Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 15 - 15 - A Single Word
Chapter 15 - A Single Word
'I was killed while sleeping?'
Enkrid was so baffled he couldn't even laugh.
'Was I really that careless?'
The old man nodded slowly.
Careless enough not to notice even being stabbed in my sleep?
That couldn't be.
If he were that oblivious, he wouldn't have survived this long.
He struggled to piece together how he had died.
Enkrid recalled the moments just before he fell asleep.
There was nothing unusual.
No premonitions or signs.
He had fallen asleep.
And never woke up.
Did he hear insects in his sleep?
Toss and turn?
No.
He had slept deeply.
It had been the final night before returning to duty.
Without a care, he had simply slept, thinking it was his last chance to rest.
And after that?
It felt like he had been possessed by a ghost.
Still, he didn't allow himself to wallow in confusion.
Panicking could freeze his thoughts—and that would mean death.
This was just the start of another day.
Having been through this once, Enkrid knew what to do and where to focus his thoughts.
Two questions needed answers.
First, "how."
Whether his throat had been slit or his nose and mouth sealed shut.
How had someone managed to kill him without him feeling a thing?
Second, "why."
'Why me?'
He had been taken down without even knowing the moment of his death.
It wasn't the work of an amateur.
If the culprit was an assassin, they were top-tier—perhaps even beyond that.
If it was an enemy soldier,
'They'd have to be more skilled than a first-rate assassin.'
The medical tent was in the rear lines.
For someone to sneak in and slit a throat here without being caught...
They would need the skill to slap a knight in the face and walk away alive.
The answer to the "why" seemed partially clear.
In the tent, aside from Enkrid, there were only Krang and Vengeance.
'No one of this caliber would come just to target Vengeance.'
So the answer was clear.
Krang.
The clueless soldier who claimed to have forgotten his unit's name.
Someone like that couldn't possibly be an ordinary soldier.
The "why" was settled.
The "how" could wait until tonight.
Oddly enough,
Enkrid had always thought the excruciating pain from dying at the hands of that stab-crazy maniac was the worst part.
And that the sight of the maniac's eyes filled him with the most disgust.
'But this is worse.'
The fact that he had died without even knowing how left him feeling utterly filthy.
The kind of filth that couldn't be compared to stepping in dung—more like rolling in it.
'What a miserable...'
Feeling.
It didn't change anything, though.
Enkrid dismissed his emotions and focused on what needed to be done.
'The "how" will reveal itself tonight. The "why" is clear—Krang is the target.'
That left one more question to ponder.
Beyond the "how" and "why," there was the question of "who."
Who was the assassin?
If it wasn't an enemy soldier,
then it had to be someone who knew the location of the medical tent, knew how to stay hidden, and was skilled in assassination.
Someone who had already identified their target and had easy access.
One name came to mind.
'The company commander?'
It was a logical suspicion.
Elves were quiet, nimble, and swift—the perfect assassins.
And since the commander had business here, it made sense for them to come and go.
Even the pointless chatter a few days ago could make sense if their true goal was this tent.
The pieces fit together neatly.
"What are you doing?"
Vengeance's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
Enkrid reflexively replied.
"Thinking."
"Thinking? So curt. Have you completely lost it, you crazy bastard?"
Vengeance, limping slightly as his thigh wound had improved somewhat, got up.
"Oh, I thought it was Krang. My mistake, platoon leader."
"A mistake, huh? That's all?"
"Apologies."
"An apology and that's it?"
He's latched onto that.
"How about I get us something to eat?"
Ignoring Vengeance's outburst, Enkrid stepped out of the tent as if nothing had happened.
Behind him, Vengeance's shouts and Krang's lazy reply, "I'm not hungry!" echoed.
Despite having died because of Krang, Enkrid didn't resent him.
He was still annoyed and in a foul mood, sure.
But it wasn't Krang who killed him.
Ultimately, his death came down to his lack of skill—or just rotten luck.
That's how Enkrid saw it.
'If you're aware, you won't get caught off guard.'
An assassin creeping in under the cover of night—just creating a commotion would summon nearby allies.
Catching a prowling cat in the dead of night didn't require much effort.
