Encrid's dream appeared in the form of the Grim Reaper.
Encrid's eyes reflexively scanned the other person's body.
A slightly spread stance, drooping hands, disheveled brown hair and eyes that lacked any individuality, and a shabby appearance.
Not the attire of an enemy soldier, nor an ally.
Several questions arose at once.
The first: how did this person get here?
The second: what is their level of skill?
The third: what is there to be sorry about?
"There's a reason. So let's end this quietly."
The person spoke and drew a sword.
Clang.
A cheap shortsword.
Just from the sound of it being drawn from its sheath, Encrid could tell by looking at it.
The blade was chipped, and the leather wrapped around the hilt was unraveled, hanging loose.
The blade's color was dull, rusted.
The funny thing was, Encrid hadn't even noticed the weapon until the man drew it.
Yet, as the man drew his sword, a deep sense of foreboding surged within Encrid.
It wasn't like the pressure exuded by the leader of the Knolls or the Intimidation from the Junior-Knight, Asia.
If those were indirect pressures, this felt more like something else.
It was as if that blade held an overwhelming fate that no matter what he did, he couldn't stop.
Why?
Through relentless training, Encrid's senses had sharpened like never before.
The Sense of Evasion had suddenly transcended its limits, gifting him with this feeling of dread.
It was an unexpected stroke of luck, but right now, it was a useless skill.
As a result, Encrid's body froze.
The chains of dread bound his arms and legs.
"Hmm, Fiance."
Sinar, observing, opened her mouth.
What did the Fairy's sharp perception see that others didn't?
"We should avoid this."
Sinar said, and the man disappeared.
A long afterimage remained in Encrid's eyes.
Instinctively, his gaze followed.
The man, now a streak of light, had already reached Sinar.
Though Encrid's eyes were wide open, the man's figure seemed to cut in and out as if disappearing.
That's how fast he was.
Even with all his honed vision, that was the limit of what Encrid could see.
Clang!
Splatter!
The sound came first.
Then the scene unfolded before his eyes.
Sinar had already taken a defensive stance.
Encrid saw the chipped shortsword, producing sparks over Naidil, sliced through Sinar's chest and abdomen.
Fairy blood sprayed into the air.
Naidil blocked, but the force pushed it aside, and the sword's tip cut through her body.
It was a perfect balance of strength, speed, and technique.
In that moment, Encrid realized.
A truly perfected sword strike must be something like that.
"If you're lucky, it won't happen again. But if you survive by luck, I won't do it twice. I know this isn't an honorable thing. So, I ask for your understanding."
The man muttered, lowering his shortsword.
Even so, his words pierced Encrid's ears clearly.
What was meant by 'once' or 'luck' was unclear.
The talk of honor made even less sense.
But one thing was certain.
Sinar had fallen.
She clutched her chest, sliding to the ground.
She tried to hold herself up, pressing Naidil's tip into the ground, but her sword scraped uselessly across the floor as Sinar collapsed, head hitting the ground with a thud.
Thud.
"I feel bad too. That's the truth."
The man with the brown hair turned and spoke.
Encrid stared directly at him.
Even if that rusted knife in his hand were all he held, the events that had just unfolded would repeat themselves.
It was inevitable.
All the countless questions swirling in his mind converged into a single answer.
The man before him was more than a Junior-Knight.
He was someone who invoked a sense of inevitable doom, an inescapable fate, with just a glance.
In other words, he was a Knight.
A lone warrior capable of cutting down a thousand.
A nightmare on the battlefield.
A disaster born from human hands.
A strategic weapon that could change the course of a battle.
Encrid's dream had manifested as the Grim Reaper.
"Damn, what is this?"
Krais muttered in confusion from behind.
"Move."
Ragna said, pulling Krais by the scruff of his neck and stepping forward.
Ragna wasn't even holding a sword in his hand.
Instead, he clutched a spoon, as if it were a replacement for his sword.
"What the hell?"
Dunbachel growled.
She had already completed her transformation into her beast form.
The man lowered the shortsword in his hand.
Then, he moved toward his next target.
