Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 145

‘What are they?’

Finn blinked, watching the scene unfold.

She recalled the fight before this mission—back when Encrid had fought alongside a Border Guard named Torres or was it Toros?

That battle had been intense, grueling.

She had fought with every ounce of strength just to survive. Barely, but she had made it.

‘‘If these guys had been there, wouldn’t it have been over in an instant?’’

It sure seemed that way.

The three chainmail-clad enemies were professionals.

Each wielded a blunt weapon: one with a hammer, another with a morning star, and the third with a staff ending in a heavy iron ball.

They were formidable opponents.

And yet, despite their heavy equipment, they weren’t sluggish.

‘‘If it were me…’’

Finn doubted she could handle even one of them.

Their equipment seemed perfectly designed to counter someone like her. Even if she managed to stab one with a dagger, their thick gambesons beneath the chainmail would probably absorb most of the blow.

She figured she’d need to bury a short sword halfway into one of them to deal any real damage.

But how would she even create such an opening?

And even if she did, what then? Would the others just stand by and watch?

No, they’d probably crush her skull with their hammer or morning star.

The thought left her utterly lacking in confidence.

Yet, her allies toyed with these three enemies as if it were a game.

“Brother, it’s time to go,” Audin called out to the morning star wielder.

The fanatic soldier, always invoking the Lord more than any ordinary priest, closed the distance and punched his opponent in the head.

‘‘Didn’t they call him a master of Valaf-style martial arts?’’

Finn didn’t see any of that now. The fanatic seemed to rely solely on brute strength.

The morning star wielder struck back, landing a blow on Audin’s arm. Despite wearing no proper armor, Audin didn’t even flinch.

It was as if the strike hadn’t even scratched him.

Finn made a mental note to check later, but outwardly, Audin seemed perfectly fine.

‘Thud.’

The sound reverberated, but Audin didn’t budge.

Not a single groan of pain escaped him.

He simply continued his task.

“Go to the Lord,” Audin said calmly.

The morning star wielder staggered from the punch, only to be met with a spinning kick from Audin.

The motion was like a whirlwind following his massive frame, balancing his upper body perfectly as his leg shot out.

‘Thwack!’

The kick connected with the enemy’s helmet, sending a shockwave through their skull.

The force was so immense that one of their eyes popped out, unable to withstand the pressure despite the helmet’s protection.

‘‘Wow… what the hell…’’

Finn stared, her mouth agape.

The other two enemies fared no better.

Rem, the madman with the axe, cackled between shouts of rage.

“What? You think wearing that’ll keep you alive?”

His opponent wielded the staff with the iron ball.

When the staff swung down, Rem dodged the iron tip and grabbed the shaft just below the ball with his palm.

With a powerful yank, he pulled the wielder forward and delivered a single devastating axe strike.

‘Boom!’

It sounded like a drum of leather bursting.

‘Crash!’

The axe tore through the chainmail, shattering the links and spilling blood.

But it didn’t stop there.

Rem spun with terrifying speed, swinging the axe back into the same spot.

‘Splatter!’

The second strike cleaved through the now-broken chainmail, cutting deep into the enemy’s side.

“Guh-urk!”

The enemy collapsed to their knees, their intestines spilling onto the ground in a grotesque heap.

Blood poured in a relentless stream as their body crumpled.

Meanwhile, Ragna, the lazy blonde swordsman with fiery eyes, showed no signs of sloth now.

‘Clang! Clang!’

Twice, his blade deflected the hammer before he followed up with a natural, fluid thrust.

The motion was so smooth it seemed as if the sword was meant to emerge from his enemy’s belly.

‘Shunk!’

The blade pierced through the chainmail and shredded the gambeson beneath.

The hammer wielder, in turn, brought their weapon down from above, aiming for Ragna’s blind spot.

Just before the hammer struck, Ragna released his sword and drew another from his waist.

‘Clang.’

With an upward strike, he knocked the hammer aside.

His movements were so fast and decisive that Finn couldn’t even track them all.

‘‘How skilled are these people?’’

Ragna’s new blade struck the enemy’s helmet—not with the edge, but with the flat side.

‘Thud.’

The blow sent the enemy reeling, dropping their hammer as they clutched their head and staggered before collapsing.

Ragna approached the fallen soldier with deliberate steps, grabbed the sword still embedded in their stomach, and pushed it deeper.

“Please… stop…”

‘Crunch. Crack.’

The sound was sickening.

Finn felt a shiver run down her spine as her knees nearly gave out.

Ragna drove the blade through the soldier until it pierced the ground beneath them, standing upright like a grim monument.

The enemy, now unarmed and holding only their shield, wept as they desperately tried to stop the blade, shaking their head in denial.

It was futile. They died with tears streaming down their face.

