"Couldn't I have saved her?"

A man with black hair and blue eyes murmured on his knees. His pupils wavered, and his hands shook. His skin was dry and rough, the shadows beneath his eyes dark. He looked as though he hadn't slept properly in days. As though regret had broken him.

Sharp gravel lay beneath his knees. He paid no mind to the blood seeping through his trousers. Kneeling on the stones, he merely begged for an answer with desperate eyes.

An answer came.

"Yes. You could have."

The kneeling man spoke again in response to the voice from somewhere.

"Right? Of course I could. They say the dice never change, but what if I forced one of those dice to change? What would happen then?"

"It would change. And things would be different."

There was nothing determination could not achieve. An excellent answer. But was that a good thing?

The man murmured into empty air, yet the answers kept coming, though there was nothing before him but a black wall.

"Then did I let Lady Oara die?"

"In a manner of speaking."

At some point, the black wall disappeared. Before him stood a black-haired, blue-eyed man, his lips pressed tightly together. Identical. Two men with exactly the same appearance. Neither looked at the other. Each merely said what he had to say.

"Then my choice was wrong?"

The kneeling Encrid's pupils quivered. His hands shook harder than before.

"Did you think you chose well?"

The standing Encrid asked, his expression indifferent.

Bloody tears flowed from the kneeling Encrid's eyes. At first, the blood fell in drops, then poured like a waterfall.

"Aaaah, again! Let me repeat today again!"

He screamed his desperate wish through tears of blood.

"You know you can't."

The answer was indifferent. Even as the blood rose to his ankles, the standing man remained unmoved.

"So I hope you make a better choice next time."

The words of the impassive Encrid standing on the gravel became a dagger that flew into the other's heart. A blade made real burrowed between his ribs. Blood cascaded from the kneeling Encrid's chest as well.

The blood gathered and pooled, turning black. That black blood became a surging river. A ferry appeared upon it, though there was no telling how long it had been there. A violet lamp illuminated its surroundings, and a ferryman in black robes stood aboard, holding an oar.

The real Encrid, who had been watching everything from one side, asked,

"What are you doing?"

The blood abruptly vanished, along with the two false Encrids. The ferryman ended his one-man performance.

"I was in a good mood, so I tried it. Was it impressive?"

It was nothing special. It neither upset Encrid nor gave him cause to reflect. He was unchanged.

A failed tomorrow was better than a perfect today. Not advancing meant stagnating. Rather than stop like that, he would advance even if it cost him his limbs. Of course, he might one day find something he absolutely could not surrender. But believing he could always find the best path at every crossroads was arrogance. He could only do his utmost with what he was given at the time.

Encrid had resolved to live that way, and that was why he did not remain trapped in today. He was a pilgrim who advanced without lingering regrets.

He thought this was the first time he had heard the ferryman discuss his mood. Curious, he asked,

"Why, all of a sudden?"

What had put him in such a good mood?

"Do you happen to know?" the ferryman asked.

Know what? It was an abrupt question with no context whatsoever.

"I don't."

Still, Encrid answered agreeably. Compared with conversations with his lunatic subordinates, wasn't this downright civilized? Thinking back to their days as a squad, it certainly was.

"You are currently adding strength to the curse I wield."

Encrid looked at the ferryman's face within his robes. Cracked gray skin and colorless eyes. The swaying lamp, the surging river that accompanied it, and that strange one-man performance.

His thoughts connected to reality. Repeating today was a curse. Outside, they called what he was doing warding off misfortune. They said using a human to ward off misfortune was normally taboo, but that, strictly speaking, he was a totem rather than a human ward.

It was all complicated. But one thing was certain. A curse and a curse. There were two curses. Sometimes intuition supplied a conclusion without his having to work through the reasoning. This was one of those times.

"Are you absorbing the curse in the tent?"

That was why the ferryman was in a good mood.

Instead of answering, the ferryman smiled, the corners of his mouth rising. By no stretch could it be called a pleasant smile. An eerie one, perhaps. There were no teeth in his open mouth, only pitch-black darkness. Encrid, however, looked on without much concern.

"Something similar happened before."

The ferryman gave a dry chuckle and continued.

