A Knight who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 117

Chapter 117: Left Hand

Running away had never been part of the plan. Even if fleeing was the only answer—

‘I’ve got nowhere to go.’

More importantly, a path lay ahead. How could he turn away from that path? A signpost stood before Enkrid, asking him if he could scale the wall without his right hand.

They say if you lose your teeth, you chew with your gums. That’s what the village chief of a remote slash-and-burn farming town had once said.

It was a phrase that had stuck with him.

If he didn’t have a sword, he’d pick up a spear. If he had no weapon, he’d fight with his fists. If he had no arms, he’d bite. If he had no legs, he’d walk on his knees.

‘So then,’

If he didn’t have his right hand, what was left?

Darkness, the abyss, fear, pain.

Each time death came for him, these things seized Enkrid. Yet, even in that darkness, Enkrid always saw light.

“Just give up.”

It felt like someone was saying that. As if trying to push him into the worst possible situation. The more he said it aloud, the more it felt like it, but honestly, he didn’t feel any different.

Why was that? He didn’t know. Enkrid understood the difference between himself and others.

How could he not?

He had watched one mercenary comrade after another retire, those with whom he had once shared meals and hardships.

Not only that—

“I can’t do this anymore. There are so many freaks out there. What good’s swordplay? It’s all bullshit.”

He’d seen people crumble, envying the talents of others. Enkrid had also felt envy toward those with such talent.

However, simply feeling envy changed nothing.

He couldn’t afford to waste a single day. Whether it rained or snowed, he had no choice but to swing his sword one more time.

That was the only method Enkrid knew.

So, he did it.

Was it hard?

It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t like he was swimming in a sea of misery every day. It was just something that had to be done.

So he just did it.

Death was the same. Once he realized that all he had to do was endure, he endured. That was it.

‘For now,’

It seemed like it was worth trying a few different things. He had learned from the repeated “today.”

‘There isn’t just one path.’

Three different paths.

If he could use everything that blocked him to repeat “today,” then that’s what he’d do. He knew now that simply struggling wasn’t the only answer.

That’s why—

“Good morning.”

He could begin the day with a smile. Esther looked at Enkrid with tired eyes. What was with this man, being so cheerful in the morning?

Her gaze seemed to ask that very question.

“Sleep some more.”

Enkrid gently pushed Esther back under the blanket where he had been lying. Normally, she would have wriggled or protested, but today, she quietly curled up inside.

After tucking Esther in, Enkrid stepped outside.

“Hah.”

He exhaled and started loosening up his body with the Isolation Technique. As always, once his body loosened, his mind became sharp.

“A sound mind resides in a sound body, Brother.”

When Audin had said that, Enkrid thought it was nonsense. Now, he kind of understood.

That’s how it actually worked.

The more he trained his body, the clearer his mind became. His mind grew sharper the more he sweated.

His splinted wrist hadn’t broken again. It had snapped when he pushed himself just before dying, but it always reset. The muscles he had trained, the techniques ingrained into his body—those remained even when today repeated. But injuries did not heal.

Wounds stayed on his body, and only when today passed did they recover. So it was impossible for his right wrist to heal and help him scale the wall.

‘Relax your shoulders.’

He widened his field of vision, sometimes focusing deeply. He thought, searching for the best path.

And then, he set out on that path.

What should the first step be?

Well, what else could it be?

It was what he had always done. The thing he did every day, the thing he repeated. What he had done just before dying.

Training. Practice. The only difference was that now he had to use his left hand instead of his injured right.

“Tie this for me if you want to watch.”

Before he started, he spoke abruptly, and Vengeance, who had been silently watching from the side, approached.

“Am I your lackey? Do you just make me do things like this?”

Despite his grumbling, Vengeance tightened the leather strap on the grip as Enkrid held out his sword. Seeing Vengeance’ head fall off had felt utterly shitty.

The same went for when Esther had been struck down. The eyes that held a lake’s depth, the black panther leaping through the air—when he saw that moment, something like rage had surged within him.

If he had to put it into words, it was either “goddamn” or “fucking hell.”

‘Why the hell would they die in my place?’

The bitter feeling lingered. The images of Vengeance’ severed head and Esther being knocked aside kept flashing through his mind like afterimages.

‘Why’s Esther so drained today anyway?’

What was the panther usually like?

Fierce. It was a beast that clawed through soldiers’ shins, tore flesh, and claimed lives. Underestimating her size would be a mistake—she could climb right up to your throat and tear out your jugular in seconds.