As the three seasoned enemies fell, something even more shocking came to light.

Most of the remaining enemy soldiers, who had been mere spectators, were dead.

The cause? Severed necks.

At some point, one of their own had been quietly killing the distracted enemies with a dagger.

‘‘When did he even do that?’’

Finn, overwhelmed by all she had witnessed, finally spoke up.

“What are you people?”

Standing beside her, Krys, his eyes wide, muttered, “Good question.”

Krys was still trying to calm himself.

‘Why was I even worried?’

They were so much stronger than he had anticipated.

The misfit platoon was operating on a level far beyond his expectations.

He couldn’t help but wonder:

‘How strong are knights, then, if these are their equals?’

‘Whoever assembled this platoon deserves praise.’

Krys mulled over the thought as he watched the aftermath.

‘“No, the person who sent the platoon commander here deserves the highest praise. That’s the real answer.”’

These individuals, who could have caused chaos within the main force like a ticking bomb, had instead been united around Encrid as their focal point.

“Let’s burn it, Squad Leader Andrew,” Krys suggested.

“Huh? Burn what?” Andrew responded, startled. His expression darkened momentarily, but a sense of relief seemed to follow.

“Let’s burn this place down. If we stay here, the enemy’s main force will arrive. Do you want to deal with that?”

Andrew shook his head. “No, no way.”

“Then let’s move.”

Mack, Andrew, and Finn began striking flint to ignite the dry hay meant as horse feed.

The hay was perfect tinder, ideal for starting a blaze.

“Quickly,” Krys urged, not needing to explain the urgency.

“Damn it, they’re monsters!”

“Spare us!”

The platoon didn’t kill every last enemy. Once the enemy force was effectively routed, Encrid called off the pursuit.

“Leave them.”

Rem complied with a simple, “Got it.”

This was another testament to how the misfit platoon followed Encrid’s orders without hesitation.

As the others set the fires, Encrid watched the flames grow.

“I feel like I’ve got some strange connection to starting fires,” he muttered.

What nonsense was this? Had the earlier battle rattled his brain?

“Excuse me?” Finn asked, puzzled.

“Never mind, just saying. Let’s go.”

The trap the enemy had set was now engulfed in flames. It was spring—there was no need for a bonfire of this magnitude.

It was just fire, roaring and spreading, proclaiming its presence.

And like the wind, Encrid and the misfit platoon slipped away.

Finn, leading the way, confirmed their path. “We just need to move straight from here,” she said, before sidling up to Audin.

“Hey, what did you say your name was?”

“Audin, sister.”

“Right. Think I could learn a thing or two from you later?”

Finn’s gaze lingered on Audin’s arms, noting the complete lack of injuries. It only fueled her curiosity and competitiveness.

This had nothing to do with Valaf-style martial arts.

Her eyes sparkled with a mix of intrigue and rivalry.

Encrid didn’t concern himself with their conversation.

Instead, he focused on his ongoing training while walking.

“I didn’t use Perception of Evasion. It’s an issue of mastery,” he recalled Jaxson’s earlier critique.

“You want to use two swords? Don’t forget—it’ll only work when it feels as natural as your own hands,” Ragna had advised.

Surprisingly, Rem praised him.

“The way you used Heart of Monstrous Strength back there? Not bad at all.”

Whether Rem had been impressed or not, Encrid didn’t dwell on it.

“Train, brother. Rolling through hardship is how you grow,” Audin remarked after glancing at Finn.

Encrid agreed. Growth came from rolling through challenges, though it was a thought for when they returned.

For now, the question remained: how long would they have to traverse these ridges?

It felt like it was time to withdraw, though there were still people they needed to encounter.

Sure enough, two days after shattering the enemy’s trap, the platoon found themselves pursued.

They had changed course toward their main force for a brief rest, chewing on dried jerky when—

‘Thwack!’

An arrow struck the ground near them, narrowly missing Rem’s head.

With the reflexes of a beast, Rem twisted his body to avoid the arrow.

Though it nicked his earlobe, sending a spray of blood into the air, he grinned, chewing on his jerky.

“A hawk, huh?”

Rem looked almost delighted, his grin widening.

Encrid inspected the arrow embedded in the ground.

Short, solid—different from the previous ones.

“They mean business this time. I can’t sense them,” Finn, the ranger, observed.

The hawk unit, known for harassing their rear, had returned specifically to hunt the misfit platoon.

In truth, they had been cornered, but that was part of the plan.

“Everything okay?” Finn asked.

Encrid nodded.

This was the strategy Krys had devised, one that Encrid fully understood.

From the beginning, the misfit platoon’s purpose had been clear: to distract and clean up.

Now it was time for the cleanup.

