Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 120: Doing Well

‘It feels like I can move on to the next step.’

“Whii-whooo-wheee.”

Rem whistled as he walked.

‘If I push him hard enough…’

He was pleased with the squad leader’s return, imagining how he would drill Encrid relentlessly upon reuniting. The thought thrilled him.

Would this lead to the next stage of the *Heart of the Beast*? Rem wondered. He was even ready to share a technique so valuable that even the richest noble couldn’t buy it from a mainlander.

‘Strange, strange.’

Encrid was a strange man. He didn’t do anything particularly extraordinary, yet he wasn’t unlikeable.

If anything, he was someone Rem found himself wanting to look out for.

Maybe it was his dogged determination, swinging his sword daily without fail.

Or perhaps it was his silent willingness to take on menial tasks without complaint.

It was hard to pinpoint a specific reason. Those might have been part of it, but…

‘I just like the guy.’

Sometimes you meet people like that—those you’re inexplicably drawn to.

‘Never thought I’d feel this way about a mainlander.’

As Rem pondered, Audin appeared ahead, blocking his path.

“Hey, big guy. You’re always praying—can’t you use some holy power or something to fix the squad leader’s wrist?”

“Shall I rip your mouth open, Brother?” Audin replied coolly.

“Huh? You want me to even your height with my axe?”

Encrid wasn’t there to mediate, so Audin turned his head and met Rem’s gaze.

The air between them grew icy, but before tensions could escalate, Ragna trudged lazily between them.

“…Brother, is this really the time to cut through out of sheer laziness?” Audin asked with a sigh.

“You’re nuts,” Rem muttered, irritation draining from the moment.

This wasn’t the first time such bickering had occurred. The rest of the group observed it passively, letting it play out.

Jaxson walked alone, keeping his distance, while Ragna would veer off course entirely if left unsupervised, wandering diagonally instead of walking straight.

It wasn’t so much poor navigation as it was pure laziness.

Despite their quirks, all of them—Rem included—were thinking of Encrid in their own way.

‘Maybe I’ll make him train by tying the sword to his body,’ Rem mused.

Even Ragna, who lacked motivation after being separated from the squad leader, was mentally cataloging tasks for when they reunited.

Audin, too, was planning his approach.

‘Now that the muscle reconstruction is done…’

Next would be adjustments to joints. Reshaping muscles, strengthening ligaments, and correcting posture would change one’s physique entirely.

‘Bend, refine, break, reshape.’

Audin knew how to create a body that wouldn’t falter under joint locks or blunt force.

However, pushing too hard would probably destroy the squad leader’s body.

‘I’ll take it one step at a time, Lord.’

Audin ended his thoughts with a silent prayer.

Jaxson wasn’t much different.

‘He could really use better footwork.’

Not that he expected Encrid to move with the silent precision of an assassin, but noisy steps often meant unnecessary movements.

‘Minimal motion, maximum efficiency.’

As he recalled his training, Jaxson picked out drills that might suit Encrid. Though not strictly swordsmanship, they would still be helpful.

Jaxson had an eye for detail and knew his teachings would be invaluable to Encrid.

Occasionally, though, a question crept into his mind.

‘Why bother?’

Encrid didn’t need him to teach anything. If he asked, sure, but until then, Jaxson decided to keep his distance.

Of course, despite his resolve, if the barbarian, the priest, or the slacker started teaching Encrid with enough enthusiasm, Jaxson might find himself swept up in it. He resolved to resist that impulse.

After all, being lumped in with them was a distasteful prospect.

To outsiders, though, they were all the same.

One whistled annoyingly and picked fights, another walked aimlessly with a vacant look, the priest muttered prayers under his breath, and the last one distanced himself while deep in thought.

Was this a normal squad?

Not at all. Even when they were just a troublesome unit, they’d been unusual. But after becoming an independent squad, their peculiarities had only grown more apparent.

Refined soldiers they were not. Even their marching was chaotic.

Though they technically served under the 4th Company Commander, they trailed alongside the main unit like misfits.

Numbering fewer than ten, calling them an independent squad was laughable. Still, no one dared to antagonize them.

‘Leave them be.’

‘Messing with them will only bring us trouble.’

‘If you want to ruin yourself, go ahead and pick a fight.’

Experience had taught everyone that they were more than just troublemakers—they were outright lunatics.

And highly skilled lunatics at that.

As they marched toward the forward base, it was a half-day’s walk from the rear camp.

If they moved as individuals, they could arrive faster, but pacing was adjusted for the entire unit.

