Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 162

After dealing with the hyena beasts, the group settled by the stream to wash up and eat some jerky.

Eating, drinking, and washing were essential—especially on long journeys.

Even catching a simple cold could make the trip significantly more difficult.

“This is really something.”

Finn seemed to be in a slightly better mood.

Such was the power of seasoned jerky.

Ruagarne, on the other hand, ate dried fruit and carefully prepared edible larvae. She even caught and ate a few cicada-like insects.

No one was disgusted.

By now, everyone knew this was just how Froks ate.

“Insects make you strong,” she said while chewing on dried larvae.

The Border Guards had no special rations for Froks.

So, her meal was entirely self-prepared.

In the end, as long as the eater was satisfied, that was all that mattered.

In that regard, Esther also enjoyed the jerky.

She chewed a few times and swallowed, nodding in satisfaction.

Is she really a panther? At this point, she might as well be a person.

Everyone refilled their leather flasks with water and drank.

The stream was clear and refreshing.

As they followed the road and crossed a small hill, Encrid caught an unpleasant scent.

‘Blood?’

It was the stench of death and battle.

The iron scent of blood mixed with steel—the smell of a battlefield.

As they crested the hill, the source of the stench became visible.

Scattered across the area were mangled beast corpses.

Among them were wolf beasts, transformed snakes, and goat-like creatures.

There were quite a few.

The wounds indicated they had been slashed, beaten, and torn apart by weapons.

Some had been ripped to shreds, and there were even signs of wild dogs scavenging the remains.

What were beasts?

They were animals corrupted by magic or the influence of cursed lands.

Carnivorous and aggressive creatures were more susceptible to this transformation.

Even so—

‘This is too many.’

Just as Finn had angrily pointed out before—this wasn’t cursed land, so why were there so many beasts?

The number of corpses easily exceeded thirty.

Cursed lands were places humans could not set foot in.

They were the breeding grounds of monsters and beasts.

Many kingdoms had attempted to conquer these regions.

Yet, instead of succeeding, they only weakened their forces and got devoured by neighboring nations.

It was widely believed that something deep within the cursed lands continuously spawned monsters.

If this had been near such a place, this number of beasts wouldn’t have been surprising.

Afterward, they didn’t encounter any more beasts.

“This is how it’s supposed to be,” Finn muttered.

She had seen the same scattered beast corpses along the way.

Even a few ghouls—but the majority were beasts.

For the next twenty-two days, the group pressed on.

They had arrived two days later than planned due to the constant encounters with beasts.

But they had finally reached their destination.

The pioneer village.

Towering wooden walls stood tall.

Strong fortifications built to repel intruders.

There were even watchtowers, making it clear this wasn’t a small settlement.

If the kingdom had officially supported the village, then yes, it was possible for it to be this large.

It was closer to a fortress than a village.

“It’s big,” Krys remarked.

“Yeah,” Finn replied absentmindedly as she surveyed the surroundings.

As a Ranger, she had been frustrated during the journey.

But now that they had arrived, she decided to let it go.

After all, not everything could go perfectly.

Encrid wasn’t concerned with such things.

He simply walked toward the palisade.

One glance told him—

It was a well-constructed defensive structure.

This was a pioneer village where serious military investment had been made.

When Encrid stepped forward and declared his affiliation, the gate opened.

Up in the watchtower, a sharp-eyed man twitched his eyebrow.

His expression was extremely unpleasant.

‘Looks like someone who deserves a punch.’

That was the first thought that crossed Encrid’s mind.

He didn’t usually care about other people.

But something about that man’s face made him want to hit him.

Inside, the fortifications were even clearer.

The walls and gates were built from thick logs.

It wasn’t quite a castle wall, but it was close in scale and durability.

In the center of the village, a long flagpole and a raised platform stood.

It was obviously the village square.

Upon entering, the village leader approached.

He was a young man, around the same age as Encrid.

His face was unremarkable, but his eyes were brimming with confidence.

“Welcome,” he greeted.

But from his tone, posture, and expression, Encrid could tell—

They were not welcome here.

Perhaps it was due to his sharpened instincts, but the village leader’s attitude made it clear.

Even with Ruagarne as part of their group, he wasn’t happy to see them.

—

– “We Don’t Need You Here”

– “We can handle things just fine on our own.”

– “We already drove out the large bandit group that was causing trouble nearby.”

– “Ever heard of the Black Blade Bandits? Even they don’t dare mess with us anymore.”

– “It’s nice that a Frok came, and we appreciate having a commander visit, but as you can see, this isn’t some small village.”

– “So, you’re a squad captain? Must be pretty skilled with a sword, huh?”

– “One of our own used to lead a mercenary group back in the day. Maybe you’ve heard of him—One-Eyed Glaive? He’s now our village’s guard captain.”

