Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 135: The Matured Heart (2)

“Here.”

Without a care for who might be watching, Rem started.

Right in front of the camp, not in some corner or hidden spot, but in the middle of everything.

Grabbing Encrid’s wrist, Rem placed it over his chest and twisted his lips into a grin.

How to describe it?

The smile was laced with playful mischief.

Then, leaning closer, he began whispering to Encrid.

The volume was so low that, before honing his hearing with Jaxson’s training, Encrid wouldn’t have been able to catch a word.

Speaking this quietly, conveying what he wanted to say, was a skill in itself.

Ignoring the stares from around them, Rem seemed intent on this course of action.

“What you need is faith. After that, make your heart explode. If the beast’s heart has matured, burst it—just enough to avoid breaking.”

He left out any mention of the ritualistic effects involved, choosing only the words that mattered.

Encrid followed his instructions.

If he hadn’t trusted Rem, the beast’s heart wouldn’t have become a part of him in the first place.

And Rem liked that about him—his attitude, his answers, his actions.

Encrid always gave his all, sincerely and wholeheartedly.

But doing the same thing this time could ruin everything.

“Take it slow.”

Rem’s warning was sharp, his tone carrying an uncharacteristic seriousness.

It was entirely unlike his usual mischievous demeanor, and it left an impression on Encrid.

This must be extremely dangerous.

So, he made his heart beat slowly.

But could he control his heartbeat?

That’s when he felt it—through the palm of his hand, he sensed the pounding of Rem’s heart.

‘Thump-thump!’ It was explosive. The energy contained within seemed to course through Encrid’s hand.

“Do the same. Just a quarter of it.”

This was it.

Encrid waited for that sensation—the one that made his heart race.

It couldn’t be described in words or expressed through action.

Rem demonstrated it with his body and shared it directly.

It was entirely a matter of intuition.

So:

“Maybe I was worrying for nothing,” Rem muttered.

Should he have expected as much?

“One more time.”

Encrid’s request was simple.

The two stood there, palms pressed to each other’s hearts, until the sun began to dip.

“I have to ask—do you do this on purpose sometimes, or is it just me?”

“Hm.”

Encrid let out a short hum.

“I agree,” Ragna chimed in from the side.

“I can’t deny it either, Brother Madman,” Audin added.

“Agreed,” Jaxson nodded as well.

The accusation that he was doing it intentionally felt unfair, but—

“It’s not that I can do it and won’t. I just can’t,” Encrid admitted earnestly.

“…Fine, let’s do it again tomorrow,” Rem conceded with a click of his tongue.

Evening had come.

Thanks to the battalion commander and the surrounding soldiers, they didn’t have to take turns cooking or even perform guard duties.

With these privileges, they could dedicate themselves fully to training and practice.

But Encrid showed little to no progress. Not even a half-step forward, let alone a full one—or so Rem thought.

“What are you doing?”

“This thing? Are you just messing with me?”

“Go on, try again. I’m serious—just try.”

Rem kept saying similar things.

Encrid felt nothing. Not a single spark of intuition. Was that a problem?

No, it wasn’t.

Had he ever mastered a skill in a single glance?

Back when he repeated the same day over and over to train his left hand, there was a brief moment when he felt something akin to talent.

As if some divine spark of skill had descended upon him.

In that fleeting instant, he could feel his body grasping the techniques he practiced with his left hand.

It had been a short-lived but euphoric moment.

Did he long for that now?

Not at all.

He was simply too busy repeating and pondering, again and again.

“Battalion commander’s calling.”

Just another day of endless frustration, trying to ripen the beast’s heart and make it explode.

On the third day of setting up the new camp, the battalion commander finally summoned Encrid.

When Marcus had declared him a hero of the battlefield, it had seemed like he would call for him immediately.

Apparently, only now had things settled enough for that.

According to Krys, this delay was expected.

The move and establishment of the new camp must have weighed heavily on Marcus.

When Encrid asked why, Krys’s explanation stretched long again.

The summary was simple:

“If the enemy thinks we’re just standing still, they’ll ignore us. We have to at least pretend to move. If it were me—no, never mind.”

It seemed Krys had an idea but chose to keep quiet.

