There was nothing more to do at the Royal Palace, and Krang was bound to get busy.
So, it was time for Encrid to return as well.
Just before parting, Encrid saw Matthew dragging his leg along, following Krang, only to get harshly scolded and retreating to get treated.
"Wouldn't it be better to get treated at the palace?"
Seeing Matthew like that, the Marquis of Octo asked Encrid, who was on his way back.
He was a person who knew how to take care of others meticulously and attentively.
And he had a discerning eye.
If not, he wouldn't have sided with Krang.
"I'm fine."
Encrid declined. His right wrist would heal soon enough.
With proper rest and food, it would be fine.
There was no need to do that within the palace.
He could set the joint that was creaking with his own hands, and both Rem and Ragna knew enough basic first aid. Above all, there was Esther.
"If my hands touch it, you'll be better in no time."
Didn't she say that confidently?
She had said that while examining Encrid's body right after that thing, the Count Molsen's clone or whatever it was, had died.
"If you were someone who would die from something like this, you'd have been dead long ago."
She added.
She said that with a satisfied expression. Encrid didn't know what she meant, but he didn't bother to ask. She likely wouldn't have answered, and Encrid was quite exhausted.
Though not on the verge of collapse, after surviving several incidents today, beating up Asia, escaping death from the hands of a Junior-Knight, and then watching Krang and Count Molsen argue, he was weary.
The things that had happened in between were too many to recount without getting a sore mouth.
To put it simply, he had fought, killed, and ran.
His legs weren't trembling, but he did want a good meal, a bath, and some rest.
His body reeked of blood and sweat, a horrible stench.
As he stepped outside, he saw Rem chasing after some fool.
Right in front of the palace, beside the odd-eyed horse. Rem looked like he had bathed in blood, his body covered in it.
As Encrid scanned Rem's body with his eyes, Rem spoke up.
"Yeah, I beat up and chased down some bastard who ran off."
There was a hint of dissatisfaction in his tone. On closer inspection, it seemed like his body was slightly off-balance. He had hurt his ankle. He wasn't limping, but he was injured.
"The bastard had a hidden trick up his sleeve at the last moment."
Without being asked, Rem added. Even as he spoke, he wasn't smiling.
It didn't seem like he felt any relief.
It looked like there was some connection with the person he was chasing.
He even looked somewhat like a Westerner.
"Are you getting beat up because you lack skill?"
Ragna asked seriously from behind. It sounded almost concerned, which meant it was mocking.
At that, Rem finally smiled. Though, it was far from a smile of joy or happiness.
"You'll get yourself killed one day."
"Huh? Can't hear that from someone who just got beat up."
"Want me to split your ear open with an axe?"
"Can't hear that from someone who hurt their ankle."
"Oh yeah? I guess I'll have to use this on you."
Rem said as he reached for something in his coat. Encrid stepped in between the two.
"That's enough."
This was a daily occurrence. Though, it did seem like both had grown more talkative.
When did those two get so good at talking?
At first, it seemed like both of them would throw punches before they'd even say a word.
He remembered Ragna, who had once bitten into an apple and wandered aimlessly.
And Rem, who would approach silently, sharpening his axe blade on a whetstone.
"You two sure have gotten talkative."
As he said that,
"...You're the last person who should be saying that."
Rem retorted.
Ragna blinked a few times and added,
"What are you even talking about?"
On their way back, Encrid mentioned how Ragna had really taken a shortcut. Upon hearing that, Rem was genuinely surprised.
It was a shift in perspective.
Calling a non-path a path and cutting straight through by focusing only on the palace meant it was indeed a shortcut.
"You really have improved."
Rem was impressed, and Ragna raised his chin slightly.
"Finding shortcuts is my specialty. I'm better at that than swordsmanship."
"You insane bastard."
And then they fought again. After roughly breaking them up, they arrived at Andrew's house, where they saw Dunbachel, Andrew, and several trainees gathered.
No one was dead.
"What's up? You suddenly ran off."
Dunbachel spoke to Ragna, which meant they had to hear about the shortcut again.
Had finding a path been more rewarding than killing the Junior-Knight of the order?
To Encrid, it seemed that way.
Even Dunbachel was more surprised that he had found a path.
Dunbachel wasn't interested in what happened within the palace anyway. She just nodded with a tired look.
Around that time, Jaxon returned. He gave a nod to acknowledge his return and then acted as usual. In other words, he remained silent.
"What happened?"
"It went well."
At least Jaxon answered when Encrid asked.
"Curious about the shortcut to the palace?"
