"Believe it or not, I owe you a debt. I'm Fel, the Shepherd of the Wasteland. I hope we'll meet again someday when the opportunity arises."
Fel spoke, his voice carrying a faint warmth. Enkrid, standing with his back to the moonlight, nodded in acknowledgment.
Fel looked at him and, unable to suppress his thoughts, said,
"You're the first genius I've ever met like this."
Enkrid didn't bother to deny it.
Honestly, even if Fel had asked, "Is your brain broken or something?" he would've laughed it off. That's how deeply the euphoria of his newfound understanding had filled him.
The joy, the thrill, was coursing through every fiber of his being.
It was so intoxicating that he felt compelled to test it further.
"Mind if I get cut one more time?"
That's why. Even though he noticed Fel's face contorting in disbelief, and despite knowing full well how absurd his request sounded, Enkrid couldn't stop himself.
"Uh...um...s-sure."
Defeated, Fel had no choice but to comply.
As the former soldier prepared to cut Enkrid's arm once again, he couldn't help but feel uneasy about this peculiar man. The anticipation in Enkrid's eyes unnerved him.
"This guy's nuts," Fel thought.
He recalled how he'd once been called
Mad Commander
. It was beginning to feel less like an insult and more like an apt description.
Was this what geniuses were like?
Thinking back, there had been someone similar in his own circle.
"Do I need to go mad to catch up to him?"
Enkrid, unknowingly, was leading another person to a moment of self-doubt.
After being cut again:
"Die!"
The shrieking demand rang loud and clear—a forceful intent and suffocating pressure.
Enkrid collected his thoughts and replied calmly:
"No."
He deflected the oppressive intent. This was only the second time, but he already felt he didn't need more practice.
'It's not hard.'
And that realization brought him so much joy.
Every lesson he had ever learned had come at great cost. He had been forced to stumble, crawl, and fight tooth and nail.
To master the
Heart of the Beast
, he hadn't just faced death—he'd had to die.
Nothing had ever come easy.
This was no exception; after all, it had taken over 400
todays
Yet, the act of
rejection
, once understood, felt as natural as breathing.
It was almost laughable how easy it felt now.
Though his head spun slightly after deflecting the second intent—likely from overexertion—he found himself grinning.
A trickle of blood dripped from his nose.
"Are you okay?" Fel asked.
Judging the situation, Enkrid responded,
"Think I can try once more?"
He couldn't resist.
Fel's expression crumpled like a man who had just been forced to watch something unthinkable.
And so, for the third time, Enkrid was cut.
A shallow gash was made along his arm once more.
"Die!"
The overwhelming pressure assaulted his senses again—choking him, threatening to shatter his heart.
This time, Enkrid responded effortlessly,
"No."
As soon as he rejected the intent, Enkrid closed his eyes and collapsed.
"Wha—? Sir Madman?"
Before losing consciousness, he thought he heard Fel mutter something odd about him.
"Captain!"
And somewhere in the distance, another voice—Bell's—called out.
Enkrid fell to the ground with a smile.
The dark, undulating river resembled thick, black mist.
On it floated a ship, atop which stood the ferryman holding a violet lamp.
The scene was as it always had been whenever Enkrid conversed with the ferryman.
Except, this time, something had changed.
"You..."
The ferryman paused, looking at Enkrid.
For the first time, his face was fully visible. Previously, only one eye had been faintly discernible; now, both eyes, nose, lips, and skin were in full view.
His skin was a dull, grayish hue, like weathered stone.
Black eyes that matched the dark river, a sharply defined nose, and ashen lips.
He didn't look human, but neither did he resemble a giant, frog, fairy, or dragonfolk.
That was to be expected, of course. The ferryman was something beyond Enkrid's understanding—a being from outside his perception.
Perhaps even a god.
Or a demon.
"Is getting stabbed your hobby?"
For all his otherworldly presence, the ferryman's words carried an oddly mundane tone.
Enkrid wondered if he was to blame for the ferryman's casual demeanor.
"I do prefer being stabbed to being slashed."
Their conversations always seemed to devolve into this kind of nonsense.
The ferryman quickly changed the subject.
"You walk because you're mad. You see because you're mad. So? How does it look? My face?"
The ferryman posed his question.
Enkrid answered honestly.
"You wouldn't be popular, with either men or women."
Though perhaps demons or demon bastards might find him appealing.
The ferryman let out a chuckle, but only the sound of laughter echoed across the space. His lips didn't move, yet his laughter filled the void.
As Enkrid's vision blurred and his consciousness began to fade, the distant laughter seemed almost... incredulous. But there was no way to discern what the ferryman truly felt.
Left alone on the black river, the ferryman muttered quietly.
