Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 39: The Banner Flutters, and the Soldier Dances with the Sword (2)

“Eyes, feet, hands,” Ragna instructed.

“The sequence starts with the eyes, followed by the movement of your feet, and ends with your hands. That’s how you wield a sword.”

Encrid took his words to heart.

By predicting his opponent’s movements with his eyes, positioning himself with his feet, and letting his hands finish the job, he was able to change the course of his battles.

Instead of simply reacting to attacks, he began to anticipate them, avoiding strikes before they even fully developed. As a result, his opponent’s attacks rarely reached him, while his own strikes found their mark.

Thud!

His sword pierced through an enemy’s throat. As he pulled the blade out sideways, muscles, nerves, and blood vessels were severed, and blood gushed out in waves.

Immediately after, Encrid rolled on the ground, swinging his sword downwards to crush the shin of another soldier standing nearby.

Crunch!

With no protection on the leg, the bone snapped audibly.

“Argh!”

As the soldier fell, writhing in pain, Encrid grabbed a fallen quarrel and plunged it into the man’s heart.

The armor prevented the bolt from penetrating fully, so Encrid pressed it in with his foot as he stood up.

Thump!

The bolt sank in up to the fletching.

He lifted the now-dead soldier with one hand and tossed him aside.

Thunk, thunk!

The bolt lodged into the corpse, creating a grotesque sight.

Here, Encrid made a small mistake.

A stray quarrel grazed his thigh, slowing his movement. Reduced mobility made it harder to dance among the enemy lines.

Still, he fought as fiercely as he could.

Thirty-two.

He had killed two more in a single day, even with a mistake in the middle of the battle.

*Eyes, feet, hands.*

He kept the sequence in mind—seeing with his eyes, moving with his feet, finishing with his hands. It seemed like he needed a few more battles to fully internalize this.

So Encrid continued, repeating the day and growing more familiar with the enemy’s tactics.

*They’re guarding the banners.*

They rotated in one direction, each day shifting to a new position—one day straight ahead, the next to the left.

Though he had never managed to destroy a banner, he had come close several times.

Yet, he felt something was missing.

Could it be that he couldn’t do this alone?

If so, he could bring along Rem or Ragna, but his pride kicked in.

He had learned proper swordsmanship and honed it.

Now he wanted to take it a step further. He wasn’t impatient, but he felt that it was time to advance.

*I’ll try it.*

If it turned out to be a matter of pride, he could always reassess afterward. He had the luxury of repeating today as many times as he needed.

“Who the hell are you?”

After several battles, Encrid finally faced an enemy squad leader. He didn’t recognize the man, who had a rat-like mustache.

“What do you think?”

Encrid responded with a smirk. Facing death, he displayed a boldness that unnerved the enemy. The rat-mustached leader swallowed hard before thrusting his spear.

“Unlucky bastard.”

* * *

After dying and waking up again, it was back to training.

“Precision, strength, swiftness.”

With the concept of eyes, feet, hands becoming more familiar, Ragna moved on to the next lesson.

What had started as basic training evolved into lessons on the history and concepts of swordsmanship.

“Fortunately, the foundation you’ve learned shares the same roots as mine,” Ragna noted.

Of course, it did. Ragna had been the one teaching him.

“I must’ve copied some especially good instructor somewhere along the way. I’m incredibly lucky,” Encrid said, spouting nonsense, but Ragna had no choice but to believe him.

Otherwise, none of it made sense.

Improving in a single day was one thing—if someone had spent years honing their basics but never knew how to apply them, they might suddenly show significant improvement.

Even though it was an unusual occurrence, Ragna chose to overlook it.

The foundation of Northern-style heavy swordsmanship seemed to have taken root, so there was no point in dwelling on it.

After all, Encrid had never delved into his past, so why should Ragna?

“Do you know the concept of precision, strength, swiftness?” Ragna asked.

Encrid nodded.

Precision, strength, swiftness—these referred to the five aspects of swordsmanship: Precision, Strength, Deception, Swiftness, and Flow.

To elaborate:

– **Precision:** The correct and precise strike.
– **Strength:** The heavy and powerful blow.
– **Deception:** The deceptive and misleading maneuver.
– **Swiftness:** The fast and rapid strike.
– **Flow:** The smooth and effortless motion.

Five hundred years ago, a prodigious genius was born. Raised in a small farming family, this child was a genius among geniuses.

