Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 146

Krys tightened the rolled-up parchment against his chest and opened his mouth.

The path was harsh—a slanted, rocky trail with an incline. Each step left him gasping for breath.

Still, it wasn’t so exhausting that he couldn’t speak.

“Rem, Rem is…”

Hoo.

He exhaled a word and shoved his foot into a crevice in the rocks. It felt a little precarious. As that thought crossed his mind, a hand appeared before him—Encrid’s outstretched hand.

Grabbing it, Krys hauled himself up.

Behind them loomed a massive rock wall, a natural shield provided by the mountainous terrain.

Of all the paths they could’ve chosen, it had to be this treacherous one.

Well, at least it added meaning to their mission.

The lack of incoming arrows suggested their choice was effective.

“If only his personality weren’t an issue, he’d really be an excellent soldier,” Krys remarked.

Standing on a rock and leaning against another, Encrid tilted his head to look at Krys.

“In terms of skill.”

Encrid began to speak but then shut his mouth.

Judging by skill alone, “excellent” wasn’t a strong enough word for Rem.

If Rem had a more agreeable personality…

As Encrid trailed off, Krys asked again.

“He’ll be fine, right?”

Despite crafting the plan himself, Krys couldn’t hide his anxiety, which stemmed from his personality.

Even during peaceful moments, Krys was the type to secretly hide his belongings near the barracks, just in case something happened.

Chances were, he had hidden things all over the city as well.

“You never know when the enemy might launch a surprise attack. If I die leaving things out in the open, I’ll be a restless spirit out of sheer regret,” he’d say.

Even when there were no signs of an ambush and the possibility was slim.

“I’m just anxious. That’s all.”

He always said this, his large eyes betraying his unease.

Well, that was just how some people were.

Compared to Krys, Encrid thought of himself as rather carefree.

After silently staring at Krys for a moment, Encrid finally responded to his question.

“I said I’d handle it. So, I will.”

That was just who Rem was—a man who wouldn’t do something unless he set his mind to it, but once he did, he followed through.

“Will he learn?”

When Encrid first taught him the [Heart of the Beast], it was the same.

Who else would teach their techniques so freely?

“Watch closely. You’ll learn it next.”

It was the same when he demonstrated the [Heart of Monstrous Strength].

Rem had said he’d kill the giant—and he did.

Thinking about it now, it was remarkable.

‘He’s quite the strange guy.’

So, Rem would do exactly as he had said.

Before they parted, what had he said again?

The difference between a hunter and a sniper? And then something else.

“I’ll plant this right in the forehead of each and every one of them.”

He had said that while tucking an arrow into his waistband. Rem would handle it.

“It’ll be hard to stay hidden from here.”

Ahead, Finn spoke. Until now, they had been weaving between rocks.

The path had been chosen to stay out of sight of projectile weapons unless they could secure a higher vantage point.

It was a moment that reminded them all of Finn’s exceptional skills as a ranger.

Thanks to him, they had avoided detection so far.

But now, the ranger’s abilities as their shield had reached their limit.

Encrid mentally counted the time. It seemed like it was about time for Rem to act.

They had moved along the mountain ridge. If they descended to the left, they would rejoin the main unit and return to base.

“We can wait,” Encrid said. Finn didn’t respond. From her perspective, there seemed to be a certain trust between these men.

There was a belief, visible in Encrid’s words, that Rem, who had disappeared into the underbrush, would handle things on his own.

And the others?

Apart from Andrew and Mack, the rest seemed utterly nonchalant.

“May the Lord find delight, sending his followers to his side. May the faithless repent and remain near, chastised for their sins yet forgiven by grace.”

Audin was deep in prayer.

Jaxson, meanwhile, examined the blade of a stiletto knife. His expressionless face somehow gave off the impression of intoxication.

Intoxicated by the blade? Even Finn could tell it wasn’t an ordinary weapon.

It didn’t seem like just a simple attachment to a dagger. The strange vitality emanating from Jaxson’s face was unusual.

The slacker sprawled out.

Shoving himself into a gap between rocks, he cradled two swords and closed his eyes.

“Lack of sleep.”

His muttering only reinforced that he wasn’t normal.

‘Is it okay to leave him like that?’

Probably.

From Finn’s perspective, now was the time to move. Somewhere out there was a master archer with pinpoint accuracy—a threat. They might already be dancing on the edge of death.

“I think it’ll be fine.”

The one who spoke up was the wide-eyed soldier, Krys.

Even though he kept saying he was anxious, he ended up claiming everything would be fine. Then came his next words, even more surprising.

“There’s almost no room for surprises now.”

What surprises?

He didn’t elaborate.

Finn deliberately leaned out to scan their rear, exposing herself as a target to identify the enemy’s location. Yet no arrows came.

