Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 1: My Dream Was to Be a Knight

Encrid’s teacher, who taught him how to wield a sword, had a pretty good temperament and rarely spoke harshly.

“You.”

The teacher stood the sword, still sheathed, vertically on the ground, leaned on it, and called Encrid.

“Go back to the village. If you don’t like farming, join the village watch. You could easily become the captain.”

Had he listened to his teacher, who had tasted the life of a soldier, things might have been different.

But he didn’t.

The problem started with something he heard when he was young.

“Enki, you’re a genius.”

At eleven, he effortlessly beat an older village boy with a wooden sword.

That was the first time he heard he was a genius.

He didn’t realize then that the boy was terrible at sword fighting.

At fifteen, Encrid defeated a village elder with a wooden sword.

This boosted his confidence.

No one in his small village knew how to properly wield a sword.

The closest was a third-rate mercenary.

A drifter who had lost a leg and wandered into the village.

He taught the village children how to fight with a sword.

Encrid was among them.

“You’re a genius.”

He heard it for the second time at fifteen.

The first time was from an ignorant villager, but this time it was from a mercenary who had lost his knighthood and his leg for a lady.

‘I must be a genius.’

So he thought.

He dreamed of becoming a knight.

A knight who would serve a lord to unify the war-torn continent.

A knight who would put an end to the war.

Around this time, a bard’s song spread across the continent.

Even reaching Encrid’s small village.

The content was simple, but the melody captivated and the final verse stirred the heart.

*A knight to end this war!*

*A knight to bring twilight to the war!*

*We shall call him the Knight of Twilight!*

*The Knight of the End! The knight to end the war!*

The bard’s song set the hearts of boys and girls on fire.

‘That’s me.’

Encrid felt the same.

At eighteen, Velieving no one in his village could match him, Encrid left.

He had no parents, no siblings.

He had a few friends, but there were few who could be close to Encrid, who had been obsessed with swords since childhood.

He grew up and left in that environment.

Thus began his life as a mercenary.

His skills weren’t bad, especially his dedication.

But it took only two months for him to realize he wasn’t a genius.

He was defeated by a nameless, third-rate mercenary.

“Not fully baked.”

He was told.

He thought a good teacher would be enough.

He saved money, fought bandits with half his life on the line.

With the money he earned, he found a training school.

There were a few swordsmanship schools in the big cities.

He learned the sword.

He wasn’t unlucky.

The teacher was honest and ethical.

He told Encrid to give up the sword.

“No, I won’t.”

Encrid didn’t give up.

“You’re very diligent. Very.”

Everyone who saw Encrid said the same thing.

And so they should have.

Effort didn’t betray.

His palms burst, his arm muscles trembled.

He repeated endlessly.

Among those gathered, he was exceptional.

After wandering from one training school to another, he turned twenty.

By twenty-five, he had gained experience and skill and made a name for himself as a mercenary.

Though it was a name that took a few tries to recall, “Ah, that guy, he’s good with a sword.”

Even then, he had a glimmer of hope.

Hope that he could get better.

Thus at twenty-seven, in the spring.

Encrid realized his talents were nothing special.

A random quarrel made him realize that.

After five exchanges, the sword in his hand flew away and a hole appeared in his stomach. He held the hole with his hand and asked,

“How old are you?”

“Twelve.”

Twelve. It was unVelievable.

That’s a real genius.

“Sorry, it was my first real fight.”

The boy said. Not a noble, not even a commoner, but a serf.

He had only held a sword for half a year.

“I was too harsh. Here’s something for your treatment.”

The boy’s teacher tossed a money pouch.

It wasn’t a fatal wound.

No internal organs were damaged, it wasn’t very deep.

Still, he took the pouch.

From eleven until now, for sixteen years, he swung the sword until his palms burst.

But he lost to a twelve-year-old who had trained for six months.

It would be a lie to say he wasn’t depressed.

But he didn’t live with dark, gloomy feelings.

There was no reason to live so miserably.

‘It’s not like I lost a limb.’

Encrid knew he wasn’t a genius, but that didn’t mean he had to give up.

So he continued his life as a swordsman.

Almost ten years as a mercenary.

He couldn’t become an outstanding knight or swordsman, but he could be a seasoned soldier.

Encrid quit mercenary life and joined the army. This was the best choice for him.

He couldn’t start farming now.

A third-rate swordsman from a mercenary background, an apt description.

“Do you think the army is a joke? You think they take anyone?”

Some sneered.

“Hang in there.”

Some patted him on the shoulder.

He was sometimes acknowledged, sometimes not.

At thirty.

The Kingdom of Naurilia, Cypress Division.

4th Regiment, 4th Battalion, 4th Company, 4th Platoon.

Known as the Four-Four Platoon.

Encrid Velonged there.

Directly Velow the platoon leader, Encrid was a squad leader.

*Clang, clang, clang.*

The night watch banged on metal, waking the entire barracks.

“…What a horribly restless dream.”

Encrid muttered as he woke up.

“What kind of dream?”

His subordinate, who had been sleeping on a field bed made of stacked cloths, asked as he shoved his feet into his boots.

Despite his nonchalant attitude, he was more skilled than Encrid.

“My life.”

“Gloomy. Ugh, a bug.”

Finding a bug in his boot, the subordinate shook it out, spat on it, and crushed it with his foot.

Seeing that, Encrid also got up and prepared his gear.

A breastplate with a throwing knife near the heart, arm guards, and shin guards.

