A Knight who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 127

Chapter 127: Today’s Victory Doesn’t Guarantee Tomorrow’s Victory (3)

“Ugh…”

In the dead of night, Enkrid’s groan stirred Esther, making her lift her head.

‘This idiot of a human.’

What was he thinking, running himself into the ground like this?

Esther had once learnt that pushing herself to her limits only wore her body down further. The very same thing was happening now.

And why was that?

It was Enkrid’s obsession with that damned magic tome he had picked up.

‘It’s useful enough, sure.’

But there was so much to discern and sift through. As she worried alone, a thought suddenly struck her—she was still unable to fully open her own spell world, even now. The thought made her feel a pang of self-pity.

‘How did I even end up like this?’

“Huff.”

However, the feeling only lasted a brief moment. Before she could even finish bemoaning her situation, the man who held her stirred with another painful sigh.

A man who started every single day with that mad training of his.

She didn’t know what he was harboring inside, but whatever it was, that something was gradually unraveling the curse tied to her body.

‘Might as well do my job.’

Since the curse seemed to dissipate faster when he was in good shape, Esther focused on easing his fatigue as she usually did.

Although she couldn’t open her spell world, she used her body as a medium to absorb and dispel his fatigue.

And in doing so, sometimes fragments of his dreams or scattered thoughts would drift into her mind.

Before, it had only been random images of swords appearing or deep, dark wells. Tonight, though, she glimpsed a fragment of his dream.

It felt like a piece of his past.

Through the scattered fragments of his chaotic dream, a face began to take shape.

She didn’t know why, but whoever this was, their image left a strong impression on the man, and thus was etched clearly in his mind.

Seeing it, Esther scowled.

‘How ugly.’

It wasn’t so much that they were unattractive, but they exuded an unrelenting nastiness.

That was the impression she got. Although, to be fair, that was probably how Enkrid himself saw the man. Esther continued observing his dream. Though long in his mind, only an instant passed in reality.

‘Stop wandering.’

She chided him to stick to his duties as usual. This ridiculous dream was only making his fatigue harder to dissolve.

With that single remark, the dream ended, and his groans ceased. Soon, Esther heard nothing but the steady, deep breathing of a man lost in restful sleep.

Enkrid opened his eyes and immediately knew he was dreaming.

‘Again?’

He was only surprised to find himself having the same dream once more. If the Ferryman on the Black River had shown up, he’d have just brushed it off.

But here he was, reliving a memory from the past—a dream he had seen countless times already.

Once, he had thought of this as a nightmare. But after reliving it so often, it had simply become another moment in time.

“Eh, well, I’ll let you live,” the man had sneered.

A scowl and a glare.

The mercenary’s eyes were sharply angled. Next to him lay a companion he’d started working with just a few days prior.

They had only known each other for three days, yet it was a situation where they had to fight with their backs to each other.

The job was a monster-slaying request.

“There’s a harpy or two stirring up trouble. It’d be a great help if you could take care of it.”

Being a village on the edge of the kingdom, the residents pooled together whatever they had to scrounge up enough crona.

The village chief’s son, who had traveled to the nearest city, had hired five mercenaries.

Enkrid had been one of them. And that bastard had been another.

CAW.

A cry like a raven’s call.

A harpy’s scream, and the flashing talons.

His longtime companion had died to the harpy’s strike.

“Stay in line, will you? If you keep acting out, you won’t live long.”

His tongue was sharp, but he was a decent mercenary. He wasn’t someone who should have died like that.

It was thanks to that bastard with the triangle eyes who stabbed him in the back. Timed perfectly with the harpy’s strike, they had hit him from both sides.

Afterwards, the man drew his sword and swung it with a flair.

Ringing!

With a strange, cutting noise, the thin blade swept through the air. It twisted and arced, moving faster than the eye could follow.

Whoosh!

The sound of his sword slicing through the air was disturbingly unique. And that blade, soaring through the air, carved a hole in the head of another companion.

It pierced his chest, his thigh, his arm—the sword’s bizarre twists and turns left deadly wounds in its wake, killing every single one of his companions.

And after killing them all, he told Enkrid he’d let him live.

With a mocking smile and an unsettling aura. Those eyes, saying he wasn’t even worth killing.

Enkrid neither raged nor shouted.

He quietly drew his sword.

“What? You want to fight me?”

There was no need for words. He barely managed to exchange a few blows before his shoulder was pierced.

“I said I’d let you live.”

