Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 9 - 9 - A Different Man Each Day
Chapter 9 - A Different Man Each Day
The order to prepare for battle was given, but it wasn't a detailed strategy briefing.
All they were told was to be ready.
As soon as Enkrid received the order, he headed to the rear barracks.
By now, the master of needlework, who had skipped the squad leader meeting claiming to be ill, would have completed his work.
"You didn't give me any thread."
Indeed, he had not.
Enkrid was greeted by hand, knee, and elbow guards made of sturdy leather, crafted with care.
"Thread?"
Feigning ignorance, Enkrid watched the alcohol-loving squad leader huff in frustration.
"What was I supposed to do with just the leather?"
Well,
'You're resourceful enough to unravel some blanket threads and weave them properly,' thought Enkrid.
This wasn't the first time he'd done something like this.
Even without being provided with thread, this man, who always responded enthusiastically to gifts, had worked wonders.
"Forgot about it."
"Doesn't look like you forgot at all."
Despite squinting from the remnants of his hangover, he was sharp.
"No, really. I forgot."
"Hmm."
His expression said otherwise, but Enkrid didn't care.
He casually gathered the leather guards.
The stitching was meticulous.
Though Enkrid had crafted similar items himself, this friend's handiwork was undeniably superior.
Enkrid was satisfied.
"Feels like I've been duped."
"Good job."
He gave the man a pat on the shoulder and returned to the barracks.
Upon returning, Enkrid simply mentioned the afternoon battle and busied himself at his station.
Swish.
Enkrid drew his sword and gripped the deer leather glove in his hand, slicing back and forth with precision.
After shredding the leather into strips, he stretched them out and quickly crafted a sheath for his throwing knives.
Finally, he made long cuts at the ends of the leather to create tassels for tying and fastened it around his waist like a belt.
This wasn't his first time.
Having repeated this task dozens of times, Enkrid's hands moved with practiced ease.
Rem, observing from over his shoulder, asked,
"What are you doing? You've got smaller knives. Why use that one?"
"Testing the blade's sharpness."
"You're good with your hands. Hope your swordsmanship is just as sharp."
This guy always managed to get under his skin.
It wasn't offensive, but it often poked at moments when Enkrid wasn't making progress.
Enkrid ignored him.
"I went through all that trouble to get it, and you just shred it up to make a knife sheath?"
From the other side, Krais popped his head over Enkrid's other shoulder.
"Why are these guys so interested in what I'm doing?"
Were their brains wired to see him as their mother?
"That's disturbing."
"I don't get it. Did you eat something weird out there today?"
"Speaking of which, you were running all over the place earlier. Something up?"
"Nothing."
Enkrid brushed it off casually.
He polished his blade once more and sat quietly with his eyes closed.
He began to recall the countless battlefields he'd faced.
Like a panorama, the scenes played in his mind.
He'd been through 125 battles.
Enkrid reviewed them in his mind.
Preparations like these were for survival, not for honing swordsmanship.
'The battlefield is not a training ground for swordsmanship.'
Even if his sword skills lacked polish, his extensive experience of survival couldn't be ignored.
What had kept him alive during those years?
Not just his sword.
It was situational awareness, luck, preparation, and composure.
Blending them all together had ensured his survival.
Thus, today would be no different.
'The same as always.'
He would do whatever it took to survive.
Enkrid resolved to make it through today.
"Charge!"
The cry of allies rang out.
Enkrid was thrust into the heart of the battlefield.
He didn't panic.
Nor did he charge forward in reckless excitement.
Instead, he raised his head, surveyed the battlefield, and controlled his breathing.
Hoo.
A short but steady exhale.
He saw the enemy.
He saw his allies.
The enemy surged forward, and the allies scattered.
Swish.
Enkrid drew his sword.
And then, an enemy spear came flying at him.
Enkrid deflected the spearhead with the shield in his left hand.
Thunk!
It was a motion he'd repeated countless times.
There were no mistakes.
He knocked the spear aside and stepped forward.
"Hup!"
Caught off guard, the enemy stumbled as Enkrid's right foot slipped behind their heel.
He bent his knee, bracing for impact.
Everything happened in a single breath.
As if in a prearranged drill, the enemy tripped and fell backward.
Thud!
Landing headfirst, the enemy blinked in confusion.
They didn't even understand what had happened.
They'd tried to thrust their spear and retreat but ended up tripping and falling.
It had happened in an instant.
As Enkrid passed the fallen enemy, he delivered a swift kick to their jaw.
Crack!
A sharp sound accompanied fragments of teeth and blood spilling from the enemy's mouth.
They were out cold.
No need to kill them.
He pressed on, raising his left arm.
Bang! Clang-clang!
A spiked club slammed into his shield, grazing his elbow.
Scrape!
The club had embedded spikes, but his leather armor absorbed the impact.
"Grr!"
The enemy gritted their teeth, visible under their half-covered helmet.
