A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“Assemble, everyone! 4th squad, gather!”

The shout of the squad leader echoed in front of the barracks.

It was the end of a fulfilling day, a day coming to a close.

The late afternoon began as the sun started to set in the west.

“In simpler terms, this isn’t something you can learn with just your body. So practicing a hundred times won’t help if you don’t have the talent. But seeing how much you’ve mastered through training, it’s hard to say you’re not talented, right?”

Moving at the squad leader’s call, Rem responded seriously without answering.

“Oh, really?”

Encrid only responded with a question.

It’s not easy to believe what happened to oneself as it is, and even if one does, it’s a problem.

What if the story spreads?

If it’s really a blessing from God, I don’t know, but if it goes even a little off track, it’s a meeting with the inquisitor.

Would it be good to end the interview with the inquisitor?

No way.

If you do well, it’s a pyre, and the worst is a torture party waiting.

No one wants to be nailed and have their fingernails pulled out.

Of course, Encrid did too.

In the mercenary era, he saw a lot of people unfairly treated as heretics.

I’ve helped some of them a little.

I would have scoffed at those who said they would choose to commit suicide.

It was that dangerous.

Still, I did. Because helping was the right thing to do.

If I didn’t even do that, there would be no reason to live as a swordsman.

“What’s with that expression? It doesn’t look very good, did you find gold nuggets or something? Planning to desert today? You don’t know that if you eat that alone, you’ll get caught?”

Gold nuggets…

I got something better than that.

“Shut up and let’s go.”

The assembly order has been given, so it’s time to move.

Encrid wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. It would probably smell foul if he put on his helmet like this. But he couldn’t exactly go to the stream right now to wash himself.

Rem standing beside him wasn’t sweating at all. What kind of training led to that?

Encrid belonged to the 4th squad.

He moved to his squad’s position.

“Will it work?”

Learning in just one day was impossible. Still, he had grasped some techniques.

Thanks to the experience of being stabbed to death.

“We are!”

The squad leader shouted.

“We will win!”

The squad leader was an unremarkable person without any flaws. Just someone who followed orders well from higher-ups.

The door to the battlefield was about to open again.

As the sun set in the west, the spider began to hang.

His heart trembled.

Why?

Encrid asked himself.

The answer came quickly.

Fear.

Stabbed to death with a sword three times.

That pain, that dizziness, it didn’t seem like he’d ever get used to it no matter how many times he experienced it.

Encrid stroked his neck.

Even though there was no damage, it was still tingling. It felt like he had swallowed a blade.

“Why? Doesn’t it seem like your throat doesn’t feel good?”

Next to him, Rem whispered, “Ease up a bit. It’s the battlefield.”

Encrid replied as he stepped forward to the command “Advance, all units!”

Rem matched his steps beside him.

“Tension makes your body stiff. Didn’t you learn that from me to avoid that?”

It was a valid point. Hence, annoying.

The Heart of the Beast.

He had said that there weren’t many who learned from being taught.

He suppressed his pounding heart.

He regulated his breathing to match his steps.

“Yes, that’s right. That’s how it goes. Let’s not falter today either. Dream of becoming a great captain.”

Listening to Rem’s words, Encrid decided not to talk about how he dreamed of becoming a knight tomorrow if he died again today.

It was the battlefield again.

The start of a pitched battle.

Another identical day passed. It was the fourth today for Encrid.

He tried to stop his shield from breaking.

What exactly was the shield’s purpose in the first place?

It seemed more ridiculous to strain to hold something in order to prevent the other side’s sword, spear, or axe from being blocked.

‘Instead of doing that…’

His mind wandered.

Suddenly, something swiftly flew at him.

Without even a sound of surprise, he instinctively leaned back, extending his shield forward.

Force surged through his body involuntarily.

Bang!

The flying spear tip struck the edge of his shield.

He narrowly blocked it.

His left shoulder felt numb. It was a spear, and the blow had been quite forceful.

The enemy retracted and thrust the extended spear again.

Normally, his rigid posture wouldn’t have loosened.

He would have blocked it again, stiff and facing another crisis.

But his heart sank. Thanks to that, he saw the spear tip.

It seemed twice as slow as the thrust that had killed him.

Therefore, there was nothing inevitable about avoiding it.

He stared at the tip of the spear until he turned his head.

Shing.

The spear tip grazed past the side of his helmet.

It was a move almost unheard of since birth.

The Heart of the Beast doesn’t easily get excited.

A dodge with a small movement.

That’s how much leeway he had.

