Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 136: No Two Days Are Ever the Same

Encrid felt significantly more at ease after leaving the battalion commander’s tent.

Though the commander’s expression wasn’t exactly welcoming, to Encrid, it was a unique experience.

‘A knight, speaking of dreams.’

The fact that the commander didn’t react with mockery or shock was, in itself, refreshing.

Still, that wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was that Encrid had spoken his piece and been rejected. Now, it was time to resume what he had been doing.

Returning to his quarters, Encrid stood before Rem.

“What is it?”

“We continue.”

He was simply asking for the transfer of senses to continue. It was nothing extraordinary—just finishing what had already begun.

Looking at such a platoon leader, Rem couldn’t help but think he was truly insane.

Was this normal?

Even Rem understood the difficulty of teaching someone who felt absolutely nothing—truly nothing at all.

And yet, Encrid wanted to proceed. He didn’t grow bored, and despair seemed beyond him.

This was a man entirely detached from frustration, despair, and hardship.

Still, Rem couldn’t help but ask out of curiosity.

“Doesn’t it bore you?”

“Hmm?”

The look in Encrid’s eyes made it clear he didn’t even understand the question. There was no use saying more. He seemed entirely determined to continue.

“Let’s do it. I didn’t have anything else to do, so this works out well.”

At Rem’s words, Andrew’s expression brightened.

Over the past few days, since Rem had attached himself to their platoon leader, Andrew had been experiencing a kind of peace, love, life, and hope.

“Life is full of beauty.”

“Get a grip,” Mack scolded, trying to calm him.

Meanwhile, Enri had left the group.

He had joined a unit transporting the wounded a few days ago and hadn’t returned since.

Though technically part of the Mad Platoon, his departure under such circumstances was a rare privilege. It was a reward for his contributions to their victory.

“I’m thinking of living a different life,” Enri had said when he announced his decision to leave.

Encrid had nodded, approving the request and making sure it became official.

He respected Enri’s choice. Not everyone could live a life bound to the sword.

That said, Enri’s absence was felt.

Even though he was excused from kitchen duties and most assignments, Encrid couldn’t avoid certain tasks, like reconnaissance missions.

Reconnaissance missions, often combined with Krys’s strong insistence, involved searching the enemy’s abandoned positions.

Without Enri, even something as simple as navigating became a challenge.

While Encrid wasn’t a complete novice at navigation, he was far from an expert.

Still, compared to the other platoon members, his navigation skills were exceptional.

“Finding the way may not be my strength, but I’m good at finding beasts and monsters. While we’re out, why not raid a monster nest?” Rem suggested.

As the techniques for [Heart of Monstrous Strength] advanced, he had been contemplating new combat scenarios. He didn’t care about finding the way; he just wanted a challenge.

“Monsters will appear eventually,” Ragna added casually. He was hopeless when it came to directions.

“I go where divine guidance leads me,” said Audin, whose comments were as dangerous as Ragna’s incompetence.

Audin’s talk of divine guidance often sounded like an excuse to do as he pleased.

Jaxson said nothing but showed no intention of taking charge. He seemed more likely to disappear than to guide the group.

Mack was still around, but Encrid was clearly the better navigator.

Ultimately, the Mad Platoon scoured the enemy positions.

Even though their scouts had already ransacked the area, Krys managed to line his pockets with his uncanny skill.

“Impressive.”

“Right?”

“Oh, gems.”

Muttering to himself, Krys uncovered pouches of coins and gem-encrusted daggers.

Though nothing overly valuable, there were plenty of items that could be traded for Krona.

“Soldiers often hide things before heading to the battlefield,” Krys explained.

It wasn’t uncommon for soldiers to bury valuable items near their barracks, asking comrades to retrieve them for their families if they didn’t return.

Of course, such plans fell apart if everyone died.

But no one entered a battlefield expecting annihilation.

This time was no different, and Krys’s knack for finding hidden items was unmatched.

Even in spots the scouts had already searched, Krys unearthed treasures from beneath cots, near campfire remains, and under trees.

“How do you always find these things?” Encrid asked, genuinely curious. With nothing to guard against, he had little else to do.

“What do you think? He can smell Krona. Look at his nose—it’s practically shaped like a coin,” Rem quipped.

