Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 357 - 357 - Learning Through Teaching
Chapter 357 - Learning Through Teaching
Thud!
Enkrid blocked Andrew's first strike—a straightforward downward slash.
Their blades met, and Enkrid's gaze locked with Andrew's through the clash of steel. Andrew's mouth was tightly closed, and his eyes were wide with intensity.
"Has he improved?"
It was too soon to tell. After all, Enkrid's memory of Andrew's previous skills was faint.
Rather than counterattacking, Enkrid deflected the blade and stepped back. Andrew immediately thrust his sword forward, but Enkrid deftly parried it, shifting his footing.
He moved his left foot forward subtly, a detail Andrew failed to notice as his diagonally slashing sword was intercepted by Spark in Enkrid's left hand, sliding harmlessly away.
Enkrid had been training to redirect attacks using timing and instinct. The fluid motion resembled the fairy-style swordsmanship of Shinar, a technique reliant on precision. Though not yet fully mastered, the skill gap between him and Andrew made it an easy feat.
As their swords connected with a metallic clang, Andrew's force was redirected, his sword veering off course.
"Ugh!"
Andrew quickly inhaled and braced himself, halting his disrupted strike.
By then, Enkrid had already planted his left toe firmly into the ground, pushing forward as if gripping the earth.
Crunch.
Pivoting on his left foot, Enkrid closed the gap between them. He didn't even need to summon his Will.
With a smooth shift of his weight, he stepped forward with his right foot, aligning his body from ankle to waist in a fluid motion. His open palm shot forward, a combination of a Valah-style strike and Audin's explosive finishing technique.
He didn't go all out—doing so would have ruptured Andrew's organs. There was no crushing grip, no full-body tension. Only a measured, cutting motion.
Enkrid's palm struck Andrew's abdomen.
Bang!
The impact sounded like a leather drum bursting.
"Urgh!"
Andrew was thrown backward, his feet lifting off the ground.
"Was that too much?"
It might have been. Andrew stumbled back, retching slightly before struggling to catch his breath.
Still, he didn't drop his sword.
"He's improved, at least."
As Enkrid silently observed, Mac, Andrew's former nanny and now his steward, rushed over in alarm.
"Andrew, sir!"
Andrew waved him off, signaling he was fine, though he continued to cough.
"Were you trying to kill him?" Rem interjected.
"I didn't do anything excessive," Enkrid replied.
"You call that nothing? Look at him choking!"
"Looks more like he swallowed wrong."
"...And you're using that as an excuse?"
Ragna chimed in, adding fuel to the banter.
Why do these two seem so in sync during moments like this?
Andrew, after a few deep breaths, managed to calm himself and dismissed Mac.
"I'm fine," he croaked, his voice slightly hoarse but steady.
The blow wasn't lethal—it was comparable to a tap from Audin's cloth-wrapped hammer, albeit still a formidable strike.
"It'd be a shame to stop here, don't you think?" Andrew said, his eyes gleaming with determination as he waited for Enkrid's response.
Enkrid, sensing that Andrew still had more to show, felt a spark of anticipation.
"Alright, let's continue."
"Yes, let's," Andrew agreed enthusiastically.
Andrew, too, had survived countless close calls to reach this point.
Adjusting his stance slightly, Andrew stepped forward again.
Several exchanges followed, but the outcome was predictable—Enkrid emerged victorious.
Andrew tried to close the gap with a shoulder tackle at one point, but Enkrid skillfully countered it, maintaining his upper hand throughout.
"Have you learned wrestling or martial arts as well?"
"You remember Audin, don't you?"
"The soldier who looks like a bear?"
"Yes."
"So, Audin taught you."
Andrew knew well that Enkrid often learned things from his own subordinates.
Despite having his carefully honed technique dismantled, Andrew felt a sense of relief.
Truthfully, there hadn't been anyone lately who could dominate him like this.
Since surpassing Mac, he hadn't had a proper sparring partner.
Even as a baronet, once he aligned with Krang's faction, he became something of an island, isolated and adrift.
While others formed cliques and factions, Andrew stood alone.
The desire to cross swords with a knight or a skilled opponent had been burning inside him. Recently, he had felt his skills stagnate.
