Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 121: Let’s Focus on Recovering First

‘Ping.’

As Encrid flicked the blade with his finger, a clear sound rang out.
When he held it up to the light, a faint bluish hue glimmered on the surface. It must have been made with some rare type of steel.

“Doesn’t seem like Valerian steel.”

This was the sword he took after killing Mitch Hurrier. Just from the looks of it, it was a high-grade, top-tier, and expensive weapon. How could he leave something like that behind?

Either way, perhaps Krys would know more about it.

Encrid turned his head to the side.

Sitting three steps away was Krys, staring at him intently.

With his large eyes, Krys fixed his curious gaze on him, clearly brimming with questions.

Encrid opened up and asked,

“What is it?”

Before asking about the metal of the sword, it seemed he needed to address that peculiar gaze first.

“It’s fascinating.”

“What is?”

“Your left hand.”

As he spoke, Krys glanced at Encrid’s left hand.

Had he always used his left hand this well?

Probably not. It wasn’t like they’d only been together for a day or two.

The left hand. It was truly fascinating.

Was this what it meant to be a genius?

Krys couldn’t discern much just by watching since he himself had no talent for swordsmanship or martial arts.

‘Hasn’t he always been rather ordinary?’

Not in what he did, of course—Encrid’s actions had always been extraordinary. But his skills? They seemed fairly average until now.

When Encrid saved him before—risking his life to do so—Krys had thought, ‘Who on earth does something like that?’

“Risking one’s life to protect others… that doesn’t make sense.”

Even if they were in the same squad, there was no obligation to save someone. Back then, they hadn’t even known each other for a week.

But the gap between Encrid’s abilities back then and now was massive.

The enemy commander he ambushed recently? Clearly no ordinary soldier.

And yet, Encrid parried the commander’s sword with just his left hand?

“I’ve just been training consistently,” Encrid replied nonchalantly.

Krys nodded as if that made sense, then asked again,

“And, um… about killing that commander that ambushed you?”

Was it about the left hand, or the fight itself?

It had been a fierce, nerve-wracking battle. If things had gone wrong, their platoon leader would’ve been the one to die.

If that had happened, then their squad leader, Benzense—or whatever his name was—along with Krys and Esther, would’ve all crossed the river of death together, hand in hand.

Yet, in that deadly moment, the squad leader had remained unperturbed. He’d faced the incoming enemy as if it were the most natural thing to do.

“A bloody brawl,” Encrid answered with indifference again.

Krys concluded to himself:

‘A late-blooming genius.’

That was the only explanation—his talent must have surfaced late.

There was no need to dig any deeper. What was there to find?

Was there some great secret? Could Encrid possibly foresee the future like some sort of fortune teller?

‘No, that’s impossible.’

Even the best seers couldn’t predict events in such minute detail.

Moreover, Krys thought most fortune tellers were just frauds trying to scrape together pocket change.

‘The world revolves around Krongs.’

It moves with Krongs and collapses with Krongs. Why are Naurilia and Azpen at war?

In Krys’ view, it boiled down to one thing.

The Green Pearl Plains. Controlling them was like owning a second granary.

‘I’d fight for them too.’

Thus, the war between the two kingdoms was inevitable.

In an age of war and strife, it was only natural to raise swords and spears for gain.

So, any interest in Encrid’s supposed genius could safely be set aside.

“What kind of metal do you think this is?”

Ending his wandering thoughts, Encrid held out the sword he’d taken from the enemy commander.

So, he’d brought it along.

“Some good steel,” Krys replied.

“Do you think I asked just to hear that?”

Of course not.

Without hesitation, Krys answered,

“There’s a famous iron mine in Azpen, called Demp.”

“Demp? Demp, Demp… Oh, the one in that hidden village between the river and the mountains?”

Muttering to himself, Encrid nodded. He had spent a fair amount of time wandering the continent, after all.

Krys nodded back and explained,

“Yeah, they say Demp’s iron has this distinct hue. It starts as a faint blue, grows deeper, and eventually, the best quality iron doesn’t show any color at all.”

This was just something Krys had heard.

One thing was certain, though: a sword made from Demp iron…

It would be more expensive than Valerian steel. Far more than Noirian wrought iron.

Which meant this sword was exceedingly, incredibly expensive.

“If you sold it—”

“I’m not selling it.”

“Huh? Are you switching swords?”

For warriors on the battlefield, a weapon that felt familiar in their hands was as essential as breathing. Krys knew that much.

There was no way Encrid would abandon the sword he was accustomed to.

“What if I use both?”

This wasn’t directed at Krys but muttered to himself.

A warm spring breeze ruffled Encrid’s hair.

Through the strands of his tousled hair, Encrid’s gaze fell on the sword.

