A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Whether it was good or bad luck, the sky was incredibly clear. Even the wind wasn’t blowing much.

It had been a series of unusually warm days for winter.

The snow that had fallen earlier had melted away completely.

Green Pearl wasn’t a place where snow accumulated easily in the first place. While the area above the Pen-Hanil Mountain Range was always covered in snow, this place wasn’t.

In other words, it was an ideal day for fighting. The sky itself seemed to urge them to battle.

"The enemy is right at our doorstep."

This was the message the messenger delivered.

Until that moment, Enkrid had been walking among the regular soldiers, casually moving through the ranks.

"Meet them at the stockade! Everyone, out!"

At the commander’s call, Enkrid moved as well.

"Aren’t you supposed to return to your post?"

Helma turned her head and spoke to Enkrid, who had been walking beside her. She had just equipped her buckler and spear.

Enkrid matched his pace with her and casually responded.

"It’s fine."

Helma blinked in surprise.

What does he mean by "fine"?

But, this guy knows how to fight.

Usually, people who look as soft as him are terrible in a fight, right?

Helma, having known Enkrid for only two days, was concerned.

"If a superior officer finds out, you’ll get in trouble."

Enkrid casually responded again.

"I’ve been given permission."

He had just asked and answered the question himself. So, it was as if he had received permission. Moreover, it was part of an agreed-upon course of action.

What kind of variables would he create on the battlefield?

Enkrid knew there was only one ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) thing he could do.

"Hey, if you’re going to do that, you should take the lead."

A soldier said with an indifferent tone.

He had been muttering since earlier.

There seemed to be some subtle hostility, but Enkrid didn’t care.

If they were going to fight with blood splattering everywhere, these complaints were honestly cute.

Compared to Rem, it was like a child’s tantrum.

"Yeah."

He answered and continued walking. He was already heading forward anyway.

Helma, perhaps originally part of the vanguard, shifted her steps toward the front.

"Hey, you do your thing."

Helma shot back at the soldier behind her.

The soldier didn’t say anything else.

He hadn’t expected Enkrid to actually go, but here he was.

Until now, Enkrid had been sizing up the soldiers’ skills.

While Rem had done a remarkably bad job, some soldiers in the Naurillia military rank system appeared to be of a high standard.

Helma was at least mid-tier. Their fighting strength wasn’t as bad as expected.

Most were closer to low-tier, and the unit consisted mainly of infantry and archers, but their military discipline was solid.

They had trained horses but lacked cavalry, and carts were prepared for the rear supply routes.

Of course, supplies were loaded into those carts.

‘If things go wrong, the escape plan is perfect.’

Whether they become prisoners of war or run, Enkrid and his soldiers wouldn’t die meaningless deaths here.

Garrett’s voice could be heard, signaling their formation and readiness.

Enkrid found that reassuring.

As he walked, he casually swung his arms around.

The pain was minimal. His right arm had recovered enough, and his left shin was as good as new.

The wounds he’d gotten from earlier were now just faint scars. Jaxon had said that there wouldn’t be any facial scars.

Instead, he’d likely have scars on his shin, forearms, and torso.

When he heard that, Kraiss had muttered something ridiculous.

"Scars on your face aren’t bad, but it’s better if you don’t have them."

It was his intent to ensure Enkrid was taken to a salon eventually.

What a funny guy.

Enkrid felt the soft armor wrapped around his shoulder, chest, and thighs as he moved.

Even though it was thin leather armor, it was stiff. Inside, he wore a thin gambeson, which made it uncomfortable.

If he took it off, it would be cold, and his defense would drop.

A little discomfort would be a small price to pay for better protection.

"Three swords on your waist? You’ll be in trouble if you fight up front."

Helma said, filled with concern. She was a kind person.

Before she could say anything else, Jaxon appeared. No, he practically popped up.

Enkrid, with his sharp senses, had noticed, but Helma hadn’t.

"I brought him."

Helma jumped in surprise. The man had suddenly appeared as though he’d jumped up from the ground.

He was wearing a thin hat instead of a helmet, and a blonde man, constantly adjusting his leather helmet, joined him.

