Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 123: Was Mother a Ghoul?

“What kind of nonsense is this?”

A gravelly terrain of loose stones spread out beneath their feet, with a river to the left and a backdrop of mountains and forest to the right. The two armies faced each other.

They were within range of arrows. Some archers on both sides were already gauging their aim.

Tense anticipation filled the air as everyone awaited the moment to push through the rain of arrows, thrust spears into throats, swing swords, or crush helmets with maces.

Yet, the beginning of the confrontation was, how should one describe it?

“Taunting?”

“Aw, too bad, you won’t even get to use your ‘stuff’ before you’re dead!”

Three men stepped forward and shouted. Their voices carried powerfully, each word sharp and clear.

Even from what seemed like over three hundred paces away, their insults struck the ears as if they were spoken right beside them.

Their voices were that loud.

It might have seemed like a pointless act.

But… “Does this actually work?”

It did. Morale was already low, and this provocation only added to the frustration. Letting it slide felt unbearable.

But what would happen if they simply fired arrows and charged forward?

Both armies were evenly matched in numbers, and low morale would mean starting at a disadvantage, leading to a battle they were doomed to lose.

So.

“It’s better to just watch for now.”

But would watching lead to a solution?

It seemed like they’d need some extraordinary tactics or a small, elite group to destabilize the enemy.

Even someone with no eye for battlefield dynamics could see that action was needed immediately.

Still, Encrid had more composure than others.

At the very least, he didn’t feel like he would die here.

Whether he suffered minor injuries or not, whether his squadmates were by his side or not, his instincts told him he’d survive. In that sense, he had grown significantly.

In the past, at a time like this, he would have been consumed by thoughts of survival. Now, he was analyzing the battlefield instead.

“Have I gotten soft?”

He felt a twinge of irritation. But for now, this wasn’t something for Encrid to worry about.

If he were leading an entire unit or responsible for the lives of his subordinates, such concerns would be valid.

But for now, he wasn’t sure if he was even fit to lead this ragtag squad. They simply followed him on their own accord.

For now, he needed to handle the immediate issue.

“Andrew, calm down.”

Encrid raised a hand to stop Andrew from stepping forward.

“Huh?”

“There’s no shame in being a virgin.”

His repeated reassurances seemed to soothe Andrew’s wounded pride.

He recalled how Andrew had reacted before. During a reconnaissance mission, someone had provoked Andrew with similar words, and now, the loud enemy soldiers had used those exact phrases.

It was crucial to calm Andrew down and prevent him from losing his composure.

“…Feels like I’m being mocked,” Andrew muttered, his gaze dropping.

It was a misunderstanding. Encrid reassured him again.

“Hold it in for now. Your chance to unleash your anger will come.”

The new battalion commander—Marcus, wasn’t it? Unless someone higher up, like a regimental commander or a knight, showed up, the command of the unit would remain with him.

As long as Marcus didn’t lose his head entirely, they wouldn’t be defeated so easily.

“Save all your anger for the fight.”

“But I’m not even angry. I don’t even think it’s about me.”

“Not now. Just wait.”

Encrid consoled Andrew with earnest effort, even patting him on the shoulder and gently pushing him back. Andrew reluctantly took a step back, looking dejected.

“Hmph.”

Next to them, Enri cleared his throat.

Mack wore a bemused expression.

And the rest of the squad…

“Pfft.”

Rem began snickering, and even Jaxson, usually expressionless, glanced at Andrew and allowed the faintest smile to flicker across his face.

“Brother, it’s fine. Surrender yourself to the Lord,” Audin offered, even suggesting Andrew consider becoming a monk.

Ragna gave Andrew a quick look and nodded.

“It’s alright. You’ll get your chance.”

What chance? Andrew wasn’t incompetent—he just hadn’t acted on it yet.

“Why are you all doing this to me?”

Andrew genuinely had no idea what they were talking about. He had even forgotten about the time Encrid had teased him during their reconnaissance mission.

If they hadn’t brought it up now, it might never have resurfaced in his memory.

He focused on honing his swordsmanship.

He needed to restore his family.

Anything else was a luxury. Andrew had always been diligent in filling his life with meaningful work.