There was no sound of his foot striking the ground, no noise of air being torn apart.
He simply moved and slashed.
It was such a simple motion, yet even following it with the eyes was a struggle.
Dunbachel was next.
She drew her scimitar before the man made his move.
If he hadn't acted, she would have struck first.
Clang.
Thud!
Thump!
Three sounds overlapped.
That's how it registered in Encrid's ears.
The outcome came into view.
He couldn't trace the trajectory of the shortsword.
It was faster than before, and the man's body obscured Encrid's line of sight.
But Dunbachel was visible.
Her scimitar had been split in two, the broken half of the blade bouncing off to the side, slicing through the tent as it flew away.
And the man's shortsword had effortlessly pierced Dunbachel's heart.
"Shit... should've used a better sword."
Dunbachel muttered, dropping to one knee.
Even as she grasped at the wound near her split chest with her hand, blood gushed between her fingers.
It was a fatal wound.
"No choice. Come at me."
Next in line was Ragna.
He rushed forward, even without a sword.
It would've been impossible even if he had one.
His arm hadn't fully healed yet.
The man, however, showed no mercy.
Without a word, the man swung his sword.
The silent slash came down toward Ragna's head.
Ragna didn't act foolishly. Instinctively, he twisted his body and thrust his uninjured hand forward.
Thud!
That hand was effortlessly caught by the man's hand.
In that hand, Ragna still held the spoon.
The brown-haired man grabbed Ragna's wrist with one hand and raised the sword in his other.
"You were the most useful."
As soon as he spoke, the man swung the sword he had raised above his head.
Ragna resisted to the very end.
He twisted his body, trying to push with his shoulder, but the sword was faster.
Slash!
The man's sword only managed to take one of Ragna's arms.
Ragna rolled to the side as his arm was severed.
Blood sprayed in all directions.
With his arm cut off, he would bleed out and die if left as is.
"Yeah, there won't be a second time."
The man spoke toward Ragna.
Encrid understood what he meant.
There wouldn't be a second time.
It meant that he would only use his sword once.
"If you block, I'll retreat. That's the bare minimum I'll offer you. It's my conscience, and perhaps, in some small way, an honorable act."
With those words, the man's sword moved again.
This time, it was aimed at Esther, who had secretly tried to approach from behind.
The slash was like a lightning strike, falling mercilessly, yet it also resembled a rainstream flowing down from somewhere.
Thud!
Esther's front leg was severed.
Not only the leg but her chest was also slashed.
A deafening cry of pain came from the Lake Panther.
It struck at the heart.
"Get away. Go."
Ragna, now fallen, spoke.
He tried to get up but slipped on his own blood, his face smacking into the ground.
A soft thud echoed as his face scraped across the blood-soaked earth.
Ragna's face was now smeared with blood.
"Damn it."
And then, a small, trembling figure stepped in front of Encrid.
Even though the chains of dread still bound his entire body, Encrid couldn't move at all.
It was as if the Goddess of fate, who shared another face with the Goddess of luck, was telling him that this was destiny. That he couldn't escape, and that it would all end here.
"I always had a feeling it would come to this. But Captain, I'll repay what I owe before I go."
Krais stood in front of him.
Encrid couldn't lift his hand.
He couldn't even open his mouth.
He could only remember the moment when he had once shielded Krais.
"Big Eyes, run."
Why had he done that back then?
It wasn't something his mind had decided.
"Go. I'll hold him off."
Big Eyes whispered.
He knew his words were meaningless.
The enemy knew it too.
He didn't show any emotion.
He didn't even sigh.
He simply raised his sword.
Whoosh.
As the flames flickered in the wind, the sword cast multiple shadows.
One of those shadows materialized, stabbing Big Eyes in the heart.
Crack.
With a final gasp, Krais collapsed, bleeding.
Blood-tears streamed from his eyes as well.
Encrid witnessed everything.
On the surface, he appeared calm.
The brown-haired man turned toward Encrid.
The two flames flickering in his emotionless face were striking.
Encrid's eyes burned far more intensely than the campfire.