Summarizing their attitude—

– “We don’t need your interference. Just watch, then leave. Your mission? Just say it was completed and go. The colony issue? We’ve already taken care of it.”

The village leader and his core group were the true power holders here.

None of them were elderly.

Most were middle-aged or younger.

They had made it clear—they didn’t want outsiders meddling.

And most of the village’s residents seemed to support them.

Particularly, the guards or militia looked at them with something close to hostility.

“Fine.”

Encrid didn’t bother forcing his authority on them.

There was no point.

An assignment was an assignment.

Work was work.

People were people.

They said they’d handle things on their own—so he let them.

But they stayed.

For a week at most, five days at least.

Just long enough to confirm the village’s safety and report back.

In the end, it was their decision. Encrid didn’t take it personally.

They had been given a hastily built hut as lodging.

While Krys had gone off to explore the village, Ruagarne asked,

“So, are we just going to sit around and watch?”

“I’ll spend the time training.”

“Even here? Well, I suppose that makes sense.”

By now, Ruagarne had gotten used to Encrid.

This guy could swing a sword anywhere.

There was plenty of open space near the hut.

Many areas were still under construction.

At one such open space, Encrid swung his sword.

It didn’t matter who was watching.

When had he ever cared about that?

He focused on the fundamentals of Proper Sword Style and Perception of Evasion.

Lately, those were the things he had been most engrossed in.

As his body moved, the techniques he had learned surfaced naturally.

He swung again and again, losing himself in the world of the blade.

And within that world, he recalled everything Ruagarne had taught him along the way.

His movements became sharper, his strikes more precise.

Meanwhile, Krys wandered around the village, taking in the sights.

He had expected to be treated as an outsider, but surprisingly, he blended in rather well.

‘That’s a talent in itself.’

Ruagarne thought as much.

Krys had a knack for reading people and saying just the right thing to win them over.

As he moved about—

“Care for a smoke?”

With nothing more than a rolled-up cigarette, he earned someone’s goodwill.

Soon enough, he was chatting up a bearded man near the quarry.

“You’ve done something impressive, you know? It takes guts to come all the way here. A pioneer village? Damn, that’s a man’s work right there!”

With just a few words, he had won the man’s favor.

‘He’s got a silver tongue.’

Guys like him were everywhere in the kingdom’s political scene.

The kind of people who became nobles, advisors, and government officials.

‘Would he fit in there?’

By any normal measure, this journey had been brutal and dangerous.

Sure, with their party’s strength, it hadn’t been that risky.

But still, the fact that Krys could immediately integrate and gather information was impressive.

Ruagarne turned her gaze toward the others.

Esther was perched on the hut’s window sill, staring at her owner.

Finn was inside, catching up on lost sleep.

Ruagarne had nothing pressing to do, so she watched Encrid train.

And, naturally, her thoughts drifted to the past.

Specifically, to the so-called “geniuses” she had trained before.

They had all been the same.

Every single one of them.

Talented beyond reason—but utterly frustrating.

“That should be enough for today.”

“Do I need to learn more?”

“I have an engagement at the salon tonight.”

“What, do you like me? Look, I’m not interested in any of that deep, spiritual love nonsense with a Frok, so just let me go, will you?”

“This is my limit. I can’t do any more.”

It was always the same with them.

A little training, and their bodies absorbed techniques instantly.

They never needed gruelling, bone-breaking discipline.

They never needed life-or-death perseverance.

They were born efficient, with physiques built for swordsmanship.

And because of that, they had no mental fortitude.

Mastery came so easily to them that their willpower ran dry—like a well that had never held water to begin with.

But swordsmanship was, in the end, about controlling one’s body.

That was the fundamental requirement.

And these people had it from birth.

They swung a few times, and the techniques became theirs.

Geniuses.

People who never learned the meaning of struggle.

Brrrrp.

Thinking about it made Ruagarne’s cheeks puff out in irritation.

So if they had the basics down—what came next?

‘What else but hard work?’

They needed to keep swinging, running, and rolling.

But how many actually did that?

Not many.

Most of them were useless.

Of course, there had been a few exceptions.

But—

‘The gods aren’t fair.’

She wasn’t feeling melancholy, but she wasn’t happy either.

Her thoughts drifted to her first lover—a man who lived in the moment, always giving his all to the present.

“Training is fun.”

She remembered him saying that.

It brought back memories.

Back then, she had been younger, more passionate.

Of course, Froks never lost their zeal with age.

They were hedonists—a warrior race that lived by desire and instinct.

Her thoughts blurred, and suddenly, she was staring at another man—the one in front of her.

The words slipped out before she even realized.

“Is it fun?”

Lost in memory, Ruagarne asked.

Encrid glanced at her and nodded slightly.

“Yes, it’s fun.”

Sweat dripped down his body.

Black hair. Blue eyes.

Nothing like the man she once loved.

He wasn’t as naturally talented.

