The moment of extreme pain is short—but it stretches endlessly. He opens his eyes, the residue of agony still burning through him. His ragged breathing steadies within just two cycles. If one focuses on the pain, it only grows unbearable, maddening. No matter what he did, just like always, the pain never simply vanished in an instant.

“It hurts.”

The pain that came with death, or just before it, was something one never adapted to.

But did that even matter?

A chain of thoughts followed one after another as he endured the lingering ache left behind in his body.

Enkrid looked ahead, aligning his vision with the tremor that pulsed like waves. He saw the ferryman, standing still on the small boat. The lamp in the man's hand remained perfectly still, as if frozen in a still-life painting, unmoved by the swaying of the boat.

“So this is what you meant by ‘the end’?” Enkrid said. “Dying mid-fight, then fighting again only to die again? The pain’ll melt my brain.”

The ferryman made no reply. He simply waved the hand not holding the lamp. At that motion, Enkrid felt his body lurch backward. He didn’t even manage a word. That gesture might have seemed sulky—but surely that was just his imagination. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

And when he opened his eyes again, he realized he was standing upright. The boat and the river were gone.

This wasn’t a dream. This was reality.

He had repeated this day enough to be sick of it. Enkrid took in his surroundings and checked his body to get a sense of what point in the day this was.

“Was this the start of today?”

The definition of a day’s beginning had grown tangled ever since Balrog used his Authority to twist the labyrinth. Still, if there’s an end, there’s always a beginning.

The ferryman had apparently chosen the moment just before Enkrid stepped into the labyrinth and encountered the first opponent as the starting point.

In other words, just before the first clash.

“Oh, a guest?” the opponent had said.

Enkrid glanced at him with indifference, though his mind was elsewhere entirely.

If the ferryman had given him just a bit more time, he might’ve organized his thoughts. But the man had promptly kicked him out.

As a result, a sense of dissonance lingered. Hadn’t he just moments ago been biting down hard while fighting Balrog?

The pain still hadn’t faded. The burnt stench from his scorched organs still curled through his nostrils.

“Still... it’s fine.”

Enkrid had lived through this kind of thing countless times. He knew exactly what to focus on in situations like this.

The sword, the flow, changes in Will, the results of training, the motion of his body, the process of battle.

He focused.

He anchored his thoughts in one direction. It was one of the methods he used to shake off the remnants of pain. He focused on the things that brought him exhilaration.

“The black flame sword burns with just a graze.”

The flame whip moved on its own. As if it had a will of its own.

And—

“The ferryman’s blessing still holds.”

The ferryman might ask what kind of blessing this even was.

He had faced the Authority of a demon, but Enkrid himself had not changed. Whether it was back when he died on the first thrust, or now—it made no difference.

Back then, the thing he’d clung to while scaling the wall was the Beast’s Heart. Now, he clung to something not yet fully defined.

“What, you mute or something?”

The opponent approached and asked. The kind who had countless weapons hidden beneath the fluttering sleeves of his robe.

He reached for the two blades sheathed at both hips, but let his hands fall without drawing them. He figured that approaching unarmed would lower his opponent’s guard more effectively than brandishing a blade.

Enkrid looked at him—or at least it seemed so—but on closer inspection, his gaze was unfocused. He wasn’t looking at the man in front of him, but rather at something far off. Anyone could see he was lost in thought.

Anyone with knight-level sensitivity wouldn’t miss that kind of opening. His opponent noticed it, too. Even so, Enkrid continued his internal calculations.

“Swordsmanship is a tool.”

So what happens when those tools are combined?

“When I advanced from pre-knight to knight, I naturally started using Will. At the knight level, I began compressing and focusing Will with intent.”

He had even forged blades out of Will. Balrog could do it, too.

Enkrid’s thoughts dug deep inside. There were still so many things to learn and realize, both externally and internally.

That’s what he was doing now.

By the time the aftereffects of the pain from the previous “today” had faded, the opponent blinked and muttered under his breath.

“This is a damn mess. If you’ve taken the wrong path, just turn back quietly.”

His tone was deflated. But his actions were anything but.

