A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Audin and Encrid exchanged hand-to-hand strikes and joint locks.

Once the sparring session ended,

“You’ve now taken your first steps.” Rem remarked.

The term “first steps” might seem dismissive, but it wasn’t.

Rem’s face showed a gentle smile, indicating satisfaction from Encrid’s perspective.

“There’s less wasted effort.” Ragna added.

While it was hard to take this as a compliment, Ragna’s usually half-open eyes now reflected unprecedented enthusiasm.

Typically indifferent, Ragna was clearly pleased with the sparring, his eyes conveying a cold intensity.

“You’ve been continuing your sensory training.” Jaxon calmly complimented.

“You’ve taken a step closer to the divine.” Audin said, in a peculiar tone.

After pondering over Audin’s words, which felt off, Encrid looked at him intently. Before Encrid could respond, Rem spoke up.

“Isn’t that akin to praying for death?” he joked.

“No, brother, it’s a blessing.” Audin replied.

Encrid wasn’t sure how it was a blessing, but regardless, the sparring had ended.

“Is that the notorious Squad Leader?”

“Now he’s the crazy Platoon Leader. Get it right.”

“What’s going on here?”

“That guy is that guy, huh?”

“I heard he’s a maniac about training.”

Voices of onlookers, who had been silent or shocked, started murmuring. Encrid, out of breath, felt his shoulders heaving.

His wrist ached, and his tired limbs felt weak.

Still, he wasn’t in a bad mood.

Only,

‘It’s a shame.’

Everyone had gone easy on him due to his injured right wrist. That was a real shame.

Even so, he had learned something.

Reflecting on past experiences, like climbing the walls of the Cross Guard and fighting Frog upon his return.

He wanted to ponder over all these accumulated experiences and the new things he learned today.

In short, he wanted to fight more.

“Hold on. If you go any further, your wrist will be completely ruined.” someone cautioned.

Rem, quick-witted as always, spoke up. He knew the importance of resting.

Hadn’t Encrid already learned and realized that long ago?

Encrid caught his breath and shrugged.

The spectators began to disperse.

Some acknowledged Encrid with a nod or a word.

“You’re back?”

It was Vengeance, the Platoon Leader. Now that they held the same rank, the conversation was more casual.

“Yes.”

Encrid was actually a couple of years older, so the conversation flowed easily.

“That’s good.”

Why did Vengeance seem somewhat embarrassed?

After exchanging greetings with others, including Bell and a tailoring craftsman, Encrid entered the barracks.

“Now then, tell us what you’ve been up to.” Rem suddenly said.

He was curious. What had Encrid been doing to improve so much, considering he was known as someone who only relied on effort?

Rem’s comment about “taking first steps” was praise for breaking through a significant barrier.

Though they had taken it easy on him due to his wrist injury, Rem noticed a clear change.

Encrid had shown a series of whip-like slashes, indicating a newfound confidence in his body, his weapon, and his accumulated skills.

This was the difference between Encrid before and after the scouting mission to the Cross Guard.

Confidence and decisiveness.

Some might call this experience, others might say it’s the embodiment of skill.

Everything Encrid had accumulated felt refined.

Rem was eager to hear more about what Encrid had been doing.

Ragna, curious as well, sat down in front of Encrid, followed by Jaxon and Audin, who also took seats.

Andrew, Mac, and Enri listened intently.

“I feel like a storyteller.” Encrid murmured, looking at his platoon members gathered around.

A story—how hard could it be?

Encrid recounted the events plainly.

He spoke of falling into a trap, the spearmen in front, archers behind, Ranger Finn’s sharp observation skills, the lycanthrope, and the wizard waiting on the wall.

He also mentioned fighting Frog.

He honestly described everything, leaving out only the repetition of today’s events, and added that luck played a part.

It was a string of events that didn’t match his calm tone.

“Is there some curse that makes you better every time you’re about to die?” Rem asked with a chuckle.

It certainly seemed that way to him.

Every time Encrid faced a life-or-death situation, his skills noticeably improved.

Was the Platoon leader a genius? No, Rem knew that wasn’t the case from personal experience teaching him.

Perhaps the near-death experiences triggered something.

Regardless, Rem found it curious how facing death seemed to enhance Encrid’s abilities, but he didn’t dwell on it.

“Anyway, it was fun.” he concluded.

The others listening nodded in agreement. Andrew, with a look of disbelief, asked, “You survived and came back from such a place?”

Could it really just be luck, based on the stories they had just heard?

