A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Battle orders didn't mean there would be a detailed strategic explanation. All they had to do was prepare. As soon as Enkrid heard the orders, he headed to the barracks in the back.

By now, the sewing master, who had sent a squad member to the squad leader meeting claiming he was sick, must have finished making the items.

"You didn't give me any thread."

Indeed, he had.

The hand, knee, and elbow guards made from sturdy leather greeted Enkrid, looking quite impressive.

"Thread?"

Feigning ignorance, the liquor-loving squad leader snorted.

"What am I supposed to do if you only bring the leather?"

What indeed.

'You'll unravel the blanket thread and twist it properly to make it.'

This was something that had been done several times. Even without giving him any thread, the friend who received a wriggling gift did a good job on his own.

"I forgot."

"You don't look like you forgot at all."

Despite his hangover, he still had some wits about him.

"No, I really forgot."

"Tsk."

He didn't seem to believe it, but what did it matter? Enkrid gathered up the leather guards. The stitching was meticulous. Though Enkrid had made some himself before, his comrade's work was definitely of better quality. He was satisfied.

"I feel like I've been tricked."

"Thanks for your hard work."

He patted his shoulder once and returned to the barracks. As soon as Enkrid came back, he simply said there would be a battle in the afternoon and sat down to work busily.

Srrrng.

Enkrid drew his sword and cut the deer leather gloves he held in both hands, slicing them back and forth smoothly. After cutting the leather roughly in half, he elongated it and swiftly made sheaths for the throwing knives. Finally, he cut the ends of the leather into several long strips, creating ties and fastening them like a belt.

It wasn't his first time doing this. Having done it dozens of times, Enkrid was familiar with it. His hands moved smoothly. Seeing this, Rem poked his head over his shoulder and asked.

"What are you doing? You have small knives, why are you using those?"

"Just testing if the blade is sharp."

"Nice hand skills. Hope your sword skills are just as good."

This guy always had a jab for everyone, but they weren't hurtful. Even when there was no progress, it wasn't a big deal. Enkrid ignored him.

"I went to all that trouble to get them, and you just tear them up to make knife sheaths?"

Kraiss poked his head over the other shoulder.

'Why are these guys so interested in me?'

Were their heads broken and they saw him as their actual mother?

'That's kind of disturbing.'

"I used them all up."

"I don't understand what you're thinking. Did you eat something bad somewhere?"

"Come to think of it, you've been running around all day. What's up?"

"Nothing."

He brushed it off. After wiping the blade once more, Enkrid sat quietly and closed his eyes. Then he recalled the countless battlefields he had experienced. Events flashed by like a panorama. It was the battlefield he had repeated 125 times.

Enkrid reflected on it. All this preparation was to survive, not to improve his swordsmanship.

'The battlefield is not a swordsmanship training ground.'

Even if his swordsmanship wasn't great, his long experience of surviving wouldn't disappear. Was it really the sword that kept Enkrid alive all this time?

No. It was the situation, luck, preparation, and composure. He survived by combining all these factors. So, 'today' as well...

'The same.'

He would do his best to survive. Enkrid decided to move past today.

"Charge!"

The cry of his allies was heard. Enkrid was soon pushed into the heart of the battlefield.

He wasn't flustered. He didn't run in excitement. He lifted his head, observing the battlefield with his eyes and regulating his breathing with his mouth.

Hoo.

A short but calm breath. Enemies came into view. Allies came into view. Charging enemies, retreating allies.

Srrrng.

He drew his sword.

And then a flying blade came into sight. Enkrid struck the spearhead with the shield in his left hand.

Thud!

It was a process he had repeated countless times. There were no mistakes. He struck away the spearhead and took a step forward.

"Hiyah!"

He thrust his right foot under the heel of the startled enemy and bent his knee, bracing for impact. It all happened in one breath. Like a pre-arranged sparring session, the enemy, naturally tripped, fell backward.

Thud!

The opponent, who fell headfirst, blinked in confusion. He probably had no idea what had happened. He had tried to stab and retreat but had tripped and fallen.

It had all happened in an instant. As Enkrid passed the fallen enemy, he kicked his chin with his toe.

Crack!

With a crisp sound, pieces of teeth and blood dripped from his mouth. He was knocked out.

There was no need to kill him. Moving forward, Enkrid raised his left arm.

Bang! Crack-crack-crack!

A club aimed at his shield glanced off, grazing his elbow.

Crrrk!

It was a spiked club.

No injuries. The leather armor wrapped around his elbow had done its job.

"Damn it!"

