Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 102: Just Because Luck Isn’t On Your Side (4)

“What’s the most enjoyable way to die?”

Being skewered by arrows like a kebab?
Suffocating under the mage’s vines and being pierced by their thorns?
Or having your body torn apart by lycanthropes?

The ferryman, now present, spoke with a smile.

It was a laugh perceptible only because he allowed it.

Encrid found it curious. How could one describe it? It felt like someone had told him the ferryman was laughing rather than witnessing it directly.

Encrid knew the ferryman was laughing but neither saw a smile nor heard the laughter. It was just an awareness in his mind that the ferryman had laughed.

Having been asked the question, Encrid answered. He spoke toward the black river, the boat, and the ferryman, though he wasn’t sure which of the three was the true recipient.

Still, he could speak.

“Arrows were the best.”

Better than being ripped apart by lycanthropes or strangled by the mage’s vines, that was for sure.

“…Go mad. Go mad and make it entertaining for me,” the ferryman said.

Was it just his imagination, or did the ferryman momentarily lose his train of thought?

Encrid wasn’t mad—not in the slightest. He had answered calmly and simply because there was no need to hesitate.

“I was being rational,” he explained.

“You lunatic,” the ferryman spat, laughing before showing irritation.

Again, it felt like someone was narrating the ferryman’s reactions rather than experiencing them directly. Whether the ferryman was genuinely angry or just annoyed, Encrid could only perceive the latter.

And that was the end of it.

The black river darkened further, smothered in shadow.

When Encrid closed his eyes and opened them again, it was the pre-dawn hour.

Still the same day.

Encrid rose effortlessly. Neither his body nor his mind felt heavy.

Of course, the pain of being mauled by lycanthropes, his innards torn apart, lingered faintly.

“Hoo.”

He decided to let out a single breath and put it behind him. Even if he couldn’t truly forget, moving his body and swinging his sword would eventually make it bearable.

Encrid was composed in demeanor and spirit.

*Relax your shoulders.*

In the time he might have once spent desperately scheming to survive the day or escape it, Encrid was now calm, like a still lake.

He had learned something new.

*Is struggle the only answer?*

It wasn’t. Moving toward tomorrow remained unchanged, but sprinting at full speed wasn’t always the fastest path.

And speed wasn’t necessarily the most important factor.

*Three paths,* he thought.

Rising, he moved his body as usual and began to organize his thoughts.

The starting point was the ghouls.

*Even they…*

Something was off about them. They had seemed to be following orders or were a group with such experience.

*A mage must be involved.*

That mage was on a different level from the ones he had encountered before.

*Letsha of the Rose Vines.*

The name burned vividly in his memory.

Could he capture her?

There was no need to ask. He had to.

Next, his thoughts turned to the pack of lycanthropes, reviewing the events in reverse.

*This, too, was the mage’s doing.*

He was certain of it.

Scaling the fortress wall meant facing a mage.

Heading through the burrow brought them to an ambush.

At the front, elite troops armed with large shields and spears blocked the way. Behind them, an archer unit had sealed their escape.

It was a flawless trap.

*They must’ve known in advance.*

Whether through spies or some other means, the enemy had anticipated their movements.

If there was a spy, it would have been apparent during the lycanthrope attack. Information may have been leaked another way.

It was the kind of situation that would amuse the ferryman.

All three paths led to walls that couldn’t be overcome through training alone.

“Maybe it’s just bad luck,” Encrid mused.

How could he keep dying in such ways every time?

Yet…

Did bad luck change anything?

No.

Encrid remained the same—unwavering.

*Clink.*

He adjusted the strap on his sword handle, a gesture marking the beginning of another new day.

Encrid divided his morning into segments in his mind and moved accordingly.

First, isolation techniques, followed by swordsmanship drills.

Then practicing the *Hidden Knife Technique.*

“Think we can spar?” he asked Finn, continuing his training in Valaf-style martial arts.

“Why are you in such a hurry today?” Torres asked as he gathered his gear. How many knives could he possibly be hiding on his body?