Their clenched jaw revealed taut facial muscles.
This one would require effort to deal with.
Enkrid shifted his grip and stepped forward with his left foot.
It was the Valen-style quick-draw stance.
Their eyes met.
Drawing his sword would commit both to a decisive clash.
Both knew it.
In their shared gaze, an unspoken agreement was formed.
Sword against club.
The enemy's eyes fixated on Enkrid's right hand.
Swish.
Before his sword was fully drawn, Enkrid's left hand moved first.
A throwing knife shot from his waist, slicing through the air.
Caught off guard, the enemy raised their arm.
Thunk!
The knife embedded itself in their arm.
Even with a gambeson, the fabric over the arms was thinner to allow flexibility.
The knife had struck flesh.
"You coward!"
The enemy shouted.
There's no such thing as honor in survival.
Silently, Enkrid slid his sword back into its sheath.
The Valen-style quick-draw wasn't just about drawing the sword—it was also about feinting to throw knives or stones.
"You bastard!"
The enraged enemy charged, veins bulging on their forehead.
That only hastened the venom's effect.
Mid-charge, they collapsed forward.
The paralytic poison had taken hold.
Thud!
They fell face-first into the ground, gasping and writhing.
Enkrid walked past without a second glance.
The next enemy was dispatched with a kick to the groin, and another was pushed forward into an ally's hammer swing.
Smack!
Even with a helmet, a mace strike to the head was fatal.
Enkrid didn't do anything extraordinary.
He simply took the actions needed at each moment.
Yet those actions led to small victories for his allies.
"Thanks for saving me."
An unfamiliar voice spoke.
Enkrid nodded indifferently and moved on.
It wasn't a big deal to him.
"Thanks, man."
"S-Squad leader! Was that skill or luck? Either way, drinks are on me later!"
"Shit, thought I was dead."
Such comments came from more than a few.
Compared to his first battle, his growth was immeasurable
At the center of it all was, naturally, the Heart of the Beast.
'Calmly.'
And steadily.
The Heart of the Beast does not beat recklessly.
Possessing its wild nature allows one to gaze upon everything with composure.
Amid the chaos of the battlefield, Enkrid walked on, attuned to the rhythm of his heart.
This was the battlefield he had faced dozens of times.
That didn't mean he wasn't tense.
'The more familiar it becomes, the more one falls prey to the unexpected.'
Even if today repeated itself, not everyone he met would act the same way.
Their actions would shift depending on how Enkrid responded.
Thus, he walked slowly, prioritizing observing his surroundings.
'Here, about now.'
A faint swish.
A dagger was swung upward from below.
An inventive strike aimed at his leg, delivered as the attacker feigned a stumble during combat.
'I've fallen for this one before.'
There were times he tried to avoid it.
Then he discovered an easier way.
It was like blocking an arrow.
If you couldn't avoid it, you blocked it.
Thunk.
The dagger struck the leather greave, failing to cut into Enkrid's shin.
It was only natural.
"Huh?"
The startled gasp of the foolish enemy soldier became his final words.
With the metal edge of his shield reinforced, Enkrid drove it into the back of the soldier sprawled on the ground.
Crack!
"Argh!"
The scream was brief and faint.
"Waaaargh!"
Instead, the deafening roar of the battlefield filled the air.
Enkrid's prowess alone could not change the tide of battle.
All it did was offer a modicum of relief to those fighting nearby.
'I can't save everyone.'
This was the battlefield, where dozens or even hundreds fell.
Charging in with the intent to save everyone was the height of naivety and folly.
"Come at me, you bastards!"
The cry came from a spearman in another squad.
Enkrid knew who it was without looking.
As Enkrid moved forward, he'd already dispatched over five enemy soldiers.
That boastful fool had, in truth, died dozens of times over.
If not for Enkrid stepping in, he'd be dead today as well—slashed across the leg and rolling on the ground before meeting his end.
Straightening his back, Enkrid took a deep breath in and exhaled.
'That's step one.'
This was a battle he'd fought countless times.
Enkrid had established his own criteria.
The first goal was to reach the frontlines unscathed.
'No injuries.'
He'd just achieved that goal moments ago.
The second step was this:
'Find a familiar face amidst the melee.'
Of course, even amidst the chaos, avoiding injury was paramount.
Only then could he properly face that sadistic bastard.
Having fought through this battlefield over a hundred times, Enkrid's thoughts always came back to one thing.
'I want to fight at my best.'
He wanted to see if all he'd learned, repeated, and trained for could make a difference.
To see if he could triumph over that sadist who favored mercy as a pretense for cruelty.
To see if his efforts could get him through today.
Thump.
His heart beat faster.
Apart from the boldness granted by the Heart of the Beast—
'I will surpass today.'
With his goal clear, his purpose unwavering, Enkrid's heart raced.
He walked through the battlefield once more, sometimes breaking into a run.
"Waaaaargh!"
