Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 126: Today's Victory Doesn't Guarantee Tomorrow's (2)

Flames flickered in Ragna’s eyes.
A surge of motivation, desire, or something akin to it.

Before Encrid could finish his thought—

‘Whoosh.’

The sound of air being split reached his ears first.

The moment the noise registered, the blade was already above his head. Encrid moved instinctively.

His sword, forged from a mix of Valerian steel and Noire’s refined iron, met the crude, unimpressive arming sword of poor craftsmanship.

‘Clang.’

The blades collided, creating a sharp noise that reverberated. And almost immediately, the blades parted.

Ragna took a step back, and Encrid mirrored him.

A mere exchange of blows that could be considered a greeting.

Even from just that exchange, Encrid felt as if he had glimpsed something new.

‘What should I even call that just now?’

A remarkably swift slash? Or perhaps a noiseless strike?

It was elegant. Beautiful, even.

Ragna’s strike was as clean as it was refined.

In contrast, his own response was the opposite.

It lacked polish, was rough—like an unsharpened blade. It was crude, resembling untanned leather.

Yet, he had seen it and reacted in time.

“Again,” Ragna said.

This time, the trajectory of the blade seemed identical to the previous one. The slash came clean and beautiful, just as before.

Encrid blocked it with the same stance.

‘Clang!’

Sparks flew as the blades clashed once more.

And then—

‘Buzz.’

The moment their swords connected, Ragna’s blade vanished.

‘A cut that disengages mid-strike.’

Ragna wielded his sword with complete mastery. This move was a testament to that.

Though it appeared to be a soft, downward slash, it packed the force of a clean, deliberate cut.

When Encrid raised his sword horizontally to block, the impact left his arms tingling.

In that brief moment, Ragna’s blade curved like a serpent, aiming downward.

The target was his thigh.

The first cut alone had left his arms numb. He had no choice but to yield this time.

Should he force his numbed arms to move? No, that would be reckless. Instead, Encrid chose his legs, stepping back to regain a favorable position.

By retreating with his right foot and twisting his body, he aimed to angle himself toward Ragna’s flank.

But Ragna didn’t remain idle either. Retracting his downward slash naturally, he shifted his step sideways.

‘Shff.’

Their movements brushed the ground as they repositioned, ending up face-to-face again.

If what burned in Ragna’s eyes was passion—

Then what resided in Encrid’s eyes?

‘Those eyes.’

Ragna brimmed with desire, with a surge of motivation.

He wanted to swing his sword.

Not with words or expressions, but with hands and feet.

Through swords, weapons, killing intent, and sheer will—

That was how he wanted to communicate.

And Encrid didn’t shy away from this.

‘Good. I like this.’

Ragna inwardly admired him.

Amidst the brief skirmish, something surged uncontrollably in Encrid’s chest.

The exchange of greetings, the cutting strikes, and the battle for position—

It all blended into something that tugged at his core.

Then, a sensation began to pour out from his entire body.

How could he describe this?

Vitality? Energy?

He didn’t know. The only certainty was that he felt overflowing strength.

With the exchange and strikes confirming his wrists were still intact,

There was no pain, only a lingering heaviness.

‘I’m fine.’

Now, there was only one thing left to do—engage.

This time, Encrid acted first.

A thrust imbued with full force and intent.

Leading with his left foot, he poured all his energy into a single movement, driving the tip of his blade forward in a straight line.

Like a diving hawk, the sword’s tip cleaved the air.

Ragna, watching the incoming blade, twisted his body effortlessly to avoid it.

Despite the simplicity of the motion, he evaded Encrid’s thrust with ease.

Ragna smiled as he dodged, and Encrid, satisfied at the reaction, smiled as well.

From an outsider’s perspective, it might have seemed like a simple repetition of thrusts, cuts, dodges, and repositioning.

‘Tap.’

Encrid’s attacks were unpredictable. At one point, he even closed the distance abruptly, attempting to kick Ragna’s shin.

When Ragna evaded, Encrid transitioned into half-swording, gripping the ricasso and blade to grapple.

Ragna parried, deflected, and dodged everything, countering with relentless slashes.

It was as if wielding a sword was the only thing he knew how to do.

‘Damn it.’

Watching this, Rem stomped his foot impatiently.

‘This looks way too fun.’

Encrid had improved again. In just a few days of absence, something had changed.

Rem felt an overwhelming urge to fight. He wanted to spar with this uninjured version of Encrid.

Just watching filled him with desire.

‘Cut it out, seriously.’

Rem grew anxious, worried that Encrid might exhaust all his strength while fighting Ragna.

Although that had never happened before, this sparring session felt different.

There was an unfamiliar intensity in the air.

Unlike the sparring match when Encrid had an injured wrist, where everyone, including Rem, had gone easy on him—

This time?

‘That bastard’s taking this a bit too seriously, isn’t he?’

