A Knight who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: The Heart of the Beast

“The entire army, assemble! Fourth Squad, gather!”

The Squad Leader’s call resonated in front of the barracks. A day filled with fulfillment began to draw to a close. It was already late afternoon, with the sun starting to set in the west.

“In simpler terms, this isn’t something you can learn with just your body. So practicing for a hundred days is useless, but considering you’ve managed to learn this much through training, it’s hard to say you lack talent, right?”

As they moved following the Squad Leader’s call, Rem spoke seriously, uncharacteristic of him.

“Is that so?”

Enkrid merely retorted.

Telling Rem the truth about what happened would make it hard to believe, and even if it was believable, it would be problematic.

What if the story spread?

Perhaps it would be if it were truly a divine blessing, but if any slight mis-happening occurred, Enkrid would be facing an inquisitor. And what good could come from meeting with those inquisitors? At best, he’ll be burned at the stake, but at worst, a torture party would await him. No one wants to be nailed and have their fingernails pulled out.

Enkrid was no exception.

During his mercenary days, he had seen many unjustly accused of heresy. He had even helped a few of them from behind the scenes. People usually ended up scoffing, saying that he might as well commit suicide. It was that dangerous, but he did it anyway because it was the right thing to do. If he didn’t, there would be no reason to live as a swordsman.

“What’s with that expression? You look utterly displeasing. Did you find a gold bar or something? Are you planning to slip by today? You know it’s bad to do that alone, right?”

A gold bar…

He had obtained something better than that.

“Shut up and let’s go.”

It was time to move since the assembly order had been issued. Enkrid roughly wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. Putting on a helmet now would likely result in an awful smell but he couldn’t just go to the stream to clean up in this situation. Rem, standing next to him, didn’t even seem to sweat. What kind of training makes one like that?

Enkrid belonged to the Fourth Squad. He moved to his squad’s position.

‘Will it work?’

Learning it in a day was impossible but he had grasped some tricks thanks to being stabbed to death.

“We are!”

The Squad Leader shouted.

“Going to win!”

The Squad Leader was a harmless, compliant man. He was a person who followed orders from above without question.

The gates to the battlefield were about to open again. As the sun set in the west and twilight set in, his heart trembled.

Why?

Enkrid asked himself.

The answer came quickly.

Fear.

He was stabbed to death three times. That pain, that dizziness, didn’t seem like something one could get used to, no matter how many times it happened.

Enkrid stroked his neck. It burned even though there was no wound, like he had swallowed a blade.

“Why? Do you feel like you can’t keep your head?”

Rem whispered next to him.

“Get a grip. This is a battlefield.”

Enkrid stepped forward as the command “Advance all troops!” was given. Rem matched his steps beside him.

“Tension stiffens the body. Didn’t I teach you not to be like that?”

He was right, and that’s what was annoying.

The Heart of a Beast.

They say not many can learn it even if taught.

He suppressed his pounding heart and regulated his breathing to match his steps.

“Yeah, do it like that. Let’s survive today too. Dreaming big, captain.”

Hearing Rem’s words, Enkrid resolved not to talk about wanting to be a knight if he died again today.

It was the battlefield again, the start of melee combat. The same day passed yet again. For Enkrid, it was the fourth time on the same day. He gave up on preventing his shield from splitting. What was the point of a shield? To block the enemy’s sword, spear, or axe, not to save it for later use.

‘In that case…’

His thoughts were long. Suddenly, something whizzed in front of him. Without even letting out a grunt, he leaned back and thrust his shield forward. Strength involuntarily filled his body.

Bang!

The incoming spear hit the edge of the shield. It was a close call, he had escaped very narrowly. His left shoulder stung. It was a spear. A powerful strike.

The enemy pulled back the spear and thrust again. Normally, his body would have remained stiff. Then he would have blocked it stiffly again, leading to a continuous crisis but his mind calmed down. Thanks to that, he could see the spear.

It was half the speed of the thrust that had killed him. So, there was no reason he couldn’t dodge it. He watched the tip of the spear until the last moment, then merely tilted his head.

Swoosh.

The spear brushed past the side of his helmet. It was a trick he had never performed before in his life. The heart of a beast does not easily get excited.

Doing just a small movement to dodge gave him some leisure on the battlefield. The leisure of mind also provided him with a new perspective.

