Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 2: Life Flashes Before Your Eyes

Through the eye slits of his leather helmet, Encrid saw a black dot flying towards him.

Encrid raised his shield, fixed to his left arm.

*Thunk.*

He felt a heavy weight. He tried to deflect the attack, but only half-succeeded, causing his forearm to ache.

Encrid swung his blade down on the helmet of the enemy who had thrust at him with a spear.

*Thunk.*

The blade struck the shoulder of the enemy, who had reflexively ducked.

The heavy sound of hitting the shoulder guard made his hand tingle.

“Ugh, I’ll kill you!” the enemy muttered, gripping the spear shaft short and swinging it.

His technique was well-practiced.

Without thinking, Encrid kicked the enemy’s stomach with the sole of his foot.

“Oof.”

The enemy lost balance and fell.

This was close combat, a melee.

When friend and foe intermingled, it was easy to lose track of who was who.

Falling meant death.

Encrid shifted his gaze from the fallen enemy, tightened his grip on his shield, and looked for his comrades.

Losing one’s sanity in a melee led to death. Acting like a berserker didn’t make you one; it just made you a corpse.

Encrid had survived many years with minimal talent because he knew his limits.

*Don’t stand out.*

He blocked a flying blade with his shield.

The blade hit the edge of the shield, bending its metal rim.

The oiled wooden shield twisted. It wouldn’t last much longer.

*Attack should be short and simple.*

After blocking, Encrid tightened his grip on his sword and swung.

*Thunk.*

He felt a heavy impact.

A luckless enemy took the blow to the head and was knocked aside.

An allied spear pierced the fallen enemy’s chest with a wet sound.

The padded gambeson couldn’t withstand the force of the spearhead and was deeply pierced.

The struck enemy struggled for life.

*Thud! Thud! Thud!*

The allied soldier repeated the same motion tirelessly, thrusting the spear forcefully.

*Thunk.*

Eventually, the spear pierced the armor and lodged in the unfortunate enemy’s torso.

“Ugh.”

The enemy coughed up blood, trembling as he clutched the spear impaling him.

“Damn it, let go! Let go, you bastard!”

The enemy held onto the spear shaft until the end, while the allied soldier abandoned his weapon and picked up the enemy’s spear.

Seeing this, Encrid stepped back and took a deep breath.

“Huff, huff, huff.”

He took in his position, his comrades, and the enemy locations.

*Standing out means death.*

If he charged into the enemy ranks with his current skills, he would end up as battlefield fodder, just like the enemy who had died with a hole in his stomach moments ago.

That enemy had rushed to the front lines in excitement but was mediocre in skill. Perhaps he had grown overconfident from killing less skilled opponents in previous battles or was simply unlucky.

After all, Encrid’s strike hadn’t been particularly aimed.

The ground, hardened like a rock from days without rain, was splattered with blood, but the dryness remained.

The feeling of thirst clawed at his throat, the scent of blood rising from within.

Encrid swallowed dryly and searched for his squad members with his eyes. They weren’t visible, of course.

Instead…

“Aaargh!”

Someone screamed.

Two paces away, an allied soldier thrust his spear.

*What are you doing?*

The thrust was good, but the soldier tripped over his own feet, stumbling and dropping his weapon.

*Is he praying to be killed?*

The fallen soldier’s head popped up, looking like he was praying while prone.

Encrid snapped out of his thoughts and moved.

He raised his shield, holding his breath and tensing his muscles.

*Thunk. Crack.*

An enemy blade struck the shield, sending a heavy shock through his body.

Barely blocking the blade, his oiled wooden shield shattered.

Encrid threw the broken shield forward and swung his sword with all his strength.

Once from right to left, then again from left to right.

*Swish, swish.*

*Clang!*

The enemy weapon clashed with his sword as he swung from left to right.

Sparks flew as the blades met, and he saw the enemy’s weapon slip from their grip.

This was what he had aimed for.

Encrid trusted his strength more than his mediocre swordsmanship.

He had trained as much as any elite mercenary.

This strength created an opportunity. But he didn’t charge in recklessly. Opportunity often came with danger.

“Aaargh!”

The disarmed enemy hesitated, then charged with raised arms.

He seemed to think he was a bear.

