Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 38: The Banner Flutters, and the Soldier Dances with the Sword (1)

“Do you really need to learn swordsmanship?”

Ragna had asked this, his words laced with sharp criticism.

It was his way of saying that Encrid’s body wasn’t keeping up. And he wasn’t wrong.

Encrid wasn’t born with talent. He had lived his life adding only dogged effort to his dull body.

However, despite this, he had encountered countless instructors, learned swordsmanship, and spent long hours pondering on his own.

As a result, his thinking was flexible, and his adaptability was excellent.

Learning something new was challenging, but once he mastered it, he was different in actual combat. In fact, it was a kind of innate talent.

Flexibility and adaptability—those were Encrid’s true gifts.

‘Use everything as the situation demands, as needed.’

By the standards of the Kingdom of Naurilia, Encrid was at best above average.

In the mercenary world, he was considered mid-tier.

Wherever he went, his skills placed him somewhere in the middle; that was his current standing.

But regardless of his skill level, his combat effectiveness in real battle was exceptional.

Having lived with such limited talent from the beginning, Encrid knew how to make the most of what he had.

A soldier’s spear came hurtling toward him.

His sharpened hearing caught the swoosh of the weapon cutting through the air.

It wasn’t as precise as his sight, but it gave him enough to determine the direction. He visualized his opponent’s movements in his mind.

‘Turn to the side.’

Encrid executed the step. The Heart of the Beast granted him boldness. He put strength in his left heel and pivoted his right foot back, turning his body.

The spear tip sliced past his face with a sharp swish.

Even though the spear seemed to come out of nowhere in the fog, Encrid didn’t panic.

There was no need.

This was the same spear that had already stabbed and killed him dozens of times.

He had dodged the first thrust more than two hundred times.

Instead of drawing his sword, Encrid grabbed the middle of the spear shaft and yanked it forward.

The enemy soldier, surprised by the sudden pull, gasped.

“Huh?”

The soldier’s head emerged from the fog, and Encrid grabbed it, twisting sharply.

Crunch.

The soldier’s neck snapped. No one survives a broken neck.

The enemy soldier collapsed to the ground, and Encrid took the fallen soldier’s spear.

He recalled the enemy formation before the fog had spread.

They were all clustered together.

‘Throw it anywhere, and it’ll hit someone.’

He planted his left foot and threw the spear with all his might.

The spear soared through the air and struck something with a solid thud.

“Urgh!”

He heard a death rattle.

“What the—?”

“Damn it!”

The enemy soldiers’ voices betrayed their confusion.

Listening closely, Encrid ducked low and sprinted forward.

Even if the enemy could see through the fog, it would be difficult for them to spot someone charging low to the ground.

Thud, thud, thud!

Bolts and arrows whizzed overhead.

“Argh!”

“Ugh!”

“Damn it, arrows!”

From behind, his allies’ screams and curses filled the air. The tension could have been overwhelming, but it wasn’t. He had done this too many times before.

In fact, the real problem was that there wasn’t enough tension. As he closed the distance, Encrid drew his longsword.

His keen hearing accurately gauged the distance.

Shing!

He drew his sword, gripping it with both hands, and swung it in a modified overhead horizontal slash.

Originally, the overhead horizontal slash was a technique where you block the opponent’s sword with your guard and then slash with the back of the blade.

But Encrid had altered it to suit his needs.

The stance was similar.

He held the sword above his head, parallel to the ground, and adjusted his grip.

Using a thumb grip, he swung the sword in a circular motion.

Because of his low stance, what was meant to be an overhead horizontal slash became a lower horizontal slash.

It was a ridiculous position, so there wasn’t much power behind the swing.

But it was an unexpected strike.

The enemy didn’t react in time.

Whirr!

Thud! Thump!

He felt the resistance as his blade met flesh.

“Agh!”

“What the—?”

“The ground!”

Oh, you’ve noticed quickly. Encrid emerged from the fog and rose to his feet, spotting the enemy soldiers.

Although his vision only extended as far as his sword’s reach, it was better than nothing.

He could see the enemy, their weapons, and his own sword.

It was a completely different situation from before.

Three enemies had deep cuts in their shins, blood pouring from their wounds as they limped around. All were armed with crossbows.

One of them gritted his teeth and aimed the crossbow at Encrid.

Encrid sidestepped.

He extended his left foot diagonally forward, with his right foot following closely behind.

In an instant, his position shifted.

The bolt whizzed past where he had been standing.

Encrid didn’t stop at merely dodging the bolt.

As he avoided it, he attempted a vertical slash from above.