That was the end of it.

And then he left. Enkrid survived more than half on sheer luck.

“I heard they all died. How did you…”

He had barely escaped with his life from the monster-infested land, eventually reaching a village where he could rest before beginning a perilous journey to the city.

By then, the man had vanished without a trace. He hadn’t even been able to file a complaint with the guild. By that time, the bastard was already a core figure within the guild.

Eventually, rumors circulated that he had become a wandering outcast a few years later. Something about mishandling a noble’s daughter.

And the reason he had killed Enkrid’s comrade had been something similar.

“What the hell are you complaining about? Who do you think you are?”

The mercenary had been critical of him, knowing his bad habits.

Why had he spared Enkrid? He hadn’t asked, so he never knew. But he suspected it was for self-satisfaction. The bastard believed that only certain people deserved death, and if he left someone alive, it meant they were unworthy of being killed. It was the ultimate indulgence in self-righteousness.

“Pitiful bastard,” he’d muttered as he left.

Enkrid had thought the world was unfair. He’d also learned that skill and character had no direct correlation.

‘He was a bastard.’

The dream was just a dream.

If Enkrid were an ordinary man, he would have viewed that bastard as his nemesis, driven by revenge.

But he didn’t. If the opportunity arose, he would unsheathe his sword and make him pay for his crimes. Nonetheless, he wouldn’t throw his life away for one worthless man’s life.

He wouldn’t sacrifice his life to avenge a friend killed by a harpy. Instead, he poured all his bitterness and memories into his dream.

That was how Enkrid lived.

Steadfast and determined.

‘You’re not even worth killing.’

Even if that bastard had looked at him with disdain, Enkrid didn’t allow himself to be wounded by it. He simply pressed on.

Even if dark, damp memories full of fear and pain tried to consume him, he endured and pushed them aside.

‘There’s no point to it.’

Did despair and sorrow help him swing his sword? Did they guide him toward the life he desired?

No.

So he refused. Instead of wasting time on despair, he trained. Instead of dwelling on his comrade’s death, he swung his sword. Instead of swearing revenge, he honed his skills.

“This time, shall I kill you?”

The dream twisted. Behind the bastard’s sneering form, Enkrid thought he saw the shadowy figure of the Ferryman, faint and blurred.

Memories from that day surged like waves, becoming a turbulent sea that threatened to consume everything.

Meow.

Somewhere, the lazy cry of an animal sounded. And that was it. The dream faded and shattered.

‘Stop wandering.’

A voice echoed. Clear, bright, yet warm.

It felt like that.

‘Esther?’

Enkrid inexplicably thought of the blue-eyed panther. And with that fractured and broken dream—

Pwoooooo.

The sound of a horn trumpet tore Enkrid from his sleep. This time, it was real. He saw the familiar ceiling of his tent above him.

The panther curled in his arms slept soundly, a gentle warmth spreading from where she lay.

He turned to peer outside the tent. The morning sun had yet to rise. The faint blue light seeped in quietly. Enkrid wasn’t the only one who reacted to the horn.

“Mornin’,” said Rem. Wide awake, he was already grabbing his gear.

“Dammit, it’s still freezing,” he muttered.

The barbarian hated the cold. Though the biting winds had eased, he still couldn’t help complaining.

But his hands didn’t stop moving. He donned his slightly thin gambeson, tucked two axes into his belt, and stood.

Audin also rose, grabbing his two clubs.

“Blessings on this new day. Good morning, brothers.”

No one replied, but no one scolded him for it either.

Already armed and standing were Jaxon, who was up at some point unknown, and Ragna, who, for once, was too busy preparing to seem lazy.

Ragna hadn’t leapt up to get his gear together, but he moved quietly and efficiently. Enkrid didn’t waste any time, either.

Three remaining whistle daggers. A thin shirt he wore under his armor. His leather cuirass, worn but reliable, had a rip over his right shoulder. The leather was thin and flexible, comfortable enough to wear. Once he pulled his gambeson over it, donned his boots, and strapped on his gauntlets, he was ready.

He slid a guardsword into his belt, a knife strapped to his left thigh.

Though the gouges in his right gauntlet remained from his clash with Froc, his leather armor and gauntlet were both only half-functional at this point.

‘Maybe some stitching will fix it?’

Probably not.

But there was no fixing it now.

Andrew, Mack, and Enri—these men might’ve been rookies and pack mules to the rest of the Wild Brigade, but they were seasoned soldiers in their own right.

