What did Avnair do?
Avnair advanced slowly, but it was not a leisurely march.
In reality, it was very busy.
Perhaps it was like a swan, which appears graceful on the surface but paddles furiously beneath the water.
There was a lot to prepare and build, starting with sorcery.
It was more work than building a fortress on a mountainside.
This was the technique Avnair was preparing.
"Nilf, go ahead and start piling stones here."
"Build a wall."
Pointing at the map, he gave orders, and his subordinate nodded in agreement.
"That's an outrageous schedule."
"Stop talking and start moving."
He first sent a highly loyal Commander under his command. Nilf was meticulous, so he would handle it on his own.
Afterward, Avnair moved some troops to disguise them as scouts, but in reality, they were more like an engineering corps.
They built a wall between the mounds.
This was the wall Encrid faced.
Avnair maintained the speed of the main force while sending other units to build walls, dig trenches, and lay traps.
These tasks couldn't be completed quickly.
'There's no need to do this on a large scale.'
It was intended to target only a small number of elite soldiers.
At most, three, at least, two or one.
He had to account for variables and predict the situation as he proceeded.
And that's exactly what Avnair did.
Avnair, who had been called brilliant since childhood.
What was the foundation of that brilliance?
Those who knew him considered one of his greatest strengths to be his boldness.
In other words, it was his audacity to strike at a person's weak spot.
"You're kind of crazy. You come up with bold strategies, but they all seem impossible to execute."
This was during the time he was learning strategy and tactics from a master.
His companion was right. Avnair's strategies were bold, and their chances of success were slim.
But what if they could be executed?
This is where Avnair's second strength came into play.
He was meticulous.
Even when hunting a single rabbit, he would prepare a second and third trap.
He would invest excessive resources to get what he wanted.
And he always got it.
"Isn't this a loss instead? All we can get from a rabbit is a bit of fur and meat, but you spent more than you gained."
His companion scolded him again.
A narrow-minded view.
Avnair thought differently.
"I've just gotten into the habit of being thorough in preparation."
He brushed it off lightly, but he wasn't only focused on that one rabbit.
'The traps laid in the hunting ground can be reused. As long as I drive the rabbits this way.'
From the next hunt, catching rabbits would be twice as easy.
So it wasn't wasteful.
If you only focused on catching one or two rabbits, maybe, but his preparations could catch a deer as well.
If the maintenance was consistent, he could secure good game before summer arrived.
Building a convincing structure alongside meticulousness—this was how Avnair crafted his strategies.
Of course, he couldn't explain all of this.
His companion was a noble, a member of the Ekins family, which stood beside the Royal Family.
If the Hurrier were the body of Aspen, then the Ekins were the head.
Avnair was of common birth.
He was quick-witted and had a good grasp of the situation.
'Things can change at any moment, even if it's like this now.'
He had ambition.
From a young age, he was clever and knew how to achieve what he desired.
He was a man who obtained everything he sought.
It was rare for him to step forward and fail.
His confidence was justified.
Though his skills were average, he became an apprentice to a noble and gentle-hearted master for the same calculated reasons.
It was a carefully crafted plan, where he gained the master's favor by pretending to defend him from a gang of vagrants on the path the master was traveling.
None of it was coincidental, though the master believed it was fate.
"Follow me. A better life awaits you."
"Yes."
It was a calculated meeting.
From then on, Avnair continued down his chosen path.
His desire had been singular since childhood.
"Why should Aspen be content with being just a duchy?"
He envisioned a stronger, more powerful nation.
It was possible.
Aspen may be a duchy, but it had Knightly orders and the strength of Knights.
Even if neighboring Naurillia posed a problem.
'Aspen has only one enemy, Naurillia, but Naurillia has more than just Aspen to contend with.'
It was his desire to prove his capabilities.
Mixed with this was the wish of his master, the one who had truly cherished and loved him since his youth.
Avnair, being human, was influenced by this affection.
"I love this country, my son."
In the end, the man took him as his son.
A man who knew little of politics but was full of patriotism.
Even though he knew he had been deceived, he still gave Avnair his love.
That man was both his master and his father.
Avnair balanced his ambitious desires and the influence of his master, turning them into his weapons.
