Chapter 117 - Left Hand

Chapter 117 - Left Hand

From the start, escape wasn't even considered.

Even if running away was the only answer.

'There's nowhere to go.'

More importantly, the path forward was clear.

How could one turn away from such a path?

The milestone before Enkrid posed a question.

Could he scale the wall without his right hand?

They say if you lose your teeth, you chew with your gums.

A village headman of some burned-out farming community had once said that.

Enkrid had liked those words quite a bit.

If there's no sword, use a spear.

If there's no weapon, fight with your fists.

If both arms are gone, then bite.

If the legs are lost, then crawl on your knees.

'And so.'

Without a right hand, what remains?

Darkness, the abyss, fear, pain.

The things that gripped Enkrid each time death approached.

But even in that darkness, Enkrid always saw light.

"Give up."

Someone seemed to whisper those words.

It felt as though he was cornering himself into the worst-case scenario.

Saying it out loud only made it feel more real, yet, in truth, it didn't matter at all.

Why was that?

He didn't know.

Enkrid understood the difference between himself and others.

How could he not?

He had watched mercenary comrades he'd shared meals with retire one by one.

Not just that.

"I can't do it anymore. With monsters like these everywhere, swinging a sword is just madness."

He had seen others crumble, envious of talents they lacked.

Enkrid had envied such talents too.

But merely envying them wouldn't change anything.

No day could be wasted, rain or shine, without swinging his sword even once more.

That was the only method Enkrid knew.

So he did exactly that.

Was it hard?

It wasn't easy, but it wasn't as though he spent every day drowning in a sea of despair either.

It was simply something to be done.

So he did it.

Death was the same.

Knowing it could be endured, he endured.

That was all.

'For now.'

It felt necessary to try a few different approaches.

Hadn't he learned from reliving the same day over and over?

'That the path isn't just one.'

Three paths.

If he could use everything in his way to repeat 'today,' then so be it.

He understood now that desperate flailing wasn't the only answer.

And because of that.

"Good morning."

He could begin the morning with a smile and a greeting.

Esther, with weary eyes, stared blankly at Enkrid.

What was this man doing, being so cheerful first thing in the morning?

Esther's gaze seemed to say as much.

"Go back to sleep."

Enkrid shoved Esther back into the blanket he had been lying under.

Normally, Esther would have squirmed, but today, she quietly curled back inside.

Once Esther was tucked in, Enkrid stepped outside.

"Phew."

Letting out a breath, he began loosening up his body with the Isolation technique.

As always, when his body warmed up, his mind became sharp.

"A sound mind resides in a sound body, brother."

Audin had said that once, and Enkrid had dismissed it as nonsense.

Now, he understood it somewhat.

And it turned out to be true.

The more he trained his body, the clearer his mind became.

For every drop of sweat shed, his thoughts grew sharper.

The wrist, braced with splints, wasn't broken anymore.

He had pushed himself right to the edge of death and fractured it, but it had returned to its original state.

The things he had honed through training.

Muscle conditioning, techniques ingrained into his body—all of it remained intact even after reliving the same day.

But injuries didn't heal.

Damage left its mark on his body, and recovery only occurred after the cycle ended.

So while his right wrist was healed, using it to climb the wall was out of the question.

'Relax the shoulders.'

Broaden the view, sometimes narrow the focus.

Think things through, search for the best route.

And move toward the path found.

What should the first step be?

What else?

Continue what he'd been doing.

Repeat what he'd done every day.

What he had done before his death.

Training and discipline.

The only difference was replacing his injured right hand with his left.

"Before you start, tie this up."

Vengeance, who had been silently watching from the side, stepped closer as Enkrid spoke.

"What, do you think I'm your servant? Making me do this?"

When Enkrid offered him the sword, Vengeance grumbled but still tightened the grip's cord for him.

Seeing this bastard's head roll had been a truly miserable sight.

The same with Esther.

When he saw those lake-like eyes and the black panther flying through the air, a feeling akin to rage had boiled up.

If he had to describe that feeling, it was something like misery, or madness.

'Why would they risk their lives in my place?'

The bitterness lingered.

Like an afterimage, he could still see Vengeance's severed head and Esther's fallen body.

'And why does Esther seem so drained today?'

That panther—what was she usually like?

Savage.