The heavy longsword descended from above.

The enemy soldier, still holding his crossbow, reflexively drew a shortsword, trying to block with a cross shape against the longsword.

But Encrid pressed down with brute strength.

Clang! Crack!

The force crushed the leather helmet, and the opposite blade of the shortsword dug into the soldier’s skull.

It felt less like cutting and more like smashing.

Crack.

Blood foamed as the soldier’s head caved in, and he fell backward. Blood streamed down from the shattered leather helmet, forming a crimson curtain over his face.

“Guh, guh.”

The soldier with the crushed skull couldn’t speak, collapsing backward as his eyes glazed over.

Encrid pulled his sword back, took a step back, and turned his body. In an instant, he moved a step to the side.

A short spear whizzed past the spot he had just vacated.

The spear tip grazed his left side, slightly tearing his cloth armor. But that was all.

After dodging, he thrust his sword forward.

Not in a quick, hurried motion, but slowly and deliberately.

The enemy who had swung the spear reflexively pulled it back, blocking with the shaft.

Thunk.

The sword and spear shaft met.

Then, the sword began to slide down the shaft.

With his advancing step, he performed a bind, followed by a slash.

Scrape, scrape, scrape!

The sound of the sword grinding against the spear shaft filled the air.

Thud!

The sword’s final destination was the enemy soldier’s chest. In an instant, the blade that had slid down the spear shaft tore through the soldier’s chest.

Flesh was sliced, and bones shattered. As he withdrew his sword, blood gushed out.

A stream of blood splattered across Encrid’s chest.

Still in a slightly crouched position, Encrid stood upright, sheathing his sword.

Everything he had learned so far was basic training. It was a time to discard bad habits and rebuild his foundation. Frankly, he had just now reached his previous level.

However, with the fundamentals of swordsmanship, especially those centered around Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship, he was now on a completely different level.

It was like putting wings on a lion.

Encrid’s flexible thinking allowed him to achieve results far beyond his actual skill.

His bloodstained sword moved among the remaining soldiers. Encrid silently danced a deadly dance.

* * *

There were six units with banners.

The commander of the Duchy of Azpen pondered.

‘Even if they realize it’s sorcery, they won’t know which of the six banners they need to take down.’

Victory was certain. Now it was time to decide what kind of victory to claim.

“Cut off their retreat.”

The Grey Dogs, an independent unit, began to move.

They were positioned at the rear of the Naurilia Kingdom’s forces.

When those startled by the fog tried to flee, they would run straight into the Grey Dogs. The commander issued orders and reviewed his plan for any flaws.

There were none.

General Frok had come to ensure this operation wouldn’t fail. Otherwise, a general wouldn’t have come to this battlefield.

The commander issued the next order.

“Kill them all.”

This battle would change the fortunes of both Azpen and Naurilia.

While the commander gave his orders, Encrid was dancing with his sword in the first banner unit.

* * *

“Damn it!”

The battalion commander of Naurilia felt like he was trapped in a nightmare.

‘We’ve lost the initiative.’

The enemy had prepared something, and so had they.

But if they lost their forces here, their preparations would be for nothing.

“Retreat! Retreat!”

Shouts to fall back echoed from all directions.

The battalion commander was losing his composure.

“Argh!”

Even as they retreated, bolts rained down on them.

‘Damn those crossbowmen!’

The battalion commander felt a wave of dizziness.

How had they managed to hide that many crossbows?

Where? The answer had been in the scout reports all along.

‘The tall grass!’

Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about such things.

The commander’s mind was retreating from reality.

“Get it together! Regroup!”

Two company commanders with some skill tried to rally their forces, but the enemy’s forces were formidable.

The unit coming from behind was the Grey Dogs.

The independent company, a pride of the Azpen Duchy, was closing in from behind.

The battalion commander of Naurilia realized they had been caught in a trap.

He desperately tried to regain his composure.

“It’s the Fog of Annihilation! The Azpen Duchy has deployed a sorcerer!”

Damn those bastards.

“How do we dispel the fog?”

Only a few of his lieutenants had any answers.

“Bring someone who knows!”

Visibility was nil, and enemies were assaulting them from both the front and back.

At this rate, they were headed for annihilation.

No, they *would* be annihilated.

A lieutenant finally brought back an answer.

“We must destroy the sorcery’s conduit!”

A conduit? The flagpoles!

“Charge at the flagpoles!” the battalion commander shouted.

“…We don’t know which direction they’re in,” one of his lieutenants replied in despair.

The enemy had rotated their positions like the gears of a machine, constantly shifting so that their exact location was impossible to pinpoint.

