Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 132: The Pilgrim Walking in Pursuit of a Dream

Marcus felt a chill run down his spine.

Cold sweat dripped from his brow, soaking his forehead.

‘These bastards?’

The enemy’s cunning tactics left his mouth dry.

But as the current commander of the infantry battalion, he couldn’t afford to just stand and watch.

The unit had grown to the size of two battalions after reinforcements joined them.

“Turtle Company, hold position in the rear! The rest, stop the giant! Do not break formation! Anyone retreating will be shot in the back with an arrow!”

Hearing his orders, his deputy repeated them, and messengers ran off in all directions to convey the concise commands.

“Damn it, hold the line! Just hold it! Retreat and you’ll die!”

It was a dire situation. Sacrificing soldiers would lower morale, and once they started losing ground, regaining a favorable position on the battlefield would be a distant dream.

But there was no other choice.

He needed time to reorganize the troops.

The horns blared ceaselessly.

‘Bwooooooo!’

As Marcus stared into the mist that obscured his vision, he thought bitterly,

“What a damn mess of an environment.”

Hadn’t they almost been wiped out in a previous battle because of this cursed fog?

Back then, the fog was conjured by sorcery.

How had they resolved it back then?

With the former battalion commander’s strategy and tactics?

‘A load of nonsense that not even a dog would believe.’

Marcus knew the kind of man the former commander was—a noble-born soldier who loved bribes.

A fool driven by greed rather than competence.

The one who broke the sorcery must have been someone else entirely.

The man everyone whispered about, known as the “Sorcery Destroyer,” who earned that nickname among the troops.

The soldier rumored to have been blessed by the Goddess of Fortune herself.

The soldier sent to handle the Cross Guards, who solved problems wherever he went.

For some reason, Marcus thought of that soldier in this moment.

The name of the man who had been called upon to control the mad squad and make them accomplish something lingered vividly in his mind.

Encrid.

As the thought concluded, Marcus caught sight of a figure emerging faintly through the dissipating mist.

A being towering several heads above any human came into view.

“Damn it.”

A giant.

The enemy commander had gone all in.

Rather than fight half-heartedly, they had concentrated their forces into a single strike against the main army.

If this were a gamble, they had put everything on the table.

‘In a situation like this, they’re going all out?’

From the start, it had been a series of bold moves.

Lowering morale through duels.

Disrupting the rear lines.

And now unleashing a giant to overturn the battlefield in one fell swoop.

Was this the work of a strategic genius?

Or just a reckless, brute-force strategy that happened to work?

Marcus didn’t know.

Battlefields spoke through results alone.

Success and victory were what mattered.

If they lost here, it would be due to his own shortcomings.

As anxiety gnawed at him, Marcus found himself laughing involuntarily.

It was no coincidence he was nicknamed the War Maniac.

In situations like these, Marcus felt his desires, his primal instincts, boil over.

The pounding of his chest pumped blood throughout his body like a raging chariot of passion.

‘If I can just catch a little momentum.’

Marcus wasn’t the type to carefully measure every move. He was a gambler.

Thinking was for his subordinates.

“We need to retreat. A single giant will cost at least an entire platoon of soldiers,” one said.

“We must acknowledge the severity of the enemy’s strategy,” said another.

“We need to regroup and use archers instead of Turtle Company’s heavy infantry—”

Before they could finish their suggestions,

“On the left flank! Elves and assassins are indiscriminately killing our commanders!”

What the hell?

“On the right flank! A mercenary squad of at least platoon size is running wild! They’re of exceptional rank!”

This was chaos. Absolute madness.

Still, Marcus’s heart didn’t falter.

‘It doesn’t feel like this is the end.’

Ignoring the deputy’s pleading gaze for retreat, Marcus remained silent.

Change. Even the smallest shift would suffice.

If the winds of fortune shifted ever so slightly…

Marcus swallowed hard and waited. If change didn’t come?

‘No, there’s still a chance.’

Whenever people gathered, exceptional individuals were bound to emerge. There had to be such individuals within the infantry battalion as well.

It would take just one small action to break through the stagnant waves.

Marcus believed that moment would come.

“Commander!”

The deputy shouted in desperation. At that moment, a messenger came running.

From afar, the messenger shouted about the battlefield’s developments, so loudly it seemed he might collapse from the strain.

“Urgent news! Urgent news! The giant has been killed!”

Change. The very change Marcus had been waiting for with bated breath.

Who had done it didn’t matter.

“Counterattack!”

Marcus roared. The moment for the allied forces’ retaliation had arrived.

He demonstrated his exceptional abilities as a commander.

He was indeed a capable leader.

The Naurilia forces became a charging turtle in an instant.

Their formation revolved around the Turtle Company’s heavy infantry, creating a circular assault unit.

This was the kind of large-scale, organized battle Marcus excelled at.

—

The death of the giant was the turning point.

The winds of change blew fiercely across the battlefield, like the powerful typhoons that heralded the shift from summer to autumn.

“Chaaaarge!”

Beside each company commander, the loud voices of heralds echoed.

‘Bwooooooo!’

The horns signaled the advance.

“Attack!”