A beast that clawed at soldiers' shins, tore at them, and took their lives.

A predator that would climb right up to someone's throat in the blink of an eye and sink its fangs into their jugular.

And yet, to be brought down so easily?

'She was out of strength, I guess.'

Regardless.

They were risking their lives for him.

So Enkrid resolved to do the same.

To risk his life and swing his sword.

And if he could put his heart into training, he'd do just that.

"You're insane. Rest when you need to."

Vengeance handed the sword back to Enkrid with a grumble.

Enkrid accepted it with his left hand and replied.

"About Jennie, I'm sorry."

"…You knew?"

Vengeance ruffled his own hair and muttered.

"I know it wasn't your fault."

This bastard really was peculiar.

His mood was all over the place.

He had been so angry when he didn't understand.

Enkrid patted Vengeance's shoulder with his injured hand.

"Somewhere on this continent, there's bound to be a woman who hasn't seen my face yet."

"…Bastard."

Seeing Vengeance's twisted expression lightened Enkrid's mood a bit.

Yeah, this was it.

He could understand Rem's mindset now.

It wasn't about tormenting people just for fun.

With Vengeance muttering complaints as he walked off, Enkrid gripped his sword.

The tip, held in his left hand, pointed slightly toward the sky.

The repeated days, the deaths he had experienced—what had they taught him?

He reflected on the past, built his foundation, and immersed himself in it.

It was pure exhilaration.

A different kind of joy than before.

The kind of pleasure that could only be felt by being fully immersed in something.

Clearing away the lingering afterimages left by his banter with Vengeance, Enkrid allowed himself to sink into his own world.

He relived the experiences of the days gone by.

Repeated and reflected.

The leather strap wrapped around the grip didn't snap this time.

"Everything starts with the feet."

Countless swordsmanship instructors had passed through his life.

Reflecting on their teachings now, he returned to the fundamentals.

Standing before walking, crawling before standing—this was the essence of the basics.

Repetitive training to make the sword move as desired.

Enkrid committed to that practice.

Swish! Whoosh, whirr.

Amidst the dull thuds, sharper sounds began to emerge.

Lost in time, he continued swinging the sword over and over again until—

Beeeep!

A long-toned whistle pierced the air.

"Hm?"

For some reason, it was Vengeance, who had been idly watching, that reacted first.

"What's going on?"

His shout broke the trance, and Enkrid emerged from his world of concentration.

Kaa!

Sensing the shift in the air, Esther exited the barracks and stood by Enkrid's side.

Enkrid lightly tapped Esther's head with his fingertips.

"Stay out of it today. You seem tired."

What's with this guy?

Esther thought, confused by his words.

He seemed to know she was exhausted today.

Had he figured out the trick she tried yesterday to recover from her fatigue?

Of course, that wasn't the case.

It was just something he had learned through the repetition of today.

"Captain!"

Krais came running, shouting.

Enkrid briefly planted the tip of his sword into the ground and contemplated.

Should he switch to his right hand?

Would that even make a difference?

His injuries wouldn't heal.

If he died, he'd simply return to the beginning.

He had already decided to stick with his left hand.

There was no hesitation.

Enkrid wasn't the kind of man to agonize deeply over his choices.

Running away wasn't an option.

Neither was being trapped by the present.

In that case, he would do what he could.

That was all there was to it.

Krrrk.

Kicking aside a few pebbles, he pulled his sword from the ground and pointed it forward.

"...When I get back, I'll need to make an offering at the temple."

Mitch Hurrier stepped forward, his boots crunching on the gravel, his hair soaked, sword in hand.

His posture was refined, his gaze sharp—clearly a different man from before.

"What nonsense is that?"

Beside him, Vengeance growled, aiming his spear.

Next to him, Esther growled for real, releasing a low, beastly snarl from deep in her throat.

A sound so heavy it could make a coward's knees give out, yet Mitch Hurrier's steps didn't falter.

Step by deliberate step, he closed the distance.

"I'll go first."

With that, Enkrid moved forward.

"Captain, your wrist!"

Krais shouted urgently from behind, his large eyes wide with concern.

Given the sudden assault, their allies collapsing one after another, panic was understandable.

Screams, curses, and cries to hold the line filled the air.

Amidst the clash of steel, Mitch Hurrier halted his approach.

Enkrid replied to Krais without looking back.

