Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 142: Coordination of Senses and Body

After killing the sentries, Rem turned around.

Neither Encrid nor Ragna had the chance to step in.

There was no reason to linger and wait for more enemies here.

“How dull,” Rem muttered, spinning his axe in his hand. Blood dripped from the blade, splattering onto the ground.

Watching this, Encrid turned around.

“Ragna.”

At the call, Ragna followed closely behind his platoon leader.

This was something Krys had emphasized: ‘Don’t leave Ragna alone.’

If left unattended, Ragna was bound to get lost—it was inevitable.

“You brute, know when to step in and when to back off,” Ragna said while following Encrid.

From Ragna’s perspective, it seemed like Encrid had wanted to act but hadn’t even gotten the chance.

Brutes didn’t know when to engage or when to stand down, so Ragna felt compelled to scold him.

Naturally, Rem wasn’t one to take criticism quietly.

“Huh? What did you say? Want me to carve a new mouth into your neck? Shall I split your throat for you?”

“Enough.”

Encrid calmly intervened, keeping the situation from escalating. It was just the beginning, after all.

They climbed back up the ridge. It was several times harder than coming down, but this was nothing compared to the grueling isolation technique they had trained under.

To Rem and Ragna, it was the same.

No one in this platoon of axe-wielding and sword-swinging maniacs would falter over something like this.

“Let’s go, Finn,” Krys urged, as if to steer the group away from unnecessary fights.

Finn nodded and stepped forward, taking the lead as they ascended the ridge once again.

Finn led the way, Encrid followed, and behind him were Ragna and Krys.

Even Krys, with his decent stamina, managed to keep up.

Mack observed the group, feeling quietly astonished.

‘They’re fast.’

Their strides showed no hesitation. It seemed like a forced march, yet none of them appeared fatigued.

Mack decided it was best to just focus on himself.

“Breathe slowly and deeply,” he advised.

Whether it was a march, a surprise attack, or a strike mission, this wasn’t going to end quickly. Conserving stamina was essential. Mack’s words prompted a nod from Andrew.

“I know,” Andrew replied with a single word, conveying that he understood even without further explanation.

Mack felt a wave of nostalgia. When had Andrew matured this much?

When this battle ended, when they finally returned to the city, perhaps it would be time to find his own place again.

“It’s going to be hard, but… I don’t know, I’m looking forward to it,” Andrew said, his gaze fixed on their platoon leader’s back.

Mack gave a subtle nod, too small for Andrew to notice.

He was also curious—how far would Encrid go?

Would he truly achieve that so-called dream of his?

Mack had the sense to notice—Encrid was chasing something beyond his current reach.

Andrew, too, had a dream that seemed nearly impossible.

He was here to help, but whether Andrew could save his family was another question entirely.

“Giving up isn’t an option,” Andrew muttered.

The brash child who once boasted of his skills was long gone.

All that remained was a man changed by following his platoon leader’s example.

“Of course, giving up isn’t an option,” Mack replied with a hint of pride.

It wasn’t Encrid’s intention, but Andrew had changed, and that change had also influenced Mack.

Saving his family? It seemed like something entirely within reach now.

Mack walked, organizing his plans for when they returned. His breathing was steady and deliberate, minimizing unnecessary movement.

Andrew matched his pace, similarly controlling his breath.

As Mack and Andrew conversed quietly, Encrid walked ahead, listening to the breathing of his platoon.

“Listen. And listen again,” he thought.

Just as focusing on what you see enhances vision, honing your hearing works the same way.

The sound of pebbles scattering, the steps on the ridge, the breathing of his platoon—he processed it all.

‘Shallow and steady.’

That was Mack and Andrew, both preparing for the future.

Rem, on the other hand, was erratic—breathing fast and slow at irregular intervals. It matched his personality perfectly.

Audin’s breaths were long, so much so that it was hard to tell where one ended and the next began.

Ragna’s breathing was ordinary.

As for Jaxson, his was nearly inaudible.

And Encrid?

His breathing was most similar to Ragna’s—ordinary. Walking with steady breaths and familiar steps suited him.

