Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 48: If the End is in Sight, You Can Crawl Over It
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- Eternally Regressing Knight
- Chapter 48: If the End is in Sight, You Can Crawl Over It
It was the first time that such a high level of martial prowess had been deployed in a small-scale skirmish.
Just as the enemy had prepared a spell, our side had prepared a trump card: the squire.
The squire’s impact on the battlefield was devastating.
The quasi-knight, who dodged a hail of arrows by advancing, drew his sword and swung.
Whoosh.
The moment a silver line was drawn in the air, the heads of three soldiers blocking the front were severed and dangled.
The squire pulled back the sword he had swung and then brought it down from above.
The sword descended like a black lightning bolt, and then immediately shot upward.
The head of a soldier holding a spear got caught in the sword’s path.
Smash!
It wasn’t so much a slash as a shattering blow. The force of the downward strike shattered the soldier’s head, and the sword now danced like a butterfly.
The fluttering of the sword’s wings soon turned into a death wail filled with terror.
The blade’s rapid, precise thrusts found gaps everywhere, snatching away the lives of enemy soldiers.
Two soldiers, holding large, thick wooden shields, stepped forward to block the squire’s path.
When they raised their shields to cover their entire bodies, the butterfly’s wings were halted by the shields.
When the sword struck the shields with a dull thud, it left deep, concave marks on the surface.
“Close in!” shouted one of the enemy soldiers. Despite his cold sweat, he tried his best.
But no matter how hard one tries, there’s no escape from the Grim Reaper’s touch.
The owner of the red cloak gripped his sword with both hands and swung it horizontally.
Bang! Crack!
The sword crashed against the shield. The iron rims of the shield bent but didn’t break, still serving their purpose. However, the soldier holding the shield couldn’t withstand the impact.
“Argh!”
His wrist twisted and snapped, the bone piercing through his skin.
As the shield dropped helplessly to the ground, the sword slashed horizontally across the soldier’s torso.
His upper body was severed, and his intestines spilled onto the ground. Blood splattered everywhere.
Fear crept into the eyes of the surrounding soldiers.
“Damn it,” one of the soldiers from the Duchy of Azpen cursed with a tearful voice. The squire’s nostrils flared as if he heard it, and he immediately kicked off the ground.
As terrifying as his sword swings were, the most terrifying aspect of this man was his footwork.
The moment he pushed off the ground, he would appear here and there, slicing soldiers’ necks and creating holes in their bodies.
Even when they tried to block him with shields or armor, it all seemed meaningless.
“Shoot him down!” one of the commanders yelled.
It was a bold decision. Thirty crossbowmen who had been on standby fired their quarrels.
At close range, it’s impossible to dodge all the shots. The commander was certain of this.
But the owner of the red cloak shattered that certainty.
Bang!
Before the quarrels could reach him, he kicked off the ground and leapt into the air. The quarrels futilely sliced through the empty air.
Anything that goes up must come down. The owner of the red cloak, tracing a curve in the sky, landed just ten paces in front of the Duchy of Azpen’s commander.
He was now in the heart of the enemy lines.
“…Stop him!” the top commander of the Duchy of Azpen shouted desperately.
If only the Gray Dog unit were still here.
But they had already withdrawn due to the multiple complications, including the responsibility for the defeat and Mitch Huire’s injury.
“Whooo.”
The owner of the cloak let out a long breath and swung his sword again. From above to below, and from below to above.
Swoosh!
The blade curved like a whip, striking at the commander’s guards.
Crack! Snap!
The thick leather armor worn by one of the guards was cut cleanly through. The guard, who wore a steel helmet, was struck by the flat of the sword and knocked away.
Thud!
He rolled to the side from a single blow, blood streaming from his nose. Though he seemed unharmed on the outside, he had died from his skull being shattered internally by the impact.
After dispatching the guards, the squire pierced the commander’s throat.
Thunk.
Standing alone in the middle of the enemy’s formation, the squire killed the enemy commander and turned back.
His return was equally remarkable.
He kicked an enemy soldier, leapt a few more times, and ran back.
From a distance, it looked like a red line was being drawn across the middle of the battlefield.
Encrid and his group watched the fight from beginning to end.
Rem thought that the squire, the owner of the cloak, was quite skilled.
“He knows how to play.”
He knew how to wreak havoc in the heart of the enemy formation. By showing his overwhelming power without hesitation, he instilled fear.
With that, he freely ravaged the enemy ranks.
What was particularly impressive was how he avoided the surprise attack by the enemy crossbowmen.
