A Knight who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 101

Chapter 101: Luck Isn’t Always on Your Side (3)

Convincing them to disguise themselves as a merchant caravan at dawn and entering Cross Guard two days later wasn’t difficult.

“My gut feels off.”

It was the same reason he gave when they decided to climb over the wall. With Torres backing him and Finn nodding indifferently, the decision was made.

“Well, guess we’ll be camping here again tonight.”

They were staying in the dugout they used as a camp. At the news, the soldier in charge of cooking chuckled and asked, “Should we break out the good stuff for dinner?”

Finn, leading the front-line recons, grinned and agreed excitedly.

Despite being part of a unit that should be more on edge than those on the battlefield, these recons seemed either too relaxed or too thick-skinned to care.

‘Then again, maybe it’s because they are so tense on most days that they can relax like this.’

Even during dinner, they remained cautious. They made sure smoke from their campfire was barely visible, and the patrols took turns walking in wide circles around the area. Two sharp-eyed recons always kept watch on the perimeter.

Watching the recons, Enkrid recalled something he had heard in the past.

“Something too rigid breaks easily. You need to know when to bend, to stay flexible.”

Who had said that?

‘It wasn’t an instructor.’

It was a paladin belonging to a church order who was passing through a local town.

He didn’t have time to teach, so he suggested a quick sparring match instead, laughing and stroking his beard like a bandit rather than a man of the cloth. Despite his rough appearance, he was both a revered priest and a skilled warrior.

“Just because you bend doesn’t mean you’ve softened. If your core is solid, you won’t break easily. Want me to explain in simple terms? Stop gritting your teeth every time you swing your sword.”

Apparently, Enkrid’s sword swings sounded like he was grinding his teeth in frustration.

Was that why?

Now, he suddenly wondered what his sword looked like as it cut through the air.

Ching.

Driven by curiosity, he moved without thinking.

“…We’re just having a drink, so why’s he acting like that?”

Finn muttered, glancing over as one of the recons handed her a bottle of stashed liquor. Enkrid stood and drew his sword, swinging it in the air.

It wasn’t related to today’s repetition, nor was it something he had recently learned. It was just a swing born from a sudden question.

The paladin he had sparred with had once said Enkrid’s sword swings looked like he was fighting out of desperation, as if he was struggling not to break.

“You need to learn to use your muscles more fluidly, it’ll make your sword strikes sharper.”

The paladin’s laughing face overlapped with the faces of his comrades. Hundreds of sparring matches filled his mind.

How was Rem during their duels? His muscles had been pure elasticity. The foundation of Rem’s ability to wield axes so freely was his relaxed demeanor.

Was it because he believed he wouldn’t lose?

‘No.’

The answer lay in the way Rem’s arm and axe moved, like a whip, his face calm, his muscles supple. He only used as much strength as necessary, when necessary.

What about Ragna? His casual, almost careless gestures concealed masterful swordsmanship.

Jaxon and Audin were the same.

Jaxon always appeared stiff, but he fought with ease, while Audin would twist Enkrid’s arms in training and tease him, all while offering genuine advice.

And what about himself?

‘My shoulders.’

No, he fought with tension throughout his entire body. Even when connecting one move to the next, he was always tensed up.

Because he always thought he had to give everything he had, as if anything less would be meaningless.

That tension in his shoulders was proof of it. Enkrid swung his sword through the air. Whoosh. It felt almost empty, much lighter than usual.

‘This is just me loosening up.’

Loosening your body didn’t mean you had to diminish the power of your swordsmanship. Suddenly, things started to come into focus. A method, a path, a vague marker.

Knowing something didn’t mean you could immediately do it. He knew that all too well. Enkrid was painfully aware of his limitations.

Realizing he needed to relax his shoulders was one thing, but that realization alone made his heart race with excitement.

It filled him with joy and exhilaration. Knowing you could walk a straight path gave you a sense of direction, a rush of euphoria.

To Enkrid, the sword was life, and life was the sword, a companion on the journey toward his dreams. Now, a question surfaced amidst his euphoria:

‘Is struggling always the only answer?’

He had always resolved never to waste today in preparation for tomorrow. He had steeled his mind time and time again.

Persevering and struggling— it wasn’t a difficult thing for him, and he had done it many times before.

But now he realized, ‘It doesn’t always have to be that way.’