So why were they teasing him about this?

“It’s fine, really. Kid.”

Rem gave Andrew a couple of light punches on the shoulder.

Andrew was frustrated. Anger that hadn’t been there began to swell.

Naturally, that anger turned outward.

If he let it explode here, he might not live to see the sunrise tomorrow. His instincts shifted his rage toward a new target.

“Those damned ghoulish bastards.”

The ones who had shouted about his “stuff.” He wanted to rip the mouths off those enemy soldiers.

More insults were exchanged.

A few from their own side tried to respond, but somehow, it felt like they were losing even in this verbal skirmish.

Insults? Really?

It was ridiculous, but the enemy’s strategy and intent were painfully clear.

They wanted to crush their morale entirely.

The way their mood darkened from just a few sharp words made it evident.

However.

Around Encrid, a lighter atmosphere began to spread.

It might have been insignificant in the grand scheme of the battlefield, but…

“Well, uh, when we get back to the city, I’ll introduce you to a good salon.”

“Don’t let your first experience be in the red-light district.”

“Your first time should be with someone experienced. I know an aunt of mine who’d be perfect—interested?”

“Can you all shut up?”

Andrew glared sharply at the others, silencing them.

Thanks to his “sacrifice,” the mood around them shifted. The best response to insults was to ignore them.

“Impressive,” Krys commented, reading Encrid’s intent.

It was the right moment to change the mood. Everything starts with the little things.

Krys began considering what he would do if he were the commander. Instead of idly waiting in the rear for the battle to end, he was on the front lines.

Naturally, he began thinking about the keys to survival—or, in this case, victory.

And the first was to change the mood.

Encrid had taken the first step.

“Impressive? I was just genuinely worried.”

“Don’t start a fight on your own,” was the standing order.

It was clearly a joke.

Did he plan all of this? No, it didn’t seem like it. It was probably instinctive, a reflex.

‘What a strange guy.’

But that was part of Encrid’s charm. Even amidst the harshness of life, he didn’t forget how to joke, nor did he tolerate a grim atmosphere.

Andrew’s face turned beet red from the teasing.

Yet the mood shifted around the Misfit Squad. Their energy now exuded something akin to, “What now? Let’s just fight already.”

That’s the kind of temperament that started spreading.

It was only natural; this was a squad made up of such spirited individuals. Feeling restless, Rem finally broke the silence.

“So, how long are we just going to watch?”

A proper fight would certainly be more satisfying.

Both armies were steeped in tension, yet neither moved.

Bowstrings were drawn, arrows nocked, waiting, frozen.

The stress of the situation was causing some to vomit, and others hadn’t been able to sleep properly.

Understandable.

This stalemate had dragged on for days.

Rem and the others were beginning to grow impatient as well.

The one silver lining was that the three new additions—Andrew, Mack, and Enri—seemed to be in good spirits.

They had been sharing shifts on guard duty.

In the process, they’d grown closer through enduring the pranks and antics of Rem and the other squad members.

Enri kept his distance, but even he was integrating to some degree.

With Rem and the squad, surviving was no small feat on its own.

Because of that, they hadn’t been swept up in the overarching atmosphere of defeat that loomed over the rest of the army.

Busy enduring pranks and shifts, there was no time for despair.

“How about you give it a shot?” Krys suggested suddenly.

The army’s stance was clear—they were waiting for the enemy to attack.

Krys saw an opportunity in that and made a proposal to Encrid.

In a squad filled with men of sharp tongues like Rem, Encrid was the one they all acknowledged. His words alone could rattle the enemy.

“I don’t really have anything to say, though.”

No matter how sharp-tongued, what could anyone say in this tense atmosphere?

Encrid was sincere. But Krys pressed on.

“Even so, maybe just to lighten the mood.”

Maybe it was worth a try.

It didn’t seem like a difficult task.

With both sides fighting with words instead of swords and spears, Encrid moved forward subtly. The Misfit Squad, having no fixed position, naturally cleared a path as they followed him.

Some familiar faces among the soldiers asked where he was headed.

Encrid replied in a calm tone.

“Thought I’d pitch in.”

He hadn’t put much thought into it up until that point.

