Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 26 - 26 - The Bow
Chapter 26 - The Bow
"Should've dodged back there."
Enkrid once again chewed over the events of his peculiar yesterday, which existed only for him.
"No, dodging wasn't the issue. I got too fixated on landing a single blow."
Dodge when needed, strike when necessary.
Hadn't he heard time and time again about the importance of split-second decisions?
From countless swordsmanship instructors, and from Rem as well.
"What good is it to see well with the Heart of the Beast if you make the wrong choice? You're just digging your own grave."
It almost felt as if Rem were standing nearby, cackling in mockery.
If that bastard Rem knew, he would've said exactly that.
Enkrid mulled over the moment, over and over again.
"This time, I'll take a slightly different route."
He changed his path daily.
The privilege of someone stuck repeating the same day.
'Let's ambush the enemy scouts past that tall grass. How does that sound?'
True to form, the reconnaissance squad leader was once again leading them all toward ruin.
Stopping him wasn't even a consideration.
No, Enkrid knew changing the patrol route was futile.
Whichever path they chose, it would be the same.
'The enemy's already swarming this area, lying in ambush.'
The enemy forces were scattered thickly across the tall grasslands.
If survival was the goal, the best option was to return the moment he opened his eyes.
'But that's not an option.'
Doing so would mean defying orders, which could lead to severe punishment, even summary execution.
Should he abandon the squad of nine and desert on his own?
Should he survive that way?
'Was that why I learned the sword?'
A knight, a general, a hero.
Even now, he swung his blade while dreaming of such titles.
But could the right choice really be to abandon these people, knowing they would all die?
Was that truly the best he could do?
'No.'
Everyone has something they can't compromise on.
Enkrid knew he was neither a good person nor a saint.
But this was one thing he couldn't let go.
Some might call it conviction.
Others, stubbornness.
And Enkrid didn't care what they called it.
'This is my decision.'
If he had lived by someone else's standards, he would have long since given up and settled into a quiet life as a layabout in some backwater village militia.
Desertion wasn't an option.
The goal was to find a way out of this today.
Fight again.
Bleed again.
Kill the enemy again.
This time, he used his sword as a shield until it shattered.
A spear struck his head.
The world spun.
Of course, death followed.
Whether it was the spear impaling his chest or the blow to his skull that killed him, he couldn't be sure.
And then it repeated.
He died.
Over and over.
Through these life-or-death battles, he digested what he had learned from sparring.
He reflected on what he already knew.
During all this, Enkrid focused on only two things.
One, how to fight better.
Two, how to escape today.
To reach tomorrow.
Enkrid knew relentless effort was necessary for that moment.
He had survived two of these repeating days before.
But this time, it was different.
"I don't see a way out."
Everywhere he turned, it was nothing but enemies.
Locusts, crickets, tall grass obscuring his vision, and this swampy, humid terrain—what made it worth stationing so many soldiers here?
"Relentless bastards."
To make matters worse, every one of them was well-trained.
They weren't ragtag mercenaries fighting for coin or conscripts forced into service.
These were all salaried soldiers.
Some might even consider them elite.
In large-scale battles, the term "elite" might carry a different meaning.
But on a battlefield of this size, professional soldiers counted as elite.
If soldiers who trained to fight while eating regularly didn't qualify as elite, then who would?
"This is going to be a headache."
With a surprise attack, he could kill three or four.
Beyond that, it would be too much.
Especially with crossbowmen ready to fire, retreating while fighting would be even harder.
"Enough power to kill them all."
Could he achieve that by repeating this day endlessly?
Could he gain that kind of power?
No.
He already knew the answer.
Back in the first repeated day, he had tried to push past a mere spearman to reach tomorrow.
"There's a limit to what I can learn in frozen time."
Enkrid knew himself well.
To improve and feel the thrill of growth, he needed good mentors and opportunities.
That didn't mean he wasted these repeated days.
He trained his hearing, honed his swordsmanship, and reviewed his battles.
He repeated this process endlessly.
Though progress was slow, he was still growing.
