Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 134 - 134 - Ripened Heart (1)
Chapter 134 - Ripened Heart (1)
Under the command of Battalion Commander Marcus, the infantry unit had built a new barracks.
A position slightly more advanced than before.
Enkrid thought the location was somewhat ambiguous but chose not to voice his thoughts.
Wasn't the responsibility of establishing barracks and determining strategic positions solely the commander's?
Besides, Marcus didn't seem like the type to handle things sloppily.
Just from how he called Enkrid the highest merit earner in battle, it was clear.
"Nyaa—"
As his shifted, Esther whined.
"Nyaa, nyaa."
She was grumbling nonstop.
'Come to think of it, isn't she a little strange?'
She was certainly a spirit beast, yet something about her felt oddly peculiar.
Almost human, in a way.
At some point, the things she said started sticking in his ears.
It was as if whatever she meowed actually sounded like human speech.
Right now—
"It's annoying."
—that was what it felt like she was saying.
Since she was grumbling, he picked her up.
When he first saw her on the battlefield, she was a tiny panther.
The next time he saw her—when she had stabbed Mitch Hurrier and saved him from the mustached examiner—she had grown a little.
But after that, she never grew any bigger.
Just small enough to be held in his arms.
That was it.
And yet, this panther had once bitten his nape and sprinted away, incredibly fast.
What kind of strength was that?
"Now that I think about it, you're a panther with monstrous strength too."
Enkrid stroked the head of the panther in his arms as he spoke.
"Kyah!"
Apparently, that wasn't a compliment she liked.
Esther bit his finger.
It didn't draw blood—just left a mark.
If she had been serious—
'My finger would've been bitten clean off.'
For some reason, he felt the urge to check her sharp fangs.
As he leaned in to examine her muzzle, Esther shot him a glare.
The more she acted like this, the more she seemed like a person.
"Let's go."
Outside, Krais called out.
Building a new position was a complex and arduous task.
They had to rebuild the encampment, secure supply lines, redefine the perimeter, reorganize the scout routes—there were countless adjustments to make.
Yet, they were determined to set up a new position.
"By the way, Cap, I feel like I fought the hardest, but for some reason, all the cheers are going to you. Is it just in my head?"
No, it wasn't just his imagination.
The atmosphere had indeed flowed that way.
"Long live the Madmen! Long live Enkrid!"
Recalling that moment—the midday cheers just two days ago—his chest felt a peculiar ticklish sensation.
It wasn't a bad memory.
"Hmm."
When Enkrid held back his words, Audin chuckled beside him.
"Haha, my crazy brother, it's only because you took down a mere giant."
"A mere giant?"
"Brother, I took down dozens of enemy soldiers."
Not just knocked them down—he had slaughtered them.
Brutally.
Enkrid had witnessed it himself.
That savage clubbing.
Terror for the enemy, relief for the allies.
That was the feeling it gave.
Though, some among their own side who had seen it up close had spoken of a strange fear toward Audin.
He had heard this directly from Vengeance.
"You know that guy in your squad—the one obsessed with religion? Why does he smile while killing people? Is there something wrong with him?"
Vengeance had tapped his head as he said this.
Enkrid had denied it and made a fitting excuse on Audin's behalf.
He was simply too devout—so happy to introduce new friends to the god he served.
'That sounds even crazier.'
Vengeance had muttered, but—
That was the best excuse Enkrid could come up with.
It was a hundred times better than calling him a mad zealot who delighted in murder.
"A dozen bloodthirsty mercenaries under the influence of the Blade Frenzy—if left unchecked, they would've been lethal. Hmm, yes, they would have."
When Ragna chimed in, the atmosphere turned tense.
And then—
Jaxen, who had been silently watching the three of them, finally spoke.
"Idiots."
Three pairs of eyes turned toward him.
A sharp hostility filled the air.
A suffocating pressure weighed down the surroundings.
If anyone made a move, a fight would surely break out.
This was the true nature of the Madmen Squad.
When Enkrid wasn't around, they had tested each other, probing and respecting boundaries.