Narrowing his eyes, he shifted his weight back as if to retreat—then suddenly lunged forward.

His movement left an afterimage. Enkrid’s eyes tracked him instantly. It wasn’t even difficult. He was fast, sure—but not fast enough to escape his eyes.

The sense of danger was low.

He was already the weaker fighter, and Enkrid had just been desperately struggling to land even one strike on Balrog. The echoes of that combat were still present, even though the pain had faded.

Enkrid reacted instantly.

Only, it wasn’t a normal counterattack.

He responded using the opponent’s specialty. Just like the first time.

Exactly the same.

“Deception.”

He was confident in that area, too.

Enkrid stared at him with a dazed look—then widened his eyes in mock shock, as if he’d just now realized the attack.

The opponent believed his strike had landed.

Enkrid played the part flawlessly, keeping the look of surprise in his eyes, while his limbs moved with a speed and angle that had nothing to do with his expression.

He extended his left hand and grabbed the attacker’s wrist—then twisted and pulled.

Even before meeting Audin, he’d never slacked on strength training, so he had always been stronger than most mercenaries.

Now that Audin’s Isolation Technique had been added to that—and with the use of Will—Enkrid could achieve his goal with just a flick of the wrist.

Crack!

The wrist gripping the dagger snapped like a dry branch. At the same time, Enkrid yanked hard enough that the opponent stumbled straight into him.

Even so, the dagger-wielder, master of deception, managed to flick his other wrist and pull out a second dagger—but he never got a chance to use it.

Enkrid stepped forward as he pulled the man toward him, closing the distance. He pivoted on one foot, leaned back, then snapped forward.

No matter how fast your hands were, there was no way you’d be ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) quicker than a forehead crashing in from point-blank range.

And so, he slammed his forehead right into the philtrum, the spot between the nose and upper lip.

Crack!

It sounded like stone striking stone.

“Guh.”

Instead of blood, a dark mist poured from the man’s face, and several of his front teeth fell out in a messy clatter.

Enkrid’s forehead was also left with a gash from the man’s teeth—but that had been intentional.

The blood running down from his brow whipped backward with the momentum. He moved again right after the headbutt, not giving the blood a chance to flow downward.

He had already drawn his sword and was swinging it with the hand not gripping the opponent’s wrist.

Every action fell perfectly into place. It was a level of calculation that even surpassed Acker’s web.

A fusion of deception and righteous swordplay. The one who had tried to deceive was struck down before he could even gather his wits.

“......!”

There wasn’t even time for a gasp of shock. The man’s eyes widened and his lips parted. From that open mouth, black mist burst like a spray of blood—but before it could even hit the ground, Dawn Tempering sliced through his neck.

Enkrid observed the expression on the severed head. Compared to the shock he had feigned earlier, this face was far more real.

Of course it was. Enkrid had only pretended to be shocked, but the one beheaded by his sword had truly been caught off guard.

“There’s a lot to learn here.”

He wasn’t just referring to the dead man’s expression. The thought struck him as he extended his sword.

Even with that single, casual slash, his sword had naturally flashed out like a burst of light, mixed with an element of chance, and executed with the principles of Vortex.

“Above all, I was ahead in the calculation.”

Even if he couldn’t grasp the opponent’s exact intention, he could counter with a chance-driven strike and optimize his swordplay through pure mental focus.

“What else can I try mixing in?”

The idea was vague, but not as unreachable as it once was. The Enkrid of now was no longer the same man who had died from the first stab. He could learn something from even a single fight now.

The same had been true of his battle with Balrog.

“...I like it,” Enkrid murmured to himself.

It wasn’t something he did often. Not unless he was really exhilarated.

Which meant Balrog wasn’t the only one who could make him show signs of joy, thrill, or pleasure.

In the realm of his mind, the ferryman simply clicked his tongue and muttered, “You lunatic.”

***

In terms of time, Enkrid’s day began the moment the battles of Rem and the others ended.

That is to say—by the time Enkrid once again advanced toward Balrog, the Mad Order of Knights had a brief moment to catch their breath.

