CHAPTER 6

Repeating today.

Encrid spent each day as valuable.

He did not spend any day in vain.

'I am an all-rounder.'

In terms of swordsmanship, he could not become a master or a prodigy.

Genius was out of the question.

After the eighth failure, Encrid thought.

'I tried to finish the meal with one fork.'

Rather than genius or prodigy, he was on such a subject.

Encrid divided his work.

'Half a step at a time.'

There was no boredom. Repeating today, along with increasing skills.

It was a drug. Encrid enjoyed this situation more than anything.

'There are many good points.'

Above all, the best point is being able to experience real combat endlessly.

It is a profound experience that costs life.

Encrid made full use of it, and until he stepped onto the battlefield, he spent his day fulfilling.

Training The Heart of the Beast.

Learning swordsmanship anew.

Along with it, repeating time also made him memorize what was happening around him.

The gambling at the neighboring barracks during breakfast was a good example.

"What the hell! You cheated, didn't you?"

"Cheated? This guy. It's just luck."

It's a lively morning scene.

It's not cheating. I've seen it several times. The dice always roll the same number, and Encrid knew that.

Passing by, he spends another day. He repeats.

Repeated real battles broadened Encrid's concept. To be precise, he had plenty of time to think, so his thinking expanded.

'There's no need to specifically deflect an arrow to save Bell.'

That's what a first-rate mercenary can do.

Encrid gave up cleanly, and thus he could save bell.

Thump!

All he needed was a stronger shield.

The arrow stuck into the round shield. No matter how skilled an archer is, it's impossible to hit the head of a soldier hiding behind a shield.

"...Where did you pop out from?"

The breathless Bell said with wide eyes.

"How long are you going to roll on the ground? Get up already?"

Encrid wiped the sweat off his forehead with his hand, then kicked Bell's butt with his foot.

Having his butt patted, Bell headed back to the battlefield once again.

'Can I see that guy's face tomorrow from saving him here?'

Who knows. He just made this place his first checkpoint.

Rummaging through the battlefield to find Bell was Encrid's small goal.

He achieved that on the twenty-fifth today.

"Oh dear. Mother Superior of the monastery. If I have time, I'll save you too. Instead of those other unit bastards."

It was a daily occurrence for Rem to suddenly pop out from behind and babble nonsense.

Every time he rescued Bell, he would spit out insane remarks with a different repertoire.

Each time, Encrid would respond in kind.

Mother referred to the nun in charge of the monastery.

"You're a scandal. You look filthy."

The monastery doesn't accept anyone who isn't a believer. A scandal means leaving Mother's embrace, essentially being expelled from the monastery.

It's quite a high-level joke to do with Rem.

"A dirty world that discriminates based on appearance, pffft."

As always, Rem didn't back down and darted away.

It was obvious he was going after someone with the eyes of a hawk or something like that, without saying a word.

Despite repeating such days countless times, Encrid couldn't defeat the enemy troops by thrusting.

He was fortunate to block several attacks, but at that moment, someone jumped out from the side and smashed his skull with a hammer.

"There's no time to waste."

The one who shattered Encrid's skull spoke.

Encrid didn't even know how it happened. Suddenly, his vision spun around and the ground approached.

He couldn't even lift his head. He just felt sticky liquid flowing down his face.

When he finally somewhat regained consciousness, he realized he was kneeling with his sword lost.

"Must be painful, but it's mercy."

Soon, he had to struggle with the pain as the blade pierced his throat.

The blade plunged into his throat. Unbearable pain surged through his entire body.

The pain of a heated iron rod twisting in his throat shook his brain.

As Encrid approached death, he blinked. His world turned red from blood entering his eyes.

Beyond that reddened sight, through the helmet's gap, he saw the red eyes of an enemy soldier wielding a sword.

It might not actually have been red, but that's how it appeared at that moment.

There was a grim satisfaction in the enemy soldier's eyes.

Having faced death so many times, everything seemed trivial.

Perhaps it was thanks to the trained heart of a beast.

'What a twisted bastard.'