But now, their words flowed freely, unchecked.
Krais didn't bother to intervene.
He wasn't the least bit fazed.
Well, things might have gotten troublesome if Enkrid weren't here.
But he was.
They were all moving together.
Watching from the side, Andrew hesitated.
'Should I step in?'
Wasn't he the squad leader since Enkrid was promoted to platoon leader?
Should he try to settle things before the he stepped in?
Andrew hesitated.
The many times he'd been beaten for stepping in too early held his feet in place.
Just then, Mac grabbed his sleeve and shook his head.
It was a knowing gesture, as if he'd read Andrew's mind.
Enkrid looked up at the sky for a moment.
The sky had changed with the temperature.
It was blue.
Clear, without a single cloud.
Spring had arrived.
The weather was truly pleasant.
So.
"Enough."
It seemed like a good day to stop a fight.
Unlike before, there was no need to wedge himself between them.
Instead, he swung his sword.
Chiring.
One with his right hand.
And then—
Tiriring!
One with his left.
The sword drawn with his right hand slashed downward from above in a crown-cutting motion.
The sword drawn with his left hand made a sweeping horizontal slash at mid-level.
His footwork pushed his left foot forward, followed by his right.
This was, in a way, the draw technique he had been mulling over for days.
It was a variation of a technique from the Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship.
Originally, it was meant to be a double draw technique where the first strike acted as a feint.
But by wielding two swords, both slashes carried intent and meaning.
The sword in his right hand aimed for Rem.
The sword in his left hand cut toward Jaxen.
Thump!
Their reactions were starkly different.
Rem pulled out his axe to block, while Jaxen had already stepped back to evade.
One sword was halted mid-air.
The other slashed through empty space in vain.
Enkrid retrieved the sword that had missed its mark.
"What the hell was that?"
Jaxen asked.
"You wanna go? Sounds fun."
Rem let out a snort, his voice laced with amusement.
Because he had moved so suddenly, Esther, who had been nestled in his chest, gave him a hard thump to the sternum.
"Let's take this somewhere else."
Enkrid spoke, sword still in hand.
It was ridiculous to fight like this.
His chest was still puffed out from carrying Esther.
Rem put his axe away and nodded.
Another peaceful day, one could say.
Enkrid sheathed his sword, soothed Esther, and continued walking.
'At least that's a relief.'
If they had been made to carry supplies, they would have been far more irritable.
Compared to the other soldiers, the squad's burdens were light.
"The heroes of the last battle, huh? Even a carriage wouldn't be enough of a reward."
Marcus, the battalion commander, was quite the generous man.
He had allowed them to march with only their personal gear.
Other units, however, bore the burden of not just their own supplies but also the necessary tent materials.
Naturally, this slowed their pace, but Marcus acted as if there was no rush.
Some soldiers glanced their way due to the earlier commotion, but they quickly returned to their own business.
After all, these fights were nothing new.
As he walked, Enkrid contemplated what lay ahead.
Would they strike the enemy's rear?
When he voiced this thought to Krais, also known as big-eyes shook his head.
"They won't."
"Why not?"
If they had the advantage, wouldn't hitting the enemy's rear be the best move?
"Seizing and holding the enemy's camp will grant us a far greater advantage in the battle."
Enkrid frowned.
Why wouldn't they fight?
How was that a better option?
If they had the chance to strike the enemy's back, wouldn't it be foolish not to?
Seeing Enkrid's perplexed look, Krais elaborated, speaking in a casual tone.
"If we attack now, we'll reveal our location and the extent of our forces. The enemy will respond accordingly. At the very least, they'll send enough troops to handle our numbers. If even their assassins, giants, and mercenaries failed, what do you think they'll send next? Especially when their independent unit, the Grey Hounds, is half-destroyed."
What else could they possibly have?
The question wasn't difficult.
It was just uncomfortable to say aloud.
But avoiding or ignoring it wasn't an option.
"Knights."
"At the very least, Squires. Or they might simply send more troops. But I'd bet on a small elite force."
Krais' eyes gleamed.
Without waiting for Enkrid's response, he continued.
