Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 51 - 51 - "Surely" Catches People (2)
Chapter 51 - "Surely" Catches People (2)
"You're lucky."
One of the soldiers observing the duel muttered.
He was a fellow former mercenary, and one of the men who had complained to Enkrid during the recent awards ceremony.
With a frown, the soldier stepped forward.
"You're not tired, are you? How about another round?"
To earn a promotion, one had to be acknowledged by three mid-level soldiers or defeat them all in combat.
Facing one opponent alone wouldn't suffice.
"Uh, Squad Leader?"
Krais looked around nervously.
Judging by the growling coming from the challenger, the atmosphere was tense.
Enkrid cast a puzzled glance at the soldier he had just defeated.
Was this right?
All it had taken was a single trip, and the fight was over.
The fallen soldier stood up, clutching his wrist.
"Lucky bastard."
The soldier withdrew, still clutching his wrist, his expression showing pain so sharp it brought tears to his eyes.
Well, it probably hurt.
But not enough to make someone cry, surely.
Enkrid shifted his gaze to his next opponent, adjusting his stance.
"I'm not tired."
"Good. Then I'll be your next opponent."
Enkrid quickly replayed the previous fight in his mind.
"It was luck."
His opponent had been so unprepared when he fell that he made no effort to protect himself.
He hadn't anticipated being taken down at all.
"Why?"
The carelessness stemmed from underestimating his opponent.
But could a single misstep decide the outcome?
Was that even possible?
No matter.
He'd just try again to confirm.
The new opponent drew his spear.
The infantry battalion stationed at the Border Guard was composed of two primary unit types:
Light infantry and heavy infantry.
Those who wielded long spears were typically heavy infantry, soldiers the Border Guard had invested significant resources in training.
They held a higher status compared to the light infantry and were better trained and skilled.
The opponent aimed a short spear designed for personal combat at Enkrid, spinning its tip in tight circles.
Enkrid didn't let his focus be drawn by the spear's motion.
"When fighting, keep the entire body of your opponent in view,"
Ragna had once told him.
Enkrid adhered to that advice.
Whoosh.
The spear lunged for his side like a hawk diving for prey—a swift and precise thrust.
"Too slow."
Compared to the piercing attacks from the earlier spear-fighting enthusiast he had faced, this was sluggish.
The trajectory was clear and easy to dodge.
Shifting his weight onto his left foot, Enkrid twisted his body, sidestepping the spear while trapping it under his arm.
Thunk.
With the spear pinned, the opponent tried to pull it back, but Enkrid leapt forward, matching the motion.
"Huh?!"
The soldier, expecting resistance, was caught off guard as Enkrid's sudden momentum threw him off balance.
Startled, the soldier raised his left arm to block.
Feigning a strike to his opponent's eyes, Enkrid extended his foot, hooking the soldier's shin.
With his right leg, he locked the shin in place, extending his left leg forward while twisting his hip to shove his shoulder into the soldier's chest.
Thud.
The sound of the soldier's collapse echoed as he crashed heavily to the ground.
Enkrid didn't even need to point his sword at him.
He stood over his fallen opponent, gazing down.
The mid-level soldier from Heavy Infantry, 1st Company, 1st Platoon, lay on the ground staring up at Enkrid.
This squad leader looked twice as big as before, an illusion brought on by the psychological pressure of being utterly subdued.
"Damn."
Even as his breath was knocked out of him, he cursed the fellow who had labeled this squad leader a troublemaker—and himself for believing it.
"What's 'bottom tier' about this guy?"
Enkrid looked down at him and asked, "More?"
"No, no, I'm done."
With the second opponent defeated, it was time for the third to step forward.
"Idiots," someone muttered among the soldiers watching Enkrid's promotion bout.
It was Andrew, the same Andrew who had accompanied Enkrid on reconnaissance missions.
Andrew had already concluded back then that Enkrid's skills exceeded the mid-level standard, and now he seemed even more polished.
His swordsmanship had matured significantly.
Andrew silently congratulated himself for betting all his kronas on Enkrid, then wondered how a duel between them would go.
He'd been training relentlessly since their last mission.
Beside him, Mac turned to Andrew.