—

‘It reminds me of the old days.’

There was a time when the plains were his bed, and the sky was his blanket.

He had spent his days running across ridges as if they were his playground.

Back then, who was he?

A skilled and excellent hunter, someone who carried the weight of others’ expectations.

Those were days straddling responsibility and duty, grappling with authority.

Moments of both good and bad.

And moments he could never return to.

What choice did he have?

You accept what you must and live on.

Now, the West had become a frontier.

Acceptance and acknowledgment.

Rem learned that from watching Encrid.

In some ways, his squad leader was someone who never accepted or acknowledged anything.

But in other ways, he was someone who did.

‘That skill, that talent.’

To aim for knighthood despite having none of it?

It was a suicidal endeavor. A way to kill both body and soul.

Yet he pressed forward. Watching him stirred all kinds of thoughts.

How could a man be like that?

As he wondered, a realization dawned.

‘It starts with admitting you have no talent.’

That was Encrid’s beginning. Admitting, accepting, and acknowledging.

Once he reflected on what he had, what did he do?

He moved forward. Truly embodying the [Heart of the Beast], something most thought impossible to attain.

Now, even the [Heart of Monstrous Strength] resided in that heart.

After acknowledging, accepting, and understanding, he walked forward for the sake of tomorrow.

Whether at dawn or dusk, he remained steadfast.

Whenever he thought of his squad leader, his mood inexplicably improved.

Rem silently smiled.

Feeling good for no particular reason.

‘It’s been a while.’

He suddenly felt like swinging his axe with enthusiasm. The urge to return to the days when he hunted freely under the simple notion of survival began to surface.

Finding the trail left by the hawk’s talons wasn’t difficult.

Rem wasn’t a Pathfinder, nor was he a Ranger.

But he was a hunter.

What was a hunter?

Pathfinders were those who moved efficiently.

Rangers were those who moved efficiently and fought skillfully.

Rangers were specialized members within reconnaissance teams. But could they be called hunters? Catching a few rabbits didn’t make someone a hunter.

Then, what was a hunter?

‘What else would it be?’

A hunter was someone who properly caught their prey.

The continent’s so-called hunters? Many of them were lacking.

Take someone like Enri, a “Plains Hunter”? Calling him a hunter was laughable.

In Rem’s tribe, Enri wouldn’t even qualify as a guide, let alone a hunter.

He was less than half of what a real hunter should be.

In his tribe, hunters were those who killed and seized prey—those who supported the survival of the tribe.

‘I found it.’

As his thoughts concluded, Rem’s eyes spotted his target.

Flaring his nostrils, he followed the scent, circling around to get behind them.

Erasing traces? That was nothing to him.

Walking silently? Rem could do that as naturally as a stealthy feral cat.

From Rem’s perspective, prey could be classified as either easy or difficult.

The easiest? A fool so engrossed in their target that they became blind to their surroundings.

Like now.

Moving with the grace of the finest predator in the western wilds, his steps mimicked those of the speckled beasts.

His breathing was long and steady, and he held his breath to conceal his presence, just like the hunters of the western lakes emulating rounded-headed predators.

There was some noise from the brushing of his clothes, but he ignored it.

His prey was too distracted ahead to notice.

Creeping up, Rem closed in on the one trailing at the back of the group.

Even then, the man remained oblivious to Rem’s presence.

The enemies were advancing to higher ground, forming a line that snaked upward.

Rem reached out his hand.

He placed it on the left shoulder of the man walking ahead. The startled man flinched and spun around.

‘Good reflexes.’

The moment Rem touched the left shoulder, he moved to the right. His movement was as silent as a ghost and as swift as a panther.

From the enemy’s perspective, they felt a touch on their left shoulder, turned to look, and saw nothing.

Thunk!

And then came the axe.

Swinging it like chopping firewood, he brought it down on the exposed back of the man’s neck.

The sound of flesh tearing was followed by a spray of blood.

Thick droplets splattered onto Rem’s cheek.

Instead of smiling, Rem observed the remaining enemies through his gray eyes.

All of them wore expressions of sheer terror.

Wide, startled eyes.

Those eyes, resembling frightened herbivores or deer, were one of the thrills of the hunt.

“…An ambush!”

“Shit!”

“Block it!”

The shouts were followed by frantic movements.

As if to pounce, Rem lowered his stance. The enemy responded, three of them drawing short swords with a sharp “Shing!”

Once again, the same thought crossed his mind—they were fast.

Rem rolled his right shoulder and moved his left hand.

A simple feint.

With an axe in his right hand, their attention naturally fixated on it.

And, as expected, their gazes were glued to his right shoulder.

In that moment, a hand axe flew from his left hand, whizzing through the air, and struck the forehead of the archer at the rear.

The impact sent the archer’s body flying backward.

“Scatter!”

