Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 6 - 6 - His grip should have been torn apart.
Chapter 6 - His grip should have been torn apart.
Another repeating day.
Enkrid spent each and every one of those days meaningfully.
Not a single day was wasted.
'I'm an ordinary man.'
In terms of swordsmanship, he couldn't be called a genius or even a prodigy.
He certainly wasn't a genius.
After the eighth failure, Enkrid thought.
'I tried to finish a meal with just one stab of a fork.'
He was nowhere near being a genius, a prodigy, or even an outstanding person.
Enkrid divided his work.
'I'll take half-steps.'
There was no dull moment.
The repeating days, and at the same time, his growing skill.
It was like a drug.
Enkrid found this situation thoroughly enjoyable.
'There are many good things.'
Above all, the best part was that he could constantly experience real-life combat.
Moreover, it was a vivid experience gained at the cost of his life.
Enkrid fully utilized that, and until he stepped onto the battlefield, he made sure to live each day to the fullest.
He trained the heart of the beast.
He learned a new style of swordsmanship.
The repeating time made him memorize the events happening around him.
A good example was the gambling scene in the adjacent barracks at breakfast.
"Damn it! You cheated, didn't you?"
"Cheated? You're just unlucky, you bastard."
It was a familiar mornig sight.
It wasn't cheating.
After seeing it several times, Enkrid knew.
The dice always landed on the same numbers, and he was well aware of it.
He passed by, spending another day.
Repeating.
Her smile looked innocent enough.
The endless battles expanded Enkrid's understanding.
To be precise, the time to think made his mind broaden.
'I don't need to see the arrows to save Bell.
That's something a top-tier mercenary would do.
Enkrid cleanly gave up, and through that, he managed to save Bell.
Bang!
It was just a matter of getting a sturdier shield.
The arrow lodged itself into the round shield.
No matter how skilled the archer was, it was impossible to pierce the soldier's skull hiding behind the shield.
"...Where did you pop up from?"
Bell, who had fallen, asked with wide eyes.
"When will you stop rolling on the ground? Get up quickly."
Enkrid wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and kicked Bell's backside.
Bell, who had his backside patted, once again headed towards the battlefield.
'If I save him here, will I see his face tomorrow?'
He didn't know.
He was simply making this his first goal.
The small goal Enkrid had set was to stir up the battlefield and save Bell.
He achieved that on the twenty-fifth day.
"Wow. The mother of the monastery's here. When you have time, save me too, instead of wasting time on the other fools."
Rem suddenly popped up from behind and spoke nonsense, as usual.
Every time Bell was saved, Rem spouted crazy remarks.
Enkrid played along with him each time.
"Mother" referred to the nun in charge of the monastery.
"You're excommunicated. You're disgusting."
Monasteries don't accept anyone who isn't a believer. "Excommunication" means being told to leave the monastery.
It was a fairly high-level joke between Enkrid and Rem.
"The filthy world that discriminates by appearance, ha!"
Rem, as always, didn't back down and ran off.
Enkrid knew he was off to catch that hawk-eyed fellow, even without being told.
And yet, despite repeating fifty times or so, Enkrid couldn't defeat the piercing enemy soldiers.
Though by chance, he had blocked multiple attacks, there were always those who came from the side with hammers, and his skull was crushed.
"There's no time to waste."
The one who crushed Enkrid's skull spoke.
Enkrid didn't even know how it happened.
His vision suddenly spun, and the ground rushed up to meet him.
He didn't even have the strength to shake his head.
He only felt the sticky liquid running down his face.
When he came to his senses, he realized he had dropped his sword and was kneeling.
"It must hurt. I'll show mercy."
The blade quickly pierced his neck, and Enkrid had to writhe in pain.
The blade sunk into his neck.
The pain, something he couldn't get used to, spread throughout his body.
The pain from the heated iron rod stabbing his neck ravaged his brain.
As he died, Enkrid blinked.
The world turned red because of the blood that had entered his eyes.
Beyond that red vision, he could see the red eyes of an enemy soldier holding a sword through the visor of his helmet.
It wasn't literally red, but that's how it appeared at that moment.