“Waaaah!”

“Wipe them all out!”

“Die, you bastards!”

Vell joined the fray. Witnessing Rem, the one who had killed the giant, and the allied forces’ newfound strength ignited a fire in his chest.

It no longer felt like they could lose this battle.

‘Thud.’

The infantry wielding spears charged first, stabbing at the enemy like thorns.

‘Thwack!’

The enemy battalion held firm. The Azpen soldiers were resilient, wielding shields and armor, retaliating with long spears.

“Open up!”

A shout erupted from behind the allied spearmen.

So what if they were tough? Were they as tough as us?

The Turtle Company’s heavy infantry was the pride of the 4th Battalion of the Cypress Division’s 4th Regiment.

An elite unit bearing the name of knights, it wasn’t just an independent unit—it was the core force of the army.

The Turtle Company moved.

Their tactics were simple, and their overarching strategy even simpler:

“Advance, destroy, and break.”

The heavy infantry of the Turtle Company was no longer in a defensive posture—they had shifted to attack.

Their steps were slow but deliberate, each one carrying tremendous weight.

If the infantry at the forefront had been spears earlier, now they were maces—blunt instruments designed to crush shields and armor alike.

The primary weapon of the heavy infantry was typically the pike, but for this operation, they had swapped them out for heavy, blunt weapons more suited to their charge.

Clad in underclothes, layered with gambeson, chainmail, and reinforced with steel gauntlets and greaves, they advanced as a unified mass.

To an onlooker, it might appear as if a massive block of iron was bearing down on the enemy.

The ten heavy infantrymen leading the charge raised their elongated maces high above their heads.

Their shadows stretched over the bloodstained ground.

“Oh, hell.”

One of the enemy soldiers muttered as he watched.

The heavy infantry brought their maces down simultaneously.

The iron weapons cleaved the air, crashing into shields, armor, and poorly raised spear shafts.

‘Bang!’ ‘Crack!’ ‘Crash!’

A cacophony of sounds erupted as wood splintered and metal crumpled.

It was the first strike of their charge.

No enemy soldiers died in the initial assault—it was a clash of formations.

The enemy didn’t collapse immediately, but the real issue was what came next.

The formations of both sides collided, breaking down their boundaries.

Like the sun and moon erasing their borders before dawn, the soldiers of both armies fought desperately to hold their lines.

The heavy infantry of the Turtle Company, now locked in place, demonstrated their full might.

‘Crunch!’

With the second swing of a mace, a buckler shattered, scattering wooden fragments into the air.

The eyes of the Azpen soldier holding the broken shield widened in shock as the mace returned, slamming down onto his helmet.

‘Thud!’

“Urgh!”

A leather helmet was no match for the sheer impact of the metal weapon.

The soldier collapsed, his skull caved in from a single blow.

The heavy infantry stepped over the fallen, their iron-clad boots crushing bones and bursting flesh.

For those caught underfoot, death was the only outcome.

“Advance, one step forward!”

The heavy infantry captain maintained the integrity of his unit’s formation.

Slowly, methodically, they advanced, squeezing the life out of the enemy with each step.

It wasn’t a charge or a rush—it was a deliberate, crushing advance.

With no room to retreat, the enemy was cornered.

“Wipe them out.”

The captain was brimming with confidence, as he had every right to be. The tide of the battle had shifted entirely.

Had this battle involved knights and their duels, things might have turned out differently.

But the enemy had hidden their ace, only to deploy it in vain.

Their hidden blade had been met with a sturdier one—unexpectedly solid and unyielding.

Who could have guessed that Rem, a so-called madman, would not only toy with the giant but also kill it?

“Uwooooh!”

A soldier’s battle cry pierced the air, igniting the spirits of all around. Soldiers, their eyes red with fervor, thrust spears and swung swords.

Some even picked up axes and hurled them into the fray.

This was when Marcus’s tactics shone once more.

After using the heavy infantry to shatter the enemy’s formation,

“Fire! Fire! Shoot them all!”

An auxiliary force moved to flank the enemy—a light infantry unit of rangers armed with shortbows.

Leading them was an exceptional ranger who had recently joined the unit: Finn.

Finn understood Marcus’s intentions without needing further explanation.

Arrows rained down, though they weren’t meant to kill en masse.

The focus was on constant, unrelenting volleys.

“Throw down your weapons and surrender! Lay your heads to the ground, and you won’t be killed!”

The cries echoed repeatedly, amplified by heralds shouting the same message across the battlefield.

The scattered enemy forces, already demoralized, began to retreat.

When they encountered Finn’s rangers, they dropped their weapons and raised their hands.

“Don’t kill them! Spare them!”

Finn ensured the surrendering soldiers were spared, a gesture that had a profound effect.

One by one, more soldiers knelt and pressed their heads to the ground.

The momentum of the battlefield had completely shifted.

Having killed the giant, Rem brushed his hands off.

“Guess I’ve worked up a sweat.”

This was as entertaining as it got. What was next? Chasing and massacring the remnants?

It didn’t excite him.

It wasn’t out of some soft-hearted aversion to slaughter.

