Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 113: So, You’re Here.

“Done with today’s quota.”

It was the third day of deployment.

The fighting began with a skirmish that escalated into a full melee.

Rem had been on the battlefield for all three days and returned in the same condition each time: covered in blood, his twin axes dripping as he flicked the mess onto the ground.

Every time Rem went out, he killed exactly three enemies. His ferocious axe strikes reduced them to something resembling firewood.

Living firewood, splitting open to spill brains and guts instead of sap.

At the moment of engagement, when friend and foe first clashed, he swiftly swung, chopped, and crushed skulls before returning.

Watching him in action would make any commander worth their salt salivate.

Any officer with an eye for talent would be reluctant to lose a soldier like him.

And Rem wasn’t the only one of his kind.

“I can manage alone. Why do they keep pairing me with soldiers?”

This indifferent complaint came from Ragna, another soldier.

At first glance, Ragna didn’t stand out at all.

He appeared to merely survive the battlefield, putting in minimal effort. If no one challenged him, he wouldn’t risk his life to fight.

“Such wasted talent,” the Elf Commander had thought.

Initially, she let him be.

Then one day, Ragna got lost during a march to the battlefield.

“How do you get lost here?”

Perhaps he had wandered around a mountain range or secretly crossed a river to assault the enemy’s headquarters.

Whatever it was, he managed to force the enemy’s main force into retreat.

It seemed like a mistake, as if Ragna had accidentally strayed into enemy territory—a death sentence, surely.

But Ragna returned unharmed.

And he came back holding the enemy commander’s severed head.

“Oh, I just felt like taking the left path.”

That’s all he said upon returning, with the head dangling from his fingertips.

“You got lost?” the Elf Commander asked.

Ragna nodded.

And that was the end of it.

She had no intention of forcing anything from these soldiers—conditions had been clear when they joined.

“Fill in for your platoon leader.”

To these soldiers, the name Encrid was synonymous with “miracle.”

“Wait, they send us here and now expect us to cover for him?”

“If you slack off, it’ll seem like Encrid ordered it. Do you want to drag him down?”

With just a few words, the soldiers who had initially scoffed at deployment quietly packed their gear.

“I’ll kill three a day, no more, no less.”

That was Rem.

“Fine, let’s do this.”

That was Ragna.

Jaxson simply nodded in silence.

“By the call of the divine,” said Audin, the devout zealot.

As for Andrew, Mack, and Enri—they obeyed orders without question.

Krys, however, had conveniently taken leave and disappeared.

Andrew, with a bruised eye, seemed almost eager to head to the battlefield. Next to him, Mack, sporting a matching bruise on the opposite eye, looked equally enthusiastic.

“Battle! Combat! Deployment!”

They openly celebrated the company commander’s orders.

“Happy about this? You shouldn’t be,” Rem chuckled darkly. The Elf Commander momentarily thought she saw a demon flash across his face, but it disappeared with a blink.

These were the soldiers she had assembled.

Jaxson and Audin were equally formidable.

Jaxson fought just enough to appear earnest, yet the enemies before him never managed to land a single hit.

“Why can’t I hit him? Huff… Just you wait!” one enemy shouted in frustration, but Jaxson didn’t even bother to respond, treating the remark like a barking dog.

He often returned from battle unscathed, having neither killed nor been killed.

Audin, on the other hand, had gone to the battlefield only once but made an unforgettable impression.

He had appeared and snapped an enemy’s forearm barehanded.

Even allies who witnessed the scene felt their hair stand on end.

Breaking a bone? Not remarkable.

But doing so by carefully gripping the enemy’s wrist and snapping it like a twig? That was something else.

“Don’t come near me! Stay back!”

How must that have looked to the enemy?

Even his allies found it unsettling.

Audin’s mere presence drew all eyes. Though smaller than giants, his towering frame and broad shoulders made him stand out among regular soldiers.

How could he not draw attention?

“Less than ten soldiers, yet the combat capability…”

It felt like having ten versions of himself.

Calling them exceptional was an understatement.

Properly utilized, they could harass the enemy far beyond their apparent strength.

“This is why,” the Elf Commander thought.

This was why they survived despite all the chaos and mischief they’d caused.

As the one who had brought them together, she felt responsible for keeping an eye on them.

This was the level of combat they allowed themselves.

But what happened if someone demanded more than they permitted?

