Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 74 - 74 - Because I Trained Every Moment (3)
Chapter 74 - Every Moment Was Training (3)
Even though it was the second floor, it wasn't particularly high.
Still, falling from that height with the weight of an adult man, coupled with the armor he wore, was practically a suicide attempt.
Enkrid shoved the assassin with the crown of his head and balanced himself mid-fall.
The sudden tackle left the opponent defenseless, and with a
thud
, both of them hit the ground, bodies tangled.
Enkrid landed on top, while the assassin lay beneath him.
"Cough!"
The assassin spat out blood upon impact.
Rising and brushing off his opponent, Enkrid exhaled deeply, checking his own condition.
"No injuries."
No joints or ligaments were damaged.
That was good enough.
The first priority of a bodyguard was to create distance between the assassin and their target.
The path to the second floor was blocked by Jaxen, and the remaining minor issues would be handled by the fairy company commander.
As he assessed himself, Enkrid also realized his back had no injuries.
He had somewhat accounted for taking the opponent's blade head-on.
Armor.
The armor was a treasure he'd acquired when raiding the Gilpin Guild, its true value recognized by Rem.
"Seems like it won't tear under most slashes. Yep, with such rare beast leather, make good use of it. The one who left this lying around without wearing it must've been out of their mind to die like that."
Originally, the chest storing the armor was cursed, and the deceased guild leader had been unable to remove the curse, merely keeping the item.
For some reason, the curse didn't affect Enkrid, and now it allowed him to deflect his opponent's blade without shedding a drop of blood.
However, even though the armor could block sharp metal, it couldn't completely absorb the impact.
For that, Enkrid was grateful to Audin.
The Isolation Technique had shaped his body, teaching him wrestling to utilize it effectively.
With the skills honed through countless training sessions, Enkrid had protected himself.
Every moment of training, repeated over and over, made such feats possible.
Avoiding the blade and subduing his opponent—all of it was the result of not wasting a single day.
If he had neglected even one day, would this moment have been possible?
No.
He could say that with certainty.
"You're insane."
The assassin, blood staining the mask over his mouth, pulled it off as if it was suffocating him.
Enkrid didn't recognize the face, which was unsurprising given the 5,000-strong population of Border Guard.
How could he know everyone?
Still, the man's face seemed vaguely familiar, like someone he might've passed by.
"Cough."
The man coughed again, blood spraying and staining his beard before dripping onto the floor.
Even as he spat blood, his glare remained fixed on Enkrid, brimming with killing intent.
Screech.
Enkrid drew his longsword.
The assassin unsheathed a gladius in one hand and a short sword in the other.
Dual-wielding.
Despite spitting blood, the man's stance was perfectly balanced.
His internal organs were likely damaged, but the fierce light in his eyes remained unyielding.
This was a man who had experienced the battlefield—Enkrid's instincts screamed as much.
His face bore signs of age, suggesting he was well over thirty.
Surviving that long on the battlefield meant he probably had a hidden trump card.
"He's likely to use a peculiar sword technique," Enkrid thought.
It wouldn't be standard swordsmanship—something odd and unexpected would come his way.
"Urgh, phew."
The man cleared his nose of blood with a sound akin to a pig's grunt, then spat out the mixture of blood and mucus before asking Enkrid:
"Which unit are you with?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"If you're in the standing army, you might be my junior."
Junior?
Enkrid's expression showed doubt, though his eyes never stopped scanning the man's entire body.
The man's stance was solid, leaving no obvious openings.
"I was a squad leader once," the man added.
Enkrid believed him but didn't let his guard down.
After all, there were countless reasons men left the army—some as cripples, some dead, some discharged after causing trouble.
Few left intact.
Those who did often had reasons like serving as an alternative to prison and choosing to be discharged once their mandatory service ended.
"Are you with the Slaughterers?" the man asked again.
Enkrid lightly shook his head, answering only to bait a mistake from his opponent.
But the man's guard remained steadfast.
'He's good,' Enkrid thought, subtly lowering his sword's tip.
Noticing the shift, the assassin adjusted the positions of his weapons in response.
A formidable opponent, Enkrid's instincts and reason both confirmed it.
"Finally," the man said, exhaling.
"The dizziness has passed. I'll kill you and the woman upstairs, then leave."
His tone was casual, as if picking up a coin from the ground.
Enkrid didn't respond.
There wasn't time.
As the man spoke, he charged.
Fast.
The gladius and short sword danced in chaotic yet deliberate movements.
Left and right, each hand moved to a different rhythm.
