A Knight who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 118

Chapter 118: Leap

“Come at me!”

Tatatang.

The sword and spear clashed repeatedly. Vengeance was rough and strong. He was stronger than an average person, no matter how much they trained.

His opponent was also a trained soldier. It was impossible to overpower him with just one hand.

‘Then, how?’

He thought while fighting, and then acted.

Deflect. He deflected the heavy strikes and stabbed at the openings.

Connecting the dots to form a line.

Finding the optimal path, he thrust his sword and then retreated to gauge his opponent’s response.

His feet moved quickly.

Whenever he saw an opening, he swung down heavily, making full use of the Heavy and Fierce Sword style.

Ka-ga-ga-gak!

Vengeance blocked the strike with his spear’s shaft and tried to trip him. However, this was a fight Enkrid was more familiar with.

Hadn’t he faced countless opponents trained in the Ael Karaz-style Grappling?

He had also learned Valaf-style Martial Arts, which included the Ground Techniques used in bed combat. Enkrid kicked away Vengeance’s foot and took advantage of the opening, slamming his sword into the spear’s blade.

Clang!

The spear’s blade twisted to the side. Seizing the moment, Enkrid forcefully brought his sword up to Vengeance’s neck.

He heard a faint cracking sound from the muscles in his left forearm, as if something had snapped.

But he had won.

“Your left hand.”

“I’ve been training with it when no one’s watching. It’s my secret weapon.”

Having a prepared excuse was always beautiful. After repeating today so many times, he had also become skilled at making excuses.

“You bastard.”

“Why the sudden spar?”

“I don’t know, watching you made me want to give it a shot.”

He was just practicing the basics, though. Was there anything extraordinary in his movements?

Step, thrust, slash—just repeating those.

Was there anything else?

Vengeance had nothing to say. He already knew Enkrid was on a higher level than him.

Both in skill and character. He couldn’t hate him after the man saved him during the fire at the medical tent. He had thought it was strange to see Enkrid training his left hand.

‘Why is he so good with his left hand, too?’

Still, something felt off.

“Hey, it’s weird.”

“What?”

Damn it, who would understand anything explained like this? Vengeance cursed himself as he racked his brain. After some thought, he managed to say,

“Your sword… feels dead.”

That was the best he could do. Any more explanation would only result in more clumsy words.

What else could he say to someone who fought better than him?

But looking at the situation, it was quite ridiculous. He was the one who had picked the fight, only to lose and then criticize the other guy.

“Wait, that’s not what I—”

“Hold on.”

Enkrid cut him off, staring blankly into the air with a distant gaze. Though his eyes were open, his mind was somewhere else.

Vengeance felt wronged.

He hadn’t challenged him out of jealousy or spite. At that moment, he was pure. Just like when he first held a spear.

When he had just begun his military service and excitedly swung his spear morning and night after his first battle against the Beasts.

That memory had surged back. His blood boiled, and he couldn’t sit still. A man whose right wrist had been smashed.

Rumors said he had come back after finishing a brutal mission, sparred with his squad, then fell asleep.

He was that kind of guy. Injured, tired. So why was he still pushing himself? And why was that bastard smiling?

There was no room for jealousy or envy.

His blood boiled.

“Thank you.”

Suddenly, Enkrid, who had been staring off into space, spoke. Then, looking at Vengeance standing there dumbfounded, he asked,

“What are you doing?”

Vengeance blinked and answered,

“Nothing.”

But what was he thankful for? This guy was definitely weird. A madman obsessed with training. The nickname suited him well.

It was certainly better than being called the Alluring Squad Leader. Enkrid realized something from Vengeance’s words.

‘Clumsiness.’

The discord he had felt as he retraced the path he had walked in the past. Instead of recognizing what was wrong, he had spent every day simply swinging his sword.

Because he didn’t know a better way.

But now he knew.

It was a matter of sensation. The difference between the dominant right hand and the left hand was stark, from the fingertips to the entire feel of it.

That was the first thing.

‘Let’s start with meals.’

From using spoons and forks. He also knew a training method that utilized the same fingertip sensations and arm muscles.