The calm in his mind brought a new perspective.

In Encrid’s eyes, he saw a gap between the helmet and breastplate of the one he had thrust the spear into.

A gap where the chin was just visible.

Not wide, but not narrow either.

Wide enough for a blade to enter.

He gripped the sword and thrust upward.

Smoothly.

From below to above, the blade pierced from the chin to the throat.

“Gurk.”

The enemy soldier spat out a lump of flesh and severed tongue.

A precise sword strike aimed at gaps didn’t require great momentum. Reflecting on this once again, Encrid recalled the words of his former swordsmanship instructor.

“If you can evade the opponent’s attack with minimal movement, the rest becomes easier.”

It had been quite an expensive academy, but the teachings were few.

And even those few, Encrid had thought were nonsense for a while.

‘Worth every coin.’

One of those supposed nonsense teachings had now become reality.

The short, efficient movements of evasion and attack were effective.

Using his foot, he pushed against the enemy’s abdomen and withdrew his sword.

Blood gushed from the hole beneath the chin.

The enemy soldier collapsed backward.

“This bastard!”

Another foe charged from directly behind. Encrid neither gasped for breath nor hastily responded.

‘Six steps.’

Encrid measured his steps against his opponent’s and drew the shield strap fixed to the back of his left hand with his sword.

Thud.

Swish.

Thud.

He slashed twice, severing the strap he had fixed on his arm to secure the shield by winding it around. It was a survival technique he had learned to ensure he wouldn’t easily lose his shield in the chaos of battle.

But now, it wasn’t needed.

An enemy soldier approached. Encrid grabbed the shield and threw it.

Thunk!

Startled by the sudden flight of the shield, the enemy soldier holding the spear instinctively pulled both hands back. The spear naturally retreated as well.

It was common for reactions to slow down.

Though the shield was broad, it was enough to obscure the opponent’s vision momentarily.

Having thrown the shield, Encrid took two quick steps to the left through the gap where the opponent’s vision was obscured.

A helmet was a tool for protecting the head, but it narrowed the peripheral vision.

Encrid had experienced the sudden disappearance of enemies in front of his eyes several times.

He often used this to deceive the enemy’s eyes, bending his body down and using their momentum to throw them over his back.

He had done this on the day he first died.

This time, he executed it even more neatly.

He aimed at the opponent’s right side. Before charging, Encrid attacked the enemy soldier’s hand. He held the front of the long spear shaft with his left hand and the back with his right hand.

It was an ambidextrous grip.

Things that wouldn’t normally be visible were now clear.

It was the perspective given by calmness.

In smaller skirmishes or duels, these techniques were occasionally used, but in chaotic battles, they weren’t easily employed.

Insight learned from surviving as a mercenary.

A right-handed spearman finds it difficult to swing the spear to the right.

The enemy soldier who blocked the shield hastily turned his head left and right.

Startled. It was understandable. The opponent in front of them had suddenly disappeared.

The enemy soldier’s eyes soon found Encrid.

Turning his head left and right in surprise, in that moment, Encrid swung his sword diagonally from the back of the opponent’s head towards the front of their chest.

Thud!

The guy’s armor covered the back of his neck.

Thick cloth and thin leather over it prevented his neck from being completely cut off.

The blade was halfway stuck behind the neck.

“Cough,cough, ah.”

The enemy soldier’s eyes appeared. Eyes full of surprise. Eyes wide open.

Despite his neck being halfway cut, the spearman reflexively swung his spear. The spear shaft hit Encrid’s right shoulder.

There was no impact. He was already halfway dead, and he had moved at an angle that made it difficult to put strength into the spearhead in the first place.

Encrid lifted the sword upwards to draw it out.

Crunch.

The blade had been embedded in bone, requiring quite a bit of strength to pull out. Blood clung to the withdrawn blade as it dripped down.

Glancing briefly at the battlefield’s situation, Encrid picked up a shield with a broken edge instead of an axe from the ground.

Now he had enough leeway.

“This will do.”

It was too easy. In the chaos of the battlefield, it was difficult to demonstrate even half of one’s usual skill.

That was natural.

Standing in the midst of death and killing, how could one move as usual?

Occasionally, there were those who thrived in the madness, but most were prone to confusion.

Until experiencing death three times, Encrid had been the same, but now he was different.

“It should work.”

He wondered if that thrust would be enough to handle his opponent.

What Encrid did didn’t change the course of the battlefield.

It simply meant one soldier fought a little better.

There was no shift in the battle’s tide.

