Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 44 - 44 - The Blue-Eyed Savior
Chapter 44 - The Blue-Eyed Savior
The fairy company commander twitched her ears.
At the same time, the events unfolding around her became vividly etched in her mind as if she could see them directly.
The heightened sensitivity of her five senses was a natural gift of the fairy race.
Relying on her hearing, she took two steps to the right.
Swish.
She positioned herself directly in front of an enemy soldier thrusting a spear.
Her location placed her at the vanguard of her allies.
The fairy company commander struck upward at the enemy's spear shaft.
At the exact moment the shaft was deflected, the blade in her hand sliced through the air like a leaf riding the wind, piercing the enemy soldier's neck before retracting.
Thunk!
Squirt!
Blood spurted from the punctured neck.
She flicked her sword downward, scattering the blood on the blade to the ground.
Then she continued moving.
Staying in one place would only make her a target for quarrels.
As she ran, the fairy company commander wielded her leaf-shaped sword.
Ting!
Two bolts struck her blade and ricocheted off.
The weapon she held was called "Naidyr."
Shorter and sharper than ordinary swords, it resembled a sleek leaf, a design unique to the fairy race.
With a hilt that seemed to seamlessly emerge from the blade, the weapon brought to mind a small boat or leaf when unsheathed.
Fairy swordsmanship blended three forms:
flexible, precise, and rapid techniques.
Naidyr was a weapon tailored to this unique style.
What the company commander displayed now was a masterful demonstration of such swordsmanship.
No soldier could withstand her ability to deflect, parry, and strike as quickly as a beam of light.
"This isn't good."
Even while dispatching enemies with precision, the fairy company commander felt a grim sense of foreboding.
Had sorcery always been this dangerous?
She had once faced a berserker cursed with a spell.
Berserkers, charging heedlessly despite their wounds, were dangerous and violent but temporary.
They were not the kind of threat that could overwhelm an entire battlefield.
Her knowledge of sorcery was limited to that.
So when the fog rolled in, she was caught completely off guard.
How could this be sorcery?
Thankfully, her preparation had paid off, and her response was timely.
The moment the fog appeared, she commanded her unit to form a tight circular formation.
When shouts of "Get down!" and "Shields up!" rang out, she ensured those orders were executed without hesitation.
Her sub-leaders frantically repeated her commands like parrots, helping to maintain order amidst the chaos.
Suddenly losing visibility was enough to send anyone into panic.
It was no wonder the situation seemed dire.
Still, the fairy company commander did her duty.
If she didn't act, her allies would soon face annihilation.
While the 1st Company might hold, others wouldn't last long.
"Damn rotten bastard."
She silently cursed the battalion commander.
Rotten potato sprouts were poisonous, and the fairy race often used botanical metaphors.
When potatoes sprout, the sprouts must be cut off before consumption. If not, the poison would accumulate in the body.
The current battalion commander was just like those sprouts.
In such a situation, the command unit should be devising a strategy, but the battalion commander issued no orders.
No signals, no shouts—nothing.
He had always led with complacency, relying on his connections.
She had warned him countless times about preparing for sorcery, but he never seemed to take it seriously.
This kingdom was like a moldy peach—rotten to the core.
How could they deploy someone so useless as a battalion commander to the frontlines?
"Even with luck..."
Would even ten out of a hundred soldiers survive?
The fog blinded her allies—a fatal disadvantage.
As she predicted a grim outcome, the fog suddenly lifted.
"Huh?"
The fairy company commander halted, Naidyr in hand.
She was startled.
The fog had disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared.
The enemy soldiers were even more bewildered than she was.
"Huh?"
The enemy spearman directly in front of her froze, unable to thrust his weapon.
Her confusion was brief.
She had fought well even amidst the fog.
Without hesitation, she swung Naidyr.
Tracing a perfect arc in the air, the blade sliced through the enemy's throat.
"Urk!"
Another enemy fell.
The company commander judged this as the decisive turning point.
There was no time to ponder why the fog had vanished.
"Everyone, turn around! Counterattack!"
Her shout ignited a chorus of responses.
"Charge! Charge! CHAAARGE!"
"Kill them! Kill them all!"
"You bastards!"
"We'll slaughter every last one of you!"
"The flower of the battlefield!"
"Infantry!"
The shift in morale transformed the tide of battle.
The fairy company commander reclaimed her place, allowing her unit to surge forward.
"Company commander!"