In such a situation, Enkrid's arrival was a godsend, more than welcome—it filled him with elation.
"Stay for a few more days," Andrew suggested naturally.
The five Gardener family trainees watching from the sidelines perked up.
Just observing the sparring match was a learning experience. Even if they couldn't fully grasp it, having someone as skilled as Enkrid associated with their lord felt like an opportunity to glean something valuable.
Enkrid glanced over the five, their eyes shining with anticipation.
From his perspective, these trainees weren't ready for advanced techniques; they should spend their days swinging practice swords.
It wasn't the time to learn skills but to build foundations.
But could he ignore such eager gazes?
The memory of his own past came flooding back.
Specifically, the days he spent in the capital long ago.
"You want to learn the sword? That'll be ten gold coins."
The swordsmanship instructor had mocked him openly. A man who claimed to be just shy of reaching platinum rank as a mercenary and boasted that, had he stayed in the trade, he would've surely achieved it.
While his skills weren't entirely hollow, his arrogance was as impressive as his talent.
"Alright, I'll teach you one move, but bring that barmaid to Ben's place tonight."
He had been living proof that skill and character didn't necessarily go hand in hand.
Enkrid had refused, and the instructor beat him to the brink of death.
No, the man had intended to kill him, but by some stroke of luck, Enkrid survived. A group of passing guards intervened just in time.
The memory of that alley, of narrowly escaping death, lingered.
Seeing the eagerness in these trainees, Enkrid couldn't bring himself to turn them away.
Andrew's eyes burned with passion, and the five trainees seemed just as fervent.
Enkrid couldn't ignore them.
"Alright, I'll stay."
"What? We're staying? Then make something good to eat. You're a noble, aren't you?" Dunbakel quipped immediately.
The others didn't seem particularly interested in whether he stayed or left.
And so, it was decided—Enkrid would remain for a few days longer.
Respecting their determination, Enkrid got to work right away, intent on rewarding their enthusiasm and effort.
"Thousand downward strikes."
"...What?"
One of the trainees, a freckled girl with a ponytail standing at the front, asked in disbelief.
"A thousand and one, then."
Andrew, having experienced Enkrid's methods firsthand, knew better than to argue.
"...Do as he says. Begin."
At Andrew's command, the trainees reluctantly picked up their swords and started swinging awkwardly.
As soon as they began, Enkrid's voice cut through the air.
It was a mix of discipline, instruction, and a touch of torment—or so it felt to the recipients.
"Swing with the intent to cut down your opponent with all your might. Is that right? Your stance is sloppy. Are your thighs properly engaged?"
Smack.
With the flat of his gladius, he struck one trainee's thigh, drawing a yelp.
"You scream over that?"
Enkrid understood the bitterness of wanting to learn but having no opportunity.
He had resolved to stay and offer them something meaningful, starting with the basics.
The harsher the training, the easier the next steps would be. He knew this from experience.
Lack of resolve? That was something he could fix—with hands, feet, and Rem.
"Rem?"
"I'll help," Dunbakel said.
Dunbakel, with a sly look, grabbed one of the trainees.
"Hey, is now the time to roll your eyes? Should I pluck them out for you?"
She mimicked something she'd learned from Rem, extending her long claws and pretending to gouge the air before the trainee's face, turning him pale.
"Uh, Commander?"
Andrew, baffled, couldn't understand why things had escalated like this.
The notion that this was all out of goodwill seemed far-fetched.
Yet, he couldn't tell them to stop now.
After a glance at the trainees, he gave up.
If they could endure this, they would improve.
He, too, had grown stronger after being beaten by that barbarian Rem.
And so, Enkrid settled temporarily at Andrew's residence.
In the mornings, Enkrid practiced the Isolation Technique, followed by drills and sparring.
"Ragna, it's your turn."
"Understood."
A wide training area had been set up behind the mansion, replacing a garden.
It was impressive, and Enkrid was satisfied.
The mansion's chef provided meals regularly, and the food wasn't bad.
Esther had fallen in love with a woolen cushion and refused to leave it, lounging on it even in her panther form.
