Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 133: Spring Carries Magic

Andrew and Mack wielded their swords.

In the meantime, Enri kept pulling the string of his short bow, which he had brought instead of his usual crossbow.

When he saw an opening, he fired.

If an enemy approached unexpectedly or if a fallen soldier lay nearby, he swung his hand axe to strike their head.

‘Thwack!’

Though he couldn’t split a head in one blow like Rem, the heads he struck were far from intact.

Shattered skulls, blood streaming through cracks in helmets, and eyes filled with despair or resentment.

It all reminded Enri of animals he had hunted and killed.

He shook his head, casting the thoughts aside.

Reflection was a luxury in the midst of battle.

That was all Enri contributed; Andrew and Mack handled the rest.

While they might not have been as crazed as the members of the Mad Squad, the two of them were formidable.

“You think the Gray Dogs are a joke?!”

One of the enemy soldiers shouted, his bloodied spear in hand and his eyes blazing.

Andrew faced him head-on.

Five exchanges were all it took. Two blocks, two slashes, and a single thrust.

The thrust bore a striking resemblance to Encrid’s technique, at least in Enri’s eyes.

Mack, on the other hand, skillfully cut down enemies while ensuring Andrew didn’t advance too far ahead.

“That’s far enough.”

Whenever Mack spoke, Andrew stopped in his tracks.

Then, Andrew began pounding his chest with both hands.

“Uwooh!”

What now? Why the sudden shout?

It seemed Andrew had picked up something odd from Rem.

“Come at me, you half-baked cowards!”

A clumsy provocation, and the chest-pounding was downright ridiculous.

Even so, Andrew fought fiercely, energized by his own theatrics.

From behind, Enri observed the two of them and the others.

Blood speckled the helmets of the soldiers.

‘Waaaah!’

With every shout of triumph—

“Kill them! Kill them all!”

The cries of bloodlust rang out.

“Please, spare me.”

And the whispers of those clinging to life.

In the midst of this battlefield of death and survival, Enri came to a realization.

‘This is as far as I go.’

While some cheered for the Mad Squad,

And others were moved to tears by their feats,

Enri saw his limits. He had reached the end of his journey.

“Uwooh!”

Andrew’s shout rang out again as his sword cut through the air, slicing into an enemy soldier between the collarbone and neck.

‘Shluck.’

The blade lodged halfway in before Andrew yanked it free.

“Aaaagh!”

The enemy’s screams followed the movement of the sword.

Having realized his own limits, Enri found himself longing to return to the plains as a hunter.

But the plains he once knew had become battlefields.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to return to the city and live as the husband of the florist widow.

That woman—the widow who had lost her husband to war and raised her child alone with unwavering strength.

Enri missed her terribly. He wanted to leave the battlefield immediately and return to her.

Here and now seemed like the right time to end the life of Enri the hunter and soldier.

“Sentimental.”

Enri muttered to himself as he surveyed the battlefield nearing its conclusion.

The enemy commander had moved quickly, making decisive choices.

At some point, the command banner and escort unit had disappeared entirely.

Most of the remaining troops surrendered.

Only a handful resisted.

The battle and the war were drawing to a close.

Amidst the chaos—

“Long live the Mad Squad!”

A cheer unlike anything heard before tore through the air.

It was a victory cry.

—

The Azpen commander was fleeing for his life.

‘Damn bastards.’

He was a competent leader, so he understood exactly what was happening.

Who had overturned the battlefield?

Where had the winds of change begun to blow?

The one wielding the axes, and a few others.

Intelligence was crucial. He needed to inform his side of the dangerous figures among the enemy ranks.

He had already sent out carrier pigeons, but as the commander, the ultimate responsibility fell on him.

“It felt like the night would never end. You bastards!”

His heart sank at the sudden shout.

A heavily armed force stood blocking the rear. They looked like an independent unit.

They were clearly not allies.

The eagle insignia etched onto their right shoulders was unmistakable.

“We lost even without these guys showing up?”

The commander muttered bitterly, his escort forming an impenetrable shield around him.