'I will prove myself in this land.'
In doing so, he would carry on a part of the dream his master, his father, held.
'Therefore, you must die.'
There was likely no one in Aspen who paid as much attention to Encrid as Avnair did.
He scrutinized him to the point of obsession.
The conclusion he reached was that Encrid and his forces posed a great threat to Aspen and to his own dreams.
'A future Knight.'
Or perhaps even more than that.
Though his methods differed from Krais, their predictions were not far apart.
Both saw great value in Encrid's future potential.
Krais even planned to invite Encrid into his own private salon, but the overall idea was the same.
A Knight—looking only at the feasibility, Avnair could provide more legitimate reasons than Krais.
Of course, he couldn't say this to the Royal Family.
They would dismiss it as nonsense.
But if, by chance—one in a thousand, one in ten thousand—a Knight were to emerge from the borders of Naurillia?
Especially if that Knight were to appear right on the border with Aspen?
One Knight could shift the balance of national power.
The emergence of an enemy Knight would undeniably be a disaster.
'It can't be good.'
Thus, Encrid must die.
Avnair devised the 'Triangle Seal', a formation of triangular fortifications.
'Three mounds and artificial structures.'
To win in war, one must make the terrain an ally.
That's exactly what Avnair did.
Using artificial means, he made the terrain work in his favor.
He made the land and the sky his powerful allies.
And to that, he added sorcery.
Cover the sky to prevent them from determining direction.
This was easier than summoning the Fog of Annihilation.
As a result, there was no need to use multiple sorcerers, though even this much could leave one sorcerer exhausted.
It only had to be maintained at the necessary moment, for less than a day. If that hadn't been the case, he wouldn't have even considered using sorcery.
In other words, Avnair forced his opponents into a corner with precise calculations, then briefly blinded them with sorcery.
He was confident that he could trap his enemy with it.
And that's exactly what happened.
He cornered his prey in a natural prison, pouring over a thousand soldiers into the trap.
Was this an efficient battle?
'Of course not!'
Absolutely not.
But it guaranteed the death of that one target.
The prey wouldn't escape.
It's like setting twenty traps and sending five hunters to catch one rabbit.
But what if that rabbit was going to turn into a crazed monster, wielding a sword in its mouth?
Would it be a waste then?
Avnair didn't think so.
He soon dispatched dozens of messengers in quick succession, issuing commands to the flag bearers.
"Move the white flag!"
Each flag bearer served as a tool to relay his orders.
To ensure the perfect prison, they couldn't even allow the sound of drums to be heard, so this method was chosen.
Thus, the 'Triangle Seal Formation' was completed.
One part of the triangle was formed by the artificial wall.
Two others were strengthened by sorcery and magic.
The final part was held by a thousand soldiers.
'Even a Knight wouldn't easily escape.'
This was the trap Avnair had prepared.
* * *
The ferryman asked a question.
The purple lamp swayed above the dark river.
Between the flickering purple light, shadows bent, curved, and straightened.
"Was it not enjoyable?"
The ferryman asked again.
This time, his face became faintly visible.
Even while looking at that face, Encrid remained silent.
The ferryman waited for an answer.
There was none.
Time passed.
In this realm of consciousness, the passage of time was imperceptible.
But the ferryman knew their meeting was about to end.
Moments later, Encrid's body, as seen by the ferryman, began to crumble like grains of sand.
It was a return from the inner world to the outer world.
A repeat of the same 'today'.
The ferryman watched as Encrid scattered like dust before his eyes.
As he departed, Encrid finally spoke.
"Ah."
It was strange.
As if he had only just now noticed the ferryman.
Was his earlier silence not because he had nothing to say, but because he was ignoring him?
Something stirred within the ferryman's mind, but he kept it to himself.
After all, he was no longer the same as the ferryman who had once cursed at Encrid, calling him a bastard.
"I will ask again next time."
In the place where Encrid disappeared, only the ferryman's words remained.
* * *
Encrid had no time to answer.
Up until the moment before his death—or at the moment of his death.
No day is ever fully accepted as the day he will die.
Even so, he instinctively absorbed everything happening around him into his mind.
It was a habit.
A habit for reflection, a preparation for tomorrow.
Many things had happened.