Before long, Krang appeared before Enkrid, rubbing his eyes.
Dragging his feet, he radiated a perpetual air of laziness.
This guy's consistency never failed.
"You're late, and now the platoon leader's pissed."
"He's pissed because of me? That's because you keep teasing him, Squad Leader."
Officially, Krang was also a squad leader.
Which meant the two of them held equal ranks.
"A lowest-ranked soldier acting all gutsy, huh?"
As they walked back together, Krang casually asked,
"So, what's with you always picking fights?"
Despite the truncated phrasing, the question was easy to understand.
Why keep provoking others?
"Vengeance?"
"He's a mid-tier soldier."
The Cypress Division and the Naurilia Kingdom military used a rank-based system for soldiers.
It was akin to a reward system to boost morale.
If you proved your skills, you earned a rank to match.
This system motivated soldiers to train hard.
Ranks were divided into five levels: lowest, low, mid, high, and top-tier.
Enkrid thought it was a practical system.
In Naurilia, where martial strength was revered, most commanders were high-tier or above.
Knights, however, were excluded from this ranking system.
Knights transcended the limits of ordinary humans.
Thus, they couldn't be bound by such a framework.
Squad leaders were usually low or mid-tier soldiers.
But exceptions always existed.
Enkrid, a lowest-ranked soldier, was one such exception as a squad leader.
His subordinates were at least mid-tier.
"You're an odd one," the soldier remarked absentmindedly.
Enkrid felt a strange twinge at that comment.
'Me?'
He'd been told his entire life he was either ordinary or lacking talent.
"Two portions will do for the meals," Enkrid said.
The soldier, mumbling something about how peculiar Enkrid was, prepared only two portions.
Returning to the tent, Enkrid pacified Vengeance, had breakfast, and reviewed the last battle after their usual training.
Krang skipped breakfast and disappeared.
So only Enkrid and Vengeance ate.
"Krang said he'd be away for a while, right?"
"Yeah, I think so."
Vengeance orderly responded nonchalantly to Enkrid's inquiry.
Although the elf company commander was a suspect,
The sentries outside were also strong contenders.
'These guys can enter and leave this tent whenever they please.'
'Let's not jump to conclusions.'
Even if everything added up, settling on a conclusion could cloud his judgment.
It was better to keep all possibilities open.
After lunch, Krang returned.
It was a routine day—except for Enkrid.
"You're busy, huh?"
When Enkrid addressed him, Krang tilted his head in puzzlement.
Then, with a subtle smile, Krang approached and asked.
"Do you know something?"
It was a sudden question, and Enkrid frowned slightly, unsure of what Krang was getting at.
"What?"
"This is the first time you've spoken to me first."
'Really?'
Now that Krang mentioned it, it seemed plausible. But Enkrid hadn't paid much attention to it before.
"Guess it is. So what?"
What's the big deal about that?
Krang chuckled softly and plopped himself down on the edge of Enkrid's bed.
Enkrid hadn't been particularly curious about Krang's true identity before.
Or rather, he hadn't cared much.
But thanks to this enigmatic soldier, the day had started repeating, piquing his interest.
What sort of man was this Krang that assassins would come after him?
While he could try to coax the truth out of him with some clever maneuvering, Enkrid chose another approach.
Sometimes, it was better to convey sincerity directly than to beat around the bush.
Sitting beside Krang, Enkrid met his gaze and asked directly.
"What's your real identity?"
Vengeance, who had been dozing off nearby, woke up, saw the two sitting close, and almost jumped in to interrupt.
But he stopped himself when he heard the question.
He, too, was curious.
Enkrid waited patiently for an answer.
Krang smiled, but this time it wasn't the relaxed smile he usually wore.
Instead of speaking, he stared into Enkrid's eyes for a long moment, still smiling faintly.
'Does he want to have a staring contest or something?'
Enkrid waited leisurely for Krang to open his mouth.
As the silence stretched, Vengeance couldn't hold back any longer and began to speak.
"Hey—"
But Krang interrupted.
"Hmm, I can't say."
"Why?"
"Because it would ruin the fun. And I have a promise to keep."
"Is that so?"
"It is."
Enkrid nodded at Krang's refusal to answer.