—

As the misfit platoon chipped away at the enemy forces, Marcus’s main force advanced toward the Cross Guards.

Could they take the city with their current strength?

Not likely.

However, it was enough to draw attention.

Meanwhile, a rogue guerrilla unit was attacking their rear, further complicating the situation.

Azpen’s options were limited, especially from a command perspective.

“The Cross Guards won’t fall. But their assault could tarnish the city’s reputation. Even if the city doesn’t fall, the fact that it was attacked will linger. To prepare for the next battle, you need reinforcements to eliminate the remaining Naurilian forces in the bypass,” Azpen’s strategist advised.

The commander weighed his options.

Attack the city? Could such a small force actually take it?

No, the city wouldn’t fall. But the stigma of having its defenses breached would remain.

It was a matter of pride—strategic, but also personal.

After their previous failures with giants and sorcery, they were cornered.

Would he let history remember him as the commander who surrendered his nation’s doorstep?

‘“No, that can’t happen.”’

Even if the city didn’t fall, the stain of being attacked would persist. Could he bear that burden? Or should he seize this as an opportunity?

The commander’s internal conflict was evident.

Azpen’s failed strategies had left them cornered, while Naurilia had pushed deeper, expanding its influence.

If things continued as they were, the borderlines between the two nations would shift.

‘“I can’t let that happen.”’

If they could eliminate the bypass forces and withstand Naurilia’s next assault, they might find an opening to counterattack.

Leaving the Cross Guards to bolster another front was a gamble, one that could easily be a catastrophic mistake.

‘Who is the lunatic leading their forces?’

Gambling like this, in a battle they were already winning?

Yet, for Azpen, this created an opportunity.

By simply retreating from the bypass without holding their ground, they had opened space for their detached forces to maneuver.

‘“Tch.”’

The commander clicked his tongue, inhaling sharply through his teeth—a habit of his—before giving an order.

“Reorganize the swift units and send them to the bypass.”

His words were punctuated by a faint whistle of air escaping through his front teeth.

“Yes, sir!”

The principality mobilized. But one of the staff officers felt an ominous chill.

‘‘If this goes wrong…’’

This wouldn’t just alter the borderlines.

He found himself longing for Abnaire—the greatest strategist Azpen had ever produced.

Abnaire, who had orchestrated the military’s use of giants and sorcery at such a young age, was a genius.

‘‘What a waste.’’

His potential had been stifled by his lineage, and thus he was never fully utilized. But that was a fleeting thought.

‘He’ll manage,’ the officer thought. ‘Someone like Abnaire always does.’

“Send the knights.”

If Naurilia had their Red Mantle Knights, Azpen had the Principality Knights.

The Principality Knights of Azpen. Their name might lack creativity, but their skill was exceptional.

“Send two, no, three of them.”

Perhaps the commander shared the officer’s unease, for the quality and quantity of the reinforcements headed for the bypass increased.

If the hawk unit could handle those rear-guard pests and the rest advanced with three junior knights among them, this might just turn the tide of the situation.

—

“Commander, do you know the difference between a sniper and a hunter?”

Rem asked this moments after dodging the arrow.

According to Krys’s plan, eliminating the hawk unit—or whatever they were called—was their next objective.

Using bait to draw them in had been part of the strategy. Finn had left just enough traces for that purpose.

“They’re sharp. We should be careful,” Finn warned, though Rem grinned as if the danger only amused him.

Watching him, Encrid asked flatly, “Should I?”

“Not really. I just wanted to say it.”

Rem was honest to a fault when he wanted to be, and now was one of those times. He was always chatty, and this was no exception.

“A sniper shoots targets from afar. A hunter, though, hunts. They go after their prey directly.”

‘And what’s the difference?’

“It’s more fun to hunt,” Rem clarified, his eyes gleaming. “Especially with an axe. There’s nothing like it.”

‘And what does that have to do with anything?’

Encrid’s questioning gaze said it all.

“All I’m saying is, don’t get yourself shot while I’m gone. I’ll be back,” Rem declared.

“Where are you going?”

“On a hunt. You get a gift, you return it, don’t you?”

Rem pulled the arrow from the ground and tucked it into his belt. With a casual stride, he walked into the thicket.

Should they stop him?

No, Encrid decided. If Rem thought he couldn’t handle it, he wouldn’t have gone alone.

As for the rest…

“Jaxson?”

The question carried the implication—would he join Rem to create a duet of ambush and assault?

“No.”

Short and firm. Fair enough.

Rem would manage alone.

“Then, we’ll move on our own, I suppose.”

Rem became the hunter, and the hawk unit became his prey.

And in turn, the misfit platoon became the hawk unit’s quarry.

Though spring wasn’t traditionally hunting season, it was shaping up to be one.

It was indeed the season of the hunt.