And after killing that enemy soldier a few days prior, Andrew had proven himself to be capable and strong.

The excitement from that victory might have passed, but the confidence remained.

They, too, prepared themselves.

“What’s going on?” Andrew asked.

“What do you think?” Rem scoffed, giving Andrew a pitying look.

“Looks like the bastards that were hiding finally came out,” Mack said, piecing together what was going on in his head. Blowing the horn at dawn, when mist thickened the air—what other reason would there be?

Kraiss, rubbing his eyes, had the same thought. What kind of asshole attacks at dawn? Terrible for the skin.

His musings were brief, and he quickly switched into high gear. The allied forces had already been running extra scouting shifts and upping patrols. Even the soldiers hadn’t celebrated much, despite the last victory.

No drinks, no additional food rations.

The officers clearly thought the battle wasn’t over yet. No doubt every commander had focused their troops on staying alert.

A saying was common in war,

Today’s victory doesn’t guarantee tomorrow’s.

‘Guess the commander’s a cautious guy after all.’

Kraiss thought highly of Marcus. While he couldn’t always see the reasoning behind every decision, the strategy mostly made sense.

“Form up! All troops, assemble!” The messenger’s call rang out from outside.

Kraiss thought it strange how the enemy had remained hidden. Why were they still hunkered down?

If they were going to retreat, they should have. They could have made a last stand, sent for reinforcements, or anything really.

But instead, they’d just gone quiet?

Why?

The answer to a simple question wasn’t always obvious.

But sometimes, it came through, clear and precise.

‘Because they think they still have the advantage. Or that they have a chance to turn things around.’

In other words, they still had something up their sleeve.

Surely the commander knew this too. Now it was down to whose intuition would be sharper.

Did the blade Azpen had prepared run sharper?

Or was their commander’s shield stronger?

But, well, that was beyond Kraiss’s control.

“Planning to stay behind? Or maybe get your gear ready?” Enkrid tapped Kraiss on the head, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Ah, right.”

Anyway, Kraiss knew one thing—today, he would be sticking close to Enkrid. There was no chance he’d be leaving his side, not after he’d gone to the trouble of wearing a full gambeson.

No one really wanted to die, but watching Kraiss go to such lengths for his own life was… impressive.

One way or another, he’d survive.

That much was clear.

Once outside the tent, they found activity everywhere. To the sound of horns and shouts from the messengers, soldiers moved and gathered in their respective units.

“Heh, I can smell it. I can smell it,” Rem said, oddly delighted.

“The mist is thick, but… it feels good,” Ragna added, unhurried as usual.

“With a sharp focus, mist can’t be an obstacle,” said Jaxon, who, for once, was rather talkative.

“The Lord says today’s empty seats in heaven await,” Audin muttered, his morning prayer sounding fiercer than ever.

What? Filling heaven’s empty seats? Sounded like he was ready to send a lot of people straight to the Lord.

Even Andrew, Mack, and Enri looked as though they had sprung into action.

Enkrid felt light. During yesterday’s training, he had felt an endless surge of strength. It was like he’d borrowed some of tomorrow’s energy for today.

‘Good.’

Even after the intense training session, he felt great. Actually, he felt better than the day before.

‘No pain in my wrist.’

The cuts and bruises had already begun to heal due to the effects of divine power combined with the elven medicine.

“All units advance! Forward! Forward!”

At the head of the formation, the messenger’s voice rose above the ranks. The soldiers began to march, piercing through the thick river mist.

Today’s mist was denser than usual along the riverbank, but it didn’t feel magical.

Maybe it was just a hunch, but Enkrid figured the enemy wouldn’t use the same trick twice. And his side had prepared for such contingencies.

“Perfect. Perfect,” Rem kept muttering.

“What’s so perfect?” Enkrid asked.

“Today just feels… exciting.”

At times, Enkrid wondered what went on in that head of Rem’s. But the problem was, he had a similar feeling.

Beyond the mist, something new awaited. He felt it—the thrill of impending battle was already making his heart race.

Everyone around him, even the officers in the front line, were on edge and had taken their places.

“Shit!” someone near the front swore, breaking the silence.

“Fire! Shoot! Quickly, shoot!”

Through the dense mist, Enkrid saw an eerie sight.

A shadow, a blurry, gray mass. Its body was like that of a bear, but its head rose high above the others, even taller than Audin.

A hulking creature, head and shoulders above him, was charging through the hail of arrows toward their line.