Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 33 - 33 - The Objective
Chapter 33 - The Objective
The emerald-green eyes of the company commander gleamed with curiosity as she listened to the squad leader's report.
"With just ten men?"
The events involving other squads during the reconnaissance mission were relatively uneventful.
The only notable incident was an encounter with an Aspen infantry reconnaissance team on the plains.
Instead of engaging in combat, the two sides simply kept their distance and parted ways.
It wasn't unusual to run into Aspen reconnaissance units on the plains.
After all, it was expected that they'd be operating as well.
If anything, it was stranger that they'd only crossed paths once.
However, what Enkrid's unit had accomplished was on an entirely different scale.
The enemy had set up an ambush in the tall grass.
They were up to something.
Discovering such intel was understandable.
But to infiltrate the enemy lines with just ten soldiers and set their camp ablaze?
"What kind of lunatic is he?"
At the center of all this was Enkrid.
Even during the previous assassination incident, the same name had surfaced.
Wherever things seemed to go awry, there he was, the squad leader named Enkrid.
Should this be dismissed as mere bad luck?
But for someone supposedly cursed by misfortune, he was remarkably resilient.
Not only that, he often achieved unexpected results—if not outright success.
Wasn't it because of that squad leader's endurance during the assassination attempt that the target could be protected?
And this time?
The feat of infiltrating enemy lines and gathering information alone warranted more than a hundred commendations.
"Yes, that seems to be the case," the squad leader replied.
Ten men had infiltrated enemy lines, and while five had perished, the remaining five returned with unbelievable achievements.
The company commander couldn't help but feel intrigued.
'Enkrid, Enkrid.'
What kind of lunatic was he really?
His skills were average at best, so how was this possible?
She decided there was no need to overthink it.
"Luck."
It could only be attributed to luck.
If not, what else could explain it?
Unless he had memorized the enemy's positions as if he'd walked into their commander's mind, which was absurd.
That hypothesis was even more implausible.
The idea that Enkrid could be a spy trained by the Aspen Principality was a more plausible theory—but it was just as ridiculous.
What kind of idiot would train a spy to be a mere squad leader with mediocre skills?
"Should I summon the squad leader to confirm the facts?"
"If he's stupid enough to lie about something like this, he'd already be dead."
The company commander leaned on her fist, lost in thought.
The squad leader named Enkrid might just be lucky.
But what were the Aspen forces aiming for?
For now, she needed to inform the battalion commander.
That was the proper course of action.
With her decision made, she stood.
"Where are you going?"
Who had chosen this idiot to lead a squad?
She shoved the fool aside and said, "To the battalion commander's tent."
After all, reporting this incident took priority.
Rem was bored.
There were no skirmishes, no tasks to occupy him.
Both armies were locked in a standoff, glaring at each other from their respective positions.
Rumors began to circulate within the unit that this might be how the war would end.
"Well, that's likely. Winter's coming, and these plains battles rarely conclude quickly. They'll probably pick it up again next year," said Krais, his sharp ears picking up bits of gossip and piecing them together.
Rem, however, didn't care about Krais's chatter or the rumors themselves.
The idea of this battlefield repeating itself year after year, or that Aspen and Naurilia had once been allies?
It didn't matter.
"This is so damn boring."
He spent his time sharpening his axe and juggling it for entertainment, but the monotony remained.
Rem was going out of his mind with boredom.
Everyone else seemed to have something to do.
"Are you crazy? That price for cigars? Did an arrow pierce your brain or something?"
Big Eyes was busy hawking goods.
With income likely to dwindle after the battles, he claimed he had to make the most of it now.
What a hardworking soul.
"What? You arrowhead like bastard?"
Occasionally, some fool would glare at Big Eyes, mocking his small stature.
Rem had taken up the hobby of intimidating such fools.
A single gesture—licking the edge of his freshly sharpened axe—was usually enough to end it.
Not that the axe was overly sharp.
If it were honed to the point of slicing at the slightest touch, the edge would chip easily.
Without magic or a craftsman's touch, this was the best maintenance method.
So, licking it wouldn't actually cut his tongue.
"...Come to think of it, my helmet did take an arrow in the last battle."
The fool backed down quickly.
"Look, cigars are hard to come by. How many boxes did you need again?"
Krais raised his voice, fully embodying the role of a shrewd merchant.
Meanwhile, the sneaky stray cat-like Jaxen wandered outside instead of sticking to the tent.
The religious zealot?
He was busy praying with an unsettling fervor, often banging his head on the floor with a grim expression.
And always muttering, "Oh, father, grant me answers."
The guy reeked of a mad zealot.
Watching him was enough to put anyone off.
Lastly, there was Ragna, who spent his time either staring blankly or sleeping.
Wasn't he bored?
How could he spend all day zoning out or napping?
"With the captain absent, this is just too boring."
Rem grumbled internally.
He even wondered if the squad leader might have died.
Reconnaissance missions were dangerous.
Although the captain had improved a lot, by Rem's standards, his skills were still embarrassing.
If he had died?
It would be a shame.
A big one.
"Have I gotten attached?"
From what Rem had observed, the man was too valuable to let die.
But following him around to protect him?
That'd be ridiculous.
Who was he, anyway?
No one special.
Just a random person he'd taken a liking to.
"A random person I like?"
Now that he thought about it, people like that were rare in Rem's life.
If possible, he'd like him to return alive.
Not that he was anxious about it.
The squad leader wasn't someone who'd fall to weaklings.
Lost in these idle thoughts, Rem could no longer sit still in his boredom.
