A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Having killed the sentries, Rem turned around.

Enkrid and Ragna hadn’t even had a chance to act.

There was no point in waiting for more enemies to show up here.

“Too easy,” Rem muttered, spinning his axe in his hand. The blood on the blade splattered onto the ground.

Enkrid turned to face Ragna. “Ragna.”

Hearing his name, Ragna followed closely behind his platoon leader.

This had been one of Kraiss’s constant warnings: never leave Ragna on his own. If left alone, he would inevitably get lost and wander off.

“You barbarian, know your place,” Ragna grumbled as he trailed behind Enkrid.

In Ragna’s eyes, it looked as though Enkrid hadn’t even had a chance to step in, thanks to the overzealous Rem.

He couldn’t let this slide without saying something. After all, knowing when to act and when to hold back was essential.

Of course, Rem didn’t take the reprimand quietly.

“Huh? What did you say? You want me to add another mouth to your neck? Split your throat for you?”

“That’s enough,” Enkrid interjected calmly, putting an end to their squabble. It was only the beginning, after all.

They ascended back up the ridge. Climbing was far harder than descending, but compared to the grueling isolation training Enkrid had endured in the past, this was child’s play.

It was the same for Rem and Ragna. Among the members of the “Mad Platoon,” none lacked the stamina to handle this level of exertion.

“All right, Finn, lead the way,” Kraiss said, as if there was no time for fights. He nudged Finn to take the lead.

Finn nodded and set off, leading them back over the ridges.

Finn led, followed by Enkrid, then Ragna and Kraiss. Even Kraiss, despite his lower combat ability, kept up without issue, showing his surprising endurance.

Watching their movements, Mack couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Fast.”

Their strides were purposeful and unhesitant. At a glance, it seemed like they were recklessly charging ahead without concern for conserving energy, yet none of them appeared fatigued.

Mack decided to focus solely on keeping up with them.

“Breathe slowly and deeply,” Mack advised. Whether this was a mission, ambush, or skirmish, it wasn’t going to be over quickly. Preserving stamina was crucial.

Andrew nodded in agreement. “Got it.”

His brief response showed understanding without the need for further explanation.

Mack felt a twinge of pride. When had Andrew grown so much?

When this battle was over and they returned to the city, it might finally be time for him to take his own path.

“It’ll be tough... but I don’t know. I’m looking forward to it,” Andrew said, his gaze fixed on the back of their platoon leader.

Mack gave a small nod that Andrew didn’t notice. He, too, was curious.

How far would their platoon leader go?

Would he grasp the seemingly impossible dream he pursued?

Mack knew enough to realize that what Enkrid desired was something far beyond his current reach.

Andrew’s dream was just as far-fetched—reviving his fallen family.

That was why Andrew stood here now, supporting Enkrid. But whether he could actually save his family remained uncertain.

“There’s no giving up,” Andrew muttered.

The naïve boy who had once boasted recklessly in his youth was gone.

Now, there was only a man who had changed by following the example of his platoon leader.

“There’s no giving up, indeed,” Mack replied, his tone filled with quiet satisfaction.

Enkrid hadn’t intended it, but Andrew had changed.

That change had influenced Mack as well.

Saving his family wasn’t just a goal anymore—it was an inevitability.

With renewed determination, Mack adjusted his breathing and kept pace.

While Mack and Andrew whispered to one another, Enkrid focused on listening to the breaths of his platoon.

“Listen, and keep listening.”

Just as vision could be trained through observation, so could hearing. By distinguishing and analyzing sounds, one could refine their auditory senses.

The crunch of gravel, the rhythm of footsteps on the ridge, and the breaths of his platoon members—all these sounds painted a picture.

“Shallow and steady.”

That was Mack and Andrew. Both were pacing themselves, preparing for the long haul.

And Rem? His breathing was wild and erratic, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Unpredictable, just like his personality.

Audin’s breaths were long and drawn out, so much so that it was hard to discern where one ended and the next began.

Ragna’s breathing was average, neither remarkable nor flawed.

Jaxon’s breaths were so quiet they were almost inaudible.