One of the remaining men shouted. Again, their reflexes impressed him.

They had quickly deduced that clustering together was fatal. Perhaps they had judged the gap in skill, or maybe it was pure instinct.

Regardless, it was a timely decision.

Even so, while the shout to scatter rang out, three sword-wielders charged at Rem.

It was a coordinated maneuver.

Meanwhile, five others fled. Some quickly split to the sides, scaling the rocky terrain to descend, while one attempted to climb higher.

Out of an original group of ten, two had already fallen.

As Rem thought this, his axe began to move again.

Naturally, they were no match for him.

Those who lunged were cut down, and those who ran were slashed. The simple motion of his axe felt like the scythe of death to the enemy.

Among the fallen bodies, soaked in blood, the gray-haired hunter sniffed the air.

Amid the stench of blood, the scent of humans lingered.

Trained by his tribe, the hunter resumed his steps.

Rem had no intention of letting even one escape.

—

‘What is this…?’

The hawk’s talon felt the undeniable sensation of being hunted.

It was baffling.

Born in a mountain village in Azpen, he had a natural talent for archery from a young age.

Becoming the best hunter in his village by fifteen felt like destiny to him.

Every shot hit its mark, and he instinctively knew where to strike for a kill.

After leaving his village to become a mercenary, he gained fame, which eventually caught the attention of a noble.

After that, he served in the military.

It was the beginning of a new life with status and wealth.

“What do you think about becoming part of the duchy?”

He was on the verge of being adopted by the noble he had saved.

A foster father only ten years his senior? It didn’t matter.

Status was what truly mattered.

Once he finished this mission, that future awaited him.

“You will be given new lands.”

Those were the noble’s words.

The hawk’s talon could achieve it all—land ownership and elevated status.

Perhaps he could even marry the noble’s illegitimate sister.

Whoosh. Thunk!

“Urk!”

Something struck the back of his thigh, and pain exploded through his leg. The hawk’s talon tumbled forward.

His head collided with a rock with a dull thud. His vision spun.

His vision was blurry, and he took several deep breaths before it finally cleared.

“Cough.”

When his vision sharpened, nausea hit him like a wave. He coughed instinctively, suppressing the urge to vomit, and forced himself to look ahead.

“Well, you’re quite the runner.”

The figure before him was like death itself—the grim reaper with gray hair.

“How…”

The hawk’s talon managed to ask. How had this man tracked him?

Why hadn’t he noticed his approach? The question carried countless doubts and confusion.

Rem didn’t speak to his prey.

Thunk.

The arrow pierced the hawk’s talon’s throat—the same arrow he had shot earlier. The sharp arrowhead tore through the soft flesh of his neck and protruded out the back.

A wet, gurgling noise escaped as blood bubbled from his mouth, streaming down his throat.

The dark gray rocks beneath him turned a vivid red.

“Hm.”

Rem took a moment to admire the gruesome artwork he had created before wiping his hands clean.

It had been a while since he last hunted, and this prey had been disappointingly dull.

Though it was a pity, it was already over.

Acceptance, acknowledgment, and understanding.

The same thoughts lingered in his mind. Throughout the hunt, Rem had thought of his squad leader.

What would become of him if he lived the same way?

This question had been occupying his thoughts lately.

—

Marcus led his unit forward toward the Cross Guards.

Two days—that was all it took at a normal marching pace.

No, it was slower than normal.

They had taken every opportunity to rest along the way.

‘Will this work?’

If it didn’t? What would they do then?

Should he ask Encrid, the one who had proposed the strategy?

No, his lieutenants weren’t that incompetent.

“If it doesn’t work, we just retreat. Whether they fall for it or not, the enemy will still have to remain wary.”

“Directly attacking the city would be foolish, but whose strategy was this again?”

The message, passed through the Elf commander, ultimately came from Encrid and one of his squad members.

Wasn’t his name Krys?

It seemed that squad had no shortage of eccentric individuals.

Still, it was a clever plan.

Feign an attack on the city, flank the enemy, and block their retreat by joining the main unit’s rear.

If the enemy diverted their forces to defend the city or protect their retreat route? Success.

If they didn’t budge at all? That was also success.

That was why the mad squad had been sent out.

Even if they couldn’t smash the enemy’s rear, they could flick them on the back of the head and retreat.

Marcus believed that flick would leave quite a mark.

‘Perhaps the strongest flick on the continent?’

Pfft.

The thought made him laugh.

In any case, they followed the plan. Two days to observe the situation, then another three or four to execute.

After marching for four days, they shifted directions and began their return.

Marcus didn’t hurry on the way back.

If anything, he wanted to see them.

His hopes were fulfilled.

“The mad squad has returned, seven members plus the squad leader.”

The unit that had carried out the guerrilla mission was back.