The sparring earlier had also shown a significant difference in skill. Previously, he thought they were somewhat comparable, but now the gap seemed insurmountable. Had he neglected his training?

‘No, absolutely not.’

Being around these crazy individuals, he had endured a constant struggle, and his skills had improved accordingly. Even Mac had mentioned,

“As much as I hate to admit it, sparring with Rem does improve your skills.”

Andrew felt he had given his all, more focused on training than ever before, yet a gap had emerged.

“It was just luck.” Encrid replied, as he always did. Andrew had no further words.

Encrid suggested they all go to bed while checking his wrist. It seemed worse than when he fought Frog.

“Because of your wrist injury, you’ll need to stay in the barracks tomorrow.” Jaxon commented.

“It’s not severe enough to require the infirmary, but yes, fighting would be unwise.”

“You’re telling me.”

“I also need some rest.” Encrid added, starting a round of comments from Krais, Rem, and Ragna.

Encrid anticipated this. His wrist was in worse shape, and rest was necessary. If higher-ups questioned why he sparred with such an injury, Rem would probably reply,

“It’s a tradition in our platoon, didn’t you know?”

Regardless, rest was important, especially since his wrist had deteriorated after fighting Frog. He could wield a sword a few more times, but pushing it further would likely cause permanent injury.

“Have you given up on the shield?” Ragna asked as he found his place.

Encrid nodded. “This feels more comfortable.”

He showed his guard sword, which had some nicks and a dent in the blade but was still serviceable.

“Everyone has something that doesn’t quite fit.” Ragna acknowledged with a nod.

It was a night of reflection. As they all lay in their beds, Rem spoke up.

“Let’s not be outdone by Frog.”

Didn’t it feel odd to use ‘such a thing’ with Frog?

“That’s true. We need more training, there’s much to do.” Ragna added.

Jaxon gave a silent, cold glance.

“Platoon Leader, with training, everything is possible.” Audin, with his silver tongue, added.

“If we meet again, we’ll win.”

As Encrid responded confidently, everyone chuckled.

“You’re quite confident.” Rem remarked on behalf of the group. As they settled into the darkness, ready to sleep, others spoke up.

“When your wrist heals, let’s have a proper go at it.”

“When it’s fully healed, there’s a lot I can teach you, like fixing some bad habits.”

“Training never truly ends, brother.”

“There is more to do.”

From Rem to Jaxon, everyone chimed in.

Learning new things, progressing, and continually improving were what Encrid longed for. For now, though, he had to focus on recovery.

His wrist still felt stiff.

‘It seems they don’t want to send me into battle.’ he thought, feeling a bit strange about it. The people who cared about him were indeed peculiar.

Regardless, if he wasn’t going out tomorrow, maybe Rem and the others would fight a little harder in his stead? It was uncertain.

Encrid still didn’t fully understand why they followed him so devotedly. He could only guess. He didn’t want to push into the realm of certainty. Better to leave things as they were, if something needed to be said, they would speak up.

“Let’s do that.” Encrid finally replied, truly trying to sleep this time. But then,

“Anyway, about Frog.” Rem said, half sitting up and mimicking sword strikes in the air. “Block like this, strike like this, faster than him. Once your wrist heals, I’ll drill this into your bones—how to kill frogs.”

“Beyond the standard technique, there’s a process of learning new basic forms and integrating them.” Jaxon added.

“You should maintain the Isolation Technique, excluding the right hand, brother.” Audin advised.

“…and never let your guard down.” said Ragna.

The entire platoon kept talking.

“Are you guys not going to sleep?” Encrid asked, sensing they could go on all night.

Was it because they were happy to see him after a long time? Or did they have no one else to bother?

Whatever the reason, Andrew’s eyes seemed particularly lively.

“I’m going to sleep. I was sleepy anyway.” Rem’s words were the last before everyone settled down.

Esther, who had been quietly hidden in a corner, snuggled into Encrid’s arms. As he lay there, he replayed the fight with Frog and today’s sparring in his mind. The sparring had felt incomplete, yet it still excited him.

It seemed like a process of validating what he had done so far, yet why did it feel like a new path was appearing before him?

Reflecting on these thoughts, along with the warmth from Esther on his chest, Encrid felt sleep overcome him and he drifted off.

A short time later,

“If it’s my talent, it’ll work anywhere.” he mumbled in his sleep.

Andrew whispered in frustration, and Mac, overhearing him, found himself at a loss for words. By his standards, Andrew was an exceptional talent, showing visible improvement in skill.

