A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Enkrid naturally intended to step forward himself. After all, wasn't that why he came out here?

He was starting to feel the itch to move. Handling two swords at once might still be a bit much, and though he was advised to spare his right hand for recovery, it didn’t matter.

Observing his opponent’s stance, stride, and every hand motion, he was certain. His left hand would be enough. His opponent was no Mitch Hurrier.

Thunk.

The flat side of an axe was pressed vertically against Enkrid’s stomach.

At the same time, Jaxon grabbed his sleeve, Audin placed a hand on his shoulder, and Ragna boldly stepped in front of him.

"I’ll handle this."

Ragna said.

"Hey, didn’t I tell you to rest up first?"

Rem added. There was something resolute in the sidelong glance he gave Enkrid, a look that said he couldn’t let him go forward now.

The resolve of every platoon member was palpable. So then, would they be the ones to step up?

Kraiss had advised that, if possible, it was best to avoid letting Rem and the others take the lead, but in that case...

"He’ll do just fine, he’s the youngest."

Rem said, gripping his axe with an amused smirk that suggested he was enjoying the situation quite a bit.

And the one he called the youngest...

"Andrew?"

Enkrid spoke up, and Andrew tilted his head in confusion. Why were they calling for him?

"Go out there and kill that guy."

Rem said.

He made it sound so simple, as if it was the most straightforward thing in the world. Andrew blinked a few times, recalling the earlier surge of anger.

That must be the bastard who made that crack about his "unripe goods," wasn’t it? The opponent held a spear. Azpen Kingdom’s main force was composed of short-spear infantry.

With a short spear held forward, he aimed it ahead. In actual infantry combat, few weapons were as effective as a spear.

"Come on, you cowardly bastards!"

What would be the most insulting word in all of history? Although it’s impossible to rank them, the word "coward" would always be near the top.

Andrew let the anger he had briefly forgotten resurface.

"Fine."

Andrew took a step forward, and so did his opponent. They closed the distance, each watching the other.

From behind, Mack watched Andrew with concern. Winning or losing wasn’t the issue; he was more worried about Andrew becoming a pincushion from an arrow volley.

For a platoon leader, Enkrid sure had a sharp tongue.

'If things get dicey...'

Mack tightened his grip on the handle of the buckler he had brought along.

It was a shield larger than what he usually used, as he was proficient in sword-and-shield combat.

'Hold the line and endure.'

If their own side wasn’t completely brainless, they would retaliate with arrows if the enemy fired. Seeing that those at the front lines on both sides were holding large shields, an arrow attack wouldn’t be fatal.

'If I hold out and retreat...'

His worries faded. After all, none of these people looked like they were going to drop dead anytime soon.

So he simply had to watch Andrew and get him out safely. Mack put his concerns to rest, deciding to observe with a more relaxed mind.

Apart from arrows, there was nothing to worry about.

He had been watching Andrew. He had grown. He was now more absorbed in his swordsmanship. The looks from the allies were mixed.

If it were Enkrid or any of the other leaders, there would be no doubt about the fight’s outcome. But this was neither Enkrid nor one of the other veteran fighters—it was another soldier.

Andrew Gardner.

A noble who had once led his own squad but chose to join Enkrid’s platoon. Some thought of him as unusual.

Others worried about whether that greenhorn could handle his weapon properly.

A faint sense of unease began to spread. How many soldiers had confidently stepped forward and been taken down? It was only natural to wish that Enkrid or someone else would have taken the lead.

Andrew stared at his opponent with contained fury. The opponent reciprocated.

"Tch, so you’re just going to run your mouth and leave the fighting to your men."

That couldn’t be it. Andrew had never seen Enkrid avoid a fight. Especially when the skill gap was obvious. Even if Enkrid were injured, he doubted this lowlife could even touch their platoon leader.

To Andrew, Enkrid was a genius. A true genius whose skills soared in a short time—someone gifted in a way Andrew could never be.

He genuinely believed that.

"‘Unripe goods,’ huh? What the hell do you mean?"

"Bring out that bastard with the ghoul’s head!"

Neither of them was listening to the other’s words. They were simply expressing their anger. Soon, their anger took the form of a spear and sword.

The chilling fog lifted, and as sunlight pierced down onto a ground dotted with gravel and wild grass, the two furious men engaged in their exchange.

Seeing the spear blade coming toward him, Andrew’s mind briefly flashed back to the past few months.

It wasn’t that long of a time.

‘Crazy barbarian bastard.’

After dealing with Rem’s axe, the enemy soldier’s short spear looked like child’s play. Of course, if it struck his body, it would make a hole.

It was certainly an attack he couldn’t just brush off.

"A bastard who sees an opening and hesitates to strike might as well be dead, kid."