The enemy gritted his teeth. The muscles in his jaw were visibly tensed under his half-covering helmet. This one would be a hassle to handle properly. Many of Enkrid's today's had involved taking hits from this guy on his left arm.

He gripped the hilt and stepped forward with his left foot. It was Vallen Style swordsmanship. Their eyes met. If he drew his sword, there would be a fight.

Both the enemy and Enkrid knew this. Their eyes met, and an implicit agreement was made. They would fight, crossing sword and club.

The enemy's eyes were fixed on Enkrid's right hand.

Srrrng.

Before the sword could even be fully drawn, Enkrid's left hand moved first. A throwing knife strapped to his waist flew through the air. The enemy, flustered, raised his arm.

Thud—

The blade embedded in the enemy's arm.

Even after wearing a cloth armor, the arm couldn't be thickly padded. Otherwise, it would restrict movement. Thus, the blade must have reached and pierced the skin.

"You coward!"

The enemy shouted. There was no such thing as cowardice or dishonor in a fight. Enkrid silently re-sheathed his sword. Vallen Style swordsmanship involved pretending to draw the sword while throwing a knife or stone.

"You bastard!"

The enraged spiked club enemy had veins popping on his forehead. That would only make the poison work faster. The enemy, starting to charge, suddenly fell forward. The paralyzing venom had worked. Thud, he fell face-first into the ground.

He then gasped and sputtered. Enkrid calmly passed by.

The next enemy, he kicked in the groin, then pushed aside.

The next, he quietly approached and shoved from behind.

A confused enemy's head was then struck by an ally's hammer.

Thud!

Even with a helmet, a blunt weapon could crack a head. Moreover, it wasn't a metal helmet but a leather one. Enkrid hadn't done anything particularly remarkable. He just performed the necessary movements and actions at each moment. Of course, all these actions contributed to minor victories for his surrounding allies.

"Thanks for saving me."

A stranger said. Enkrid nodded roughly and passed by. It wasn't anything significant.

"You saved me."

"Fourth-fourth squad leader? Luck or skill? Either way, let's have a drink later."

"Damn, I almost died."

There were more than a few such people. The growth compared to his first death was incomparable. At the core of it was, naturally, the Heart of the Beast.

'Calmly.'

And again, calmly. The Heart of the Beast did not beat recklessly. With a wild nature, it calmly observed everything. In the midst of the battlefield, Enkrid felt the beat of his heart and walked again. A battlefield he had repeated dozens of times. However, that didn't mean he wasn't tense.

'The more familiar it gets, the more vulnerable you are to variables.'

Just because today was repeated didn't mean everyone did the same things. The enemy's actions changed depending on how Enkrid responded. Thus, he walked slowly, prioritizing taking in the surrounding situation.

'Here.'

Swish.

Someone swung a dagger from below. A novel attack aiming at his leg during a fall.

'This has happened before.'

He had tried to dodge it a few times. Then he found an easier way. It's like blocking arrows. If you can't avoid it, block it.

Thud.

The dagger that struck the leather greave did not cut Enkrid's shin. It was natural.

"Huh?"

The enemy's single word of surprise became his final words. Enkrid struck the back of the prone enemy with the iron rim of his shield.

Crack!

"Ugh!"

The scream was short and quiet.

"Waaah!"

Instead, the roar of the battlefield echoed. Enkrid's efforts did not change the course of the battle. It just made things a bit easier for those around him.

'Can't save them all.'

This was a battlefield, a place where dozens or even hundreds died. Trying to save everyone here was foolish and stupid.

"Come on! You bastards!"

The shout belonged to a spearman from another squad. He could tell without seeing the face. Enkrid had taken down over five enemies while walking. That confident shouter had actually died dozens of times. If Enkrid hadn't intervened, he would have died today as well. Usually, he would have bled to death from a leg wound, rolling on the ground. He straightened up and took a deep breath.

'This is the first.'

A battle he had repeated countless times. Enkrid had set his own standards. The first goal was to join the front lines without getting injured.

'No injuries.'

He had just achieved that goal.

The second goal was...

'Finding familiar faces amidst the chaos.'

Of course, even in the chaos, avoiding injury was crucial. Only then could he properly face the sadistic stabbing enemy. Having rolled on the battlefield over a hundred times, he had one thought.

'I want to fight in top condition.'

Would the skills he had honed and learned by repeating today be effective? Could he win against the sadistic enemy who preferred stabbings? Could his efforts allow him to pass today?

Thump.

His heart raced. Apart from the courage the Heart of the Beast gave him.

'I'll surpass today.'

With a clear goal, a clear purpose.

Enkrid's heart beat faster. He walked the battlefield again. Sometimes he ran.

"Uwaaah!"