Strange Eyes also seemed to take a liking to the place. He acted as the alpha among the horses and seemed to be making nightly rounds with the mares.
He was, after all, a stallion.
Enkrid continued his routine—eating, drinking, resting, and relentlessly training.
Meanwhile, some of the trainees began to entertain thoughts of escape.
"This kind of opportunity doesn't come often," Andrew would calmly persuade them, even as his own face turned pale from exhaustion after enduring his share of grueling training under Enkrid's watch.
From dawn, Enkrid had been rigorously pushing Andrew's body to its limits. The conviction in Andrew's trembling voice as he reassured the others made his sincerity all the more convincing.
The training Andrew underwent was far from easy.
It had all started with a single remark from Enkrid.
"You look a bit scrawny. You've put on some fat."
Though absurd, Andrew had no retort. After all, when they bathed together, it was impossible not to notice that Enkrid's physique was akin to a lethal weapon—especially his so-called third leg, which was equally formidable.
"Unfair, isn't it?" Andrew muttered in disbelief.
"What is?"
"...Nothing."
And so, the relentless training sessions continued.
Two days later, Rem posed a question.
"Is it right to spend all your time training, even here in the capital?"
Rem knew well that Enkrid was the type to dedicate himself solely to such endeavors, but even so, he had his reasons for bringing it up.
"Why?"
"Are you not going to explore the capital?"
"I was planning to go out later to get some armor," Ragna added.
Training and sparring were enjoyable enough for Enkrid, but he respected the opinions of others.
"Ragna, make sure to take an attendant with you and stay within five steps at all times."
"That's unnecessary."
"I'm saying this because if you wander off, who knows when I'll find you again?"
"The capital may be complicated, but I've already memorized the routes," Ragna replied, shaking his head.
"Sure, you have."
"Is he insane?"
"Did he hit his head?"
Jaxen, Rem, and Dunbakel all chimed in.
"When I say take someone, take someone," Enkrid said firmly, leaving Ragna no choice but to agree reluctantly.
"I'll go out and have some fun too. What are we even doing here?"
"Suit yourself."
Enkrid planned to stay a few more days before departing.
Jaxen had already left on the first day, citing business.
Dunbakel, after some contemplation, also decided to leave.
"I'll go look for a new sword," she said.
Her scimitar was in terrible condition, beyond what a whetstone could fix. The capital was bound to have high-quality steel and weapons.
While crafting a new one might not be feasible, surely she could find something that suited her hand.
As for Enkrid, he doubted he'd find a weapon superior to the one he already wielded. Moreover, today wasn't the only opportunity, and he believed that his time was better spent on the trainees—those burning with the same passion and yearning he once had.
"You live here, so you don't need to go out, right?"
Enkrid effectively handed down what felt like a death sentence to the remaining trainees.
"Aren't you going to tour the capital?" one of them dared to ask.
"I'm not."
Enkrid's response was unequivocal.
Progress.
Advancement—it was what drove him. While teaching these trainees, Enkrid never neglected his own training. In fact, teaching had become an avenue for his growth.
The basics.
He never underestimated their importance. It was a lesson he had heard countless times when he first came to the capital.
"The basics. If you can't even master the basics, what can you hope to achieve?"
A solid foundation was the key to advancement. Enkrid lived by this principle.
Guiding the five trainees allowed him to reinforce his own fundamentals. It was an unexpected boon, enabling him to reflect and improve beyond mere theory.
Lately, he had learned much—Audin's Moā Tertirī, Ragna's swift yet heavy swordsmanship, Rem's mastery of any weapon, Dunbakel's full-body elasticity techniques, and Teresa's shield techniques.
He hadn't had time to fully absorb it all.
But did he really need to master everything at once?
His thoughts spiraled, leading him deeper into contemplation.
Ping!
The faint sound of something cutting through the air.
The Sense of Evasion activated instinctively. Enkrid didn't even need to turn his head.
An arrow.
Relying on the sound to track its trajectory, he twisted his body slightly.
Thwack.
The arrow was caught in his hand.
He glanced toward the wall.
A lunatic stood boldly atop it in broad daylight.
"And who the hell are you?" Enkrid asked.

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