A Knight who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 132

Chapter 132: A Seeker Walking the Path of Dreams

Marcus felt a wave of dizziness. Sweat broke out on his forehead, quickly dampening it.

‘These bastards?’

The enemy’s cunning trick made his mouth go dry. But he couldn’t just stand and watch. After all, he was the current commander of the infantry battalion.

With reinforcements, their numbers had swelled to two battalions.

“Turtle Company, stand by in the rear! The rest of you, hold back the Giant! Don’t break formation! If anyone retreats, shoot them in the back of the head with an arrow!”

His Platoon Leader echoed the same command. Messengers, hearing the shortened version, dashed in all directions to spread the orders.

“Damn it, just hold them back! You’ll die if you retreat anyway!”

This was the worst-case scenario. Forcing sacrifices from his soldiers would plummet their morale, and once they started losing ground, it would be like dreaming to regain favorable positions on the battlefield.

There was no other choice. He needed time to regroup his forces.

The horn blared repeatedly.

Bwooouuuuuuu!

Marcus stared at the damp mist veiling his vision, thinking to himself,

What a cursed and wretched environment.

Hadn’t they almost all died before in a previous battle because of this crazy fog?

That time, the mist was conjured by sorcery. How had they dealt with it back then? Through the previous battalion commander’s ingenuity and tactics?

‘Utter nonsense that no one would believe.’

Marcus knew what kind of man the previous commander had been—a noble-born officer who loved bribes, a greedy idiot more driven by ambition than skill.

No, someone else must have broken that sorcery. Everyone avoided talking about it, but he was certain it had been that Platoon Leader, the one who’d earned the nickname “Sorcery Breaker.”

That soldier was like a lucky charm, with rumors saying he had lain with the goddess of fortune herself. When sent to the Cross Guard, he resolved their issues too, a soldier with a unique air about him.

For some reason, at this moment, that soldier came to mind.

The soldier Marcus had summoned, the one who had been ordered to control that mad platoon and make them do something.

That name remained vividly etched in Marcus’ mind.

Enkrid.

As his thoughts chained together and came to a halt, he looked beyond the slowly thinning mist.

There he saw a being towering several heads taller than a man.

“Shit.”

A Giant.

The enemy commander was serious. Instead of half-measures, they had gathered their forces for an all-out strike.

If this was a gamble, the enemy had gone all in.

‘Hah, and in this mess, they pull something like that?’

In truth, the enemy had been full of surprises from the start.

First, they had demoralized Marcus’ troops with duels. Then, they stirred chaos in the rear. Now, they sent out a Giant to overturn the battlefield in one strike.

Was this the work of a strategic genius, orchestrating everything?

Or had some reckless brute stumbled into accidental brilliance?

It didn’t matter.

On the battlefield, only results mattered.

Victory and loss.

If he lost here, it would be because of his own inadequacies.

Anxiety gnawed at his chest, and without realizing it, Marcus let out a laugh. There was a reason they called him a war maniac.

Marcus felt his desires and primal instincts boiling in this moment. The surge of adrenaline pumped blood through his veins, fueling his whole body.

‘If only we could seize the flow of the battle, just a bit.’

Marcus was not the type to carefully measure risks and craft strategies. He was a gambler.

Thinking was for his subordinates.

“We need to retreat. At least a platoon will be consumed for every Giant,” a Platoon Leader urged.

“We must admit the enemy’s maneuver is deadly.”

“We should regroup and counterattack with archers instead of Turtle Company’s heavy infantry—”

Before they could finish their assessment:

“Left flank! Elves and assassins are indiscriminately killing people!”

What the fuck?

“Right flank! War mercenaries exceeding platoon strength are rampaging—high-ranked ones!”

It was chaos. Absolute madness. Even so, Marcus’ heart didn’t shrink.

‘It doesn’t feel like this is the end.’

Ignoring the retreating gazes of his Platoon Leaders, Marcus remained silent.

A change—any change, even the smallest, would suffice. If only the wind shifted slightly. Marcus swallowed hard and waited. If no opportunity arose?

‘No, there is a chance.’

Wherever people gathered, there were exceptional individuals. His infantry battalion had to have such people.

All it would take was a small gesture to break through the stagnant waves. Marcus believed that moment would come.

“Commander!”

A Platoon Leader shouted desperately, on the verge of snapping. In that moment, a messenger arrived, running from afar and shouting so loudly it seemed his throat might burst:

“Urgent report! Urgent report! The Giant has been slain!”

Change.

The change he had waited for, guided solely by his instincts. It didn’t matter who had done it.

“Full reversal!”

Marcus roared. It was time for his army’s counterattack. As a commander, Marcus was exceptional, a man of skill.

At his command, the Naurillia forces transformed into a charging turtle. They formed a circular offensive formation centered around Turtle Company’s heavy infantry.

This was Marcus’ specialty—large-scale battles involving disciplined formations.

The Giant’s death marked the turning point.

The gust of change swept across the battlefield, as fierce as a typhoon heralding the transition from summer to autumn.

“Chaaaaarge!”