But in this platoon, the situation was different.

‘This is, well, quite something.’

Where else could one find such people?

Mac had never encountered a group of individuals who fought so well. Even the Platoon leader, Encrid, had shown remarkable improvement. He had always advised Andrew not to engage Encrid, and now it seemed Encrid had crossed a new threshold.

Feeling short of words, Mac finally said, “Instead of comparing yourself to others, you should swing your sword one more time.”

He spoke in line with the platoon’s spirit of relentless training, which made Andrew sigh deeply.

* * *

Morning came, and Encrid woke up.

‘Did I oversleep?’

Esther was nuzzling against his chest. Instinctively, he reached out to pet her with his right hand but then switched to his left due to the splint on his right wrist, rendering it unusable.

He gently stroked Esther’s fur with his left hand, and she purred contentedly.

It seemed she had also overslept.

Sunlight streamed through the barracks as Encrid partially sat up. At the entrance, Krais walked in.

“You’re awake?”

“I overslept.”

“After all you’ve been through, it’s understandable. Taking a day or two to rest won’t fully recover you from that ordeal, will it?”

It was clear Krais had heard about everything that happened to Encrid. While Krais knew his Platoon leader had incredible stamina, not feeling fatigue after such a grueling journey would be inhuman.

“Let’s have some breakfast.”

After quickly freshening up, Encrid ate a meal. Breakfast consisted of well-cooked potatoes and thinly sliced, salted, and grilled bacon.

“The quality of the food is good.” Encrid remarked.

“They’re taking good care of us in various ways. Oh, and the rest of the squad has already moved to the front lines.” Krais mentioned, pointing upward.

Does that mean there are high expectations for this platoon?

Is that why they’re getting special meals?

Hearing that Rem and the others had moved out first, Encrid wondered if that was good news or bad news. It seemed they were trying to move quickly, perhaps to give him an excuse to rest due to his wrist injury.

But will his platoon members really act according to the commander’s intentions?

That was uncertain.

Even direct encouragement didn’t always work.

Maybe they would fight hard for a day.

Perhaps they would do so to let him rest.

If Rem usually killed three, today he might kill five.

That was as far as he could hope, but would they actually fight the battle their commander wanted?

That was uncertain.

He didn’t know how much his platoon members were needed in the realm of strategy and tactics.

That was as far as his thoughts went.

He had never learned large-scale tactical operations.

The commander would do his job.

War-crazed Marcus.

He would live up to his name.

After finishing his meal, Encrid trained using the Isolation Technique to avoid putting strain on his right wrist, then began reviewing his past fights.

Reflecting and chewing over what he had learned was something he did every day.

‘Were there any mistakes?’

If so, where? So as not to repeat the same mistake next time.

Every experience from a life-or-death fight was a valuable asset.

It was something an instructor had once told him in a small fishing village he had wandered into.

That advice still stuck with Encrid.

As he reviewed his battles alone, he grew restless.

Unable to stay still, he stood up, but with the splint and bandages on his right wrist, he couldn’t grip his sword properly.

Standing with his eyes half-closed, Encrid pictured the scenes in his mind.

Audin, Ragna, Rem.

Reversing through yesterday’s sparring sessions, passing through the fight with Frog, facing the wizard at night, the moment surrounded by lycanthropes, and the escape from elite soldiers.

‘Luck.’

Luck had played a part. Since he had relied on luck repeatedly, one could say it was calculated luck.

He continued thinking and moving his body. Soon his blood began to boil.

He couldn’t bear not swinging his sword.

“A madman obsessed with training.” he thought.

Who had called him that?

‘It might fit perfectly.’

At the end of his idle thoughts, he couldn’t resist and drew his sword.

Cling.

With his right hand injured, he used his left hand instead.

‘I’ve always fought with one hand.’

Even with just one hand, he wondered how things would turn out if he increased his strength.

He continued thinking, gripping the sword with his left hand and striking downward.

Thud.

It was a clumsy cut.

He could feel it himself.

It was so different from when he used his right hand.

‘It feels like starting over.’

But it was many times better than staying still. He needed an outlet for the boiling enthusiasm, desire, and craving he felt right now.

“Man, that guy’s completely crazy. Injures his right hand and still goes at it with his left.”

Vengeance, who was left to guard the rear, watched Encrid from a distance and spoke.

Of course, Encrid didn’t hear him. No, he didn’t hear a thing.

He was completely absorbed.

Encrid retraced the path he had taken with his right hand using his left hand, examining the things he had missed.

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