Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 49 - 49 - Madness, Heat, Greed, and Desire
Chapter 49 - Madness, Heat, Greed, and Desire
"We won."
"Damn it, we won!"
"Take that, you Aspen bastards!"
Victory brought cheers.
Cheers ignited heat.
Heat bred madness.
The fiery excitement intertwined with the battlefield, enveloping it in a feverish storm.
When does the greatest triumph on the battlefield occur?
When pursuing the tails of a fleeing enemy.
Naurilia fiercely bit down on Aspen's retreating rear.
"Uraaaah!"
The joy of victory overtook the mourning for the dead, sweeping through their allies.
Madness became inevitable.
Just days ago, they had been on the brink of annihilation.
The fear of death, delivered by the mist, was still deeply engraved in their hearts.
And yet, on a battlefield where they carried that fear, their allies achieved an overwhelming victory.
"Glory to the Crimson Cloak Knights!"
"Long live Naurilia!"
The squires did not reveal their names.
Instead, the name of the knight order resounded high in their place.
"Glory to the Crimson Cloak Knights!"
Those cheers, that heat, that madness.
At the forefront of the battlefield, basking in all those accolades, stood the center of attention.
Flap.
A squire, his symbolic crimson cloak fluttering, raised a hand to respond to the cheers.
"Uraaaah!"
Some soldiers, drunk on the thrill of victory, even shed tears of joy.
Everyone shouted, intoxicated by the madness. Watching this, Enkrid muttered quietly to himself.
"Me too."
No one heard his words, yet within them lay his long-held dream.
The madness and heat were infectious, and Enkrid's heart beat faster.
As the battle ended and the final night of the battlefield arrived, despite the number of lives lost, Enkrid felt exhilaration.
He recalled the words of a sword instructor from a major city, a man missing three fingers.
"A guy with no talent who still wields a blade? He's one of three: someone who enjoys the battlefield, someone who enjoys killing, or someone who lives thoughtlessly."
"I guess I'm the type who enjoys the battlefield."
He envied the cheers.
He craved standing before them.
It wasn't enough to simply wield a sword; he wanted to tear through the battlefield.
His dedication to martial arts hadn't solely stemmed from a love for the sword.
Reflecting on his contributions in this battle, Enkrid realized his actions were nothing more than desperate struggles for survival.
While he did earn merit by tearing the enemy's banner and breaking the curse's medium, it too was ultimately a frantic effort to survive.
Yet, the surge of elation stirred something in him—something he had long buried due to a lack of talent:
Ambition and desire.
"Knight."
I will become one.
I must become one.
This was a moment of renewed determination.
"So damn noisy."
Rem wandered the battlefield absentmindedly, digging his ear.
He didn't seem to enjoy either the battlefield or killing.
There was no exhilaration in him.
Beside him, Ragna yawned.
"Yawn. Isn't this over? Can't we just retreat tonight?"
As if they would retreat tonight.
This guy must also be one of those thoughtless types.
Meanwhile, Jaxen was wiping his sword with leather, already tending to his weapon.
Though he didn't express it outwardly, was Jaxen one to enjoy something as well?
Who knew?
He was incredibly skilled at hiding himself.
"Damn, the battle ended so easily. Think it'll sell as a story or a song?"
"Do you write songs, brother?"
"Nope. I'll just get a bard to do it."
"But isn't it fraud to write a song about something you didn't even witness?"
"Fraud? Oh, please, Audin."
The exchange between Big Eyes and the devout squad member suggested they might even profit from the battlefield.
It was said that on the day Enkrid tore apart the curse's medium, the devout squad member's body was drenched as if he had bathed in blood.
The implication was clear—he had fought ferociously.
He seemed quiet and composed, but his raw power was undeniable.
Why he stood on the battlefield remained a mystery.
Enkrid's thoughts trailed off.
He imagined what might have happened if it had been one of his squad members in his place.
If it were Rem.
He wouldn't have just ended it by piercing and tearing the banner.
If it were Ragna, Jaxen, or Audin.
They all would've fought better than he did.
"Next time, I'll do more."
The thrill of the battlefield squeezed his heart, and the reaction gave rise to ambition within Enkrid.