"Well then, how does it feel to have crossed the wall?"
Had Enkrid been there, he would've nodded a hundred times over.
When he opened his eyes, it was clear the day wasn't repeating itself.
"What kind of person comes back from a late-night outing with stab wounds all over? And on top of that, I hear you deliberately let yourself get stabbed? You should've told me—I could've carved you up with my axe, and it'd look much better."
Waking up to such words made it hard to process their meaning.
Letting Rem's words flow in one ear and out the other, Enkrid raised his head.
Fel was probably long gone.
Bell must have been the one who brought him back here after the fight.
Bell would've likely explained things in his own way, despite not wanting to, as he wouldn't have been left alone after returning late at night carrying a collapsed Enkrid.
With a quick assessment, Enkrid pieced together what had happened.
Even Rem's teasing began to make sense.
"Is something imbued in your axe as well?"
"Bloodlust?"
Rem shot back without hesitation. Was this guy just bored?
"Where's Dunbakel?"
"Passed out."
What could have possibly happened to knock out the beast-woman?
Dunbakel didn't seem frail, though. Not by a long shot.
Sure, she wasn't as sturdy as a giant, but still.
"Are you heading out again today, brother?" Audin asked, snapping Enkrid from his thoughts.
He realized he'd skipped the morning training session.
The sun was already high. Even with his regenerative body, he'd slept until noon.
'So it takes a toll on the body.'
He was starting to grasp what "will" truly was.
Though it was hard to define yet, the act of showing the will to reject had become as easy as pulling a coin from his pocket.
Of course, performing it and enduring its effects were entirely different matters.
"Sniff!"
He blew his nose, and dried blood came out.
"Gross," muttered Rem, sounding annoyed. His axe hung at his waist, and he was slightly sweaty—likely from his earlier sparring session. Judging by the fact that Dunbakel had passed out, it seemed he'd been in the middle of an intense practice.
Aside from Audin and Rem, only Esther, who was napping in a corner, was nearby to witness Enkrid's awakening.
Since it wasn't the first time he'd collapsed, no one panicked or seemed overly concerned.
They only wanted to know who he'd fought this time.
Bell, the one who had carried him back, hadn't been able to provide much detail.
"Who was it?"
The question referred to the opponent who had come to see him the previous evening.
To Enkrid, it was someone familiar, someone who had shared over 400
todays
with him.
"Fel," he answered plainly, feeling no need for further explanation.
"Oh, Fel, huh? That Fel."
Rem's expression didn't change in the slightest.
A slip-up.
"The Shepherd of the Wasteland," Enkrid clarified.
A group insane enough to herd sheep among monsters and wild beasts—the Shepherds of the Wasteland.
Their name was well-known among the continent's mercenaries.
"Huh? What brought them here?"
"No idea."
Were they wandering as part of their training? Or perhaps they had business nearby?
Thinking back, he hadn't asked at all.
"Looked like you were having fun, though."
Rem pressed further. Why was he so nosy today?
"Quite."
"You passed out smiling, boss. I don't think I've ever seen you do that—not even after flipping out during a fight with me."
Passed out smiling, huh?
Enkrid chuckled faintly and shook his head.
"You're noisy. Move aside."
Having skipped morning training, he planned to complete it first.
"I'll head to the market this afternoon."
"Understood, brother."
Audin nodded with his usual warm smile.
No one tried to stop him. Rem, having asked everything he wanted, tossed his axe aside and went to clean up.
Enkrid, meanwhile, did some light training with the
Isolation Technique
, checked his equipment, and swung his sword a few times in the air before preparing to leave.
During this time, Jaxen entered and left, while Krais came by to ask if he was feeling better.
"Probably a good age to start eating something nice," Krais joked, poking fun.
"Then bring some over," Enkrid replied, smiling as he embraced yet another day.
More than 400
todays
had passed.
In that time, he had sparred and trained with these companions. Yet no matter how much he grew, being stuck in paused time couldn't bring complete satisfaction.
Thus began a new
today.
While not identical every time, it was still a
today
only Enkrid could remember.
Because of that, he avoided speaking much with others, passing through as indifferently as possible.
He had already come to understand why a repeating day only he could remember was a curse.
And so, he endured. Silently, he let the weight of solitary time pass and fade.
Above all, the act of defiance he had mastered through these days filled him with a strange satisfaction, making the repetition bearable, even enjoyable.
"What's got you in such a good mood?"
Ragna asked just as Enkrid was about to step out. A sword hung loosely at Ragna's hip, swaying with his movement.
It wasn't a fine blade—just one scavenged from a battlefield during the last war.
Enkrid thought it might be good to find him a proper weapon someday.
