dying while contemplating.
What enjoyment could be found in such repetition?
None.
The ferryman knew that.
He knew it very well.
He understood better than anyone why this repetition was a curse.
"That's one crazy bastard."
The ferryman muttered alone.
"Despair... can't even become despair?"
He asked again to himself.
"Even anguish, ignorance, and despair cannot taint his will?"
The ferryman repeated it to himself.
And so, he observed Enkrid as he died.
He watched.
He kept watch as he died and died again.
"Still enjoying it?"
When he occasionally asked him face to face,
"Hmm? What did you say?"
Enkrid didn't even listen properly.
He was fully immersed in the situation at hand.
He saw nothing, heard nothing, and focused entirely on one thing.
And he enjoyed it.
The ferryman recalled an old proverb from the continent.
It was a memory from before he even became the ferryman.
Since he had been deprived of the gift of forgetfulness, it was easy for him to recall past memories.
"To know is not as good as to like, and to like is not as good as to enjoy."
To know meant to grasp.
To grasp meant to believe one's understanding as truth.
And because of that, it led to stagnation rather than progress.
To stop and be satisfied with the present.
To like something was the driving force behind effort.
Because you like it, you work for it.
Therefore, it is not stagnation but progress.
However, the motivation for effort lies in the desire for a reward.
You work because you think of the next step.
To like is a driving force.
Effort is the strength of the heart that makes you act.
To enjoy, however, is to be swept away.
To forget oneself, to forget the situation, and to be lost in the moment.
Like a child playing for the first time, forgetting time.
If only one could still do that as they grew older.
If only one could, then they would immerse themselves without even realizing it, forgetting about themselves and focusing completely.
But is such a person even possible?
No.
He had never seen one.
Usually, they become worn out.
They fray.
Their heart disappears.
Their effort fades.
They get tired.
They grow bored.
They become soaked in fatigue.
They collapse.
They are consumed by despair.
That's how it is for everyone.
But in the ferryman's eyes, he saw someone who did not do this.
Certainly, he had never seen anyone this crazy before.
He repeated today, again and again.
Repetition did not become a shackle or a prison for him.
The bars could not cage the man called Enkrid.
Yet, the ferryman's eyes did not blur.
He continued to watch.
Today's shackles were strong.
Heavy.
Unbreakable.
So, what should be done?
Enkrid gave the answer.
Shackles?
Why not just run while wearing them?
It seemed that he didn't even realize the shackles were there.
"Hah."
The ferryman finally laughed.
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