Watching Torres fasten a belt lined with eight knives, Encrid replied, “I’m just doing my best every day.”

“You’ll wear yourself out.”

It wasn’t something that would wear him down.

“Shall we go, then?” Finn said after finishing a round with Encrid.

By then, Encrid’s morning training was complete.

He changed out of his sweat-drenched clothes before heading out.

As they traveled, Finn remarked on the rarity of seeing an Azpen reconnaissance unit.

Encrid had heard it before.

Pushing through the underbrush, Finn commented on a seemingly edible fruit.

“That’s poisonous.”

“Good to know,” Encrid replied immediately.

“You’re an odd one.”

“What do you mean?”

Torres chimed in, hacking at the underbrush with a dagger.

“You act like you know things. Almost like you’ve been here before.”

Was it a woman’s intuition or a ranger’s instinct?

“This is my first time.”

“Relax, just speak normally,” Torres said.

“All right,” Encrid agreed.

He half-expected Torres to repeat herself, but this time she didn’t. Finn, however, gave him a peculiar look instead.

Even in a repeating day, not every detail unfolded exactly the same. Small things changed.

Finally, they arrived at the burrow’s entrance.

“How deep is this?” Encrid asked just before they entered.

“If you walk briskly, less than an hour,” Finn replied.

“Got it.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

“Scared of the dark? Don’t worry. Big sis will hold your hand.”

“That’s not it.”

Finn chuckled and gave a brief order.

“Rangers first.”

The sloped path led down, shielded by a ridge.

As before, the same events unfolded.

Encrid didn’t warn or prepare the others. Instead, he committed everything that happened to memory.

“What do you do if you’re surrounded?”

He had never asked that question before, so he had never been taught.

But from his accumulated experience, he knew one thing: avoid being surrounded if possible.

If avoidance wasn’t an option, what then?

That was the question he needed to solve now.

Encrid was searching for an answer.

“Here they come!”

Enemies appeared—units armed with spears and shields, numbering at least two squads.

Several torches illuminated the scene.

*Screech!*

From behind, archers with short bows moved to cut off their retreat.

“There must be twenty of them back there,” Encrid estimated, turning his gaze forward to the figure who appeared to be their commander.

The enemy commander, peeking through the gap between shields, wore an iron helmet that covered his forehead and left only his eyes visible.

There was a faint but unmistakable glint of glee in his eyes—a sense of enjoyment in the situation.

“Wildcat bitch,” the commander muttered.

“Shit,” Finn cursed under her breath, glancing back and forth before pulling out a dagger and gripping it in reverse. She crouched, raising her left hand defensively in front of her face while keeping her right hand tucked back, hiding the knife from view.

The stance made her resemble a wildcat concealing its claws.

Torres, meanwhile, moved quietly along the shadows cast by the torches. But some of the soldiers wielding short bows shifted their gaze to follow her movements.

*Their eyes are sharp.*

These were well-trained troops. As expected.

Falling into this trap would mean the end. Without the skills of a knight-level combatant, escape was impossible.

Finn and Torres were formidable fighters, but this battlefield was against them.

If not for the narrow burrow…
If not for being blocked at both ends…

*Maybe we’d stand a chance.*

But no. They could resist, but death would be inevitable.

Just as the commander was about to shout an order, Encrid stepped forward, raising his open left hand. He hadn’t drawn his sword, signaling that he had no intention to fight.

“They’re not likely to be the negotiating type,” Torres murmured, while Finn’s eyes remained fixed ahead, brimming with hostility.

“What do you want?” the commander asked, his tone leisurely, confident in his perceived victory.

Encrid needed to close the distance. Torres was right; they weren’t here to negotiate. He just needed a brief window to confirm something before the battle began.

Step by step, he moved forward, hands raised to show he wasn’t a threat. As he approached, he studied the enemy’s gear and clothing under the torchlight.

*Dust.*

Their equipment was coated with a layer of dust. This burrow was roughly an hour-long walk. There was no way so much dust had accumulated in a single day.

*They haven’t been here just for today.*

His question, then, was merely for confirmation.

