Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 40: The Banner Flutters, and the Soldier Dances with the Sword (3)

Every day, Encrid trained under Ragna, focusing on mastering the technique of Concentrated Point. After each training session, he would charge into battle, repeating this process over and over.

Despite countless repetitions and enduring death time after time, the technique seemed just out of reach.

*Don’t rush,* Encrid reminded himself, shifting his focus. First, he needed to break the banner.

As the next battle began, Encrid contemplated how to minimize casualties.

Strategizing and analyzing were among his strengths.

Once again, the fog rolled in—a deadly fog, hence the name “Fog of Annihilation.”

Of course, Encrid didn’t know the name of the sorcery. He only knew that he couldn’t allow himself to be defeated so easily.

Before the fog fully enveloped the battlefield, and even before Rem could shout his warning, Encrid acted first.

“Everyone, get down!”

The soldiers were startled, but the commanding tone made even the squad leader duck his head.

“Shields up!” Encrid shouted again, and instinctively, the soldiers raised their shields. Encrid, too, grabbed a shield to fill his empty left hand.

He lowered his stance and held the shield at an angle, diagonally to his body, just in time for a few quarrels and arrows to thud into it.

The oiled shield performed its role admirably.

*I should have brought a shield earlier,* he thought.

There had been times when he had sprinted across the battlefield, only to be hit by a quarrel or arrow before the fight had even started.

But those experiences had also made him familiar with the best approach routes.

As these thoughts crossed his mind, Encrid sprinted forward. Through his experience, he knew that to escape the influence of the fog, he needed to get close to the enemy.

And that’s exactly what he did.

Encrid abruptly changed direction, launching himself to the left.

*Whoosh! Whoosh!*

Two spear thrusts passed through the space he had just vacated. He had memorized the pattern by now.

It was impossible to force the Concentrated Point technique by creating artificial life-and-death situations.

He needed to fight as if he was desperately clinging to life.

Encrid decided to commit to this approach. After dodging the spears, he dashed forward, closing the distance between himself and the enemy.

Finally, the enemy soldier emerged from the fog, his rounded leather helmet revealing a face full of shock.

Encrid kicked the soldier’s ankle.

“Ugh!”

The soldier lost his balance and fell, and Encrid slammed the edge of his shield into the soldier’s head.

*Crack!*

The sound of splintering wood echoed through the battlefield. If the soldier survived that, it would be pure luck.

Encrid stepped over the fallen enemy, drawing his longsword as he went.

He swung the blade wide, catching three or four soldiers off guard. Watching their reactions, Encrid quickly mapped out his next moves in his mind.

He had been repeating this day for nearly 300 days.

He could navigate the battlefield with his eyes closed.

He knew the location of every banner, every enemy soldier’s position.

From the enemy’s perspective, Encrid’s movements must have seemed ghostly.

* * *

Ron, a soldier of the Azpen Duchy, was taken aback by the Naurilian soldier’s sudden charge as the fog descended.

The soldier had appeared from the left, cutting down three or four of Ron’s comrades before vanishing—at least, it seemed that way. In reality, the soldier had simply lowered his stance.

“Argh!”

“He’s on the ground! On the ground!”

Ron knew that the fog was created by sorcery or magic and was designed not to obscure the vision of his allies. However, the denser parts of the fog did interfere with visibility, particularly around the ground.

For example, while everything above the chest was visible, the ground was harder to see. The enemy seemed to know this and exploited it.

“Kill him!”

“Damn it!”

Shouts echoed from all around. The enemy soldier moved as if he had ten bodies.

Ron was tense, ready to strike the moment the enemy appeared, planning to crush his skull.

The tension was palpable.

“Gah!”

“Agh!”

“He’s here!”

The enemy continued to move through the fog as if it were his own domain.

Ron swallowed nervously, feeling like a blade could pierce his chest at any moment. He needed to relieve himself. But the enemy didn’t show up for a long time, and just as Ron’s tension reached its peak…

“Break the banner!”

A scream erupted from behind him. It was the squad leader’s voice. Ron whipped his head around.

He saw the squad leader collapse to the ground, while the enemy soldier rose from the fog as if emerging from a grave.

*Was he alone?* Ron thought.

Had this lone soldier caused all this chaos by himself?

The soldier gripped his sword with both hands and struck the banner pole.

*Crack!*

With a powerful blow, the middle of the banner pole splintered, causing the banner to topple sideways.

The once-fluttering banner fell silent, losing its sound and motion.

*Thud.*

The banner hit the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Through the dust, it looked as if the enemy soldier tilted his head in confusion.

That’s how it appeared to Ron. Then, the soldier moved again.

“Kill him, kill him now!”

Someone, half-dead, grabbed the soldier’s leg. It was an impressive act, typical of Azpen’s elite soldiers who valued their lives above all else.

