Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 104: Letsha's Message

“Damn,” Finn muttered, biting her lip.

Only Encrid and Torres, who were close behind, could faintly hear her voice laced with frustration.

They hadn’t gone far after turning back, but they had already spotted a group of soldiers.

Finn leaned against a gently curving corner of the burrow, poking her head out just enough to see, then tossed her torch backward.

With a *whoosh*, the torch’s light disappeared, leaving only the dim illumination of the enemy’s torches ahead. The area around them plunged into darkness.

Torres crouched and strained his eyes toward the front. Though he couldn’t see clearly in the dark, his training prepared him for such situations, allowing him to roughly gauge the enemy’s numbers and equipment.

*“Shit, there’s a lot of them.”*

There were over twenty, at least, and their armament wasn’t trivial.

They carried crossbows as a standard, short swords at their waists, and were uniformly equipped.

What did this tell Torres?

*“They’re a trained unit.”*

Not some ragtag band of mercenaries but well-trained soldiers.

And a group of trained soldiers was far more dangerous than a pack of beasts or monsters, especially in a narrow burrow armed with crossbows.

*“We’re screwed.”*

While Torres assessed the situation, Finn deliberated.

Should they turn around completely and head for Cross Guard instead?
Was this just a blockade, or were there forces lying in wait further ahead on their original route?

Finn and Torres both teetered on the edge of panic, silently running scenarios through their minds, trying to avoid making a sound.

Suddenly, Encrid broke into a sprint, shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Messenger! I’m a messenger from Captain Roger!”

Torres froze in shock.

Finn was even more stunned, unable to react beyond a wide-eyed stare. She didn’t even manage to reach out to stop him.

*“This lunatic!”*

It was a suicidal move. Just three or four bolts from the crossbows would be enough to turn Encrid into a pincushion.

And yet, Encrid dashed forward without hesitation.

Of course, his actions had purpose. He had deliberately invoked the name “Roger,” a known commander of the spear unit, to confuse the enemy and make them hesitate.

*“If there are no openings, create one. What’s the point of a fair fight when your life is on the line?”*

It was something Jaxson had once said.

Deceiving the enemy? Why not, if necessary?

Dreaming of knighthood didn’t mean being a fool who only fought honorably.

Honor had its place, but traps, mages’ tricks, and even lycanthropes had been used against them. Fair play wasn’t part of the equation.

Besides, Encrid wasn’t just recklessly using today to deceive the enemy.

The clarity gained from relaxing his shoulders had expanded his perspective, revealing not just what he could do but also what he could gain.

From past experience, from repeated failures, from today’s constant repetitions—he had learned.

This wasn’t just about escaping today.

*“Combat against many.”*

And not just any many—trained soldiers in a no-escape situation.

This was nothing like the wide-open grasslands of the tall fields. There, he could avoid a fight.

Here, the situation was different. Spears, arrows, commanding officers, shields blocking the front, and a hail of arrows from behind—every movement risked immediate death.

Dodging one or two bolts was possible, but evading a rain of them? Impossible.

And he wasn’t some knight capable of deflecting arrows mid-air with his blade.

There was no room for extended sword training in a standoff against elite troops. The fight would be over in an instant. A single mistake meant death.

In such moments, what mattered most?

*“Split-second judgment.”*

Quick thinking to exploit fleeting openings.

Staying put wasn’t an option; within moments, the spear unit would advance, leaving no time to even burn half a candle.

So, what had to be done now?

Charge in, slit the throat of that crossbow unit’s commander, and cause chaos. Without disrupting the enemy’s bolts, tomorrow would never come.

“Captain Roger? Messenger?”

In the dim light of the burrow, it was hard to confirm faces without bringing the torches closer.

It was even harder to identify specific uniforms of the Azpen army.

Even if one among them had sharp eyes, how could they clearly examine Encrid, sprinting at full speed?

“The city! The city!” Encrid shouted, spouting any words that might sow confusion.

“Shit! Monsters!”

The eyes of the enemy commander, who had likely orchestrated the blockade, widened in alarm. Though Encrid couldn’t see his reaction, he didn’t need to.

With his target identified, Encrid charged forward.

“Wait, stop!”

Finally, a soldier at the front spoke, but it was far too late.