“How many days have you been waiting here?”

“…What?” The commander’s voice faltered, a note of surprise betraying his unease.

That reaction was answer enough.

*They didn’t wait here on certainty.*

What was it, then, that had them lying in wait for so long? Encrid was curious, though results mattered more than his curiosity.

“It’s impressive how well you’ve hidden your presence,” Encrid remarked. Every word he spoke was calculated to probe the enemy.

The commander, of course, didn’t realize this.

“You bastard. Who are you? Are you a mage too?”

So, even here, a mage might be involved.

Who was this Letsha of the Rose Vines?

“Letsha,” Encrid said aloud, taking his probing one step further.

“Shit, I don’t know what you’re on about, but die already,” the commander spat.

That was as far as the exchange went.

The soldiers charged, arrows and spears aimed at Encrid, Finn, and Torres. The commander gave orders with a wave of his hand and retreated to safety.

Finn, glaring at the commander, clearly wanted to kill him. But she lacked the means to break through the wall of shields and spears blocking the way.

This terrain limited her strengths, reducing her to an average soldier’s performance.

Torres was different.

Kicking off the wall, he moved unpredictably, slipping out of his enemy’s expectations before flicking his hands.

Four throwing knives flew from his grip.

Even Encrid, watching closely, couldn’t track their trajectory.

It was one of Torres’ hidden techniques, but…

*Thud, thud, thud.*

The knives struck thick leather shields that covered the enemies head to toe.

*He’d have been better off aiming for their toes.*

This was the limit.

There was no answer to this wall, so Encrid decided to execute his plan instead.

Fighting against a group of well-trained elite soldiers—
An entire unit—
Was a novel experience for him.

When had he ever faced weaker opponents ganging up on him?

His skills had never been enough to warrant such attention.

But his swordsmanship had evolved.

He had slain the stabbing maniac and cut down Mitchew Hurier. He had even fended off assassins who came for his life.

But this… this was different.

A small force taking on a well-coordinated military unit.

On a battlefield, he could have relied on nearby allies. Here, there was no such advantage.

*If that’s the case…*

Couldn’t this be an opportunity to improve his skills instead?

With that thought in mind—

“This is fun,” he muttered.

“You lunatic,” one of the spearmen hissed, plunging his weapon down at Encrid.

Moments before his death, smiling with blood dripping from his mouth and muttering about fun, Encrid surely seemed insane.

But he didn’t care.

His mind was filled with ideas to test.

*A single point of focus and precise blade work won’t work.*

Narrowing one’s focus against numerous enemies was a death sentence.

Against ghouls or wolf-beasts, using a heavy sword style to slash and crush had been effective.

*Not here.*

These weren’t mindless beasts but an organized military force using strategy and tactics.

He thought calmly, as usual. The only difference was the lightness in his shoulders.

Days were spent attempting to breach the burrow, only to fail and climb the fortress wall instead, where he confronted Letsha’s vines.

When the vines proved impassable, he danced with the lycanthropes under the moonlight.

The dance always ended in death.

But Encrid wasn’t impatient.

He had resolved to give his best at every moment.

Letting go of tension didn’t mean wasting the day.

—

After forty-two repetitions, he mastered the *Hidden Knife Technique.*

“How is that even possible?” Torres asked, wide-eyed.

It was as if Encrid had copied his secret skill in a single day.

“Just lucky,” Encrid replied—a weak excuse, but Torres had no retort.

“In one day?” was all he could mutter.

Realizing there was no need to show off the technique further, Encrid spared Torres from witnessing his progress.

Instead, he quietly refined it alone, continuing to repeat the day.

Through dozens more repetitions, he perfected Valaf-style martial arts through sparring with Finn, who had mastered the Aile Carraz style.

Eventually, through relentless repetition, he mastered not just the *Hidden Knife Technique* and Valaf-style martial arts but also scaling the fortress, countering the mage, and combating packs of lycanthropes to hone his swordsmanship.

*Everything.*

He no longer needed to repeat.

Now, it was time to move past today and step into tomorrow.