Valen-style duet.
Enkrid recognized the technique.
Though he lacked the talent to attempt it himself, he had studied it.
Two blades moving to different beats, each aiming for lethal strikes.
The man's footwork and swordsmanship were both top-notch.
Enkrid gripped his sword with both hands, lowering the tip to his left hip as the man rushed in.
Seeing this, the assassin's eyes gleamed.
But Enkrid remained composed.
The Heart of the Beast granted him courage.
Valen-style movements were unpredictable, but not undefeatable.
Tap.
He stepped forward with his left foot, moving to his own rhythm, unaffected by the assassin's.
The two blades carved arcs through the air, aiming for him.
Before they could land, Enkrid moved.
"Your strength is exceptional," Audin once begrudgingly admitted, despite criticizing everything else about Enkrid.
Strength and heavy sword techniques were the keys to shattering Valen-style.
Whomp.
The longsword slashed horizontally, its blade forged with Valery steel cutting through the air—and more.
Thunk. Splatter!
A mid-level horizontal slash.
Technique met force.
Countless sparring matches had honed this strike, and Enkrid's training had greatly expanded his range of skills.
What he couldn't see or sense before, he now perceived through the Heart of the Beast, the sense of the blade, and pin-point focus on the tip of the blade.
He internalized these observations, drilled them into his body, and rebuilt himself using the Isolation Technique.
Dodging the daggers with a mere tilt of his head was no coincidence.
This time, however, he swung his sword with intent.
Using his crafted body, he twisted his muscles and swung from his left foot as a pivot.
The entire process unfolded in an instant.
The blade that split the opponent's torso had nearly cleaved them in two.
The opponent had attempted to block with one sword and counterattack, but their skill was crushed under sheer strength.
A complete victory of brute force.
Enkrid gazed at the one whose body was partially severed, hot steam rising from spilled entrails.
"Farewell, senior."
Despite being half-severed, the man demonstrated a remarkable tenacity for life, his eyes brimming with lingering regret.
He trembled, muttering words through quivering lips.
Enkrid read the shapes formed by his mouth.
"For the glory of the homeland."
Was it all loyalty to the country?
Was that what had driven him to assassination?
He didn't know.
But it seemed worth verifying.
Swinging his sword to shake off the blood, Enkrid sheathed it with a sharp
shring
Only then did the fairy company commander and Jaxen emerge from outside.
"You fought quite theatrically."
Jaxen's gaze swept over Enkrid's entire body.
There didn't seem to be any visible injuries.
Only minor scratches from breaking through the window.
"If you were my lover, this much would be expected."
The company commander uttered savage words in her usual blunt tone.
"Others might misunderstand if they overhear," Enkrid replied, flustered.
The sequence of his words came out reversed.
"Is that so?"
The commander brushed it off casually.
"Did you capture any of them alive?"
"Yes."
Nodding at Jaxen's report, Enkrid stepped inside.
On the first floor, several individuals had already been restrained.
Scanning the surroundings, he noticed that few of the merchant caravan's escorts were present.
Some must have been killed.
'The attackers' skill level...'
Not particularly high.
But that was by Enkrid's standards.
For ordinary merchant caravan escorts, they would have been formidable foes.
Most notably, the last opponent he killed was a retired soldier.
A couple of amateur mercenaries wouldn't have stood a chance.
Where had such a group come from?
The question arose naturally.
On the first floor, the target of their escort—the young lady of the merchant caravan—had already descended.
Blood and corpses littered the surroundings, some of the bodies belonging to their own side.
It was the middle of a battlefield.
Over twenty attackers had participated in the ambush.
More than half of them had been killed or captured by the company commander and Jaxen.
Several members of the caravan were retching nearby.
It was understandable.
The pervasive stench of blood, corpses, and spilled entrails was overwhelming.
Yet, despite the carnage, the young lady merely furrowed her brow, appearing composed.
She approached, her boots clicking sharply.
"What's your name?"
She stopped in front of Enkrid and asked.
He pointed to himself with a finger.
When she nodded, Enkrid spoke.
"Enkrid."
"Are you alright?"
She gestured toward his back as she asked.
Enkrid nodded.
He owed it to his leather armor.
As Rem had said, it wouldn't be cut by a mere slash.
He had quickly assessed his opponent's skill and decided he could block it with his body.
Had the circumstances been different, he would have used another method.
Perhaps he wouldn't have recklessly blocked with his body, but at the time, it seemed the best choice.
"Good. I'll see that you're compensated later."
He hadn't done it for any reward.
"It's fine. It was my duty."
The woman pursed her lips a few times before finally speaking.
"Leona."
"Yes."
He already knew her name.
After introducing herself, she glanced around, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.
"Ensure compensation for the families of the deceased."
"Yes, milady."
A trembling nanny approached to respond.
She seemed more shaken than Lady Leona herself.
The vomit clinging to her lips indicated she had already been sick after surveying the scene.
She consciously avoided looking at the ground.
In contrast, Lady Leona...
'She's composed.'
Was she surprisingly indifferent to such things?
No, it was her resilience.
Or perhaps she had prepared herself.
Enkrid observed those cleaning up the scene before withdrawing.
Leona did not speak further.
As Enkrid moved toward one corner of the inn, he noticed the innkeeper's distressed expression.
This must have been the first time he had encountered something like this.
Enkrid couldn't help but wonder what kind of madman had orchestrated this attack.
'For the glory of the homeland.'
Rumors of Aspen spies within Border Guard had circulated.
"The presumed ringleader escaped."
Jaxen spoke from the side.
"Why didn't you capture him?"
"Why would I?"
He was here to guard, and guard he would.
That was the proper attitude of a dutiful soldier.
Jaxen conveyed his point through both words and demeanor.
Enkrid didn't reprimand him.
It was better than bringing Rem or other squad members into this mess.
"Well done."
"Two days remain."
Jaxen's comment reinforced their focus on the mission.
Duty was duty.
His words were correct.
'Still, I'm curious about who's behind this.'
The incident had occurred in the early evening.
As darkness fell, the air reeked of blood.
Most of the remaining guests packed up and left the inn.
As the innkeeper's face contorted further, Lady Leona spoke.
"The caravan will cover your losses."
She spoke with her back turned, exuding confidence.
She didn't seem like a frightened bird.
She was composed.
She must not have grown up sheltered in a caravan.
Enkrid silently observed her retreating figure before asking.
"Are we staying up all night, Commander?"
"Would you like to?"
"No."
"Then take shifts. Rest first."
"Yes."
Without hesitation, Enkrid headed upstairs.
As he ascended, he clenched and unclenched his hand.
How skilled had the opponent he killed been?
At the very least, they were as capable as the stabbing maniac he had encountered earlier on the battlefield.
Since he had forced his opponent into injury by falling from the second floor, they had fought with a disadvantage.
'Their insides were damaged.'
Their limbs must have lacked strength as well.
Still, the brilliance of victory was not dulled.
'I would've won even if they were at full strength.'
Confidence—something he had barely possessed since birth—began to sprout within him.
Though he might continue walking like a turtle, his steps would be different from before.
Enkrid felt he had taken a step closer to his dream.
It was a small, almost invisible step, but it was progress.
And that fact alone filled him with satisfaction.
"Thanks for saving us."
One of the escorts descending the stairs addressed him.
"If we hadn't requested help from the Border Guard..."
The female escort's complexion was pale.
She had been responsible for guarding Leona up close.
Despite having a hole in her abdomen, she was already walking.
Was she eager to die?
"It wasn't deep. Barely missed the vital organs."
Sensing his gaze, the escort spoke.
"That's fortunate."
After an awkward exchange of glances, Enkrid passed her and continued upstairs.
"Thank you again."
The female escort repeated.
Enkrid accepted it indifferently.
It was something he had to do.
That was his duty and his mission.
Enkrid rested for half a day and woke up early in the morning.
"Shift change, Squad Leader."
The commander's call came.
He was already awake, though.
The commander, Enkrid, and Jaxen shared a single room.
Taking turns sleeping wasn't an issue.
After all, they were soldiers before anything else.
Even with the Border Guard's escort, an attack had occurred.
And that attack had led to this.
Outside the inn, two squad-sized units were dispatched.
They belonged to the second company.
"I'll kill whichever bastard is behind this," one of the confident platoon leaders remarked.
It was said they had taken the captured attackers with them.
Enkrid descended alone.
Despite efforts to clean up, the hall still carried faint traces of blood and an unpleasant odor.
The dim glow of candlesticks illuminated the empty hall.
There was no one else.
The few remaining guests had long since moved to other inns.
The result was a deserted main hall.
Enkrid claimed a table and sat down.
He began reflecting on the day's events.
It was a habit for him.
Even without repeating today, this was a regular part of his routine.
As he reflected and engaged in light training exercises that could be done while seated, dawn broke.
Just before sunrise, someone descended the stairs.
"You're up early."
It was Lady Leona, the escort target.

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