Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 45: After Countless Real Fights (1)
“Come at me!”
Lieutenant Benzence shouted as he swung his sword. The mustached man held his sword horizontally to the ground and countered with a mid-level strike.
Lieutenant Benzence’s sword clashed with the mustached man’s.
*Clang!*
As their swords collided, the mustached man stepped forward, putting his weight into the push, driving Benzence back.
“Ugh!”
Losing his balance, Benzence didn’t just stumble back; he rolled backward entirely, kicking up dust as he went.
He rolled to a stop right next to Encrid, his head tucked between his legs.
Lieutenant Benzence and Encrid locked eyes.
A brief silence settled between them.
A cold wind whistled from somewhere.
Benzence’s face turned beet red.
Carefully choosing his words, Encrid spoke.
“…You said you came to save me.”
Benzence’s pupils trembled violently.
“Why is that bastard so strong?”
Encrid let out a hollow laugh.
Seriously, you came to save me, and you get knocked out in a single blow?
Benzence rolled over and got back up, grabbing his fallen sword and assuming a stance again.
“You damn bastard.”
Glaring at his opponent, he shouted.
“Fire!”
Half of Benzence’s platoon consisted of archers.
“Fire at will!”
At his command, arrows flew.
“Block it!”
“Raise shields!”
A few soldiers who had been trailing closely behind the mustached man leapt forward and raised their shields.
*Thud, thud, thud!*
Arrows thudded into the shields.
The timing was impeccable.
Peeking over a shield, the mustached man glared at Encrid with fierce eyes.
Then he grabbed one of his subordinate’s shields.
What a madman.
Gritting his teeth, Encrid forced himself to stand. The burning pain from the quarrels embedded in his leg and back flared up again.
There was no time to groan.
*Grrr.*
Beside him, the panther bared its fangs.
In that moment, the mustached man’s shield was suddenly much closer.
“You crazy bastard!”
Benzence shouted in shock. Encrid gritted his teeth through the pain and drew the shortsword from Benzence’s waist.
*Shing.*
The mustached man closed the distance. There was no time to jump back.
*Whoosh.*
Benzence swung his sword diagonally, creating a cross-pattern to block the charge with sheer force.
Pretending to collide, the mustached man twisted his wrist, pulling his sword back and letting Benzence’s sword slide past.
*Whoosh.*
Benzence’s sword cut through the air. Immediately after, the panther pounced off the ground with a powerful leap. The mustached man was different from an ordinary soldier.
He lowered his shield diagonally downward, blocking the panther’s path and knocking it aside.
*Yelp!*
The panther let out a cry as it was thrown to the side. All these actions occurred within mere seconds of his charge.
Holding the shortsword, Encrid focused his concentration. In his mind, only the opponent and himself remained.
This was *Singular Focus*.
The injuries, the relief, the changes in emotion—all contributed to a heightened level of concentration.
It felt as if time had stretched for a moment.
Encrid could see the bloodshot eyes of the mustached man. At the same time, he saw the man’s hands.
The mustached man gripped his sword just above the pommel, extending his reach to deliver a powerful cut.
He swung his sword in an arc, from high to low.
The sword seemed to come out of nowhere, slashing down. The blade descended like a guillotine’s edge.
The mustached man’s blade seemed to command him to accept defeat and start the day over.
Encrid rejected that notion.
He swallowed his breath. There was no time to exhale. No time to whine about the pain.
He had learned the heavy sword style, but right now, Ragna’s basic techniques wouldn’t get him through this.
In that case…
Out of the dozens of sword techniques he had learned, observed, and imitated—what could he use now?
Having endured countless blows, he had studied and researched.
He had always maintained a posture of observation and learning.
His body moved instinctively. A shortsword was weak against impact. If he blocked with force, the sword would likely break.
The mustached man was confident of his victory.
He believed he would soon take the life of the annoying man in front of him.
*Whoosh. Ting, screech, clink!*
To cut to the chase, the mustached man’s strike failed.
He only managed to graze Encrid’s shoulder.
It was a deep cut that caused blood to gush out, but he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t killed.