"What happened to that guy?"
"Why?"
"He's improved way too much."
"How much?"
Mac shook his head at Andrew's expression.
"He's not the same."
After their reconnaissance mission, Mac had advised Andrew that if he wanted to challenge the troublemaker squad leader, he'd need more experience.
Now, he'd have to take that back.
"If I fought him now, it'd be tough. Really tough."
Mac, a skilled swordsman who had mentored Andrew, admitted his difficulty.
Andrew nodded.
This was how it should be.
After all, this was the man who had defeated him in a single strike—the first person Andrew had ever felt compelled to follow naturally.
Not far away, Vengeance observed the match as well.
He had just returned from duty when he noticed the commotion in the training yard.
The sparring ring, with its soft dirt floor, was abuzz.
"What's going on?"
One of his subordinates explained.
Vengeance rested his spear on his side, hooked his helmet onto its tip, and watched.
Enkrid had fought twice and defeated both opponents.
It sounded simple in words, but anyone with an eye for combat could see the truth.
"If that's luck..."
Then the Goddess of Fortune herself must have been reborn as a man.
The third challenger hesitated to step forward.
Only then did Krais realize his squad leader was far more capable than he'd thought.
Krais, ever the opportunist, took the chance to intervene.
"You there, 2nd Platoon! How about a match?"
If there was nothing to trust, that was one thing.
But if there was something to believe in, Krais could become a bold provocateur.
He was the kind of man who could taunt and draw out his opponent if necessary.
"Me?"
The number of spectators had grown considerably.
It wasn't exactly a pleasant sight to get beaten up in front of a crowd.
"Who else could it be? Why, you seemed so bold when you were mocking him behind his back, calling him a whore and all."
Krais sneered as he spoke, curling his lips to ridicule his opponent.
At this point, there was no avoiding stepping forward.
"Bah, fine! I'll do it."
The rough-mouthed soldier spat on the ground and stepped forward.
Standing on the soft soil, he looked at Enkrid.
Enkrid had just finished reviewing the second fight.
'I've been putting myself through far too many difficult fights,' he thought.
This opponent was too easy.
Rem and the squad members had often commented on how flawed the soldier grading system was.
"Can all intermediates really be considered the same level of intermediate? Sure, maybe the advanced soldiers are somewhat reliable, but even then, the gaps are huge.
Besides, do you think battles for survival are won solely based on skill?
There are plenty of people who use their brains to kill stronger opponents across the continent," Rem had said.
Even so, if Enkrid wanted recognition here, he needed to rise in the ranks of the soldier grading system.
"Or, stand above the grading system itself."
Those who stood above the grading system.
They were the owners of the crimson cloaks.
The unit stationed in Border Guard consisted of two battalions.
Rotating between deployments to Green Pearl, where they were stationed for fieldwork, the city usually housed one battalion and a reserve unit.
Currently, the first corps, to which Enkrid belonged, was stationed in the city.
Half of the second corps was out in the Green Pearl plains for field operations.
Even when not fighting enemies, they were naturally expected to defend their positions.
Every winter, the two battalions alternated in their defensive duties.
That was the role of the Border Guard's standing army.
In a city with fewer than ten thousand people, there were two infantry battalions and the royal army's direct unit.
Although it was the first time a member of the Red Cloak Knights had taken to the battlefield, knights were occasionally dispatched to the Border Guard as well.
This was all possible because Border Guard was under the direct jurisdiction of the kingdom.
In the past, when relations with Aspen were amicable, Border Guard had been a trading hub where various goods, including spices, passed through.
After Aspen began its invasion wars, the city transformed into a military and fortress city.
The low city walls were raised higher, and watchtowers were built.
The three towers symbolized Naurelia's watchful gaze upon Aspen.
As a result, most of the garrison troops in the city were of high caliber.
This was a border city where veteran forces with extensive battle experience were gathered.
Thus, even the soldier standing before Enkrid should possess a fair amount of skill.
For this reason, no opponent should have been underestimated.
When the battle began, that had certainly been the case.
This place had been filled with more than enough opponents to challenge Enkrid.
"Hey, were you daydreaming?"
The opponent asked.
"No."