“By the way, you didn’t receive ranger training somewhere, did you?” Finn asked, glancing back at Encrid.

Encrid answered as casually as ever.

“I learned by watching a ranger I know.”

It wasn’t a lie.

After all, he had learned from Finn.

This kind of question—and answer—felt familiar, as though it had happened before.

It reminded him of Enri. He had once been asked where he’d learned about the plains and had given a similar response.

That friend… He wondered if Enri had returned safely to the city.

Enri had joined a unit escorting prisoners of war. Surely, nothing had gone wrong.

Even while lost in thought, Encrid didn’t stop what he was doing.

Listening, observing, and sensing.

He trained his senses step by step.

To his right, the ridge stretched toward the enemy. To his left, their army’s position.

By now, their forces must have moved as well.

Encrid’s focus remained on his current task.

As they marched, Encrid turned to Rem and asked, “That charge earlier—what was it?”

“If you’re asking how I did it, I might just feel like smacking the back of your head,” Rem replied bluntly, his tone tinged with irritation.

Why?

Encrid quickly realized.

‘I didn’t think before asking.’

He had asked instinctively, expecting an answer without considering it.

Perhaps he’d gotten into the habit of giving orders lately.

No one was perfect—not even Encrid.

After all, even he had his shortcomings when it came to dealing with people.

Encrid had grown used to advancing alone.

Even if it meant crawling forward without retreating, his determination never wavered.

‘Still, it’s not enough—I forgot to think ahead.’

Mistakes happen. That’s human. But what set Encrid apart was his speed in adapting.

He acknowledged his mistakes, recognized them, and corrected them swiftly.

Without responding to Rem’s words, Encrid simply began walking again, retreating into his own world.

The unspoken truth was clear: ‘He should have known without asking.’

The answer was already something he’d learned. Sprinting, charging—what was required?

Strength, power, thigh muscles.

The Heart of Monstrous Strength. If you amplify the force in your muscles and propel yourself forward, what happens?

Of course, this required training, effort, and time.

But the fact that a path was visible brought him joy.

‘Ah, so this is it.’

A fleeting smile of exhilaration crossed Encrid’s face, and Rem, noticing, smirked.

‘Why bother asking about something so obvious?’

That’s what Rem’s smirk conveyed.

Finn led the group with steady steps. As they moved, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe.

They were all monsters.

Not a single one of them lagged behind. Was this easy? Not at all. It wasn’t even comfortable.

None of them had received ranger training, so how was this possible?

‘This guy is nothing like his pretty face,’ Finn thought, particularly impressed by the platoon member nicknamed “Big Eyes.” Despite not being a combatant, his pace never faltered.

Of course, compared to the others, he seemed to be relying on sheer stamina to keep up, but even that was remarkable.

Traversing another ridge, they stopped upon reaching a patch of low shrubs.

“This should be close to their rear,” Finn said.

The advantage of moving in small numbers was clear—mobility.

They fully utilized that strength.

Descending another slope, this time Audin and Jaxson accompanied the vanguard.

“Why me?” Rem pouted, his lips protruding in dissatisfaction.

But this had been the plan from the start—taking turns at the front to ensure they could retreat quickly if needed.

Someone also needed to cover Krys, who required protection.

As they descended, Encrid found his thoughts drifting. He wondered if Esther was watching them from somewhere.

He had brought her along, but as soon as they began climbing the mountain trail, she had leapt from his arms and disappeared.

Maybe she was off hunting.

He didn’t know, nor did he think it was something he needed to worry about.

As they approached the enemy sentries again, their luck this time was worse.

‘Piii!’

The moment one sentry spotted them, he blew his whistle.

The reaction was swift. He leveled his spear and shouted, “Who goes there? Stop where you are!”

Encrid advanced silently.

One of the sentries ran his hand along his waist, retrieving a throwing knife.

‘‘Watch with your eyes.’’

‘‘React with your body.’’

Move in response to your senses—the goal was to enhance reaction speed.

This was the essence of the Perception of Evasion technique.

‘Whoosh!’

The knife flew through the air, and Encrid, adjusting his posture, lowered himself while surging forward.