The purpose wasn't to show mercy, but to feel exhilaration in the act of killing.

He always inserted and slowly withdrew the blade into Encrid's throat.

He might not have realized that he was aroused by feeling someone's final breath escape through the sword.

Despite realizing this, Encrid remained composed.

Having crossed the moment of death countless times naturally instilled courage in him. It was inevitable.

And then.

"Are you secretly enjoying some kind of illicit affair?"

Out of nowhere, Rem spoke for the sixty-sixth time.

Encrid frowned at Rem's words.

What nonsense is this?

"What?"

"The Heart of the Beast, you learned it from me. But there's no way you could train like this alone."

The edge of the axe blade hovered just inches from his eyeballs.

If it had come any closer, the rush of air alone would have scratched his cornea.

Thanks to this, Encrid could only see half of Rem's face beyond the finely honed axe blade.

Yet even in this moment, he didn't falter.

It was the strength provided by The Heart of the Beast.

The courage that allowed him to endure, knowing that pain would come.

Encrid looked into Rem's questioning eyes beyond the axe blade and thought,

'Such things can happen.'

By repeating today, his heart of a beast had been trained, so as the one who taught him that, it could be absurd.

Now that he realized it, it was partly because Rem was the type of squad member who didn't hold back in any situation.

Rem often made rude remarks, but he wasn't one to nitpick over things.

But The Heart of the Beast would be a different story.

Especially since he taught it himself.

Encrid didn't make any petty excuses.

There was no need for that.

After thinking all day, he could make up for it on the day that started again.

Thunk, Rem pulled back the axe. Encrid's vision cleared.

There was no trace of anger on his face.

Rem handled the hefty axe like an extension of his own hand.

Pulling back the axe, Rem scratched his head with the end of the handle.

"I don't get it, did you learn this from someone else, not me?"

Even as he said it, his expression questioned the logic of his words.

Encrid was the sergeant, and without him, this damn squad was a stubborn group that wouldn't listen.

Since learning The Heart of the Beast from Rem, Encrid had never left this squad.

So, even if he wanted to learn, there was no time to learn.

Rem had been watching Encrid all along.

Perhaps he had learned secretly while on duty, but that also didn't make sense.

"Using a sword is something you can understand even if you die this afternoon, 'Ah, I see.' But how could only the heart toughen up?"

Rem said, but it doesn't make sense.

He might die this afternoon. Rem didn't know anything, but his words hit home for no reason.

"I've crossed the brink of death countless times."

Encrid thought, giving a vague reply.

There's nothing more from Rem to learn about The Heart of the Beast.

No excuse can completely satisfy the doubts of this barbarian-born guy.

'I can't say that I learn from you every day as today repeats, and that's how it turned out as I learned while dying.'

But he could somewhat brush it off.

Rem isn't that picky.

Indeed. There was no need to prolong the conversation.

"Let's leave it at that. Sometimes the goddess of luck drops a coin without even realizing it."

It's a common saying for soldiers who survive through unexpected coincidences.

Does that apply when mastering such tricks?

If not, what then?

Rem had crossed over.

"Thanks to you, it's more fun than before. My skills have improved a bit. What secret mischief are you up to?"

"Something so painful it could kill."

Encrid wasn't lying.

"Yeah, a man should have a few secrets. That's what makes a man. You should know."

Rem didn't even care about that. He just said what he had to say and lifted his axe, as before.

"One more round?"

Rem with the axe said.

Encrid silently raised his sword.

If saving the fallen soldier Bell is the first goal.

The second and final goal is to feel exhilaration every time he kills someone.

It was to kill the perverted bastard who is good at stabbing.

He was prepared for that.

It was a scorching day, the hundredth, facing off with Rem.

Encrid pulled his arm and flexed his muscles.

Stretching his left leg forward, he aimed to step on Rem's foot.

Quickly catching on, Rem withdrew his foot, and seeing this, Encrid twisted his waist around his left foot planted firmly on the ground instead of Rem's foot and swung his sword with all his might.

The foot was a feint.

It was a move aimed at making Rem step back.

He exerted force in his muscles and swung his sword.