The sheer volume of information entering his mind—the things naturally memorized, remembered, the things needed.
He filtered and refined them.
Still, there was a lot.
'Too much.'
As he gathered information from his surroundings, questions inevitably arose.
Did they really send this many troops just to capture him?
He didn't know.
Did the reason even matter now?
This was the moment to accept what had happened and find a way through, not a time for overthinking.
After dismissing those distracting thoughts, Encrid began recalling the events in reverse order.
As he recollected, he heard a rustling sound.
It was only natural to sense a presence the moment he opened his eyes.
It was a repetition of the same situation.
There was too little time for reflection.
As soon as he regained his senses, it was time to fight again.
But this was not a crisis.
'It's thin.'
Encrid didn't perceive this as an insurmountable wall.
Another day of desperate struggle, and he'd be able to roughly grasp what was happening around him.
At most, it would take two days. His calculations would be complete.
Today was a day he could get through.
He had faced countless dangers and survived.
When he fought Resha of the Rose Vine, the lycanthropes, and Aspen's elite forces—it was the same.
When he slipped through the ranks of the knoll horde, it was the same.
When he faced the twisted Piercing Master for the first time, it was the same.
Some things change, but some things remain the same.
'The bigger pattern is the same.'
Thus, having learned the enemy's movements from just one encounter.
'Will I need a second today?'
In other words, it wasn't a wall.
Compared to previous repetitions, this would be absurdly easy.
Encrid took a step forward.
What if he ran in a completely different direction than the one he took yesterday?
'There has to be a gap somewhere.'
Surely, they wouldn't have deployed an entire battalion just to catch one man.
To sum it up, the enemy had done exactly that.
A similar struggle ensued.
A repeat of yesterday.
"My name is Cent."
Encrid was a little surprised.
He had run in a different direction than yesterday, yet the same man blocked his path.
'Why?'
It was another repeating day.
Unless he made a drastic change, things remained the same.
His arm throbbed, his sword was broken, and he now gripped a gladius instead.
The fight hadn't lasted long, but thanks to this man named Cent blocking his way, things got complicated.
Using the Snake Sword, the first technique in his swordsmanship, he deflected and cut, slicing the man's fingers.
Thud thud thud!
The blood and fingers flew through the air, thanks to the blade striking the hilt.
He saw an opening.
The moment he recognized it, his body moved instinctively.
Even if it wasn't Will, the techniques he learned from clashing swords with Laikanos didn't just disappear.
It wasn't just The Sense of Evasion—it was an intentional reflex.
"Ghk!"
Encrid thrust the tip of Ember into the man's throat, muffling his scream.
From cutting Cent's fingers to drawing the next Ember, it was almost one fluid motion.
It was that quick and natural.
Thwack!
Thump!
After thrusting and withdrawing the sword, a thin stream of blood spurted from Cent's neck.
"Grr..."
With a hole in his windpipe, Cent clutched his throat.
Blood was pouring from his severed fingers.
He fell headfirst to the ground.
"Let's not meet again."
Encrid muttered as he lifted Cent's corpse.
Using his left hand, he raised the body like a shield just as bolts from crossbows slammed into the mercenary's corpse.
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
'They just keep coming, don't they?'
There were indeed many. Far too many.
He still didn't know why there were so many.
Arrows, crossbow bolts, spears, heavily armored infantry, and even the Hurrier family's men, along with some skilled mercenaries—all of them came charging just like yesterday.
Barely managing to endure and push through, he sprinted toward one side, only to be blocked by more enemies.
"Persistent bastard."
"Stay cautious."
There were four of them.
They were wearing ill-fitted gambesons, tailored for the cold, and to Encrid's eyes, they were nothing more than mediocre fighters.
And his judgment was correct.
They weren't particularly skilled with weapons but had something else.
Spells.
They blocked his path as he was trying to escape along the stream.
Encrid regretted not bringing the Whistling Dagger.
'No, even if I had brought everything with me…'
By now, he would have used it all up.
Wherever he tried to hide, there was an ambush waiting for him, and wherever he ran, enemy soldiers blocked his path.
It felt like some ghost was toying with him.
And this was the result of that relentless escape.
"Press forward and trap him."
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