With that thought, he brought his sword down.

Shiiing.

The sound of the blade cutting through the air was different from before. Hearing it, a faint smile crept onto Enkrid’s face.

That sword swing just now— it had an oddly nostalgic feel to it.

When had it been?

In the tall grass where he had once trained with Andrew and Enri. A strike with no sensation in his hand, the kind that geniuses were said to execute effortlessly.

Just now, if there had been an opponent in front of him, he could have cut them without feeling any resistance in his hands.

Despite countless attempts to replicate that strike, he had never managed to recreate it, not once.

‘And now I’ve done it.’

Knowing that he had just performed that strike, how could he not be overjoyed?

“That swing looked different.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t your usual strike.”

Finn and Torres, sitting on the sidelines, commented. Both of them had an eye for such things.

Finn added, “But is he really alright? Why does he keep zoning out and doing that on his own?”

“Don’t ask me. I’ve only met him a few times. He’s known for being a bit off, even back with the main force.”

Enkrid paid little attention to their conversation. He only wanted to swing his sword a few more times. As he continued swinging, his thoughts followed.

‘Struggle, but…’

What if you struggled without tension in your shoulders? He realized that within these repeated days, struggle wasn’t the only answer.

Raging wasn’t the only path forward.

What mattered most was the resolve to move forward, step by step, toward tomorrow. The determination, the lessons and wisdom he could gain along the way.

That was what counted. With that realization, he laughed to himself, full of joy.

“Agh, he looks like that, so he can pull off a smile like that without seeming crazy. Normally, he’d look like a lunatic, but somehow, it works for him.”

Finn said this while sipping her drink.

“What about me?”

Torres, ever clueless, chimed in. He was promptly ignored. A few other soldiers laughed and patted him on the back.

They had only known each other for a few days, but the group had quickly warmed to him.

As Enkrid continued to swing his sword, Finn, Torres, and a few others shared a few drinks. There wasn’t much to drink, and it wasn’t even strong alcohol.

It was the kind of cheap fruit wine you could find anywhere in the city. They also ate a few slices of ham that had been salted and smoked in the forest they used as a makeshift dining area.

“You should open a restaurant one day.”

One of them casually remarked to the recon who dreamed of becoming a chef.

Enkrid hadn’t even touched the alcohol. He had no intention of drinking today, and even if he had wanted to, there wasn’t any left.

While he had been swinging his sword and cleaning up, the others had already polished it off.

“Why? You want a drink to go with that face of yours?”

Torres grumbled for no reason. Though it wasn’t exactly a cheerful atmosphere, it was a time to unwind. Of course, even during these relaxed moments, some kept their senses on high alert.

Finn was one of them.

She had taken a sip or two, but as the leader, she was responsible for everyone’s safety. The night went on, and they returned to the dugout.

Whether they decided to take the doghole or scale the wall again, nobody was supposed to be in the camp tonight.

After Finn left, they had planned to abandon the camp and regroup closer to the main force.

All of that had changed when they decided to disguise themselves as a merchant caravan, and now they were spending a night that shouldn’t have existed.

Two moons shone in the sky, casting everything in a pale blue light. Enkrid looked up at the two moons before entering the dugout.

The first, large and round, was always visible. The second, smaller moon only appeared during full moons.

‘It’s bright.’

The surroundings were clear. Staying awake wouldn’t matter anyway since today would repeat. He had already learned that while digging under the cobbler’s shop in the city.

There was no point in fighting off sleep. Better to rest and avoid unnecessary exhaustion. As the deep night set in, he reflected on how different today felt compared to the last.

It was around the time he had first arrived at the wall.

Awwooo!

The source of the sound was closer than expected. Enkrid finally understood why his Sixth Sense hadn’t been triggered when the sorcerer killed him.

The reason his sense of foreboding hadn’t worked.

‘When magic is in play.’

It was because the sorceress, the one with the thorned vines, had been manipulating things the entire time they were scaling the wall.

Because she was using magic, he hadn’t sensed anything from above. He hadn’t heard anything, hadn’t felt anything ominous.

And now?

“Shit! Get up! We’re under attack! This is an emergency!”

A recon who had been on watch shouted the alarm. Wolves howling, soldiers yelling, and then the sound—

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Something was charging toward them. Then, in the light of the moon, monsters appeared.

