A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

That’s what he learned from the first instructor he met.

The method of pressing the blade with the thumb.

How to grip with the right hand in front and the left hand behind.

The way to grip the pommel, even how to use the ricasso.

Most held the sword with both hands.

‘Even with one hand.’

It seemed possible.

The Isolation Technique had increased his already considerable strength.

He tried holding the longsword with only his left hand and swinging it.

Whoosh.

The sword swung in a circle, but he wasn’t satisfied.

But it was possible.

He thrust, slashed, thrust and slashed again.

He cut diagonally, then horizontally.

He even imitated binding.

He visualized an opponent in his mind, but against someone like Rem or the squad members, he wouldn’t last a single bout.

It wasn’t the one-handed swordsmanship that was the problem, it was his unfamiliarity with using his left hand.

He changed the opponent. Faceless, but somewhat proficient with a sword.

As he imagined, opponents similar to his past self emerged.

Trash who didn’t have skills to match their attitude from his mercenary days also appeared.

The kind who would shoot thin swords like arrows.

He visualized the image and swung his sword.

Swish.

As he swept the ground with his foot and swung his sword, sweat dripped, scattering droplets everywhere.

Pebbles caught under his foot popped up.

Encrid reflexively struck the rising pebbles with the flat of his sword.

Ting!

An inaccurate hit sent a pebble flying, striking the toe of his boot.

“If you hold it properly, you should be able to cut as you intend.”

The instructor’s words echoed in his mind.

Even cutting down a scarecrow that stood still wasn’t an easy task.

But Encrid knew how to do at least that much.

Though it was very difficult with his left hand.

‘Things don’t always go as planned.’

He started anew. Walking the path he had walked with his right hand again with his left. It was necessary to repeat and swing until he found the right feel.

What might be tedious to others was not to Encrid.

He felt rather excited.

Retracing the path he had walked with his right hand with his left, he also looked back at what he had missed.

Encrid closed his eyes before he knew it.

What he was seeing wasn’t the present but the past, his past self.

Deeper, deeper still.

Recalling memories, thinking of the self who wandered within them.

‘What if I had done it that way back then?’

Countless Recollections.

Battlefields, fights, monsters, beasts, humans.

A sword swung against everything, another sword, a blade, a hand, a person.

Tripping feet, breaking heads.

Barely surviving against monsters.

Living as if with two lives.

Encrid walked again.

With a focus so intense that nothing else was visible, the Heart of the Beast kept him centered, preventing mistakes from excitement.

Boldness and calmness were among Encrid’s most valuable assets.

They felt like an ally that complemented his willpower.

He swung his sword again.

Repeating and recalling the process over and over.

It felt like he was mastering it twice as fast as he did with his right hand.

Tap tap tap.

Sweat poured down. The leather strap wrapped around the grip snapped.

His strength waned, and as he let his hand drop, the tip of the sword touched the ground.

It wasn’t overexertion, but it felt like he was using muscles he hadn’t used before. His left arm felt slightly numb.

“You really seem crazy.”

Encrid’s vacant gaze focused on the voice beside him.

“Haven’t you been to the battlefield?”

As Encrid’s eyes refocused, he tilted his head and asked the person.

“Our platoon is in charge of defense. Here, give it to me.”

It was Vengeance, the Platoon leader of the 3rd Platoon, 2nd Company.

Encrid had already sensed his presence but didn’t pay attention.

Vengeance approached, took Encrid’s sword, and tightened the leather strap on the grip.

He did it skillfully, pulling it tight on both sides, wrapping it, and securing it inside the grip.

“It just looked difficult to do with one hand, so I’m helping.”

When did Vengeance become so kind? Since he saved him from the fire?

Suddenly curious, Encrid asked.

“Why did you dislike me?”

Vengeance mumbled something before replying.

“Jenny.”

“Jenny?”

Who’s Jenny? Encrid blinked. His memory wasn’t bad, so if he didn’t remember, it was either something he didn’t need to remember or an unfamiliar name.

This time, it was the former.

Seeing Encrid still confused, Vengeance’s voice rose.

“Jenny, the herb seller!”

Herb seller Jenny?

Encrid still looked puzzled.

Vengeance muttered a curse and shouted.

“I hated you because I didn’t like your face!”

His temper is all over the place.

He just helped fix the sword and now this.

“Anyway, it’s that flashy face of yours I don’t like.”

Growling, Vengeance stood up abruptly.

“Take good care of your sword.”

Worried while disliking?

As Vengeance turned his back and walked away, Encrid smirked and rested his chin on his hand, saying, “I wasn’t interested. The interest was on your side. I was more interested in herbs.”

Having said that much, it was unlikely that Vengeance wouldn’t remember.

Encrid often visited the city.

