Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 105: A Gamble to Win

“Catch them!”

The enemy soldiers’ cries echoed through the burrow as they took off in hot pursuit.

Encrid glanced back briefly before subtly altering his direction.

*Thud, thud.*

A cascade of dirt spilled down where he had almost passed.

It wasn’t an impending collapse—just another symbol of bad luck.

*“Or maybe today’s not so bad.”*

After all, the quarrel had only grazed his head earlier. That counted as a small victory.

The tips of spears brushed the burrow ceiling as the soldiers charged forward, their pace relentless.

Though they had just fought a battle, Encrid noted:

*“It’s not like I’m out of stamina.”*

The real issue was the lack of light.

But Finn, a ranger and a pathfinder, might as well have eyes on her soles. She wouldn’t trip over terrain in the dark.

And neither would Encrid.

He had mimicked Finn’s movements through countless repetitions. Though not perfect, he could feel the lay of the ground beneath his feet.

He’d traveled this path more times than he could count.

If he somehow tripped and smashed his face, it wouldn’t be about talent—it would mean his head was better used as a helmet stand.

Thanks to his sharp memory and experience, both he and Finn moved seamlessly through the darkness.

“Damn it,” Torres muttered, the only one struggling.

Every time his foot hit an uneven spot, he flinched, nearly losing his balance. But his athletic instincts kept him upright, and he quickly recovered each time.

The sounds of pursuit surrounded them:

*Whoosh.*

The crackle of torches.

*Scrape.*

The scrape of spear tips against the burrow ceiling.

*Huff, huff!*

The heavy breaths of a relentless chase.

Finn and Torres were nimble, but not so much that they could outrun their pursuers completely. At times, it felt like the enemy would catch up at any moment.

Then, moonlight began to filter in ahead.

The exit—the mouth of the burrow—was in sight.

Finn sprinted up the incline, tossing one of her crossbows behind her.

Encrid picked it up and hurled it back with all his strength.

The soldier closest to them raised his shield from his side to block.

*Thunk!*

The crossbow splintered on impact, sending wooden shards flying. While it slowed the soldier down slightly, it wasn’t enough to make a significant difference.

It had only been meant as a small assist for Torres, who was lagging slightly behind.

Torres glanced at Encrid and gave him a quick nod—a wordless thanks.

*“A thank you at a time like this?”* Encrid thought wryly as he climbed out of the burrow.

Finn was already outside, her feet firmly on the ground. Encrid pulled himself up, sending a small cascade of dirt down the slope as he did.

“Wait,” Torres suddenly said.

Planting a dagger in the sloped wall, he turned his body at an angle.

*“What now?”*

Torres leaned against the wall, using the dagger for balance, and hurled another dagger backward.

*Thwip!*

The dagger spun through the air.

*Thud, thud!*

Two soldiers blocked it with their shields.

“Damn bastards,” one of them snarled, their glowing eyes full of menace.

From their expression, Encrid knew that getting caught would mean a painful death. He’d been caught before, after all.

The end was never pleasant—skewered on spears or decapitated. No death was a good death.

“Crazy,” Torres muttered, impressed despite himself at how quickly the soldiers had blocked the dagger in the dim light.

Even with the moonlight and torches, such reflexes were rare.

“These guys,” Torres thought grimly, “are trained Border Guards.”

If they were caught, there’d be no escape.

Even with Encrid reaching out to help him up, Torres thought, *“This can’t end well.”*

“How many do you think we can take?” Torres asked as he grasped Encrid’s hand.

“If they come at us one by one, all of them. Together like this? Not likely,” Encrid replied with surprising calmness.

Torres noted how little tension there was in Encrid’s face.

*“Why is this guy so relaxed?”*

A soldier behind them mimicked Torres’ earlier move, hurling a short sword like a throwing knife.

*Whoosh.*

*Clang!*

Encrid deflected it mid-air with his sword. The short sword ricocheted off, embedding itself into the ground.

“Move faster,” Encrid urged, prompting Torres to scramble out of the burrow.

“Get out of the way!” Finn yelled, cranking the pulley of her remaining crossbow.

As Encrid and Torres stepped aside, she fired.

*Thwip!*

The bolt disappeared into the burrow.

There was a *thunk,* but there was no time to confirm if it had struck flesh or been blocked by a shield.

“Run,” Finn commanded, taking the lead. Encrid and Torres followed, with Torres in the middle and Encrid taking the rear.

They headed toward the campsite where the main force had once been stationed.

Finn’s mind raced as she ran. *“Where do we go?”*

To the campsite? If this was a trap, that could be a mistake.

Toward the river? That might lead them straight into Azpen rangers.

And all this noise—wouldn’t it attract monsters and beasts?

Taking on a dozen ghouls might be manageable.

But running into a colony of beasts?

Facing a colony was suicide for a small team.

Finn, familiar with the ecology of monsters and beasts, knew this all too well.

*“The worst-case scenario?”* she thought grimly.

Getting caught. Beasts and monsters could be dealt with later.

“To the campsite,” Encrid declared, ending her deliberation.

Finn glanced back to see Encrid, running steadily at the rear.

Though his breathing was heavy, his eyes and expression carried an air of calm.

*“Why?”*

Why did he seem so composed?

His mouth was closed, and he wasn’t panting like the rest of them. Even with heavier gear, including a longsword at his waist, he seemed less winded than she was.

Finn didn’t have time to question him. She simply followed his direction.

Encrid didn’t press her further.