In a fleeting moment, Encrid saw Rem's arm bend like a whip.

It was such an unreal sight that even the axe in his hand seemed to bend.

Thump!

It happened in an instant.

The axe blade bent and shot upward like lightning.

That's when Encrid struck with the sword he held.

The sword flew upwards.

Slipping from Encrid's hand, the sword whizzed through the air and then thudded sharply onto the ground.

The sound echoed as the sword's edge accidentally struck the stone embedded in the ground.

Encrid could see the sword rolling on the ground.

"Let's take a look."

Suddenly approaching, Rem grabbed Encrid's wrist.

His hand trembled from the shock of losing the sword. Rem looked at Encrid's hand and clicked his tongue.

"It should draw a little blood."

"What?"

"Adjust your strength a bit, wielding an axe recklessly isn't the point here."

"That thrust was alright, decent, but it lacked a bit. I'm not good at explaining this, but you should've shattered the hilt just now. It's not about letting go of the sword even if you die."

Encrid raised his right hand, remembering countless teachings from his swordsmanship teacher.

Starting each day anew amid repetitive days is exhausting.

Encrid remembered to change the beginning of each day little by little.

Since childhood, his memory has been exceptional.

Up until now, his memory hasn't been much help in swordsmanship.

Of course, it's different now.

Especially when recalling what he learned from his teachers.

That's what he said as he recalled his teachings.

"What nonsense is this? If necessary, throw your sword at the enemy's face. This, ah, it's good. Let's make it easier. Where did you aim that thrust earlier?"

Rem said, snorting.

Encrid didn't answer easily.

That thrust was a secret technique.

A technique he stole from the enemy, stabbing his throat more than a hundred times.

From the overall posture, the position of the foot and the sword's weight, muscle movement, the direction of the toes, and the shape of the hand holding the sword.

He stole and imitated everything.

"A moment ago, that sword strike, superficially convincing, but, damn it. It's ridiculously difficult to explain. Here, this is Boosh."

Rem lowered the axe and drew a large circle on the dirt floor.

It was roughly the size of a human head.

"Let's say our destination is around here," Rem said, rotating the axe over the circle and then making a sharp mark.

"But in reality, we're going here."

At first, Encrid was puzzled by what this meant.

But perhaps the time spent learning from his swordsmanship teacher wasn't in vain.

Despite the vague explanation, he grasped it like a sweet, ripe fruit stuck on the tongue.

'Target.'

What was the essence of the thrust he had just executed?

Did he want praise for doing well?

By imitating well, did he want recognition that he had even the slightest talent?

What is the point?

What is a sword used for?

Cutting and thrusting, a lethal weapon.

Among them, thrusting is a fundamental technique in swordsmanship, aiming for a single point.

It's especially prevalent in techniques like the triple swordplay.

I heard that there are knights who use a thin blade to attack gaps in armor.

"I really can't explain it any better. I thought you'd naturally evade or block, so I let go of the sword too easily. But that thrust earlier should have been decisive. Like, 'I'm going to stab you, and you can't dodge.' I needed to show that decisively," Rem said, still reflecting on whether he had explained himself well.

True to his playful nature, his explanation was a bit erratic. However, if the opponent understood roughly, even a neighbor's barking dog-like explanation could be considered excellent. So, to Encrid, it was a great explanation.

"I wasn't confident in my sword," he thought.

The thrust earlier had been like that of a third-rate mercenary.

On the hundredth and first day, Encrid realized.

Up until the hundred and twentieth day, he'd been thrusting with all his might.

On the hundred and twenty-fourth day, Rem's lightning-like axe tore his handle apart.

It didn't just tear; it exploded.

Blood streamed down his handle.

Encrid laughed at what he'd accomplished.

"Are you completely insane now? On the battlefield, there's no one more dangerous than a crazy ally, right? No, why do you keep laughing?"

Rem looked unusually embarrassed, but Encrid couldn't stop laughing.

"For fuck's sake, stop laughing. You look like a crazy bastard."

Rem said, witnessing the events of the hundred and twenty-fourth 'today'.