A Knight who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 1
Chapter 1: My Dream was to be a Knight
= = =
My dream was to be a knight.
The teacher who taught Enkrid how to use a sword was quite good-natured and never spoke ill of anyone.
“You.”
Leaning against the sword he held with its scabbard planted vertically on the ground, the teacher called Enkrid.
“Go back to the village. If you hate farming, serve in the village militia. You might even become a Militia Captain.”
Had he listened to those words from the teacher who had his fill of the sword, things might have been a little better.
But he didn’t.
A single phrase that he heard when he was young was the problem.
“Enki, you’re a genius.”
He had easily won a fight against a neighborhood brat a few years older than him with a wooden sword.
That was when he was 11. It was the first time he was called a genius.
He didn’t know back then that the bastard was incredibly bad at sword fighting.
At fifteen, Enkrid fought an adult in the village with a wooden sword and won.
Since then, he became confident in his skills.
In the small village where he was born, there was no one who knew how to properly use a sword.
The best they had was a third-rate mercenary. He was a drifter who had lost one leg and washed up in the village.
He taught the village kids swordsmanship and Enkrid was among those kids.
“You’re a genius.”
At fifteen, he heard the same words for the second time.
If the first time was from a village elder who knew nothing, then the second time it was from a mercenary who had given up his knighthood title and lost his leg for a lady.
‘I must be a genius.’
That’s what he thought.
He harbored a dream.
He decided to become a knight.
A knight that would support a monarch who could unify the continent engulfed in war.
A knight who would put an end to the war.
It was around this time that a bard’s song spread widely across the continent, reaching even Enkrid’s small village.
The content was simple, but the melody was captivating, and the latter lyrics shook the heart.
The knight who will end this war!
The knight who will dye the war in twilight!
We shall call him the Knight of Twilight!
The Knight of the End! The knight who will end the tumult!
The bard’s song ignited the hearts of boys and girls.
‘I will become that knight.’
Enkrid felt the same.
At eighteen, Enkrid left the village, thinking there was no one there who could match him.
He had no parents or siblings.
He had a few friends, but there were hardly any who could connect with Enkrid, a person obsessed with the sword since childhood.
In those gaps, the boy grew up and left.
Thus, he began his life as a mercenary.
His skills weren’t bad. His attitude and hard work were commendable as well.
But two months were enough to realize that he wasn’t a genius.
He was defeated by a so-called third-rate mercenary with no name.
“You’re not ripe yet.”
He heard such words.
He thought having a good teacher would be enough.
He did his utmost and saved money. Risking half his life, he fought against bands of thieves.
With the money he earned by doing that, he sought out a fencing school.
In big cities, there were usually one or two fencing schools.
He learned swordsmanship.
He wasn’t unlucky as the teacher was honest and conscientious.
He told Enkrid to put down his sword.
“No. I won’t.”
Enkrid didn’t give up.
“You’re really hardworking. Truly hardworking.”
Everyone who saw Enkrid said so unanimously.
They had to.
Because hard work doesn’t betray.
Even though his palms cracked open and his arm muscles trembled, he repeated it countless times.
He fared well in places where similar people gathered.
Enkrid was an outstanding hard worker. As he drifted from one fencing school to another, saving money, he had grown over twenty.
By the time he was over twenty-five, he had built up some experience and skill, making a name for himself as a mercenary.
But at best, it was only after asking a few times in a small city that someone would say, “Ah, that guy, he’s pretty good with a sword.”
Even up to this point, there was a glimmer of hope.
Hope that the future would be better than now.
But in the spring of his twenty-seventh year, Enkrid realized that his talent was insignificant.
The result of a casual quarrel made him privy to it. His sword flew out of his hand in five exchanges, and he had a hole in his stomach. Enkrid bit down, covering the hole in his stomach with his palm.
“How old are you?”
“Twelve.”
Twelve, he says. He was not even in his teens yet. This was a real genius.
“Sorry, it was my first real fight.”
The kid said so. He was not a noble, not a commoner, but a serf child.
He had been holding a sword for merely six months.
“I went too hard with my hands. Take this for your medical expenses.”
The kid’s master, a character, tossed a purse of money.
It wasn’t a fatal injury.
The intestines weren’t damaged, and it wasn’t stabbed too deeply.