Creating this moment of hesitation was what all of Encrid’s antics had been leading up to.

In just a few strides, Encrid closed the distance. There wasn’t even time to catch his breath.

*Shing!*

He drew his sword, gripping it with both hands, pulling it to his right, and slashing from upper right to lower left in a horizontal sweep.

The helmets and armor worn by the two soldiers closest to him offered no protection for their necks.

*Slash!*

One clean stroke left both soldiers’ throats slit.

*Splurt!*

Blood sprayed from the wounds.

“W-what the hell!” one of the stunned soldiers exclaimed.

Before the commander could retreat, Encrid’s right hand moved.

Holding the sword steady with his left, he reached to his waist with his right, whipping it forward.

*Whistle!*

The *Whistle Dagger*, sharper and deadlier than a typical throwing knife, struck the commander’s leather helmet with a *thunk*, embedding itself halfway into his skull.

Surviving such a blow would mean he wasn’t human.

“Kill him!”

Three or four soldiers unsheathed their short swords with a metallic *clang*.

Encrid, relieved the burrow was wide enough to maneuver, unstrapped the buckler on his back and hurled it.

*Thunk!*

The circular shield flew through the air, striking a crossbow-wielding soldier in the head.

“Ugh!”

With the crossbowman temporarily incapacitated, Encrid brought his sword in front of him, deflecting the strikes of oncoming short swords with sharp movements.

*Clang! Clang!*

He used his blade defensively, more like a shield, absorbing the force of their attacks.

“Ha!”

With a sudden shout, Encrid startled the enemy, leaping aside while observing the positions of the soldiers and crossbows.

He didn’t roll aimlessly. While rolling, he grabbed an enemy soldier’s ankle and yanked it.

*Crunch!*

The ankle twisted unnaturally, and the soldier toppled over.

Encrid moved like a snake, coiling around the fallen soldier, wrapping his left arm around his neck and grabbing his wrist with his right.

The soldier dropped his short sword as his arm was twisted upward.

*Thud.*

The blade hit the dirt, its sound absorbed by the ground.

“Kuh…”

Killing this soldier wasn’t the goal. He needed him alive as a human shield.

Crossbows were deadly at range but manageable with a shield or at close quarters.

Encrid now had a “shield.”

*“This feels like the first day again,”* he thought, recalling when he had used a borrowed shield. The only difference now was that the shield was a person.

Leaning against the wall, Encrid faced his enemies. The crossbowmen hesitated. Even the short-sword-wielding soldiers faltered.

“I’m alone! Come at me, all of you! Long live Captain Roger! Azpen’s dogs! Do you even know how to use those crossbows?”

Amid the stunned silence, Encrid hurled taunts into the void.

“Come on, all of you! Can’t even handle someone like me? Is that what Captain Roger taught you?”

Encrid shouted relentlessly, his voice ringing through the burrow.

*“It’s about time they started moving.”*

The nonsense wasn’t for nothing. Even the dullest among them should have realized by now that it was time to act.

And his expectations were met.

*Thud.*

Using the Aile Carraz-style martial arts, Finn moved with precision, her motions silent as she incapacitated one soldier after another.

Darkness, torches, noise, and distraction—all of it worked to conceal her movements.

“You lunatic! Just shoot him already!” one soldier shouted.

“Hey, no! Don’t shoot!” yelled another, the one Encrid held as a shield.

The confusion only played further into their hands. The longer this dragged on, the better their chances.

Finn was surely taking down enemy soldiers one by one with silent strikes to their windpipes, while Torres was probably making quick work of them with his precise, deadly blows to their throats or heads.

Out in the open, the two of them would be at a disadvantage. But in the chaos Encrid had created, the balance of power had shifted.

Now, who had the advantage? Who was surrounding whom?

“The light shines bright, the darkness fades away! Roger! Roger!” Encrid bellowed, improvising a song to further obfuscate his comrades’ presence.

The enemy commander, already dead with a dagger lodged in his head, lay crumpled on the ground.

Two other soldiers had already fallen, their screams adding to the chaos.

The situation was a mess, and the culprit was this lone madman shouting nonsense.

*“What the hell do we do now?”*

One of the soldiers mulled over his options, wondering if it might be better to just shoot their captured comrade in the head and end the farce.