Feigning an attack, Encrid dropped his sword and ducked, catching the charging enemy and flipping him over.

The weight of the armor, helmet, and all their gear bore down on his back.

It was heavy.

His back and thighs screamed as he lifted the enemy.

“Hup!”

The enemy’s body flipped backward.

There was no need to check on the fallen enemy.

Encrid was standing a step inside the allied lines.

Here, you typically encountered three types of enemies:

First, the unlucky ones pushed to the front.

Second, the overconfident fools from days of fighting.

Third, the skilled ones leading the battle.

The enemy he had just flipped was the first type.

He had charged in recklessly and fallen among allies, meaning he was as good as dead.

Encrid picked up a fallen sword.

He saw the allied soldier who had tripped get up, with a neatly split helmet.

Blood was flowing from his head.

*You’re a lucky bastard.*

Just moments ago, Encrid had saved his life.

He was indeed fortunate. Encrid knew him.

“Vel, did you lose your mind because your head got split?”

Encrid asked.

The soldier with the split helmet, Vel, wiped the blood from his eyes and replied.

“Damn, barely made it.”

“If you barely made it, cover my back.”

An ordinary soldier couldn’t grasp the battlefield situation in the middle of a battle. The squad leader’s role was mainly to deliver commands.

But Encrid read the situation.

To be precise, he felt it.

*This isn’t good.*

He had survived many years of blood and steel on the battlefield.

Though he hadn’t gained talent in swordsmanship, he had developed a sense of the battlefield’s flow.

To be honest, it was just intuition.

But that intuition had saved him many times.

*This is bad.*

“Let’s do it.”

Vel answered, wiping blood from his head, then picked up his weapon and moved steadily.

Holding his spear, Vel took two steps while scanning the surroundings.

*Thud.*

An arrow flew and pierced his head.

It went through the gap in his half-split helmet.

The arrow struck his head, and his eyeball popped out, hitting Encrid’s leather armor.

*Ah.*

Vel couldn’t even utter a short groan as he died, his mouth agape.

Encrid looked away.

In the sky, or more precisely, in the void, he saw a flash of light and a dot.

At that moment, he knew it would hit him.

Encrid closed his eyes.

How many people could remain calm at the moment of death?

Encrid was no exception.

As he closed his eyes, memories of his life flashed before him, like a lantern.

Time seemed to slow.

The battlefield noise faded, and even his breathing felt slower.

*Thunk, tap!*

That feeling soon disappeared. The lantern of memories vanished, and the battlefield noise returned, reminding him that he was still breathing.

“Thankful for being saved?”

It was his subordinate.

One of his squad members.

The soldier had pushed him, and the arrow struck the ground.

“Rem.”

Encrid called his name.

“They say an eagle-eye guy is here for this battle. Watch out for arrows.”

“Do you think being careful will stop them from hitting you?”

“I’ll deal with them, so hold on.”

This guy was crazily bold.

Encrid nodded, thinking as much.

“You’re not giving up on life, are you? You skipped training and took a nap today.”

Rem said.

“Is that a concern?”

“If you were suicidal and I saved you, I’d be annoyed.”

“Damn it, who wants to die?”

Eating steel didn’t mean you wanted to die.

“You always fight well, but you close your eyes at crucial moments.”

“Do you think I want to close them?”

It felt like he had answered similarly before.

Rem held an axe in his right hand and a broken spear in his left.

He was adept at using various weapons, hence his choice of armament.

He scratched his head with the thumb of his right hand, but it didn’t look satisfying.

He was scratching his helmet.

“Damn, this helmet smells awful.”

“I agree.”

“Focus more when you’re about to die.”

Rem often said that.

He Velieved that in life-or-death moments, people reach a superhuman level of focus. He advised using that in battle.

Damn it, could anyone do that?

That was a talent.

Opening your eyes, facing the enemy, and doing your job at the brink of life and death.

“Focus, my ass.”

Encrid said.

“Sure, if you die a few hundred times and learn, but we only have one life. See you later.”

Rem laughed and rushed back into battle.

He fought well.

Encrid refocused on the fight.

He fought with an allied soldier by his side. Repeating this.

Encrid thrust his sword forward.

If lucky, it would impale someone; if not, it would be avoided.

Otherwise…

*Thunk.*

It would merely graze the enemy, pushing them back with the blunt force.

