Amidst the vast current of thoughts, Enkrid pulled forth one of his greatest strengths.

An overwhelming quantity of Will.

“Uske.”

A name meaning the Will drawn from an inexhaustible well.

That too was a weapon. One not just anyone could wield.

Even Ragna, a genius who had stepped into a realm that only heaven-given talent could reach, did not possess this.

'That’s why I always had the advantage in battle.'

It was something he had felt whenever he sparred with Rem and the others. No—he understood it even more clearly now.

Back when he fought Count Molsen and again after clashing with Rearvart, the half-formed knight, Enkrid had learned to base his tactics around endurance, through those he faced. And so, he fought by leveraging that inexhaustible Will.

“Why aren’t you using what you’ve got?”

That was something Lua Gharne had said countless times during tactical training.

“Everything you can use can become a weapon. Hone it. Even your face should be considered a weapon. Expand the concept. Don’t narrow yourself down into a tiny well.”

She wasn’t a knight, but a Frokk devoted to tactics. Her words carried weight. Enkrid had taken them that way.

'Everything is a weapon.'

So he did exactly that. Whether sparring with allies or clashing with enemies, he fought with the inexhaustible Will at the forefront.

'But Balrog can’t be beaten in a battle of endurance.'

Balrog had lived for a very long time. Of course the Will he possessed wouldn’t be lacking.

'I can’t win by quantity alone.'

Then what about winning through change?

He had learned how to accelerate Will in Zaun.

It was a technique that damaged the body, but if the body was strong, so too was the ability to endure it.

'Endure.'

The collective name for techniques that centered around enduring pain.

If Assimilation had its roots in the fairies, then Endure was a technique that came from monks.

Audin had said that the foundation of Endure was physical training. What if he held on with a hardened body and Endure, and then unleashed a point explosion?

'I’ll win through transformation of Will.'

Not through calculation, but through the moment itself. And if he could exploit Balrog’s complacency—

'I’ll put everything into the first strike.'

So what must be done?

'That bastard’s pressure, first.'

Balrog measured his opponents’ strength through the pressure they exuded. So that pressure had to be shaken off in an instant. That was the prerequisite for seizing the moment.

“What are you supposed to be now?”

It was the fifty-sixth day of today, and the third opponent since passing Donapha. The swordswoman, a one-edged blade user known for her agile movements, tilted her head and asked.

As Enkrid met her gaze, she suddenly leapt back as if a grazing beast had spotted a predator.

Ching!

As she retreated, she drew her blade, and the wariness in her eyes was unmistakable.

'That damn stare...'

Her pupils quivered ever so slightly.

Enkrid’s blue eyes were like a lake. Except, it was as if a volcano had erupted beside that lake, boiling it from the edges.

If Rem or anyone else had seen him, they would’ve said, “There go his eyes again.”

Once he decided on a method, he carried it out without hesitation. That was one of Enkrid’s defining traits.

The one-edged blade user was just another passing opponent.

“I’m a little busy.”

He said, then dashed forward.

“...Tch!”

The swordswoman held her breath and launched a counterattack. If she backed down here, there was no chance of victory. She knew her strengths well.

Rather than being driven into a corner, she had to keep up the offensive.

Ka-ga-ga-ga-gang!

She scraped the tip of her blade along the ground as she rushed forward again. The ground was a mix of stone and dirt. Sparks flew as her blade grazed a rock.

It was as though she charged forward dragging fire behind her. The moment of impact was near—and so was the task she had to execute at that moment.

She focused.

It looked like the two were going to collide immediately—but they didn’t. For an instant, the swordswoman faltered.

'Stopped?'

Enkrid had been charging forward at high speed, then abruptly halted. It was such a sudden deceleration that it produced the illusion of his body still surging ahead.

As he stopped, a stream of blood trickled from his nose. The droplets scattered forward.

But that didn’t matter.