“Why are you retreating? Stand your ground!”

A newly assigned platoon leader, unaware of their reputation, tried to command them.

He didn’t know about the infamous independent platoon, the notorious Rem, or the zealot Audin who could separate flesh from bone with divine justification.

Nor about the silent, deadly Jaxson, or Ragna, who rarely stirred unless provoked.

Andrew stepped forward to face the oblivious platoon leader.

Rem was already visibly irritated.

“If I leave this alone, there’ll be blood,” Andrew thought.

And that was the best-case scenario. Rem might very well cleave the man’s skull with his axe.

“We’re part of the independent platoon. Our orders come directly from our superior,” Andrew said, delivering a textbook response.

“What? So you’ll just sit back and watch?”

The new platoon leader couldn’t accept this. Fight halfheartedly, retreat, and laze around in camp while others risk their lives?

Was everyone insane?

Independent platoon or not, he couldn’t tolerate this behavior as a superior officer.

Andrew saw his old self in the man—ignorant and foolish.

“Sigh.”

Andrew exhaled, looked to the sky, and then back at the man. His expression was calm, resigned—like a man letting go.

“My name is Andrew Gardner, firstborn of the Gardner family. This is a noble unit. Just leave us alone.”

The words were hollow. His expression wasn’t arrogant or noble; it simply reflected defeat.

Mack silently approached and gave Andrew a reassuring pat on the back.

“Does being a noble make you untouchable?” the platoon leader retorted, his voice shaking in the tense atmosphere.

“Guess I’ll have to see your guts,” Rem growled.

Before Rem could act, Andrew challenged the platoon leader to a duel. Andrew beat him down, sparing him from Rem’s wrath.

Of course, Andrew himself took quite a beating in the process.

“This is the army, noble or not,” the Elf Commander chided Andrew.

“I’ll reflect on my actions,” Andrew replied, though the commander patted his shoulder in reassurance—words scolding him, gestures comforting him.

Andrew had become the key reason the independent platoon—now known as the “Mad Platoon”—managed to avoid chaos.

He often served as Rem’s sparring partner, quelling the man’s bloodlust, and dealt with clueless troublemakers.

Thanks to this, morale in the unit was a mess.

Part of that was due to the Mad Platoon.

But there were other factors at play.

Currently, the First Infantry Division of Border Guard was stationed northeast of the fortress.

To their left was the Pen-Hanil River. To their right, a few hills dotted with gravel lay just a day’s march away.

Green Pearl Plains was where the main forces and knight orders clashed with the enemy’s core troops.

The Border Guard’s role was to hold the enemy at bay, preventing flanking maneuvers or special force incursions.

In essence, they were a defensive wall.

The fate of their unit depended on the main force’s success.

Should the main force gain an advantage, knights could sweep in to crush the enemy.

If not, they might face the enemy’s knights without their own.

At first, this had been the case.

But as both sides grew cautious, the current battlefield became a skirmish and vanguard testing ground.

With equivalent forces—infantry divisions and independent companies—both main forces stayed on the plains, watching this front.

So far, Naurilia’s forces had been pushed back repeatedly.

Rumors spoke of giant soldiers among the enemy.

Others mentioned enemy soldiers boasting of their prowess, daring anyone stronger to challenge them.

These factors eroded morale.

In such circumstances, a variable was needed—a spark to turn the tide.

And the variable was obvious to the battalion commander.

The Mad Platoon, undeniably the most conspicuous group.

“They just need to fight properly. Do they have any conditions? If I push too hard, they might rebel outright.”

The battalion commander was shrewd, understanding the state of the Mad Platoon at a glance.

Though the Elf Commander had managed to bring them in, they were still an untamed force.

If necessary, he could suppress them with power, but now wasn’t the time.

“Not when we haven’t lost yet.”

“Their platoon leader is necessary,” said the Elf Commander.

The battalion commander, Marcus, was a battle maniac but no fool. He understood that persuading soldiers reasonably rather than forcing them into submission would significantly boost their morale.

“Bring him in,” he ordered.

That was the end of the conversation. The company commander saluted and left to fulfill the order.

That morning, Rem had declared, almost as a warning:

“Bring our platoon leader here. Fighting without knowing whether he’s dead or alive just doesn’t feel right.”

It sounded more like a threat to stop killing even his daily three enemies if they didn’t comply.