Those repeated words from Rem had sunk into his bones. Mack had to admit it—Andrew had talent. Rem had recognized it too.

Though different from Enkrid, Andrew was a guy worth training.

Of course, they had only taught him so much. Rem never mentioned or demonstrated Heart of the Beast. That was a skill they couldn’t just hand over lightly.

But that was enough for Andrew. He had real talent. Considerable talent. Seeing the short spear aimed at him, Andrew swung his sword from right to left.

Clang!

If spears had the advantage in direct attacks, then swords were more effective in side attacks with their shorter range. As the short spear bounced to the side, Andrew’s foot pressed forward on the gravel.

Crunch.

He closed the gap. The start of any fight was in the feet, and the finish was also in the feet.

"Heek!"

The enemy soldier pulled back his spear and swung his elbow. Andrew continued advancing at the same pace and swung his sword.

The blade arced upward from below, cutting halfway through his opponent’s forearm.

Splurt.

Blood sprayed from the arm of the soldier wearing a gambeson. Amid the droplets splattering down, Andrew’s eyes glinted. Did he really need to stop after a single cut?

No. This was a fight—a war.

Andrew took another step to his left, swinging his sword again to smack the spear shaft with a resounding thwack.

Then, calmly, he pulled back his sword and thrust it forward. It wasn’t too fast or too slow, but it was plenty for the enemy, who was now disoriented with pain from his bleeding arm.

Squish.

A satisfying resistance pressed against his grip as he thrust his sword.

The blade slid between the gaps in the soldier’s armor and helmet, and as Andrew pulled his sword back a few inches, blood spurted out.

"Urgh."

The enemy soldier staggered and fell to his knees. He tried to clutch his neck, but what good would that do?

The skill difference was stark.

This wasn’t just because Andrew was exceptional; the enemy soldier was a highly trained, professional soldier.

One who had killed plenty of allied soldiers so far. However, Andrew was someone filled with innate talent and tempered by Rem’s brutal training, and wasn’t someone this enemy could handle.

The opponent, now kneeling with his neck exposed, flailed his hands.The enemy had only moments left to live. Even if left alone, he would die soon.

Andrew stood behind him and drove his sword vertically down into his neck.

Shunk.

A decisive strike. That blade was Andrew’s intent to kill, taking the enemy soldier’s last breath as it pierced the back of his neck.

Silence. On a quiet sunlit day—that was all that remained.

Watching from one step behind, Kraiss thought this result was even better than Enkrid taking the lead.

It was the unexpected.

"Madman Andrew!"

They yelled out a name that had previously eaten away at allied morale, yet now it sounded like a nightmare to the enemy.

Soon, Andrew’s name, the one who had just killed an enemy soldier, rang out all around.

"Whoooooo! Madman!"

"Andrewwwww!"

What was this?

Enkrid shrugged his shoulders as he listened. The effect was better than expected. He almost felt like he was being cheered for himself.

Among the shouts for Andrew, cries about a madman and the hero who killed a ghoul-headed foe filled the air.

Rem snickered.

"See? The kid’s enough for that."

Since when did Andrew become the youngest?

"Andrew, get back!"

Mack shouted to Andrew. It was time to retreat. Andrew took a few steps backward, but he didn’t lose the intensity in his gaze toward the enemy.

"I’m all grown up, bastards!"

Oh, what nonsense is he spouting now? Mack was flabbergasted.

"Pfft."

This time, Enkrid couldn’t hold back his laughter either. Had that teasing left a lingering grudge?

"Return, Andrew."

The hero who killed the enemy soldier returned to cheers. The atmosphere was shifting.

What Kraiss had been anticipating was finally beginning to happen. It was the long-awaited response from Battalion Commander Marcus’s forces.

Marcus was beginning to feel a dryness in his mouth.

‘Something needs to happen, and soon.’

In his assessment, both sides had similar numbers and training levels, but the damn Azpen bastards had set things up well.

They had sent out highly skilled soldiers from among their ranks, turning it into some kind of ritualized duel, as if knights themselves were fighting.

As a result, morale was plummeting.

Even so, he knew they just needed one moment to turn the tide. That’s what he had been waiting for from the Mad Platoon.

But when that barbarian soldier, Rem, stepped up...

‘Why does it feel like the atmosphere is turning even more ghoul-like?’

Filthy, foul, and tinged with venom—an atmosphere thick with aggression. Reactions from both ally and enemy alike had turned icy.

Perhaps it was time to try a morale shift from somewhere else. It was in the midst of such thoughts that something happened.

A member of the Mad Platoon, a soldier he hadn’t even bothered to learn the name of, and one who was only here to fill the numbers, had just crushed an enemy soldier with ease.

It wasn’t even a close fight; it was overwhelming. This was the moment.

"Send them in!"