It wasn’t uncommon for women to be infatuated with him just by seeing his face. What could you call this?

It was simply the fantasy of a frontier town maiden, lost in an illusion.

Mentioning “Jenny, the herb seller.” did jog his memory.

He pretended not to remember just to tease Vengeance during their conversation.

It was amusing to see Vengeance’s reactions.

This must be why Rem enjoyed teasing the other soldiers.

“Who cares!”

Vengeance shouted again, visibly irritated.

He had an unexpectedly cute side.

But it wasn’t all cute, he was sharp, skilled, and took good care of his subordinates.

‘If he’s not unlucky, he’s not the type to die easily.’

“Nya.”

As Encrid pondered various thoughts, considering whether to find a stream to wash off his sweat, he heard Esther’s meowing.

“Why are you so low on energy? Are you hungry?”

Pat.

At Encrid’s question, Esther squinted, looking like she was glaring.

“Are you sick?”

He petted Esther, and she purred softly, closing her eyes.

The reason Esther was tired was simple.

She had been absorbing Encrid’s fatigue all night, helping to relieve it.

‘Ignorant human.’

Even as she muttered inwardly, Esther didn’t dislike Encrid.

His relentless drive to improve was something she shared.

Despite the transformation she had undergone in her pursuit of the arcane.

Her ambition was no less than this man’s.

Esther lowered her head and tried to sleep.

She was exhausted.

Today, the wizard was out of commission. She had no energy left.

Using her current form to draw on a part of the magical world was already a cheat.

Beeeeeeep!

Just as she was about to drift off, a sharp sound woke Esther up.

Encrid, who had been scratching his head, also stopped.

Esther lifted her head, seeing Encrid’s chin.

He turned his head left and right, then stood up.

“Captain!”

Encrid placed Esther on the ground. He saw Krais running from one side.

The sharp whistle sound continued.

Beeeeeeeep!

It was a long tone.

A long, sustained warning signal.

The Naurillia army used a whistle system for signals.

A long tone like this signified one thing.

An enemy attack.

“Which direction…?”

Encrid began to ask Krais but then fell silent.

As soon as the whistle blew, the voices of their allies reached their ears.

“Ambush! Enemy! Enemy!”

“Counterattack!”

“Don’t Fall Back!”

“Damn it, we’re in deep trouble!”

The discordant noise came from panic and a sense of danger.

Rat-a-tat-tat!

Amidst it all, the noise of metal clashing erupted.

Blood soon splattered.

“Aaagh!”

A scream of agony mixed in.

Encrid spotted the attackers.

They walked neither too fast nor too slow.

Crunch.

The sound of gravel underfoot announced their presence.

Their steps felt as though they were in a different time, detached from the chaos.

The spring rain had stopped, leaving a warm breeze and sunlight on the gravel field, now warm to the touch.

The enemy stood there, crunching over the gravel.

Broad shoulders and thin but sturdy leather armor, with a helmet covering from the head to the forehead, leaving only the ears exposed—a distinctive helmet of the Aspen Duchy.

Water dripped from the faded brown hair peeking out from under the helmet.

Behind him, two enemy soldiers wielded spears with remarkable skill.

Thud.

Slash!

Just from the blocking, striking, and stabbing, it was clear.

They were highly trained elite soldiers.

Encrid had encountered such elite troops before.

Gray Hounds, a special unit of Aspen, known for their relentless nature.

They were a perfect unit for such ambushes.

So, they did just that.

They used the unit’s specialty to execute an ambush.

The leader of the unit walked up to Encrid.

Growl!

Esther, who had almost fallen asleep, bared her fangs.

“Esther, stay back.”

Encrid shielded Esther with his body and spoke up.

“You’re still alive.”

He recognized the face.

The Aspen commander, possibly the Platoon leader of the Gray Hounds.

He had been easily excited and had once been stabbed in the chest by Encrid’s sword.

His name was Mitch Hurrier.

He was a Platoon leader of the Aspen Duchy.

It seemed he had crossed a river, his entire body was soaked.

Clearly, he wasn’t in normal condition. They had shortened their journey by running through the night, crossing the river, and launching an ambush.

This exhaustion led to their current state.

However, Encrid was in worse shape.

‘Can my wrist hold out?’

He wasn’t sure. Mitch Hurrier caught his breath, then slightly lifted his chin, gazing at the sky as he murmured.

“Gratitude.”

An Oath to the Gods?

“I wanted to meet you again, Encrid.”

He lowered his gaze, continuing.

“It’s an honor that you remember my name.”

“Then.”

Shing.

He drew his sword. The moment Mitch unsheathed his blade, Encrid sensed death.

Even with a healthy wrist, this opponent was formidable.

As his skills had improved, so had his ability to gauge an opponent’s prowess.