Though his tone was gruff, almost confrontational, Enkrid knew there was no malice in the question, so he answered plainly.
"The weather's nice."
Ragna glanced up at the sky.
Yesterday had indeed been a pleasant day, but today seemed overcast. The clouds were thickening, turning a heavy gray.
Soon, they'd likely turn to storm clouds, and a sudden downpour seemed imminent.
The autumn rain heralded the changing of the seasons—summer's end was near.
"This weather?" Ragna asked, skeptical.
"After seeing nothing but clear skies," Enkrid replied.
It was a cryptic answer. To Enkrid, it was obvious.
Though he preferred bright, sunny days, he had experienced 400 of them in a row.
Even if the rain soaked his boots and made things inconvenient, the change itself was welcome.
After finishing his morning training, compressed and completed efficiently with the
Isolation Technique,
he headed for the marketplace.
When he entered the inn, Allen, the innkeeper, greeted him warmly.
"It's nice seeing you so often these days, but... are you sure you're alright?"
The rank of Company Commander in the Border Guard was prestigious, second only to nobility.
Allen, ever polite, spoke with deference.
Enkrid found the remark about frequent visits odd.
For him, nearly 400 days had passed since his last visit.
"Well, perhaps I should stop coming before we grow too attached," Enkrid replied.
Allen chuckled, taking it as a joke.
In the training grounds, a rapier-wielding swordsman leaned casually against the wall.
"Were you waiting?"
"I figured you'd come today."
"Before me?"
"No, but three others seemed unwilling to."
The swordsman crossed his arms and continued.
"This is the last time. There's no need to endure unnecessary pain. You don't have to challenge this."
"That's for me to decide. If you're afraid, feel free to run."
Enkrid's tongue was as sharp as the continent's finest blade.
Even simple words, when wielded by him, could cut like a deadly dagger.
"Is that so?"
The swordsman hated the words
coward
run
too much to let them pass. His resolve hardened.
I'll break that spirit.
It would be for Enkrid's own good, he thought.
To reach greater heights required talent. From what he had seen, regardless of whatever luck Enkrid had on his side, this was his limit. The end.
Enkrid had drawn from the well of talent until it was dry—or perhaps he had dug out talent that wasn't even there to begin with.
But this was the farthest he could go.
As Enkrid passed him, the swordsman narrowed his eyes.
Something about his gait was... different.
It was hard to pinpoint exactly what, but it had changed.
In just a single day?
What could have changed so drastically? A shift in mindset, perhaps?
Nearby, a barbarian soldier who had followed Enkrid spoke up.
"Our commander tends to break down worse in just one day, so don't think too much about it. But if it gets out of hand, my axe might start dancing, so watch yourself."
"No worries, brother. He's not the kind to die from mere pressure."
A bear-like soldier added his own comment, followed by the usual nonchalant presence of a blond soldier passing through.
Meanwhile, a red-haired soldier had already claimed a spot at the side, though no one had seen when he'd entered.
The usual crowd had gathered.
Among them was Edin Molsen, who stepped forward with an uncharacteristically serious expression.
"I challenge you to a duel."
Had he not suffered enough?
While others thought this, Enkrid was deep in thought.
'What was this guy's name again?'
It had been 400 days. He had forgotten.
"Uh... What was your name?"
To Edin Molsen, that question was like flipping a switch.
"What?"
For Enkrid, it had been 400 days. For Edin, only a few.
Forget
his
name?
My name?
Edin lost all composure.
"Oh, you're dead!"
Clang!
Edin drew his sword and charged with full force.
The onlookers frowned. Falling for such a simple provocation...
Enkrid, regretting the question, reacted with his hands and feet.
There was no need to draw his sword.
As the blade came, he used movements from the
Way of the Blade,
stepping softly to avoid the attack. It was as if the duel had been choreographed.
His evasive steps came first, and Edin's blade sliced through the empty space where Enkrid had been moments before.
Though it was a feat of foresight and precision, to an outsider, it might have seemed like a staged performance.
Why was Edin swinging at empty air?
In the next moment, Enkrid's hand struck Edin's wrist.
Smack!
Using the momentum, he stepped in and slammed his palm into Edin's abdomen.
Thud!
It was a textbook example of Valah's martial arts—a palm strike delivered with rotational force generated from his ankles, through his hips, shoulders, and finally his palm.
With Enkrid's strength added to the technique, it was no light blow.
But the most surprising part wasn't the power.
The first time he had knocked Edin out with a single blow, it had been a gamble.
This time, he was brimming with confidence—as if he had become a different person overnight.
After pushing Edin back, Enkrid glanced at his palm, thinking.
'Why is this so easy?'
Had Edin's skills deteriorated?
That seemed unlikely.

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