“You…”
Instead of launching another attack, the mustached man’s eyes widened in shock.
His eyes were filled with disbelief.
“Where did you learn that?”
The mustached man shouted. Encrid replied honestly.
“I learned it in battle.”
Mitch Hurrier had shown Encrid countless flowing techniques, skills that deflected attacks.
His flowing technique was truly exquisite.
That technique had surfaced unexpectedly in a moment of danger.
When the mustached man’s sword came down, Encrid used the shortsword to catch and deflect the attack, diverting it to the side.
He received the force with the middle of his blade, loosening his grip to let the sword flow.
The distribution of force and timing—if even one aspect had been off, it wouldn’t have worked. The wound on his shoulder wouldn’t have been the extent of it.
Encrid, having answered, was inwardly surprised.
‘It worked.’
Despite having studied and endured countless times, it was his first time using it in actual combat.
The technique he used without grueling training succeeded.
That was quite surprising.
For someone like Encrid, who was remarkably untalented, it was an incredible feat.
Experiencing this for the first time, Encrid’s heart raced. Deflecting an opponent’s blade using a flowing sword technique was not something just anyone could imitate.
“You bastard!”
Benzence, who had been swinging his sword in the air behind the mustached man, turned and shouted as he charged in.
The mustached man turned his body, parrying Benzence’s sword, then raised his shield to cover himself again.
*Thud!*
An arrow lodged itself into his shield.
A skilled archer had targeted him, but he blocked it.
*Clang! Clang!*
The mustached man exchanged a few more blows with Benzence in place.
He glared at Encrid with eyes blazing with fury.
Encrid was only looking at the shortsword in his hand.
It was clear that launching another charge to kill was no longer an option.
In fact, if he got stuck here any longer, they could all end up dead. The mustached man turned his body.
“Retreat!”
He shouted as he backed away. Even as he withdrew, he spoke to Encrid.
“I won’t forget you.”
Encrid responded earnestly.
“You don’t have to remember.”
And he meant it. Why would he bother remembering him?
Benzence’s platoon didn’t pursue any further. Although they had taken the lead, they were far ahead of their allies now.
Pushing any deeper would risk Benzence’s platoon being wiped out in a counterattack.
“Hey, your shoulder!”
Benzence had been glaring at the mustached man until he retreated, then turned to examine Encrid.
Blood was pouring from his shoulder.
Though he had blocked and deflected the attack, it wasn’t perfect.
Still, Encrid smiled.
‘It worked.’
He repeated to himself the words he had said earlier when the technique had first succeeded.
He tried to recall exactly how he had deflected the opponent’s sword, but he couldn’t quite remember. His body had moved on its own.
A sense of exhilaration filled him. It was the first time he’d experienced something like this.
“Hey, you crazy bastard, is this a time to be smiling?”
Benzence approached and wrapped his shoulder with a cloth.
“No bandages left! Fall back immediately. Move to the rear of the 3rd Platoon!”
Benzence ordered his platoon to retreat. The battle was already won. The company commander had instructed them to pursue the enemy’s rear but not too deeply.
After suffering greatly from the magic, they needed to regroup as well.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
Benzence said, supporting him. Encrid looked at Benzence holding him up and spoke.
“We need to take the panther, too.”
They had saved each other’s lives. It wouldn’t be right to leave it behind now.
“You crazy bastard, worry about yourself.”
Despite his words, Benzence went back to retrieve the panther, which had been knocked aside.
Checking to see if it was injured, he noticed blood trickling from its gums.
‘So that warm liquid running down my back was from that.’
Even while bleeding from its gums, it hadn’t let him go. Encrid held the panther in his arms.
It wasn’t heavy. How did such a small body muster such strength?
*Whimper.*
The panther whimpered softly in his arms.
“Let’s go!”
Then Benzence helped Encrid off the battlefield.
Halfway through, Encrid began to drift in and out of consciousness. He had lost too much blood.
The ferryman of the black river appeared in the void.
“Hey, why do you go so far?”
Due to excessive blood loss, he was seeing things.
Too exhausted to respond, Encrid just stared at him, prompting the ferryman to continue speaking.