"Damn it, spare me!"
"Come on, you scum!"
"You bastards!"
Amid the duet of curses and battle cries, Enkrid swiveled his head around.
'The one crouching, skulking, and watching.'
That was who he sought.
It didn't take long to spot him.
A burly figure slinking between enemy lines.
'The first target.'
Before confronting the sadistic stabber, there was a task to complete.
'The clubber who goes for the back of my head.'
A foe Enkrid had even nicknamed.
If left alive, he'd repeatedly club Enkrid's head mid-fight.
Call it fate, if you will.
But Enkrid didn't believe in fate.
'That everything is preordained from birth? What a load of crap.'
If his sword broke, he'd use the broken blade.
If he had no weapon, he'd fight with his fists.
If his arms broke, he'd bite them.
If he had no teeth, he'd use his gums.
If talent wasn't enough—
'I'll climb up this way.'
What does it mean to be a knight?
What is the power that changes the tide of battle?
An unattainable dream becomes a delusion.
But if it's within reach, it becomes a goal.
Enkrid never gave up on his dream.
"Hoo."
He exhaled.
Flick.
He drew a dagger and pulled his arm back, preparing to throw.
In the midst of the chaotic battlefield, he felt the weight of the dagger in his hand, locked onto his target, and traced an imaginary line.
It was a throwing technique taught to him by a former dagger-throwing contest champion he met in a tavern.
He'd practiced it countless times during his repeated days.
He lifted his left foot slightly, stepped forward, turned his waist, and extended his right hand.
Finally, he snapped his wrist, focusing on the sensation at his fingertips.
Swish!
The dagger flew straight along the line Enkrid had visualized.
"Urgh!"
The dagger embedded itself in the clubber's shoulder.
The foe's armor was shoddy—it wasn't a difficult shot.
"Which bastard—?"
The man cursed, scanning his surroundings.
There was no need to make eye contact.
Without a priest or antidote, the man would soon collapse.
Sure enough, the target fell, and Enkrid casually began searching for the second foe.
This time, it was the one who liked to throw axes.
That pest had often interrupted with his well-aimed throws.
Dealing with him in advance would prevent interference during the duel.
"By the gods!"
The fervent cry of a devout ally soldier reached his ears.
Meanwhile, curses and bloodthirsty shouts echoed from every direction.
Enkrid walked steadily, looking for his next target while surveying his surroundings.
He blocked minor attacks with his shield.
When he spotted an opening, he tripped enemies or struck their heads with the flat of his blade. For those foolish enough to wear helmets, he struck down from above.
These actions eased the burden on his nearby allies.
'Three daggers left.'
The axe-thrower wasn't in sight.
'His position changes every time.'
Still, this general area was correct.
'First, I'll save him.'
It was time to rescue an ally about to have their head pierced by that hawk-eyed bastard.
'To the right.'
He walked in that direction, moving with his allies.
Along the way, he blocked several attacks before discarding his damaged shield.
No matter how many times he repeated the day, the shield always broke.
'Around here.'
Having fought through this battlefield over a hundred times, certain patterns had become familiar despite the chaos.
A shield rolled along the ground.
Enkrid stepped on the edge of the shield.
The shield, wedged against a rock, popped into the air.
He caught it mid-flight with ease.
Though it was almost a trick, the motion had become second nature after countless repetitions.
"...Impressive."
A nearby ally soldier remarked in passing.
"Enemy behind you."
This one had died many times before, distracted by watching Enkrid.
After hearing Enkrid's words, he spun around.
He found himself facing an enemy soldier armed with a spear.
"You sneaky rat!"
The two clashed in a fight for their lives.
The ally soldier would win.
Enkrid had seen it happen at least twenty times.
There was no need to watch.
On this battlefield, familiar to the point of monotony, Enkrid mentally mapped out the terrain.
'Let's save Bell first.'
He moved with purpose.
"Argh!"
Bell tripped and fell.
Thunk.
A shield blocked an arrow.
"Huh? I'm alive?"
"Keep your head down and crawl back. More arrows are coming."
Bell obediently followed the advice.
In many of these repeated days, a second arrow had pierced Bell's head.
Crawling was the safer choice.
"...Did you strike a secret deal with the Goddess of Luck?"
It was Rem.
That barbarian.
He spouted blasphemous words that would make a devout priest faint.
"Not a scratch on you, huh?"
Enkrid's ultimate goal for today was to face that sadistic bastard at peak condition.
"Go do your job."
"I will. But something's different about you today."
"Every day, I'm a different man."
There were no identical days in these repeated battles. Each day was one of growth.
"...You might need some medicine, captain."
With that, Rem departed.
'Was that too much sarcasm?'
Perhaps.
But it was the truth.
Just then, Enkrid spotted the axe-thrower.
An enemy soldier with axes dangling from his waist.
Why wait?
Enkrid drew a poisoned dagger.

Comments

Loading...