The enemy had been loudly ranting about goods, queens’ consorts, and other nonsense.

At the forefront, he found Benzense.

“Back in the front lines right after returning from the rear?”

“Our unit has the best-maintained fighting strength.”

Their squad appeared to have transitioned entirely to spearmen after mixing in archers earlier.

They were positioned at the front of the 2nd Company, 3rd Squad. That meant Encrid had moved to the vanguard of the 2nd Company.

Glancing at Benzense, then at the distant enemy, Encrid seemed to know what to say.

He took a few more steps forward.

Rem, Ragna, and Jaxson joined him at his side.

They were now in range of arrows, even far enough forward that a deliberate volley could turn them into pincushions. Yet Encrid showed no hesitation.

If this was a battle of words…

If the problem was low morale…

Then why not display some boldness?

“Hey, you! Step up!”

He shouted toward the enemy. It was a taunt, a bold question: We’ve come forward—what are you going to do?

This sort of verbal sparring often led to a duel between rank-and-file soldiers.

Such duels could serve to unsettle the opposing forces before a full-on battle.

‘Guess I’ll handle it.’

Krys, instead of stepping up himself, whispered a few words of advice, which Encrid found agreeable.

“Take out five in a row. That should do it.”

The gist was simple: win a series of duels against enemy soldiers to assert dominance.

‘Overwhelmingly.’

Show a stark difference in skill by taking out their soldiers one after the other.

Force their commander to step in—and then crush them too.

Seeing the glint of calculation in Krys’ eyes, Encrid felt reassured. He trusted Krys’ cunning and stepped into the battlefield.

His bold advance drew murmurs from the troops.

“What’s going on?”

“Isn’t that the Misfit Squad’s leader?”

“Encrid?”

“The spellbreaker?”

He was a familiar face to those who recognized him—a known figure in the unit, and now someone who had proven his skill recently.

Even Benzense, watching Encrid step forward, felt something stirring.

Why? He didn’t know.

The battlefield’s atmosphere was like a blade’s edge.

So far, that edge had been pressed against their own forces.

But now, the wind seemed to shift.

Krys believed his gambit would work.

“Well, then. Let’s see what happens.”

He had a good sense of what their commander, Battalion Leader Marcus, was waiting for.

He had also heard rumors of Marcus’ battle style and could guess what might be in store.

Whatever it was, it would be well-prepared.

Krys only sought to help set it in motion. If his gambit failed, they could retreat quietly. The risk was minimal, and the potential reward substantial.

As Encrid stepped forward and shifted the atmosphere, one of the enemy’s loudmouths stepped up to answer.

“Well, look who’s here!”

Encrid hadn’t planned any insults. But as he passed by Benzense, it clicked.

Why did Benzense hate him?

When boiled down, it was likely his face.

“And who are you supposed to be? Why’s your head look like a ghoul’s?”

His voice carried on the wind, faint but clear, reaching both allies and enemies alike.

It wasn’t much.

Just enough for their faces to come into focus at this distance.

The enemy soldier—the one Encrid had likened to a ghoul—took a closer look at Encrid’s face.

“What the…?”

He was handsome.

It was the kind of face that could make people irrationally angry.

“What did you say?”

“Was your mother a ghoul?”

Encrid, still pointing at the enemy soldier’s face, voiced a legitimate-sounding suspicion.

“What the hell, you bastard?!”

The enemy soldier erupted in anger—a miracle wrought with just two lines.

Audin, overhearing, couldn’t help but admire it.

“Even the gods might smite those words.”

Rem burst into laughter.

The others weren’t far behind.

Andrew, who had trailed behind despite being told not to, suddenly beamed with a bright smile.

“Yes, what could someone like that even say?”

The soldier’s face was absurd—flaring nostrils that looked like they’d collect rainwater, eyes so small you’d have to squint to see the pupils, and skin riddled with blemishes.

It was reasonable to mistake him for a ghoul.

“Hahaha!”

Andrew broke into hearty laughter.

“Damn it, let’s see if your hands are as sharp as your tongue!”

The enemy soldier, completely taken by the provocation, fell for it.

And so, the exchange of words shifted into an exchange of swords, spears, and blood.