No breaks were planned, as they could reach their destination before lunch if they pressed on.

There was no reason to stop—unless something major happened.

“Hold,” the lead soldier called out after receiving a signal from ahead.

The march came to a halt.

At the front of the unit, the Elf Company Commander raised her fist, causing the column to stop.

“What’s the issue?” asked Rayon, the commander of the 3rd Company, who had rejoined after a brief departure.

“There’s something unusual ahead,” the elf replied.

Rayon squinted, scanning the area. He saw nothing amiss.

The elf pointed toward the riverbank—a stretch of the Pen-Hanil River, the lifeline of Naurilia and a crucial water source for the surrounding kingdoms.

“Someone’s hiding,” she said.

Scattered boulders along the riverbank provided ample cover for an ambush. Occasionally, ghouls would spring from such places.

Not far ahead was the Tehom Forest, which also harbored dangerous creatures.

But this was a war zone. Any monsters or beasts would have been cleared out long ago.

If someone was lying in wait, it could only mean one thing.

‘The enemy.’

The elf commander’s instincts proved correct.

“Damn elf bitch,” muttered a voice as a man emerged from behind a boulder. He had short-cropped hair, a thick jaw, and the distinctive helmet of an Azpen soldier, covering his head but leaving his ears exposed.

The distance was well within arrow range, yet the man only exposed half his body.

The elf commander’s sharp eyes spotted a sleek Azpen swiftboat moored nearby. Its oars were concealed beneath the waterline, ready to propel it away at incredible speed if necessary.

If the enemy escaped onto the river, they’d be impossible to catch.

‘A hasty ambush,’ she thought, noting that their numbers appeared to be fewer than ten.

‘This is a provocation.’

Rayon reached the same conclusion.

“They’re trying anything, huh?” he muttered.

“Demoralizing the enemy is a basic tactic,” the elf replied.

As they spoke, another enemy soldier stepped out from behind a rock.

“I am Lowell, a soldier of the Azpen Principality! Who will face me? Come and fight me, one on one!” he bellowed.

It was a familiar ploy—a challenge to a duel instead of a full-scale battle.

A mere soldier issuing a challenge was unusual enough, but Lowell didn’t stop there.

“What kind of cowardly commander sends his men to fight while hiding behind them? Or do none of you know how to fight?” he taunted, laughing mockingly.

The elf commander considered shooting him down with an arrow but refrained.

The enemy had already lured them into such traps before.

Sending a soldier had failed.

Sending a squad leader had also failed.

Their soldiers were simply superior in individual combat.

For a company commander to step forward would be unseemly.

It was a clever, albeit irritating, strategy.

‘Wasn’t there talk of some genius strategist in Azpen?’

This tactic wouldn’t significantly deplete their numbers, but it succeeded in plummeting morale.

Why did their side lack warriors capable of besting such opponents?

‘If I step forward…’

If a commander engaged, the enemy would use it as an opportunity to ridicule.

Though they hadn’t always lost, there had been victories, like when Paltor, the 2nd Company Commander, crushed a duelist’s skull in a fit of rage with his mace.

Killing the enemy in such a manner had its consequences: morale plummeted.

“How shameful, for an officer to intervene in a soldier’s duel!”

Taunts like these echoed across the battlefield, fanning the flames of resentment.

Initially, such provocations barely fazed the Naurilian soldiers. But repeated losses in both open combat and duels wore them down, chipping away at their confidence.

The difference in individual skill between the troops became glaringly obvious. Numbers were similar, but the disparity in training and ability made it feel like defeat was inevitable before the battle even began.

This strategy persisted because it was effective.

The Azpen soldiers were meticulous, always prepared to retreat quickly after issuing their challenges.

What if they ignored the duels and simply overwhelmed the enemy with superior numbers?

If that had been the strategy from the start, it might have worked. But now, ignoring these challenges would only deepen the soldiers’ sense of inferiority.

Letting it slide wasn’t an option either. That would only lead them to despair, opening the door to total collapse.

“What now? They’ve come this far?”

As commanders debated their next move, a figure sauntered up behind them, carefree and unbothered.

It was Rem from the independent squad, strolling casually without formation or discipline. He looked so out of place that it was hard to believe he was part of the same unit.

“How about I go kill them?”

The elf company commander considered it for a moment. Before the independent squad left the rear camp, Krys had offered some advice.

“They might actually listen to orders for once today. Use them while you can—the mood’s grim anyway.”

If it didn’t work, no harm done. If it did, all the better.