"I'm good with a bow, but my hands shake when the fighting gets chaotic," Enri said beside him.
It was something Enkrid had heard several times before.
Though he claimed to be a coward, he was confident in his archery skills.
"Can you hit an apple on someone's head from a hundred paces?" Enkrid teased, looking to lighten his mood.
"Not a hundred paces, but thirty paces is doable. If you put an apple on the squad leader's head, I'll give it a shot."
"Shame, I don't have an apple."
"Shame indeed," Enri chuckled.
Enri knew how to enjoy a joke.
"But really, within thirty paces, I'm pretty confident. Maybe not the apple, but I could hit the head."
Enri's tone was serious now.
"If you take down ten enemies with headshots, it'd help," Enkrid said, glancing at Enri's quiver.
The flat leather quiver at his hip held about ten arrows.
It was securely strapped to his waist and thigh with leather cords, which also tied the arrows together.
When loosened, the arrows could easily be drawn.
True to his background as a plains hunter, Enri seemed skilled with both his bow and his gear.
"Hey, what's so funny? We're on reconnaissance duty, you know. Tsk," the squad leader snapped, glaring.
Enkrid ignored him.
The squad leader's occasional interjections were nothing new in this repeated today.
'It'd be nice to take out a few with arrows to start,' Enkrid thought, watching the hostile soldier following behind the leader.
The man shot him a glance that seemed to say,
Don't respond, just stay quiet.
Same as before.
There was no need to cause a scene, so Enkrid let it slide.
'That'd make it easier to launch a surprise attack' he thought, letting his mind simulate the battle ahead.
With the information he'd gathered through repeated days, the scenarios he envisioned were strikingly accurate.
In the end, he would die.
Most likely, he would die.
Even with a clear skill advantage, the numbers were overwhelming.
And they weren't outmatched in terms of equipment, either.
"That's not an advantage we have."
What would Rem do?
There would be no hesitation.
He'd charge in with axes swinging in both hands.
With Rem's skills, he couldn't kill all hundred.
But he could kill enough to escape.
That was the kind of explosive talent Rem had.
"Funny, someone like him is just a soldier," Enkrid mused.
Though Rem himself didn't seem to mind.
In some ways, Enkrid felt like he was the only one in their troublemaker squad with ambitions.
He seemed to be the only one who wanted to rise above being a mere squad member.
What was the point of thinking about a squadmate who wasn't even here?
Enkrid shook off the thought.
A small snake slithered through the short grass.
The grass underfoot was getting taller, a sign they were nearing the tall grasslands.
'I'm not Rem,' he reminded himself.
As he imagined the coming battle, another thought struck him.
"What level of skill does the squad leader have?"
Up until now, Enkrid hadn't had the chance to properly assess the situation.
He had merely considered things as "not bad."
The scout squad leader, the gruff soldier, and Enri.
Even the rest of the squad members.
Thoughts chained together, leading to a clear answer.
"I don't have to protect everything myself."
"Huh?"
Enri asked, puzzled, reacting to what seemed to be an unintentional mutter.
"Nothing."
Enkrid had been foolish.
Until now, he had approached everything with the mindset of tackling it alone.
He fought as if he had to protect everything on his own, passively responding when encountering enemies.
As a result, he thought he had tried every option available, but there was one more left.
A way to completely change the game.
Crack. Crack.
Enkrid tilted his neck side to side, loosening up.
There was still some distance to the grassy field ahead.
Striding forward, Enkrid grabbed the gruff soldier by the shoulder and pulled him back.
"Huh?"
The soldier instinctively tensed up.
"What is it?"
"You were glaring at me earlier, weren't you?"
Of course, he knew.
It wasn't a glare but rather a look seeking consent.
But for someone with such an intimidating face, even a look could feel like a glare.
"No, listen, it's not like that—"
"Your tongue's too long."
Thwack!
Enkrid swung a punch, but the soldier dodged by leaning his head back.
"...What's wrong with you? Have you lost it?"
The scout squad leader asked in disbelief from the front.
"Fight me."
Ignoring him, Enkrid swept a kick toward the soldier's ankle, but it was dodged again.