Encrid didn’t press further. If Krys wanted to speak, he would eventually.

For now, it was time to answer the call of the highest commander.

A deputy personally came to escort him, and as they headed toward the command tent, the elf commander joined them.

Her steps were so light they made no sound as she approached.

“When was our wedding again?”

There she went again. Encrid could never make sense of elven humor.

“Let’s set it for ten years from now.”

“Hmm, not bad. But I prefer younger humans to older ones.”

Wasn’t it a prerequisite for him to even be interested in elves for this to happen?

Despite her inhuman beauty,

The elf commander’s face, alien and otherworldly, didn’t strike Encrid as appealing.

Her long, delicate eyelashes framed jewel-like green eyes, her golden hair shimmered in the sunlight, and her luminous skin seemed to glow.

It was an otherworldly beauty.

“Shall we?”

Encrid admitted defeat. Dragging this banter out would only waste time.

Besides, the elf commander seemed to enjoy teasing him just enough to leave it at that.

To be honest, it wasn’t particularly unpleasant.

That’s just the kind of person she was.

Compared to Rem, she was far more composed, but perhaps even among the elves, there were those who were half-insane.

“Shall we?”

With the deputy at the forefront and the elf commander to his left, Encrid stepped into the command tent.

“You’ve arrived.”

Inside was Battalion Commander Marcus.

His beard was scruffy, a result of his time spent in the field.

Seeing him, Encrid was reminded of how unkempt his own chin felt. He resolved to shave once he returned.

He saluted, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword and bowing his head.

“Alright.”

Marcus gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.

The three of them gathered together.

“Bring some tea.”

At Marcus’s command, the deputy served three cups of tea in front of them.

The tea wasn’t anything luxurious—far from it—but in the middle of a battlefield, drinking tea was a rare indulgence.

“When I go into battle, I often get annoyed that I can’t enjoy good tea. But this time, even this suffices.”

Marcus broke the silence first.

With no seats prepared, they stood around the strategy table where tactics and plans were discussed.

“What do you think about working properly under my command?”

Marcus’s suggestion came suddenly, just as Encrid was taking a sip of his tea.

The elf commander remained silent.

Encrid glanced at Marcus, deliberating on how to respond, before quickly abandoning the idea.

When had he ever bent over backward to please a superior?

“I’ll decline.”

“Why? I’d say I’m quite a strong rope to climb.”

He wasn’t wrong. Before coming here, Krys had already explained the situation in detail—why the call was delayed and what Marcus might say.

It felt uncanny, as though Krys were some sort of fortune-teller.

How could everything unfold exactly as he had described?

“He’ll propose you work under him. He might even call your squad leader along for appearances. Why? To officially groom you as part of his unit, to raise your profile. Why aim for you? Are you seriously asking that?”

When Encrid simply stared blankly, Krys had responded with exasperation.

“What did you do in the Border Guard?”

“Fought, infiltrated, set some fires, and grabbed intel on the way back.”

“Forget Frok for a moment. What did you do in the rear guard?”

“Fought. Killed the detached force commander attacking the rear.”

“And at the frontlines?”

“Fought. Why are you asking about things you saw yourself?”

Since Krys had often followed him around, he had witnessed it all firsthand.

“Marcus knows, too.”

“What?”

“He knows. About everything you’ve done so far. And if he knows, what do you think? Does he desire that or not?”

If that were the case, shouldn’t Marcus covet Rem or others instead? Encrid quickly understood the logic.

He was the only one in the squad who wasn’t completely uncontrollable.

Realizing this had taken longer than it should have, likely because he’d been too preoccupied with training and trying to make the beast’s heart ripen.

Thanks to Krys’s timely explanation, Encrid wasn’t caught off guard.

“You expected this, didn’t you?”

Marcus’s question pulled him from his thoughts. Encrid replied with measured honesty.

“To some extent, yes.”

“And your reason for refusing?”

If he explained his reasoning now, would Marcus let him finish his tea in peace before dismissing him?

As the warm tea soothed his nerves, Encrid realized he hadn’t taken a break from obsessing over his training in days.

‘Now that I think about it, I finally let the tension in my shoulders ease.’

He wondered if the pressure to learn had been shackling him, holding him back.