The message reached the battalion’s scouts swiftly, and a messenger was dispatched.

Three days later, Encrid stood before the battalion commander.

To meet Encrid, the Mad Platoon had been brought back to the rear lines, allowing the reunion after those three days.

“If you’re back, shouldn’t you have reported immediately? Didn’t you miss me?” the commander quipped in the joking manner characteristic of Elves.

Encrid’s scowl brought the commander quiet satisfaction. Seeing that expression reminded him of the frustration he’d felt dealing with Encrid’s unruly platoon during his absence.

“Troublemakers,” the commander mused.

His eyes shifted to Encrid’s right wrist.

“Injured?”

“Got into a scuffle with some thug in the city,” Encrid replied flatly.

“That thug wouldn’t happen to be Frok, would it?”

The words made Krys and Esther snap their gazes to the commander. Only Encrid remained unfazed, recognizing the jest.

“It’s nothing serious.”

His wrist wasn’t broken, though it bore damage that needed treatment. Still, thanks to his training in the Isolation Technique, he could hold and swing a sword, albeit with some difficulty.

“Regardless, welcome back,” said the commander, his green eyes glinting.

Encrid saluted, and the Elf Commander gave a slight nod in return.

“Go on, then.”

Encrid wasted no time heading to where his platoon waited. He’d been eager to see them, knowing full well that their antics scaled differently when he wasn’t around.

—

“Maybe I should quit,” thought Rem.

At first, clueless platoon leaders had picked fights with him.

Now, even those kinds of fools were gone.

Toying with Andrew had grown dull as well.

“There’s no real reason for me to stay,” Rem mused. If he wanted, he could simply disappear.

The longer he was apart from Encrid, the more this thought grew.

“If he doesn’t show up today, I’ll leave.”

Yet, despite his grumbling, Rem continued his repetitive days. Boredom and meaninglessness consumed him.

Even battle had lost its appeal.

“Die!”

So tiresome. So dull.

If they were going to stab with their spear, why waste breath shouting? The lack of focus caused their spear to waver.

Rem swung his axe vertically.

Clang!

The axe smashed the spearhead, splitting the enemy soldier’s hand and making him drop his weapon. Losing one’s weapon in the middle of a fight?

This guy wasn’t even a fraction of a fraction of their platoon leader. Comparing him to Encrid was an insult.

Crack.

Rem split the soldier’s head with his axe. Yet, even as he did, the act was monotonous.

Each day was the same: kill three, come back. The dull routine and growing apathy made Rem’s thoughts of leaving resurface.

Even moving to the rear meant no more battles. Nothing to do.

Ragna was in a similar state.

He had no motivation.

“Is he dead?”

Why else was there no news?

Without their platoon leader, Ragna had regressed into a state of lethargy.

He spent his time idly, doing nothing.

Since that incident where he’d slaughtered over a dozen enemy soldiers after getting lost, Ragna had done nothing noteworthy.

Audin prayed to his god, asking:

“Is it time for me to return?”

As always, his god remained silent, a quiet affirmation of Audin’s choices.

Whether to stay or leave—Audin knew the answer lay within himself, though he had yet to decide.

Jaxson, meanwhile, stayed for his own reasons.

His purpose had nearly been fulfilled, and once it was, he would leave without hesitation.

Time here felt inefficient, pointless—a stark contrast to how he normally lived.

“Tonight,” Jaxson resolved.

Of course, he’d been making the same resolution for three nights straight.

Thus, each member of the platoon spent their time in their own way.

As night fell and shadows stretched over the camp, someone entered the barracks of the infamous Mad Platoon.

“I’m back.”

A simple, flat declaration.

As always.

Encrid had returned.

Silence filled the barracks as everyone exchanged glances.

Then, unexpectedly, someone charged forward.

“Waaahhh! Why—why—why are you so late?!”

Andrew sobbed, tears streaming down his bruised, swollen face.

His crying laid bare all the frustration he’d felt over the past days.

Encrid glanced at Andrew’s face and couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What’s with him beating me to the tears? Hey, you’re here, right?”

Rem’s voice came from behind Andrew. Soon, Ragna, Audin, and Jaxson appeared, followed by Mack and Enri in a corner.

Everyone’s eyes were on Encrid.

“Yes, I’m here,” he said.

It was his official return.