Enkrid silently agreed with Balrog’s remark and sank inward, drawing forth his Will. Whether he agreed or not, it went without saying that he wouldn’t stop what he needed to do.

He gripped the drawn Will tightly so it wouldn’t run rampant.

'Control.'

It began with control—with stillness. What followed was the explosion.

He blended the line explosion technique with the point explosion demonstrated by the head of the Zaun family. He internalized the two styles of Will manipulation and unleashed them in his own way.

He infused the strike with a resolve that said he’d be fine dying after one swing. A knight’s Will grew stronger through oaths and constraints, after all.

Enkrid cast aside all mental preparation and charged. The time for readiness had long since passed.

The moment his halted body moved, the world entered silence. The surrounding air became like mud, pressing in on him. A moment when time thickened and slowed. Balrog, as expected, entered that same temporal layer with ease.

Except... he hadn’t yet folded his wings.

That gave Enkrid a slight edge.

Foot position. Grip. Every motion unified into a single slash. A simple diagonal cut—but it came before Balrog’s sword, Surtr, could reach, before the fire serpent Salamandra could lunge.

The timing was perfect. A slash mixed with a vortex and lightning skimmed one of Balrog’s crystals.

BBOONG! KAGAK! TUNG! JJENG!

Only then did the sound explode outward. Enkrid’s body flung back. As he moved at high speed, Balrog released another wave of psychic force.

—Endure.

Enkrid, hurled back, rolled once across the ground and stopped by stabilizing with his sword, Dawn Tempering, which gouged a deep scar in the earth with a gritty screech.

“Urk!”

He vomited blood the moment he stopped.

That kick from Balrog—aimed squarely at his abdomen during the exchange—had ruptured something inside.

Even though his slash had landed properly, Balrog hadn’t just stood there. Instead of focusing strength into his sword against the drag of air and wing resistance, he’d used his leg. That right leg struck Enkrid’s abdomen just as fast as the slash had flown.

'His whole body is a weapon.'

A fact Enkrid already knew—but this time, it was different. The power and speed of the kick were something else.

Bright red blood dripped down his chin and splattered to the ground.

Enkrid, kneeling on one leg, leaned on Dawn Tempering stabbed into the earth and stared forward.

Then, reacting to Balrog’s last word, he spoke.

“What?”

With his voice, more droplets of blood flicked onto the blackened dirt.

He had said Endure. A technique every knight learned, forming the foundation for learning Iron Skin later.

At its core, it was a technique for enduring pain.

—Impressive.

Balrog wasn’t listening to what Enkrid said—he simply said what he wanted.

Enkrid stared at Balrog’s chest. His sword had definitely struck one of those crystals. But not a scratch remained. Dawn Tempering hadn’t cut the crystal itself—it had sliced the membrane surrounding it.

'This cunning bastard.'

In a previous “today,” Balrog had revealed his weakness: the three crystals embedded in his chest.

But he had not mentioned that each crystal was wrapped in a thick defensive membrane.

'No... I expected that much.'

He just hadn’t thought it would be this tough.

Endure, the Will that began with the ability to withstand pain, served as another form of armor for Balrog. One that wrapped his crystals completely.

'So this won’t be easy either.'

Enkrid met Balrog’s black and yellow eyes. His insides boiled like they were being twisted.

At the last second, the fairy cloak had reflexively stretched to shield his abdomen. Without it, he likely wouldn’t have held on at all.

—To see another human like this in such a brief moment... how impressive.

Balrog said.

What he meant by “another” was unclear, but there was no time to ask.

The fire serpent lunged. The blade of black flame scorched and slashed Enkrid.

Balrog had lost interest—like a child breaking a toy.

Engulfed in black fire, Enkrid burned. It wasn’t the first time, yet the pain felt as fresh as ever.

Still, something was gained: the membrane wrapping the crystals was tougher than expected.

'If I had added more weight to the strike, I could’ve cut it.'

He could tell by instinct. But doing so would’ve meant dying just to break one crystal.

—Excellent perception. Truly excellent.

Balrog praised him, again and again.

And then, Enkrid’s vision shifted.

Whoosh—

A black river, a ferry, and the Ferryman holding a violet lamp came into view.

“You look pitiful.”

The Ferryman mocked him. Urging despair. Pushing surrender.

