WeTried Translations

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Chapter 784: A Moon Holding Fire

──────

Two eyeballs hung against a pitch-black sky. There was no other way to describe it.

The Boatman floated in midair rather than sitting in a ferry. Without even inviting Enkrid, he appeared only as a disembodied gaze, staring at him. In that utter darkness, Enkrid felt the overwhelming presence bearing down on him.

The Boatman loomed overhead, one of his eyes grown as large as the moon. Looking down at Enkrid, he asked through telepathy.

"Eternal suffering, writhing within that suffering, that is the today you have chosen. Even if you were bound here for at least several hundred years before breaking free, could the you of that time truly be called the same as the you of now? By then, you would already have become like me. Even if you do not give up, even if you do not become discouraged, even if you do not fall into despair, that is what you will become."

As the Boatman spoke, flakes peeled from his eyes like scattered dust or the outer layer of an old wooden building coming away. They fell like gray hail.

Unlike his usual words, these carried a vibration that shook Enkrid's entire body. The Boatman's words were also a prophecy and a predetermined future.

So was he supposed to tremble like a frightened child?

Or should he ask the Boatman to tell him something instead of simply letting him go like this?

Pain, fear, uncertainty.

All of it fused into a spear and stabbed Enkrid's heart. The intangible spearhead burrowed through the beating muscle before being pulled free. Thick blood stretched out behind the withdrawing blade. It felt as though the spearhead and Enkrid had become one, joined by blood.

The gray hail never reached him. It scattered and vanished in midair.

'Maybe it would be more fitting to call it snow rather than hail.'

The vision ended. He woke from the dream as well.

He recognized the heavy air, the lingering pain, and the sense of reality he had become accustomed to after repeating it countless times, all at once.

Enkrid's hand slowly rose. It seemed as though he might touch the area around his heart, but it continued upward and brushed back his hair. Then the words came out smoothly.

"Alright."

Enkrid realized he had reached the third today and completely ignored the Boatman's words.

They had been spoken as though to engrave themselves upon his soul, yet he passed over them without issue. In truth, only Enkrid could do that. He had gone beyond merely having a stout heart. His liver had swollen enough to shove aside his other organs.

And that was right. If his Will could be broken by this much, it would have shattered and collapsed long ago.

"You crazy bastard."

The Boatman's phantom appeared beyond the fading vision and spoke. Unlike before, there was no weight to the words. He sounded like someone muttering to himself. That was none of Enkrid's concern.

Instead, Enkrid was busy considering what to do and how to do it.

"A guest has arrived?"

Then all he had to do was begin today's work. The moment he heard the other party's words, Enkrid's whole body reacted. He was erasing the remnants of the previous today with his movements in the present one.

Enkrid pretended his legs had given out, then threw the horn-blade dagger. His right hand swept past his chest faster than ever before.

His cloak fluttered with a sharp burst of acceleration, and the horn-blade dagger rang out through the gap.

Bwooo!

The throwing weapon Jaxon despised flew toward the opponent's forehead. The target recoiled and dodged, but the owner of the dagger had already kicked off the ground and rushed forward with the throw.

He lowered his waist and ran as though his soles were stuck to the ground. It was a charge mixed with Jaxon's soundless steps. Enkrid ran forward, drew his sword, and thrust.

Shing!

By the time the sound of the blade scraping against the scabbard rang out, its tip was already about to pierce the opponent's throat.

The opponent had drawn the blade concealed in their left sleeve to block the horn-blade dagger, while their right hand had half-drawn the Shortsword at their waist.

Enkrid gave them no time to counterattack.

The Shortsword moved from low to high, attempting to block Duskforge's path, but it failed. The blade pierced straight through the throat.

Tiddiding, teung.

The Shortsword, which had risen too late, scraped against Duskforge and threw sparks. The chipped Shortsword struck the floor with a thud.

Thuck!

When Enkrid pulled the sword from the neck bone, a pitch-black hole opened up, and dark mist writhed out from within. That dealt with the first opponent. He moved forward again.

Chiring, ting.

After sheathing Duskforge once more, Enkrid rolled his neck to either side and looked ahead.