As night fell after the battle, the command provided liquor and food.
Salted rabbit and venison were served, along with potent spirits from large oak barrels.
"Alcohol, booze!"
Rem and Ragna went wild at the sight of it.
"I only drink wine," said the devout member, refusing the strong liquor.
Jaxen didn't touch alcohol at all.
"Women are better than booze," he shamelessly declared.
Despite comments like this, women still flocked to him.
Why?
"Must be the face," Enkrid thought.
Even without trying, Enkrid attracted women too, thanks to his face.
His well-trained, sculpted muscular physique was practically a weapon against women's hearts.
"This cheap liquor? I'm not drinking it." Big Eyes had refined tastes.
As the night deepened, the battalion commander entered the barracks.
"Squad leader of the 444th?"
Hearing his name, Enkrid rose.
The fervor had died down, and most were preparing to rest.
Enkrid hadn't touched the liquor due to his injuries, sparing him the embarrassment of failing to recognize the battalion commander.
"Injured and drinking? Injured and indulging in booze? Drinking when you're wounded?"
Rem scolded him.
"It's better to refrain. Focus on recovering," Jaxen advised.
Ragna silently shook his head.
Big Eyes chuckled, amused at the scene.
What a squad of lunatics.
Outside, the battalion commander, reeking of alcohol, waved off any salutes.
"So, the flag was the medium for the curse? And you were the one who tore it apart?"
The implication was clear.
They had found the one responsible for breaking the curse and making a decisive contribution to the battle.
Crackle.
Sparks from a nearby fire floated into the air.
"Yes," Enkrid answered calmly.
"You'll be rewarded when we return. Well done."
The battalion commander patted Enkrid on the shoulder—a sign of how significant his actions had been.
Since becoming squad leader, it was the first time the battalion commander had spoken directly to him.
This alone showed how monumental Enkrid's achievement was.
His actions had changed the course of the battlefield.
However, few knew about it.
Only the command was aware.
Most likely, the credit for overcoming the curse would go to the command.
Enkrid didn't mind.
He would still receive a handsome reward.
"I'm not disappointed."
It wasn't something to regret.
After seeing the squires and knights, his thoughts had shifted.
Compared to the ambition he had gained, the minor recognition meant little.
"Good face on you," the battalion commander remarked before leaving.
As Enkrid turned to return to the barracks, he heard the soft tap-tap of footsteps on the ground.
"What is it?"
When Enkrid turned toward the source of the voice, a pair of emerald-like eyes met his.
Seen under the moonlight, they gave off an eerily ghost-like feeling.
A beauty beyond human standards.
It was the fairy company commander.
"I won't let the reward for tearing down the flag be anything less than proper."
That was all the commander had to say before turning to leave.
However, just as it seemed they were departing, they turned their head slightly and spoke again.
"Aren't you going to salute?"
Enkrid belatedly raised his left hand in a motion mimicking pressing down on a weapon.
The fairy commander waved it off.
"That's enough. I'm leaving."
What kind of fairy was that?
When Enkrid entered the barracks after the commander's departure, Rem was lying on his side, propped up on one arm.
"Don't go abandoning me just because you've become popular, captain."
"Are you drunk?"
"I'm not drunk."
It was a playful remark.
The night wore on as Enkrid closed his eyes, replaying in his mind everything he had observed and sensed about the Squire.
There was much to do once his body fully recovered.
The Naurilia infantry battalion set off for Border Guard at dawn.
After four days of marching, they finally arrived at the city fortress of Border Guard, its walls rising imposingly before them.
The fortress city was built on a plateau higher than the surrounding terrain, featuring long walls and three towering watchtowers.
This was the last bastion standing against the Duchy of Aspen.
The fortress at the frontier—Border Guard.
The appearance of the Squire from the Crimson Cloak Knights had the potential to alter the battlefield's dynamics.
Until now, the localized skirmishes on the Green Pearl Plains had remained small in scale due to an unspoken agreement not to deploy knightly forces there.
Yet Naurilia had broken this unspoken rule by sending out the Squire as their trump card.
Naurilia had crossed the line.
Regardless of the Squire's status as someone transitioning to knighthood, breaking the precedent was breaking the precedent.
