The ferryman would have applauded.
Two n chanted identical spells.
A surge of water from the river ford a wall in front of Enkrid, blocking his path.
He swung his gladius lightly, slicing through the barrier. While it split montarily, it quickly reford.
It was like cutting water.
The water wall spanned only five steps across, but it wasn't the only obstacle.
"Rise, rise, heed my call!"
At the command of two other spellcasters, rounded masses resembling water clubs erged from beside the barrier.
These entities had smooth heads, thick chests, and limbs akin to hands, but their legs were replaced by swirling currents of water.
They resembled water spirits or golems—manifestations of magical worlds crossing into reality.
"Block him!"
At the mage's command, the two legless water fiends surged forward, their bases churning into frothy currents.
"Surged" wasn't quite the word—they crashed forward like tidal waves rising and falling, ready to strike.
Enkrid thrust his sword.
Being crafted by the fairies, it might have had so enchantnt—though, of course, it didn't.
It was the product of exceptional tallurgy, not infused with magic.
The blade pierced through the water creature, but it showed no sign of pain or hesitation. It swung its watery club, connected to its form, toward him.
Enkrid withdrew his sword and leaped aside.
Crash!
The water club smashed into the ground, leaving a noticeable dent.
Judging by the deep impact, it was clear the weapon couldn't be underestimated.
From this single exchange, Enkrid deduced the solution.
"The caster."
When it ca to magic, there was no answer other than to eliminate the caster.
But this group had coordinated well. Two restricted his vision and movent with the water barrier, while the other two controlled the spirits to hinder him.
What's more, they seed to understand they couldn't kill him outright, so they focused on pinning him down.
Whenever he tried to escape, the spirits would swell and loom closer, making it impossible to ignore them.
Despite the short span of the confrontation, Enkrid soon found himself with three swordsn from the Hurrier family closing in behind him.
"Didn't think I'd see you again today," Enkrid muttered, genuinely surprised.
He'd acted almost the opposite of yesterday, yet the results were eerily similar.
"Don't engage with him. He's insane."
"Stop your pathetic tricks."
"You think I know you? You think this is a reunion? Feels like I'm eting you for the first ti."
The three swordsn didn't seem thrilled to et him—they radiated the kind of fervor that promised a deep "kiss" with their swords and his innards.
Enkrid adjusted his grip on the sword.
His arm muscles quivered.
He hadn't rested properly since yesterday, and even his well-trained body was beginning to falter.
"This is exhausting," he admitted to himself.
His lungs burned from overexertion, and his pounding heart echoed in his ears.
He steadied his ragged breathing and surveyed the scene—the water spirits, the three Hurrier swordsn, and the throng of soldiers behind them.
Surrender was not an option.
No day passed easily, and today would be no exception.
And so he fought.
He resisted, killing the two spellcasters and the three Hurrier swordsn.
"Well... this makes sense... ugh," the last swordsman muttered before coughing blood and collapsing.
But Enkrid had been injured—a water arrow pierced through his thigh.
Had he not been wearing his inner armor, the arrow would've struck his abdon instead.
Water arrows were worse than regular quarrels. They dissolved after hitting their mark, leaving nothing to stem the bleeding. Blood pulsed freely from the wound.
It was a bad spot to get hit.
Among the Isolation techniques, there was a thod of muscle reinforcent to stem bleeding.
Enkrid employed it, but the severed blood vessels resisted.
This wasn't sothing muscles alone could fix.
Dizziness set in from blood loss.
Even so, his focus didn't waver.
Until the very end, he remained resolute.
With the Heart of the Beast pounding in his chest, Enkrid refused to falter.
Adrenaline surged, keeping him upright.
"You've adorned yourself with sothing precious," one of the surviving spellcasters remarked.
Perhaps overconfident, the mage closed the distance.
Enkrid planted one foot firmly on the ground and launched himself forward.
A lurching charge.
Blood sprayed from his wounded thigh, but he reached the mage faster than his blood could hit the ground.
With no sword in hand, he swung his fist instead.
Crack!
"Ugh!"
The mage's skull caved in, spilling brain matter and blood.
No human could survive such a blow, especially from a man putting all his strength into it.
This was the natural outco.
The mage hadn't even been wearing a helt.
With the mage dead, Enkrid barely had a mont before a spear pierced through his back.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The red-hot steel ripped through muscle, spine, and organs, tearing its way through his body.
The searing pain was sothing he could never grow accustod to.
But it was sothing he could endure.
"Die, monster!"
"Kill him!"
"Die!"
The enemy soldiers thrust their spears with manic fervor.
Their eyes glead with desperation, as though staring into the abyss.
Enkrid remained calm.
No screams, no groans—just silence as he died.
To be precise, it wasn't even a matter of stifling pain; he simply lacked the energy to take a single exhale.
