Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 108: It Was a Gamble

“I think this will work.”

Standing before the wall, Finn could tell that the guards were far less alert than before. While she hadn’t unlocked the Gate of the Sixth Sense, her instincts as a ranger and pathfinder gave her confidence.

Following her, Torres briefly doubted their plan but shook his head at his own hesitation.

‘This isn’t the time for second-guessing.’

Once the decision was made, it had to be carried through.

He, too, was a member of the Border Guard, a highly-ranked soldier in Naurilia’s tiered military system. While not invincible, he was capable of taking on two or three enemies by himself—valuable in situations like this.

As for Encrid—

“I’ll go first.”

Without hesitation, he began climbing, slipping his hands into cracks in the wall and pulling himself upward.

He’d already removed his battered gambeson. While he’d used some throwing weapons, the longsword at his waist remained secured, rattling faintly as he moved.

“…What is *with* this guy?” Finn muttered.

She was a ranger, yet Encrid climbed the wall more skillfully than she did. Her exclamation felt justified.

“I don’t know,” Torres replied. “I thought I understood him a bit before, but now…”

“What?”

“I don’t get him at all anymore.”

“Whatever, just follow.”

Encrid’s climbing speed was astonishing—a masterpiece of efficiency. His movements were so fluid they could put a monkey to shame.

He scaled the wall without hesitation, his hands and feet moving with practiced ease.

Finn followed him, though with less equipment than she would have preferred. She had only two pitons, which she hammered into the wall for support.

Looking down, she saw Torres trailing behind, struggling slightly but keeping pace. He was naturally athletic, after all.

‘And him?’

Finn turned her gaze upward again.

Encrid was nearly at the top. Just below the parapet, he stopped, crouching low.

The parapet was thick and tall—designed for defense. It wasn’t easy to climb over barehanded, especially not without the right equipment or a lot of skill.

‘Can he not make it over?’

That seemed unlikely.

Finn herself could manage by hooking her fingers on the edge, pulling up her torso, and swinging her lower body over. If necessary, she could use the small grappling hook she carried to make it even easier.

Once over, she could pull her comrades up one by one.

But Encrid didn’t seem to have stopped because he couldn’t climb further. He didn’t look tired, either.

Instead, he glanced down and waved a simple hand signal.

[Guards.]

Finn paused. There were people on the other side of the wall.

She hadn’t noticed any sounds or movements herself.

‘Is he more perceptive than me, a ranger?’

In truth, Encrid hadn’t detected anything either. His knowledge came from experience—accumulated through countless repetitions of today.

Hanging just below the parapet, he reflected.

‘What tricks are they pulling?’

The suppression of their sixth sense was something he hadn’t been able to decipher, even after many iterations.

There was certainly some kind of magical manipulation at play.

Otherwise, the enemy wouldn’t have been able to maintain such tranquility.

In the tunnel, he had sensed danger the moment they’d entered, but by then it had been too late.

As for the Lycans, their presence near the Cross Guard was no surprise, given the area’s history of monster activity.

But to not sense hidden forces on the wall?

It had to be some kind of trick.

By the sixtieth iteration of today, Encrid had given up trying to figure it out.

‘Let it go.’

There were more pressing matters than uncovering a mage’s tricks. His ultimate goal was clear.

Survive today.

Train during the time it allowed.

Forge his path forward with his sword as a guide.

What did it matter if he didn’t understand? It made no difference.

From experience, he already knew—

‘This should be the right spot.’

Encrid began shifting along the wall, moving sideways below the parapet.

To hang on, there had to be cracks or gaps in the wall.

The walls of Cross Guard, built to defend against both ordinary monsters and monster colonies, were scarred in many places.

Though repairs had been made, there were still plenty of crevices.

Hooking his fingers and toes into the cracks, Encrid moved with little difficulty.

As he edged along, he mentally reconstructed the layout of the wall.

When he had first arrived here, he could only guess and predict. But now, he could pinpoint the position of Letsha, the mage.

No—he was certain.

