Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 36: The Fog of Annihilation

Ragna was momentarily confused, but quickly decided to stop thinking about it.

‘He was always a strange guy anyway.’

In his eyes, Encrid wasn’t exactly normal either.

“So, what now?” Encrid asked.

“Let’s begin,” Ragna replied.

The two started anew under the clear sky, first by choosing their weapons.

“There’s no reason to use a light weapon when you have such strength. I think it’s better to switch to a heavier longsword. Let’s trade,” Ragna suggested as he handed over the sword from his waist. Encrid found it surprising.

Who just hands over a weapon they’re accustomed to so easily?

“I haven’t used it enough to get used to it anyway,” Ragna added.

When Encrid examined the sword, it didn’t seem particularly exceptional. The one he had been using looked better, but he decided to accept it.

Ragna was the one teaching him, so he chose to follow his advice.

“Got it,” he said.

He switched from an arming sword to a longsword. The hilt was longer, allowing it to be wielded with both hands, and the blade itself was at least a hand’s breadth longer and noticeably heavier.

It wasn’t a poorly made sword. Although it wasn’t crafted from the finest steel, the balance and finish of the blade were decent.

“Right hand in front, left hand behind,” Ragna instructed, teaching him how to grip the sword properly.

Encrid became fully engrossed in the lesson. Ragna, too, was deeply absorbed, spurred on by the presence of the squad leader. Teaching directly gave him a renewed sense of purpose.

They spent the entire morning like that, completely focused, not even realizing they had missed lunch.

It was only when Rem showed up that Encrid became aware of the time.

“Skipping meals for this little game, what are you two up to?” Rem asked.

“Now that you mention it, I am hungry,” Ragna muttered.

“Hey, you little bastard, have you been bothering our squad leader?”

“Screw off, barbarian.”

“You screw off, lazy bastard.”

The two bickered, while Encrid, drenched in sweat, let his sword droop.

He was exhausted. He had resolved to start fresh, but it wasn’t something that could be achieved overnight.

‘I’m lacking.’

He realized he was running out of time.

Initially, he had planned to just pick up some new techniques, thinking he could improve as he repeated today over and over.

‘But it’s the opposite.’

He hadn’t expected his basic skills to be so inadequate.

And he came to another realization: building a solid foundation under the guidance of someone skilled in swordsmanship was vastly different from practicing alone.

“Why are your feet positioned like that?”

“You’re not gripping the sword tightly enough.”

“Were you trying to thrust or slash just now?”

“What exactly are you trying to do?”

“This won’t work. You need to learn how to walk properly first.”

Ragna’s criticisms poured down on him like a torrential rain, and each one became a valuable asset.

In the middle of his banter with Rem, Ragna suddenly asked Encrid, “Don’t you have any desire to show off your sword skills?”

Ragna was reminded of why he had first picked up a sword when he was young.

It would be a lie to say there was no desire to stand out and be noticed. Encrid, too, had a natural sense of pride and ambition. After all, one of his daydreams was receiving a handkerchief from a lady after defending her.

How could he not want to be recognized?

“That’s exactly it. I really want to show off,” Encrid answered. Of course, he had a desire to be cheered by the crowd and become the hero of a minstrel’s tale.

Ragna nodded at that. It felt like an answer that made sense.

“What are you babbling about? Anyway, we’re being called to gather. The enemy has been sighted.”

It was time for battle again.

Encrid nodded.

Seeing this, Ragna felt like he had done something unnecessary.

‘Will he make it through today?’

If Encrid went into battle now, what would happen?

He would be wielding an unfamiliar sword, at a skill level that was still clumsy and awkward.

The sword he built today was just that—a beginner’s tool. Ragna expected that Encrid would die.

‘He has no talent.’

Throughout the day, while rebuilding Encrid’s basics, Ragna realized how insignificant his skills really were. This wasn’t something that could be achieved overnight.

Ragna briefly berated himself.

‘Did I push him towards his death?’

Regret gnawed at him. His mouth had been the problem. What good had ever come from him stepping forward?

He had done it again today.

With a regretful sigh, Ragna made a decision.

‘I’ll stay close.’

He wanted to protect him, at least for today.

“The enemy’s here!”

The battle time came quickly.

