A Knight Who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 125

“Fire! Kill them!”

The commander of the Aspen light armor unit shouted.

Three soldiers who were running ahead aimed and fired their loaded crossbows.

Thunk, thunk!

It was said that dodging bolts from a crossbow at this distance was a feat of skill.

Something only a master could even attempt.

Thunk, thud.

Rem dodged the bolts by rolling forward at the perfect timing.

Thud.

 

The bolts struck the ground right where Rem had been. It looked close, but coming from Rem, it didn’t seem dangerous.

 

Even while rolling, Rem’s running speed barely decreased. He rolled, used his axe to steady himself as he rose, and continued running.

How does one handle their body to do such things?

Encrid, watching from behind, couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Just keep watching.”

Ragna kept restraining Encrid from getting involved, otherwise, Encrid would have wanted to join in.

But there was no opportunity for that.

Starting with Rem, everything was quickly resolved.

Before the three soldiers who fired the crossbows could reload, Rem was almost upon them.

The enemy soldiers reflexively drew their short swords.

Different armament from the spearmen.

Even if three or four spearmen formed a formation with their spears, Rem wouldn’t bat an eye.

Certainly not.

But three short swords?

There was no chance of them being a match. The scene unfolded exactly as Encrid had predicted.

Swish! Thud! Slash!

As Rem’s axe cleaved through the air, one soldier’s head was severed, and the axe traced a path of light around Rem as he moved like a storm.

Everyone caught in that path died.

The axe was so fast and powerful that when it split a head, blood and brain matter spilled to the ground only after the axe had already been pulled out.

One soldier, with a split head, flailed his short sword in the air.

Before his body’s reflexes even finished, the dead soldier collapsed forward.

Blood flowed freely onto the ground.

Rem, leaving the fallen soldiers behind, began rampaging.

Meanwhile, Jaxon, who had been unseen, approached the enemy commander from behind.

Jaxon slit the throat of the commander, who was gaping in shock at Rem.

Slice.

The enemy commander’s throat was cut, and blood sprayed out in a gush.

The carotid artery had been severed, causing the blood to spurt.

Jaxon moved again, silently and efficiently, prioritizing targets.

Starting with the crossbowmen aiming at Encrid.

He acted as planned, taking out enemies from behind with a dagger, slitting their throats, or stabbing them in the lungs.

“Gurgle!”

The soldier holding the crossbow had his head twisted backward. In his dying gaze was a pair of emotionless, reddish-brown pupils.

Killing was just manual labor.

It was the epitome of numbness. The soldier met his end staring into those terrifying eyes.

Audin merely fended off the attacking enemies.

It was enough just to wave his palms left and right.

Crash! Crack!

Enemies were sent flying with a single slap to the face. A soldier charging with a short sword, shouting, had his yellow teeth scattered in the air.

There was no way to stand against such power.

What could they do when a slap sent them flying?

Mac also moved, doing his part. Standing back-to-back with Andrew, Enri in the center repeatedly drew and released the bowstring of his short bow.

Ragna was another force entirely.

He took a step forward.

As he advanced, there was only death for those caught by his sword.

One of the scouts charged with two short swords in hand, but it ended with two swipes of Ragna’s sword.

Clang.

Blocking the first attack, the scout’s sword was deflected, gliding like a swallow through the air, striking the enemy’s neck with a sharp crack.

The enemy now had a second mouth at their throat.

Ragna, after a few more sword swings, shook his head and flicked his sword in the air.

It seemed he wasn’t satisfied with the sword he was using.

Despite this, he didn’t bother getting a proper sword, indicating he was certainly not ordinary.

Encrid had nothing to do.

There was no need for him to intervene, the battle ended in an instant.

While Mac, Andrew, and Enri killed two enemies,the rest were slaughtered.

“Let’s fall back.”

Instead of admiring the scene, Encrid spoke up. There was no point in getting caught between the advancing armies.

They needed to pull back and observe the situation.

As they moved to the side, the enemy infantry decorated with shields met with their allied infantry.

Like long-separated lovers meeting to exchange love and affection, the two armies clashed.

Instead of love, tongues, and affection,they gouged out each other’s eyes with spears.

Crunch!

Spear tips tore into bodies. Both allies and enemies fell.

The battle’s outcome was already leaning in their favor.