"Every curse around you will converge upon you. Do you know what that means? You will never leave this place. You are my plaything. A sacrifice to be trapped in today. You will never escape my grasp. Even in death, you will remain here. So your best course will be to find a today you can enjoy."

The final words overlapped, reverberating through his head. It felt as though someone were striking his skull. Yet Encrid did not so much as furrow his brow. He merely thought: so that was it.

It wasn't that he had some remarkable ability. He simply suffered from a severe curse that absorbed other curses. It hadn't bothered him, but he had wondered why this was happening.

Hadn't Audin mentioned someone wielding a strange curse back in Border Guard? That must be whom the ferryman meant. The fellow had touched him and died of natural causes, apparently having reached the end of his lifespan. Even now, Encrid believed the assassin sent by the Cultists had died a natural death.

"Then does that mean I'll never have to worry about being cursed?"

The ferryman turned his gaze toward the man who had spoken. The corners of his mouth had fallen again. The more he saw of this bastard's reactions, the more peculiar he found them.

"In a manner of speaking."

"I see."

"Indeed."

"Right."

"... Go."

"All right."

The dream ended.

When he opened his eyes, it was the predawn hour. His body felt particularly light today. Despite all the talk of absorbing curses, there seemed to be no effect on his body.

'So I'm absorbing curses, but...'

It seemed difficult to feel it physically. Did that mean he could let his guard down a little when facing spells?

"I'm fucking exhausted."

Encrid saw Rem enter the tent, muttering. He approached with soundless steps, spread some bedding about three paces away, and lay down.

"What are you doing?"

"Can't you see? Trying to sleep."

Encrid debated whether to ask why he was going to sleep at this hour or whether he had nowhere else to sleep. He chose the latter.

"Don't you have a home?"

"I do."

"Then?"

"Ayul won't let me in."

They still hadn't patched things up. Would Encrid really have to cut off his head and bring it to her?

"Don't add any weird bullshit. I've got enough on my mind already."

Rem beat him to it.

"Tell me what's on your mind."

Encrid decided he couldn't leave things like this. He was willing to return the help he had received. And he was confident he was better at dealing with the opposite sex than that ignorant barbarian.

"Hmm."

Rem seemed to consider it for a moment. He also seemed to be choosing his words. Encrid decided that to hear what was on the man's mind, he should first tell him what he had already figured out.

"It's all right to tell me."

"... What is?"

Rem blinked and asked. Encrid spoke frankly.

"The secret of your birth comes first, right? You can tell me. What does that matter?"

He was raising a curse-eating ferryman himself. What was a little secret about someone's birth compared with that?

Westerners generally shared similar features, but Rem looked a little different. Encrid had concluded from that that he had continental blood. It was a guess, but surely a correct one. He looked different, after all. Encrid had first thought of it when they met Ayul.

That was the secret of his birth. Could it have kept him from fitting into the tribe? Encrid didn't know whether it came from his mother or his father, but he must be of mixed blood.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Rem raised his eyes in apparent disbelief. They took on a triangular shape. Irritation crept into his voice. Encrid's social instincts warned him that he had guessed wrong.

"Am I wrong?"

He followed the question with a brief explanation, to check just in case. Didn't Rem have continental blood?

"I'm a purebred Westerner. What are you on about?"

With a thoughtful expression, Encrid looked at the child lying farther down the tent. The child's name was Jiba, and Jiba would grow into quite a beauty. Luagarne had guaranteed it.

Westerners were generally attractive, too. Some had prominent cheekbones, others freckles, but by ordinary standards they were quite handsome or pretty. According to an old myth, they descended from a bear that became human, and that bear was said to have been exceptionally handsome.

There was also talk of Fairy blood, but that probably wasn't true. Seeing them in person made it clear. Their air was different from the inhuman beauty of Fairies. These people overflowed with vitality. They fought and struggled to survive, raising cattle and sheep.

Encrid looked at Rem, who had raised his upper body from the thick cloth spread beneath him. No matter how he looked at him, Rem was more ruggedly masculine than beautiful. His muscular arms and the like only accentuated that appearance. His gray hair was tied back tightly. His fierce eyes stood out, too. They were the eyes of a man who would swing an axe if something displeased him.

If those eyes were drawn as a shape, wouldn't it be a triangle? Rem kept demonstrating his knack for making his eyes look like inverted triangles.

"You're not?"