And yet, she had been struck down so easily?

‘She was exhausted.’

Regardless.

Since they were willing to risk their lives for him—

Enkrid decided he’d do the same.

He would risk his life and swing his sword. If he could put his heart into his training, that’s what he would do.

“You really are crazy. You should rest when you can.”

Vengeance handed the sword back, grumbling. Enkrid took it with his left hand and responded.

“Sorry about the Jenny thing.”

“…So, you knew?”

Vengeance scratched his head before muttering,

“I know it wasn’t your fault.”

This guy really was something else. His mood was all over the place. He’d been furious earlier when Enkrid didn’t understand, yet now he was acting all nonchalant.

Enkrid patted Vengeance on the shoulder with his injured hand.

“There’s a woman out there who won’t care about your face, somewhere on this continent.”

“…You bastard.”

Seeing Vengeance’ scowl made Enkrid feel much lighter. Yeah, that was the feeling. He was starting to understand why Rem enjoyed teasing people.

It wasn’t just about annoying or tormenting them for no reason.

Vengeance grumbled as he backed off.

Enkrid gripped his sword and stood. The tip of his sword, held in his left hand, pointed slightly skyward.

What had he experienced in the past iterations of today, in those deaths? He reflected on his past, solidified his basics, and immersed himself in his own world.

That was a kind of joy.

A different kind of thrill from before. A pleasure you could only feel when you were completely immersed in something.

As the afterimage of his banter with Vengeance faded from his mind, Enkrid fully immersed himself in his world.

He revisited what he had experienced in the repeated days.

Repetition and reflection.

This time, the leather strap wrapped around the grip didn’t snap.

“It starts with your feet.”

He recalled the teachings of the countless sword instructors. The basics—standing before walking, crawling before standing.

Back to the fundamentals. Before he could focus on refining his movements, there were things he had to learn. He repeated the drills to make the sword move as he intended.

That’s what Enkrid did.

Swoosh! Whoosh, swish.

Among the dull sounds, sharper ones mixed in. He swung his sword countless times, losing track of time.

Beeeeeep!

A long-tone whistle rang out.

“Huh?”

For some reason, Vengeance, who had been idly watching, reacted first.

“What’s that?”

He shouted and turned around, and Enkrid snapped out of his focused state.

Kraa.

Sensing the change in the atmosphere, Esther emerged from the tent and stood beside Enkrid. Enkrid tapped her head lightly with his fingertips.

“Don’t get involved today. You’re tired, aren’t you?”

What’s with this guy? Esther must have thought. He seemed to know she was tired today. Had he noticed the little trick she had used to ease his fatigue yesterday?

Of course not.

He just knew from his experience of repeating today.

“Captain!”

Kraiss came running, shouting.

Enkrid plunged the tip of his sword into the ground and pondered briefly. Should he switch back to his right hand?

Would it make a difference?

His injuries didn’t heal. If he died, he would just come back to the same point.

He’d stick with his left hand. Hadn’t he already made that decision?

There was no need to think further. Enkrid wasn’t the kind of person who agonized over decisions. Being trapped in today wasn’t a choice.

Running away wasn’t an option either. So, all that was left was to find what he could do and just do it.

That was all.

Crunch.

He knocked away a few pebbles as he pulled his sword from the ground and pointed it forward.

“…I’ll have to make an offering at the temple when I get back.”

Mitch Hurrier, the man who had appeared while stepping on the gravel, spoke. His wet hair clung to his face, and he held a sword in his hand.

His stance was refined, and his gaze was sharp. He was clearly different from before.

“What’s he talking about?”

Vengeance growled as he pointed his spear at Mitch. Beside him, Esther growled too, a low, rumbling growl from deep in her throat.

It was the kind of sound that would make a coward’s knees buckle, but Mitch Hurrier’s steps didn’t falter. Without hesitation, he walked forward, closing the distance.

“I’ll go first.”

Enkrid stepped forward as he spoke.

“Captain, your wrist!”

Kraiss’s panicked voice called out from behind. The big-eyed man was clearly startled.

The sudden attack by the enemy and the sight of their comrades falling one after another had shaken him.

Screams filled the air—Ahhh, Aaagh!

“Shit! Hold them off!”

“Kill them!”

The sound of steel clashing rang out, filling the battlefield. Mitch Hurrier’s steps halted.

Enkrid responded to Kraiss’s concern.

“My left hand’s fine.”

What kind of crazy talk was this?