‘Hidden Knife.’

Good. This would be his path.

“Captain!”

Kraiss’s voice rang out again.

“Grrr.”

Esther growled, baring her hostility.

“Shit.”

Vengeance cursed.

“Thank the gods for reuniting us.”

Mitch Hurrier, who had seemingly become more religious recently, stepped forward, soaked. No matter how many times he tried to run, his day always returned to the same routine.

Now, he faced the wall that was his left hand. There was no need for words. Fighting with a sword was the only answer.

Enkrid fought silently. He swung his sword, tripped his opponents. He memorized their patterns.

And then, he died.

Pain, darkness, the abyss, and death. After dying once again, he began living with his left hand the next.

“What are you doing?” Kraiss asked, tilting his head.

“Feeding myself.”

“Did your right fingers get hurt, too?”

“No, I’m just not using them. Gotta rest them to heal.”

“That’s overkill.”

Yeah. It was just a half-assed excuse. After twenty more of these repetitions, Vengeance had asked for a few more sparring matches.

The pure desire for strength boiled in the soldier’s face.

“Good.”

On this day, after twenty more repetitions, Vengeance didn’t call his sword “dead.”

‘Thanks to him.’

Enkrid swung his sword and died again.

And again. Dying and dying once more. It was on the ninetieth repetition that he felt the change.

‘It’s different.’

Walking the same path with his left hand didn’t mean repeating the same thing.

No.

The Enkrid of back then was completely different from the Enkrid of today.

‘Focused on one point.’

Immersion. The training where he slashed with his sword while sinking into himself. A body that had transformed through isolation techniques.

Immersion and a changed body. And yet, the Heart of the Beast kept him calm.

Which way was the trembling blade aimed? And how much did his body move in response?

Repetition, repetition, repetition.

It was during this seemingly endless training that Enkrid experienced something he had never felt before.

Shwik.

Shwik.

Shwik.

His sword didn’t just move according to his will. It moved smoothly through the Focus Point sword techniques without any hindrance.

Precise, heavy, fast, soft, and bizarre. His body moved on its own. What was talent?

There was no one word to define it. The ability to use one’s body well was necessary. But even being able to lose oneself in concentration was a part of talent.

There was no time to even feel pleasure. The sword moved on its own, finding the path.

His body moved on its own. There was no need to look around. Even as he moved like this, he could feel the gazes around him.

It was an experience born from reshaping meager talent with extreme effort. It was something he would have never experienced otherwise.

Balancing immersion and body control with a heightened sense of awareness. Enkrid realized his swordsmanship had advanced dramatically in just a single day.

“Whew.”

At the same time, he saw where he was lacking.

Precision.

What would it take to fill that gap? It wasn’t something that could be achieved simply by swinging a sword.

He could see what was lacking through his newfound talent.

He needed to fully adapt to the Hidden Knife techniques, beyond just using his left hand for daily life.

It all came back to repetition. Seeing what was lacking didn’t change anything. And so, he continued to repeat.

Sometimes it was dull, sometimes agonizing.

‘Can this really work?’

But as Enkrid retraced the path with his left hand, he felt joy watching himself grow. There was nothing else that ignited him more.

Honing his senses sharper and sharper, he finally felt ready. On this day, he thought,

“Let’s spar.”

As expected, Vengeance came charging in. By now, he had become a friend who challenged him daily.

The fight didn’t last long.

Clang!

Enkrid deflected the spear and swung his sword upward. The blade seemed to twist like a snake. It stopped right at Vengeance’s throat.

“Damn it, with your left hand, too?”

“I told you, I’ve been training it.”

Vengeance shut his mouth at the same excuse as any other day.

He could only be speechless.

‘How is he doing this with his left hand?’

He didn’t feel regret. After all, he had only asked to spar out of admiration.

“What are you thinking about?”

Enkrid asked at just the right moment. Vengeance answered honestly.

“I feel like I need to work harder when we get back.”

Hearing that, Enkrid gave a soft smile. He really did have a face to be envious of. Then, he spoke.

“Good. Then one day, even Jenny will come to you.”