The other soldiers swarmed the enemy like a hive of bees.

With two spears embedded in his left side and five quarrels lodged in his thigh, the enemy soldier asked, blood dripping from his mouth.

“Why isn’t the fog lifting? This is the right banner, isn’t it?”

In place of the dead squad leader, a sergeant sneered.

“Idiot, why do you think there are six banners?”

The sergeant spoke without restraint. The enemy was as good as dead. Knowing the truth wouldn’t change anything.

“So, five were decoys, and only one was real?”

“You crazy bastard.”

“Why is Concentrated Point so hard? Well, nothing’s ever been easy for me.”

“What are you babbling about?”

“Focus, focus, focus.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

*Thwack!*

The soldier muttered to himself after getting his answer, and Ron, who had been watching in disbelief, couldn’t contain his anger. He swung his spear, smashing the soldier’s head.

The soldier’s body twitched on the ground, blood gushing from his head.

“Glurrg.”

Ron turned away from the dying man, ignoring the gurgling noises.

Because of this one soldier, the banner unit had failed to fulfill its mission, but the overall outcome was already determined.

It was a decisive victory for the Azpen Duchy. As long as the fog remained, they couldn’t lose.

* * *

The pain of dying filled Encrid’s entire body. To distract himself from the agony, he reflected.

*How did I learn the Heart of the Beast?*

The *Sense of the Blade* had been mastered thanks to the assassin’s guidance. The *Heart of the Beast* had been honed on the battlefield, fighting until the brink of death.

But the Concentrated Point technique was eluding him.

*Is the boldness of the Heart of the Beast getting in the way?* It didn’t seem like it.

If he had mastered the technique quickly, it would have meant Encrid was exceptionally talented.

Although it might have been frustrating, Encrid remained calm. He wasn’t anxious.

There was no need to be.

*If it doesn’t work, I’ll keep at it until it does.*

Encrid was resolute, with a mind that knew no despair or frustration.

Death approached once more, and then morning came. He woke to the warmth of the sun and the gentle breeze, steeling his resolve.

“It’s called Concentrated Point. Will you learn it?”

Ragna continued to teach as if following a predetermined path, and Encrid nodded.

Despite repeated attempts, he couldn’t fully grasp it.

As he trained in the basics of Northern-style heavy swordsmanship under Ragna’s guidance, he came to a small realization.

When learning anything new, it was crucial to learn it properly from the start.

*The fear of death is supposed to sharpen your senses?*

No matter how he tried, it felt like wearing ill-fitting clothes, so he asked.

“How did you learn it?”

“It just happened,” Ragna replied kindly.

Somehow, that made it even more infuriating. Why was he being kind now?

Encrid almost preferred Ragna’s biting criticism.

“Just like that?”

“Yes, I focused so intently that I became one with my sword.”

Ragna wasn’t bragging; his tone was casual.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s how it was.”

What had been trivial to Ragna was like an unreachable star to Encrid.

Still, he didn’t feel jealousy or envy. If his resolve had been so easily shattered, he wouldn’t have dreamed of becoming a knight.

He repeated the same process over and over. Ragna, aiming to instill the fear of death in him, would stop his blade just before it struck Encrid.

In terms of speed, Ragna seemed faster than Rem.

Although, when the two of them sparred, Rem had appeared quicker.

The memory of their duel was still vivid in Encrid’s mind.

Now that he was facing Ragna himself, it seemed Ragna was the faster of the two.

“What are you doing? They’re calling for us. And what’s the deal with you? Are you using the squad leader as a practice dummy? Still sore about losing to me before, huh?”

“Who lost? You want me to split your head open?”

Why did these two always fight whenever they met?

“Let’s just go,” Encrid intervened, cutting off their bickering.

It was time for battle once again. Through countless deaths, Encrid had learned many things. One of the most important was that five out of the six banners were decoys.

*I need to be precise with my choice.*

It was time to test his luck. This time, before the fog even had a chance to settle, Encrid rushed toward the advancing enemy.

“…Squad Leader?” Ragna’s confused voice echoed from behind him. Anyone would think Encrid was doing something outrageous.

“Squad Leader’s lost it!” Rem shouted, and others began murmuring, wondering what on earth he was doing. They thought he had lost his mind.

At that moment, the fog engulfed the battlefield.

“Whoa!”

“I can’t see!”

As Encrid sprinted forward, he shouted, “Get down! Shields up!”

He expected his comrades to follow his orders, as they had done before, but the results were different this time.

The soldiers’ reactions were delayed.

Arrows and quarrels rained down on them, sowing chaos among their ranks. As enemy spearmen closed in, his unit was thrown into disarray.

*Why?*

It was a matter of timing. They were already on edge, and they needed a moment to catch their breath. Encrid realized this was a mistake he should have anticipated.