Ragna addressed him, but Jaxon ignored it.
Encrid, with the help of the attendants and maids, washed up, set the bone in his right wrist, and applied a splint.
When he came out, Esther, in her human form, approached and took hold of his wrist.
A considerable amount of heat radiated from her touch.
"Endure it."
She said, and Encrid did as she instructed.
As he endured the heat, a wave of exhaustion washed over him.
There's nothing more important than proper rest, they said.
Good food and rest are the path to regeneration.
It's the royal road to quick recovery.
Encrid shared a room with Rem.
Without much exchange of words, they fell asleep.
He instinctively knew that he would sleep deeply, so much so that he wouldn't even dream.
That's why he was a bit startled.
Because right away, there was a dream. A ferryman, a black river, and a small boat appeared.
"Sit."
The ferryman said.
The boat was now several times wider than before.
Could it change this much?
The table and chairs looked as though they were carved from solid wood, connected directly to the floor of the boat.
It looked as if they had grown out of the floor. Was that impressive? Yes, it was. It was indeed impressive.
But that was all. He was slightly surprised, and there was a small sense of admiration — "Oh, it can do that?"
The boat still swayed, the ferryman was still there, and the black river remained unchanged.
Though the size of the boat had changed, it didn't feel like a huge difference.
What stood out more was the ferryman's demeanor.
There was no tea, but the presence of the table indicated something.
It meant they could have a conversation.
The ferryman sat first, across from him. Encrid walked a few steps across the now wider boat and sat in the chair.
It was hard. Even after thinking twice, it wasn't a comfortable seat.
"For Giants, it's great strength. For Frogs, regenerative power. Beastmen have superior control over their physical bodies. Dwarves are gifted with craftsmanship and endurance. And for Dragons, it's said they are born with exceptional combat sense and a tongue of will."
Most people would struggle to understand such talk, but Encrid grasped most of it.
There was a time when he pondered talent, striving through effort, trying his hand at everything.
During those times, he believed theory was necessary and delved into various things.
Of course, it wasn't of much use.
That's why he knew this story.
The Giant's strength.
The Frog's regeneration.
The Beastman's athletic prowess.
The Dwarf's stamina.
The Dragon's power of speech.
"And what about humans?"
At the end of the tale, the ferryman posed a question.
Encrid knew the answer.
"Potential and possibility."
"Correct."
From the ferryman's black eyes, a purple light shone, casting a gentle glow over the table and the surrounding area, replacing what a lamp would do.
No, at some point, a lamp had appeared on the table.
"Humans can go anywhere."
Was that the point he wanted to make?
The ferryman continued.
"And because of that, they don't know their place."
Their eyes met. The ferryman now recognized Encrid's growth.
Once, this boy couldn't even hear him properly. Now he met his gaze. Now they could converse.
"This is, let's say, my gift, my advice, and the result of my whim."
When Encrid remained silent, the ferryman went on. He raised his right hand, palm open, and placed it in front of Encrid's eyes.
Just that movement gave Encrid the impression that a huge wall had sprung up before him.
In reality, it was only a hand with skin like gray pebbles, but the sensation felt entirely different.
Then, the ferryman's voice overlapped and echoed as dozens of words stabbed into Encrid's mind one by one.
"It's impossible."
"You can't escape."
"Where do you think you can go from here?"
"If you believe you can always move forward as you do now, that's arrogance."
"That is the arrogance of potential and possibility."
"Humans are arrogant. Give up. This is my mercy. Greater suffering will come."
"The wall will grow taller."
"You can stop here."
With the ferryman's words, Encrid saw a vision.
In the vision, he saw himself writhing in pain.
Unable to find direction, he wandered alone, lost.
For a lifetime, he repeated this suffering. 'Today' had no end.
There were no people, and there wasn't even a small change in this endless today.
That today repeated infinitely. To not fall into despair was beyond human capacity.
The moment he saw this, his entire body shuddered. Fear surged within him. The terror filling his chest swallowed him whole.
Other visions followed.
In them, Encrid lost everyone, every time.
Everyone around him died. He couldn't stop it. His hands couldn't reach them. Something beyond human power killed everything around him.
And yet, he could do nothing.
Missing his legs and arms, he could only watch.
The visions continued.
A massive fireball fell from the sky above.
The fireball burned everything. His body, his will, the ground, the air.
But even then, he didn't die quickly. In the flames, Encrid suffocated and perished.
Just by seeing it, he knew. That kind of pain wasn't something anyone could endure.
All of it was beyond what a sword could solve.
"Stop here. Whatever today brings, you will live in contentment."