As for himself? Enkrid realized his breathing most resembled Ragna’s.

It was ordinary. Breathing in a steady rhythm and moving with practiced steps felt natural.

“By the way, did you ever formally train as a ranger?” Finn asked, glancing back at Enkrid.

“No, just learned from watching a ranger I know,” he replied casually.

It wasn’t a lie.

After all, he’d learned a lot just by observing Finn.

The conversation triggered a memory—someone else had once asked him a similar question.

Back then, the question had been about the plains, and his answer had been nearly identical.

He wondered if that person had made it back to the city safely. The prisoner transport unit they’d joined should have been secure.

Even as these thoughts crossed his mind, Enkrid didn’t pause his movements.

He walked, listening, watching, and feeling, sharpening his senses with every step.

On the ridge, the right side was enemy territory, while their allied base lay to the left.

By now, the allied forces were likely on the move.

All Enkrid needed to do was fulfill his own role.

While walking and refining his senses, he turned to Rem with a question.

“What was that charge earlier?”

“If you’re asking how I did it, I might just feel like smacking you upside the head,” Rem replied gruffly, clearly annoyed.

Why the irritation? Enkrid soon understood.

“I asked without thinking.”

He’d asked instinctively, expecting an answer, as if it were second nature. Perhaps it was a bad habit developed from issuing too many commands lately.

No one was perfect—not even Enkrid.

He might excel at dealing with people, at moving forward without hesitation, but he wasn’t immune to making mistakes.

The difference was how quickly he recognized and corrected them.

Without responding to Rem’s frustration, Enkrid simply resumed walking, retreating into his own thoughts.

He didn’t need to ask—he should have already known the answer.

Charging, sprinting—what did it require?

Strength, muscle power, particularly in the thighs.

The Heart of Might technique amplified all the muscles in the body, enabling a powerful burst of movement.

Of course, training and time were necessary to master it.

But now that he could see the path, he felt a surge of joy.

Ah, so that’s it.

A faint smile of exhilaration crossed Enkrid’s face. Rem, noticing this, chuckled.

“Why’d you bother asking something so obvious?”

The group, led by Finn, pressed forward diligently.

As they moved, Finn couldn’t help but marvel at her companions.

Each one of them was a monster in their own right.

No one lagged behind—not even the newest recruit, despite not having ranger training.

“That platoon leader is something else,” she thought, her eyes lingering on Enkrid. Though his appearance was refined, his abilities were a stark contrast to his face.

The group crossed another ridge, halting briefly at a patch of short grass.

“We’re deep enough into their rear now,” Finn said.

Operating in a small group had its advantages—the greatest being mobility.

They used it to its fullest.

Descending again, this time Audin and Jaxon joined the vanguard.

“Why me?” Audin muttered.

Rem pouted slightly, but it had already been decided they would take turns stepping forward. If things went south, they needed someone to provide cover during evasive maneuvers and protect the rear.

Kraiss also needed guarding.

As Enkrid descended the slope, he wondered if Esther might be watching from somewhere. He had brought the creature along, but as soon as they had started climbing the mountain, Esther had hopped out of his arms and disappeared.

Perhaps it was out hunting.

He didn’t know and saw no reason to dwell on it.

As Enkrid continued down the slope, he encountered another group of enemy sentries. This time, luck wasn’t on his side.

Piiii!

The whistle blew the moment the enemy spotted him.

It was a quick reaction. The soldier leveled a spear and shouted, “Who goes there? Stop right there!”

Enkrid didn’t respond and continued advancing silently. One of the sentries brushed a hand against his belt, revealing a reverse-gripped throwing knife.

See with your eyes.

React with your body.

Move instinctively, using heightened reflexes to respond. This was the essence of the technique known as Sense of Evasion.

Whoosh.

The knife flew through the air. As it hurtled toward him, Enkrid lowered his stance and lunged forward.

This wasn’t about activating Single Point Focus or using concentration. It was pure reaction speed—calm, calculated, and deliberate.

That was the key to the technique.

Without invoking the Heart of Might, Enkrid mimicked the charging steps of knights heading into battle.