Enkrid flinched but quickly shook his head.
Never underestimate your opponent.
It was advice given by countless swordsmanship instructors.
To honor that advice, Enkrid reflected even on the city's transformation into a strategic stronghold.
Never underestimate them—it had once been advice that didn't resonate.
'Who am I to look down on anyone?'
But now, he had to steel himself to honor those words.
He didn't smile.
He simply felt satisfied.
This was a different kind of exhilaration than the joy of growth.
The thrill of proving his skills and showcasing them.
That was what brought joy to Enkrid.
"What's so amusing?"
The opponent asked again.
Enkrid realized he wore a faint smile.
"I enjoy fighting."
"You're mad."
The opponent steadied his breathing and attacked, slashing downward with his sword.
Enkrid tracked the blade's trajectory with his eyes and moved.
From the foot planted firmly on the ground, he drew strength through his knee, channeling it to his waist. Using that momentum, he swung his sword and struck the opponent's blade.
Clang!
A sharp metallic sound rang out.
The opponent's chest opened up.
Enkrid retrieved his blade and feigned a thrust, prompting the opponent to retreat and assume a defensive stance.
Enkrid only pretended to thrust.
Instead, he raised his sword tip and closed the gap.
Then, locking eyes with the startled opponent, he pressed his blade against the opponent's and stepped forward with his left foot, hooking it behind the opponent's heel.
With force in his sword hand, he pushed forward.
The opponent barely managed to pull his sword back to guard his chest.
Blades locked together couldn't be used for an attack.
The soldier was utterly helpless.
Thud.
The opponent, tripped by Enkrid's move, fell onto his backside.
Enkrid placed his blade against the fallen soldier's crown.
It all happened in an instant.
With this third fight, Enkrid had clearly demonstrated his skills.
The fallen soldier looked up, his eyes verifying the blade hovering above his head.
"...I lost," the soldier admitted.
Naurelia had long revered strength.
It wasn't called the land of knights for nothing.
Andrew, Mac...
Even Vengeance, who had been watching silently.
The fairy company commander who had arrived unnoticed.
Rem, Ragna, and the troublemaking squad members.
Even the soldiers who had once insulted Enkrid behind his back.
No one spoke.
The sunlight, angling from above, reflected off the blade and illuminated half of Enkrid's face.
The faint sunlight, the stretching shadows, and the cold air that made his breath visible created an eerie spectacle.
It felt like a strange illusion.
In the center of the battlefield, Enkrid seemed to emerge from the torn flags that had been used as mediums for sorcery.
The truth that everyone had refused to acknowledge had now solidified in their minds.
The one who had shattered the mist of massacre and the sorcery that had threatened them was the man standing before them.
"I thought it was impossible..."
Someone murmured.
It was an admission of the truth.
When his skills were unknown, they could criticize him, but not now.
Even the one who had insulted him spoke up.
"I was out of line. I apologize," the second defeated soldier said.
Enkrid nodded silently.
Border Guard's standing army was filled with such individuals.
A rough unit that couldn't tolerate weakness in its ranks.
That was the strength of Border Guard's forces, the Swords of the Frontier.
Conversely, once proven by skill, respect came swiftly.
Enkrid had overwhelmed intermediate soldiers and proven himself.
"Spell Breaker."
Someone murmured.
There was no applause—it wasn't the right atmosphere for that.
But it seemed the nickname would stick.
"Spell Breaker?"
Enkrid thought it was excessive.
As he pondered what to do next, he opened his mouth.
"Looks like it's time to face an advanced soldier."
Three intermediate soldiers had been defeated with a single trip maneuver.
So, what was left?
What else could it be?
Advanced soldiers, of course.
Was he really thinking about fighting again?
Krais's wide eyes grew even wider.
He thought Enkrid was truly an uncontrollable squad leader.
Should another fight begin right away?
As the thought crossed their minds...
Whistle!
A whistle broke the air as a soldier stepped forward, smiling faintly.
"This is getting interesting," the soldier said.
He wore an eagle emblem on his epaulet, signifying that he was part of the royal army's Frontier Defense Force.
This unit was as renowned as Aspen's independent company, the Grey Dogs.

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