Was this persuasion? Or was it, as the ferryman said, advice, a whim, and a gift?
Encrid didn't know. But even if it was a gift, it wouldn't change anything.
He was the kind of person who could reject a gift if it was something he didn't want. That was the kind of human Encrid was.
"If I get lost, I'll keep searching until I find my way."
Finally, he opened his mouth to speak. His first words flowed into the next.
"If I have no arms or legs, I'll bite the grip of my sword."
"If I can't avoid it, I'll cut it open."
Disasters cannot be avoided. So, he would become the disaster himself.
Encrid declared that, no matter what, he would keep moving forward.
The unknown threat didn't matter as much as the present.
He wouldn't cower and kneel in fear ahead of time. As he had done so far, he would do again.
The ferryman said nothing more. He simply watched.
Suddenly, the chair disappeared.
Encrid fell to the ground with a thud. If this had been reality, he would have instinctively flexed his thigh muscles to catch himself, but here, that didn't happen.
The table and chair vanished, and the ferryman, now with his hood pulled over his face, was no longer visible.
He held a lamp in one hand and spoke.
"How dare you sit at the same table? You've overstepped."
"I didn't ask to sit down…"
It felt a little unfair.
"Go."
The ferryman spoke, and Encrid opened his eyes again.
It was reality.
It would have been nice to forget such a dream, but he couldn't. The vision lingered in his mind, etched into his memory.
A day that was beyond his control.
So now, it was the present. Repeating a safe and comfortable 'today' would be the best way to protect himself and ensure his safety.
"…Did you have a good dream?"
Sometimes, Rem would ask about dreams in the morning, and at moments like this, it felt as if the bastard had some kind of innate instinct.
Like the primal instincts of a barbarian.
"Yeah."
As Encrid responded, he sat up in bed. Lowering his head and catching his breath, Rem spoke again.
"You were drenched in cold sweat. Even talking in your sleep."
"What did I say?"
"You said, 'If that were the case, I wouldn't have held a sword in the first place'."
It was something from deep within. Words that slipped out unconsciously.
A life of safety and protection?
"If that were the case, I wouldn't have held a sword."
Encrid muttered. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto his thigh.
Those words were directed not only at the ferryman but also at himself as a declaration of resolve.
"No, Captain. No matter what happens, you would have held a sword."
Rem said.
He was right too.
Encrid stood up. It was early morning, just before dawn.
"In our land, we call this time Utkeiora."
A word from the West.
"What does it mean?"
"It means 'just before a newly hatched chick takes flight'."
"What?"
"It's also called the 'dark morning'."
The moment before dawn, the dark morning, just before the sun rises.
"When the dark morning passes, it's only natural for the sun to rise."
Rem muttered, almost like reciting a poem.
Encrid found that word appealing.
The dark morning.
The darkness before the sun rises.
It seemed like the perfect term for a good training time.
It was time to move his body.
Krang would handle his own business.
Encrid, too, intended to handle his own – namely, training and drills.
While Encrid was going through his usual training, word came that Count Molsen had declared himself King.
"The Naurill Plains, in one month."
It was late morning. The one delivering the message was Asia. A bruise still lingered near her nose.
Rem, upon seeing this, paused mid-yawn and spoke.
"Where did you get hit like that? Who did it? Tell me. I'll pay them back. I'll split their face in two."
Of course, it was a joke. He didn't mean it, and it was half-teasing.
"That guy."
Asia pointed at Encrid.
Encrid hadn't mentioned the incident when she blocked his path.
"Captain?"
Could Encrid's skills be enough to beat Asia up like that? No way.
Rem turned his gaze to Encrid.
"Pick up your axe. I'll give you a chance to avenge the lady."
Encrid said.
"Who's the lady?"
Asia interjected, but Rem was quick to play along.
"Let's do it. Breaking the face of a wrist-injured fool is no big deal. Are your ribs all healed?"
They weren't fully healed.
Encrid had thought about it yesterday, but once again, he was struck by how much Rem's wit had grown. It was remarkable progress. And even during a short sparring session, Rem was astonished once again.
"Again?"
It was something he had witnessed often. Rapid progress, a drastically changed sword in just one day – could it be called talent?
No, it was as if Rem alone lived in a different time.
His sword was like a sculpture, carefully chiseled away piece by piece. A sword built like a tower, with layer upon layer added.
"Are you living a different day from the rest of us?"
Sometimes, Encrid was amazed by Rem's instincts.
From the dream that morning to this moment.
"Exactly."
Encrid gave a simple reply. Not that Rem would believe him anyway.