Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 104 - 104 - Relay of Retsha's Words
Chapter 104 - Relay of Retsha's Words
"Damn," Finn muttered under her breath, biting her lip.
Her quiet, flustered voice was barely audible to Enkrid and Torres, who were following closely behind her.
The three hadn't gone far when they spotted a group of soldiers.
Finn leaned her shoulder against a bend in the gently curving passage, carefully peeking back around the corner.
She tossed the torch she was holding behind her.
With a swish, the light source flew out of sight, leaving only the faint glow of the torches ahead.
The area was now shrouded in darkness.
Torres crouched low, straining his eyes toward the front.
Even though he lacked the ability to see through the dark, the training he'd undergone for such situations allowed him to roughly assess the number and equipment of the enemy.
"Shit, there's a lot of them."
At a glance, there were more than twenty soldiers, and their armament was no joke.
They were equipped with crossbows as a baseline, with short swords hanging at their waists—all in similar states of readiness.
And what did that mean?
"These are trained troops."
The fact that they weren't just some ragtag mercenary group made the situation even worse.
A trained group of soldiers was often more dangerous than a pack of beasts or monsters.
Especially in a narrow cave like this, where the enemies were armed with crossbows.
"We're screwed."
While Torres assessed the situation, Finn was deep in thought.
Should they turn back and head toward the Cross Guard instead?
Was the path merely blocked, or did the original route hold more threats?
As Finn and Torres found themselves teetering on the edge of panic, trying to avoid making a sound, Enkrid suddenly burst forward, shouting at the top of his lungs.
"Messenger! I'm a messenger from Commander Roger!"
Torres froze in shock.
Finn was even more stunned.
She couldn't even extend her hand or yell to stop him—it was simply too shocking.
"What kind of lunatic...?"
It was essentially a suicidal move.
If even three or four crossbowmen decided to fire, Enkrid would be skewered in an instant.
Surely, he knew this, and yet Enkrid's steps didn't falter.
It was no coincidence.
Roger was the name of a spear unit commander.
By throwing out a name that would confuse the enemy, Enkrid caused hesitation.
"If you don't see an opening, then you make one. Fair and square? Does that save lives?"
That was something Jaxen had once said.
Deception?
If necessary, why not?
Just because he aspired to be a knight didn't mean he had to turn into an idiot who only fought duels.
Honor had its time and place.
"Especially since they've already used traps, magical tricks, and even werewolves. What honor?"
This wasn't just about deceiving the enemy.
As the tension in his shoulders eased, Enkrid's field of view expanded.
And that broadened view told him what he could do and what he could achieve.
Past experiences and recent events intertwined, guiding him to one realization:
"Fighting against overwhelming numbers."
Especially against an elite unit, while trapped in a deadly ambush with no way out.
This was no tall grass to simply hide in and avoid danger.
Spears, arrows, the orders of a commander, shields blocking the front, and a rain of arrows from behind.
One wrong step and death was certain.
He could dodge a stray arrow or two, but how could he avoid a storm of them?
Pretending to mimic a knight by parrying every arrow with a sword was equally absurd.
In a confrontation with elite troops, there was no time to hone swordsmanship.
Such battles ended in an instant.
One slip of focus, and death came immediately.
So, what should he do in moments like these?
What weapon should he wield?
Connecting the dots, even for a split second, required clarity.
What Enkrid realized was this:
"Instantaneous judgment."
It was all about quick decision-making to exploit the briefest openings.
Even staying here would only buy them enough time to burn half a candle before the spear unit arrived.
So, what needed to be done now was simple.
He needed to take down that damn crossbow unit commander and cause chaos.
Without neutralizing the enemy's ability to fire arrows, there would be no tomorrow.
"Commander Roger? A messenger?"
The cave was dimly lit, making it hard to identify faces without bringing a torch closer.
It was even more difficult to verify whether someone was wearing the uniform of the Aspen army.
And even if someone had sharp enough eyes to catch a detail, how closely could they scrutinize someone like Enkrid, who was charging straight at them?
"The city! The city!"
Enkrid yelled nonsensical things that might confuse the enemy further.
"Shit! Monsters!"
The commander blocking the retreat wavered, his pupils trembling.
Not that Enkrid could see it, nor did he need to.