There was a race of beastmen that lived on the far eastern edge of the continent— humanoids with a mix of human and animal traits.

But what appeared now were failed creations of that race, monstrosities born from some failed divine experiment.

They were creatures that constantly thirsted for blood, always filled with hatred for humanity.

Awwooo!

The source of the howl. Its ankles jutted backward, as if it were standing on its toes. Its body was covered in gray fur, and its yellow, animalistic eyes glowed.

Its snout protruded, and sharp fangs gleamed from within. The monster, framed in the moonlight, was a Lycanthrope.

In other words, a werewolf.

Naturally, they weren’t part of the beastman race, and like most monsters, they couldn’t speak.

The lead monster had a scar running across its left eye. With its one remaining yellow eye, it scanned the surroundings before opening its jaws.

Graaah!

The roar echoed out. To Enkrid’s ears, it sounded like a signal to charge.

“Snap out of it!”

He shouted instinctively.

How would today end? It felt like a fifty-fifty shot. Would it be a day wasted, with no progress toward tomorrow?

Or would something happen?

It turned out to be the latter.

Werewolves— more than one or two.

Other than the scarred leader, the rest of the pack scattered. Even under the bright moonlight, it was hard to spot them all at once.

All that was left were shadows darting through the dark and the sound of paws thudding on the ground.

Between the trees, where the moonlight didn’t reach, yellow eyes cut through the darkness, glowing faintly.

The werewolves circling under the moonlight dashed around the group of humans, running so fast they left afterimages.

“Damn it.”

Enkrid realized something else at that moment. The reason he hadn’t sensed any danger. The reason Finn, a seasoned recon, hadn’t detected the werewolves earlier.

‘They must’ve been up to something.’

That meant a sorcerer had likely been involved again. The fact that a pack of werewolves was attacking was strange enough.

He didn’t know what trickery the sorcerer had used, but the results were clear before his eyes.

A quick count revealed over ten of them.

“There’s more than ten. This isn’t good.”

Torres muttered, pressing his back against Enkrid’s as they both drew their swords.

Ching.

With their backs to each other, they put off thinking until later. Struggling might be the only option, but that didn’t mean they were just going to lie down and die.

‘That’s not happening.’

As always.

He would take one more step toward tomorrow. Enkrid braced himself and raised his sword. The name of the monster was Lycanthrope.

A monster imbued with magical power in its heart. Far more troublesome than a Ghoul, this was a foe much harder to deal with.

It usually took an entire trained squad to take down just one werewolf. It was unwise to try hunting one with fewer numbers.

People would end up getting hurt or killed.

When Lycanthropes formed packs, it was advised not to confront them even with a platoon.

But now?

“Damn, there’s more than twenty.”

The numbers had grown in a short time.

On their side, including Enkrid and Torres, there were ten recons. However, the werewolves numbered over twenty.

And as if confirming Enkrid’s suspicions about the sorcerer’s involvement, the pack was attacking in a formation, surrounding them.

Even when they were simply acting on primal instinct, werewolves were difficult to deal with. On nights when the Dual Moons appeared, they grew even stronger.

And now they were using coordinated, pack tactics?

How else could you describe it?

“We’re screwed.”

Torres’ self-deprecating comment summed it up perfectly. There was no way out. Enkrid fought fiercely. He killed three werewolves.

He cut the arm off the fourth.

Amidst the chaos, he hurled his Whistling Daggers, embedding them in the leader’s body, giving the one-eyed werewolf two new friends.

It was truly a fierce fight.

The aftermath of battling a pack of Lycanthropes.

Torres fared similarly. Though he fell before Enkrid, he still managed to take down two of them. Finn killed one and was fighting a second before she too was overwhelmed.

As for the other recons, they didn’t stand a chance. Enkrid stood, blood dripping from his torn arm. He turned to deliver one final strike, but his foot caught on something.

A head.

The head of the recon who had dreamed of becoming a chef.

“This is a bit annoying.”

Even after knowing that death would simply reset the day, seeing such things didn’t make it any easier.

Graaaa!

Six werewolves charged Enkrid at once.

There was no surviving this. Being torn apart alive for the first time was, unsurprisingly, agonizing.

Time passed, and after what felt like an eternity of pain, he finally closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the pain was gone.

He saw the silent, rippling black river.

And, floating on the water, was the ferryboat and its ferryman.