And so, he died.
Overcoming the agony of death was sothing one could never grow used to.
Hoo...
With a single drawn-out breath, he shoved the pain of the day aside.
There were no dreams. No ferryman appeared.
All that began was his third iteration of today.
And on this third day, he took another path, sprinting as far as he could.
Yet still—
"Why the hell is there a cliff here?"
He hadn't climbed a particularly steep hill, but a sheer drop greeted him nonetheless.
Could he survive if he jumped?
Only if luck was on his side might he escape with half his body intact.
But even that would require the Goddess of Fortune to court him incessantly.
Without such luck, his chances were slim.
Falling would an death.
"That will be your grave."
Behind him were three swordsn of the Hurrier family, a group of seasoned rcenaries, and, for good asure, a shaman he'd never seen before.
'I went a different way today.'
Scratching his chin with his uninjured left hand, Enkrid thought.
There was sothing uncanny about all of this.
How did the outco always remain the sa?
Instinctively, he fought to find an answer.
On the third iteration of today, the shaman's spell ended it.
The technique known as "Invisible Force" struck him, a blow from an intangible power.
Of course, this ca after Enkrid had hurled his gladius into the skulls of the Hurrier swordsn, the shaman, and the rcenaries.
He had killed everyone who needed killing.
"Fall!"
The shaman's cry echoed, right before the gladius impaled his head like a macabre ornant.
And so, Enkrid fell from the cliff.
Naturally, the fall was as horrific as one might expect.
At first, the air itself seed to choke him. Then ca the relentless shockwaves coursing through his body.
And yet, he didn't die easily, experiencing pain so excruciating it felt almost divine in its cruelty.
The fourth day, the fifth day, passed.
On the ninth day, he died again.
This ti, one of the Hurrier swordsn dropped his blade to pin him down, allowing a rcenary to slit his throat with a dagger coated in poison.
That day, Enkrid had overextended himself annihilating the enemy's heavy infantry battalion.
His body had reached its limits.
Even his Sense of Evasion could only delay the inevitable for so long.
No one, no matter how skilled, could stand against such numbers indefinitely.
Twenty-five iterations ca and went.
The forms of death varied, yet their essence remained the sa.
Every path led to an inescapable labyrinth.
A maze.
He was trapped.
A prison with the sky for a ceiling, the wind as its bars, and commanders who sought only his demise.
By then, he realized sothing.
It wasn't new knowledge, but a continuation of what he had co to understand in previous iterations.
Why had rescuing the child always led to the sa outco, no matter what he did?
'Soone is watching and triggering the scroll.'
Even now, it was no different.
Soone outside was manipulating the enemy forces, ensuring his death.
That was why every outco was identical, regardless of his actions.
So how could he overco this?
He recognized the wall, but the question remained: how to scale it?
On the thirty-fourth iteration, the ferryman returned and posed the sa question.
"Do you have an answer today? Tell —are you enjoying this?"
This ti, Enkrid had the leisure to respond.
Moreover, he actually wanted to speak.
"A little."
He paused, thinking for a mont before continuing.
"Maybe a lot."
A mindset the ferryman could never comprehend.
Enkrid smiled—it was simply his nature.
In darkness, most would despair, unable to see a way forward.
But Enkrid was always different.
Even when the path was shrouded in shadow, he found joy in moving forward.
He knew that with each change, he could add sothing new.
He hadn't uncovered much yet, but that didn't matter.
Not knowing didn't stop him from greeting each challenge with joy.
"You truly are a madman," said the ferryman, offering a peculiar kind of praise.
The continent's greatest tactician and strategist once said there were five key factors to evaluate before a war.
First, does the king share the sa will as his people?
A war waged for the king's selfish desires, neglecting the people, could never earn their support.
Second, is the timing appropriate, considering the seasons and weather?
Third, has the terrain been ticulously assessed?
Fourth, is the commander fit for the role?
Fifth, are the military structure, chain of command, and supply lines robust?
Sumd up, they addressed politics, timing, geography, leadership, and organization.
Among these, Abnaier prioritized the third, fourth, and fifth.
The second, timing, had been forfeited—they were fighting in unfavorable weather and terrain.
The first, politics, was an issue to be addressed once they returned to the capital.
In terms of terrain, he had reshaped unfavorable ground.
In so areas, trenches were dug.
In others, traps were set.
As for leadership, he had worked extensively to ensure capable commanders.
"Will you bury the na 'Grey Dogs' here? If not, do what must be done."
Appropriate pressure coupled with promises of future rewards.
Even if the Grey Dogs were destroyed, they could be reborn anew.
The current commander had resolved to make the ultimate sacrifice out of loyalty and patriotism.
Abnaier simply exploited that resolve.
Finally, organization was where Abnaier's ticulous attention shone brightest.
