A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

If Encrid hadn’t seen the empty quarters, he wouldn’t have believed it. Krais, who had been away from the barracks for several days, likely didn’t know.

That’s probably why he asked for Ragna to be called.

‘How did I avoid getting dragged along on the expedition?’

Encrid wondered if he had used the excuse of joining later since he stayed behind.

Or perhaps the Fairy Company Commander had left Krais behind as a favor.

In any case, Krais remained, and the squad members were gone.

Encrid would have to rescue them alone.

He couldn’t just summon the squad members who were already on the battlefield.

Using the reserve unit of the Border Guard for an internal matter of the Gilpin Guild?

‘Not a chance.’

As if they would help. Yeah, maybe if there was someone worth relying on.

Like the Fairy Company Commander. Even if she stayed behind, it would be a gamble.

What about Torres? As a Platoon Leader of the Border Guard, it might be difficult, but personally, he might be able to help.

‘The Border Guard is also about to head out, except for a few.’ Encrid mused.

Allowing him a day off after reporting back was the unit’s way of looking after him.

Did that mean they gained a lot from this mission?

Encrid shook his head lightly.

His mind was filled with random thoughts.

Just do what needs to be done.

Here, what needs to be done is…

“We’re going to save Krais. Yes, that Big Eyes.”

He said, stroking Esther, who nestled against his chest.

Seeing Esther’s puzzled look, he repeated that Big Eyes was a friend.

It was a goal spoken out loud without thinking.

Hearing this, Esther looked at Encrid with eyes as blue as a lake.

Encrid looked back at Esther with similarly colored eyes.

“Why?”

Esther wasn’t going to answer.

What could a panther say?

However, it seemed like Esther’s gaze was questioning whether saving Krais was really the only reason.

“For other reasons too.” Encrid revealed a part of his thoughts.

The lycanthropes, the Gray Hound unit of Aspen, and even the wizards.

He wanted to test his skills against Torres and Finn on the way there.

The desire boiled over fiercely.

Where do I stand now? What is my state? How far does my sword reach?

‘How much have I improved?’

He didn’t know. He had no sense of it.

That’s how it was.

You have to know to see, but every day was new for Encrid.

He was an explorer discovering new lands every day.

Always a pathfinder blazing new trails.

A climber scaling mountains for the first time, a hunter in uncharted territories.

He moved forward by looking at the signposts, but he didn’t know where he stood.

That’s why.

When he heard about the Frog’s appearance, he coldly assessed his condition and took a full day’s rest.

Because he thought that he had found someone who could help him check his position relative to the signposts.

‘Will my sword be effective?’

Last time he encountered a Frog, getting hit once made his ribs cry out in weakness.

How will it go this time?

Not all Frogs are the same, but still…

There’s no better opponent to compare myself against.

If he fails, the Frog will become the wall that blocks ‘today,’ but that’s fine. It was fine.

If any of the squad members were here, this wouldn’t be happening.

That’s why Encrid had no choice but to step up.

Is it ironic?

Or should he say it’s lucky?

Or maybe it’s just bad luck.

Bad luck has always been like a constant companion, trailing behind.

It’s up to the swimmer in the river of misfortune to navigate through it.

Thinking of Rem and the other squad members, Encrid realized how narrow his view of the world had been.

‘It’s laughable.’

There was a time he considered his squad members to be above average soldiers.

Above average? Laughable. It was a ridiculous notion.

None of the squad members fit within the soldier ranking system.

Now he knew that.

In reality, if even one squad member were here, there’d be no reason to fear a mere Frog.

‘But now I am alone.’

He couldn’t abandon Krais.

Nor did he want to retreat.

With his left foot, he recalled the days he faced Rem.

With his right foot, he reflected on what he learned from Jaxon.

Again, with his left foot, he remembered Audin.

With his right foot, he embodied Ragna.

Each step he took, he recalled everything he had learned.

Countless instructors, repeated drills today.

Facing a Frog didn’t scare him. Was this the harmony of the Heart of the Beast?

A sense of calm, boldness, and even a thrill of challenge arose within him.

Encrid’s pupils flickered like flames.

Thud.

Esther hit his chest with her front paw, as if to say, not yet.

“I know.”

Encrid responded and kept walking, soon arriving at the mansion.

The bald Gilpin was waiting.

“Where?”

“The drawing room.”

“Where is the drawing room again?”

Following Gilpin’s lead, Encrid entered the mansion and stopped in front of the door to the drawing room.

‘Am I charging in here ready to die?’

Or was he just mad with a thirst for challenge?

He didn’t know. The answer lay beyond the door.