“You can just start over.”
“It repeats, endlessly, over and over.”
“Why do you try so hard?”
“What does it matter if you live today half-heartedly when it will just start again tomorrow?”
“Settle down, stop striving, polish your skills, and face today again. If you die, you can start a more perfect today.”
“Is it because of the fear of death? No, you’ll get used to it if you keep doing it. Even if you let your mind drift halfway, so what? Who cares, who will know? That today is solely for you.”
Encrid didn’t have the strength to speak. He could barely walk, half-dragged now.
So he answered inwardly.
Why should he settle?
Just because it repeats, because there’s another chance, why wouldn’t he do his best today?
If he settled, even with endless repetition, he would remain stagnant.
Living that way, he would be trapped in today.
If there’s no tomorrow, there’s no dream. Without a dream, there’s no meaning.
‘I don’t want to stop.’
Even if each step forward was a fraction of another’s, he wanted to keep moving forward. That’s how he wanted to live.
Even if he couldn’t become a knight, he wanted to struggle towards it.
*Thunk.*
Without the strength to walk, he stumbled over a rock.
“Don’t die.”
Benzence muttered right by his ear. His vision blurred. He couldn’t see clearly.
Somehow, the ferryman of the black river had vanished.
Encrid suddenly understood what kind of curse this was.
“You’d think you could do better if you started over?”
It was a thought that inevitably came to mind after repeating today so many times.
But not for Encrid.
He always wanted to walk toward tomorrow.
He knew instinctively that a failed tomorrow was better than a perfect today.
‘Settling means it’s over.’
That’s why it’s a curse, not a blessing. Repeating today endlessly means there will never be a tomorrow.
At the end of his thoughts, Encrid asked himself.
‘So, was this the best I could do?’
He didn’t know. Only the gods knew what a perfect today would look like.
The “today” Encrid lived was partly due to luck.
There was no guarantee that luck would return in the next repeat of today.
In that case, he would continue walking toward tomorrow, as he always had.
He felt a warm presence in his arms.
Looking down through his blurred vision, he saw the black panther looking up at him.
Its eyes were a deep blue, like a lake.
And Encrid lost consciousness.
He thought he might die.
Then he would just repeat today again.
He wouldn’t despair because he hadn’t reached tomorrow.
He would repeat it again, struggling and fighting for survival once more.
Darkness came and enveloped Encrid. He was a wanderer invited into the realm of shadows, and he lost consciousness.
—
“Did I choose wrong?”
The ferryman of the black river appeared.
Encrid heard him muttering to himself.
The ferryman turned his head.
His face, like a polished black mirror, still showed nothing.
“Let’s see.”
With those words, Encrid came to. When he opened his eyes, he saw the tent ceiling above him.
“Wow, you’re alive? I thought you were really gonna kick the bucket this time.”
Rem’s voice reached him.
Every part of him hurt—his shoulders, back, legs, sides.
His head was dizzy as well.
“That last cut to your shoulder was a deep one. I don’t know who did it, but it was a solid hit.”
Rem continued to babble. Encrid, half out of it, blinked a few times.
Then he realized he felt warmth near his side and reached down.
A sharp pain shot through his shoulder.
He felt soft fur under his hand.
*Grrrr.*
The black panther let out a contented sound, apparently pleased with his touch.
‘Looks like I made it through today.’
“You’re getting into the habit of passing out.”
“Does anyone pass out because they want to? I’m thirsty.”
“Is that so?”
Encrid saw Rem sitting cross-legged nearby.
Behind him stood Big Eyes.
Big Eyes brought over some water. After a few sips, his parched throat felt hydrated, like watering a dry land.
“Wow, our squad leader is tough. Look at that, he survived.”
Big Eyes commented, seeing him drink.
“You lost a lot of blood.”
Jaxen remarked casually.
And behind them, a squad member deeply immersed in religion was praying.
“Lord, we offer thanks for hearing our prayers.”
Ragna had been quietly observing him, then spoke.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m not dying, at least.”
He could say that because he had survived.
He could say that because he had passed today and was facing tomorrow.
Encrid smiled modestly and then lay back down again.