If fate had been kinder, perhaps her past lover could have become a knight.

But Encrid wasn’t him.

So why did they overlap in her mind?

Just a memory.

A faded past.

Not pleasure, but pain.

Ruagarne, being a Frok, discarded the unpleasant memory.

Live for today.

Indulge in desire.

Honor your oaths.

That was enough.

—

“Captain. Captain.”

For a brief moment, Ruagarne had been lost in thought.

But Krys had come trotting over, calling for Encrid.

He spoke quickly.

“This place is the real deal. They’ve got a quarry, a training ground, and even plans for a barracks. Word is, they’ve got some noble backing them.”

Less than half a day had passed, and he had already picked up a ton of information.

Krys gestured upwards with his index finger.

A noble’s influence was at work here.

That much was obvious.

Without high-level support, a village of this scale wouldn’t have been possible.

“What about defenses?”

Encrid nodded and asked.

What if a large beast horde attacked?

The mission was originally to eliminate a colony of beasts.

The authority they had been given was supposed to include command over the village militia.

But if that wasn’t happening—

Could the village handle things on its own?

If trouble broke out later, would they be safe?

It was part of their job, after all.

They might as well do it right.

An assignment was an assignment. Work was work. People were people.

But they still needed to understand the situation.

Krys hadn’t been aimlessly wandering around—he had been gathering information.

He and Encrid worked surprisingly well together.

With just a glance from Encrid, Krys knew exactly what to look for.

“They’re solid. That former mercenary commander—whoever he is—trained them well. I wouldn’t say I have the sharpest eye for these things, but their discipline is evident. And a well-disciplined unit doesn’t crumble easily. The ones up in the watchtower, their eyes… polite words, but murderous glares. Absolutely ruthless.”

The watchtower guards, their eyes, their expressions—none of it sat well with Encrid.

Something about them felt off.

Were they mercenaries who had done a little banditry on the side?

Maybe.

But regardless, it seemed they were competent enough.

That meant there was nothing to worry about.

So then, what now?

“Since we’re stuck here, Captain, how about we go treasure hun—”

“Ruagarne.”

Before Krys could finish, Encrid called out to Ruagarne.

The Frok snapped out of her thoughts, her bulging eyes rolling toward him.

“Let’s spar.”

Dueling. Training.

Just another day as usual.

Already, onlookers were gathering.

They thought he was a peculiar kind of oddity—

Even here, he seemed like the type to spend all day swinging a sword.

“Wooden swords, then?”

Ruagarne asked.

“Krys?”

Instead of answering, Encrid called his resourceful subordinate.

Even if they were unwelcome guests, getting their hands on two wooden swords shouldn’t be too difficult.

“You’re really not coming treasure hunting, huh?”

Krys asked, sounding genuinely disappointed.

Of course, he was—there was money on the line.

“I’m leaning toward it.”

“…I’ll go get the wooden swords.”

Krys understood.

Encrid wasn’t the type to say things lightly.

If he said he was considering something, it meant he had already half-decided.

Watching Krys hurry off, Encrid heard a soft chuckle from behind.

He turned—

It was Esther, laughing.

Her laughter had a strange quality to it.

“You’ve laughed like that before, haven’t you?”

Encrid asked, suddenly curious.

Esther, feigning composure, stretched her neck long, turned her head aside, and rested her face against her front paw.

No answer.

Well, that settled that.

Soon enough, Krys returned—somehow having acquired the wooden swords.

And so, the sparring began.

There was a reason Ruagarne had asked for wooden swords.

“This is a game of strategy,” she said.

It was the same method she had once used to train a particularly gifted lover.

Of course, Encrid had no idea.

He was simply enjoying himself.

A new exercise, a new way of wielding a sword.

It was fun.

Rather than relying on raw physical ability, it was an exercise in refining the fundamentals of Proper Sword Style.

Which direction should he parry?

Where should he redirect the attack?

Each move set up the next step.

Laying traps to win.

As the wooden swords clashed slowly, the strategy unfolded.

“What the hell is that?”

“Are they playing around?”

“What? Those are the kingdom’s reinforcements? Is this a vacation or what?”

Murmurs spread among the onlookers.

Word soon got out—

That there was some idiot actually sparring with a Frok.

Even if this was a large settlement, it was still a pioneer village.

Aside from the militia, the total population was barely two hundred.

The gossip moved fast.

Some started calling him a good-for-nothing officer—

A commander from the Border Guards who was nothing but a frivolous drifter, traveling with a woman guide and a Frok bodyguard.

Apparently, he had even brought a big-eyed servant and a pet.

Encrid didn’t care.

He had dealt with worse rumors when he had been a troublemaker of a squad captain.

Nothing new.

“Ugh, are you seriously practicing swordsmanship even here?”

Finn, having just woken up from a deep nap, stretched and looked over at the sweat-drenched Encrid.

She clicked her tongue.