The distance was closing.
The light from the torches illuminated the scene enough, and Enkrid already knew who the commander was.
So, he lunged.
"Wait! Stop him!"
One of the soldiers at the front finally reacted, but it was far too late.
This momentary lapse was precisely what Enkrid had aimed for.
He sprinted several dozen steps in an instant, not even stopping to catch his breath.
Shling.
Drawing his sword, Enkrid gripped it with both hands, pulling it to his right before slashing horizontally from top to side.
The opponent's helmet and armor left their necks exposed.
Two soldiers standing to the left of his approach, both of similar height, fell victim to his blade in one swift motion.
Slash!
The sword left deep gashes in their necks, blood spraying everywhere.
"Ah, ugh! Damn it!"
The panicked soldiers barely began to react as Enkrid saw the commander retreating.
His right hand moved swiftly.
Holding his sword with his left hand, he reached to his waist with his right, then thrust forward.
Whistle!
A whistling dagger flew—a weapon far deadlier than an ordinary throwing knife—and embedded itself with a
thunk
into the commander's leather helmet, piercing deep into his skull.
If he survived that...
"Then he's no human."
"Kill him!"
Three or four soldiers drew their short swords with a metallic
clang.
Enkrid, grateful for the cave's width, unfastened the buckler strapped to his back and flung it.
Thunk!
The round shield spun through the air, striking the head of a crossbowman who had been aiming at him.
"Ugh!"
Using the time gained, Enkrid pulled his sword closer to his chest.
As he adjusted his grip, he prepared to deflect the incoming strikes from the soldiers rushing at him with their short swords.
Tatatang! Clang! Clangclang!
Enkrid struck aside an opponent's blade using the flat of his sword.
It wasn't some elaborate technique—just using his weapon as a makeshift shield.
And then came the next move.
"Ha!"
A sudden battle cry escaped Enkrid, startling his opponents.
Taking note of the soldiers' positions and the direction of the crossbows, he lunged forward.
It wasn't just a simple roll.
While dodging sideways, Enkrid grabbed an enemy soldier's ankle, twisting and yanking it.
Crack.
The soldier's ankle twisted unnaturally, causing him to lose balance and collapse.
Like a snake, Enkrid coiled his entire body around the falling man as he rose to his feet.
With his left arm, he locked the enemy's neck.
With his right hand, he seized the soldier's wrist and wrenched it upward.
The short sword the soldier was holding fell to the ground with a soft
thud
The dirt absorbed the sound of the blade landing.
"Urk..."
Killing the soldier would have been a waste.
Enkrid needed him alive to use as a shield.
Crossbows were deadly at range but could be countered up close with the proper defense.
Having discarded his buckler, Enkrid had gained a new shield—a human one.
'This reminds me of my first battle today.'
Back then, he'd also picked up whatever shield he could find.
This time, it just happened to be a human instead of wood.
Leaning his back against the wall, Enkrid held firm.
The crossbowmen hesitated, as did the soldiers holding short swords.
"I'm alone! Come at me, all of you! Long live Commander Roger! Aspen's mutts, do you even know how to use those crossbows you're lugging around?!"
Amid the short silence that followed, Enkrid kept shouting nonsense—ceaselessly, relentlessly.
"What's the matter? Can't you handle one man? Did Commander Roger train you to be this pathetic?!"
He wasn't just blabbering aimlessly.
Even the slowest-witted among them should realize it was time to make a move.
And as expected, his allies delivered.
Swish.
The Eil Karaz-style martial arts allowed one to take down enemies without making a sound.
The darkness, the flickering torchlight, the cacophony, and Enkrid's mad ramblings all worked to obscure his comrades' actions.
"He's insane! Just shoot him already!"
"Wait, no! Don't shoot!"
The soldiers yelled at one another, the hostage among them desperately pleading.
Now was the perfect moment.
The more time they wasted, the better for Enkrid's side.
Even now, Finn was likely sneaking up and silencing soldiers one by one with Eil Karaz techniques.
Torres, meanwhile, was probably firing bolts into soldiers' throats or heads with precision.
Had it been a straightforward confrontation, the two would have been at a disadvantage.
But the situation had shifted.
Who had the upper hand now?
Who was encircling whom?