At Marcus’s command, both the messenger and the adjutant sprang into action. Soon, a small flag was raised above the battalion commander’s tent.

That signal reached the unit commander positioned close to the rocks near the river.

If Azpen had their Gray Hounds, then Naurillia had their Frontier Slaughterers. Each one was a soldier who could take on ten men alone.

‘Idiots.’

Marcus welcomed the enemy commander’s poor choices. Battlefield momentum could shift in an instant.

Especially when the morale that had hit rock bottom suddenly surged, the effect was amplified. Marcus believed that, in the end, the side that killed more would win the battle.

So.

"Kill them all."

His words reached no one in particular, but the command had already been given. The frontier defense unit, Naurillia’s proud independent company, moved as one and struck the enemy’s flank.

They had concealed their numbers well, hiding by the river and the rocks to appear smaller in number. They charged forward, meeting the enemy unexpectedly.

For the Azpen commander, it was a completely unforeseen attack.

"Wipe them out."

The frontier defense captain issued the order, and his men complied without hesitation. Torres was one of them.

An enemy soldier thrust a spear at him. Torres grabbed the spear’s shaft with his hand and pulled. As the soldier struggled to resist, Torres closed in, using his opponent’s pulling force to drive his dagger up beneath the man’s jaw.

Thunk.

With a brief noise, the soldier with the metal-bearded helmet toppled to the side. Without time to retrieve his dagger, Torres lunged at his next opponent.

The rest of the defense unit was also busy fighting. One of them was Hyowoon, a northern soldier with impeccable skill in handling a long sword.

With swift thrusts, he cut down two enemy soldiers in an instant, spinning mid-swing to fling the blood off his blade.

Thunk!

The intense blow sent an enemy soldier reeling back, even as he tried to block it with his shield. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

It was a heavy, powerful strike. The soldier knocked backward was then finished by Eisen. Eisen’s specialty was the trident.

Originally a fisherman, his skill with the three-pronged spear was exceptional.

Eisen’s trident pierced into the back of an enemy soldier, the middle prong stabbing through his gambeson and out through his stomach.

Bunny, another soldier, was known for her quick movements. Though she was female, that hardly put her at a disadvantage.

Bunny dashed between enemy lines, throwing daggers, then leapt back to launch rocks with a sling.

Thunk! Swoosh! Thud!

An enemy soldier struck in the head by one of her rocks collapsed sideways. A leather helmet was no match for the impact of the projectiles fired from her sling. The stones, carefully shaped, were expensive but incredibly effective.

The frontier defense unit was filled with individuals of unique skills who were specialized in guerrilla warfare rather than large-scale battles.

And so they fought.

Piercing through, killing as they advanced. Torres led his platoon, carving through one side of the enemy.

Hyowoon was close by, skillfully blocking enemy soldiers with rapid swings of his sword. Their target was the group of archers. More precisely, they aimed to take down the archers’ commander.

Each platoon of the frontier defense unit moved toward their designated targets. Their movement sent tremors through the battlefield.

The enemy commander didn’t overextend himself to regain control of the disrupted field.

"Retreat."

The frontier defense unit held off the Gray Hounds while the remaining enemy forces withdrew.

It was like a storm if it were wind.

An earthquake, if it were the ground.

A tidal wave, if it were the sea.

The flow of the battlefield was always so volatile. That they had been at a standstill for so long had been the strange part.

Enkrid sensed the change in the atmosphere. Even if he hadn’t seen the frontier defense unit’s movement.Something had started.

Otherwise—

"Fire!"

The allied archers wouldn’t be acting like this.

Thud-thud-thud.

Arrows curved through the sky above Enkrid and the Mad Platoon. By contrast, the enemy’s response was poor.

Barely a few arrows flew their way.

Instead, a fast-moving scouting unit specialized in light arms began tailing Enkrid from behind.

"Kill them all, don’t let anyone escape!"

They came after them with crossbows and light armor. Enkrid took in the situation around him.

"Reverse course—hit them and then pull back."

He gave the order.

There were no more than twenty soldiers pursuing them. In that case, there was no need to avoid them.

A couple of squads? That was nothing. They could just take them down.

"Fine by me!"

Rem called out in an excited voice, swinging his axe.

He was so exhilarated that he was swinging it side to side, causing Enri beside him to dodge quickly to avoid getting hit.

"They’re armed with crossbows!"

Enri shouted, looking behind them. Would that be a problem?

It wouldn’t.

Enkrid had dodged arrows multiple times himself. Did he think his platoon lacked that skill? The more he learned about them and the stronger he became, the more he realized it.

These guys were strong.

Rem took the lead.

The Mad Platoon, positioned right behind him, halted and turned back, charging forward on the path they had just come down.

Somehow, they had ended up at the forefront of the allied line. Leading that charge was none other than Rem.