It was fine. He’d get it right next time.

While others might attribute his repeated success to luck, Encrid knew himself well.

He wasn’t particularly lucky.

The second banner he targeted.

It required a fierce battle, just as intense as the previous ones.

Though he hadn’t yet mastered Concentrated Point, the combination of his newly acquired fundamentals and real combat experience made a noticeable difference in his skills.

*I’ve still got a long way to go.*

By his standards, Rem and Ragna were the benchmarks. Breaking the second banner took three more iterations of today.

When he finally shattered it, the enemy squad leader, with a dagger buried in his abdomen, coughed up blood and sneered.

“It was a trick!”

“I know,” Encrid replied calmly, despite having two arrows lodged in his thigh.

“What?”

“Four more to go.”

“What did you say?”

“Focus, focus.”

Was it a lack of concentration that was holding him back?

Concentrated Point remained elusive.

Encrid ignored the enemy squad leader’s taunts, focusing entirely on his task.

He deflected a spear with a bold parry and countered with a slash of his sword.

His upward strike, now more familiar and precise, split the enemy’s jaw from mouth to nose.

A quarrel whistled through the air and struck his side. Thanks to his armor, it wasn’t fatal, but when he turned to look, he saw five crossbowmen positioned nearby.

There were about eighty soldiers stationed around the banner.

It was a number far too overwhelming for him to handle alone.

*I need to attack the banner and keep an escape route in mind.*

He continued to strategize and plan. To master Concentrated Point, to destroy the banners, he would need to overcome death itself.

It took five more iterations of today to destroy the third banner.

Seven more iterations to break the fourth.

*If I were the enemy commander…*

I’d hide the real banner in the safest place.

Before the fog rolled in, Encrid used two more iterations to observe the enemy formation.

And then he saw it.

The banner that the enemy troops were shielding most heavily.

It was right in the center of their formation.

Encrid made no mistakes this time. He gave his comrades clear instructions and charged forward.

They followed orders, ducking and raising their shields at the right moment.

“Rem, follow me!”

This time, Encrid brought Rem along.

“Sorcery… what?”

“Just follow me!” Encrid shouted, sprinting forward. Rem followed close behind.

“What kind of crazy stunt are you trying to pull?”

Instead of answering, Encrid charged straight at the heavily guarded banner unit, with Rem by his side.

“Just the two of you!”

An enraged enemy soldier shouted. Encrid deftly maneuvered, lowering his body to blend into the fog and leaving Rem to deal with the soldiers.

“Who’s behind the sorcery?” Rem demanded, his voice cold and deadly as he swung his axes.

When Encrid glanced back, he saw Rem’s axe move with such speed that the weapon itself was barely visible, but the effect was clear—an enemy’s head flew off his shoulders.

Blood spurted from the severed neck before the body slumped to the ground.

“I’ll ask the next one,” Rem muttered, his voice thick with restrained fury.

Seeing this, Encrid mentally mapped out the enemy’s movements.

It took five more iterations of today to break through to the innermost banner unit.

Five more grueling attempts before he finally managed to breach their defenses.

Encrid used his wits. Instead of attacking head-on, he came at them from the side, lowering his stance and moving stealthily.

He inched closer to the banner, taking care to remain unnoticed.

But just as he was about to strike, someone stepped in front of him.

“Am I dreaming?” the figure blocking his path asked, seemingly in disbelief.

Who the hell is this guy? Encrid wondered.

“By the grace of the gods, my wish has been granted. I wanted to kill you with my own hands,” the man continued.

Encrid squinted at the figure, trying to place him.

He couldn’t remember who this was.

“…You’ve forgotten me after just a few days?”

What was just a few days for the enemy had been over a year of repeating today for Encrid.

“Sorry, could you introduce yourself?” Encrid asked politely, which only made the man angrier.

“My name is Mitch Hurrier, squad leader of the Azpen Duchy.”

Even after hearing the name, Encrid still couldn’t remember him.

“I see.”

He nodded, and Mitch’s face turned red with rage.

“You bastard!”

Infuriated, Mitch drew his sword. The sound of metal scraping against the scabbard was sharp as he pointed it at Encrid. Finally, a flicker of recognition sparked in Encrid’s mind.

*Where have I seen him before?*

“Hold on,” Encrid raised a hand to stop Mitch from attacking. Mitch paused, his sword still aimed at Encrid.

“What is it?”

“I really don’t remember you. Who are you again?”

“You’ll remember once you’ve been cut!” Mitch roared, charging at Encrid.

Encrid drew his longsword in response.

*Clang!*

Their swords collided, the sound of metal on metal ringing out across the battlefield.

They clashed, separating after the initial exchange, and Mitch was inwardly shocked.

*This guy…?*

His skills had improved dramatically.