Despite Rem’s joke, Krys ignored him, knowing better than to engage.

Andrew could learn a thing or two from him.

“It’s simple if you think about it,” Krys said, tapping his temple.

His leather pack, slung over his shoulder, was already full.

“Think?” Encrid repeated, intrigued. He wanted to learn, even as a way to relax.

“If you were hiding something, where would you put it? What if your base was destroyed, but you survived? Humans cling to hope, don’t they? So where would you hide something you absolutely needed to retrieve?”

“…Somewhere obvious.”

“Exactly. Like this distinctive tree—it’s not far from the barracks and easy to visit during a march.”

It made sense.

“And most importantly,” Krys continued, his eyes gleaming with passion.

“The rarer the item, the better it’s hidden.”

This guy really had a sharp mind.

Of course, once you figure it out, it doesn’t seem all that impressive.

But what was remarkable was that Krys had anticipated and thought of all this before even starting.

“Do you still want to open a salon?”

“Why do you think I work so hard? My goal is to open a salon in my twilight years, spend my nights telling silly jokes, living leisurely, and raking in Krona.”

Calling it a dream felt… crude, somehow.

Yet Krys spoke of it with utmost seriousness.

Not just seriousness—he looked ready to risk half his life, or more, to achieve it.

Besides, how could Encrid mock someone else’s dream when his own felt equally absurd?

Compared to becoming a knight, opening a salon for noble ladies and earning Krona seemed far more realistic.

So, there was no criticism, no judgment, no laughter.

The same went for Enri’s dream of marrying a widowed florist, having children, and living a peaceful life.

‘I want to become a knight.’

A thrill surged within Encrid. It felt like he was inching closer to the dream he had longed for so desperately.

It wasn’t just excitement—a wave of emotion coursed through his entire body.

Yes, he was walking toward it.

He was getting closer, even if he had to crawl half a step at a time.

‘So wait for me, torn and faded dream. I’ll stand beside you soon and walk with you.’

“All done!”

After searching a few more places, Krys handed Encrid two thin-bladed throwing knives.

“Here, take these. Nothing special.”

At first, Encrid wondered why he was being given them.

But ten seconds later, Rem erupted in frustration.

“What, are you here to babysit Big Eyes?”

It was clear he wanted Encrid to handle the aftermath.

“Want to spar when we get back?”

Soothing Rem had become a routine by now.

Once they returned to the unit, it was back to more training.

Even after his conversation with the battalion commander, things remained the same.

Endless, stagnant training.

The next day, Encrid began swinging his sword immediately after practicing the [Isolation Technique].

‘Focus.’

He concentrated all his senses into the sword.

It was the same as usual, yet different.

No two days could ever be the same.

Unbeknownst to him, Encrid was no longer the same man with mediocre talent as before.

He had gained so much to compensate for his shortcomings—

Experience, newfound skills, [Heart of the Beast], pinpoint focus, the [Blade’s Sense], and the [Isolation Technique].

All these, combined with countless hours of training, doubled the intensity of his current efforts.

Encrid immersed himself in that time.

At some point, his vision blurred, and his pupils seemed to lose focus, but his sword became sharper, and his movements quicker.

‘Frok, Mitch Hurrier, battlefield.’

As he practiced alone, recalling and pondering his moves, his mind began to fade into a haze.

[Heart], [Beast], [Monstrous Strength], [Battle], [Combat], [Reflection].

Thoughts and memories receded, leaving only himself and his sword in the world.

Faint remnants of images and stray thoughts floated briefly before vanishing entirely.

He swung his sword fiercely, again and again. His recovered wrist moved more firmly than ever before.

Was this the divine effect, or the elven commander’s medicine?

It didn’t matter.

Stray thoughts surfaced and blurred, only to disappear. Soon, all distractions vanished.

Encrid felt as though he were observing his own body from the outside.

A continuous, surreal sensation of being detached from himself.

In this state, he saw his sword.

Slashing, stabbing, cutting, retracting.

The crunch of small pebbles beneath his feet accompanied his fluid movements.

Changing his steps, he adjusted the direction and position of his strikes.

Only the trajectories of his sword remained visible to Encrid.

Dots connected by lines.