It was the first large-scale combat,resulting in a great victory due to the Border Guard’s ambush and Rem’s rampage.

Where did the victory begin?

It was clearly with the “Madmen Platoon.”

From the talkative Platoon leader to Andrew who wielded a real sword,

“Urrrgh! Get out of here!”

“We won!”

“Madmen!”

“Well, there’s no need to openly call them madmen like that.”

The soldiers, especially the allied infantry, had their eyes fixed in one direction.

They were looking at the independent platoon members, including Rem, all of whom were smeared with blood. Though everyone had signs of battle, Encrid, who stood in the center, was unscathed.

He wasn’t even breathing hard.

He hadn’t swung a sword even once.

He hadn’t even thrown a single dagger.

The consensus among the platoon members was clear: he should recover his strength first.

“It’s the Madmen Platoon!”

“Encrid! Enki! So handsome!”

“Good! Good! Good!”

The cheers of those intoxicated with victory poured onto Encrid and his group.

Regardless of who had actually done the fighting, this independent platoon was Encrid’s, so people were calling his name.

Encrid wondered if he should do something, maybe raise his hand in acknowledgment, but he hadn’t even swung a sword. After the first battle, he had retreated, and it was the infantry, known as the flower of the battlefield, who had done all the actual fighting.

So why were they so celebratory?

“We’re an independent platoon with fewer than ten members, and we’ve left this strong of an impression, that’s enough.”

Krais, who had appeared from seemingly nowhere, joined the conversation.

“That’s true. But why does it seem like no one’s looking for me?”

It must be karma.

Encrid thought this but didn’t say it out loud. There was no need to spoil the mood. Instead, he patted Rem on the shoulder.

“Good work.”

Rem smiled faintly. Ragna, retrieving his broken sword, remarked,

“I’ll need to get a new sword.”

He expressed his thoughts as if he couldn’t care less about the cheering around him.

As the infantry, basking in brief celebration and victory, began to disperse, the allied commander decided not to push the pursuit of the enemy.

From now on, morale was in their favor.

The situation had completely reversed. Which side would find the battlefield more uncomfortable tomorrow?

Krais considered the unfolding situation, thinking of possible variables.

‘Could there be something?’

Surviving and gaining something required some calculations, and Krais was doing just that.

It wasn’t too difficult.

The enemy’s intentions.

‘They used sorcery in the previous battle.’

Wouldn’t they try a similar trick?

“Let’s rest.”

Encrid spoke as they returned to their camp. It was indeed a time to rest.

“Everyone is excused from guard duty and all other duties.”

A messenger conveyed this message. Encrid briefly wondered if the Fairy Commander would show up again, but that didn’t happen.

Would today’s victory lead to tomorrow’s victory?

No one knew. Holding a favorable position didn’t guarantee a win.

So now, they’d likely be holding strategic meetings to continue their success.

Encrid’s guess was correct.

Marcus was not reveling in the victory.

* * *

“It seems like they might be up to something since they just retreated. Didn’t they use some kind of sorcery before? Any signs of that?”

“None.”

They stood in a circle around a large table.

A lieutenant responded to Marcus’s question.

Sorcery? They couldn’t fall for the same trick twice. They had also hired a sorcerer on their side.

She was an old woman from the homeland, and while she didn’t have the ability to cast spells, she could sense if the enemy was trying something.

That was enough.

For Marcus, the world of sorcery was beyond his concern.

All that mattered was if this information was true.

“If they bring in asymmetrical forces from Aspen, the Red Cape Knights will support us immediately.”

If the enemy deployed knights or wizards, they were prepared for that.

Marcus nodded.

He was a commander who felt the atmosphere of the battlefield with his skin.

He used his head, but he was also sensitive to the mood.

‘I didn’t want to go in.’

It was as if the enemy, retreating as if to lure them in, had something sinister planned.

Following them felt unsettling, as if a banshee had whispered in his ear.

Thinking of a creature that freezes hearts with its wail indicated bad intuition.

Marcus decided to end the battle there.

“What are the losses for the Border Guard?”

“Two dead.”

Even the best soldiers could die if cut or pierced by arrows.

Despite this, losing only two could be considered a good outcome.

The Border Guard had killed dozens of enemy soldiers.

The damage to the longbow unit was particularly devastating.

It should have been a winning battle. Now, the enemy had two options for a desperate attempt.