Still, he took the purse.
From when he was eleven till now, Enkrid swung the sword for 16 years until his palms cracked. And yet, he lost to a twelve-year-old kid who had only trained for six months.
It would be a lie if he said he wasn’t depressed. But he didn’t live with a gloomy sentiment because of that.
There’s no need to live so darkly and drearily, is there?
‘It’s not like my arms and legs were torn off.’
Enkrid knew he wasn’t a genius, but that didn’t mean he gave up.
Thus, he continued his life as a swordsman.
Around ten years of mercenary life.
Even if he couldn’t become an outstanding knight or swordsman, he could be a seasoned soldier.
Enkrid quit being a mercenary and received military training. That was the best choice he could make.
He couldn’t possibly start farming at this point.
A third-rate swordsman from a mercenary background, it was an appropriate description.
“Do you think the military is a joke, accepting just anyone?”
Someone sneered.
“Hang in there.”
Someone patted his shoulder.
He received recognition and also fell behind.
Thus, at thirty.
In the Kingdom of Naurillia, the Cyprus Brigade.
4th Regiment, 4th Battalion, 4th Company, 4th Squadron.
Known as the Fourth-Fourth Squad, that was where Enkrid was.
Right below the Squad Leader, the position of a Decurion was Enkrid’s.
Clang, clang, clang.
The night watchman struck the iron, waking up the entire barracks.
“…What a horribly unsettling dream.”
Enkrid muttered as he woke up to the sound.
“What kind of dream made you say that?”
The subordinate next to him, who was getting up from his makeshift bed made of stacked blankets, asked as he shoved his feet into his boots.
Though his attitude was lax, this friend was more skilled than himself.
“My entire life.”
“So omninous, ugh. Ah, a bug.”
There was a bug in his boots, and the subordinate, who had half-put on his shoes, took them off and shook them out before putting them back on.
Then, he looked at the bug that had fallen to the floor, spat on it, and rubbed it with his foot.
The sticky mix of bodily fluids and saliva left a mark on the floor.
Seeing that, Enkrid also got up and gathered his gear.
A cuirass with a throwing knife stuck near the heart, arm guards, shin guards, etc.
Inside, he wore an under-armor made of thickly layered cloth.
Over it, he wore armor made of leather.
The armor was made of several layers of leather, but it couldn’t be considered very sturdy leather.
A well-sharpened blade could easily slice through it.
The arm guard reinforced with oiled wood was slightly better than others’.
“I heard the previous Decurion had such a dream before he died.”
Enkrid recalled hearing such rumors and muttered.
“Am I destined to die today?”
The subordinate laughed, so Enkrid flicked him on the back of his head.
“I won’t die. Don’t jinx it.”
He got up, poured water into a pot, and threw in a few pieces of meat jerky. Then, he added a few edible vegetables and boiled them.
Breakfast was ready.
“Is there a skirmish planned for today?”
The subordinate asked, and Enkrid shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
He was just a lowly Decurion.
Above the four Decurions, there was one Squad Leader.
Probably even that Squad Leader wouldn’t know.
Enkrid’s swordsmanship was mediocre, and he wasn’t a noble, so he stayed as a Decurion under the Squad Leader. However, his experience in the battlefield could chew up and spit out any average Company Commander.
Knowing this, the Decurion’s subordinates also respected Enkrid.
“So, what did you want to be when you were a kid, boss?”
The subordinate approached and asked.
“A knight.”
“…Are you gonna hit me if I laugh?”
“I won’t hit you.”
“Pfft.”
“You’re laughing? You damn punk.”
Saying so, he kicked the subordinate’s buttocks.
The subordinate, pretending to be hurt, said,
“I mean, a knight, really?”
What is a knight?
Someone who changes the tide of the battlefield.
A monster that stands alone against a thousand.
A hero who alone slays hundreds of enemies.
Moreover, the unit they belonged to, the brigade they were a part of, was also named after a knight.
The Cyprus Brigade, the army of Knight Cyprus.
To dream of being such a knight.
“Your dreams sure are ambitious.”
“Dreams are supposed to be ambitious, kid.”
Saying so, Enkrid nonchalantly picked up a bowl.
Today was his turn to do the dishes.
He wasn’t sure about the other Decurions, but Enkrid’s squad shared all the menial tasks equally.
