Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 127: Today's Victory Doesn't Guarantee Tomorrow's (3)

“Hmm.”

It was the dead of night. At Encrid’s groan, Esther lifted her head.

‘Foolish human.’

Why did he push his body so hard?

Esther recalled something she had learned before. Pouring all her power into removing someone’s fatigue would only leave her own body utterly drained.

And why was that?

It was because Encrid had become too engrossed in the magic book he had picked up.

‘It is useful, but…’

There was much to sort through and discern.

Caught up in her thoughts, she felt a sudden pang of self-pity, realizing she couldn’t even open her own world of spells right now.

‘Why am I in such a state?’

“Phew…”

The feeling of self-pity lasted only a moment. Before she could lament her situation further, the man holding her in his arms groaned again.

A man who started every day with relentless training, no matter the circumstances.

Whatever it was that dwelled within him, it was steadily breaking down the curse that afflicted her body.

‘Let’s just focus on my task.’

The better condition his body was in, the faster the curse’s decay progressed. So, as usual, Esther worked to relieve his fatigue.

Though she couldn’t open her spell world, she used her body as a medium to draw out and dispel the fatigue in his.

Occasionally, fragments of his dreams or thoughts would reflect into her consciousness.

Previously, all she’d seen were images of swords or deep, dark wells.

Tonight, however, part of a dream came through.

The dream seemed to be a fragment of the man’s past.

Through the chaotic dream, a face began to form.

For some reason, it was etched deeply into the man holding her, leaving a vivid impression.

Esther frowned as she saw it.

‘Utterly repulsive.’

It wasn’t outright ugliness, but something about the face exuded an unrelenting malice.

Perhaps it wasn’t the man’s appearance, but rather the way Encrid regarded him.

Esther continued watching the man’s dream. In the dream, time seemed to stretch on, though in reality, it was fleeting.

‘Stop wandering around aimlessly.’

Focus on the task at hand, as always.

Esther scolded him inwardly. This kind of dream only made dispelling his fatigue harder.

At her reprimand, the dream dissolved, and the groans escaping his lips ceased.

Soon, the sound of steady, deep breathing filled her ears as the man slipped into a peaceful slumber.

—

When Encrid opened his eyes, he immediately knew it was a dream.

‘Again?’

Still, he was surprised to find himself having the same dream yet again.

If it had been the ferryman of the black river, he wouldn’t have been surprised.

But this—this memory of the past, which he’d already dreamed of several times.

Once, he had considered it a nightmare. But after recalling and reliving it so often, it had become just another memory.

“You… I’ll let you live.”

A sharp, rising bloodlust.

A mercenary with triangular eyes.

Beside him lay a comrade, someone he had worked with.

Though they had known each other for only three days, they had relied on each other, fighting side by side.

The job had been a beast-slaying request.

“Some harpies are causing trouble. It’d be great if you could take care of them.”

It was a small village on the outskirts of the kingdom, where the residents had pooled their meager funds to hire help.

The village chief’s son had journeyed to the nearest city and hired five mercenaries, including Encrid.

And among them was ‘that bastard.’

‘Caw!’

A cry like that of a crow.

Rippling breasts and descending claws of a harpy.

A comrade, someone Encrid had known for quite some time, lost his life to the harpy’s strike.

“Don’t be too eager to jump in. Keep it subtle, or you won’t die a natural death.”

Though sharp-tongued, the triangular-eyed mercenary had been reliable.

He shouldn’t have died like this.

But the triangular-eyed bastard had stabbed him in the back.

Coordinating with the harpy, he had executed a simultaneous strike from both front and back.

A combination attack from beast and human.

The triangular-eyed mercenary then drew his sword and swung it.

‘Ting!’

With a strange ringing sound, the thin blade swept the surroundings, bending and stretching at speeds too fast to see.

‘Shhk!’

The sound of his sword cutting through the air was distinct.

The blade pierced the head of their comrade.

It stabbed through the heart, thigh, and arm, the flexible blade performing acrobatic feats that ended his life.

After killing everyone, the triangular-eyed bastard spoke. He said he’d let Encrid live.

A bitter smile. A dissipating bloodlust.

Eyes that deemed him unworthy of even being an opponent.

Encrid neither raged nor screamed.

He silently raised his sword.

“What? You want to fight me?”

Words weren’t necessary.

They didn’t even exchange a few blows before a hole was punched through his shoulder.

“I told you, I’ll let you live.”

And that was it.

Then he left. Encrid’s survival after that was more luck than anything else.

“They said everyone died. How…?”