"Are you here?"

"Yes."

"Where’s Dunbakel?"

"King Eyeball separated him and Shinar. He said the cards need to be hidden."

"Oh, really?"

It was an insignificant conversation. Helma didn’t fully understand it.

But, she realized that the man in front of her wasn’t an ordinary person.

No, it wasn’t a realization—it was something she’d known from the start. He was the one who had caught her attention from the beginning.

He moved around with an air of nonchalance, completely undisturbed by the tension in the camp.

Enkrid didn’t pay attention to Helma’s gaze.

He focused on the task at hand.

What he needed were variables.

Actions his enemies wouldn’t anticipate.

Enkrid had decided that he would begin with the first strike of battle.

This was something Kraiss agreed on as well.

It had been a successful tactic so far.

With an unexpected strike, he could observe the enemy’s reaction. From there, he could gather information about their hidden tactics.

Even if he couldn’t see everything, he could still make deductions and be in a much better position.

It would be a completely different situation than it was now, where they knew nothing.

‘Oh, please.’

Kraiss was struggling with ominous thoughts.

Enkrid remained unfazed.

‘There are a lot of them.’

Even though the enemy was approaching, Enkrid didn’t feel too tense.

It didn’t seem overly dangerous.

No matter what the enemy had prepared, he felt ready.

His instincts to warn of danger were quiet, and his body felt better than expected.

His right arm was more than half healed.

‘This feels good.’

It wasn’t bad at all.

"Ahhhhhh!"

A roar from the enemy echoed, shaking the air. Azpen still maintained its slow, steady advance.

As the approaching enemy entered the range of arrows, Enkrid’s side released their first volley.

Whoosh!

Arrows cut through the air, marking the start of the battle.

Azpen’s forces responded, and a dark rain of arrows began to fall from the enemy side.

This was the beginning of a battle, and it felt as ordinary as any other.

"Hold the line!"

"Raise the shields! Don’t lower them!"

"Ugh!"

"You fool!"

The arrows shot with a curved trajectory soared into the sky like dark dots before raining down. One unlucky soldier had an arrow lodged in his shoulder.

A comrade pulled the soldier with the arrow out of the way, while another raised his shield to block the incoming arrows.

Their teamwork was not bad. The training had paid off.

Still, there was room for improvement.

Compared to the Border Guard's elite reinforcements, they were weak. The difference was like that between solid rock and hardened clay.

‘More rigorous training.’

It was a thought that popped into Enkrid’s head, but it wasn’t a bad one. Preparing for the future, for what’s to come, is always helpful.

This kind of thinking was part of being prepared.

It wasn’t just about adjusting a sword belt or gripping a sword properly.

Enkrid observed the incoming arrows and easily dodged them.

It was no problem at all. He could dodge daggers thrown at him in close proximity, so arrows were nothing.

He didn’t even carry a shield. Though fully arming oneself was important, he thought it was better to move with just three swords for now.

‘This seems better.’

Looking to his side, he saw Ragna dodging arrows without even looking and moving swiftly to the side. Jaxon had already disappeared.

‘He’ll handle it.’

Was there any reason to worry about Jaxon? Probably not.

Enkrid focused on his own task.

"Ha."

He took a deep breath. No matter the battlefield, no matter the enemy, whether his current state was good or bad, danger always existed and threats should never be ignored.

As always, Enkrid brought his best.

The first weapon was a sword gripped with both hands.

Ching.

A steel sword with a bluish hue slipped out of its scabbard. He raised the sword toward the brilliant winter sunlight.

A few teeth had chipped, but it was still sturdy.

Even though he had tried to maintain it, this was how it had ended up. It had been used too roughly.

But, being a good sword, it had held up. If it were an ordinary steel sword, it would’ve broken long ago.

A good sword is always right.

‘One more time, please.’

Enkrid spoke to his sword. He would send it off properly when it was time to rest, but not now.

The distance between the two advancing armies was slowly narrowing.

Enkrid moved along with them. His steps were decisive, no hesitation. One step beyond his own line, another step forward, quickly covering two steps in a matter of seconds.

It was only natural that he appeared to be moving ahead alone.