The swordswoman couldn’t stop. Her conscious Will, driven by intent to strike, and her subconscious Will both pressed forward with full force.

If she stopped now, it wouldn’t end with just a bloody nose.

Clack!

The one-edged sword, sparking as it scraped the ground, used that friction to accelerate. Like drawing from a sheath in the earth, her blade tore through the gap in the air and surged with a trailing roar.

Just then, the halted Enkrid ducked and stepped forward with undiminished momentum, swinging his sword.

It was as if they had both charged at each other and struck simultaneously.

'How—?'

Clang!

The one-edged sword struck Enkrid’s blade—only for her to see a sky-blue serpent slither up her arm and bite her throat.

That serpent sliced through her collarbone and heart before vanishing.

Black scorch marks clouded her vision.

She was on the verge of death. The last thing she saw was Enkrid swinging his sword a few more times into empty air.

That alone brought forth strength she didn’t know she had. Gasping black mist, the swordswoman cried out with all her remaining might.

“Khaak—did you just use me... as practice?”

From the wound carved by the sky-blue serpent, black mist gushed up and clumped onto the ground.

Enkrid didn’t even bother nodding—he’d heard that line too many times. He ignored it. Out of the more than fifty battles today, he’d heard it in over thirty. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

The one-edged sword wielder was sensitive to being ignored. It was a personality flaw. Enkrid had seen her over fifty times.

As time ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) passed, his opponents’ weaknesses became more and more apparent. He ignored her words and replayed the brief skirmish just now.

'Control of Will.'

Enkrid hadn’t focused on point or line explosions—he focused on control. He had halted mid-charge, then immediately switched to a point explosion.

The speed of Will had shifted in an instant. Like a galloping horse accelerating mid-run, Enkrid had, from a dead stop, slashed with high-speed force.

His arm was trembling slightly.

No matter how trained a body might be, doing something like that would obviously cause strain. No one could cut down a thousand people without so much as a breath, without feeling any tightness in the arms.

Becoming a knight through Will enhancement and physical training didn’t mean one transcended the human condition.

That was no different even for giants or fairies.

In any case—

'Learned something new, Odd-Eye.'

He recalled the time back at the Border Guard when Odd-Eye had fluidly switched between halting and accelerating movements. That’s why he had tried it himself now.

Back then, he had been so impressed that he stopped calling her Odd-Eye and started calling her "Unyielding."

Although in the end, the name Odd-Eye stuck out of habit.

Odd-Eye had only snorted at the name Unyielding. Her expression said: Why bring that up?

In any case—

'I can draw out their carelessness and begin the fight with a move they won’t anticipate.'

That was the conclusion.

And the sword strike that followed had been an imitation—blended with the fiery serpent Salamandra and styled with a variety of motions he had cobbled together.

A real sword couldn’t become a whip.

But his sword’s trajectory had changed so rapidly that it created the illusion of it, tricking the opponent’s eye.

So just now, Enkrid had accelerated twice.

Once when he moved his body, and once again when he swung his sword.

'A double point explosion.'

More precisely, it was a point explosion within a line explosion.

No wonder his arm ached. Only thanks to the constant training he’d undergone with Audin was he able to withstand it. Without it, his arm muscles would’ve torn.

Just as his thoughts never ceased, neither did his steps. Enkrid continued forward. The darkness might have seemed to devour him, but even the black of a cave had become just another path to him.

No fear. No hesitation. Only the urge to train, to test what he had resolved to do.

“...Oh, you’re back? But what’s with your eyes? Why do you look excited?”

Oara noticed it and asked.

Enkrid walked over and sat beside her near the campfire.

“Do I?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s pretty obvious.”

“I’m doing well. Roman is...”

He reflexively began the line. Oara had to hear that phrase before she would summon Balrog.

Otherwise, the conversation would stretch on unnecessarily. Enkrid was speaking a bit faster than he normally did on any given “today.”

“Did you always talk like this? You sound so forced and formal.”