Krys noticed the look in his squad leader’s eyes.

A strange expression.

How could he describe it?

Eyes that shone brightly, filled with life and energy—like a boy receiving an unexpected gift.

Seeing that expression, Krys couldn’t bring himself to push the idea of selling the sword any further.

Encrid’s blue eyes, reminiscent of a lake—like Esther’s—gleamed with joy.

Encrid paid no attention to whether Krys was watching him.

Why had his left hand become so skillful? He didn’t feel the need to explain.

Frankly, there wasn’t much to explain.

It wasn’t something he could easily articulate.

“All I can say is that I trained for it,” he thought.

It might sound like he’d suddenly become some kind of genius.

But there was no other way to explain it.

Above all, Encrid had recently experienced something akin to newfound talent.

A sensation of rapid progress.

The feeling of leaping forward in skill.

‘It’s strange, but…’

Would it happen again? Maybe, maybe not.

It didn’t matter.

He just had to keep moving forward as he always had.

‘Once my body recovers…’

There would be plenty more to try.

Sitting on a rock near the medical tent in the rear camp, Encrid immersed himself in reflection.

Training. His left hand. His right hand. That chaotic fight. Mitch Hurrier. His sword. Battlefields.

Even as he thought, he wanted to get up and move.

“Don’t strain yourself. Why do you think I’m here keeping an eye on you?”

Krys’ words interrupted his thoughts.

Right, he was right.

At least a few days of rest were mandatory.

That’s what the medic had said after seeing his injuries.

The rear camp was under the supply unit’s care, and Benzense’s platoon from the 2nd Company, 3rd Platoon, was tasked with defense until reinforcements arrived.

Once the reinforcements came, Encrid planned to head back to the front lines.

But first, his body needed to recover.

His right hand was still splinted.

His shoulder bore a shallow wound.

His left forearm had a puncture wound from a dagger.

Individually, none of these injuries were severe, but any major movement could aggravate them.

‘What a mess.’

Attempting risky joint techniques had left his body sore all over.

If not for his mastery of the Isolation Technique, his focus, and the Heart of the Beast…

If not for his keen sense of the blade…

‘I’d be the one dead.’

Encrid sat in silence, fully committed to recovery.

Even while resting, he practiced swinging his sword in his mind.

At first with his right hand, then eventually with both hands gripping one sword.

By the end of his mental training, Encrid held his own sword in his right hand and Mitch Hurrier’s sword in his left.

‘Will it work?’

He didn’t know. He just wanted to try.

It felt right in his hands.

Dual swords.

‘First, I’ll need more strength.’

That had to come first before he could even begin. Wielding a sword with two hands was completely different from wielding one in each hand.

One of his former instructors would’ve berated him for attempting something like this.

Dual-wielding swords was, after all, a foolish endeavor for the untrained.

“A dual sword style? I’d say that’s a surefire way to get yourself killed. Can’t even handle one sword properly, yet you’re trying to wield two? Even highly skilled swordsmen rarely attempt something so foolish.”

That was what one instructor had told him, cutting straight to the point.
Where had Encrid met that instructor again?

A large city.

A man who believed refined swordsmanship came from a refined body. After learning under him, Encrid had walked away with a bitter taste in his mouth.

His thoughts wandered as he sat there, and soon enough, hunger crept in. When injured, it was important to eat well and rest properly.

“Food’s here.”

Right on cue, Krys arrived with a meal.

Thin wheat bread, thick bacon, dried fruit, and even some cheese.

A veritable feast.

“Did you raid the supply tents?”

“Nope. The supply company commander seemed pretty grateful to you. If things had gone south, his head might’ve been the one rolling,” Krys said, miming a chopping motion at his neck with the side of his hand.

Well, that made sense. The rear base existed for supplies. If an enemy raid had left them completely plundered, whose fault would that be?

Who was the one responsible?

No need to ask—it was the supply commander. And if the supply tents had gone up in flames, he’d have been executed in spectacular fashion.

Losing a battle could be forgiven, but failing to guard the supplies? Never.

“Let’s eat.”

Encrid chewed, swallowed, and drank. Instead of alcohol, he drank water. Krys, while not overly fussy, stayed by his side and kept an eye on him.

—

Three days passed like this.

“Time to move. You joining us?”

Fully armed, Benzense posed the question.

Reinforcements had arrived at the rear base. Rumor had it the atmosphere on the frontlines was growing even more dire.

With all his squad members at the front, Encrid had to go.

His sword-inflicted wounds hadn’t fully healed, but he could walk without issue.

“Of course.”

Off to the side, Krys seemed lost in thought.

‘From the way the squad leader fights…’

He didn’t seem like someone who’d die anytime soon.