"Hey, where are you going?"

Someone shouted from behind. It sounded like one of the soldiers who had been grumbling earlier.

"You crazy bastard! Hey!"

Enkrid ignored them. Now was the time to gather everyone's attention.

"Disrupt them with the first strike."

There had been Kraiss’s request, but Enkrid’s own emotions surged first.

What had he prepared?

A knight’s sword? A magic sword? Magic? Sorcery? Did he bring any knights?

If not, how would he block this?

A stray thought flashed through his mind, but then Enkrid set foot on the frozen ground where an arrow had struck and met the enemy forces.

He was the fastest, so he reached them first.

"You crazy bastard!"

The enemy, tense and nervous, thrust a spear at him.

Enkrid adjusted his speed.

He suddenly lowered his thigh and increased his pace. In the split second that the enemy couldn’t follow his change in speed, Enkrid’s foot kicked the enemy soldier’s shin.

As he ran, he kicked him directly.

Crack, snap!

With a single strike, the bone snapped and the enemy soldier’s body lifted into the air before crashing to the ground.

"Argh!"

The scream echoed as Enkrid elbowed the soldier next to him in the head. He used his foot and elbow almost simultaneously.

Crunch!

A dying sound echoed. Crack! The victim’s neck bone screamed and blood flowed through the gaps in his helmet. His head shattered with a single strike.

Only then did Enkrid swing his sword. He anchored his left foot and swung from his right waist diagonally upward.

With the wind, the heavy sword slashed in a diagonal arc. It was a cleaving strike with a heavy sword.

Enkrid added a twist to it.

Using the momentum of the swing, he changed the anchor from his left foot to his right foot. As he shifted, he lowered the sword that had been positioned at the upper left and swung it from the lower left to the upper right.

As his left and right feet switched places, the sword traced an infinity symbol in the air.

Everything caught by the sword shattered, broken, slashed, and bounced away.

"Ugh!"

"Argh!"

The screams came from those who weren’t killed by the first strike.

Anyone who had their neck or head caught in the trajectory of the sword was done.

With two clean cuts, nine enemy soldiers were slain.

Because of his footwork, the range of his sword widened.

"Kill them!"

One of the nearby commanders had bloodshot eyes.

Instead of retreating, he clenched his teeth.

‘The discipline is better than ours.’

Their training, the quality of their soldiers, and the capability of their commander were all superior. Enkrid, while focused on the fight, hadn’t fully grasped everything.

But his instincts told him that he had to cut down the commander who had just spoken.

He realized firsthand that doing so would increase their chances of victory.

As he moved forward again, spears from all directions rushed in.

They thrust and thrust again with their long spears.

Enkrid deflected those he could and dodged those he couldn’t.

It was like cutting through a forest of spear tips. He pressed forward, getting close to the commander, and delivered a downward strike to the top of his head.

He struck with the skill of a clean cut, not breaking the skull but smashing it apart.

It was the result of raw strength.

As the blade hit the helmet, the shattered skull pierced the scalp. Blood and brain matter flowed naturally.

"Ha."

He swung his sword widely, intimidating the enemy soldiers, making them hesitate.

Enkrid took a deep breath and activated the Heart of Might. This power wasn’t unlimited, but right now, it was the right time to stab, strike, slash, and break.

"Shit, what is this!"

One of the enemy soldiers screamed. Enkrid’s blade didn’t stop. He was a reaper. A collector of souls, weaving through the enemy ranks.

"You crazy!"

The enemy screamed. It was a meaningless cry. Enkrid’s blade didn’t hesitate even for a moment.

He cut down dozens on his own, and it was only natural that the enemy formation would break.

"Are you just going to watch?"

The enemy commander shouted loudly, and soon, someone stepped forward.

If left unchecked, the formation and ranks would be completely shattered.

One of the warriors from Azpen, who had been gathering his breath, stepped forward.

He stopped as he approached Enkrid.

The man assessed the enemy's skills.

‘Heavy sword style.’

A focus on weight, ignoring minor attacks, a style of fighting that emphasized power.

Having assessed, it was time to fight.

The man moved forward.