But it was futile.

“The Butchers of the Border.”

These were the pride of Naurilia’s forces, the Border Butchers.

They had circled around the battlefield and lain in ambush.

Their original plan was to disrupt the enemy’s rear lines, weaken their numbers, and sow fear.

Had the giant’s attack succeeded, this maneuver would have been unnecessary. But now, it was critical.

The Border Butchers were as confused as the enemy.

Their mission had been to strike the enemy rear stealthily.

But instead, the enemy was fleeing like a pack of stray dogs.

There was no time to analyze the situation.

The captain of the Border Butchers acted decisively.

“Crush them all.”

His words were a death sentence.

The enemy commander and his escort resisted, but the outcome was inevitable.

“Retreat! Retreat!”

The commander shouted as he charged into the fray himself. It was an impressive sight.

Calling for retreat while fighting head-on meant he intended to save as many of his men as possible.

Such honor deserved a response in kind.

The captain of the Border Butchers stepped forward himself.

‘Clang! Clang! Clang!’

In his hands was a flail, the iron weight at its end spinning wildly, its chain clinking like a wailing cry.

“I’ll send you off properly.”

And he did just that.

The fight was brief. On one side was a leader who had risen to command through sheer strength.

On the other, a man who specialized in cunning strategy.

‘Swoosh.’

The iron weight of the flail traced an unpredictable arc before falling.

‘Thwack!’

The Azpen commander’s head shattered, blood and brain matter spraying everywhere.

And with that, it was over.

“Uwaaaah!”

It didn’t take long to deal with the remaining fleeing soldiers.

‘Thud!’

With an axe buried in the final enemy soldier’s head, the battle was over.

This battlefield lived up to the title of “Butchers of the Border.”

Leaving the massacre behind, the Border Captain gave his command.

“Return to base.”

The Border Butchers quickened their pace to rejoin the main forces.

Their original plan had been to harass the enemy’s retreat or cut off their supply line—not to crush their commander’s skull.

How had the battlefield turned out this way?

Curiosity, wonder, and anticipation drove the captain’s steps.

And when they finally arrived, they saw it.

The victorious cheers of their allies.

Signs of an overwhelming victory were evident across the battlefield, visible to anyone.

It was obvious who had been at the center of it all.

Those who broke the enemy’s carefully prepared blades on every front.

And the man who led those individuals.

The name of his unit echoed amidst the cheers.

“Mad Squad!”

“Mad! Squad!”

“Mad bastards!”

Battalion Commander Marcus didn’t stop the cheers.

In fact, he ensured the Mad Squad received full credit for their deeds, spreading their name through heralds across the field.

Amid the cheers, there stood Encrid and the Mad Squad.

Encircled by allies, Torres looked at them, his gaze resting on Encrid’s face.

‘It’s really a gathering of lunatics.’

Where among them could one find anything resembling normalcy?

No one would admit it, but Torres, having witnessed it firsthand, knew the truth.

Encrid was one of those lunatics.

For many reasons, but primarily—

‘Just being able to exist among those maniacs is proof enough.’

And somehow, he fit perfectly.

—

The elf commander muttered as she watched the flow of battle and the victorious cheers.

“Spring holds magic.”

Spring, the season of warm winds, had arrived.

The battle that began at dawn ended around noon, and as the sun reached its peak, a warm breeze swept across the field.

Spring.

Like a flower born in winter and blooming in spring,

The breeze that followed the biting winds of winter always carried magic.

And before that magic, heralding a new beginning,

A man stood tall, basking in the cheers of all around him.

The elf commander’s gaze followed the man cloaked in the magic of spring.

Encrid.

The man leading the Mad Squad was now in her sights.

—

Encrid relished the cheers of the battlefield.

‘Not bad.’

Hearing people chant his name,

And calling for the Mad Squad.

He knew it, too—who had turned the tide of this battle.

It was his squad members who did it.

Rem killed the giant.

Audin broke the enemy formation.