The moment Enkrid thought he’d stood up on the boat, the Ferryman shoved him back off.

Back to reality. Today began again.

And when Enkrid woke—

“Wait, hang on.”

Before the opponent could start with the usual “So, a guest...” Enkrid raised his palm—and, naturally, imbued it with pressure—then simply nodded slowly.

Fine. If this method doesn’t work? Move on to the next one.

“...Do I look like a dog to you?”

The opponent burst into anger, shaking off the pressure.

The one-edged sword user gets angry when ignored. This guy, on the other hand, always opens his mouth before lifting a hand—trying to shake the opponent’s mental state. And when it fails, he’s the one who gets flustered.

It was a tired trick.

Asking “Do I look like a dog?” to bait carelessness.

He might not be rolling his eyes, but right now he was racking his brain, desperately trying to come up with a line that would throw Enkrid off balance.

“Aren’t you?”

Enkrid responded casually—already planning his next move.

'Balrog enjoys the fight. Can I bait his carelessness?'

No. He couldn’t.

Enkrid, who had leaned on deception, lost again.

A battle of endurance using inexhaustible Will? That had already failed long ago.

He’d learned something from it—but the Ferryman just sneered.

“What, you think dying together is somehow happier?”

If the battle dragged on, the Mad Order of Knights would arrive from behind. Enkrid hadn’t met them directly.

He only felt their voices and presences from afar.

“Hey—just me!!”

The fairy who always shouted louder than she should.

“You’re having all the fun without me again!”

“If you’re lost, shout—I’ll come to you.”

Rem and Ragna.

“Lord, is this the prisoner You seek within?”

“Stand by—I’ll be there soon.”

Audin and Jaxon.

That had been just before his death.

Right when he could no longer dodge Balrog’s final sword slash, after holding out with everything he had.

And in that dying moment, Enkrid saw Balrog’s eyes gleaming. The flames swirling within his pupils writhed.

Murderous intent and excitement swirled together in equal measure.

That’s where the conclusion came from:

When Balrog fought seriously, just holding out was nearly impossible.

Even when defending with everything he had, it wasn’t enough.

Once more, Enkrid spent the day in the black cave.

'If I fight without hesitation...'

Then the next time, Enkrid would throw his body into the fight. He would not hesitate to wield destructive force that would break his own body.

And Balrog responded in kind.

—Good.

Even cheered.

Surtr severed Enkrid’s left arm. But Dawn Tempering stabbed into one of the crystals.

A reckless, body-throwing strike.

And in that moment, Enkrid sensed something had changed in his Will.

'It’s different again.'

Each time he crossed some line, he felt a subtle shift in Balrog’s temperament.

It resembled the look Ragna gave when swinging his sword at full power.

It had flickered in Rem and the others too—but when he asked, they only tilted their heads, unsure of what he meant.

“Because they can’t contemplate what belongs to others, they can’t understand the difference between what’s theirs and what isn’t.”

Enkrid, through death after death, had gained the ability to contemplate both his own Will and that of others.

That didn’t mean the knights of the order simply ignored what he said. They added their own perspectives, filtered through their own experiences.

“So you’re saying the captain’s Will is kind of bland, but ours isn’t, right?”

Rem’s words came to mind.

“I’ve always liked hiding sharpness inside monotony. It’s a matter of taste.”

That was Jaxon.

“Because I’m going to kill with it—that’s why I add to it.”

This one was Ragna. It was meant as an explanation, but only he could understand it. He’d nod to himself after speaking, wearing a face like he’d just had a revelation—which only made it more absurd.

Audin had laughed and said that divinity had a slightly different direction altogether.

“Want me to inject you with fairy essence? Come find me tonight and I’ll do it.”

That particular joke from a fairy surfaced in his mind and made him chuckle.

Back to reality.

“You’re laughing?”

The man drawing his sword from his sleeve furrowed his brow. He was pretending to be angry about being ignored.

That was his specialty. It was the seventy-sixth “today.” Enkrid had only broken one crystal once.

This time, he used the opponent’s lapse in focus and thrust his sword. The light lanced out like a flash. If you saw it head-on, it would look like a single point of light.

A thrust with sudden acceleration—achieved through a point explosion of Will.

The foundation of it was the thrust he learned on his very first “today,” but by now it had grown far beyond that level.