With a thudding rhythm, his feet propelled him forward, and the enemy soldier thrust his spear.

The spear’s blade shot toward his chest, but Enkrid dodged, parried, and countered all in a single breath.

Stepping forward with his left foot, he twisted his body to avoid the spearhead, then pushed the shaft aside with the palm of his hand.

Thwack. The spear wobbled as it was shoved away, throwing the soldier off balance.

“Huh?!”

The shock was clear in the soldier’s eyes, now just inches away. Enkrid hadn’t slowed his charge for even a moment.

Just as Rem had demonstrated in the past, Enkrid closed the distance, deflected the spear, and was suddenly within striking range.

The fight that followed was over in an instant.

Stab.

Enkrid drew his dagger and plunged it into the soldier’s neck before pulling it free.

Blood sprayed in an arc from the deep gash, and the soldier collapsed in a heap.

Enkrid calmly sheathed his dagger, feeling a quiet satisfaction.

“It works.”

He hadn’t repeated today’s moves endlessly in practice for nothing. This was the result of refining a technique—Sense of Evasion, which elevated the body’s coordination with its senses.

Through this training, he had also learned something new: his reaction speed had fundamentally improved.

What did that mean in practice?

Even without Single Point Focus, he could move faster than his enemies, preempting their attacks and gaining control of the battlefield.

The fight had been laughably easy.

The enemy had been unskilled, and Enkrid himself felt as though he was only taking his first steps in mastering the technique.

“But it works.”

And that alone was a source of joy.

Jaxon, who had been observing, nodded in approval.

“Yes, that’s how it’s done.”

Though basic, the execution had been clean.

If one were to speak negatively, they might call it brute repetition.

If one were to speak positively, they would call it steadfast diligence.

That diligence was the core of this training, and it suited Enkrid perfectly.

The more he repeated the exercises to hone his coordination, the faster his reaction time would become.

“His dream is to become a knight, isn’t it?”

No matter how unrealistic the dream might seem, there was no rule against pursuing it.

Jaxon thought back to his own childhood. If he had voiced the secret goals he had once hidden in his heart, he would have been mocked without question.

His thoughts wandered as his hands carried out their task with precision.

At some point, Jaxon had slipped behind another sentry, placed a dagger to the soldier’s throat, and slit it cleanly.

Shk.

There was no need to make blood spray like a fountain, as Enkrid had.

“Guh!”

The dying soldier dropped his spear with one hand while clutching his throat with the other.

Pressing against the wound was a futile effort. Jaxon had severed one of the major blood vessels in the neck.

Through countless experiences, Jaxon had learned that once those veins were cut, death was inevitable.

Soon, blood seeped between the soldier’s fingers and dripped to the ground. Jaxon struck the soldier’s knees, sending him tumbling to the dirt. Like a fish out of water, the man flailed weakly before succumbing to his injuries.

He had no strength left to call for help or blow his whistle.

“Let’s move,” Jaxon said calmly.

Two sentries had been taken out in an instant, but the whistle had already alerted the enemy camp, and movement could be heard from within.

It was time to retreat.

“Agreed,” Enkrid replied with a nod of satisfaction. He turned, and the group began their ascent.

They moved quickly, efficiently scaling the terrain once more.

Their retreat was as swift and ghostly as their approach had been.

When the Azpen soldiers, roused by the whistle, arrived at the scene, all they saw was the ridgeline in the distance.

“Chase them!”

The furious shouts of Azpen’s rear commander rang out, and soldiers began pursuing Enkrid’s group.

But how could they hope to catch such a nimble and elusive unit?

The small, elite team was faster than their pursuers. If the enemy sent a similarly small group after them, they would risk a devastating counterattack.

For Kraiss, the outcome was only natural.

Why wouldn’t it be?

If the enemy could strike with small, elite units, it only made sense that they could do the same.

Of course, only a unit like the "Mad Platoon" could make such tactics meaningful.

“Keep moving,” came Enkrid’s voice.

Kraiss glanced at his platoon leader with a mix of curiosity and admiration.

Had the platoon leader truly grasped all the nuances of his plan? The thought intrigued him.