Barely escaping from the harpy-infested area, Encrid reached a village where he recovered. Then, he embarked on another perilous journey to reach a city.

By the time he arrived, the bastard had vanished.

He couldn’t even lodge a complaint with the guild.

By then, the triangular-eyed mercenary had become a key figure within the guild.

Eventually, years later, rumors spread that he had become a wandering outcast.

Something about offending a noble’s daughter.

It reminded Encrid of why the bastard had killed his comrade back then.

“Why the hell are you acting like this?”

Another mercenary who knew of the bastard’s long-standing habit had rebuked him, and that was the cause of it all.

As for why the bastard had spared Encrid’s life? Encrid never asked, so he didn’t know.

Perhaps it was some twisted sense of self-satisfaction. A belief that he wasn’t the type to kill just anyone, that his victims always had it coming.

“Pitiful bastard.”

That was the last thing the bastard had said before leaving.

Encrid thought the world was unfair.

He also came to believe that skill and character were entirely separate matters.

‘What a wretched piece of trash.’

A dream was just a dream.

If Encrid had been an ordinary man,

He might have fixated on revenge against that bastard.

But he didn’t. If the opportunity arose, he would pick up his sword and hold him accountable for his past sins.

But he wouldn’t burn his entire life for that one goal.

He wouldn’t throw away his life for the comrade who lost his heart to a harpy.

All the grudges and memories—Encrid chose to leave them behind and burn his life in pursuit of his dreams.

That was how he lived.

Resolutely and steadfastly.

‘You’re not even worth killing.’

Even if his opponent regarded him with such disdain, rather than being hurt, he simply pressed forward.

When dark, damp, and frightening memories threatened to consume him,

He endured them in silence and shook them off.

‘It’s meaningless.’

Would despair and agony pressing down on his shoulders ever help him swing his sword?

Would they serve as a good signpost on the path to the life he sought and desired?

No, they wouldn’t.

So he didn’t dwell on them. Instead of wasting time on despair, he swung his sword. Instead of brooding over his comrade’s death, he swung his sword. Instead of plotting revenge, he swung his sword.

“Shall I kill you this time?”

The dream twisted. Somehow, the ferryman seemed to blur into view behind his opponent.

As the memory from that time came crashing back like waves, turning into a chaotic sea that painted the surroundings,

‘Meow.’

A languid cry of a beast echoed from somewhere.

And that was the end of it. The dream faded and shattered.

‘Stop wandering aimlessly.’

Someone’s voice echoed. It was clear and pure, yet brimming with warmth.

That’s how it felt.

‘Esther?’

For no particular reason, a blue-eyed leopard came to his mind.

At the end of the fractured dream,

‘Bwoooooo.’

The sound of a horn woke Encrid.

This time, it was reality. He recognized the familiar ceiling of the tent above him.

The leopard curled up in his arms was sleeping soundly, its gentle warmth spreading through his chest.

Turning his head toward the tent’s entrance, he saw that the morning sun had not yet risen.

A faint blue light seeped through the air.

Encrid wasn’t the only one reacting to the horn’s call.

“Good morning.”

It was Rem. Fully awake, he began gearing up.

“Damn, it’s still freezing.”

The barbarian especially despised the cold, muttering complaints despite the absence of the harsh winds known as “scourge winds.”

Still, his hands never stopped moving.

He donned his usual not-so-thick gambeson, strapped his two axes to his waist, and rose to his feet.

Audin also stood up, grabbing his two cudgels.

“May your day be full of blessings. Good morning, brothers.”

Though no one answered, no one scolded him for the greeting either.

Jaxson, already fully armed, had woken at some point.

And Ragna, for once, was moving early enough to defy his lazy reputation.

Though he didn’t leap to his feet or hurry, he quietly prepared his gear.

Encrid didn’t just sit and watch either.

He checked his remaining whistle daggers—three of them.

He slipped on a thin shirt that served as an undergarment, followed by a torn leather armor piece over his right shoulder.

The leather armor was thin and soft, making it comfortable to wear. With the gambeson layered underneath, and his boots and gauntlets secured, his preparation was complete.

At his waist, he carried a guard sword.

A knife was strapped to his left thigh.

Though the right gauntlet bore marks from his fight with Frok,

And the leather armor and gauntlets were half-ruined,

‘Could stitching fix this?’

It didn’t seem likely.

In any case, it wasn’t an issue to resolve now.

Andrew, Mack, and Enri were part of this ragtag squad. Despite being called rookies or burdens, they were competent and experienced soldiers.