This arrogant mage had never moved from her spot in any of the repeated iterations.

Once in position, Encrid sent another hand signal.

[You go first.]

Finn and Torres, catching the signal, began moving. Finn went first, followed by Torres.

Finn reached down to help Torres up.

Once they were both over—

*Woosh!*

Flames illuminated the top of the wall. Dozens of torches flared to life simultaneously.

It was a sight Encrid had seen before.

“How did you get here? I clearly set my children loose,” a voice said.

Letsha.

Just as he expected, she stood just beyond the wall.

Though she didn’t know who he was, Encrid knew her location—and that was his advantage.

He knew her name, her spells, and her tendencies.

“Damn it,” Torres cursed.

“She’s real,” Finn murmured.

Encrid reached up, gripping the edge of the parapet with his fingertips.

With just one arm, he pulled himself up.

His comrades had often marveled at his strength, and thanks to the Isolation Technique, his body felt lighter and more agile.

He lifted his head above the parapet and swung his body forward in a fluid roll.

Such a feat would have been impossible for the old Encrid. But countless repetitions of today, combined with his training, had honed his movements.

He landed softly on the ground beyond the wall, crouching to absorb the impact.

*Thud.*

The ground reverberated faintly. Ahead of him stood Letsha, her eyes wide in shock.

“You—” she began.

But before she could finish, Encrid moved.

*Whistle!*

A Whistle Dagger flew through the air.

Letsha was surprised but not panicked. She trusted in the invisible barrier she had summoned—a magical shield capable of stopping even close-range bolts.

She waited for the dagger to strike her barrier.

But it never came.

Encrid hadn’t aimed at her.

Instead, the dagger targeted four soldiers armed with crossbows behind her.

*Thud. Thud. Thud.*

The dagger hit its mark perfectly, taking down all four soldiers. Letsha had barely begun to react when they collapsed.

“Ah!”

A strange sound escaped her lips as thorned vines shot up from the ground, bending and lashing toward Encrid.

*Now the fight begins.*

“Focus on the soldiers!” Encrid shouted as he drew his sword.

*Schring!*

The blade gleamed as he swung it.

His head burned with the intensity of his concentration.

‘Slice the thin ones, deflect the thick ones.’

Encrid moved using the principles of light-sword style rather than heavy-sword style.

He had never formally studied it.

“It’s good to at least know the basics of other sword styles. Relying solely on heavy-sword techniques is foolish. You need to understand your opponent’s swordsmanship to counter and fight effectively.”

Those were the words of Ragna, who was usually lazy and only showed some enthusiasm when teaching Encrid. On rare occasions, however, he displayed bursts of passion—this had been one of those moments.

Since then, Encrid had learned the fundamental principles of various sword styles.

And now, he had practiced against Letsha’s vines more than seventy times.

The repetition of over seventy iterations of today finally bore fruit for him.

Thin vines were cut.

Thicker ones were deflected.

*Slash! Crack! Whump.*

Some of the vines were as thick as a forearm and struck with the force of a club. Encrid blocked these with the flat of his blade, lowered his stance, and redirected the force upward.

It was the essence of light-sword style.

“You bastard!” Letsha snarled in fury. Her pride was wounded—how could a mere swordsman evade her vines?

Her hands moved, summoning more vines. Thorny spears and whip-like tendrils lashed toward Encrid.

But Encrid didn’t rely on vague feelings or instincts.

Instead, he focused his eyes, concentrating intensely. It felt as if all his focus was centered in his burning gaze.

In this state, everything became visible.

It was as though time slowed, every movement of the vines appearing deliberate and clear.

He repeated the same actions over and over:

Parry with his sword, strike, redirect, slash.

Instinct? He discarded it.

Sixth sense? Not needed right now.

There was no need to rely on feelings.

He could see. He could strike. He could evade.

As he deflected two waves of vine attacks, the screams of soldiers echoed nearby.

It was the sound of dying men—evidence that Torres and Finn were holding their own.

Particularly Torres, who excelled when others distracted the enemy’s attention. Encrid had seen his skill with daggers firsthand.