One was to retreat.

The other was to deploy asymmetrical forces.

So, Marcus’s task was to keep sending out scouts to gather intelligence on the enemy’s movements.

The next day, there was no battle, and Marcus doubled the number of scouts.

But they found nothing.

The “Turtle” was likely the nickname for the Naurillia heavy infantry, and the enemy was holding out like a turtle in its shell.

They showed nothing and encounters between scouts were rare.

It seemed they were deliberately staying back within their fortifications.

Was it an invitation to attack?

The uneasy feeling persisted, making it hard for Marcus to speak decisively.

“If we attack now, it’s a complete victory. If they’ve set up something in their fort, we can just start with an arrow barrage and then move in with spearmen.”

“We don’t even need arrows. Surround the fort, set fire to a few tents, and poke them with spears.”

“How about moving the Border Guard to block their retreat?”

The lieutenants offered their opinions.

‘It feels off.’

“We’ll wait.”

Marcus decided to maintain their current position. It was a decision based on instinct. His intuition, which had saved him in many battles, told him the enemy still had something up their sleeve.

* * *

The commander of Aspen observed the enemy’s strength clearly.

Naurillia’s tactics remained the same.

‘Stirring up with the Border Guard.’

Marcus’s strategy was predictable. Concentrate his forces to turn the tide of the battlefield in one decisive strike.

It worked. They were caught off guard in unexpected ways, reversing the momentum.

So what? What does it matter?

They had seen all the enemy had prepared.

Now, how will they stop what I send?

The commander cursed Naurillia inwardly, feeling assured of victory.

It was time for his battle to begin.

It would start with killing that arrogant one.

The so-called madman.

The one who called him a fresh insult, “ghoul head”.

The one wielding the axe.

The knights had already proven that a small number of forces could change the course of a battle.

So why must that small force be knights?

The commander of Aspen, focusing on this idea, prepared his dagger.

But it wouldn’t end with just a dagger.

His dagger would become a flail, smashing the entire battlefield.

* * *

One day was enough for complete recovery.

With no duties and a good meal, they had a day of rest.

Encrid had a short dream during the night but quickly forgot it.

A specter from the past had appeared—a mercenary who had shown him that skill and character do not always align.

It wasn’t a pleasant memory, so there was no need to dwell on it.

In any case, the combination of Audin’s divine abilities and the Fairy-made medicine was a luxury he might not experience again.

“It seems my medicine helped.” Audin remarked.

Early in the morning, the Fairy Company Commander had come by to talk.

Encrid was drenched in sweat, training.

He was practicing the Isolation Technique.

Audin had mentioned that it was now time to strengthen his joints.

It felt like he was being made to do all sorts of things, but in the end, it always proved beneficial, toughening his body and making him stronger.

He was already proving that with his own body.

Lying face down, he pressed his toes and palms into the ground, pushing his body up and down, bending and straightening his wrists.

At first, it seemed easy, but after a few repetitions, it became quite a challenge.

It felt like his wrists were bearing a heavy weight.

There was one gaze from the Fairy watching with folded arms.

Another from a recently recovered, now lively, panther.

And a third gaze, from a large sadistic brute watching with satisfaction.

Right in front of the barracks, there was a mad barbarian squatting and watching.

Then there was the creepy reddish-brown-eyed person, who kept scribbling something on the ground and erasing it repeatedly, lost in thought.

Lastly, there was the lazy genius swordsman who often got lost, waiting with a sword in hand.

“Don’t you have something to do?” Encrid asked the Company Commander, finishing his morning training. The Fairy, with green eyes fixed on Encrid, spoke up.

“No, I don’t.”

Then why are you still here?

He conveyed with his eyes, but it didn’t seem to have any effect.

“Are we starting now?”

Ragna, standing beside him, asked. He had won the order by lot.

So,

Encrid agreed to spar.

He felt ready to fight again. His body could move without significant strain.

Encrid’s gaze turned to Ragna.

Ragna looked eager, like an impatient child.

Why was he so keen on sparring?

Encrid didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. After all, had he ever known what to expect when dealing with these people?

Encrid gripped his sword.

At first, he held it with both hands, the blade pointed diagonally towards the sky.

Another sword hung at his waist.

Everyone noticed it but remained silent.

Encrid wanted to meet their expectations.

A desire to impress them surged within him.

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