A thin gleam of pleasure flickered in the enemy's eyes.
He had died so many times that he could see the smallest details.
That was thanks to the heart of the beast.
'That pervert.'
His intention wasn't mercy.
He killed for the thrill of it.
The enemy would always shove the blade into the neck slowly, savoring the last breath that escaped from the victim.
Perhaps, it wasn't even aware that it aroused him.
Enkrid remained composed, even though he realized that.
Having faced death countless times, courage naturally settled in his heart.
That was simply how it was.
And then.
"Where did you sneak off for a secret rendezvous?"
On the eighty-sixth day, Rem suddenly spoke.
Enkrid frowned at Rem's words.
What kind of nonsense was this?
"What?"
"The heart of a beast. You learned it from me, didn't you? But you couldn't have trained like this on your own."
The axe's blade had stopped just a finger's width from his eye.
If it had been any closer, the shockwave alone would have damaged his cornea.
Thanks to that, Enkrid's vision was obstructed by the sharp edge of the axe, with only half of Rem's face visible.
Yet, even in this situation, Enkrid's breath remained calm.
It was the strength granted by the heart of a beast.
The courage that allowed him to endure the coming pain.
Enkrid stared into Rem's eyes, which were filled with questioning, beyond the axe's blade, and thought.
'This could happen too.'
Through the repetition of days, the heart of a beast had been trained, and now, from the perspective of the person who taught it, it might seem absurd.
He only realized this now because Rem was always the type to speak without thinking.
Rem talked a lot of nonsense, but when it came to matters like the heart of a beast, it was a different story.
It was something Enkrid himself had taught.
Enkrid didn't make any excuses.
There was no need to.
After thinking it over all day, he could handle it in the next day that began anew.
Thud.
Rem pulled back his axe.
Enkrid's sight cleared.
Not a single scratch marked his face.
Rem handled the heavy axe as if it were his own hand.
He scratched his head with the end of the axe handle.
"I don't get it. I was wondering if you learned from someone else, not just me."
Even as he said that, his face showed he wasn't sure if it made sense.
Enkrid was the squad leader, and this damn squad would never listen unless he was around.
He had never left the squad after learning the heart of a beast from Rem.
So, even if he wanted to learn from someone else, there was no time for that.
Rem had been watching Enkrid all this time.
Maybe, if he had been standing guard and secretly learning, it might make sense, but that too was equally unreasonable.
Rem didn't know it, but somehow, it felt like there was an edge to his words.
"I've faced death more than eighty times," Enkrid answered roughly, thinking to himself.
He knew he couldn't teach Rem the Heart of the Beast.
There was no response that could completely resolve the question coming from that barbarian man.
'I can't just say that every time today repeats, I learn from Rem himself and get better while dying in the process.'
But the question could be ignored.
Rem wasn't the type to press hard for answers.
Indeed, that was the case.
No time was wasted.
"Alright, let's say that's true. Sometimes, even the goddess of fortune drops a coin or two without realizing it."
A common saying to soldiers who survived by some chance.
But does that apply when learning a trick like this?
Maybe it doesn't.
But it didn't matter if Rem let it slide.
"Thanks to that, it's more fun than before. Your skills have improved. What have you been secretly doing?"
"Doing things that hurt so much I could die."
Enkrid wasn't lying.
"Yeah, a man needs a few secrets. That's what makes him a man. I know it."
Rem didn't even care about that.
He just said what he needed to and picked up his axe again.
"One more round?"
Rem, with axe in hand, asked.
Enkrid silently grabbed his sword.
If his first goal was to save the soldier Bell who had fallen...
His second and final goal was to kill the perverted bastard who found pleasure in every life he took.
Preparations for that were already in place.
That was how the hundredth and thirteenth day of their battle came.
The day for their match.
Enkrid tightened his muscles, pulling his arm back.
He stretched his left leg forward, aiming to step on Rem's foot.
Rem, quick as ever, withdrew his foot, and seeing that, Enkrid twisted his body around his planted left foot and slashed with all his might.
The foot was a feint.
It was a move aimed at luring Rem to back off.