"We already control the terrain, and since the enemy's special forces were crushed, their main army's morale has taken a hit. Naturally, they'll want to return the favor. But it's not fear of knights that's stopping us—it's a matter of advantage. When you look at the battlefield as a whole, from a commander's perspective, it's about weighing gains and losses. Even if one part suffers, if another part profits greatly, then losing the battle can still mean winning the war. From that perspective, holding our ground is the right move.
We don't need to waste our forces.
Just the knowledge that we're here is enough to keep them on edge.
What do you think will happen then?
Their leaders will be tangled up in trying to figure out our next move.
And while they're preoccupied, our main force will advance.
Which means we won't even have to fight.
Besides, Aspen has no spare troops to divert here while preparing for the main battle.
That's why we don't need to engage.
The reason we're setting up camp in an ambiguous spot is the same—we don't need to move closer to strike.
And if the enemy tries anything, we can simply withdraw.
Then, a day or two later, we reclaim the same position.
This fortification is just a stepping stone for that strategy."
Enkrid had always prided himself on being straightforward.
He treated his squad the same way.
"Keep it short and simple."
He had grasped about half of it.
The other half wasn't quite sinking in.
Krais, his eyes still shining, took a few measured breaths.
Right, the guy had been talking without stopping for air.
After steadying his breath, he spoke again.
No need to overcomplicate things.
"It's like this: imagine someone standing behind your enemy, raising a fist to strike. Meanwhile, another person is gripping the enemy leader's arms.
What do you think happens next?"
"Sounds like hell."
"Exactly. That's their situation."
If the enemy tried to shake off the one holding them and turned to defend against the one in the back—
If both attackers struck at the same time—
Sure, they might block both, but just standing there, unable to act freely, would be suffocating.
Sometimes—just sometimes—Krais didn't seem like an ordinary soldier with big eyes and humble ambitions.
For someone whose dream was to open a noblewoman's salon, his mind sure worked fast.
Wasn't he actually some hidden son of a strategist?
Or perhaps a secret disciple.
Predicting the enemy commander's thoughts based on what was happening right in front of him.
Anticipating the movements of both the allied commander and the main force.
It was only natural for such thoughts to arise.
"Well, this is all just speculation. A guess. If the enemy suddenly goes, 'Ah, screw it, I'll just kill that one first,' then, knight or not, they'll come straight for us."
That wouldn't happen.
Though Krais spoke those words, his eyes said the opposite.
A strange one.
Enkrid nodded.
So, there wouldn't be a fight.
That was enough to know.
Not that staying here would be uneventful.
Building a new stronghold was another unit's task.
As they set up tents, lit fires, and hoisted up cauldrons—
Enkrid's madmen unit settled in one corner.
And as soon as they did—
"You barbarian bastard."
Enkrid called for Rem.
Who went first wasn't really important.
But implicitly, the first was always Rem.
Otherwise, that lunatic savage might do something unpredictable.
Ragna, seated on a moderately heated rock, shifted his gaze.
Jaxen, Audin, Andrew, and even Mac—all eyes were on Enkrid.
"Let's begin."
Enkrid spoke, and Rem bared his fangs in a grin.
That's right.
That's my captain.
A smile that said as much.
Rem was still satisfied.
And at the same time—
He hoped this man wouldn't die here.
"I'll say this in advance. You might die."
"As many times as it takes."
Death was not an obstacle for Enkrid.
He was simply living through today once more.
Before his eyes lay the remnants of shattered dreams—ripped, trampled, faded, and gone.
Enkrid's eyes gleamed—still passionate, still filled with yearning.
In front of him, Rem's eyes reflected the same.
Had he ever seen a human like this before?
No.
This man—this warrior—
Was completely insane.
Rem chuckled.
"Good. Let's do it. Let's see who dies first."
Rem spoke and nodded.
It was time to learn something new—what Rem had shown against the giant.
Enkrid felt a thrill of exhilaration, yet his mind remained steady.
That peculiar state where excitement and composure coexisted.
A sign that the heart of the beast had fully ripened.

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