*“It doesn’t matter where we go. Either way, this feels doomed.”*

He trusted Finn to lead them back the safest way she knew—likely the path they had come.

As they ran, retracing their steps, Encrid’s hands began to move with purpose.

Encrid unfastened his sword and scabbard from his belt, gripping the sheathed weapon as he ran.

With swift, fluid motions, he began swinging it downward toward the ground, stabbing the dirt and flicking it upward.

*Thunk, swoosh, thunk, swoosh.*

Flat stones flew into the air, launched by his movements. Using the sheathed sword like a bat, Encrid sent the stones flying behind him.

“Hah!”

More than five spearmen—among the fastest in the unit—were right on his heels.

The lead spearman sneered at the sight.

A mere pebble wouldn’t slow him down. He didn’t even bother to raise his shield, instead angling his spear forward, intent on deflecting the stone and maintaining his momentum.

*Thwack.*

The spearman believed he had succeeded—until a shadow coiled beneath the stone, hidden in its wake.

*Sssss!*

“Ack!”

A snake. A venomous serpent had been hiding under the flat stone and was now flung directly at him.

“Damn it!”

Panicked, the spearman drew his short sword and slashed at the snake.

*Swish.*

He sliced the snake in half, but not before it bit him.

One of its fangs sank deep into the exposed gap between his boot and armor, injecting venom into his shin.

Though the venom wasn’t deadly, it caused an intense burning pain and made his leg feel numb.

The soldier gritted his teeth as he stabbed the snake’s head with his dagger, ending its life.

*Thunk.*

Yellow venom mixed with blood oozed from the wound as he quickly tied a strip of cloth above his calf to slow the venom’s spread.

“Venomous snake!” he shouted, his voice laced with both fear and fury.

His steps faltered, and so did those of the other soldiers.

The sight of their comrade writhing and tying a tourniquet gave them pause.

*“Damn snakes. What kind of underhanded bastard comes up with this?”*

The injured spearman glared ahead, where Encrid was still expertly batting stones into the air with his sheathed sword.

Some stones concealed snakes, while others were harmless. But without the knowledge to discern which was which, the pursuing soldiers had no choice but to avoid or block all of them.

“This bastard,” growled the unit’s commander, narrowing his eyes.

They’d been so close to catching the wildcat of a ranger.

“Shields up! Push forward!”

It was a wise decision. With their shields raised, the soldiers could advance without worrying about the stones or the snakes.

Of course, Encrid hadn’t expected a few venomous snakes to win the fight.

*“Thanks, Enri.”*

He recalled the lesson Enri had shared about the reddish-yellow flat stones common in this area and how snakes often coiled beneath them.

It had worked better than expected. One soldier was down, and the rest had been slowed.

“Huff, huff, why the campsite?” Finn asked as she adjusted her pace to run alongside him.

Torres, equally curious, moved closer as well.

Encrid glanced back before answering.

“Because we’ll need allies to deal with their numbers.”

Finn frowned.

“Ha…ha… there’s no one left there! My squad already moved to a new location.”

Both Finn and Torres misunderstood his intent.

Feigning surprise, Encrid replied, “Even so, we can’t change direction now. We’ll use the campsite as a landmark and decide our next move from there.”

Dropping into casual speech, he moved ahead to lead them.

Finn and Torres exchanged glances, realizing there was no other option.

The sound of labored breathing and the heavy pounding of boots echoed behind them as the enemy closed the gap again.

*“How can they keep formation while running like that?”*

Finn marveled at their discipline. Such precision was rare and spoke volumes about the training of these soldiers.

“Damn… looks like we’re up against the Grey Dogs,” Finn muttered.

The Grey Dogs, known officially as the Greyhound Company, were infamous for their relentlessness.

Encrid knew them well.

The same unit had been home to Mitch Hurrier, and it was from them he had received the *Whistle Daggers*, wrapped as a gift from a half-elf.

They were a force rivaling the Border Guard in skill and reputation.

Feigning alarm, Encrid exclaimed, “What? Really?”

The casual tone in his voice was almost too composed, but neither Finn nor Torres had the mental bandwidth to dwell on it.

The stronger the enemy, the better.

At least, that was Encrid’s perspective.

Before today, there had been seventy-eight repetitions of this day, and in that time, Encrid had sharpened his instincts, honed his split-second judgment, and pried valuable information out of Roger.

Now, it was time to put all of that to use.

As the three picked up their pace, the enemy’s relentless pursuit drove their legs harder.

“Huff! Huff! Damn bastards!” Finn growled, still managing to curse even as her breath grew short.

They were nearing the campsite, but Encrid deliberately took a roundabout route.

Finn noticed but said nothing.

By all rights, she, as the ranger, should have been leading. In situations like this, it was practically a creed: the ranger always leads.

But Encrid strode ahead with a confidence that left no room for argument.

When they reached the campsite, it was as desolate as expected. The dug-out shelters had been filled in, leaving little trace.

On the far side, however, an unexpected sight awaited them.

*“Awooo!”*

A pack of lycanthropes.

“Damn it!” Finn cursed.

More than twenty were gathered in a colony, led by a dominant alpha.

*“Worst-case scenario.”*

Finn felt despair creep in.

Torres’s eyes darted around, assessing the situation.

Only Encrid remained calm, his breath steady.

*“This is the turning point.”*

Though it was a gamble, the dozens of repetitions had ensured this was no ordinary gamble—it was a gamble where he knew how to win.

Taking a deep breath, Encrid stepped forward.