Enkrid’s eyes caught the gap between the helmet and the breastplate of the person who had thrown the spear. It was just a glimpse of the jawline, not a wide gap. But it wasn’t narrow either.

It was enough for a blade to fit through.

He thrust his sword upwards.

There was no significant skill needed.

Thud.

From below to above, the blade sliced the chin through the throat.

“Gurgle.”

The enemy spat out blood and pieces of his severed tongue. A stab exploiting a gap doesn’t require great strength. Enkrid, reminded of this, recalled what his fencing instructor had once said.

“If you can avoid an opponent’s attack with minimal movement, what follows becomes easier.”

It was a rather expensive fencing school, but there wasn’t much taught. Even those few things that had been thought, Enkrid once thought of them as nonsense.

‘It was worth the money.’

One of those pieces of nonsense became reality. The short movement of avoidance and attack was effective. He pushed the enemy’s abdomen with his foot and pulled out the sword. Blood gushed more profusely from the hole created under the jaw and the enemy collapsed backward.

“This bastard!”

Another one charged from behind. Enkrid didn’t gasp or react hastily.

‘Six steps.’

Enkrid measured the steps between him and the enemy and raised his sword, drawing across the straps fixed to his left forearm.

Click, click.

Swoosh.

Click, click.

After drawing twice, the fixed straps were cut. Wrapping the forearm with straps to keep the shield in place was a trick he learned for survival. This way, even in the midst of melee combat, the shield could hardly be lost.

But it was unnecessary now.

The enemy charged and Enkrid threw his shield.

Bang!

===

WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Ryuu

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

===

The spear-wielding enemy, startled by the sudden flying shield, pulled back his hands. Naturally, the spear in his hands also retreated, slowing down his pace. The broad shield, though only for a moment, was enough to obscure the enemy’s vision.

Having thrown the shield, Enkrid moved two large steps to the left while the enemy’s vision was obscured.

The helmet was meant to protect the head but it narrowed the peripheral vision. Enkrid had experienced the sudden disappearance of an enemy right in front of him several times. He utilized that trick to deceive the enemy’s eyes, ducking down and flipping the opponent over as if supporting and pushing them from below. He had used the same move on the first day he died.

This time, he executed it more cleanly. To the right of the enemy. Before charging, Enkrid observed the enemy’s hands. The front of the long spear shaft was held in the left hand, the right hand behind it. It was an indication of a right-handed person.

Things that wouldn’t normally be noticeable were now visible. The calmness provided a new perspective. These were tricks occasionally used in small skirmishes or duels, but hard to apply in the chaos of melee combat. They were insights gained from surviving as a mercenary.

A right-handed spearman finds it difficult to swing the spear to the right.

The enemy blocked by the shield frantically turned his head left and right. He was startled. Understandably so, since the opponent in front of him had suddenly disappeared.

Soon, the enemy’s eyes caught Enkrid and found him again. As the enemy turned his head left and right and was startled, Enkrid slashed diagonally from behind the enemy’s head towards the front of his chest.

Thwack!

The enemy’s armor was the type that blocked the back of the neck. The thin layer of leather over thick cloth prevented his neck from being completely severed. The blade was half-buried in the back of his neck.

“Cough, cough, ah.”

The enemy’s eyes were visible. They were eyes wide with shock. His eyes were round. Blood poured out from the half-severed neck. Even with his neck half cut, the spearman reflexively swung his spear. The spear shaft lightly hit Enkrid’s right shoulder.

There was no impact. The man was already half dead, and the angle of movement made it difficult to put strength into the spear shaft.

Enkrid pulled out the sword.

Crunch.

It must have been stuck in a bone, requiring quite a bit of force. Flesh and blood clung to the withdrawn blade.

Enkrid glanced at the battlefield’s situation and picked up a shield with a chipped corner from the ground. He had that much leeway now.

‘It works.’

It was too easy. Normally, one couldn’t show even half their skill on the battlefield. How could one move as usual in the midst of a life-and-death struggle? Sometimes there are those who become even crazier, but most are bound to panic. Until his third death, Enkrid had been the same, but now things were a bit different.

‘It will work.’

That thrust, it seemed worth trying. What Enkrid did didn’t change the course of the battlefield. It was just one soldier who fought a little better. There was no change in the situation, but it was a significant change for Enkrid personally.

After felling a couple of enemy soldiers.

“Argh!”

Bell fell again.

A moment of leisure allowed him to catch himself.

“Are you alright?”