“Fine, I’ll make you dance until your death,” Letsha growled, her anger seething but contained.

Her snake-like eyes glared directly at Encrid.

He ignored her.

He had seen those eyes countless times before.

The Heart of the Beast thudded in his chest as though speaking to him.

No, it wasn’t the Heart—it was Rem’s voice he seemed to hear.

“If you’re gonna get done in by that, you might as well rip that heart out.”

‘Don’t worry, you lunatic—I won’t fall for something like that,’ Encrid thought.

Seeing her intimidation fail, Letsha’s vines grew sharper, swifter.

*Whoosh.*

The tendrils thinned and accelerated.

*Zing!*

Until now, Letsha’s vines had mainly been shaped as spears or whips.

But when cornered, she shifted to arrow-like projectiles.

Though not true arrows, their thinness and sharp velocity mimicked them closely.

Could a human block a rain of arrows?

*No.*

Unless they were a knight, it was impossible.

But if they had to?

If the moment came when they must deflect the volley?

When evasion was no longer an option?

*What else?*

They would brace for death and face it head-on.

That was Encrid.

Call it military spirit, or infantry mentality.

No—it was simply who Encrid was.

He didn’t give up. He didn’t regret.

He had staked his entire life on the path forward.

Gripping his sword tightly in both hands, Encrid concentrated despite the burning pain in his eyes.

‘Connect the dots.’

Using those connections as a basis, he deflected everything.

The thin, arrow-like vines surged upward from below, pouring in from all directions.

The moment Encrid counted more than ten, he gave up keeping track.

He dispersed his focus outward, using the skill he had honed between the Lycans and the Gray Wolf soldiers: *scattering concentration.*

This allowed him to evade anything entering his range.

From the fight in the tunnel, he had also learned the value of split-second decision-making.

Instant reactions, without hesitation.

Encrid combined these two lessons and acted.

*Slash! Rip!*

In an instant, the vines in front of him shredded into pieces, spraying green fluid in every direction.

Letsha’s forehead veins bulged, and her eyes turned bloodshot.

The vines didn’t stop.

Nor did Encrid’s sword.

Nearby, Finn and Torres occasionally glanced toward the battle. It felt inadequate to describe Encrid as simply *skilled* anymore.

As Torres stood behind a soldier and slit his throat—

*Thunk!*

A crossbow bolt embedded itself into the stomach of the soldier Torres had just killed.

“Why not aim properly?” Torres muttered.

*Crack! Screech!*

The screams came from another side of the battlefield.

It was Finn’s work. Like a snake slithering across the ground, she moved with deadly precision, breaking a soldier’s leg in an unnatural direction. The man foamed at the mouth as he collapsed.

Finn didn’t stop moving.

Stopping would have meant getting skewered by a crossbow bolt.

Meanwhile, Encrid and Letsha’s battle raged on.

No one dared approach them.

The sharp, needle-like thorned vines shot out and occasionally ricocheted, striking the surrounding walls.

Those who didn’t want to die at the hands of their allied mage kept their distance.

This gave Torres and Finn a moment to catch their breath.

Seeing the holes the thorns punched into the walls, Torres himself had no desire to get closer.

‘Will killing all the soldiers even solve this?’

And then he realized.

The outcome of this battle hinged on those two.

If Letsha won?

Torres and Finn were as good as dead.

But how much longer could Encrid last?

Even to Torres and Finn, it was clear that Encrid was on the brink. Some of the vines he had been dodging were now grazing him.

As if on cue—

“Did you trust that scrap of leather you’re wearing to protect you?” Letsha taunted. Her tone was calm, confident—assured of victory.

‘This is bad,’ Torres thought.

And he was right.

Encrid was reaching his limit.

But that was precisely what he had been waiting for.

At the moment Letsha felt victory was within her grasp—

While Torres, Finn, and the remaining soldiers kept their focus on the battle—

Encrid made his move.

Releasing his sword from his right hand, he shifted it entirely to his left.

It was his gamble.