This wasn’t about focused intent but raw reaction speed.

It was simple and effortless, the core of the technique.

Without activating the Heart of Monstrous Strength, he imitated the stride of a knight rushing into battle.

‘Thud, thud.’

Kicking off the ground, Encrid surged forward, and the enemy thrust his spear toward him.

The spearhead extended toward his chest.

Encrid saw, reacted, and dodged, swatting the spear aside—all in one fluid motion.

Extending his left foot forward, he twisted his body to avoid the spearhead and pushed the spear shaft aside with his palm.

‘Thwack!’

The force knocked the spear from the sentry’s grip, leaving him off balance.

“Ugh!”

The sentry’s startled face drew closer as Encrid maintained his momentum.

As Rem had once demonstrated, Encrid dashed in, pushing aside the spear shaft and closing in on the sentry.

The ensuing fight was anticlimactic.

‘Stab!’

Encrid drew his dagger and plunged it into the sentry’s neck before pulling it free.

Blood sprayed diagonally from the gash, soaking the ground.

Sheathing his dagger, Encrid felt a sense of satisfaction.

‘It works.’

This wasn’t just muscle memory—it was a skill he had newly acquired.

Perception of Evasion, a technique to enhance coordination between senses and body.

He had learned that sharpening his reaction speed could lead to improved performance.

What results did this yield?

Even without Focused Intent, he could move faster than his opponents.

This allowed him to gain the upper hand in attacks and control space effectively.

No wonder the fight felt trivial.

Though the opponent was weak, and even Encrid thought he was just taking his first steps,

‘It works.’

And that was enough to bring him joy.

Jaxson, watching Encrid, felt a sense of approval.

Yes, that’s how it’s done.

It was simple, yet effective.

On the surface, it might look like mindless training, but in reality, it was the result of unwavering persistence.

That persistence was the core of this training.

Diligent and dogged—this technique suited Encrid perfectly.

The more he repeated this training, the faster his reaction speed would become.

‘Did he say his dream was to be a knight?’

Calling it an absurd dream didn’t mean it shouldn’t be pursued.

Jaxson applied the same principle to himself.

If he’d spoken aloud about the goals he had hidden away in his youth, people would have laughed.

Though his thoughts wandered, Jaxson’s actions remained precise.

At some point, he had crept up behind another sentry, sliding his dagger across the man’s throat.

‘Slash.’

Unlike Encrid, he didn’t need to make a fountain of blood.

“Guh!”

The sentry clutched his neck with his right hand, holding his spear in his left.

Trying to press the wound to stop the bleeding?

Pointless. Jaxson had severed a major artery in the neck.

Through countless experiences, he knew that anyone with such a wound was as good as dead.

Blood streamed through the sentry’s fingers as Jaxson kicked the man’s knees, sending him to the ground.

The spear fell from the sentry’s grasp as he writhed like a fish out of water before succumbing.

He hadn’t even managed to cry out or blow his whistle.

“Let’s move on.”

In an instant, they had taken down two sentries. However, the whistle had done its job, prompting movement within the enemy’s ranks.

It was time to retreat.

“Agreed,” Encrid replied, satisfaction evident in his tone, as he turned and began to move.

They resumed their journey, scaling the mountain once more.

Their retreat was as swift and ghost-like as their advance.

The Azpen forces responding to the whistle could only catch a glimpse of the group disappearing up the mountain.

“After them!”

The enraged commander of Azpen’s rear guard shouted, sending troops in pursuit of Encrid’s team.

But how could they catch such a small, elite group that was faster than them?

Even if the Azpen forces broke into smaller pursuit units, how would they deal with a foe capable of counterattacking in such terrain?

To Krys, this was the expected outcome.

Of course it would be.

If the enemy could strike with small elite units, it was only natural that they could do the same.

Though, it did take a group as exceptional as the misfit platoon to make it truly effective.

“Double time.”

Encrid’s voice carried back to the group. Krys glanced at his platoon leader, curiosity sparking in his mind.

‘Had the commander grasped his intent fully?’

That thought lingered, faint but persistent, as they continued their retreat.