The soldier frowned.
"You seemed like a perceptive guy."
"Being perceptive means I noticed your irritating look."
Rem had once admitted that if there were a continental competition for verbal provocation, Enkrid might win.
"Come on, fight me, you ox-faced bastard no cow would look back at."
The effect was immediate.
The soldier's experienced face flushed red from just a few words.
"Fine. You're asking for it."
The two fought.
Instead of drawing swords, they used fists as blades, feet as clubs.
The fight was fairly even—no, truthfully, Enkrid was slightly on the losing end.
He's good,
Enkrid thought.
By kingdom standards, the soldier's skill ranged between intermediate and advanced.
"I thought you were just a low-ranked soldier?"
The soldier, whose lip was bleeding, spat and asked.
"I am. Lowest rank."
"They say promotion comes with money. Why don't you go for it?"
Enkrid knew he wasn't actually a low-ranked soldier.
From the moment he joined the military, he wasn't bound by rank.
But he didn't feel the need to advance—he understood his own skills and limits.
Of course, his mindset had shifted somewhat now.
If the opportunity arose, he might pursue promotion.
But it wasn't his top priority.
What did it matter, whether it was the criteria for mercenaries or soldier rankings?
What truly mattered was the outcome.
"You're skilled," Enkrid admitted genuinely.
A fight like this was satisfying.
The soldier was better than he'd expected—likely someone who excelled in real combat.
The squad leader, his face red with anger, stepped in.
"What are you doing?!" he yelled, his eyes blazing as if ready to leap at Enkrid.
But Enkrid spoke first.
"It's sparring. Good warm-up."
The scout leader faltered at Enkrid's audaciously straightforward response.
"Leave it be," the gruff soldier interjected. "There's no bad blood here."
Enkrid shrugged.
"Watch your mouth, leader. Your tongue's gonna get you in trouble someday."
"That's for me to worry about," the leader retorted.
Enkrid returned to his spot, ignoring further comments.
Beside him, Enri looked at his swollen cheekbone.
"Aren't you supposed to be a low-ranked soldier?"
"I am."
Why was everyone so surprised?
Even a few of the other scouts glanced curiously at Enkrid.
"You fought too well for that," Enri commented.
"I trained hard," Enkrid replied.
It wasn't a lie.
Despite the commotion, the squad leader led them toward the tall grass field.
There had to be something valuable hidden there—a treasure, or perhaps a lover.
Crunch! Crack.
The familiar sound signaled approaching enemies once more.
This was only the beginning of another day.
"Enemies," Enkrid muttered through a split lip, nudging Enri.
"Shoot."
He wanted to see Enri's archery skills, but the boy hesitated, freezing at the mention of "enemies."
In the ensuing skirmish, Enri's skills were unimpressive.
His shots lacked conviction, and he moved clumsily in battle.
While observing, Enkrid concluded:
I can't work as just another squad member.
Leadership was crucial; orders had to be followed.
But Enkrid hadn't built those dynamics with the team.
He set the thought aside for now.
Repeating another grueling day, fighting desperately to survive.
Through these repetitive days, Enkrid learned more about his squad leader's skills.
The leader wasn't bad.
His swordsmanship bore signs of proper training.
"I'll accept your challenges anytime," the leader declared.
Humoring him with playful defeats brightened the leader's mood.
Through these exchanges, Enkrid memorized his habits and patterns.
Lacks real combat experience,
he thought.
The gruff soldier's babysitting role made sense now.
When asked, the soldier casually replied,
"He's the son of someone I respected."
This soldier reeked of loyalty.
His sole reason for being here was to protect that kid.
"A noble?"
"Fallen nobles don't count."
So, the scout leader was from a fallen noble family.
"I see."
Letting the conversation drift, Enkrid glanced at the sun overhead.
It was midday.
The weather was mild—not too hot, not too cold.
Scouts were all in light armor, necessary for speed and agility.
Light gear, basic equipment.
Enkrid took note of everything: the weather, wind, terrain, allies, enemies.
If he could synchronize these elements, the battle would become clear.

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