Enkrid flexed his muscles, striking with his sword.
In that brief moment, Enkrid saw Rem's arm whip around like a whip.
It was such an unreal sight that even the axe in his hand seemed to bend.
Clang!
It happened in an instant.
The axe's edge bent and shot up like lightning.
And it hit the sword Enkrid was holding.
The sword flew up.
The sword slipped from Enkrid's hand, soaring upward, spinning in midair before falling with a sharp
thud
onto the ground.
The sound was from the blade striking a rock embedded in the ground.
Enkrid saw the sword roll across the floor.
"Let's see."
Rem immediately approached and grabbed Enkrid's wrist.
The shock from losing the sword caused his hand to tremble.
Rem looked at his hand, clicked his tongue, and spoke.
"This should've made you bleed."
"What?"
If you're going to swing an axe like that, you should at least control your strength, and what is this nonsense?
"That thrust wasn't bad, but it wasn't quite right. I can't explain it well, but that should've torn your grip open. You shouldn't have lost the sword."
"You mean I should never release my sword, even if I die?"
Enkrid raised his voice as Rem held his right hand.
He had heard that many times from his swordsmanship instructor.
Counting the days that pass is a hard task.
Enkrid remembered it by making small changes to the start of each day.
Since he was always good with his memory, it helped a lot in swordsmanship.
It hadn't helped much until now.
But now, it helped.
Especially when he recalled the teachings from his instructors.
He spoke with that memory in mind.
"That's nonsense. If I need to, I'll even throw the sword at my opponent's face. This is... Ah, let's keep it simple. What was your target with that thrust earlier?"
Enkrid couldn't immediately answer.
That thrust was his trump card.
It was a technique he had stolen after being stabbed in the neck more than a hundred times by enemies.
He had stolen and mimicked everything—from the posture to the placement of the feet, the shift in weight when wielding the sword, the movement of the muscles, the direction of the toes, and even the way the hands gripped the sword.
"That last strike—on the surface, it seemed fine, but that damn... it's hard to explain. Look here."
Rem lowered his axe and drew a large circle in the dirt.
It was about the size of a human head.
"Let's say our target is somewhere here."
Saying that, Rem spun the axe around the circle and marked a spot with a tap.
"But actually, you're going for here."
At first, Enkrid didn't understand what Rem was talking about.
But somehow, thanks to the time he spent learning swordsmanship, despite the clumsy explanation, he understood it instantly, as if it were a sour pickle wrapped in a sweet fruit.
'Target point.'
What had been hidden in the thrust he made earlier?
Had he wanted praise for doing well?
Did he want to acknowledge that he had some talent, even just a speck, for mimicking?
What was the point?
What is a sword for?
To slash and pierce—it's a weapon for killing.
Among those, thrusting is the basic technique for targeting a single point.
Especially in fencing.
There are knights who specialize in using thin blades to pierce through the gaps in armor.
"I really can't explain it anymore. I thought you'd obviously dodge or block, so I let the sword go easily. But that thrust earlier had to be perfect. It had to say, 'I'm going to pierce you. You can't dodge.' It needed to be shown clearly."
After saying that, Rem seemed to reflect on whether he explained himself well.
Being the type of person who does things at his own pace, explaining things wasn't his strength.
But if the other person understood, then even a dog's barking could be a great explanation.
For Enkrid, it was a great explanation.
'Because my sword lacked certainty.'
The thrust from earlier had been a second-rate mercenary's strike.
On the hundredth and twenty-third day, Enkrid realized it.
And by the hundred and twenty-fourth day, Rem's lightning-quick axe strike had torn through Enkrid's grip.
It wasn't just torn—it exploded open.
Blood poured from his hand.
Seeing that, Enkrid smiled.
Because he had achieved what he wanted.
"Are you completely insane now? Don't you know that the most dangerous thing on the battlefield is a mad ally? No, why do you keep laughing?"
Rem, seeing it, showed rare signs of panic, but Enkrid couldn't hold back his laughter.
"Shit, stop laughing. You really are a crazy bastard, huh?"
Seeing that, Rem spoke.
It was the hundred and twenty-fourth "today."

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