The tip of his sword failed to penetrate the enemy’s armor, but it was enough to force the enemy backward.

“Ugh.”

The hit enemy groaned and staggered back, only to have his head smashed by a passing ally’s war hammer.

*Thud.*

Encrid cleared his mind of distractions.

Blocking and dodging the swords, spears, and clubs flying towards him, he swung his sword with a mind burning with focus.

He picked up an axe from the ground to use as a shield replacement, still wary of his surroundings. Blocking and attacking, he made use of the rudimentary sword skills he had learned over time.

His left foot moved forward, shifting his weight while keeping the tip of his sword straight, his arm steady.

He thrust again.

With the right balance of tension in his muscles, focus, and awareness of an opening, it might succeed.

*Ping! Tiddiddiddiding!*

Encrid’s thrust was half-successful.

*Damn.*

He aimed for the gap between the enemy’s helmet and chest plate, but the enemy moved, causing his strike to miss.

The enemy’s neck bore a long cut, but it wasn’t fatal.

The bleeding enemy glared at Encrid.

His eyes were full of malice as he clenched his jaw.

*Danger.*

His battlefield instincts screamed at him.

As Encrid stepped back, an allied soldier stepped forward to fill the gap.

The enemy crouched and punched the ally’s shin with his fist holding a dagger.

*Crack.*

The sound of a breaking bone.

“Ugh!”

The soldier with the broken shin fell, and the enemy swiftly pulled out a knife and stabbed the ally’s neck.

The stab and withdrawal were so fluid it seemed like a preordained scene from a play.

Blood spurted, staining the enemy’s chest plate.

He pushed the dead soldier aside.

*Ah.*

The lantern of life.

The boundary between life and death.

Images flashed by the light of a lantern, depicting Encrid’s life.

Like a dream from the previous night.

At the end of his life, as everything flashed before him, the enemy’s blade pierced Encrid’s neck.

It was a perfect thrust, an exact replica of what Encrid had attempted earlier.

As the searing pain shot from his neck through his entire body, Encrid faced the moment of death, realizing what Rem meant by superhuman focus.

It was just too late.

*Did I have to die to learn this?*

Cursing Rem inwardly, Encrid closed his eyes and thought.

No, his heart moved on its own.

Desire, longing, yearning.

*I wanted to be good with a sword.*

*I wanted to be a knight.*

*I wanted to be a hero.*

Ultimately, Encrid never achieved those dreams. He should have settled for earning some money and living in a village with a house.

But he couldn’t do that. The passion in his chest wouldn’t allow it.

Until the end, he spent the money he earned from battles on lessons and training.

*I could’ve done better.*

If only he had more time.

He thought he could make up for his lack of talent with more practice.

In the final flash of his life, he saw the face of the one person he had saved with his own strength for the first and last time.

“The talisman will move according to your wish.”

The village chief, an old woman with missing front teeth, had given him a talisman.

As regret and longing mixed, an unfamiliar emotion filled his heart.

Regret.

*Would things have been different if I had swung my sword a few more times?*

The word “death” settled into his body. Through his closed eyes, he saw a black river.

Encrid regretted taking a nap instead of practicing with his sword that day.

If he had trained a bit more, his final thrust might have succeeded.

On the black river, a faceless ferryman sat on a boat.

The ferryman spoke.

“Do you really think so?”

Hmm?

“You’re interesting.”

Huh?

“Then let’s do that.”

The ferryman, with no mouth, said. It was impossible to tell where the voice came from. His face was shrouded in darkness, like wearing a black mask.

Encrid couldn’t say a word.

He lost consciousness and then opened his eyes again.

*Bang, bang, bang.*

The sound of a guard hitting metal.

Specifically, the sound of a ladle hitting a pot.

A familiar sound that woke him up every morning.

“…”

Without a word, he looked to his side.

“Did you have a terrible dream?”

Rem, who was lying next to him, grumbled as he got up and shoved his feet into his boots.

“Ugh, bugs.”

Bugs in his boots.

Encrid blinked.

The vivid memories of what he thought was a dream flashed through his mind.

“Ptooey.”

Rem spat, having shaken out the bug, and crushed it underfoot.

The floor bore the traces of bug guts and spit.