“This bastard!”

How did he always manage to rile him up like this? Jenny was Vengeance’s trigger.

Enkrid laughed and gave him a light shove, and Vengeance smirked in response.

‘I have to make sure he confesses to Jenny.’

That meant he couldn’t die here.

Beep!

The whistle blew.

The 112th repetition had begun.

Crunch.

Stepping on the gravel, Mitch Hurrier appeared.

“Captain!”

Kraiss was a little late today. Just because today repeated didn’t mean everything was the same.

Of course, it didn’t really matter if Kraiss was late or not. He strapped the sheath to his right side and gripped the hilt with his left hand.

“This is… well, should I call it lucky?”

Mitch Hurrier mumbled as he looked at Enkrid. Enkrid didn’t hear him. At some point, he stopped hearing the whistle, Mitch Hurrier, Vengeance, Esther, or even Kraiss.

He even forgot himself.

There was only the sword. The sword, the opponent, and connecting the dots.

What was speed?

Shhrrrrk!

The blade scraped against the sheath, producing a sharp sound. Before the sound even ended, the sword had already drawn the optimal line, cutting downward toward Mitch Hurrier’s forehead.

Ping.

The sound echoed in Enkrid’s ears.

In the split second of his immersion, the preemptive strike had been executed with full force. This one blow was better than anything he could have done with his right hand.

And then.

Clang!

Mitch Hurrier’s sword was drawn.

Clang!

Blade met blade. Crossed in an X-shape, Enkrid pressed with all his strength.

Du-du-du-duk!

Mitch’s feet were pushed back.

If he stepped any further, he would fall. Mitch gritted his teeth and stood his ground, but Enkrid didn’t give him a chance to escape, closing the distance.

So close, there was no need to even swing. Enkrid let go of his sword and grabbed Mitch Hurrier’s hand, which still held his sword.

With all his might, he squeezed.

Crack.

A satisfying sound of bones grinding filled the air.

“You bastard!”

Smack!

Mitch Hurrier’s knee slammed into Enkrid’s thigh. Even then, Enkrid tried not to release his grip, but Mitch’s next punch landed on his cheek, forcing him to back off.

‘Damn, his punches sting.’

“Esther!”

He shouted as he retreated, and the quick-witted panther leaped forward.

“My sword!”

He wasn’t ordering her to attack, dumb cat. His intent reached her clearly.

Esther, who had been shaking her head at this human’s foolishness, reacted to her name and sprang forward.

Following Enkrid’s shout, she bit down on the grip of his sword and tossed it back to him. It took all her strength just to complete this simple action.

Today, she wasn’t using magic, and her body wasn’t in good condition.

Thud, clatter. Fwoosh.

The sword flew low and landed just a step in front of Enkrid.

Thunk!

A spear stabbed into the ground where Esther had been standing.

It was an enemy soldier. The one who had thrust the spear tried to kick Esther, but—

Bang!

This time, Vengeance blocked it.

“Where do you think you’re going, bastard?”

The enemy soldier snorted, and the two began exchanging blows with spear shafts, fists, and kicks.

Enkrid took the opportunity to pick up his sword.

“Is your hand okay?”

It was Enkrid, who had a splint on his right wrist, asking the question. So maybe it wasn’t the most appropriate thing to ask.

“You bastard.”

Mitch Hurrier scowled at the question, his lip curling in irritation. His thumb had been broken in the previous clash.

Without a functioning thumb, he couldn’t properly grip his sword. Mitch looked at his broken thumb, then at his opponent.

Now that he thought about it, Enkrid was holding his sword in his left hand.

Was he always left-handed?

No, that didn’t seem right.

When they had fought before, he had used his right hand. Moreover, he had fought with full strength. Remembering that, this situation felt absurd.

“Sorry, but I’m ambidextrous.”

Mitch Hurrier said as he switched his sword to the other hand.

His left hand.

Enkrid, of course, was also holding his sword in his left hand.

“Yeah, me too. Starting today.”

It wasn’t a lie. After repeating today so many times, he had become quite adept with his left hand.