"The dawn breaks, the darkness retreats, the sun shines, and the moon fades! Roger! Roger!"
To mask the presence of his comrades, Enkrid continued shouting, even improvising a song to match the rhythm of his nonsense.
The commander lay dead, a blade lodged in his skull.
Several others screamed and fell, adding to the chaos.
Caught in this madness, the soldiers felt their minds unraveling.
'Dammit, what do we even do now?'
One of the soldiers agonized, contemplating whether it would be better to just shoot their own captured comrade in the head.
With their commander dead, they were utterly lost.
At that moment, the twang of a crossbow string rang out.
Thud!
The bolt struck their captive ally squarely in the head.
'Ah.'
In the end, someone had fired.
"Kill them all," muttered the soldier who had pulled the trigger.
Even a well-trained unit would unravel in the face of madness like this.
"Raise the torches! Look behind!"
At that moment, Finn and Torres were discovered.
They weren't elite assassins, so this was inevitable.
Still, in the meantime, the two had taken down six crossbowmen.
'Not bad.'
This wasn't the first chaotic battle of the day, after all.
Taking down six enemies was an achievement in itself.
Enkrid shoved his human shield forward.
The corpse, trembling with a quarrel embedded in its head, collapsed.
Just as it began to topple, in that fleeting moment, Enkrid acted.
He drew the whistle daggers sheathed at his side and hurled them.
His arm snapped out, releasing the blades in rapid succession.
Whizz!
The high-pitched sound of the daggers slicing through the air was followed by dull
thuds.
Six more soldiers fell, lifeless.
Now, only one crossbowman and two short sword-wielding soldiers remained.
Everything had happened in an instant.
From the enemies' perspective, it was a nightmare.
And just as Enkrid was about to finish them off without a word—
"Forward."
A deep, commanding voice echoed through the passageway.
Roger, the spear squad's commander, had arrived.
From the opposite end of the corridor Enkrid's group had passed through, the steady rhythm of marching boots resounded, shaking the ground and air alike.
The remaining archers regrouped, while Roger and his men approached, their torches illuminating the cavern.
Roger was calm, scanning the scene with a cold expression despite the carnage his men had suffered.
The thirty elite spearmen under his command were a force to be reckoned with.
Roger's gaze briefly met Enkrid's before shifting to Finn.
"A lucky wildcat, huh?"
"It's skill, you bastard," Finn snapped, glaring at him with venom.
The crackling of torches filled the tense silence in the cave.
There was history between the two, as evident from their hostile exchange.
But Enkrid had no interest in their feud.
While Roger and his spearmen kept their distance, Enkrid moved again.
In one swift motion, he lunged toward a cluster of three archers, thrusting his sword through one soldier's neck.
Squish.
The sound of flesh tearing accompanied the withdrawal of his blade.
Twang.
The string of a crossbow snapped, and Enkrid quickly ducked.
Whizz.
The bolt grazed his hair.
'That was close.'
Luck had been on his side.
He hadn't expected the enemy to fire so quickly.
Taking advantage of his good fortune, Enkrid pressed forward.
"I see it all."
Feigning a charge toward the soldier who had fired, he suddenly veered off course, driving his blade into another enemy's skull.
Thud!
As he retrieved his blade, he pretended to retreat, his eyes locked on the remaining enemies.
Thanks to the light from the spearmen's torches, the area was bright enough for the soldiers to clearly see Enkrid's fierce expression.
One soldier, unnerved by his gaze, assumed someone was behind him and turned to look.
But there was nothing—only shadows, the corridor, and the occasional falling clump of dirt.
When he turned back, it was already too late.
Squish.
Enkrid darted forward, stabbing the soldier in the throat.
It all happened in a heartbeat.
Roger was about to order a charge when Enkrid spoke again.
"I bring a message from Retsha!"
The unexpected name made Roger pause.
Retsha was a key figure in this operation—a mage central to their plans.
"Run!"
Without hesitation, Enkrid shouted the command.
"What?"
Torres reflexively bolted, even as he voiced his confusion.
Finn didn't respond, snatching up two crossbows as she sprinted after him.
"Catch them!"
Roger's furious roar echoed behind them as his men gave chase.
The spear squad wasn't heavy infantry, so pursuing them wasn't impossible.

Comments

Loading...