Before they could even finish organizing their makeshift camp, the enemy infantry approached through the tall grass and open fields.

They advanced with an uncanny speed.

As each unit gathered to face the enemy, it became clear that the enemy’s formation was unusual.

Their forces were spread out in clusters, each unit carrying long banners.

Flaaap!

The banners atop their poles fluttered, and suddenly, a strong wind blew from the enemy lines toward them.

Encrid squinted against the wind, eyes narrowing as he stared at the enemy soldiers and their banners, realizing that this battle would be far from easy.

His survival instincts, honed over years, were screaming at him.

And it didn’t take long for his instincts to be proven correct.

“What the…?”

At the front of the assembled infantry, a squad leader muttered in confusion.

Encrid recognized the face. It was Benzence, the squad leader he had awkwardly bid farewell to at the medical tent.

And now, a thick fog began to form between him and Benzence.

* * *

“We’ve been hit!”

Even before his lieutenant could speak, the Elven Company Commander had already grasped the situation.

The sensitive senses of an elf allowed her to feel the shift in the battlefield’s flow through her very skin.

‘Magic? Sorcery?’

A thick fog began to settle over the battlefield. It wasn’t a natural occurrence. The elf, attuned to nature, could sense the abnormality.

The artificial fog grew so dense that soon nothing could be seen.

“Captain!”

The panicked voice of her lieutenant made the Elven Company Commander realize something crucial.

‘No one was prepared for this.’

Suddenly, no one could see. Everyone must have been thrown into disarray.

It wasn’t just a problem for the 4th Company.

If this was an artificially created fog, it wouldn’t just end here.

And soon enough, that ominous feeling became reality.

Thud, thud, thud!

Bolts and arrows began to rain down.

Invisible arrows. Death’s call suddenly poured down from beyond the fog.

With a dull thud, a soldier nearby was struck full of bolts.

The lieutenant, too, was struck in the head by an arrow and collapsed.

The Elven Company Commander heightened her already sharp senses and leaped back.

Arrows pierced the spot where she had just stood.

She retreated further, drawing her sword and deflecting the incoming arrows.

Clang! Clang!

Two arrows were deflected off her blade. The company commander then grabbed the corpse of the fallen lieutenant and used it as a shield.

Without doing so, she would have surely been killed by a stray arrow.

Fog and arrows.

‘A planned strategy.’

They had been thoroughly outmaneuvered.

* * *

“It worked!”

A surge of excitement filled the eyes of the Azpen Duchy’s commander.

Soon, this battlefield would be marked with the name of victory.

The resources expended for this were considerable.

Failure was not an option.

As soon as the fog thickened, the commander shouted, “Fire!”

With an order brimming with joy and excitement, prepared arrows and bolts rained down on the enemy.

What Azpen had prepared was sorcery.

The spell was called the “Fog of Annihilation,” a curse that blinded the enemy.

At the commander’s shout, the sorcerer smiled in satisfaction.

The spell had succeeded.

It was a curse cast using the blood of a hundred newborn lambs, calves, and foals, along with water from an untouched lake.

The ingredients were anything but ordinary.

Many sacrifices had been made for the curse. The commander wasn’t aware of this.

Nevertheless, the sorcerer had poured everything into this ritual.

The terrain, the climate— even the previous spells to summon rain—had all been for this moment.

The ground needed to be wet for the curse to activate.

The blood-soaked banners and poles served as the conduits for the spell.

The troops protected by the banners were unaffected by the fog. This was the entirety of the sorcerer’s handiwork.

But it couldn’t be dismissed as trivial.

Though the enemy couldn’t see, this side could.

Any fool could understand the massive advantage this provided on a large battlefield.

The sorcerer didn’t care about the outcome of the battle or its success. What mattered was the triumph of the spell.

“Are you pleased with your success?”

The squad leader guarding the banner asked.

It was the same squad leader who had cornered Encrid before.

“We almost failed, so of course I’m pleased,” the sorcerer replied, recalling the time when the enemy had launched a nighttime raid.

The sorcery was nearly disrupted, and the preparations nearly ruined.

The very thought of it sent chills down his spine.

The squad leader, listening to the sorcerer, thought of the one who had led that raid.

‘That bastard.’

As a member of the Grey Dogs, a relentless group, he wanted nothing more than to kill that man with his own hands.