“Damn, there’s some rock here.”

It was a dry plain. It’s not uncommon for rocks to jut out. However, Bell tripped over his feet, so Bell was the fool for falling.

“Be alert.”

Enkrid grabbed Bell’s hand and pulled him up.

“Thanks to you, I survived.”

Enkrid didn’t loosen his grip on Bell’s hand.

“…Let go of my hand.”

Bell’s eyes were visible beneath the half-split helmet, stained with blood. The flash was an arrow, and that arrow pierced Bell’s head. Enkrid had seen it before, but in the chaos of battle, noticing an incoming arrow was difficult. It was an incredibly hard task.

Enkrid tried to pull the hand he was holding. Bell staggered, losing balance, but managed to stand firm by exerting force.

Thwack.

His head shattered. An arrow flew and smashed Bell’s head. Blood splattered on the breastplate. As soon as Enkrid saw Bell’s head burst, he ducked his head.

Whoosh! Something passed over his head.

It must have been an arrow.

An arrow thudded into the corpse of a dead ally behind him.

“Did you offer prayers to the goddess of luck before coming?”

Rem’s voice was heard immediately after he dodged.

He couldn’t protect Bell’s head, but he saved his own. Of course, even if he hadn’t, Rem would have saved him. It was the same situation even on the fourth try.

“Something like that.”

He vaguely answered, and Rem snickered.

His teeth were visible through the helmet. Rem was a pretty boy in appearance, but his speech and actions were unbearably harsh.

“Alright. The archer who shot these arrows is said to be the Hawk’s Nipple or something, so I’m going to find him. Pray ten more times to the goddess for me.”

“If you die on the way, I’ll pray for you too.”

“Then I’m grateful. Don’t forget this.”

Rem tapped his left chest with the handle of his sword and headed back into battle.

To catch the Hawk’s Eye or Claw.

Hoping he could ask Rem tonight whether he managed to kill the archer who fired those arrows, Enkrid nodded as Rem disappeared into the fray.

Where Rem had vanished, both allies and enemies swarmed in, closing the gaps. As the space tightened, Enkrid judged that the flow of the battlefield was hardly favorable.

He had already experienced this three times. The allies were being pushed back, but there was only one thing to do.

To survive.

Enkrid felt a strange excitement enveloping him. It wouldn’t be long before he met that skilled soldier again. Soon enough, that moment became reality. That thrust aimed at his head once more. Instead of dodging, Enkrid thrust his own blade towards the incoming blade.

Ting, ting, ting.

Sparks flew in the air. Enkrid locked eyes with the enemy.

You blocked this?

As if asking with his eyes.

“You’re quite skilled.”

The enemy spoke and thrust his sword again.

Once, twice, and thrice.

The first was blocked with a shield, the second dodged by rolling to the side, and the third countered by swinging the sword in reverse. Enkrid’s short-path blade drew only air. And the moment the enemy withdrew his arm, something struck Enkrid’s back from behind.

Thwack!

“Agh.”

A cry escaped involuntarily, which he bit back.

Then another thrust came. Deliberately shifting his weight forward, he attempted to roll forward as if falling over. The intent was good, but the timing was off.

Thump.

The blade pierced the clavicle next to his neck. It felt as if a hot iron had been thrust through flesh and bone.

“Agh!”

He couldn’t even scream from the intense pain. As he reached to grab the embedded blade, the opponent swiftly withdrew it. The blade, well-sharpened during routine maintenance perhaps, was extremely sharp. Withdrawing the sword brought an even more excruciating pain. The pain was so severe it whitened his vision. Enkrid clenched his teeth and turned around.

He saw a large enemy soldier standing awkwardly, holding a club. That must have been what struck his back.

“Mercy.”

The man who had killed him three times said this as he vertically positioned his sword for a strike.

That was the end.

His eyes closed. Darkness seeped in front of him.

Clang, clang, clang.

The sound of a ladle hitting a pot echoed again.

“The fifth time.”

Damn it.

It seemed doable.

“What’s the fifth time?”

Rem asked beside him.

“There are bugs in the boots.”

As Enkrid spoke, he got up.

He had died again, but he had learned something. No, it was the lesson he had paid for in gold coins at the fencing schools. Nothing works the first time.

So what should be done?

If not in one, then in ten; if not in ten, then a hundred attempts would work. Normally, one death would have been the end.

Fortunately, Enkrid could repeat this endlessly.