Whether the squad leader was dead or alive, he needed to fix the monotony of the moment.
"Do you feel like dying?"
Rem decided on a simple solution.
He kicked Ragna, who was lying down idly, and spoke.
Ragna stared up at him with a look that seemed to say, "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Do you have a death wish?"
Ragna sounded serious.
"I'm bored. Let me crack your skull."
No more words were needed.
Jaxen briefly glanced at them as he passed by but ignored it.
The zealot continued his bizarre prayers.
Krais was elsewhere.
The two of them agreed and headed outside.
Clang.
A light clash of axe and sword signaled the start of their duel.
With that, they began to swing their weapons at each other.
Whoosh!
Rem's arm swung powerfully, his axe descending with terrifying force. Ragna dodged the blade, twisting his body as he thrust his sword forward.
The thrust far sharper than the countless attacks he'd shown before, aimed straight for Rem's abdomen.
Rem pushed himself backward with a powerful leap, landing with a thud that left a clear footprint where he had stood moments ago.
If anyone with a discerning eye had witnessed this exchange, they would have been astonished by the level of skill on display.
Enkrid arrived just as the two combatants reached the climax of their battle.
"Kill him!"
An excited soldier shouted, his voice carrying over the growing crowd that had gathered to watch.
The squad was known as troublemakers, and for good reason. They were a collection of individuals with all sorts of issues. But why did the unit keep such a troublesome group? The answer was simple: their undeniable skill.
With two of them now displaying their talents, it was no surprise this had become a spectacle.
Clang!
Sword and axe collided, sending up a cloud of dust around them.
Whoosh!
Despite the swirling debris, neither took their eyes off the other.
Scrape.
The axe blade, which seemed to fall from above, suddenly dragged along the ground, scattering bits of stone as it went.
Ragna avoided the sweeping axe with a downward slash of his sword.
Swish.
The sword's trajectory was so fast it was invisible, yet in the blink of an eye, the blade was at Rem's neck.
Clang!
Again, the axe and sword met, sparks flying as they clashed.
"Unbelievable," muttered the Second Platoon Leader of the Fourth Company, clearly impressed.
Even a casual observer could tell their skill was leagues above his.
Other soldiers who prided themselves on their abilities also found themselves humbled.
Among them were a few who had aspired to advanced ranks, now realizing the gap in their skills.
Some, however, misjudged what they saw.
'I could handle that.'
'I would've ended it already.'
Such thoughts stemmed from the mistaken belief that this display was the entirety of their abilities.
Enkrid, meanwhile, stood frozen in place, his eyes wide as he watched.
The chatter around him faded into silence.
His focus was entirely consumed by their movements, their weapons, and the flow of the battle.
He was so engrossed that sweat dripped down his nose, his entire body drenched just from observing.
Sometimes, watching alone can foster growth.
Unintentionally, Enkrid realized something in this moment.
'This approach won't work anymore.'
Every person has a form that suits them, whether in swordsmanship or physical training.
Enkrid had something others lacked: the curse of repeating days.
The endless walls described by the ferryman without eyes.
Thus, ordinary methods of training or discipline were insufficient.
He needed something new, tailored to his circumstances.
As he observed the axe and sword wielded by the two before him, the method began to take shape in his mind.
Excitement and revelation came swiftly, only to cool just as quickly, like water poured over a boiling pot.
Watching the sparring match—not quite a duel—Enkrid had to admit the truth.
He had never drawn out such skill from either of them.
Neither Rem nor Ragna had ever shown this level of intensity during their training with him.
It wasn't just their power or speed; it was their expressions.
Rem was smiling, his face radiating pure enjoyment.
Ragna, too, looked animated—a rare sight.
How many "todays" had he repeated?
How many times had he skirted death?
And yet, in this moment, he could not hope to face either of them seriously.
That was his current standing.
But he didn't despair.
If he were one to give up so easily, he wouldn't have started down this path in the first place.
Instead, he found it thrilling.
He now had a clear goal.
'That expression.'
As he continued watching, he resolved to one day see them make those faces while fighting him.
The determination felt deeply satisfying.
A new path had appeared before him, and he had the time to walk it.
The joy he felt was beyond words.
Ring!
The axe and sword scraped against each other, producing an eerie sound as both fighters pulled back.
Sweat poured down their faces.
Beads of it rolled down Ragna's brow.
Rem exhaled heavily, then grinned.
"For someone who sleeps all day, you're not bad."
Ragna scoffed at the remark.
"And where do you get off evaluating me, you brute who bullies weaker opponents?"
Despite their sharp words, they both lowered their weapons.
They understood each other's state without needing to speak.
Any further would turn into a fight to the death.
Although both had been fired up, this wasn't the moment for that.
They had spared some strength for this sparring session.
Even while fighting, they had noticed a familiar face among the spectators—Enkrid.
A sign of their control and awareness.
"Enjoying the show? If you're going to stick around, why not spar with me?" Rem suddenly quipped, causing the crowd to quickly disperse.
Left standing amidst the scattering onlookers was none other than Enkrid, looking disheveled.
"You're back?"
Rem greeted him warmly, while Ragna acknowledged him with a glance.
The fight was over.
And Enkrid had returned safely.
Soon, the red-haired Jaxen emerged, groggily running a hand through his messy hair, and Krais rushed toward the squad leader.
"You've returned?"
"Squad leader!"
"Our lord has blessed us."
Even the religious squad member acknowledged him.
There were six of them in total—the full extent of what should have been a ten-man squad.
Rejoining his group, Enkrid announced his return.

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