Esther jumped off his chest and bounced to the side.

Watching her, Encrid wondered, ‘Will he be someone I can talk to?’

The fact that Krais was kept alive suggested it might be.

But regardless, it was a situation where he needed to assert control first.

If you’re here to fight, you fight.

What’s the point of talking?

Encrid took a short breath, deciding to speak through action rather than words.

With a bang, he kicked the door open, rolled forward, and threw his right hand forward as if tossing something.

A whistling dagger shot through the air, folding space with terrifying speed.

A sharp whistle followed.

Almost as if anticipating it, Frog’s arm moved like a flash of light.

* * *

Is this guy crazy?

Sensing a presence, then bloodlust.

After the stabbing intent came the attack. There was no hesitation.

It was as if the action had been planned before reaching the door.

Frog saw the arm of the guy move, who kicked the door open.

Seeing the flying blade, Frog drew his weapon and deflected it.

To an ordinary person, this would have seemed like an incredible feat.

But not to Frog.

He deftly knocked the whistling dagger away with the flat of his blade.

The dagger embedded itself into a crude leather decoration on the wall.

The man who threw the dagger charged in, drawing his sword.

With a satisfying ring, the sword came down in a bold arc.

Frog hooked his fingers into a loop attached to the handle of his weapon.

Frog’s slippery skin prevented him from gripping weapons properly.

So he had a weapon made with a loop, called a loop sword.

By hooking his fingers into the loop and closing his grip, Frog’s three round fingertips met his palm.

All he had to do next was swing.

The clash of metal announced the start of the fight.

Soon, swords and daggers danced, orchestrating a fierce symphony.

The sound of clashing blades filled the room.

Sparks flew in the air, accompanied by a relentless barrage of strikes.

Frog, impressed by his opponent who blocked his attacks over thirty times and occasionally countered, thought, ‘This guy’s interesting.’

Krais sat in a corner. He wasn’t tied up or injured, but escape was impossible.

Though it had only been two days, Frog exhibited remarkable stamina.

He barely slept and always kept watch.

Krais could handle his needs and even shared meals with Frog.

But escaping was a different matter.

‘What would happen if I ran?’

Everyone left in the guild would be killed.

If caught, he would end up as a lifeless corpse alongside the others.

Frog was capable of such things.

Spring had come, and Frog had arrived earlier than expected.

Krais had some hope, believing that if one or two squad members arrived, they could handle the situation.

Anyone but the Squad leader, he thought.

When the door opened, Krais hoped.

When he recognized who entered, he was disappointed.

Now, he stood with his mouth agape, unable to close it.

‘What is this?’

The continuous noise sounded like the drawing room would collapse.

What he saw were trajectories, paths of blades.

Something created by the blades.

Only sparks flew between them.

What’s going on?

The one who entered was the Squad leader, but that Squad leader was…

‘Fighting Frog?’

It didn’t look like he was losing. At least not to Krais.

Encrid, watching the opponent’s weapon that seemed to bend, positioned his sword sideways.

Thump!

The impact traveled up his forearm, spreading through his body.

It would be foolish to just try to endure it with brute strength. He redirected the force, mixing in the Correct Sword Technique. What seemed impossible before was now feasible.

Clang!

He deflected the blade sideways and thrust his sword forward.

The blade sliced through the air with a whistle.

Frog retaliated, swinging his sword down again.

Clang!

Encrid blocked, deflected, and dodged.

How was this possible?

It was thanks to his experience fighting the wizard’s thorny vines.

Countless experiences had shaped Encrid’s swordsmanship, allowing him to swing, dodge, and block effectively.

The foundation was defense.

Blocking again and again.

The opponent’s weapon resembled a hunting knife with a wide blade, a typical weapon for Frogs.

The Loop Sword often took this form.

It was unusually heavy, and the opponent wielded it with the finesse of a lighter sword, thanks to Frog’s exceptional strength.

Encrid lost himself in the swordplay, focusing solely on the swords—the lines connecting points, the lines bending and descending like lightning.

Frog’s weapon struck like lightning, and Encrid intercepted it with his sword.

Unable to deflect it, his knee bent halfway. In that bent position, he smoothly swung his sword forward.

Frog took a half step back and stabbed with his blade.

A thrust with a wide blade—a nonstandard move.

Yet Encrid felt the thrust like a sharp awl.

His senses danced on the blade’s edge.

His already keen senses had become sharper thanks to Jaxon’s training.

In this world where only the swords, himself, and the opponent existed, he lost track of time.

Blocking, blocking again.

Striking, thrusting, and slashing whenever an opening appeared.

He mixed in techniques from the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique.