“Thanks to you, I woke up.”

There was no need to understand what he meant.

Mitch wasn’t saying it expecting Encrid to understand.

It was simply words born out of his joy in the moment.

They had come to crush the morale of the enemy forces by launching a surprise attack on their camp.

And here they found a significant target.

A foe he had longed to meet.

A foe he had longed to defeat.

Meeting again, he had to prove himself.

Defeating Encrid was a necessary step to move forward.

Mitch Hurrier’s sword moved. A vertical slash from above.

Clang!

Encrid switched his sword to his right hand and met the blow.

Crack.

One strike was enough.

The splint he had added snapped, and strength left his right hand.

His wrist throbbed and ached.

His fingers trembled.

“You’re injured.”

Would he show mercy?

That was a ridiculous thought.

He wouldn’t have either.

It didn’t matter if the opponent was injured. This wasn’t a place to discuss honor, it was a war.

Even in a duel, mercy would be out of the question.

Exploiting weaknesses in combat was encouraged.

“Unlucky bastard.”

Mitch showed a bitter smile. He wanted to fight properly, but given the circumstances…

Thud.

Encrid barely blocked the incoming blade.

‘I’m going to die.’

The thought hit him the moment he realized he couldn’t block the next attack.

“You bastard!”

Vengeance’s last stand.

Vengeance, covered in blood, charged in and thrust his spear into Mitch Hurrier’s back.

Thud!

The spearhead was quite sharp.

Without even looking, Mitch Hurrier sidestepped, pivoted on his left foot, and spun around, dodging the spear while slashing diagonally with his sword.

Clang!

His blade struck the middle of the spear shaft.

Even so, Vengeance didn’t let go of the spear.

He tried to swing it upwards to strike Mitch’s chest, but it was a futile effort.

As Mitch Hurrier struck the spear shaft, he moved his feet.

From a half-turned position, Mitch Hurrier quickly turned completely around, his sword slicing through the air.

As the blade moved away from the spear shaft and leveled with the ground.

Slice.

Vengeance’s neck was cut.

Sensing danger, Vengeance barely managed to step back, but it was too late.

His neck was already half-severed.

He dropped the spear and clutched his neck.

Ah, idiot, he could have just run away.

Vengeance fell to his knees on the ground.

Mitch Hurrier, standing next to Vengeance, looked at Encrid and said.

“I’ll cut your neck like this too.”

Slash!

He finished severing the half-cut neck. Vengeance’s head rolled away.

What was this?

Even knowing that death meant repeating the day.

The feeling was utterly disgusting.

It was infuriating, maddening.

Kyaah.

The blue-eyed leopard watching tried to leap at Mitch, but was intercepted by a soldier wielding a spear.

“A mere beast.”

The enemy soldier muttered as he tormented Esther. He wouldn’t last long if he didn’t flee.

“Go, Esther.”

Encrid spoke, and Mitch Hurrier, who had approached unnoticed, raised his sword high.

Mitch Hurrier was a liar. He said he’d cut Encrid’s neck, but instead, he stabbed Encrid in the chest.

“Come to think of it, this is where I was struck.”

His tone was calm. His sword pierced Encrid’s heart.

There was no way Encrid could throw the remaining Whistle Dagger.

Not with his right wrist in such a state.

“It’s a shame we couldn’t have a proper fight, but goodbye.”

Mitch Hurrier said as he withdrew his sword from Encrid’s chest.

Splurt. Crunch.

As the blade tore out of his chest, a surge of red life force spilled onto the ground.

Gurgle.

As Encrid collapsed forward, blood foaming from his mouth, he saw Vengeance’s severed head and Esther, who had been thrown aside.

Screech!

‘What a feeling.’

It was maddening.

It was strange. Watching someone else’s death felt worse than facing his own.

The moment of death arrived. He had experienced it so often that one might think he would be accustomed to it.

But instead of familiarity, it only embedded pain, suffering, and fear deep in his mind.

Even knowing that awakening from this abyss would bring another morning.

It was a darkness that made him not want to die.

There were no dreams.

And thus, no ferryman.

Encrid opened his eyes again.

“Nya.”

Esther rubbed her face against his chest.

It was a late morning, starting without his platoon members.

And yet…

‘This is terrible.’

Encrid thought the situation was genuinely terrible.

His right wrist was injured, and his platoon members were gone. Before noon, the enemy’s elite forces would ambush the camp.

Among them would be Mitch Hurrier.

‘Running away won’t solve anything.’

It wouldn’t. Even if he survived, he would just return to the same day.

He had to overcome the barrier to escape today.

But how could he do that?

Encrid’s gaze fell downward, focusing on Esther, who was rubbing her face against his chest.

Specifically, he looked at his left hand, which was petting Esther’s head.

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