He wore thick padded underclothes and layered leather armor over them.

The leather armor was several layers thick but not particularly sturdy.

A well-sharpened blade could easily cut through it.

The arm guards reinforced with oiled wood were slightly better than others.

“I heard the previous squad leader had such a dream before he died.”

Encrid recalled hearing such a rumor and muttered.

“Are you going to die today?”

His subordinate laughed, and Encrid smacked the back of his head.

“I won’t die. Don’t jinx it.”

He got up, poured water into a pot, threw in a few pieces of jerky, added some edible vegetables, and boiled it.

That was breakfast.

“Is there a battle plan today?”

His subordinate asked, and Encrid shook his head.

“Don’t know.”

He was just a squad leader.

Above the four squad leaders was the platoon leader.

Even the platoon leader probably didn’t know.

Encrid’s sword skills were average, and he wasn’t a noble, so he remained a squad leader, but his battlefield experience was greater than many company commanders.

Because of this, his subordinates respected him.

“So what was your dream when you were young?”

His subordinate approached and asked.

“A knight.”

“…Would you hit me if I laugh?”

“I won’t.”

“Pff.”

“Are you laughing at me? You brat.”

He kicked his subordinate’s butt.

“I mean, a knight.”

What is a knight?

Someone who changes the tide of battle.

A monster who can face a thousand men alone.

A hero who can cut down hundreds of enemies alone.

Even the division they Velonged to was named after a knight.

The Cypress Division, named after Sir Cypress.

Wanting to be a knight was absurd.

“Dreams should be grand, though.”

“Dreams are supposed to be grand, you idiot.”

Encrid casually collected the bowls.

He was on dishwashing duty today.

Other squads might be different, but in Encrid’s squad, chores were shared equally.

A squad leader only received and conveyed orders.

Usually, the best swordsman in the squad became the squad leader.

In that sense, Encrid was special.

His fighting ability was weaker than the others.

But he could unite those who had been practically expelled from other squads.

Other squads referred to Encrid’s squad as the “Four-Four-Four Squad.”

The troublemakers of the Four-Four Platoon.

Encrid was the leader of such a squad.

“I’ll help.”

“Then shut up and follow me.”

“Sure.”

His subordinate chuckled.

How did this guy end up here?

He was unique, but Encrid wasn’t interested in his subordinate’s personal history.

So he didn’t ask.

The subordinates liked Encrid’s attitude.

He didn’t ask about their past or pry into their present.

Nor did he have special demands.

Maybe that’s why all his squad members followed him.

While clattering the dishes in the stream, his subordinate splashed water and asked,

“Why did you want to be a knight?”

He came to help but was just playing in the water.

Would he laugh if Encrid said it was because of a bard’s song?

After thinking for a moment, Encrid answered.

“I wanted to be good with a sword and thought it would be great to be a knight.”

“You’ve got a boy’s heart.”

His subordinate chuckled again.

“Shut that mouth of yours.”

“Is that why you practiced with a sword morning and night?”

“Effort doesn’t betray.”

His palms were covered with calluses from swinging the sword endlessly.

“So even now?”

Do you still want to be a knight?

How could he? He knew it was impossible.

But he didn’t give up.

He just endured and moved forward.

Encrid wasn’t unaware of reality.

But his dream was silent in the face of reality, and the silent Encrid became a soldier who made a living by the sword.

“If you’re done, let’s go.”

“Sure.”

A pointless conversation.

He stood up and returned to the barracks.

Whether they would engage in battle with the kingdom they were skirmishing with.

Or attack the bandits targeting their supplies.

He didn’t know.

“The air is heavy.”

The air of the battlefield always felt like that.

But today felt more so.

The waiting time was long.

With nothing else to do, he thought of practicing with his sword but took a nap instead.

Some days, you just don’t want to do anything.

“It’s not as easy as it used to be.”

He had put in endless effort.

This was the result.

A third-rate mercenary squad leader.

When the sun had moved from the zenith to two hands west, the platoon leader shouted.

“Four-Four Company, all assemble.”

It was a battle.

The company gathered to form a unit of the army.

Encrid’s squad was no exception.

A chilling tension wrapped around his body.

Encrid clutched the amulet around his neck, a memento from his mercenary days, and stuffed it back inside his clothes.

“Does this save lives?”

It was nonsense, but soldiers on the battlefield were often superstitious.

If asked if he Velieved in the amulet, Encrid would have probably said no.

He was just moved by the old woman’s earnest eyes and desperate tone when she gave it to him.

“Nothing to lose.”

The only reward for risking his life was this amulet.

Half the time, luck was on his side, but if not, he would have died.

It had been a tough monster hunt.

But it was a poor farming village.

They couldn’t offer money.

They had begged Encrid to deal with the monster as he passed by.

“It’s ridiculous.”

Risking his life out of sympathy was crazy.

But Encrid didn’t regret it.

That’s what knights did.

Even if dreams were silent in the face of reality, traces remained.

He wanted to be a knight.

A war hero.

But now, he was just a soldier.

*Waaah!*

A roar erupted.

Encrid joined in, shouting at the top of his lungs.

The army surged forward.

The setting sun cast long shadows.

Breaking through the twilight light, the two armies clashed.

Encrid charged as well.

“Let’s fight and stay alive!”

His always-smiling subordinate shouted and rushed ahead.

Soon, the spears and swords of enemies and allies began to tear into flesh and spill blood.

Today’s battle was a close combat fight.