Criminals, n with families held hostage in the holand, soldiers desperate for a single victory to turn their lives around—all had been carefully assembled.
With desire and fear as his twin weapons, Abnaier bound the army together.
Enkrid knew none of this.
He didn't even know the na of the enemy commander.
Yet he was certain of one thing.
Standing on this precipice, he couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped against an unyielding wall.
Even so, Enkrid remained unyielding.
He rose, opened his eyes, and prepared to repeat the day once more.
This ti, Enkrid charged straight into what he thought was the heart of the enemy lines. The first to greet him was Cent, the rcenary.
It felt like the first ti he t Cent without a single scratch on him.
"You're not going anywhere."
"Nowhere?"
"You won't get away."
Cent gritted his teeth and took a fighting stance. Behind him, the man who once slashed his own throat with a poisoned dagger ca into view. Enkrid still didn't know that man's na.
No solution ca to mind for escaping today. The future looked murky. The familiar markers that once guided him blurred once again.
Yet...
"Are you smiling?"
Cent raised an eyebrow at the sight of Enkrid's expression.
Who in their right mind would smile in a situation like this?
Cent questioned Enkrid's sanity.
Truly a madman.
Enkrid, though faced with bleak uncertainty, felt exhilarated.
Even without clarity, he wasn't stifled.
No matter what blocked his path, he was determined to break through.
Where would this lead him?
He wouldn't give up, wouldn't retreat. He patched his shattered dreams together and moved forward.
And so, Enkrid smiled.
He had gained much from his previous experiences.
Hadn't he endured countless todays already?
What did he gain from all those days?
The accumulation of experience allowed him to embrace an uncertain future with excitent.
"Kill him!"
From behind Cent and the two rcenaries ca a wave of archers.
Having faced Cent nurous tis, Enkrid knew this ti it would only take three swings of his blade—perhaps two, if he could afford to throw his gladius.
Should he throw it?
No, not yet.
A prolonged fight demanded keeping his weapons at hand.
Fortunately, he still held a steel blade gleaming with a faint blue hue.
This one, he could afford to throw.
The blade often broke after a few swings, but luck was on his side—two more swords remained in his possession.
Planting his left foot forward, he drew the blade with his right hand and hurled it. The movent flowed seamlessly, honed through repeated practice.
Through the endless repetition of today, Enkrid didn't waste his ti idly.
He honed his skills.
Even throwing swords, a technique derived from dagger throwing, beca second nature.
Thud!
The blade cut through the air with a sharp twang, startling Cent, who hastily deflected it.
Enkrid surged forward, activating his Will of Montum.
This was proof of how he had spent his ti—proof of the second Will he acquired from learning the fastest sword techniques.
He charged with unparalleled speed.
The world blurred as his thighs burned with explosive power. Blood coursed through his veins like a wild stampede.
With fiery intensity, Enkrid drove his sword forward, piercing Cent's throat.
This today began with Cent's death.
"Peek-a-boo."
The jab and quip were likely wasted on Cent, who couldn't hear him anymore. But it was enough to terrify the rcenaries behind him.
"You crazy bastard!"
The sheer terror spilling into curses marked them as seasoned warriors.
As Enkrid thrust his gladius at one, the others closed in. With a second burst of Mont's Will, he dispatched two rcenaries in an instant.
Later, he encountered heavily armored infantry and three knights from the Hurrier family.
Among them were crossbown, archers, and even a few fairies.
So of those archers had astonishing precision. They only attacked when his movents concluded, targeting even the smallest disruptions in his breathing.
This wasn't the first ti Enkrid faced such tactics.
He endured.
With each repetition, his endurance stretched further.
After fifty todays, Enkrid had fully mastered Mont's Will.
He refined his swordsmanship, crafting a second technique after his Snake Blade.
"Should I call it Stab Blade?"
His naming sense remained abysmal.
"Stab Blade" because it ended with a stab? Ridiculous.
After more repetitions of reflection and battle, he renad it Thunder Fang.
A lightning-fast strike. A blade that flashes like a storm. It had a better ring to it.
A good na lent a technique greater weight and significance.
With Four Blades and Thunder Fang, he was finally crafting a system.
His battles weren't just about killing; he learned and adapted constantly.
Falling into pits riddled with poison arrows improved his footwork.
Getting caught in nets and dying taught him to slice through them with precision.
"It won't cut through everything, though."
Still, he reached the level where he could cleave through steel while moving.
He absorbed the fundantals of mid-weight swordsmanship, blending power with destructive force.
The day repeated.
And repeated again.
Endlessly.
For 105 todays, Enkrid trained and reflected.
His techniques grew sharper and stronger.
Yet he remained ensnared in Abnaier's web.
On the 255th today, the Ferryman, who had once urged him to give up, said sothing entirely unexpected.
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