With their commander dead, there was no one to give orders.

As they hesitated, the decision was made for them.

*Twang!*

The sharp sound of a crossbow string echoed.

*Thud!*

A bolt embedded itself into the head of the soldier Encrid had been using as a shield.

*“Ah.”*

Someone had fired, unable to hold back any longer.

“Kill them,” the shooter muttered.

This was a trained unit, and they knew that prolonged chaos would only lead to disaster.

“Torches up! Behind us!” one soldier yelled.

And just like that, Finn and Torres were discovered.

They weren’t elite assassins, after all.

It was inevitable, but they’d already taken out six of the crossbowmen in the meantime.

*“Not bad.”*

After all, even in the dozens of repetitions of this day, there weren’t many where they’d managed to eliminate six.

Now it was time for the next step.

Encrid pushed the corpse of his “meat shield” forward. The body, with a bolt still quivering in its skull, toppled to the ground.

And just as it fell, Encrid struck.

Drawing the *Whistle Daggers* strapped to his waist and sides, he flung them with expert precision.

His movements were fluid, his elbow extending and wrist snapping without pause.

In mere moments, six daggers flew through the air.

*Whistle!*

The distinctive sound filled the air, followed by a series of dull *thuds.*

Six more soldiers fell.

All that remained were one crossbowman and two soldiers holding short swords in defensive stances.

It had all happened in a flash—an absolute nightmare from the enemy’s perspective.

Encrid was ready to end it when a deep voice echoed through the burrow.

“Advance!”

Roger, the spear unit commander, had arrived.

The sound of synchronized footsteps reverberated through the air as the spear unit, thirty elite soldiers strong, marched into view with torches lighting the way.

The remaining crossbowman grouped up with the other two soldiers.

Roger surveyed the scene with a calm, cold expression, showing no visible reaction to the losses his men had suffered.

For a moment, his gaze met Encrid’s. Then, it shifted to Finn.

“A wildcat like you has some real luck,” he remarked.

“It’s not luck—it’s skill, bastard,” Finn shot back, glaring daggers at him.

The two locked eyes, their mutual animosity palpable.

*Whoosh.*

The crackle of torches filled the silence in the burrow.

Encrid knew from the very first repetition of today that Finn and Roger shared some history, but he had no interest in it.

Instead, he used the brief pause to act.

*Swish.*

With a single leap, Encrid closed the gap to the clustered crossbowmen.

He drove his sword through one soldier’s neck, withdrawing it with a wet *squelch.*

*Twang.*

The sound of a crossbow firing followed immediately. Encrid ducked just in time.

*Fwoosh.*

The bolt skimmed past his hair, narrowly missing him.

*“Close one.”*

It was rare for him to have such luck, and he intended to make full use of it.

“Everything’s in plain sight,” he said as he lunged toward the crossbowman, feinting to the side at the last moment.

Instead of his initial target, he plunged his sword into another soldier’s head.

*Thwack!*

The blade cleaved halfway through the man’s skull before Encrid yanked it free and stepped back, pretending to retreat.

The remaining soldier, wide-eyed, glanced behind him, convinced there was an attacker at his back.

Encrid’s intense expression, illuminated by the torches, had planted the idea in his mind.

But all he saw when he turned was darkness—the unlit burrow and faintly falling dirt.

When he turned back, it was already too late.

*Thud.*

Encrid drove his sword into his neck, killing him instantly.

At that moment, Roger raised his voice, ready to order an all-out attack.

“Relay Letsha’s message!” Encrid shouted suddenly.

The name brought Roger up short.

The mention of Letsha—the mage at the center of everything—stopped him in his tracks.

“Run!” Encrid yelled.

“What?” Torres asked reflexively, but his body obeyed before his mind caught up.

Finn grabbed two crossbows as she dashed after Encrid without a word.

“Catch them!” Roger’s roar echoed behind them.

The spear unit wasn’t a heavy infantry division, so they were perfectly capable of pursuit. With their spears angled upward, they could run just as well as any lighter unit.

As they ran, Encrid’s mind raced with thoughts about what lay ahead.

Torres and Finn, though filled with questions about the unfolding situation, didn’t have the time—or the breath—to ask them.

Now was the time to run.