The leader of the 1st Platoon called out.
"Wipe them out."
She replied, her voice firm.
The platoon leader responded with a battle cry.
"Arghhh!"
The oppressive atmosphere that had weighed on the allies lifted in an instant.
Only then did the fairy company commander wonder why the fog had disappeared.
"Could it be...?"
That squad leader?
Though she had no concrete reason, she instinctively thought it might be him.
Her intuition, sharp as ever, pointed to him.
The commander of Aspen Kingdom's independent company, Grey Hounds, was blocking the retreat path.
It was precisely where the fog ended.
All he had to do was kill the fleeing enemies.
Panicked soldiers running for their lives were easy targets.
But then, the fog dissipated.
"What's this? Why did the fog clear?"
"Commander, the enemy is turning around."
The Green Pearl Plain offered no cover to obscure vision.
From their position, the Grey Hounds soldiers could clearly see Naurilia Kingdom troops reversing their charge.
The commander quickly assessed the situation.
Whether the sorcerer had bungled the spell or it had backfired, something had gone wrong.
If things continued like this, their strategy would fall apart entirely.
"Attack their rear! Don't break through; slice through their flanks as we advance! Follow me!"
The commander sprinted forward, leading his men to strike the rear of the Naurilia forces.
By doing so, they intended to assist their allies in retreating from the frontlines.
"Whoever disrupted this fog..."
The Grey Hounds commander cursed under his breath, vowing to punish the culprit severely.
Enkrid realized his calculations had been severely off.
A bolt lodged in his right shoulder blade rendered him unable to wield his sword effectively with his right hand.
His opponent was slightly better than Mitch Hurrier in skill.
Even when he tried to focus on a single point, spearmen suddenly lunged at him from behind.
No, spearmen targeting his back were the least of his worries.
Five crossbowmen were trailing him, relentlessly aiming at him.
One bolt had already struck his thigh.
'With this leg, running is out of the question.'
His cracked sword had already broken in half.
His opponent wielded a heavy sword, relying on powerful strikes.
Enkrid was drenched in a mix of his own blood and his enemy's.
Seeing him holding his ground with a broken sword in such a state, the mustached man couldn't help but admire him.
He was the enemy, had mocked him endlessly, and had disrupted their sorcery, but his tenacity was remarkable.
Even now, he showed no signs of surrender.
"What are you holding onto?"
The mustached man asked.
Enkrid, catching his breath, kept his eyes on the crossbowmen behind him as he replied.
"What?"
"Why haven't you given up yet?"
Enkrid answered as if it were obvious.
"Phew, I'm a squad leader."
"So?"
"There are two of the guys in my squad named Rem and Ragna."
"Hmm?"
"Those two fight so well it's hard to believe they're just squad members."
"Are you saying they'll come to save you?"
"That was one of the possibilities."
Having come this far, he expected them to be nearby.
But no, they weren't.
He hadn't seen them yet, even though he thought they should have shown up by now.
If they hadn't arrived by now, they weren't coming.
That was the reality.
At the same time, Rem had obliterated an enemy unit and was cutting through tall grass.
Ragna, having stopped advancing due to the fog, had rejoined the allies and was unaware of his squad leader's location.
The mustached man stepped closer with his sword. Enkrid, dragging his injured leg, retreated.
Still, his eyes were fiercely alive.
What was he aiming for with that body?
Could he really escape in this condition?
Enkrid glanced at the man with the mustache and thought,
What a meticulous bastard.
Still, he hadn't given up on
today
If I die, I'll just start over.
He knew this truth all too well.
But he also knew he hadn't suffered a fatal blow yet.
Above all, if he had wasted all the
he'd endured, the current Enkrid wouldn't exist.
Up until the moment of death, Enkrid was determined to resist.
Never giving up, fighting until the very end—that was who he was.
"You're too good to be an enemy," the mustache muttered, taking another step forward.
Enkrid could retreat no further.
Behind him, a soldier armed with a spear stared at him menacingly.
Enkrid glanced back and then refocused on the mustache, who was now gripping a longsword with both hands.
The blade of the bastard sword, longer than a regular sword, reflected the sunlight breaking through the dissipating mist.
Right?
Left?
Which direction should he dodge?
Whichever way he chose, a fatal wound was unavoidable.
But Enkrid had no intention of dying quietly.
If I can't avoid it...
He tightened his grip on the broken sword.