The darkness within the corridor had several peculiar traits once he passed through it. Torches sat in brackets, yet each flame illuminated only a fixed area. It almost seemed as though even the light had its own territory that it could not cross. Observation was a habit. He had learned it from Jaxon and perfected it through Ruagarne.

Enkrid took in what he could see, hear, and feel as he passed by. He did not yet know whether what he saw had any meaning. This was a place hostile to him. It was hostile because he did not know it, and because it had been made by an enemy.

Would knowing even a little help? Maybe.

Like Jaxon, Enkrid had already realized that this place resembled the Cursed Ground.

Whatever it was, the fact that he had to fight and keep fighting did not change, so Enkrid did what he had to do. As he moved through the corridor, he encountered the next opponent.

"Hello, Donapha."

This time, he called the opponent by name without getting it wrong.

"You know me?"

For Enkrid as he was now, dealing with an opponent who had let their guard down was far too easy.

Calling the name disrupted the opponent's reaction, and Enkrid closed in through that opening and swung his sword. Duskforge's sky-blue light traced a chilling path. It became a diagonal line that stretched long and straight ahead. This time, he mixed in the method he had learned from Vortex and Aoara's linking-sword technique.

Screeech!

Steam rose from the soles of his specially made boots. It was because he had moved at high speed while dragging his foot along the ground.

Thunk!

One slash caught the chest, throat, the horse's head, and the head carried at the side all at once. The opponent swung a massive axe to meet it and failed.

Naturally. Donapha, who had transformed into a Dullahan, had not been difficult to defeat even without repeating today, and this was the third time. Enkrid could see the opponent's weaknesses and dug into them without mercy.

'Give no opening. Create speed and a trajectory the opponent cannot block.'

The method for dealing with the first opponent and Donapha, who had become a Dullahan, was the same. In that instant, Enkrid swung his sword while adding the variation in Will speed he had learned in Zaun.

'Line-burst.'

As a result, Duskforge did not even touch the axe. Having judged that he could not block it, the enemy did not even try to strike the sword aside. Instead, he targeted the one holding it.

Hwoong.

The axe the dying Dullahan swung dropped vertically and struck the place where Enkrid had been.

Boom!

Enkrid had already swept past with his slash, so the axe cut only empty air. The Dullahan had swung it while tilting his body as though half-flowing down from the ghost horse. The ground split open along the axe blade with a crack.

'That would have been quite heavy if I'd blocked it head-on.'

Even though the Dullahan had swung while taking a blade to the body, the force behind that axe was no joke. He had not even gathered his strength properly before striking.

In any case, the third opponent was next. Enkrid walked through the darkness toward the torchlight. The corridor was a single path. At its end stood the Balrok.

Then was this a road leading to death?

"That's right."

The Boatman's phantom agreed. It truly was only a phantom. He could not reveal his actual form and speak directly.

Enkrid continued forward and encountered the opponent wielding the single-edge. The target tilted their head and cocked it to one side.

"What's this now?"

Without exchanging words again, Enkrid attacked. The outcome came easily. His tactics were the same this time. He gave no opening and fought by displaying the areas where he held the advantage. He was superior in both skill and tactics.

"You cheap bastard."

After receiving high praise from someone whose upper and lower body had been separated, Enkrid met Aoara once again.

"Ah, right. You're here."

Even as Aoara spoke, dozens of lines and circles churned through Enkrid's mind.

'Can I overwhelm the Balrok through calculation?'

After two fights, he thought he had found something the Balrok lacked, so he intended to test it.

"...It's been a while, so I wanted to talk a little, at least."

Aoara said a few things, and Enkrid answered.

"Ah, yes."

Enkrid was absentminded. He was already lost in his own thoughts, turning calculations over and over in his mind.

"Hey, you. Be careful, anyway."

It was not as though Enkrid had nothing to say. He told her everything he knew, including Romen's story. He simply could not laugh along when Aoara smiled and talked while immersed in memories.

"Yes. Let's kill the Balrok first, then talk."

Whatever anyone said, his resolve was always high. Aoara's shadow changed again, and the Balrok manifested. Pupils trailing long tails of flame looked at Enkrid with a small question.

-Have we met before?

What was this? Had he sensed something strange about the repeated today?

That was not it.