The battle was already won—chasing the defeated was simply tiresome.

He scanned the enemy ranks, wondering if they had hidden another giant somewhere.

But no, there was nothing.

All he could sense was the commotion from their command center.

“They’re all about to run away.”

‘Not even a shred of sorcery left?’

There was no sign of resistance.

The tide had turned, and the battle was over.

That was Rem’s judgment.

He turned to look for his squad leader.

“Where the hell did he go?”

He muttered, annoyed. He had specifically told him to watch from the rear.

Not only was the squad leader gone, but so were the rest of the squad, including the stray cat.

“So, he took off with one of them, huh?”

‘Huh?’

A feeling of irritation crept over him.

“Uwooooh! Long live the Mad Squad!”

“Long live Rem!”

Cries of praise for Rem echoed around him, celebrating his defeat of the giant.

Every passing soldier exalted him.

The madman in their ranks had killed the bloodthirsty giant terrorizing the battlefield.

Most of all, the way he did it was remarkable.

Seeing the giant wield its massive hammer, Rem had kicked its thigh, smashed its fingers with his fists to disarm it, then leaped into the air and spun.

He landed a devastating kick to the giant’s jaw as his body rotated mid-air.

It was a spectacular strike.

After that, he grabbed a stray spear and pierced through the giant’s shattered jaw and out the back of its skull, creating a grotesque masterpiece.

The fallen giant resembled a sculpture,

And Rem, standing before it, looked every bit the hero from a legendary tale.

Giants, after all, were the archetypal villains of many stories.

The cheers erupting all around were only natural.

“Shut up!”

Even though the soldiers were praising him, Rem shouted angrily.

His voice was so loud that the soldiers cheering for him immediately fell silent.

Only then did Rem’s nickname come to their minds, as clear as the light of the moon:

‘Just a madman.’

A madman who raged for no reason.

A madman who got angry and caused chaos out of nowhere.

“Where’s our squad leader?”

Someone raised their hand and pointed in a direction.

There stood Encrid, holding two axes.

He was already making his way toward them, and soon Rem, Ragna, and Encrid stood face to face.

“I told you to stay and watch…”

“I found these on the way.”

Encrid interrupted Rem’s words and threw the axes.

The two axes sliced through the air and landed in Rem’s hands.

‘Thud, thud.’ With a quick reach, Rem caught them effortlessly.

“Huh?”

The grip and feel were unexpectedly good.

He tested the axes in his hands—they felt better than his old ones.

These weapons, carefully maintained and blooded in combat, were of excellent quality.

From their balance to the sharpness of the blades, everything was top-notch.

“You went to get these because my axes broke?”

A roundabout way, but as long as it got the job done.

Encrid knew Rem well.

“Yes.”

Encrid nodded.

In truth, it was a coincidence, but if it brought peace to the currently murderous Rem, then so be it.

The lethal aura emanating from Rem softened noticeably.

The air around him grew lighter.

“So, did you watch?”

“I did. I saw the axe stopping the giant and winning with strength.”

As Encrid spoke, Rem looked into his squad leader’s eyes.

The axes themselves were irrelevant.

What mattered was the fire in Encrid’s gaze—a flame that could only be described as passion, desire, and an unyielding will.

He was a pilgrim walking his path, shedding blood to pursue his dream.

That was enough for Rem.

This was precisely why Rem liked Encrid as a person.

“Good.”

Rem grinned.

Encrid grinned back.

Their smiles were different, yet somehow similar.

Ragna, observing this exchange from the side, muttered under his breath.

“At least sheath your swords first.”

Suddenly, Jaxson appeared behind Ragna, his arrival silent and without warning.

“When your senses sharpen and the Gate of the Sixth Sense opens, what comes next? Refinement, segmenting your training, learning how to react. There’s plenty to do.”

Encrid turned his gaze to Jaxson and silently asked with his eyes:

‘What does all that mean?’

But Jaxson didn’t respond.

“Next time.”

It seemed Jaxson was more adept at cutting off conversations than Ragna.

“This guy? Butting in again?”

Rem glared daggers at Jaxson, but before harsh words could escalate, Audin returned as well.

“Ha! Our side’s mad giant is stronger!”

Audin’s triumphant shout was deafening.

Yes, their side had a mad giant too, now covered in blood but smiling serenely.

The way he dripped blood from his sleeves while smiling so innocently—was it a skill, or just insanity?

“Do you know the core of the Valaf Style hand-to-hand combat?”

Audin seemed no different.

Encrid’s gaze shifted to the mad giant, who met his eyes with a cheerful grin.

“Damn, everyone’s joining in now?”

Rem growled in frustration.

Each of them exuded a fierce aura, as though ready to pounce at any moment.

Encrid, watching this chaotic scene unfold, intervened to calm them down.

Here, in the middle of the battlefield, these individuals, instead of focusing on the fight, were preoccupied with teaching Encrid.

These were, without a doubt, the most distinguished heroes of this battle.

As Encrid quelled the group of heroes, he asked,

“But what about the others?”

Now that he looked around, Andrew and the rest of the squad were nowhere to be seen.

“They got swept forward.”

Rem replied bluntly.