“If it were me, I’d have charged at the group of crossbowmen first.”
The enemy clearly showed signs of training. The saying that they were experts in combat and war wasn’t just empty words.
Instead of dealing with the crossbowmen first, the squire left them be.
When they targeted him, he revealed the strength he had conserved. He pushed off the ground and flew through the air, landing on the enemy commander.
He was like a flying tiger. It was like watching a winged beast in action.
Ragna gauged the enemy’s level and compared it with his own.
The enemy had taken the path he needed to walk.
‘At that level…’
He could reach it soon enough. There was no need to take shortcuts or go through excruciating training.
While Rem saw the strategy, Ragna assessed the enemy’s skill level.
‘Their swordsmanship is sharp.’
It was a heavy sword style based on quick strikes. At a glance, it might look like a balanced sword style, but it was all a trick.
Quick and heavy sword techniques.
He was clearly trained by a great sword master.
Usually, mixing two sword styles would result in poor fundamentals.
But there was no such flaw in the squire with the red cloak.
‘Well, he is a squire.’
Having gauged the skill level, Ragna felt his motivation wane. He could already see the path and the destination. Seeing someone who had gone ahead didn’t stir any competitive spirit in him.
All that remained was the need to walk the path.
Training and discipline were tedious and painful. The only thing left to do was to train his sword in an emotionless state. It was a problem born from his extraordinary talent.
Jaxson assessed the enemy’s skill and found openings.
‘At least five times.’
The enemy could have harmed the owner of the cloak. It wasn’t a matter of skill but strategy.
The commander was an idiot, too.
It was because of the surprise attack that caught them off guard.
If it had been Jaxson, he would have ended it before it even got to that point.
The religious zealot in the squad watched the enemy’s movements and nodded.
“A brother skilled in guiding souls to the side of the gods,” he said.
It meant he fought exceptionally well.
“Seems like we don’t need to retreat,” Big Eyes clicked his tongue. A single person was manipulating the flow of the battlefield. It felt like victory was assured even before the fight began.
And as for Encrid…
‘This is a knight.’
He was deeply moved. His heart pounded so fiercely that his entire body trembled. The fine hairs on his skin stood on end, and a chill ran through him.
At the same time, he felt a warm sensation rising from his lower abdomen.
His eyes never left the squire.
Currently, squires and quasi-knights were the main force of the knightly orders on the continent.
They were one step below knights, who could change the course of a war on their own.
The killing machine had wreaked havoc on the battlefield. He had killed the enemy commander and returned unscathed.
‘How can he do that?’
The owner of the cloak was neither a beastman nor a Froc.
So how could he display such power?
A knight is the symbol of a force that can cut down a thousand foes alone.
What made that possible?
What allowed him to reach the limits of human ability?
Encrid didn’t know. Perhaps that was why he was even more impressed by the enemy’s movements.
At the same time, he felt something explode in his mind.
“Sometimes, you can learn just by watching.”
The words of a swordsmanship instructor from the capital city flashed through his mind. His excitement began to subside, and an unintentional, intense focus naturally kicked in.
With his extraordinary concentration, he began to understand the purpose behind the enemy’s steps. He saw the intent behind their sword swings.
‘A heavy sword style.’
A style that relied on power.
To be able to swing a heavy sword meant having enough strength to wield it quickly.
The enemy mixed the intricacies of the heavy sword style with quick strikes. Even Encrid could see that.
‘He stepped back.’
He subtly stepped back, as if setting his attack range.
‘No, it’s not that he’s setting it; he’s already set it.’
The northern heavy sword style he learned from Ragna was based on centering around an attack line.
The squire’s method was a bit different.
He drew a circle around himself.
It was a swordsmanship rooted in the central
continental basics. He drew a circle around himself and slaughtered anyone within that circle.
If they got caught, he’d slash them; if they approached, he’d stab them.
At a glance, it looked like he was using footwork to ravage his opponents, but in reality, it was different.
‘Maintaining his range.’
He only used his feet when necessary. Although a few sword strikes were impressive, most of the attacks were thrusts.
He watched and watched again. He gathered the information that came into his eyes and organized it in his mind.
‘Does using a heavy sword style always mean it has to be a powerful downward strike?’
The secret move that Mitch Huire showed wasn’t a secret of balanced or light sword styles but rather a secret of the heavy sword style.
The wheel-cutting move that sliced through anything in its path.
Why did he make that his secret move?
To deceive his opponent?
No. Just because the sword styles are divided into five doesn’t mean they are all different.
There’s an intersection between all five sword styles.