Oara, even in death, had a knight’s keen instincts.

“Ah, do I?”

Enkrid nodded.

“Well... yeah. Just be careful.”

Wings spread wide from her shadow.

Enkrid caught himself smiling at the sight without even realizing it.

That subtle smile might’ve provoked Balrog.

—So you're someone who wants to die by the hand of a demon?

That question was no different from asking, I came because I was summoned, and this lunatic is what’s waiting for me?

The one who summoned him didn’t flinch under his presence—instead, he was smiling.

Balrog had seen many strange and remarkable beings.

From those who laughed just before dying, to the humans who defeated him despite having mortal bodies.

And one of them was actually quite recent.

But even among all those sentient creatures, the one in front of him had the most striking first impression.

'He sees me and starts laughing?'

Then he said—

“Go ahead.”

Enkrid provoked him out of habit and readjusted his grip on the sword.

'It begins with shaking off his pressure.'

Enkrid had settled on his plan to fight Balrog after just three iterations of “today.” His thinking had evolved to expand naturally. And now he had lived through over fifty of these days. He had enough experience.

Balrog didn’t respond with words—instead, he unleashed his pressure. Perhaps to say: If you can’t even withstand this, I won’t even consider you.

Which was... honestly, kind of fun.

And thinking about how he’d block that pressure—even more fun.

Even before Balrog unleashed it, Enkrid had already begun shaping the Will of refusal.

'Can effort ever surpass genius?'

He had spent time searching for the answer to that question, and all that accumulated time had become a solid wall inside him.

A tall, unshakable wall—Enkrid had vowed to protect what lay behind it.

That was the oath he’d taken as a knight.

An illusion appeared before his eyes: a wall of sky-blue bricks repelling chains of flame. Thunk. The blazing chain bounced off and landed on the ground. A wall of rejection, perhaps.

Or maybe, armor forged from the time he had built up.

Or maybe, it simply hadn’t crumbled because he had never broken.

—You keep smiling.

Balrog, despite his pressure being blocked, didn’t seem the least bit flustered. Enkrid realized from his words that he was indeed smiling.

At this point, he was honestly insane.

Rationally speaking, there was nothing enjoyable about this situation.

But—

'Am I a rational person?'

Kraiss might say he had a good head on his shoulders.

'But I don’t care.'

There was no time to ponder such things. No reason to, either. The moment he faced Balrog, he began to fuse the fragmented calculations of his Wavebreaker.

He was betting everything on a single strike.

'Just focus on one point.'

A singular focus. He only needed one line of thought.

To others, it might seem like a reckless gamble. Something only possible because he could repeat the day endlessly.

But it wasn’t that.

Enkrid never let a single day slip by carelessly. He lived every “today” as if it were the last.

'Even if I die...'

He would die after accomplishing what he set his mind to.

He would die walking the path he had chosen.

So he didn’t care if today never came back again. What the Ferryman called a curse, he had come to regard as a blessing. He had no intention of relying on “today.” His resolve was always high—and even now, it was fully embedded in his blade.

Chiririririring.

The edge of Dawn Tempering scraped against the inside of its sheath as it was drawn.

The amusing part was that Balrog’s lips curled up too.

If he simply crushed his enemies with his innate pressure, victory would be easy. He had such an option available.

But he didn’t use it.

Instead of relying on his overwhelming aura, he moved his hands and feet. It wasn’t a rational choice—but an emotional act.

In that sense, Balrog was no different from Enkrid.

Both maintained twisted grins as they closed the distance. Enkrid scraped the earth with his boots as he moved. Balrog strode forward in long steps, wings fully spread. That, too, was a stroke of luck for Enkrid.

Wings hindered sudden movement. The thin membranes would catch the wind, and in that moment, invisible shackles would grip Balrog’s ankles.

—Ah, no wonder I can’t quit fighting.

Balrog, overcome with joy, released a pulse of psychic energy.

Enkrid couldn’t help but agree.