Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 6: The Pain of Split Hands

A day that repeated itself endlessly.

Each day, Encrid made sure every moment counted.

Not a single day was wasted.

“I’m just average.”

When it came to swordsmanship, he wasn’t a prodigy or a genius.

Not even close to being a natural talent.

After the eighth failure, Encrid thought, “I tried to finish a meal in one bite.”

He wasn’t a genius, let alone a prodigy, but he acted like one.

So, he broke tasks down into smaller parts.

“Move forward in tiny steps.”

There was no boredom. With each repeating day, his skills increased.

It was intoxicating. Encrid found this situation immensely enjoyable.

“There are many benefits.”

The best part was the constant real-world experience.

It was invaluable experience gained at the cost of his life.

Encrid fully utilized it, making each day productive until the next battle.

He trained the Heart of the Beast.

He learned new sword techniques.

The repetitive nature of the days also helped him memorize his surroundings.

Like the gambling games in the tent next to his during breakfast.

“You bastard! You cheated, didn’t you?”

“Cheating? You idiot, it’s just luck.”

A familiar morning scene.

It wasn’t cheating. He had watched it several times. The dice always showed the same numbers, and Encrid knew it.

He passed by and spent another day. Repeating.

Repeated real-world experiences expanded Encrid’s perspective. To be precise, having time to think broadened his thoughts.

“I don’t have to deflect an arrow to save Vel.”

Only top-tier mercenaries could pull that off.

Encrid gave up on that idea and, by doing so, saved Vel.

Thud!

He just needed a sturdier shield.

An arrow stuck in his round shield. No matter how skilled the archer, they couldn’t pierce through to hit the head of the soldier behind the shield.

“Where did you come from?”

A stunned Vel asked, eyes wide.

“How long are you going to lie there? Get up!”

Encrid roughly wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand and kicked Vel’s butt.

Rubbing his butt, Vel returned to the battlefield.

“If I save him here, will I see him tomorrow?”

He didn’t know. He just chose this as the first checkpoint.

Navigating through the battlefield to save Vel, that was Encrid’s small goal.

He achieved it on the twenty-fifth repetition of today.

“Oh great. Mother of the Monastery is here. Save me too, whenever you have time, instead of saving other unit’s slackers.”

Rem popped up from behind, spouting nonsense as usual.

Every time Encrid saved Vel, Rem would come up with a different crazy line.

Encrid always had a comeback.

“You’re excommunicated. You’re too dirty.”

Monasteries didn’t take non-believers. Excommunication meant being expelled from the monastery, a high-level joke when talking to Rem.

“This world discriminates based on looks. Spit.”

As always, Rem wasn’t fazed and ran off.

He was likely off to catch the hawk-eyed bastard or whatever he was called. No need to ask.

Despite repeating the day about fifty times, Encrid still couldn’t beat the stabbing soldier.

He had been lucky enough to block attacks several times, but then his head got smashed by a hammer-wielding guy who appeared from the side.

“No need to waste time.”

The guy who crushed Encrid’s head said.

Encrid didn’t even know what hit him. Suddenly, his vision spun, and the ground rushed up to meet him.

He couldn’t even shake his head. He just felt a sticky liquid running down his face.

When he managed to gather some sense, he realized he was kneeling, having dropped his sword.

“It must be painful. This is mercy.”

A blade pierced his neck, sending a wave of agony through him.

As the blade dug into his neck, the unbearable pain surged through his entire body.

The sensation of a red-hot iron skewer tearing through his throat ravaged his mind.

As he died, Encrid blinked. His vision turned red from the blood in his eyes.

Beyond the crimson-tinged view, he saw the red eyes of the enemy soldier between the gaps in the helmet.

They weren’t actually red, but they looked that way at the time.

There was a faint hint of pleasure in the enemy soldier’s eyes.

Having died so many times, Encrid saw a lot of things.

Thanks to his trained Heart of the Beast.

“What a perverted bastard.”

It wasn’t about mercy; the guy took pleasure in killing, which is why he killed that way.

The guy always shoved a blade into his neck and slowly pulled it out.

Maybe he got aroused feeling the last breath of others through his sword.

Even realizing this, Encrid remained calm.

Having faced death countless times, he naturally developed composure. It was only natural.

Then.

“Are you having secret rendezvous without me?”

On the eighty-sixth repetition, Rem suddenly asked.

Encrid frowned.

“What nonsense is that?”

“You learned the Heart of the Beast from me. It’s impossible to train this well alone.”

The axe blade stopped just a finger’s length from his eye.

If it had been any closer, the air pressure alone might have damaged his cornea.

Despite the situation, Encrid’s breathing didn’t falter.

This was the strength brought by the Heart of the Beast.

The courage to endure, knowing pain was coming.

Looking through the axe blade at Rem’s questioning eyes, Encrid thought, “This can happen.”

Repeating the day had trained his Heart of the Beast, so it was surprising for Rem, the one who taught him, to see.

Realizing this now was because Rem was usually a thoughtless type.

Rem talked a lot but wasn’t one to nitpick.

But the Heart of the Beast was different.

It was something he taught himself.

Encrid didn’t make excuses.

There was no need.

He could think it over today and fix it when the day restarted.

Thud. Rem pulled back his axe, clearing Encrid’s view.

Not a scratch on his face.

Rem handled the heavy axe as if it were part of his own body.

As Rem drew back his axe, he scratched his head with the axe handle.

“I don’t get it. Maybe you learned from someone else.”