If left or right weren't options, and retreat was impossible, then the only choice was to move forward.
As the blade descended, Enkrid made his decision.
He charged forward the moment he resolved himself.
Thunk!
The sound of a bowstring snapping rang out, followed by a bolt embedding itself in his left shoulder.
While his attention was on the mustache's sword, another soldier had fired a crossbow.
Enkrid gritted his teeth against the pain and muttered, "How cheap."
"Thanks for the compliment," the mustache replied, devoid of any humor.
Even if they managed to kill the man in front of him, the battle's tide had already turned against them.
One soldier's life versus the outcome of the war.
Even an eight-year-old child could understand which held more value.
But letting him go was even less of an option.
The mustache brought down his sword—a heavy strike with a large blade.
Enkrid didn't close his eyes.
He stared at the descending blade, unflinching.
The Heart of the Beast gave him courage.
Without blinking, Enkrid pondered.
If my body were in peak condition, how would I block this?
Even in his final moments, his focus remained on swordsmanship.
Then, just as the blade was about to strike his forehead—
"Aargh!"
A scream erupted behind him.
Simultaneously, a black shadow struck the mustache's sword.
Bang!
Enkrid couldn't immediately discern what the shadow was.
It wasn't a sword or an arrow.
If it had been, it wouldn't have struck the blade in mid-air and twisted in the air before landing.
"What...?"
Enkrid identified the source of the shadow.
Blue eyes and fur as black as silk.
It was a black panther.
In an instant, a distant memory surfaced.
A memory that, under normal circumstances, wasn't so far removed, but felt hazy after reliving so many
todays
A memory he should have forgotten but hadn't.
Seeing the black fur and blue eyes brought it back to him vividly.
It was the beast he'd met in the tall grass.
"You?"
Grrr.
The black panther was slightly larger than when he had last seen it.
The creature stared at the mustache and then let out a fierce roar.
"What the hell is this now?"
The mustache's eyebrows shot up in disbelief, followed quickly by an angry scowl.
In response, two crossbowmen aimed at the panther and fired.
"Hey!" Enkrid shouted in alarm.
The panther twisted its body gracefully, dodging the quarrels with ease.
It leaped a few times, evading them all.
Then, with a powerful push off the ground, it lunged forward.
The mustache instinctively swung his sword downward.
But the panther didn't even get close to him.
Its movements were so fast, it looked like a streak of black silk extending across the battlefield.
Instead of the mustache, its target was the crossbowmen.
"Gah!"
With a swipe of its claws, the panther tore through the Achilles' tendon of one soldier.
Blood spattered everywhere.
A leather boot was no match for claws that sharp.
Clang!
When the panther attacked, another soldier drew a short sword.
What happened next was even more astonishing.
The panther didn't go after the soldier—it targeted the crossbow.
With a swift kick, it broke the crossbow's string.
It leaped again, snapping the strings of several more crossbows with its claws and back legs.
Was this intentional?
One or two might be coincidence, but cutting the strings on all five crossbows couldn't be accidental.
"You damned beast," the mustache growled, his face now red with fury.
The panther didn't confront him.
Instead, it dashed back to Enkrid and bit down on his nape.
Grrr!
It exhaled heavily, as if annoyed, and began running.
The beast was astonishingly strong.
Though Enkrid's legs and body dragged on the ground, they moved as fast as if he were running himself.
His back ached, and cuts appeared on his limbs as they scraped against the ground.
As he was dragged, he felt something warm trickling down from his nape.
He wanted to check, but he had no time.
"After them!" the mustache bellowed.
Even so, escaping this battlefield seemed impossible.
"Run," Enkrid said.
Of course, the panther didn't respond.
The warm liquid continued to flow from his nape as the mustache gave chase.
Dragged along the ground, Enkrid felt the futility of the escape.
The panther's limits were clear, and the mustache seemed determined not to let them go.
"Run, I said," Enkrid repeated, just as a dark shadow loomed overhead.
"I'm here to save you."
"Huh?"
Unexpected reinforcements.
A comrade, drenched in blood.
It was someone Enkrid recognized—a platoon leader he used to tease relentlessly.
"Platoon leader Vengeance?"
"Yes. It's me."
Vengeance raised his sword, blocking the mustache's advance.
And he wasn't alone.
A group of allied soldiers followed him, surging forward.
Somehow, one squad had broken through and reached them.
Enkrid—or rather, the panther—hadn't bought time in vain.

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