Nearby, a soldier with a booming voice bellowed beside the company commanders.

Bwoooouuuuuuu!

The horn resounded, signaling advancement.

“Attack!”

“Waaaaaaah!”

“Crush them all!”

“Die, you bastards!”

Bell, one with the charge, joined the fray. Watching Rem—the one who had slain the Giant—and witnessing the newfound strength in his comrades, his chest burned with determination.

For the first time, the battlefield felt unconquerable, as if victory was assured.

Thwack.

A line of infantry armed with spears rushed in first, piercing into the enemy ranks like thorns.

Stab!

The Azpen soldiers stood their ground. They were formidable—well-trained, well-armored, and well-shielded. In retaliation, they thrust their spears and shields forward.

“Break through!”

The shout erupted from behind their spear line.

What? You think you’re as solid as us? Turtle Company’s heavy infantry began to move.

The 1st Company of the 4th Battalion in the Cyprus Brigade, Turtle Company was a renowned elite unit. They weren’t an independent force but a critical core of the brigade’s overall strength.

Their tactics were straightforward, their strategy even simpler—

Advance, destroy, and shatter everything in their path. Unlike typical heavy infantry meant for defense, Turtle Company’s mission was pure offense.

Their steps were deliberate but weighty.

If the spear-wielding infantry were the sharp tip of the assault, Turtle Company was the heavy mace that followed.

Their gear wasn’t meant for subtle maneuvers. Instead, it was a brutal collection of equipment aimed to crush.

Decked out in layers—padded gambeson under chainmail and reinforced with metal gauntlets and greaves—they advanced as a single, unstoppable mass.

When they moved, it felt like a massive hunk of steel was bearing down on the enemy.

At the front line, ten heavy infantry soldiers raised their weapons in unison, towering over the battlefield like statues.

Longer than standard maces, their weapons cast shadows over the blood-soaked ground.

“Holy shit.”

One Azpen soldier muttered, his eyes wide. Then, the ten heavy infantry swung down.

The air cracked under the force of their blows as the massive maces smashed into shields, armor, and hastily raised spears.

Boom! Crack! Clang! Crunch!

The cacophony of destruction erupted as their first strike landed. No one was outright killed in the initial assault—it was a clash of formation against formation.

But the aftermath was devastating.

Azpen’s once-tightly held front line was now in complete disarray. Their soldiers stumbled, shields fractured, and morale wavered as Turtle Company pressed forward.

The gap between the two sides shrank rapidly, their formations now overlapping like the blurred horizon where dawn and dusk collided.

Pinned in place, the soldiers fought in close quarters, where Turtle Company’s true might shone.

Crunch!

With a second blow, wooden shields splintered, scattering shards through the air.

One Azpen soldier, clutching his shattered shield, froze in horror as the shadow of another mace descended.

Thunk!

The strike crushed his helmet, the impact caving in his skull. The soldier crumpled instantly, lifeless.

As the heavy infantry stepped forward, their boots stomped over fallen foes with brutal efficiency.

Crunch, squelch.

The weight of their steps broke bones and ruptured flesh. There was no mercy for those who found themselves underfoot.

“Forward, one step!”

The company commander barked, maintaining the relentless momentum of their advance.

This wasn’t a chaotic charge; it was methodical annihilation. Each step forward tightened the noose around the enemy, slowly squeezing the life from their ranks.

Though their pace was deliberate, the Azpen forces were cornered, unable to retreat or regroup.

“Wipe them out.”

The company commander’s confidence brimmed in his voice. And why wouldn’t it? The battle had turned completely in their favor.

Had there been a knight among the enemy ranks to challenge them, things might have played out differently.

But no such duel occurred.

The Azpen forces had kept their trump card hidden and only revealed it when the time seemed right. Yet even their ace—the Giant—had been outmatched and destroyed.

Rem’s triumph over the Giant defied all expectations. Who could have predicted that a man nicknamed “the Madman” would toy with a Giant and then slay it outright?

“Uooooooh!”

A soldier’s triumphant roar pierced the air, his cry lifting the spirits of all who heard it.

Fueled by this surge in morale, the soldiers pressed forward with renewed ferocity, stabbing with spears and slashing with swords.

Here and there, soldiers hurled axes, flinging them into the enemy ranks. Marcus’ command shone once more, orchestrating the battlefield like a seasoned maestro.

After shattering the enemy’s front with Turtle Company’s assault, he unleashed his light infantry archers.

“Shoot! Shoot! Shoot them all!”

A detachment of light-armored Rangers equipped with shortbows flanked the enemy.

Leading the Rangers was a sharp-eyed woman named Finn. Finn understood Marcus’ intentions without needing an explanation.

Arrows rained down, though they didn’t cause significant casualties. The aim wasn’t to kill but to sow chaos.

“Lay down your weapons and surrender! Put your heads to the ground, and you won’t be killed!”

Her voice carried across the battlefield, echoed by messengers stationed throughout.

The faltering Azpen soldiers, already demoralized, began to buckle.

When Finn’s detachment intercepted retreating stragglers, they dropped their weapons and raised their hands in surrender.