Even as he spoke, Rem looked doubtful.

Encrid was the leader of the 4th Squad, and without him, the squad was a bunch of troublemakers who didn’t listen.

Since learning the Heart of the Beast from Rem, Encrid had never left the squad.

There was no time to learn from anyone else.

Rem had watched him the whole time.

Unless Encrid secretly learned while standing watch, which made no sense either.

“Using a sword might get you killed by this afternoon, but how did your heart get so tough without splitting your hand?”

Even without knowing, Rem’s words hit home as Encrid would indeed die that afternoon.

“Faced death about eighty times.”

Encrid vaguely answered and thought.

He couldn’t learn more of the Heart of the Beast from Rem.

No excuse would completely resolve that savage’s doubts.

“I can’t tell him that every time today repeats, I learn from you and die learning more.”

But he could gloss over it.

Rem wasn’t picky.

Sure enough, it didn’t take long.

“Let’s say that’s true. Sometimes the goddess of luck drops a coin by accident.”

A common saying for soldiers who survived by sheer luck.

It could apply to learning such secret techniques too.

Whether it did or not didn’t matter.

Rem moved on.

“Thanks to that, things are more fun. Your skills have improved. What have you been secretly up to?”

“Dying painfully.”

Encrid didn’t lie.

“Right, a man needs some secrets. That’s manly. I know.”

Rem didn’t care. He just did his thing and picked up his axe.

“Another round?”

Rem, holding his axe, asked.

Encrid silently picked up his sword.

If saving the fallen Vel was the first goal.

The second and final goal was killing the stabbing pervert who took pleasure in killing.

He prepared thoroughly.

On the 101st day, it was sparring time with Rem.

Encrid tensed his muscles as he pulled his arm back.

He stepped forward with his left foot, aiming to step on Rem’s foot.

Rem quickly moved his foot back, and Encrid pivoted on his grounded left foot, swinging his sword with all his might.

The foot move was a feint.

A ploy to anticipate Rem’s retreat.

Encrid tensed his muscles and swung his sword.

In a split second, Encrid saw Rem’s arm whip around like a snake.

So unreal, even the axe in his hand seemed to bend.

Bang!

It happened in an instant.

The axe blade whipped up like lightning.

It struck Encrid’s sword.

The sword flew upward.

It left Encrid’s hand, spinning in the air before landing with a thud.

The sword hit a stone on the ground, making a clattering noise.

Encrid saw the sword roll on the ground.

“Let’s take a look.”

Rem approached and grabbed Encrid’s wrist.

His hand trembled from the shock of losing the sword. Rem clicked his tongue and said, “It should have bled.”

“What?”

What a ridiculous thing to say after swinging the axe so wildly without any control.

“That thrust was good but not enough. I can’t explain well, but your hand should have split, not dropped the sword.”

“Never let go of the sword, even in death?”

Encrid, still holding his right hand, spoke. A lesson he’d heard countless times from his sword instructors.

It was hard to keep track of the days as they repeated.

Encrid used slight variations in his daily routines to remember.

He’d always had a good memory since he was young.

Until now, it hadn’t helped much with swordsmanship.

But now it did.

Especially when recalling lessons from his teachers.

He was recalling one now.

“What nonsense is that? If needed, throw your sword at your enemy’s face. Let’s keep it simple. Where were you aiming with that thrust?”

Rem snorted and asked.

Encrid didn’t answer easily.

This thrust was his secret weapon.

A technique he had stolen after being stabbed over a hundred times by the enemy soldier.

From the overall posture to the foot placement, the weight shift when using the sword, the muscle movements, the foot direction, even the hand grip.

He had stolen and imitated everything.

“That thrust looked good, but damn, explaining is hard. Look at this.”

Rem lowered his axe and drew a big circle in the dirt.

A rough circle the size of a human head.

“Let’s say our target is somewhere here.”

Rem circled his axe around the circle and then poked a spot.

“But we’re actually aiming here.”

At first, Encrid didn’t get it.

But perhaps his time with sword instructors wasn’t wasted.

Despite the crude explanation, he understood it.

“The target point.”

What was in the thrust he just did?

Did he want praise?

Was he hoping for recognition for mimicking well, proving he had some talent?

What was the point?

A sword was for cutting and stabbing, a weapon of killing.

A thrust aimed for a specific point was a basic sword technique.

It was especially used in rapier techniques.

There were even knights who specialized in thin blades for piercing armor gaps.

“I can’t explain it well, but you lost your sword because I assumed you’d defend or block. But that thrust should have been certain. Like, ‘I’m stabbing you. You can’t dodge.'”

After speaking, Rem seemed to ponder whether he explained it right.

He played by his own rules, terrible at explaining.

Yet, if the other person understood, even a neighbor’s dog barking could be a good explanation.

So, to Encrid, it was a good explanation.

“My thrust lacked certainty.”

The thrust earlier was a third-rate mercenary’s thrust.

On the 111th day, Encrid realized this.

By the 123rd day, he performed a powerful thrust.

On the 124th day, his hand split under Rem’s axe strike.

Not just split, it burst open.

Blood oozed from his hand.

Encrid laughed, seeing this.

He had achieved his goal.

“Are you insane? A mad ally is the most dangerous on the battlefield. Why are you laughing?”

Seeing this, Rem was unusually flustered, but Encrid couldn’t stop laughing.

“Stop laughing, you maniac!”

Rem said, seeing him.

It happened on the 124th repetition of today.