The heavy sword style doesn’t always have to be a downward, forceful strike.
His eyes rolled. His brain spun. Encrid’s fingers twitched slightly.
“Enjoying the view, eh? Hm?” Rem tried to engage in some casual conversation, but he stopped himself.
Ragna, having lost interest in the squire’s movements, turned around at the sound.
“Don’t disturb him,” Ragna whispered. He recognized the squad leader’s state at a glance.
Whether it was on the battlefield, in a tavern, in an alleyway, or even in a lover’s arms.
Realization comes like a prank by the goddess of fortune.
Suddenly, abruptly, without warning, it comes without a sound and shakes your mind out of nowhere.
“I’ll cover the flank,” Jaxson said first, moving into position. Ragna stood on the right, and Rem took the left.
The squad’s religious zealot quietly moved behind Encrid.
Big Eyes whispered, asking what was happening.
Rem answered him.
“The squad leader is about to break out of his shell. It was bound to happen eventually. After all those nights swinging his sword tirelessly.”
Rem acknowledged the squad leader’s effort. He deserved such a moment of fortune.
Of course, this wasn’t mere fortune.
It was the natural result of repeated real battles, rolling in the dirt, and refining the fundamentals of swordsmanship.
Seeing Encrid now gave Ragna a renewed sense of purpose, more so than seeing the squire.
‘How is this possible?’
What drives the squad leader to such lengths?
Even knowing that there are clear limits, how does he continue to wield his sword without faltering?
To Ragna, it was a fascinating thing. As always, the squad leader intrigued him more than the enemy tearing through their ranks.
Just after the knightly order member returned, the allied commander’s shout echoed through the air.
“Chargeee!”
Soon, the allied forces surged forward. Battle cries and shouts mingled, and as the infantry charged, the ground shook with a rumbling sound.
Yet, Encrid stood there, gazing vacantly into space.
He was still in a state of deep concentration.
Thanks to their efforts in the previous battle, the troublemaking squad could take on a more observational role this time.
No one bothered them as they stood still.
In truth, even if someone wanted to, the intimidating aura emitted by the four of them, excluding Big Eyes, was so fierce that no one dared to approach.
Having seen the squire go wild up close, the allies felt this squad was even more terrifying.
So, they were left alone, and the war pushed toward its conclusion.
This winter and the coming spring would likely be very busy. They would need to spend the winter with their stored resources and rebuild their defenses.
The border between Naurilia and Azpen would be redrawn.
While the allied forces charged, Encrid was revisiting the fundamentals he had learned.
Intersections, swordsmanship, Valen-style mercenary sword, northern heavy sword style.
All of these were weapons he had learned.
There was no need to confine those weapons within the limits of basic skills.
He could parry with a heavy sword and deflect as well.
The bind—the technique of adhering swords—was the foundation of parrying.
When he was learning, he hadn’t even noticed it.
In this state of deep concentration, the sudden realization didn’t instantly elevate Encrid’s skills.
No, while it had certainly sharpened his perception, his lack of natural talent meant he couldn’t immediately incorporate it into his physical abilities.
However, Encrid had become acutely aware of his limitations.
That meant that, given enough time, he could train up to his limits and even surpass them.
The end of the cliff that once seemed infinitely high and unreachable.
The very top of the cliff, which had been obscured by clouds, was starting to become visible.
If the wall before you is so high and wide that you can’t see its end, you can’t overcome it.
But if the end is in sight, no matter how far, high, or wide it is.
If you can’t walk over it, you can still crawl over it.
Encrid realized this.
“Ah…”
He was so happy he was almost drooling. In fact, he did drool as he woke up from his state of deep concentration.
“Why are you drooling?” Rem chided him from the side.
Encrid opened his eyes and looked around. Before he knew it, there were no allies in sight.
“Everyone charged. If you’re tired, you should rest in the tent. Why are you dozing off standing up?” Rem asked.
“Ah.”
“What do you mean ‘ah’? Let’s head back. It looks like there’s no need for us to join the battle,” Rem said.
He was right.
The knight of the cloak had returned to the main force.
The battle was over. The enemy was retreating, fleeing all the way back to their homeland.
Now it was time to withdraw. Time to return to the city.
Encrid turned his body as he watched the sun setting.
The display of the squire’s power had reignited a fire in his chest.
His destination, his ideal place, was now within sight.
Once again, an old dream surfaced.
‘What does it take to become a knight?’
Simply developing martial prowess wasn’t enough. First, he needed to prove his skills.
The time to remain a low-ranking soldier was over.
Encrid muttered this to himself in his mind.