"My left hand's fine."

What kind of crazy talk is that?

Krais's wide eyes grew even wider.

The squad leader's nonsensical statement left him baffled.

No one present could make sense of it.

It was absurd enough to sound like madness.

But Enkrid's spirit matched his words.

The oppressive aura emanating from Mitch enveloped the surroundings, pressing down on everyone.

Vengeance felt himself shrink under the weight.

So this is what it means to dominate the battlefield.

Even Esther felt the pressure.

And Krais?

There was no question about his struggle.

There was no help coming from their fellow soldiers.

Everyone knew they were on the verge of death.

Yet, despite the crushing pressure, Enkrid's back seemed larger than ever.

He stood there.

At the front.

Showing them his back.

That simple fact seemed to push against the oppression, as though his presence alone could resist it.

His resolve answered the enemy's imposing spirit.

Yes, it felt as if such a force could be seen with the naked eye.

A silent exchange passed between Mitch Hurrier and Enkrid.

"I hoped we'd meet again."

"You must've realized your shortcomings thanks to me, huh?"

Mitch frowned slightly at that remark.

Shaking an opponent's mind with words was among the basics of the Valen mercenary swordsmanship.

Through the repetition of today, Enkrid had come to understand the opponent's psyche.

He swung his injured right hand, as if to provoke, and Mitch instinctively moved his sword in response.

Using the feint to his advantage, Enkrid thrust his left-hand sword upward in a sharp motion.

A dual-blade feint, a Valen mercenary swordsmanship technique.

The left-handed thrust wasn't perfect.

It didn't satisfy him.

After all, he had only practiced wielding the sword with his left hand for two days.

Clang!

It was blocked.

The clumsy thrust aside, Mitch Hurrier's skills had improved significantly—almost comparable to Enkrid, who had also been repeating today.

Mitch deflected the upward thrust with his blade, stepping forward with fluid movements.

In one smooth motion, Mitch's sword drew a deadly arc and slashed at Enkrid's chest.

Rip!

Enkrid staggered back reflexively.

His leather armor absorbed some of the impact, but it wouldn't hold out for long.

Kaaaak!

Esther leaped forward, and—

"You crazy bastard!"

Vengeance roared in fury.

"Captain!"

Krais shouted again.

But Mitch Hurrier was unfazed by the commotion around him.

He closed the distance with precise footwork, as though he had anticipated Enkrid's retreat, and thrust his sword forward.

Squelch!

"Your right hand?" Mitch asked, his sword impaled in Enkrid.

Enkrid raised his right hand, the splint still attached, clearly injured.

"Hmm."

Before Enkrid could respond, crimson blood spilled from his lips.

"Bad luck, huh."

With a wrenching motion, Mitch pulled out his blade.

A heart split in two couldn't sustain life.

Chaos erupted.

Krais screamed.

Vengeance charged.

Esther leaped at Mitch.

But why do they keep charging?

Enkrid sank into the dark abyss of pain and death.

Death came again.

And when he opened his eyes, he resumed his left-hand training.

Some days, he trained in silence.

Other days—

"Jenny had a good eye for men, didn't she?"

"...Want me to kill you?"

He'd tease Vengeance for no reason.

Thus, ten repetitions of today passed.

"Your wrist's injured!"

A panicked Krais would shout, only to hear the same reply.

"My left hand's still good."

"What nonsense are you spouting!?"

Valen mercenary techniques wasn't working well anymore.

So, he began incorporating wrestling moves.

Feigning a dagger throw, he closed the gap and pretended to draw his sword, only to trip Mitch with his foot.

But Mitch adapted, bending his knees to lower his center of gravity and maintain his footing.

"Not so fast."

The duel resumed.

At first, Enkrid couldn't last a single exchange.

After thirty repetitions, he held out for two or three.

By the forty-second today, an unexpected change occurred.

"Let's spar."

It was Vengeance, who had been observing, that proposed the duel.

Feeling the sweat dripping down his temple, Enkrid tilted his head.

"With me?"

"Who else?"

Enkrid nodded, out of habit.

He never refused a sparring match.

Normally, Vengeance wouldn't stand a chance against Enkrid.

But now, Enkrid wielded the sword with his left hand.

"No holding back."

Vengeance said, pointing his spear, the air between them growing tense.

Clink...