A flickering blade, a heavy strike, a flashing thrust, swings executed with precision, constricting the enemy. A half-spin, his arm whipping like a lash.

‘Wham!’

The sound of his sword slicing through the air echoed.

Anyone who had known Encrid before—especially at the beginning—would have been astounded.

Despite all the time he had spent practicing, he had once been stuck in place, like a broken scarecrow.

Unable to stand, but writhing desperately.

Now, that scarecrow stood tall on its own two feet.

“You’ve really improved.”

Standing outside the barracks, Rem couldn’t help but marvel.

When had Encrid become capable of losing himself so completely in his sword?

When had he grown strong enough to stand on his own?

The broken scarecrow was gone.

As Rem crouched down, resting his chin on his hand, a wave of emotion swept over him.

When had Encrid improved so much?

Nearby, Ragna stepped out of the barracks.

Hearing the sound of Encrid’s sword cutting through the air, Ragna realized that his platoon leader’s swordsmanship had matured.

Though he had experienced it during sparring, seeing Encrid so immersed in his sword felt strange.

It was as if someone had ignited a fire in Ragna’s chest.

His fighting spirit soared.

Moved by the feeling, Ragna quietly drew his sword.

‘Schling.’

He began practicing his swordsmanship on one side.

Audin joined in as well.

‘He’s honed his body well.’

What kind of talent did it take to move your body exactly as you wished?

It required training to push oneself beyond limits, to feel pain, to confront one’s boundaries.

That was the essence of the [Isolation Technique].

The ultimate beneficiary of that imagined technique now stood before Audin.

Even Encrid’s joints moved smoothly.

His wrist would no longer suffer from the same shocks it had in the past.

After all, he had been focusing on joint training recently.

‘Lord, your servant rejoices.’

Feeling pure joy from watching someone else was rare—so rare it felt even more joyous.

Jaxson found it oddly satisfying.

‘It was the right choice.’

Teaching him senses, staying here—it had all been worth it.

He hadn’t stayed for gains or losses, yet he felt no regret.

Once, he had thought staying here was a waste of time.

But seeing his platoon leader now, that thought didn’t cross his mind, not even a little.

From one side, Esther watched Encrid, her chin resting on her forepaws.

Magic and spells were paths to becoming an explorer of new worlds.

The joy and exhilaration gained from them were unparalleled, incomparable to anything else.

That was why she had chosen the path of spells.

The joy of exploration, the thrill of discovering something new, and the fulfillment of building her own world upon that foundation—

All of these were the pieces that made up who she was, the driving force that had led her to delve into magic and construct her spellbound world.

But now, she wondered why that human was swinging his sword into empty air.

Looking at Encrid, Esther was reminded of herself, lost in the world of spells.

Though her knowledge of swordsmanship was rudimentary at best, she could clearly feel that the man’s skills were extraordinary.

And so, a thought crossed her mind:

‘What drives you to move like that?’

It was pure curiosity, the kind a spellcaster and explorer naturally felt.

For Esther, this was a surprising change.

She had spent her entire life ignoring everything else, focusing solely on spells, and had become cursed as a result.

Yet now, here she was, taking an interest in another person. It was so unusual that even Esther found it startling—but she also enjoyed it.

New experiences were a source of vitality for her.

Even this feeling was new.

Soon, Encrid’s sword came to a halt.

With a deep exhale, he stood still, sweat streaming down his entire body.

Esther moved. Gripping a cloth in her mouth, she trotted over to him.

When she handed it to Encrid, he accepted it while staring blankly into space and said,

“Thank you, Esther.”

“Nya-ah.”

You’re welcome.

Encrid wiped his sweat with the cloth and suddenly noticed how warm the weather was.

The comfort he felt—was it because of the weather?

Or was it the result of focusing solely on his sword without any other thoughts clouding his mind?

It felt like the suffocating weight pressing on his chest had disappeared.

Feeling lighter, he called out:

“Rem.”

He had glimpsed the edge of the technique, [Heart of Monstrous Strength].

And if he could see it, he had to grasp it.

Once he did, all that remained was to absorb it into himself.

Whether it would go as planned, he’d find out by trying.

“Let’s do it again.”

It seemed like just another ordinary day.

But no two days are ever truly the same.

That much was self-evident.