"Those bastards!"
The Aspen's Duke exploded in fury, his eyes reddened and veins bulging on his forehead.
"Send ours out too!"
But it wasn't so simple.
It was winter.
Starting a full-scale war in winter would lead to extreme national depletion for both sides.
If the skirmishes were to escalate into total war, Aspen would need to rally its forces.
More importantly, Aspen's main military strength was currently absent due to an ongoing operation.
Proper preparations required time.
Even at the height of rage, with a metaphorical volcanic eruption brewing in his head, the impending winter demanded restraint.
Naurilia likely anticipated this, deploying their forces only in the final stages of the war.
Conversely, Aspen's decision to deploy their sorcerer had also considered the winter timing.
However, while Aspen's blade was blocked, Naurilia's dagger had pierced deeply, wounding Aspen.
So much so that losing the arm entirely seemed a possibility.
"At least apply diplomatic pressure. Sending knights to the battlefield is a problem, isn't it?"
The Hurrier representative's reputation for fiery temper was evident as he seethed, though his voice didn't rise to a roar.
It carried the simmering fury of boiling water.
The Duchy of Aspen was a country founded on the strength of three houses:
The ruling Aspen Duke.
The martial house of Hurrier.
And the administrative and diplomatic house of Ekkins.
Handling diplomacy fell to the Ekkins family.
The Ekkins minister was in a bind.
Naurilia had sent a letter, conveniently timed with the deployment of the Crimson Cloak Squire.
This perfect timing suggested that Naurilia had carefully prepared their excuses.
The letter claimed that a General Frog from Aspen had appeared in enemy territory, and the squire was deployed in response.
It was a plausible reason. Too plausible.
Why did that damned General Frog have to show up there?
Frogs were inherently whimsical beings. Putting them in military uniforms had always risked such issues.
'Even without the general, they would've found another excuse.'
The Ekkinse minister wasn't naive.
Naurilia's deployment of the knight wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision.
General Frog had merely provided a convenient pretext.
Without him, they'd have concocted another.
The bottom line
Aspen had been outmaneuvered.
The root of all this trouble was the failure of the sorcery.
Had the mist of massacre succeeded, the prolonged skirmishes on the Green Pearl Plains would have ended in a decisive Aspen victory, without the need for knights.
The minister recalled a report that claimed a single enemy soldier had thwarted the sorcery.
"Failed vigilance, blaming it on one enemy soldier? Does that even make sense?"
Those involved in the failure would face consequences.
The sorcerer, retreating after the failure, had been found dead. A bandit group had apparently crossed paths with the retreating party, leaving the sorcerer and their escorts all severed in half.
"Nothing is going right. Nothing."
"Are we just going to let this slide?"
The Duke's decorum shattered as he shouted in frustration.
What had begun as a secret weapon proposed by the Ekkins family in autumn had turned into a disaster.
The stalemated skirmishes on the Green Pearl Plains ended in Aspen's defeat.
Ten days later, Enkrid felt his body had fully recovered.
The first thing he did upon waking was seek out Rem.
"Rem."
"What's up?"
Rem, having just returned from guard duty, stood before Enkrid.
"Let's spar."
"What?"
"Spar with me."
"Didn't you just recover?"
What did that matter?
Enkrid's body was itching for action.
His expression conveyed his thoughts clearly—an ability in its own right.
Using just his eyebrows and mouth, he communicated his unshakable determination.
"Alright, let's do it. If you're eager, who am I to stop you? But don't cry when you get beaten."
"Bring it on, you arrogant barbarian."
"Oh, you looking to get your legs broken this time?"
Rem responded to Enkrid's provocation with a grin, and the two headed outside the barracks.
Watching them go, Ragna couldn't help but agree with one part of what Rem had said:
Among all the crazy people Ragna had met, the captain was the most insane.
For someone with minimal talent, how could he wake up and immediately demand to fight?
Less than thirty minutes later, Enkrid re-entered the barracks.
"Ragna, come out. It's time for me to break your neck."
The squad leader was exhilarated.
Despite a crust of dried blood near his temple, his expression was bright.
"Fine, fine. Let's do it."

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