From the back of the room, Vengeance, who had been listening to the entire conversation, was left dumbfounded.
What kind of nonsensical exchange was this?
Why ask the question if he was just going to accept the non-answer?
If Krang had a hidden identity, then there must be a reason for keeping it a secret.
Could he be an enemy spy?
Finally, Vengeance spoke up, his voice sharp.
"Are you a spy?"
"I'm a squad leader!" Enkrid replied indignantly.
"Not you, idiot. Him!"
"Me? No," Krang said, shaking his head with a smile.
But then, without another word, he stood and walked to the center of the infirmary.
Enkrid quietly observed as Krang moved.
One of the guards stationed at the infirmary glanced at Krang with bleary eyes.
"I can't reveal my identity, but I can tell you one thing," Krang said, standing in the middle of the room.
There was an odd quality to him.
The way he walked, his posture, his gestures, his tone of voice, even the faint smile on his face—all of it seemed perfectly orchestrated, as if he were an actor on a stage prepared just for him.
He commanded attention without trying, and Enkrid found himself unconsciously focused on Krang's lips.
"I cannot betray this kingdom," Krang said.
His tone was neither fast nor slow, but it carried an undeniable weight.
It was the sort of statement that could be a lie, a throwaway comment, or even a fleeting confession.
But coming from Krang, it felt like an unshakable truth, as inevitable as the changing of the seasons.
Enkrid felt as though he were seeing an illusion.
The infirmary seemed to expand, its walls disappearing to reveal a vast, open plain.
And in the center of it all stood Krang, his presence dominating the expanse like a lone figure in an endless wilderness.
'He's not ordinary.'
There was no way to classify him within any standard rank.
'A knight?'
No, even the skill of a knight couldn't explain what Enkrid was witnessing.
It was instinct, a gut feeling—Krang was no knight.
"Well, if you don't trust me, that's fine," Krang said, his voice light.
The illusion vanished.
The infirmary walls returned, and Krang appeared as he always had, his presence no longer larger than life.
"But if you do trust me, I'd appreciate it."
"I think I have to," Enkrid replied.
"Do you?"
"Yeah. Because you said it like you meant it."
Enkrid couldn't fathom Krang's true identity.
But in the end, it didn't matter much.
All that mattered was stopping the assassins.
Vengeance, who had been holding his breath, let out a long sigh.
He started to say something to Krang and Enkrid but stopped himself.
"Damn it," he muttered, turning away.
Whatever Krang's true nature was, it was clearly extraordinary, leaving Vengeance at a loss for words.
Seeing this, Krang burst into laughter.
"Don't worry, platoon leader. Right now, I'm just Krang."
"...Who said anything?"
Clicking his tongue, Enkrid found Vengeance's flustered reaction oddly endearing.
For all his bluster, Vengeance only ever picked fights with him, while keeping quiet around others.
'Come to think of it, I wonder why he only acts like this with me.'
Enkrid let the thought drift as another identical day began.
"Sleep well, Enkrid."
"You too."
For once, Vengeance skipped his usual snide evening remark, perhaps fearing the consequences of his words.
How dull.
That night, Enkrid stayed awake.
As a former mercenary, his endurance and wits had saved him more often than his swordsmanship.
The night deepened, and the guard changed twice.
Vengeance snored softly nearby, while Enkrid's thoughts kept him alert.
Just as he considered getting up, a sharp sting pricked his neck.
Instinctively, he reached for the spot and found a thin, wooden needle embedded in his skin.
'A dart? Poisoned?'
As numbness spread from the wound, Enkrid's body grew heavy, his senses dulling.
'Damn it.'
He strained to keep his eyes open, determined not to let the day end like this.
Through the haze, he saw a small figure approaching—a woman or perhaps a child.
The figure raised an arm, and darkness swallowed him.
"Cypress! Cypress!"
The hymn echoed, signaling the start of another day.
It was the third.
"What the hell is taking them so long with breakfast?" Vengeance grumbled, just as he had the previous mornings.
This time, Enkrid didn't waste any effort.
"I'll go check."
Stepping outside, he began preparing for the next encounter.
If the assassin came again, he would be ready.

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