Only after five more todays had passed did Enkrid learn the truth. The Balrok had spoken after seeing Enkrid's eyes.

Within that calm gaze was Will like a whetted blade.

There were very few mortals who could face his presence and still look like that. Meeting two such mortals within a short period was even rarer.

Two meant that, recently, the Balrok had seen someone like Enkrid as well.

He had lived for so long that even counting the days he had lived no longer had meaning. In those days where numbers were meaningless, encountering such a mortal truly stirred an unusual interest. That interest moved the Balrok's heart.

This was after Enkrid had charged past three people at high speed like a runaway four-horse carriage pulled by frenzied horses and spoken with Aoara as usual.

-Look.

It was the eighteenth today. To Enkrid, this was quite unexpected.

Flap.

The Balrok spread his Wings behind him and touched the three crystals embedded side by side in his chest. Three mysterious stones, black and gleaming, sat atop his dark crimson skin.

"Hm?"

Enkrid tilted his head slightly, and the Balrok considered even that reaction unusual.

-This is my origin. If you shatter all three at once, you win.

Should he question why the Balrok was telling him? He had no time for that now.

"Ah."

So Enkrid merely let out a brief sound and nodded.

The Balrok's lips curved upward. Whether he used his Divine Power or not, he existed on this land through his hands and feet, arms and legs, body and organs. Therefore, he could smile. Some demons expressed emotion differently from mortals, but he was not one of them.

-Interesting.

Speaking sincerely, he introduced Salamandra and Urtt.

The whip like a red serpent and the sword wreathed in black flame flared up as though greeting Enkrid.

Fwoosh.

At the same time, the Balrok spread his Wings wide.

Was that what he did when excited? Perhaps. It was not much different from Frog puffing out its cheeks.

Enkrid's tolerance accepted even a demon's fluttering Wings without much reaction.

As he wondered whether he should return the greeting, his cloak reacted first.

Fwarararack.

The cloak he had received from an elf spread of its own accord where there was not even a trace of wind. It grew as large as the Balrok's Wings and billowed behind Enkrid.

Ziiiiing.

At the same time, Duskforge shook within its scabbard and let out a cry.

It seemed as though the cloak and sword had moved first, but in truth, it was because Enkrid's Will had moved. He grasped the sword's grip with his right hand. The feeling of his sword and arm becoming one filled him with confidence.

It felt as though he could do anything merely by holding it. Omnipotence filled his entire body. But he had to be careful. The Balrok was not an opponent he could defeat while drunk on omnipotence.

If he failed to control his emotions, the Balrok's sword wreathed in black flame would burn up his head, and he would die. He already knew that through several experiences.

Chiriririring.

Holding the grip, Enkrid drew the sword. Duskforge's sky-blue light shone as though driving away the darkness filling the corridor.

Behind that blade, his two blue eyes blazed with Will before quickly settling.

The flames had not gone out. Like embers that burn longer, the blue flames within his calm gaze still showed their presence. To the Balrok, Enkrid's eyes looked like two blue moons pushing back the Red Moon. Moons holding fire.

Enkrid began each today a little differently and counted the number of repeated todays.

'Eighteen.'

That meant he had tried and trained the method he found on the third today more than ten times.

Ordinarily, it might have required hundreds of todays. For the Enkrid of the past, even that would truly have been insufficient.

Even after hundreds or thousands of attempts, he would not have been able to think this way. His body would not have kept up. But the Enkrid of now was different from the past.

'Shall I try it?'

Tap. He kicked off the ground, sending a stone skittering away.

He did whatever it took to win. That premise remained unchanged.

He connected hundreds of lines between himself and the demon. Attack Lines tangled and crossed into each other's territory.

Countless futures, each only an inch ahead, pushed Enkrid's mind to its limits. His thoughts stretched out, and his insight was brought to its extreme. The Balrok swung his sword with movements and a trajectory that did not deviate from Enkrid's predictions. The sword wreathed in black flame dropped straight down.

It was a strike that seemed disconnected from any preceding motion, like an attack coming from nowhere. Enkrid blocked it by striking Duskforge against it.

Clang!

He blocked the sword and fought again. Then Enkrid died once more.

Footnotes:

Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried