Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 143 - 143 - Breaking Through Traps with Strength (1)
Chapter 143 - Breaking Through Traps with Strength (1)
Enkrid was well accustomed to leading small-scale operations with reconnaissance squads.
And now, he had experience to add to that.
There had been days when he crossed through tall grass fields.
Days when he and his squad attacked the Gilpin Guild.
Nights when they fought werewolves, mages, and ambush units.
What was the most important thing?
What should a commander prioritize?
'Awareness.'
Knowing came first.
Knowing what he was doing, what consequences would arise from his actions.
It was impossible to know everything.
It was impossible to explain everything in words.
But he had a sense for it.
Not instinct, but a feeling ingrained through experience.
"Let's move deeper in."
At Enkrid's words, Finn adjusted their course without hesitation, following his lead.
Beside her, Krais blinked as he observed his leader.
He was curious—what was going through his commander's mind?
His expression remained the same as always, his usual unreadable calm.
The squad quickened their pace.
Getting caught from behind by the enemy was not an option.
"Why don't we just fight? If we kill enough of them, they won't chase us."
Rem grumbled, but Enkrid shut it down.
"Don't go."
It was a direct order.
That in itself was surprising.
Even more surprising—Rem obeyed without protest.
"Ragna, just follow the person in front of you. Don't look around."
Ragna obeyed as well.
There was no need to tell Audin or Jaxen anything—they would follow naturally.
"Hoho, you really do seem like a commander now, brother."
Audin chuckled.
Had his skill changed, or had his attitude?
"Really?"
Enkrid responded as if it was no big deal.
That attitude, that way of speaking, that way of acting—nothing had changed.
And that was why they followed him.
Even Krais, someone who carefully analyzed everything before acting, found himself moving instinctively.
He was the type to double-check every detail, to ensure there were no hidden factors at play.
And yet, here he was, following without question.
Even Jaxen, who rarely showed emotion, struggled to hide his reactions these days.
Frustration, regret, concern—he could see it all on their faces.
And that thought made him laugh, even in a situation that was hardly amusing.
'Why does this feel so stable?'
Krais had calculated everything before executing this plan.
Yet, the reality he felt was different.
This squad was more incredible than he had imagined.
If the enemy had razor-sharp claws, this squad had something just as deadly.
They were the "Madmen Squad."
A unit with exceptional mobility, a combat force that only semi-knight warriors could even hope to stop.
That was Krais' evaluation.
Could they be used as a strike force?
There was no doubt that some officers had suggested it.
The problem was—
"Would they even listen?"
They fought well, but they were reckless troublemakers.
A good sword was only useful if wielded properly.
What was needed was a focal point—someone to control them.
And who could that be?
Krais knew, because he had seen it firsthand.
He had witnessed something that left a lasting impression on him.
'That duel.'
If Enkrid hadn't stepped onto the battlefield, if he hadn't fought alongside them, if he hadn't trained with them under the pretext of dueling—this squad would have collapsed.
And if they had collapsed, this battlefield would have turned into chaos.
Krais was certain of it.
Enkrid had changed everything.
With a single duel.
He had turned the winds of war in their favor.
'If we have a focal point...'
Then this reckless, high-mobility strike force—this "Madmen Squad"—could be fully utilized.
Krais wasn't skilled at evaluating combat ability.
He was terrible with swords and weapons, so naturally, he had no eye for such things.
But he could assess what was possible based on facts and reality.
And he knew this squad better than anyone.
So he reached a conclusion.
If the enemy rained arrows on them—
They would retaliate with their own form of chaos.
Krais hadn't even explained his full plan to Enkrid.
He had only provided fragments of information.
Yet, Enkrid had already decided to move deeper.
Did he understand Krais' intentions?
Just as he was about to ask—
"We disrupt them, strike, and retreat. The enemy's attention will be drawn to our main force's movements. And in the process, we'll encounter their own strike squads."
Enkrid spoke first.
What did it mean to be experienced in small-scale operations?
What kind of insight had his past given him?
'He sees it.'
Krais's intention.
The enemy's intention.
The tasks that needed to be done in between.
There was something they could do as allies—more precisely, as the Madmen unit.
So, they just had to do it.
Would this ultimately affect the course of the war?
The main battle?
'Probably not to that extent.'
Then again, who knew?
Krais might see things differently.
That big-eyed man, always grinning, dreaming of opening a noblewomen's salon and spending his days with ladies until he died of old age—his way of thinking seemed to follow a different path.
"Do you still dream of opening that salon?"
Enkrid himself didn't know why he was curious about this.
He just wanted to ask.
He had no intention of mocking him.
After all, who was he to laugh at someone else's dream?
"Yeah, why even ask? It's obvious."
And yet, this guy was the one coming up with these strategies?
He really was an enigma.
Either way, Enkrid's unit increased their pace.
They climbed the mountains and climbed some more.
Even Finn eventually stuck out her tongue in exhaustion.
Andrew and Mac's breathing grew ragged.
Krais, at some point, had to be half-carried by Audin.
Even Enkrid himself was feeling the strain.
According to Finn, who was a ranger, this was an incredibly grueling forced march.
Scaling ridge after ridge, they finally descended onto a gentler path, then moved onto flat terrain.
They had reached the enemy's rear.
It was a maneuver that relied on a small elite force utilizing the terrain to their advantage.
Of course, this was a tactic the enemy's guerrilla units had used first.
"Let's go."
Rem, seemingly tireless, moved ahead with excitement.
Somehow, they all seemed exhilarated rather than exhausted by the grueling march.
Well, Enkrid was no different.
What came after a harsh march?
Battle.
A fight where blood was spilled, flesh was torn, and bones were laid bare.
"Hit them."
Enkrid gave the order and charged forward.
The enemy's rear was full of gaps.
The number of sentries had increased to three, but it wasn't an issue.
Tweet!
The moment they were spotted, a whistle rang out.
At the same time, Jaxen threw himself sideways.
Ting.
In a single step, he drew his sword and thrust it forward.
Shk.
One down.
He pulled out the sword and thrust it again.
Shk.
Two down.
After killing both, he raised his sword vertically in front of him to guard.
Clang!
Watching Jaxen fight, one couldn't help but think—he killed people far too easily.
Two soldiers with gaping wounds in their throats collapsed.
Enkrid's unit cut down about six enemies before retreating once more.
They feigned descending the ridgeline again, confirmed the position of the enemy's crossbow unit, and pulled back.
They then eliminated the scouting unit that pursued them, wiping them out completely.
As night deepened, they hid in the mountains and set up camp.
Adequate rest was essential.
"The stream nearby is nice, but it's a shame we can't light a fire."
Finn said, removing her boots and shaking off the dirt.
It was spring.
The season of magic, with its mild weather.
Food might be a bit scarce, but at least they didn't have to shiver in the cold.
Even so—
"See? I knew this would happen, so I came prepared."
Rem, who abhorred the cold, had brought heated furs.
Ragna, on the other hand, just lay down and slept wherever.
Jaxen skillfully climbed a tree and slept on a thick branch.
They took turns keeping watch, except for Krais.
"I'll do it too."
Andrew, who had mostly been guarding Krais instead of fighting, volunteered.
His eyes were filled with thought.
Enkrid let him.
A burdened mind couldn't perform at its best.
This strike operation was still fraught with danger.
That couldn't be ignored.
It was better to let go of unnecessary burdens.
Mac didn't object.
By the time a day passed and dawn arrived—
Krais could tell that Enkrid fully understood his intentions.
"It's now, isn't it?"
After crossing several mountain passes, Enkrid reconfirmed the enemy's position.
A trap.
Krais had identified something the enemy had set up.
It was the perfect place for an ambush—a location ideal for attacking and retreating quickly.
And there, an enemy supply unit was stationed.
A flat clearing nestled between rolling hills.
A few supply wagons were visible.
If they went in and blocked the back, there wouldn't be many escape routes.
There were also other elements that indicated a trap.
For instance, there was no crossbow unit stationed nearby.
The enemy had laid out a tempting bait.
Enkrid watched and asked, to which Krais responded.
"Yes."
Was the strength of the Madmen unit only in their mobility?
No.
It lay in their ability to strike the enemy from behind with overwhelming force.
With this one battle, they could weave chaos into the enemy's thoughts.
Krais saw the enemy's reactions.
Prediction and foresight.
'Then...'
The movements of the main force would also become meaningful.
"Let's go."
Enkrid steeled himself.
No matter how much one predicted, the battlefield was like an unpredictable blaze, a fire that could consume even itself if things went awry.
Was this like carrying a bundle of straw and leaping into the flames?
'Doesn't seem that way.'
The enemy might not know, but Enkrid did—they were underestimating them too much.
A few soldiers who killed a giant and a few soldiers?
They probably thought that was all they amounted to.
But that wasn't enough.
Enkrid led the charge.
As he leaped toward the supply wagon nestled between hills, the soldiers haphazardly sorting food and supplies reacted.
If one were to set a trap, this was how it should be done.
Instead of hiding the soldiers, they were shown—but fully armed.
The enemy soldiers came into view.
Among them, a familiar face.
"You."
A mustached man—Enkrid remembered him as part of Grey Hounds.
Locking eyes with him, Enkrid greeted the enemy.
A spear lunged at him.
Enkrid's hand moved.
Ching! Ching!
Two swift sword draws.
Chang! Puk!
Two different sounds.
With his left-hand sword, he deflected the spear,and with the right, he drove his blade into the enemy soldier's heart.
'Would a Frog be horrified seeing this?'
As that idle thought passed through his mind, he withdrew his sword, now stained crimson.
The blade had pierced through the soldier's gambeson, the cotton-padded armor turning red.
Blood and fabric scraps clung to the steel.
No need to dwell on it.
There were more to cut down.
Chiring.
Enkrid slid the left-hand sword back into his waist.
He'd draw it again when necessary.
With both hands gripping a single sword, he stood firm.
His presence, his aura, his momentum—the enemy hesitated to approach.
"Good! Good!"
At his side, Rem gleefully swung his axe, while Audin grinned and pulled out his club.
Jaxen didn't bother making a show of it.
He simply swung his sword with indifference at the enemies charging in.
But the two who drew the most attention were—Enkrid and Ragna.
"Hm."
Ragna stepped beside Enkrid and swung his sword mercilessly.
Despite carrying two additional swords at his waist,his movements were unhindered.
His blade carved a chilling arc through the air.
Whoosh!
A standard downward cut—the enemy soldier's skull split open with a dull
thud
Without pause, he swung horizontally, beheading a soldier who had stepped back in terror.
Ragna's feet never stopped moving.
In a fight between spears and swords, who had the advantage in reach?
Naturally, the spears.
But Ragna erased that advantage.
Swift footwork closed the distance, and one by one, the enemy fell.
The faces of those who had set the trap darkened.
What was this?
With skill like this, they were only assigned as a guerrilla unit?
No, something felt off.
Was this really happening?
The enemy numbered over forty.
And they weren't mere amateurs.
"Form up!"
The mustached man's command rang out.
Those who had underestimated Enkrid's group shifted their stance.
Mustache himself stepped forward, facing Enkrid directly.
"You bastard."
Enkrid nodded, recognizing him.
Since the man acknowledged him, there was no reason not to return the greeting.
"Ah, yeah. Been doing well?"
His tone was almost cheerful, familiar even.
Mustache's pupils shook wildly in fury.
His eyes burned with rage.
It seemed he would charge in immediately.
Enkrid braced himself.
But then—
Mustache exhaled deeply, calming himself.
As expected.
Not an opponent to be taken lightly.
His anger did not dictate his actions.
Instead of succumbing to rage, he steadied his breath.
Which meant—
'This test will be even more meaningful.'
A duel wielding two swords—would it be worthwhile against a skilled opponent?
Time to find out.

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