“Spare them! Don’t kill the ones who surrender!”

Finn made a point of sparing prisoners, amplifying the fear of resistance among the enemy ranks.

Soon, soldiers were kneeling, pressing their foreheads to the ground, their spirits completely broken.

At last, the tide of battle had fully turned.

Rem dusted off his hands after slaying the Giant.

“Well, guess that’s done.”

It had been fun up until now. What came next? Pursuit and slaughter?

He couldn’t muster much enthusiasm.

It wasn’t out of some soft-hearted desire to avoid a massacre—this was a battle already won. Chasing down fleeing enemies was just tedious work.

Still, he scanned the enemy’s ranks, wondering if they had another Giant or some other hidden weapon waiting to be unveiled.

Nothing.

The Azpen command was in disarray, their forces beginning to crumble.

They’ll all scatter soon.

‘Unless they pull off some kind of sorcery,’ Rem thought.

But even that seemed unlikely. The battle was over. That was Rem’s conclusion as he turned back, looking for his squad leader.

“What the hell…”

Where had that guy gone? He was supposed to stay behind and observe. Not only was Enkrid missing, but so was the stray cat and a few others.

So, one of them must have dragged Enkrid away?

‘Huh?’

A sense of unease began to creep into Rem’s gut.

“Long live the Mad Platoon!”

“Long live Rem!”

Even as his irritation simmered, soldiers around him continued to cheer, exalting him as a hero.

Everywhere he went, they sang his praises. The lunatic in their ranks had slain the enemy’s most terrifying weapon—a Giant.

But most of all, the method he used to kill it had left them in awe.

Rem had broken the Giant’s massive war hammer by kicking the creature’s thigh and smashing its fingers with his bare fists.

Then, he had leapt into the air, spun his body mid-flight, and delivered a crushing kick to the Giant’s jaw, shattering it.

Finally, he grabbed a spear lying on the ground and drove it through the Giant’s shattered jaw and out the back of its skull, creating a grotesque work of art.

The fallen Giant looked like some bizarre sculpture, with Rem standing triumphantly before it, an image straight out of legend.

But when the cheers reached a crescendo, Rem had enough.

“Shut it!”

His roar was so loud it immediately silenced the jubilant soldiers. Only then did they remember the nickname that followed Rem wherever he went.

‘The Madman.’

The one who snapped without reason, the lunatic who cursed and fumed without provocation.

“Where’s my squad leader?”

Someone tentatively pointed to one side of the battlefield. There, Enkrid was approaching, holding two axes in his hands.

As Enkrid drew near, he tossed the weapons toward Rem.

The axes flew through the air, and with a quick motion, Rem caught both with a satisfying thunk.

“Huh?”

The grip felt good. The weight was balanced perfectly.

Testing their feel, he realized they were even better than his previous weapons.

These were well-crafted tools of war, forged with high-quality steel and maintained with care.

“You went off to fetch me new axes because mine broke?”

As always, Enkrid was a straight shooter.

“Yep.”

He nodded without hesitation. Though the truth was more complicated, if this explanation restored peace, so be it.

The murderous aura emanating from Rem softened noticeably. The shift in atmosphere was palpable.

“You saw everything, right?”

“Yeah. I saw you fight the Giant. Saw you win.”

As Enkrid spoke, his eyes met Rem’s.

In Enkrid’s gaze, there was no trace of fear or flattery. Instead, there was a fierce, unyielding hunger—an insatiable drive to learn, improve, and push forward.

This was a man walking the path of his dreams, even if it meant wading through blood to get there.

That was why Rem liked him.

“That’ll do.”

Rem grinned, and Enkrid grinned back. Their smiles were different but, in a way, the same.

Watching this from the side, Ragna muttered under his breath.

“First, strap a sword to your body…”

Behind him, Jaxon appeared silently, as if materializing from thin air.

“What comes next when your senses sharpen and your sixth sense awakens? Refinement. Segment your training. Learn how to react. There’s plenty to do.”

Enkrid turned to meet Jaxon’s gaze, silently asking,

What exactly does that mean?

Jaxon didn’t answer.

“Next time,” was all he said, leaving the thought unfinished.

The abruptness was his trademark.

“This bastard… always cutting in,” Rem growled.

Before their conversation could go further, Audin reappeared, his arrival loud and full of bluster.

“Hell yeah! Our mad Giant’s stronger!”

He was drenched in blood, smiling serenely despite the gruesome display. Blood dripped from his sleeves as if this were all routine.

“Do you know the essence of Valaf-style grappling?” he asked, beaming like a child eager to teach.

Enkrid’s gaze shifted toward the grinning “mad Giant” before him.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Rem muttered irritably.

The tension between the group remained high, each radiating their own brand of madness.

For a moment, Enkrid simply watched them. Then, he stepped in to mediate. It was the middle of a battlefield, after all.

These lunatics, however, were the undisputed heroes of the day. As Enkrid broke up the group’s squabbling, he asked,

“But where are the others?”

Looking around, he realized Andrew and the rest of the squad were nowhere to be seen.

“They got swept up and moved forward,” Rem replied bluntly.