In Rem’s eyes, Ragna’s strikes had a weight to them. Though not as intense as when fighting Rem, it wasn’t the usual laziness Ragna displayed.

If Ragna had used even half this effort in battle, enemy commanders would have etched his name into their memories.

‘Seriously, tone it down, you bastard.’

Rem’s hands itched. If neither of them had been smiling, he might have already jumped in with his axes.

And he wasn’t the only one getting riled up watching.

‘Why me?’

Jaxson questioned himself. Did he ever enjoy stepping into the fray?

No, never.

He had diligently trained in swordsmanship, but it was never out of passion.

Training was one thing, but moving out of sheer desire was another matter entirely.

At least, for Jaxson, it had been.

Yet now—

‘Flinch.’

His hands moved on their own.

Something in Encrid’s footwork or the way his commander swung his sword resonated with him.

‘This is ridiculous.’

Suddenly, he felt an urge to fight.

Though he was confident he could take Encrid down if they fought now, this newfound desire confused him.

From Jaxson’s perspective, that lazy fool Ragna wasn’t even going all out.

If Ragna had been more serious, it would have been over long ago.

But why was his body reacting to such a fight?

Jaxson clenched his teeth. A strange sense of wounded pride crept in.

He steadied himself and remained silent, suppressing his twitching body, standing firm as he watched.

While Jaxson composed himself, Audin, who was observing the fight, was filled with joy. He was pleased.

‘It seems like it’s about time.’

He felt he could begin to exert his strength as well.

There was no urgency in his heart, nor did he deny the surge of competitive spirit rising within him.

‘It’s something the Lord has bestowed upon me.’

The desire for battle was a boon and a virtue to Audin. Without it, his place would not have been beside Encrid, but instead by the side of the deity he served.

Even though he had endured two days of terrible headaches as the price for using divine power, Audin felt a quiet satisfaction.

Just look at that.

The movements of his squad leader, now unhindered, inspired admiration.

The Elf Commander missed none of the motions exchanged between Encrid and Ragna.

And then, a thought crossed her mind.

‘Was he always a genius?’

It was a natural question.

He clearly hadn’t possessed this level of skill before.

She recalled their first meeting at the medical barracks.

And the moments she had encountered Encrid since then.

‘I thought he was just lucky.’

But now, even his swordsmanship couldn’t be ignored.

From her perspective, he was remarkable—like a crane standing out among a flock of chickens.

From what she had observed, it was easy to label him a genius who had rapidly climbed to this level in such a short time.

‘But no, something’s different.’

Her keen insight caught flaws in Encrid’s form, habits that a true genius wouldn’t have.

An Elf’s senses could sometimes surpass even Frok’s talent for discernment, and hers were particularly sharp.

The traces she saw in Encrid’s movements were the marks left by someone who had endlessly swung their sword, who had constantly reflected on their craft.

Such traces were not found in true geniuses.

No, they were more like Ragna—those who swung their sword without hesitation or deliberation.

That was the hallmark of a genius.

Then what about Encrid?

“Hah!”

Encrid let out a spirited shout, attempting an overhead strike with one hand.

It was a strike honed by countless repetitions, infused with every ounce of contemplation.

It was a blow that knew the optimal path because it had explored every other way.

‘Clang!’

Their swords met.

The blade Encrid wielded slid down Ragna’s sword with a grating noise.

Was it a calculated maneuver?

The Elf Commander’s instincts were precise.

Ragna added force, deflecting Encrid’s sword, and immediately attempted a short diagonal slash.

In that instant, Encrid’s left hand emitted a faint blue light. From his waist emerged something forged by magic, slicing through the air—a second sword.

‘Whoosh!’

Ultimately, Encrid’s sword slashed through empty space.

Though his second sword was impressively fast, Ragna had already analyzed everything in that fleeting moment.

Ragna stepped back, evading the strike.

It was a perfectly calculated retreat.

Encrid’s second sword merely cut through the air in front of Ragna.

Immediately afterward, Ragna brought his blade down in a powerful slash.

It was a strike designed to disrupt timing and destroy any hidden intentions.

This wasn’t merely a victory of wits.

This was a difference in ability.

In combat, it wasn’t just raw power that mattered.

It was perception, intuition, experience, and skill with the sword.

Ragna had seen and felt the movement of Encrid’s left hand. He then moved his feet and hands at a speed Encrid couldn’t match.

And with that, the sparring match came to an end.

The Elf Commander, watching the conclusion, felt a slight sense of impatience.

‘I want to fight him too.’

Did she lack competitive spirit?

No.

Before, it had been enough to engage with fists and feet. Now, she wanted to exchange blows with swords.

With just a hint of sincerity, she wanted to showcase the divine power her people were known for.

She wondered how Encrid would change after seeing that.

Meanwhile, Krys, who had been watching the sparring match, felt no such competitive spirit.

He could barely even follow their movements, so how could he feel anything but detached?

‘He’s improved.’