Kraiss’s already large eyes widened even more. The squad leader’s nonsense didn’t make any sense. No one present could make sense of those words. They sounded like utter nonsense.

Despite the words, however, Enkrid’s spirit wasn’t lacking compared to his opponent’s. The pressure surrounding them grew, heavy and stifling.

Vengeance felt himself shrinking under the weight. This must be what it meant to be overwhelmed by someone’s presence.

Even Esther felt the pressure.

Kraiss was, of course, no exception. There was no help to be had from the nearby soldiers. He knew they were on the verge of death if they slipped up.

And yet, despite the oppressive atmosphere, why did Enkrid’s back look so broad?

He was standing. Standing in front of them. Showing them his back. Just those few facts seemed to push back against the pressure.

A spirit that matched the enemy’s.

Yes, it was almost visible.

A gaze passed between Mitch Hurrier and Enkrid.

“I’ve been hoping we’d meet again.”

“Woke up thanks to me, didn’t you?”

Mitch’s brow furrowed slightly at those words. Shaking an opponent’s resolve with words was one of the most basic techniques in Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship.

It was a trick he had learned from his repeated encounters today. Enkrid waved his injured right hand as if it were no big deal.

Mitch instinctively moved his sword.

Startled by Enkrid’s words and fooled again by the motion of his right hand, Mitch didn’t notice the sword in Enkrid’s left hand thrusting upward from below.

It was a Valen-style mercenary sword technique, the double sword trick. The left-handed thrust wasn’t perfect. It didn’t feel quite right. He’d only had two days of practice with the sword.

Thud!

Mitch blocked it.

The thrust had been sloppy, but more importantly, Mitch Hurrier’s skills had improved dramatically. Almost to the point where he was on par with Enkrid, who had been repeating today over and over.

Mitch deflected Enkrid’s upward thrust with his sword and stepped forward with his left foot.

His movements were fluid. Mitch’s sword traced a graceful arc, slashing across Enkrid’s chest.

Riiip.

Enkrid reflexively stepped back, and his leather armor absorbed the blow from Mitch’s sword.

But that was its limit.

Kraa!

Esther leaped forward again from behind.

“You crazy bastard!”

Vengeance shouted angrily.

“Captain!”

Kraiss cried out.

Mitch Hurrier paid no attention to anything around him. No matter what anyone said, he did what needed to be done.

As if anticipating Enkrid’s retreat, Mitch switched the position of his feet, stepping forward again and thrusting his sword.

Thwack!

“Your right hand?”

Mitch asked as he pierced Enkrid. Enkrid raised his right hand to show him. It was splinted—injured.

“I see.”

Blood flowed from Enkrid’s mouth as he tried to say something.

“Unlucky, huh.”

Creak.

Mitch pulled out his sword. No one could survive with a heart pierced. Behind him, Kraiss yelled something, and Vengeance charged. Esther leaped as well.

Why did they keep doing that?

After all of this, Enkrid met the darkness of the abyss once again, along with the searing pain.

Death had come for him again.

And when he opened his eyes, he returned to training his left hand once more.

Some days, he trained quietly.

Other days—

“Jenny had good taste, didn’t she?”

“…I’ll fucking kill you!”

He teased Vengeance for fun. He repeated today a dozen or so times.

“I told you! Your right hand’s injured!”

He even heard Kraiss’s frantic shouting in one of those cycles.

“I still have my left.”

“What the hell does that even mean?!”

Though he mixed in Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship, it wasn’t working. So next, he incorporated wrestling techniques.

He’d throw the last remaining Whistle Dagger before drawing his sword, then close the distance and pretend to draw his sword, only to trip Mitch up.

But Mitch would bend his knees and lower his center of gravity to counter Enkrid’s leg sweep.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Then, they’d clash again.

At first, Enkrid couldn’t last more than one exchange, but after about thirty attempts, he could endure two, then three. By the forty-second “today,” something unexpected happened.

Something Enkrid hadn’t planned.

“Let’s spar.”

Vengeance, who had been watching, suddenly requested a duel. Feeling the sweat trickle down his forehead, Enkrid tilted his head.

“With me?”

“Who else would I spar with?”

Enkrid nodded. It was almost a habit at this point. He never turned down a sparring match. Normally, Vengeance wouldn’t be much of a match for Enkrid, but Enkrid was using his left hand now.

“No holding back.”

Vengeance warned as he pointed his spear. His energy was fierce. Ting! As a gesture of respect, Enkrid lightly tapped the tip of Vengeance’ spear with his sword.

The sparring match began.