"Damn, spare me."

"Yeaaaah!"

"Bastards!"

Amidst the chorus of curses and shouts. Enkrid turned his head sharply in all directions.

'The one crouching and being cautious.'

That was who he was looking for. He spotted him without difficulty. He saw a figure sneaking around among the enemies.

'First task.'

Before facing the stabbing enemy, there was a task to be dealt with.

'The backstabbing clubber.'

He even gave him a nickname. If left alive, this guy always bashed Enkrid's head from behind. Was it fate? Of course, Enkrid didn't believe in fate.

'Everything is predetermined from birth? That's bullshit.'

If the sword broke, he would use the broken blade. If there were no weapons, he would use his fists. If there were no teeth, he would use his gums. He would do anything if talent didn't suffice.

'I'll climb up like this.'

What are knights?

What is the power to change the tide of battle?

An unachievable wish becomes a delusion, but if he could get closer, that would become a dream. Enkrid never gave up on his dream.

"Hoo."

He exhaled.

Tuk.

He pulled out a dagger and drew his arm back forcefully. In the middle of the murky battlefield. He felt the weight of the dagger on his fingertips. He focused on the target, drawing an imaginary line. A throwing technique taught by a bar's knife-throwing champion one day. This, too, was practiced dozens of times by repeating today. He slightly lifted his left foot, then lowered it, rotating his waist and extending his right hand forward. Lastly, he focused on the sensation at his fingertips, adding a wrist snap.

Swoosh!

The dagger flew along the imaginary line Enkrid had drawn.

"Ouch!"

The flying dagger embedded itself in the shoulder of the clubber. The armor was poor, so it wasn't a difficult task.

"Which bastard did that?"

The enemy cursed, looking around. There was no need to make eye contact. Without an antidote, he would have to lie down quietly. Soon the enemy fell, and Enkrid calmly began searching for the second target. This time, it was the enemy who was good at throwing axes. This guy always threw axes to disrupt. Taking him out beforehand would prevent interference in the duel.

"God!"

A devout ally soldier shouted. Swearing and menacing words echoed everywhere. Enkrid walked, precisely seeking what he wanted while observing his surroundings. He blocked minor attacks with his shield. If he saw an opening, he tripped them.

He struck their heads with the flat of his sword. Those who stupidly wore helmets, he slashed from above. This made it much easier for the allies around Enkrid.

'Three throwing knives left.'

The enemy who threw axes was nowhere to be seen.

'His position changes every time.'

But this general area was correct.

'Let's start with Bell.'

He had to save the ally who might get his head pierced by that eagle-eyed guy.

'To the right from here.'

He walked, watching the allies' movements. Walking, he blocked a few attacks, then discarded the broken shield. Despite having repeated this countless times, the shield always broke.

'Around here.'

A battlefield repeated over a hundred times, even if it changed every time, some things were naturally ingrained in his eyes and body.

A rolling shield.

Enkrid stepped on the edge of the shield. The shield, wedged on a stone, shot up into the air with a thud. He caught it in a swift motion. It was closer to a trick, but after countless repetitions, it was easier than bending down to pick it up.

"...You've got skills."

A voice of an ally who happened to see it.

"Enemy behind."

A comrade who had died several times watched him, dumbfounded. He turned his body sharply. He faced an enemy charging with a spear.

"Damn, a sneaky bastard."

The two fought for their lives. The ally won. He had watched this fight about twenty times. So there was no need to see more. The battlefield was not only familiar but ingrained in his body. Enkrid mentally divided the area, drawing a map.

'Let's go to Bell first.'

He moved.

"Argh!"

Bell fell.

Thud.

An arrow-blocking shield.

"Whoa, I'm alive?"

"Don't lift your head. Crawl back. More arrows coming."

Bell followed his advice faithfully. In many of todays, the second arrow had pierced Bell's head dozens of times. Crawling back was the correct move.

"...What? Are you secretly fucking Lady Luck?"

It was Rem. Damn that was savage. He said things that would make a devout believer of the goddess flinch without a care.

"Not a scratch?"

Facing the stabbing guy in perfect condition. That was Enkrid's ultimate goal today.

"Go do your job."

"I will. But you seem different today."

"I'm a different man every day."

There wasn't a single same day among the repeated todays. Each day was a da

y of growth.

"...You should take some medicine, squad leader."

With that, Rem left.

'Was I too unlucky earlier?'

Maybe, but what could he do? The truth was the truth. Just then, Enkrid saw the guy who enjoyed throwing axes. It was an enemy with an axe dangling from his waist. What was the point in waiting?

Enkrid drew a dagger coated with poison.