Yet, for Encrid personally, it marked a significant change.

After knocking down two enemy soldiers.

“Ugh!”

Bell stumbled again.

Having a little breathing room gave him time to recover.

“Are you okay?”

“Damn it, there’s a damn rock here.”

It’s a dry plain.

It’s not uncommon for rocks to stick up.

However, Bell tripped over his feet, so Bell was the fool for falling.

“Get it together.”

Enkrid grabbed Bell’s hand and pulled him up.

“Thanks to you, I survived.”

Enkrid didn’t loosen his grip on Bell’s hand.

“… Hand.”

Bell mutters to let go of his hand.

Half-split helmet, blood-stained skull, and Bell’s eyes.

The flash was an arrow and the arrow pierced Bell’s skull.

It’s already known.

However, it’s difficult to detect arrows flying in the chaos of battle. It was too difficult.

Encrid tried to pull the hand he caught.

Bell staggered, lost his balance, and struggled to force himself.

Thunk.

The skull cracked.

An arrow flew and broke Bell’s skull.

Blood splattered on the armor.

Encrid immediately lowered his head when he saw Bell’s head explode.

A creepy something passed over his head.

It must have been an arrow.

“Did you offer prayers to the goddess of luck before coming?”

Rem’s voice was heard immediately after he dodged.

He couldn’t protect Bell’s head, but he saved his own. Of course, even if he hadn’t, Rem would have saved him. It was the same situation even on the fourth try.

“Something like that.”

He vaguely answered, and Rem snickered.

His teeth were visible through the helmet. Rem was a pretty boy in appearance, but his speech and actions were unbearably harsh.

“Alright. The archer who shot these arrows is said to be the Hawk’s Nipple or something, so I’m going to find him. Pray ten more times to the goddess for me.”

“If you die on the way, I’ll pray for you too.”

“Then I’m grateful. Don’t forget this.”

Rem tapped Encrid’s left chest with his pommel and turned back towards the battlefield.

He was going after the eyes or claws.

Encrid nodded, hoping tonight he could ask Rem if he killed the archer who shot this arrow.

Rem disappeared, and allies and enemies started to gather.

The gap was starting to narrow, and Encrid decided the battlefield’s flow wasn’t good.

He had already had three experiences.

His allies were losing ground.

But there was only one thing he could do.

Survive.

Encrid felt a strange excitement enveloping him.

He was about to meet a skilled soldier.

Soon it became reality.

That thrust was targeting his head again.

Instead of avoiding it, Encrid pushed his blade against the incoming blade.

Ting,ting,ting.

Sparks flew into the air.

He met the enemy’s gaze.

Block this?

It was a questioning eye.

“Your skills are good.”

The enemy soldier spoke as he thrust his sword again.

Once, twice, thrice.

The first time Encrid blocked with his shield, the second he dodged by rolling his body to the side, and the third he countered by swinging his sword backward.

Encrid’s blade traced a short path through the air.

Then, as the enemy soldier pulled his arm back again, something struck Encrid’s waist from behind.

Thwack!

“Agh.”

He bit back the involuntary scream.

Next, another thrust came at him. He intentionally shifted his body weight forward as if to roll away completely.

The intention was good, but the timing was off.

Thud.

The blade shattered the rib cage beside his neck and pierced inward, searing through flesh and bone.

“Agh!”

The pain was excruciating, rendering him almost unable to scream.

Trying to grasp the embedded blade with his hand, he recoiled as the enemy swiftly withdrew the sword.

The blade seemed exceptionally sharp, as if it had been meticulously honed.

When the sword was pulled out, even more excruciating pain followed.

His vision blurred with white-hot agony.

Encrid gritted his teeth and glanced back.

A hulking enemy soldier stood askew.

He held a club in his hand.

Apparently, that was what had struck him in the waist.

“Mercy.”

The man who had killed him three times said this as he vertically positioned his sword for a strike.

That was the end.

His eyes closed. Darkness seeped into his vision.

Clang, clang, clang.

The sound of a ladle tapping against a pot echoed again.

“The fifth time.”

Damn it.

I thought it was over.

“What’s the fifth time?” Rem asked from beside him.

“A bug in my boot.”

Encrid replied as he got up.

He died again, but he learned something.

No, it was a lesson he gained from pouring money into the academy in coin units for so long.

Nothing happens all at once.

So what do you do then?

If once doesn’t work, try ten times. If ten times doesn’t work, try a hundred times.

Normally, once you die, that should be it.

Fortunately, Encrid could repeat this endlessly.

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