Even as a bystander, Krys could tell that Encrid’s skills had advanced significantly.

‘A late-blooming genius, maybe.’

It was impressive, but that was as far as his interest went. He quickly diverted his attention away from the match.

The scene unfolding around him was more entertaining to observe.

Rem had risen and sat back down three times, eventually resorting to stomping his feet in frustration.

He resembled a child deprived of their favorite toy.

Beside him, Jaxson’s shoulders twitched a few times before he abruptly froze, as if he had turned to stone.

It was as if he were a heavy statue, unmoving to the point where one might question whether he was even breathing.

The sight gave Krys chills, like being alone in a cemetery on a dark night.

“Ugh.”

Krys clicked his tongue and shifted his gaze to Audin.

The burly soldier, deeply immersed in his devotion to his deity, stood with a serene smile, muttering to himself.

Curious, Krys moved closer to hear Audin’s murmurs.

“Hm, this is good. I think I can have a proper fight now.”

“A broken arm wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Snapping his neck—ah, I nearly sent him to the Lord prematurely. That wouldn’t do. Absolutely not.”

This time, Krys was genuinely terrified. A shiver ran down his spine.

What on earth was he saying?

Despite his ominous words, Audin’s demeanor remained calm and composed.

Audin stood silently in place.

Finally, the Elf Commander.

The Elf, who had been making sharp remarks, gripped her sword tightly, never taking her eyes off Encrid.

She resembled a calm forest, ready to erupt into a storm at any moment.

That was Krys’s impression.

These people—what remarkable individuals they were.

There were no crowds of onlookers nearby. The days of jubilant morale following their recent victory had quietly subsided.

With the possibility of another battle breaking out at any moment, everyone was busy tending to their own preparations.

A few soldiers glanced over to watch, but none showed much interest.

After all, Encrid’s skill had already been demonstrated once before.

When he returned from the rear, didn’t they witness this kind of sparring then?

Most didn’t perceive a significant difference from that time.

Those with discerning eyes were preoccupied, and the rest lacked the desire to spectate.

Thus, there were no boisterous onlookers.

Neither spectators nor the looming atmosphere of an impending battle mattered to this group.

Despite knowing they might soon head to the battlefield,

‘And here they are, fighting each other like it’s a competition.’

And the target of their focus was singular—

Encrid, their squad leader, who had just fully recovered from his injuries.

‘Do they even realize what they’re doing?’

Still, Krys didn’t rebuke them.

He was always cautious not to provoke them, and today was no different.

The heat emanating between them was intense.

‘Will this be okay?’

The sparring with Ragna had been fierce, even to Krys’s eyes. It seemed reasonable to stop and rest.

But if Encrid declared he wanted to take a break, Rem would undoubtedly throw a fit.

And the others probably wouldn’t be too pleased either.

Krys’s concerns turned out to be unwarranted.

“Next.”

Drenched in sweat, Encrid smiled broadly.

Unable to contain the surge of energy coursing through him, he felt an almost manic urge to keep moving.

Hearing this, Rem jumped up—quite literally, springing off the ground and rushing forward.

“It’s my turn! My turn! Anyone who cuts in, I’ll kill you! Even if it’s the Commander!”

Rem’s eyes were wild.

The Commander started to step forward but then stopped, deciding to embrace the virtue of patience.

It wasn’t a problem.

After all, Encrid clearly had no intention of resting.

That day, Encrid pushed himself to the limit.

He fought to his heart’s content, clashing swords, swinging tirelessly, and even showcasing dual-wielding techniques.

“Not bad,” remarked the Elf Commander, who also got her chance and offered a brief evaluation of his two-sword style.

It didn’t end with just one round.

Ragna fought twice, Rem three times, Audin twice, and the Elf Commander once.

Excluding Jaxson, who stayed out entirely, everyone sparred with Encrid.

Krys could only click his tongue.

The sparring session finally concluded near sunset.

Even then, Encrid showed no signs of fatigue.

Afterward, Encrid collapsed onto the ground, sprawled out.

Esther appeared out of nowhere, glaring fiercely at everyone.

Her expression seemed to accuse them: ‘What have you all done to him to leave him like this?’

But no one paid her any attention.

Encrid, for his part, was thoroughly satisfied.

‘That expression.’

When was it?

Was it after they returned from scouting the Tallgrass Plains?

It was then, watching Rem and Ragna spar, that he noticed—

Their expressions were different from when they sparred with him.

He had wanted to draw out those same expressions,

And today, he finally had.

Of course, he knew full well that neither Rem nor Ragna, nor anyone else, had gone all out.

But he had seen it—the change in their expressions.

The smiles, the grins, the satisfaction.

It felt like achieving a small goal.

Encrid was overcome with exhilaration, a rush of euphoria.

It was a joy akin to a drug.

The sense of fulfillment that came from growth filled his chest to the brim.

Yet perhaps he had pushed himself too far.

That night, he had another wretched nightmare.