The enemy was nearly dead. As he fell back, he crossed both blades in his hands and reclined backward.

According to Enkrid’s calculations, the opponent should have twisted sideways and counterattacked.

But instead, he fell backward and kicked. The motion was acrobatic, clearly honed through years of training.

Balancing on one foot and lashing out with the other, a thin blade shot from the tip of the boot, aiming for Enkrid’s throat. Enkrid pulled his sword back just in time.

CLANG!

The blade deflected off Dawn Tempering and spun into the air above their heads.

Enkrid could have ended the fight before that blade even fell. In fact, even a moment earlier, he hadn’t really needed to block.

“It would’ve just grazed my neck and ended.”

And yet, he didn’t finish it.

Why?

Was it just caprice? Or did he subconsciously want more time to think?

He hadn’t used pressure to suppress the opponent this time.

'No...'

The unexpected nature of the opponent’s kick had reminded him vaguely of Balrog’s. That was probably it.

The man who had been balancing on his left foot kicked off the ground and stood again, drawing two short swords and crossing them before his face.

He peered at Enkrid between the diagonally crossed blades.

This time, Enkrid was observing his opponent—the “guest” who had just arrived. That last move had been one of his trump cards, yet it had been blocked.

And that had frozen his hands and feet.

'What is this?'

He stared.

The blue-eyed man was gazing off into space with a dazed expression.

'Trying to bait me into dropping my guard?'

A trick he himself often used.

Deceptive swordsmanship made one suspicious—and so was he.

'Where the hell did this guy come from?'

Just as he was watching in silent amazement...

The vacant eyes focused again.

'He really was just lost in thought?'

'What kind of lunatic is this guy?'

“We never even introduced ourselves, huh? But, well, no need for names, I guess. Looks like you learned the basics from the Valen-style mercenary sword. Go ahead. Let’s continue.”

Enkrid’s opponent, Rino, discreetly covered his mouth and neck with his crossed swords and swallowed hard.

This guy... really seemed insane.

“Rino.”

“I told you, names don’t matter.”

Enkrid said, and lunged with his sword. Rino reflexively pressed against the crossed blades.

It was a move that used the friction between the two swords as leverage for a counterattack—and at the same time, the specially alloyed metal in his swords sparked.

Not a sustained flame, but a sudden burst—more like a flash.

A tactic to momentarily disrupt the opponent’s vision. Of course, for a knight, whose senses were sharpened, this wasn’t ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) deadly.

But when in the middle of a desperate exchange, even a split-second of blindness could cause hesitation. The sparking blades were designed to create that opening.

And truthfully, Enkrid was momentarily startled.

'That sword...'

So that’s what it could do.

He had been cutting through opponents so quickly before that he never got the chance to notice.

'It reminded me of Balrog’s kick.'

That thought rose again.

When Rino reclined and kicked—something about it had felt similar. The power, the outcome, the movement—all different—but the process was the same.

'Balrog uses deception too.'

If it’s to win, he’ll do anything. Enkrid felt the same.

And he realized something else here.

“Even from a farmer who’s tilled the soil his whole life, there’s something to learn.”

That was what his old instructor had said long ago, when laying down his foundation.

“You probably learned something watching Aitri handle metal, even if he’s not a fighter.”

Lua Gharne’s words layered over that memory.

'You’re a good teacher, Lua.'

An excellent Frokk.

She did everything for her own desire—and among those “everything” was teaching Enkrid.

That teaching had seeped all the way into his bones.

'I’ve been complacent.'

It was time to reflect. On this opponent now, on Donapha, on the one-edged sword wielder.

They were knights trapped in Balrog’s labyrinth. Each of them had something worth learning.

And Enkrid had ignored them all.

'I got carried away.'

Had he gotten too excited after finally meeting someone who could overwhelm him again?

Was that why, subconsciously, he’d allowed the idea of repeating today to cloud his mind?

Even though he kept telling himself not to waste any “today”?

Reflection after reflection.

“Good.”

With all his heart, he watched his opponent’s techniques and learned.

Enkrid sincerely regarded his opponent as a teacher.

“That was a good one. Got any more?”

He asked.

And the “teacher” named Rino, who heard that, could only respond with disbelief.

“You insane bastard...”