Sticking with him, rather than lingering at the rear, might be more profitable.

Even if they only picked up a few dropped spoils, it’d be worth it.

Besides, the supply commander had been replaced, and there weren’t any familiar faces among the soldiers from the 3rd Regiment who had arrived as reinforcements.

Staying at the rear seemed like a losing battle.

Might as well head to the frontlines and see what he could scavenge.

Thus, Krys joined the group.

—

“Meow.”

Despite resting for three whole days, Esther still seemed listless.

Encrid lifted the small creature into his arms.

It wasn’t very heavy.

What had Esther been eating, though? It didn’t seem like it was growing at all.

Young beasts usually grew quickly, didn’t they?

It looked almost exactly the same as when he’d first found it.

“Are you even eating properly?”

Encrid stroked Esther’s head as he spoke.

At the seemingly unnecessary remark, Esther blinked and tilted its head upward.

There it found a man with eyes similar to its own.

Who was worrying about whom here?

Nearly dying again, weren’t you?

‘Thwack, thwack.’

Esther batted Encrid’s chest with its paw.

It seemed to be telling him not to worry about it.

“Alright, I’ll make sure to get you some good food once things settle down.”

Encrid must have misunderstood the gesture, but it wasn’t particularly important.

‘You fool. Let’s just go.’

Too tired to argue, Esther closed its eyes again.

Encrid set off, now with two swords strapped to his hips instead of one.

—

“Two swords?”

At Benzense’s question, Encrid nodded.

Benzense had seen him use his left hand and had even sparred with him before.

He was already used to the strange things Encrid did.

So, he simply let it go.

—

Marching with Benzense’s squad, they encountered no problems on their way to the frontlines.

When they arrived, they were greeted by the cold, grim air of the battlefield.

The scent of blood and iron mingled as they walked the path, and the sky grew darker, as though rain might soon follow.

It was a place where the stench of stagnant water, blood, and steel combined to create the unmistakable scent of death.

This was the forward base.

And here they found—

“Damn, I thought I’d grow old waiting for you. What’s this now? I told you to rest, but you’re even more banged up? Huh?”

“Just happened that way.”

There were Encrid’s squad members.

When Rem made a move to vent his frustration, Encrid casually raised a hand to stop him.

Every time he left these guys, something seemed to go wrong. But what could he do? That was just the way things went.

Benzense handled the report of their return, allowing Encrid to join the group in their tent. He recounted the events from the rear base succinctly.

“You’re always up to something fun when I’m not around,” Rem muttered, his excitement fading as he picked his nose.

That was the end of it. They were alive, and that was all that mattered.

Encrid took a seat in the tent and asked for a rundown of the situation at the front. Jaxson came over and quietly explained.

“Just watching each other for now.”

Apparently, no major battles had occurred recently.

The troops stationed here, including reinforcements, now amounted to over two battalions of infantry.

More than a thousand soldiers had gathered here.

Along with them were the main forces, reconnaissance units, and rear guards protecting the supply lines.

‘This is what they call the start of a full-scale war.’

The main battlefield, where knights, mages, and sorcery ruled, awaited on the Green Pearl Plains.

For now, both armies were watching the skirmishes here closely.

No one knew exactly how things had escalated to this point, but the situation had grown tangled.

This clash between infantry was the starting point of the entire conflict, aimed at blocking each other’s flanking routes.

The outcome here would set the stage for the larger battle.

Victory on this front would undoubtedly impact the morale and strategy of the main forces.

Securing this area would open pathways for special detachments and broaden the field available to their army.

Neither side was willing to commit additional support troops, leaving both armies in a tense standoff.

The imminent clash cast a pale shadow of tension over the unit, visible in their frayed nerves.

But for Encrid’s squad, the “crazy platoon,” none of this seemed to apply.

For Encrid, it was simple. ‘A fight’s coming soon. What should I do in the meantime? Train, of course.’

Before dawn the next day, Encrid rose and trained his body using the Isolation Technique.

The night watch looked at him and thought, ‘That’s the squad leader for you—crazy through and through.’

To them, it felt like they were witnessing a long-standing tradition, passed down from one troublemaker to the next.

Rain or shine, that stubborn man always swung his sword.

“That squad has no normal people,” one of the night watch muttered as he watched Encrid.

“Up and at it already, brother?”

Before the sun had risen, the night watch turned their gaze as the “kind madman” and the “training madman” began grappling with each other.

It looked like a few exchanged words had quickly turned into wrist-twisting and grappling.

‘Is there something wrong with their heads?’

Even with the looming threat of a deadly battle, they were casually roughhousing, unfazed by the dire atmosphere that plagued the rest of the troops.