That enemy was somewhere out there, likely among the troops in the fog.

The Azpen squad leader hadn’t forgotten the face he saw by torchlight— that of the delicate-looking enemy soldier.

He wanted to see that face again.

* * *

As the fog spread, a smell of damp earth filled the air.

At the same time, visibility vanished.

The Benzence squad leader, who had been in plain sight just moments ago, was gone.

And not just him.

Ragna, who had been right next to Encrid, was now nowhere to be seen.

“Sorcery!” someone shouted. No, not just someone—it was Rem’s voice, full of irritation.

“Which bastard did this?”

Sorcery? What sorcery?

Encrid’s thoughts raced as he instinctively ducked.

Arrows and bolts flew overhead.

“Well done. Don’t lift your head,” came a voice from right beside him. It was Ragna.

Clang! Thud!

The sounds of battle echoed above them.

The ominous premonition had become reality.

Encrid kept his head down and thought.

‘Sorcery?’

Why would a sorcerer be here?

Even among the nomadic tribes of the Western Frontier, sorcerers were extremely rare.

But asking why didn’t matter anymore.

Encrid pushed the thought aside.

Suddenly, a spear thrust toward him from out of nowhere.

Thump.

The Heart of the Beast reacted. Boldness welled up within him.

Without it, his body would have frozen, and he would have died right there.

Encrid instinctively twisted his body to the left and swung his sword upward.

Thwack!

The greased shaft of the spear couldn’t be cut through by such a clumsy swing.

The spear shaft was knocked aside.

The spear had appeared out of nowhere in the fog.

Encrid gauged the direction from which it had come and moved forward.

But then, another spear lunged at him.

Thwack!

He barely managed to deflect it again.

As he blocked, he realized his stance was off, and his balance was all wrong.

The only thing he did right was holding his sword firmly.

Everything Ragna had repeatedly drilled into him had been thrown out the window.

‘Damn it.’

Of course, he hadn’t expected to master everything after just one lesson.

So what now?

“Fall back,” Ragna said. Encrid did the opposite.

Thanks to Jaxson, his hearing had become more acute.

He couldn’t see, but he could hear.

“Ugh!”

“Gah!”

“Die!”

“Damn it!”

Amidst the screams and curses from all sides, Encrid lunged forward.

“…Squad Leader!”

Ragna’s startled shout came from behind him.

And then…

Thud!

A spear pierced his neck.

‘That was precise.’

Rather than leaving his body riddled with holes, this was better.

Agonizing pain spread from his neck throughout his entire body.

His vision began to darken.

“You crazy bastard.”

The enemy soldier who had stabbed him muttered. He had been startled by Encrid suddenly lunging forward and exposing his neck.

“Die.”

The soldier kicked Encrid, pulling the spear out with a sickening squelch, and the second wave of excruciating pain hit.

Encrid felt death approaching.

He knew that within a few more breaths, darkness would engulf him entirely.

He found satisfaction in the approach of death.

What were the horrors of pain and the terror of death, even after experiencing them countless times?

‘With this…’

Today, he had started learning the basics of swordsmanship from Ragna.

That had been so enjoyable.

“Heh.”

Encrid laughed, blood dripping from his mouth. The enemy soldier shook his head in disbelief. He was witnessing a truly madman.

The darkness closed in. When Encrid opened his eyes, today had begun again.

* * *

“Why do you go to such lengths?”

Ragna asked. This time, instead of scratching his forehead, Encrid answered immediately.

“Because I want to get better with the sword.”

It wasn’t the same answer as before, but the destination was the same.

“Do you want to learn swordsmanship?”

Of course.

Ragna offered again, and Encrid accepted.

The second day of basic training began, the second iteration of today.

And they stood on the battlefield once more.

The fog spread again.

“Oh? Damn it!”

Rem cursed once more. This time, Encrid deflected the spear shaft three times before letting the spearhead pierce his neck again.

Unluckily, it struck at an angle. The skin of his neck was torn, splattering blood onto the ground.

‘Damn.’

Dying from excessive bleeding like this would be too agonizing.

But before he could even think further, another enemy soldier thrust his spear into him. Encrid was grateful.

Thud.

And so, he died once more.

And then the third iteration of today began.