Even so, they were already aware of the things creeping up from the other side.

It was obvious to anyone: a sizeable group was gathering in the distance. Too many to even bother counting.

Not all of them were like the one Rem had faced or the one Audin had blown apart. Most were beings long-devoured by the labyrinth, with no rationality left. Their eyes were pitch black, and all they did was swing their weapons.

Still, even a blind sword could kill a person—so it wasn’t as if they posed no threat.

“There’s a lot of them. Is that brother of yours still napping?”

Audin opened and closed his fist as he asked. Teresa stood nearby, shield in her left hand and sword in her right, glancing back over her shoulder. Her gaze followed the question back to its subject.

Rem had just crushed the head of one of the charging monsters and, upon arriving, slung the burden from his shoulder down with a thud.

The one who caught it was Roman.

Startled, he ended up setting the man down behind him. Now, that man was peacefully snoring away behind Roman.

A few villagers clustered to one side, glancing around nervously. Rophod and Pell exchanged short remarks like “Still coming, huh?” “Looks like it.” as they kept their eyes forward.

“Even in moments like this, that bastard slacks off. That’s why he’s not the vice-captain,” Rem muttered, his muscles still aching.

“Heh.”

Audin let out a chuckle, while Lua Gharne—standing on one leg, having lost the other—focused intently on assessing the situation.

“Balrog, huh?”

Her mouth opened, but no one replied. Everyone silently agreed. Was this the moment where tension would skyrocket?

Roman thought so.

It’d be a lie to say he wasn’t scared. The numbers and mix of ghostly knights up ahead made him gulp.

But the others didn’t seem fazed at all. It was like they’d forgotten what fear even was. At least, that’s how it looked to Roman.

“I don’t see my fiancé.”

Shinar spoke calmly, casting her gaze far off into the distance.

If this kind of battle was going on, then he should’ve come charging out in his sleep with drool on his face. Which meant, obviously, he was fighting somewhere else.

She said her piece, then continued talking like none of this mattered to her.

The fairy with inhuman beauty also spoke in a way that defied human comprehension.

“Then you all stay here and block this path. I’ll be where I’m needed.”

Yup, basically: “You guys handle this—I’ve got my own business.”

Her words caused everyone except Roman to frown.

Roman, after all, was already standing guard with Ragna behind him.

He was a one-legged wounded man—and by far the least skilled among them. But this was the best he could do right now.

It would’ve been idiotic to throw himself into a battle he was sure to die in, just because he refused to give up or break. That’s why he chose to hold this ground instead.

The enemies ahead—whether ghosts or some other cursed abominations—all moved with the power of knights.

Of course, they weren’t actual knights. He could tell that by watching how the others fought.

If he really put his mind to it, he could probably handle one or two of them himself.

'Though there’s definitely a wide gap between them.'

Among them, a few were obviously terrifying in sheer skill.

One had already been killed by the bear beastman Audin. Another had been slain by that bastard Rem.

Amid Roman’s scattered thoughts, an answer came in response to the fairy’s declaration.

“What the hell are you saying?”

Rem picked his ear.

“Elder sister, running off alone again?”

Audin pressed his hands together like he was praying.

“Elder?”

Shinar, though a fairy, was still getting used to expressing emotion.

She echoed the bear beastman’s words that had grazed her inner self.

“Who’s ‘elder’?”

Audin just kept smiling, while Shinar’s green eyes turned cold.

Then Rem interjected casually,

“Lazybones is sleeping, you two can flirt here while watching those things. This vice-captain’s taking the alley cat and heading off first.”

This time, both Audin and Shinar turned their gazes toward Rem.

“Just because you say it with words doesn’t make it coherent.”

“I said it before—your mate should be the one looking after you.”

While the bickering continued, the ghost knight horde drew closer.

Among them were those who had fully transformed into death knights. There were even two or three dullahans riding horseback, clutching their heads under one arm. Enkrid’s slain minotaur was there too.

Roman blinked.

So many things were running through his mind, and yet—seeing these people, his fear seemed to vanish.

It was as if not a single one of them knew what it meant to feel danger.