At the age of nine, he killed a gang of marauding bandits with nothing but a fire poker.

This nine-year-old killed a dozen adult bandits, many of whom were skilled with swords.

“So this is swordsmanship,” the child mused.

He was said to have been precocious, having lost his parents at a young age.

Just by observing the bandits wielding their swords, he had grasped the principles of swordsmanship.

Soon after, a noble who heard of the child’s feat came to find him.

The noble adopted the boy, who was then given the surname Oniac.

Thus, the genius came to be known as Rionesis Oniac.

Rionesis was gifted with unparalleled talent but also cursed with misfortune.

At the age of ten, he contracted a disease that weakened his limbs.

It was an incurable disease that no mage, doctor, or healer on the continent could cure.

By the age of twelve, his entire body was paralyzed.

Despite his condition, the Oniac family did not abandon him.

The unfortunate genius was almost forgotten.

But at the age of twenty, fully paralyzed, Rionesis left an indelible mark on the history of swordsmanship.

He compiled and categorized every known swordsmanship technique into five distinct styles.

These became known as Precision, Strength, Deception, Swiftness, and Flow.

Despite being unable to use his body, he redefined the history of swordsmanship.

This also marked the beginning of the Oniac family’s rise to become the greatest in the empire.

The school of swordsmanship founded by Rionesis was passed down through generations, becoming a cornerstone of martial knowledge.

Today, it’s known as Northern Strength, Central Precision and Flow, Western Swiftness, Southern Deception, and Eastern Technique.

The continent is divided into five major regions, each with its own distinct approach to weaponry.

“I’ve developed a technique to complement Northern Strength. It’s more effective than a beast’s gut.”

It was another sunny, breezy day. On this day, Encrid learned a new technique from Ragna.

From Rem, he had learned the Heart of the Beast.

From Jaxson, the sense of a blade.

And now, from Ragna, he learned something called the Concentrated Point.

“The principle is simple. Block out everything around you, focus on your opponent, and concentrate solely on the task at hand. Forget everything else and focus entirely.”

The explanation was vague.

“The essence of Northern Strength lies in its fundamentals. It’s known as the sword that breaks even when blocked, the sword that can’t be avoided even when anticipated, the sword that pours all its power into a single strike. That’s how you do it. Focus.”

If focusing alone made it possible, what did that say about those who couldn’t do it?

“I’ll teach you a little trick.”

With that, Ragna’s sword became a streak of light. Though he had recently changed swords, and it wasn’t fully broken in yet, the blade moved too fast to be seen.

Even his arm, which whipped like a lash, was a blur. In a flash, something grazed the side of Encrid’s neck.

Slice.

The blade had cut his skin before he even realized it.

A warm trickle of blood ran down his neck.

“Are you harassing our squad leader?” Rem appeared out of nowhere, glaring.

Encrid touched his neck.

‘I could’ve died.’

It had been a dangerously close strike. The blade had moved so fast that it sliced through his skin before he even knew what was happening.

“They say that in the moment of death, a person’s focus sharpens tenfold. I’m helping him.”

“You lunatic! What good is learning that technique after you’re dead? Do you even know how long it took him to master the Heart of the Beast? Huh?”

He seemed oddly fixated on emphasizing how long it took. That “Huh?” was excessively drawn out.

As Encrid opened his mouth to speak, Ragna scoffed.

“It’s because his teacher was bad.”

“What was that? Do you want me to plant this axe in your skull?” Rem growled, raising a hand to his ear as if struggling to hear.

“I’m not some uncivilized barbarian. My teaching methods are rational.”

Rational? Encrid pondered the meaning behind that word.

Whether it was Rem or Ragna, it made little difference to him.

“Isn’t your tribe also barbaric, given that you’re from the Polar Regions?”

Ragna’s pale skin and red eyes were typical of the northern tribes, who hailed from the frigid regions.

“Don’t lump me in with the Western barbarians. It’s highly offensive. Extremely,” Ragna replied with a sharp tone.

“…Fine, just go die. When you’re dead, I’ll personally drag your body up north and bury it,” Rem retorted, clearly annoyed.

It seemed like they were about to start another argument, so Encrid decided to step in.

“You know what I’m going to say, right?” Encrid interjected, trying to defuse the situation.

Despite his words, Ragna’s gaze remained fixed beyond Encrid, as if dismissing him.