Jaxson likely did something as well, though Encrid hadn’t asked yet, but it was certain.

And he and Ragna had handled the mercenaries wielding deadly blades on the right flank.

Those ten mercenaries, if left unchecked, would have butchered their allies instead.

‘Well done.’

It wasn’t bad at all. Enjoying such cheers was only fair.

“Good, huh?”

Rem chuckled beside him.

“Yeah.”

Encrid, as always, was straightforward.

“You’re too easy to read, you know that?”

Rem, trying to tease him, gave up with a huff.

Why was he so quick to admit things?

Right then, others began to return.

“Andrew and his group have returned.”

Andrew, no matter how much Rem beat him or how Audin threatened him with soft words, took pride in being the squad leader of the Mad Squad.

The specks of blood on their helmets spoke of the fierce battles they had fought.

Encrid nodded.

“What, did you cut off a commander’s head? Or maybe the giant’s balls?”

Unable to tease his squad leader, Rem turned his aim to Andrew.

“More like I cut down two hundred men single-handedly instead of a giant.”

It was pure bravado—everyone could tell.

But Andrew’s tone was such that no one minded.

The atmosphere within the squad felt lighter.

“Bullshit.”

Rem laughed it off.

Ragna, too, seemed calm, as if he had let go of whatever had been stirring within him. He was back to his usual, relaxed demeanor.

Even Jaxson cracked a smile.

As for Audin, there was no need to mention it—

With the way the light shone behind him, he looked like a holy knight blessed by the divine.

Holding a darkened, bloodstained club, he exuded a serene aura.

From the side, Krys watched them all and thought:

‘How did things turn out like this?’

It was a habit of his to trace causes from results.

‘Did it start with that sparring match?’

Krys prided himself on being the most perceptive in the squad.

He had sensed something unusual since the sparring match Encrid initiated upon his return.

The atmosphere around Rem, Ragna, Jaxson, and Audin—the core fighters—had shifted.

Were they in a better mood? In simple terms, yes.

Digging deeper, it felt as though something had been resolved.

From a single sparring session? It was the same routine they practiced daily, wasn’t it?

‘No, that’s not it.’

Krys had seen Encrid spar with Frok.

He had also seen him bite off the enemy commander’s ear.

Whether it was Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship or something else wasn’t the point.

Krys had watched Encrid for a long time.

And so had the others.

‘Growth.’

Dramatic growth.

Though they all knew he would never reach their level,

They couldn’t help but support the squad leader who refused to give up, struggling with everything he had.

They wished for him to stand, walk, and run.

And yet, every squad member knew—how could they not?—that countless others had failed to surpass the limits of their talent.

No matter what Encrid did, he could never stand among them as an equal.

But now, how did things look?

“Good work, everyone.”

Encrid addressed the entire squad.

Krys, looking at his back, felt a lump in his throat.

He was the same squad leader as always,

And yet, somehow, different.

The afternoon sunlight, the warm breeze, the scent of the battlefield, the smell of rusted iron and blood, the fragrance of death.

All of it mingled together before gradually receding.

Krys admitted to himself that he was intoxicated by something.

Just watching Encrid felt as though he had fallen under a charm spell.

It must have been the magic of spring.

As the saying passed down on the continent went:

“Spring carries magic.”

The gazes of all the squad members watching Encrid became the same.

No, it wasn’t just them.

Even Battalion Commander Marcus, who had been observing from a distance before approaching, bore a similar look in his eyes.

“Raise your cheers.”

The battalion commander strode forward and spoke.

Turning toward Encrid, Marcus smiled and said,

“For the greatest hero of the battlefield, let your cheers ring out.”

Between the brief but powerful cheers and the shouts praising the Mad Squad,

The battalion commander’s words spread far and wide.

A roar shattered the spring sky.

‘Uwaaah!’

It was the cry of those intoxicated by victory and the magic of spring.

A joy brought by triumph on the battlefield.

A cheer dedicated to those who had secured that victory.

Encrid quietly savored the cheers.

It wasn’t bad.

It wasn’t bad at all.