Encrid asked again. There could be some ancestral connection even Rem didn't know about.

"Are you picking a fight? I can't play with you right now. I'm busy. I'm heading out again once I've slept."

"You really aren't?"

Encrid trusted his intuition. He had been certain. Even now, though his instincts told him otherwise, one could never be completely sure.

"Forget it. Seriously. I'm going to sleep. What do you think you know, telling me it's all right? Has the curse scrambled your brains?"

Encrid had no answer. He had guessed wrong. Intuition couldn't provide the answer to everything. Therefore, he decided today's schedule would consist of reviewing and honing his sensory arts.

It was nothing elaborate. He simply had to listen to various things as he warmed up. Birdsong, the bleating of sheep, the lowing of cattle, the cries of Velopters, the sound of grass bending with the wind. As he left the tent, he began by opening his ears.

Starting with sound, he opened his Sixth Sense. Without looking, he saw Luagarne follow him out. She quietly took up a position behind him.

Dunbachel followed as well. Since she had nothing else to do, she was taking part in the training as he had told her to. While he loosened up by twisting his body, she stretched behind him to his left. She extended her whole body, then placed both hands on the ground and arched her back like a cat.

There was no need to go far, so that was how he spent his time. Training, and occasionally talking to people who regained consciousness.

"You came with Rem?"

This man was one of them.

While Encrid trained, Rem left around noon, and before evening a man overcame the curse enough to open his eyes. When Encrid came back after washing, the newly awakened man spoke to him. His hair was half gray, white strands scattered through hair otherwise as black as Encrid's.

"I'm Geomnarae."

"Call me Enkie. Everyone says my name is too long and difficult."

After a brief exchange of greetings and conversation, the man said,

"He's not the sort to listen to anyone else."

Apparently, the relationship of captain and subordinate sounded odd to him. The man was openly studying Encrid.

Encrid looked at him and answered,

"If he won't listen, I can let this do the talking."

He showed him Aker as he spoke.

It wasn't a lie. He had often spoken through his sword, even when it meant taking a beating. Of course, now he could do the talking while giving the beating.

"You're a better fighter than Rem?"

The man made a show of greater surprise.

"A little. Enough to win nine times out of ten."

That hadn't been true before, but it was now. Strictly speaking, winning as many as nine would be difficult, but sometimes a man wanted to boast a little.

The words "a little" hardly fit what followed, but the man let it pass. He could see the playfulness in the man before him. That didn't mean he wasn't impressed, though.

"Remarkable. Someone who fights better than Rem, even if he doesn't have his spells."

"Would spells make a difference?"

"He would be completely different from what you've seen so far. More than worthy of being called a Hero. He is a man who stayed in Dusky Sky of his own accord."

Why didn't Rem use spells? Encrid couldn't say.

"I heard from Hira. After those two Giants beat me and I was cursed on top of it, I thought I was finished. I owe you my thanks."

The purple veins bulging from Geomnarae's limbs were so pronounced that they looked like cords wound tightly around them. They called this something like the purple demonic human's curse. A very straightforward name. Apparently, the curse had actually been modeled on the appearance of a purple-skinned demonic human.

Even with the curse fading, he must be in pain in that condition. This was Encrid's second day seeing it, so he understood that much.

Geomnarae blinked his crusted eyes several times, then tried to rise, only to lie back down. His body still wouldn't obey him.

"Since I can't get up, you'll have to accept my thanks in words alone."

This man was amusing, too.

"That'll do."

Encrid took it in stride. Well, he simply liked these people.

Especially when they said such welcome things as,

"Let's spar when I'm better. I'm curious to see your skill."

"Do you know how he can get better quickly?"

Encrid asked Hira.

"By shutting his mouth and resting."

Geomnarae laughed heartily at that, then broke into a coughing fit. His body was still struggling. Yet he was a man who never lost his smile.

The next to awaken was a woman around Hira's age. As soon as she had heard the gist of the situation, she said,

"Thank you kindly. I'd give you my daughter, that's how grateful I am."

Geomnarae interjected.

"You don't have a daughter."

"That's why I can offer her."

The two laughed heartily. Their laughter sounded alike. Encrid laughed too. Unlike Fairy jokes, this was something worth laughing at. He quite liked these people. They were a cheerful lot.