A fleeting sensation passed through him, as though the chains in his heart were breaking apart.

It only lasted a moment, but Encrid felt significantly lighter.

‘Sip.’

He took another sip of tea and straightened his back.

Though his mind was unburdened, the words he was about to say carried great weight.

Marcus’s proposal—to aim higher within the military—was an opportunity few could refuse.

Especially for someone like Encrid, who had started with nothing as a mere soldier.

But Encrid spoke his truth.

“I have a dream.”

Even if others laughed at him, it was something he held close to his heart.

A dream he’d never forgotten since the day he first grasped a sword.

A dream nourished by burning desire, one that had begun to bear fruit.

Though he had spoken of it before, it had never carried this much conviction.

Mocked, dismissed, ridiculed, and torn apart until only fragments remained,

Those fragments now shone brightly, proving themselves.

Every day, they whispered: ‘I’ve been walking beside you this whole time.’

“I want to become a knight.”

And so, Encrid spoke.

At that moment, Marcus saw a vision.

A shiver ran down his spine as he caught sight of a different backdrop behind Encrid.

A battlefield, a sword, and something shining brightly.

‘What is this?’

It was more than a refusal; it was a declaration of someone moving forward.

Marcus felt as though he had been asked a question.

‘Do I even deserve to lead this man?’

Had his offer, born of ambition for a higher rank or more power, been driven by something so petty?

He had no true loyalty.

No dream of reaching higher.

Having settled for his current life, taking someone like Encrid under his wing felt absurd.

This realization forced Marcus’s mouth to open on its own.

“Huh.”

A sigh escaped, laden with emotion.

The elf commander, whose sharp perception was her greatest strength, understood the meaning behind Marcus’s sigh.

‘With just a single word?’

Human emotions were like storm-tossed waves.

Unlike the steady and unchanging nature of elves, humans were mercurial, prone to changing their decisions on a whim.

It seemed that the mind of this man called the battalion commander was no different.

He was like a small sailboat caught in a storm, struggling to stay afloat and without a clear sense of direction.

And then—

“I will walk the path to becoming a knight.”

With those words, Encrid saluted.

Marcus, almost reflexively, nodded in response.

Encrid stepped outside.

The elf commander worried that Marcus might harbor jealousy or resentment and act irrationally.

Humans were capable of such transformations.

“Haah.”

Marcus exhaled deeply, standing for a long time with a furrowed brow.

By the time the tea in his hand had gone cold,

Unaware of the elf commander still standing nearby, Marcus sighed again, a second, drawn-out exclamation, before breaking into laughter.

“Well, now.”

The elf commander detected a sense of release in Marcus’s voice and his smile.

Indeed, Marcus was smiling openly now, as though something heavy had been lifted.

Then he asked abruptly:

“What do you think? Will he become a knight?”

“I don’t know. That is for him to decide.”

“They say elves speak plainly.”

Instead of concealing the truth, elves were said to wield it as their weapon.

“It’s been a long time since my blood has boiled like this.”

Marcus muttered under his breath.

What would happen if Marcus’s blood truly boiled?

For better or worse, Marcus was unmistakably part of the noble faction.

Naurilia claimed to be a centralized state, yet much of its power had been usurped by the nobility.

This fragmentation of power was why it struggled so much against the Duchy of Azpen.

“Not leaving?”

“I’m going.”

After the elf commander departed, Marcus walked to a chair and sat down.

Just a few words had left his back drenched in sweat.

His emotions were a mix of irritation and exhilaration.

But he had made up his mind.

“Becoming a knight, huh?”

He couldn’t laugh at it. How could anyone ridicule the earnest dream of a person who spoke with such sincerity?

He was merely inspired.

“Fine, then I…”

I’ll move toward something truly new—away from these damned nobles.

It was a decision he had been wrestling with for a long time.

Before him lay two diverging paths.

A crossroads he had not yet chosen.

Marcus reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope.

It was a letter he had received a long time ago but had ignored.

Though he hadn’t been able to throw it away, he had carried it with him as a remnant of the past.

“Alright.”

Marcus’s eyes gleamed as he gripped the letter.

They were the eyes of his youth, burning with passion.

At the bottom of the unfolded letter, the royal seal was faintly visible.