“Fine, let’s try it,” the commander agreed.

Rem grinned broadly, clearly in a good mood.

“Hey, what’s your name?” he called out toward the enemy.

“What? Are you here to fight?”

Rem walked forward on his own, his gait loose and unhurried. Ragna trailed absentmindedly behind him, only to be yanked back by Audin.

“Hmm?”

“Brother, that’s the enemy.”

“Oh, I see,” Ragna replied, as if only just realizing the situation.

Jaxson had already seated himself on a smooth rock nearby, watching the scene unfold like a spectator at an arena.

There wasn’t a shred of urgency among them.

The same held true for the elf commander, who stood with arms crossed, observing without concern.

Even the Naurilian soldiers watching from behind felt a flicker of anticipation.

Who was Rem?

A lunatic. A bastard among allies, but a demon incarnate to the enemy.

The tension in the air turned into a crackling buzz of excitement as a thick-jawed Azpen soldier smirked and stepped out from behind a boulder.

“So, no one else is stepping up? What, are you sending in an outsider? Don’t tell me you plan to lure me out and shoot me with arrows!”

Idiot.

Jaxson thought so as he observed the situation.

Rem’s axe couldn’t reach from that distance—or could it?

With Rem, there was no such thing as “too far.”

*Whoosh!*

As soon as the enemy soldier showed his face, Rem hurled his axe with a motion so swift it left afterimages in the air.

To the untrained eye, it looked as though his arm simply flicked upward and downward, too fast for the movements to be clearly seen.

The afterimages seemed to form wings around his right hand.

*Whip—whoom!*

A gust of wind rippled from his sleeve as the axe tore through the air, embedding itself squarely in the enemy’s forehead.

*Thunk!*

With a sickening sound, the man’s feet lifted off the ground. He flew backward, landing flat on his back, gravel scattering around him.

“Grrgh…”

The soldier’s body twitched once, then lay still, the axe lodged firmly between his eyebrows. His eyes remained wide open, unable to close in death.

He probably never imagined his life would end this way.

By then, Rem had already drawn his second axe and sprinted forward, closing the distance in a few light steps before disappearing behind the boulder.

*Whack!*

A muffled thud came from behind the rock, followed by a spray of blood from the opposite side.

*Smash!*

Rem emerged, moving to the next boulder, where he cleanly decapitated another enemy soldier with a single swing.

The next soldier screamed and bolted toward the river, only for Rem to give chase and slam his head into the ground.

*Crunch!*

The soldier groaned in pain as Rem grabbed him by the hair and repeatedly smashed his face into the dirt.

The rhythmic thudding made Rem look less like a soldier and more like a craftsman, methodically hammering a tool into shape.

Of course, his “craft” was death.

*Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.*

He struck three or four more times until he was certain the man was dead, then stood up.

With four of their comrades dead, the remaining soldiers didn’t even glance back as they fled toward their boat. Leaping aboard, they rowed with all their might to escape downriver.

Rem didn’t bother pursuing.

The allied archers held their fire, unwilling to waste arrows on retreating enemies.

“Idiots,” Rem muttered.

He raised his hand and flashed a crude hand gesture—a continental insult implying indecency toward the enemy’s mother.

The fleeing soldiers didn’t even pause, rowing harder instead.

“Shall we?”

Rem retrieved his axe from the first soldier’s head and returned to the group.

The elf commander chuckled but couldn’t help noticing something: while the enemy’s morale had plummeted, so had the Naurilian soldiers’.

Overwhelming skill was impressive, but…

‘I wouldn’t want to die like that.’

‘I hope my face isn’t smashed in like that.’

Rem’s brutal methods and reputation cast a pall over friend and foe alike.

“Let’s move out,” the commander ordered after the corpses were hastily cleared away.

—

**Meanwhile**

‘They’re doing fine, right?’

Encrid busied himself recovering from his injuries at the rear.

While none of his wounds were life-threatening, they were severe enough to require treatment to prevent complications.

For now, he couldn’t rejoin the unit.

Reinforcements were expected to arrive in a day or two, at which point he would travel with them to the forward base.

‘They’ll be fine on their own.’

He stopped worrying about his squad after a brief moment of reflection.

Encrid had his own survival to focus on.

His squad members weren’t the kind to die easily. If anything, they’d probably be the ones dealing death.

When they fought, they might even raise the flagging morale of their allies.

‘As long as they fight.’

And fight they did.

But not quite in the way Encrid had envisioned.

Both allied and enemy morale had dropped simultaneously.