Being a Decurion was just about receiving and relaying orders.
Usually, the person who was the best with a spear or sword did it.
In this regard, Enkrid was a bit special.
His physical strength was weaker than other squad members.
But he was able to unite those who had been almost kicked out from other squads.
Other units referred to Enkrid’s squad as the “Troublemaker Squad” of the Fourth-Fourth.
Enkrid was the leader of such a squad.
“I’ll help.”
“Then shut up and follow.”
“Roger that.”
The subordinate chuckled.
How did this guy end up here?
He was a unique one, but Enkrid wasn’t particularly curious about his subordinate’s personal history.
So he never asked.
The squad members liked this attitude of Enkrid’s.
He didn’t ask about the past and didn’t nitpick about the present. Moreover, he didn’t particularly demand anything.
Perhaps that’s why all the squad members followed him.
As he was clattering and washing the dishes, the subordinate, splashing water in the stream, asked,
“Why did you want to become a knight?”
He came to help but ended up just splashing around.
Would he laugh if he answered that he was captivated by the bard’s song?
After thinking for a moment, Enkrid answered,
“I wanted to be good with the sword, and I thought it would be nice to become a knight while I’m at it.”
“That’s such a young man-like sentiment.”
The subordinate snickered again.
“Will you shut your mouth?”
“So you danced with your sword morning and night for that?”
“It’s because hard work doesn’t betray.”
Due to swinging the sword countless times, his palms were full of calluses.
“So, even now?”
Do you want to become a knight?
How could he? It’s impossible, and he knows it better than anyone.
But he hadn’t given up.
He just silently endured and moved forward.
Enkrid wasn’t unaware of reality.
But the dream was silenced by reality, and the silenced Enkrid just became a soldier who lived with the sword.
“If you’re done washing, let’s go.”
“Let’s go.”
It was a trivial conversation.
He got up and returned to the barracks.
Whether there would be a skirmish with the kingdom where local battles were ongoing.
Or maybe they would attack the recently emerged bandits targeting their supplies.
He didn’t know what they would do.
‘The air feels heavy.’
The air on the battlefield is always like that.
But today, it felt even more so.
There was a lot of waiting time.
There was nothing much to do. He thought about swinging his sword, but he took a nap instead.
There are days when you don’t want to do anything.
‘It’s as difficult as before.’
He made relentless efforts.
This is the result.
A Decurion at the level of a third-rate mercenary.
When the sun was well past its zenith, moving westward by about two arms’ length, the Squad Leader shouted,
“All members of the Fourth-Fourth, assemble.”
It was a skirmish.
The company members gathered, forming one flank of the army.
Enkrid’s Decurion was no exception.
A cold tension enveloped his body.
Enkrid, holding the talisman necklace he acquired during his mercenary days, grasped it once before tucking it inside his clothes.
‘Was this supposed to save my life?’
It’s probably nonsense, but soldiers heading to the battlefield tend to easily believe in superstitions.
However, if you ask Enkrid himself if he believed in this talisman, the answer would probably be doubtful.
He just saw the old woman’s eyes who gave it to him and was moved by her earnest words.
‘There’s nothing to lose anyway.’
After risking his life in a fight, all he got as a reward was this mere talisman.
It was due to luck that he had killed it. If things had gone wrong, he would have been the one to die.
Despite it being a dangerous monster extermination, because it was a small slash-and-burn village, they had no money to give.
They just happened to see Enkrid passing by and begged him to deal with the monster, clinging to the hem of his clothes.
‘It’s ridiculous.’
To risk his life out of sympathy, it was madness.
But Enkrid didn’t regret that decision.
Because that’s what a knight is.
Even if his dream was silenced and devoured by reality, leaving nothing but scars,
He wanted to be a knight.
He wanted to be a war hero.
But now, he was just an ordinary soldier.
Waaaaaaaah!
A shout erupted.
Enkrid, too, raised the veins in his neck and roared.
From the front, waves of armies rushed in.
The setting sun created a long twilight.
Breaking through that twilight light, both armies charged.
Enkrid charged as well.
“Fight while keeping your lives safe! Live!”
The ever-smiling subordinate shouted and dashed forward first.
Soon, spears and swords of both enemies and allies began tearing through each other’s flesh and blood.
Today’s battle was a melee.