Feigning a slash, then stopping to thrust.

This swordsmanship had become second nature to him, perhaps an evolved form of his earlier style.

Frog deflected most attacks with brute strength.

Thanks to his strength far exceeding that of a human, his physical capabilities and reflexes played a significant role.

Clang! Thwack! Smack!

Some attacks were dodged, others deflected.

Blades grazed cheeks, and Frog’s fists struck armor.

As Encrid deflected a punch and aimed his sword at Frog’s heart, Frog spun half a turn to avoid it.

“Grrrk!”

A bubbling growl came from Frog’s throat, full of excitement.

Encrid uttered no battle cry.

He was solely focused.

Completely absorbed in one thing.

‘Don’t scatter.’

Concentrate, gather focus.

He avoided attacks not by watching the sword but by feeling the blade’s presence.

As these moments continued, Encrid entered a new state of awareness.

Noticing Frog’s fingers hooked on the loop, the trembling of his broad feet, and the movement of the violent muscles beneath his slippery skin.

His hands moved, his arms extended, his feet shifted, and his body twisted accordingly.

In that moment of heightened concentration, forgetting points and the lines they formed, Encrid saw a glimpse of the outcome of the ongoing battle.

It might have been just a passing thought.

But because he saw, he knew.

Sensing it, Encrid knew that his chance of victory lay there.

He acted on it.

All this time, he’d aimed for Frog’s heart whenever there was an opening. Now it was no different.

This thrust, filled with the determination to pierce through, shot like a beam of light through space.

Frog stepped back with his right foot, dodging the attack.

The blade scraped against the heart armor. Seeing this, Frog’s cheeks puffed up.

‘Trying to get my heart?’

Unable to hold back, Frog’s blade descended toward Encrid’s neck faster than before.

It was a lightning-fast strike.

A split-second opportunity.

Encrid withdrew his thrusting sword.

Clang!

The two swords that had been in a continuous exchange clashed in mid-air and stopped.

“Are you trying to fight me with strength? Foolish human.” Frog growled like a beast.

Encrid responded not with words but by reenacting what he had envisioned.

‘Like this.’

He created softness by slightly bending his knees while standing still.

Mixing the Correct Sword Technique with the Gentle Sword Technique, he absorbed the opponent’s force.

Frog’s sword, driven by brute strength, seemed poised to split Encrid from the forehead down.

“You damn fool,Captain!” Krais’s shout echoed, but both ignored it.

Encrid put all his strength into pushing Frog’s blade away.

With a tingling sound, Encrid’s sword raced along the blade.

Frog, who had been pressing down with sheer strength, faltered.

Reflexively, Frog blocked the blow aimed at his heart with his right forearm, the one holding the sword.

Aiming for the heart would have been another futile strike, so…

Encrid’s sword traced a smooth arc.

Slice.

He aimed for Frog’s left arm.

Though Frog dodged, blood spurted out, the arm wasn’t completely severed.

The blade had cut through Frog’s slippery skin.

As Frog’s puffed-up cheeks indicated, he wasn’t just going to stand there and take it.

The broad blade, deflected away, was brought down again.

Encrid blocked it with his raised right hand.

The blade struck the gauntlet he had taken from the sewer wizard.

With a loud crack and a sharp grinding sound, the blade was deflected to the side. The gauntlet’s exterior was cut and slashed, but his wrist remained intact.

It was a combination of the parrying technique learned from Audin and the durable gauntlet.

“You crazy bastard.” Frog said.

His left arm dangled, and even with his regenerative ability, this wasn’t enjoyable.

Frog glared with a fierce look, blood still pouring.

‘Ah.’

Encrid sensed the end of ‘today’.

His right wrist was too weak to hold his sword, and he had to catch it with his left hand.

How many more moves could he endure?

He didn’t know.

But he was somewhat satisfied with the last strike.

A strike that created an opening by aiming for the heart.

It was truly well-executed.

Frog, a species known for discerning talent, felt uneasy about Encrid.

Why? Because he had exceptional talent?

No, it was because he was an unfamiliar type. This one had to be killed.

He had to die.

Frog wondered how this human, who seemed at his limit, could pull off such a move.

Repeatedly feigning attacks on his heart, only to take his left arm in the end?

In that brief moment, the human had bent his knees to absorb the weight and then scraped the ground with his feet to push forward.

He had staked everything on a single move, and Frog had been the one caught off guard.

If his opponent’s right wrist were intact?

‘Would I have lost this fight?’

Frog’s cheeks puffed even more. He had to kill him.

His sword rose. It was the moment that would end everything.

Encrid remained calm. Frog found this attitude even more irritating.

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