The Knight saw that.
"Whew, just once."
The man muttered with a displeased sigh.
He didn't like this situation at all.
A Knight exists for honor.
An ambush by a Knight was unthinkable.
It was unexpected.
But in reality, it didn't matter.
It had already happened.
Everyone was dead.
Only then did Encrid's lips part.
"Never thought I'd be the one to say this."
He saw Sinar, Ragna, Dunbachel, Esther, and Krais.
Sinar lay collapsed on the ground.
Ragna struggled, having lost an arm.
Dunbachel's heart was cleaved open.
Esther, snarling viciously, missing her front leg.
And Krais, standing in front of him with a gaping wound in his chest.
The only ones barely surviving were Ragna and Esther.
Sinar was dead. Dunbachel was dead. Krais was dead.
What about Ragna, struggling on the ground?
"Get out."
Ragna's words echoed.
He had told him to run, again and again.
Even if it meant a futile end, he told him to run.
Even if the Knight didn't strike again, Ragna would bleed out and die.
Even if he survived, would he be alright?
He had lost his arm.
Yet, all he could do was repeat the words, "Run", like a parrot.
It was absurd.
Absurd and laughable.
Encrid looked at the Knight.
Then, he spoke again.
"I guess I should die."
If he died, this day would repeat.
He needed that repetition.
The man pointed his sword without emotion.
"Sorry about this."
His words were devoid of feeling.
Encrid tried to gauge the man's skill.
He couldn't see it.
It was dark.
As if he were walking a dark path with no torch to light the way.
Thud.
The sword flew and pierced his heart.
Instead of avoiding it, he accepted it.
The day would repeat, and for the first time, he had let go.
'Again.'
For the first time, he had let go from the beginning.
He couldn't help it.
Encrid suddenly realized.
The joking Sinar.
The always babbling Dunbachel.
The lazy Ragna.
The crazed Krais who was obsessed with Krona.
The bad-tempered panther and wizard.
'I won't let them die.'
Watching them die before his eyes was anything but a good feeling.
Encrid accepted his death.
The Knight's sword, as the Grim Reaper, pierced and withdrew from his heart.
"You, I'll kill you."
Ragna's voice, still clinging on, could be heard.
The voice grew distant.
Encrid endured the pain and held on.
He didn't even let out a groan.
"Yeah, you live. You deserve it. Stop the bleeding properly."
The man said, keeping his word.
He then turned away.
Encrid, now collapsed, closed his eyes.
Death consumed him.
Splash.
As expected, the black river came into view.
Upon the flowing waters, the ferryman holding a violet lantern spoke.
He said,
"I told you, despair."
Silence settled over the river.
Instead of agreeing, Encrid asked,
"What about anguish and ignorance?"
It was impossible to gauge the ferryman's mood.
What kind of state was he in today?
Luckily, the ferryman chose to respond.
He answered calmly.
As the faintly visible lips moved, their meaning reached Encrid.
"First is agony—must you do what doesn't need to be done?"
Was it a test from the ferryman, or was it fate shaped by circumstances?
He didn't know.
However, he hadn't sought the child out of necessity.
If your heart drives you to act, why hesitate?
There was no value in agonizing over it.
In other words, it wasn't agony.
At least, not for him.
"Second is ignorance."
Encrid hadn't recognized the barrier before him.
Not knowing is ignorance.
On this day called ignorance, the ferryman had helped him.
Why he helped, Encrid didn't know.
But even without the ferryman's help, he would have eventually figured it out and crossed that barrier.
So, ignorance, too, would have been understood one day, and during that time, Encrid would have quietly kept walking.
Thus, the barrier of ignorance held no true meaning either.
"The third is despair."
That statement carried the message: you cannot overcome this.
The ferryman's intent was clear.
"Endure the Knight's sword."
It was, without a doubt, the harshest of all the days he had experienced so far.
What's more, before that, he had to witness the deaths of those he called comrades.
To say it had no effect would be a lie.
"Savor the despair."
The ferryman, as he had done on all previous days, spoke without a hint of a smile.
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