The commander couldn’t shake the dread of impending annihilation from his mind.

While the battalion commander was agonizing over the situation, the Elven Company Commander, responsible for the 4th Company, realized that the enemy wouldn’t simply let them retreat.

Her intuition was correct, and it was not good news.

‘If there’s no counterattack, we’ll all die.’

She understood that they needed a reversal, but no such opportunity arose.

The battle ended in a crushing defeat.

The Elven Company Commander barely survived, narrowly escaping death.

As she fled, the fog began to lift. The sight was devastating—less than fifty of her allies had survived.

* * *

Clang!

Encrid fought valiantly. He fought with such ferocity and skill that he was satisfied with his performance.

His allies were nearly wiped out, but he alone had felled close to twenty enemy soldiers.

Blood trickled down his arm, a result of a cut he had received during the recent skirmish.

‘I’m losing strength.’

He had spent all his time focusing on basic training.

Ragna had warned him against dueling until his bad habits were eradicated and his fundamentals solidified.

And then Ragna had added, “Not that this is the kind of advice you should be following on a battlefield.”

He must have realized how ridiculous it sounded—telling someone not to fight in the middle of a battlefield in order to avoid bad habits.

What were they supposed to do? Surrender and die?

But Encrid had done exactly that.

By deliberately sacrificing himself in order to avoid bad habits, he had excluded real combat from the equation.

Today, however, he had shown his abilities in actual combat for the first time.

‘It’s different.’

Until now, he had fought using any means necessary, whether it was Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship or whatever else he could muster. That was how he had survived, and it hadn’t changed.

The only difference was that now, at the core of his fighting style, was proper swordsmanship.

‘I want to learn more.’

His desire to learn only grew stronger. He didn’t want to stop at just mastering the basics.

Having single-handedly slain the equivalent of two platoons’ worth of soldiers, the enemy was hesitant to approach him.

For some reason, as he held his ground, Encrid’s vision cleared. The fog of sorcery no longer clouded his sight, and he could see the enemy soldiers forming a semicircle in front of him.

Each one of them held a crossbow.

“Why don’t we settle this like men, one on one?” Encrid suggested, eager to test the skills he had honed through countless repetitions.

“You crazy bastard,” muttered what appeared to be the enemy squad leader.

Thud, thud, thud!

The crossbows twanged, and bolts pierced Encrid’s body.

The one that struck his eye sent waves of excruciating pain through him.

‘It hurts.’

But at the same time, he was elated.

As death approached, Encrid thought of what he still needed to do, lessons from the repeated “todays.”

Ragna had constantly emphasized the basics.

“Train, then train some more, and keep fighting as if your life depends on it. Eventually, hmm, it’ll stick to you.”

It was a rather irresponsible statement, but it carried meaning.

Encrid needed more combat experience.

The word “death” settled over his entire body.

Before his last breath escaped him, an enemy soldier stood over Encrid and remarked, “You’re one tough bastard.”

Even then, Encrid still held his sword tightly. The blood he had shed pooled around him on the ground.

“No matter what, even if you’re dying, don’t let go of your sword. That’s the first rule.”

Countless instructors had said this, as had Ragna, and Rem too.

Encrid had done exactly that.

“Pah!”

One of the enemy soldiers, angered by the loss of so many comrades, spat on Encrid’s face.

And with that, it was over.

* * *

Morning dawned.

Today began anew.

Encrid reflected on what he had gained from the battle yesterday.

‘I need more real combat.’

That was the conclusion he reached.

He went to Ragna again to continue his lessons.

“You’ve got the basics down, but it’s like you’ve spent your whole life training alone. Where did you learn your foundational swordsmanship?”

Ragna’s words hit the mark. Encrid felt the same. What he needed now was more experience in actual combat.

“Here and there.”

“…Here and there? Hmm, well, I suppose. It’d be good to make sure you can call upon what you’ve learned in a duel. And whoever taught you did a fine job.”

That teacher was you.

Ragna unknowingly gave himself credit, and Encrid responded with a nod before throwing himself into more training.

And how enjoyable that was.

In the next battle, Encrid single-handedly cut down thirty enemy soldiers.

It wasn’t purely due to his skill with the sword; he had dodged bolts and arrows throughout the fight.

He had to be clever. The more he could extend his experience in real combat, the better.

He repeated several more iterations of today, and each time, he swung his sword.

Eventually, the fundamentals he had mastered became perfectly ingrained in his body.

“There’s nothing more for me to teach you in terms of the basics.”

Ragna finally admitted this, a testament to how much Encrid’s skills had grown.