“I’m well aware that our squad leader is as slow as a Northern ox, but I didn’t know he’d mastered the basics to this extent.”

“What did you say, you bastard? Stop beating around the bush and bring your head over here. I’ll plant my axe in it,” Rem snapped.

“You crazy savage,” Ragna muttered.

The metaphor of the Northern ox referred to those who moved slowly and conserved energy to survive the cold, harsh winters. It was often used to describe someone who was sluggish or dull-witted. Although Ragna and Rem were subtly calling him slow, Encrid didn’t take offense.

“You said you’d teach me a trick,” Encrid reminded Ragna, turning away from Rem.

Ragna looked back at Encrid, as if assessing his determination, before nodding slightly.

“You won’t learn it easily.”

The basics hadn’t been easy either. Learning a new stance, mastering footwork, unlearning bad habits, and relearning how to slash and thrust—none of it had been simple.

Yet, it had been rewarding.

The joy of growing stronger each day filled him with exhilaration. While he claimed to dream of becoming a knight, perhaps it was his love of the sword that had driven him this far.

When Encrid held a sword and swung it, he was filled with an all-consuming joy that made him forget everything else.

As he held Ragna’s wrist, urging him to continue, Ragna spoke calmly.

“You need to face the brink of death. When you feel like you’re about to die, your senses will sharpen. Repeat that sensation over and over.”

The trick was similar to how he had learned the Heart of the Beast.

However, while the Heart of the Beast required boldness in the face of death, Ragna’s technique—the Concentrated Point—was the opposite.

He had to fight with every ounce of will to avoid death. The fear of dying would sharpen his nerves like needles.

*Combine it with real combat,* Encrid thought, formulating a plan in his mind.

“It won’t be enough just to learn the trick.”

“Once I master it, tell me how it feels.”

“When you’ve mastered it, everything around you will disappear, and your sword will move as if it has a mind of its own,” Ragna replied without hesitation.

Encrid looked into Ragna’s crimson eyes. For the first time, he saw a deep seriousness in them.

*What’s gotten into him?*

Ragna was unpredictable, but he had never been this passionate about anything before.

Now, with a hidden intensity and a burning resolve deep in his eyes, Ragna spoke again.

“It’s time to go.”

Encrid nodded.

“Yes, it is.”

The battle began once more, and the fog rolled in.

“Sorcery? Damn those bastards,” Rem cursed in frustration.

“Stay low!” Ragna shouted at Encrid as he charged forward.

Before, Ragna had been more concerned with holding Encrid back, but now he didn’t. He knew that Encrid was skilled enough not to fall to a mere soldier.

Encrid rushed in, moving through the sequence—eyes, feet, hands—while facing his enemies.

*Start with the quarrel unit.*

The difference this time was that, after repeating today so many times, Encrid had memorized the enemy’s formation.

To be precise, he hadn’t just memorized it; it had become second nature.

Before the first enemy soldier could even thrust his spear, Encrid had already closed the distance, thrusting a dagger upward.

Thud!

The dagger pierced the soldier’s jaw and drove into his skull. Encrid discarded the dagger and shoved the dying soldier backward with his shoulder.

“Ugh!”

“Ah!”

The soldiers behind him were caught off guard. In that moment, Encrid threw two more daggers.

The flying daggers struck the throats of two enemy soldiers.

It was a flawless technique.

He then drew his longsword and executed a diagonal slash.

Clang!

A soldier blocked the strike with the shaft of his spear. Anticipating the block, Encrid used the rebound from the impact to pull back his sword and slash the neck of the soldier on the other side.

Slice!

The well-sharpened blade cut cleanly through the soldier’s throat.

The battle resumed. It was another fight, another battle. Another iteration of today.

He fought and died again.

Throughout, Encrid struggled fiercely. As soon as Ragna had explained the trick, Encrid understood.

Instead of boldly facing death, he had to fight desperately to avoid it.

That was the key. He couldn’t avoid death forever, of course.

But that didn’t matter. He would achieve what he wanted regardless.

Of course, he had a job to do as well.

*The banner.*

His target was the banner—the conduit for the sorcery.

Encrid charged toward the objective, overlaying his real combat experience with this new goal.

Having repeated today so many times, he knew the enemy soldiers’ movements in advance.

The enemy, relying on the fog, were caught off guard by his sudden assault.

Encrid made full use of that advantage.