Andrew, in particular, had proven his mettle by killing an enemy soldier in a prior engagement.

The thrill from that moment had faded, but the confidence remained.

They too armed themselves.

“What’s going on?”

Andrew asked.

“What do you think?”

Rem shot him a condescending glance.

“Looks like the ones hiding have come out.”

Mack chimed in, piecing together the situation. Blowing the horn at dawn, when the mist obscured visibility, was no casual act.

Krys rubbed his eyes, thinking along the same lines.

If they’re attacking at this ungodly hour, it’s going to ruin my skin.

Idle thoughts gave way to sharp calculations.

Their forces had deployed more scouts than usual and reinforced the watch shifts.

No one had drunk celebratory wine or eaten lavishly after their recent victory.

The commanders of each unit had likely kept their soldiers disciplined, understanding that the battle wasn’t truly over.

There was a saying on the battlefield:

‘Today’s victory doesn’t guarantee tomorrow’s.’

‘Marcus really is a capable commander.’

Krys had a high opinion of him. Though he didn’t fully grasp all of Marcus’s decisions, they seemed rational enough.

“Rally! All units, assemble!”

A messenger’s voice echoed outside.

Krys found it peculiar that the enemy was hiding. Why hole up in their encampment and wait?

If they planned to flee, they’d have done so. If they were preparing a last stand, they’d make their move. If they were calling for reinforcements, they’d be actively buying time.

But to just hide?

Why?

Answers to simple questions weren’t always simple, but sometimes they were clear and straightforward.

‘They must think they still have the advantage. Or that they have a chance to turn the tide.’

In other words, the enemy likely had more cards to play.

The battalion commander wouldn’t be unaware of this.

Now it was a question of whose prediction would prove accurate.

Was Azpen’s prepared sword sharper?

Or was their commander’s shield sturdier?

Such matters were beyond Krys’s control.

“If you don’t want to be left behind, get your gear.”

Encrid lightly tapped Krys’s head, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Ah, yes.”

At the very least, today, Krys resolved to stay close to Encrid.

It was clear from his preparations—he wouldn’t stray far from him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have layered on his gambeson so carefully.

Nobody wanted to die, but Krys’s determination to preserve his life was striking.

He looked like someone who would survive no matter what.

Stepping out of the tent, the scene was bustling. Soldiers moved in response to the horn and the messenger’s orders, each readying themselves in their own way.

“Heh, I smell something.”

“Smell that?”

Rem seemed oddly cheerful.

“The fog is bothersome, but it’s fine.”

Ragna wasn’t indulging in his usual laziness.

“If you sharpen your senses, the fog won’t be a hindrance,” Jaxson said, unusually accommodating today.

“The Lord says there are many vacant seats in heaven today,” Audin muttered, his prayer sounding fiercer than ever.

Filling heaven’s empty seats? It sounded more like a declaration to beat their enemies into oblivion.

Andrew, Mack, and Enri all felt light on their feet.

Yesterday, during the sparring, Encrid had experienced a boundless surge of strength.

It felt as though he had borrowed tomorrow’s energy to use it all today.

‘Good.’

Even after pushing himself so hard yesterday, his condition today was excellent. No, it felt even better than before.

‘No wrist pain.’

The cuts and stab wounds had already started to heal, fresh skin forming where they had been.

It was a symphony of divine power and elven medicine working in harmony.

“All units, advance! Move out! Forward! Forward!”

The messenger at the front shouted, his voice cutting through the air.

The allied forces began to march, breaking through the thick fog by the riverside.

Today’s fog was denser than usual, but it didn’t seem magical. It was just a hunch, but Encrid doubted the enemy would repeat a tactic they’d already used.

Surely, their commanders had prepared countermeasures for that.

“This is great. Really great.”

Rem kept rambling.

“What’s great?”

“Today feels like it’s going to be fun.”

Sometimes, Encrid wondered what exactly went on inside Rem’s head.

The problem was, Encrid shared that same feeling.

Beyond the fog, he sensed something—new enemies approaching.

His heart started pounding with the excitement of impending battle.

As everyone, from the troops to the leading commander, stood in tense formation—

“Shit!”

A voice erupted from the vanguard.

“Fire! Shoot, now!”

Through the hazy fog, Encrid caught sight of a strange scene.

A blurry gray shadow emerged.

It had the size and build of a bear, with its head towering high above the ground.

It was a hulking figure, even larger than Audin.

A monstrous silhouette, with a head mounted far above where his own would be, surged forward through a hail of arrows.