Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 606: Chapter 606 - Deployment
What should one do when the situation spirals beyond their intent, and merely watching it unfold brings no satisfaction?
"This isn’t good."
Krais found himself increasingly dissatisfied with how events deviated from his expectations.
The unease gnawed at him, robbing him of sleep.
It had been ages since insomnia had last gripped him.
Ever since Enkrid returned and Krais became aware of internal disruptions within the Holy Nation, he kept a close eye on the movements of the Grey God’s sacred army.
The conclusion he reached was chilling:
The Cult’s schemes had entrenched themselves deeper into the continent than he had anticipated.
Even if the Cult hadn’t orchestrated every element of this chaos, their involvement was undeniable.
"Can we wipe out the Cult entirely?"
But how?
Lacking a clear plan, Krais’s mind was plagued by visions of worst-case scenarios.
What if some Cult member possessed a curse so potent it could spread with mere contact?
Unbeknownst to Krais, such a figure had already came and failed.
"If I were them, I’d aim for the commander first."
Regardless of what others might think, the Border Guard revolved around a single man.
Without Enkrid, no one could fill that void.
The knights—dubbed madmen and symbols of chaos—would scatter immediately.
"How do you keep Rem, Ragna, Jaxen, and Audin together?"
Who could possibly unite them all?
Then there were Esther, Shinar, Fel, Ropord, and Teresa.
Krais couldn’t even handle one of them.
Yet Enkrid carried all their aspirations with ease, embracing their burdens while maintaining his composure.
For someone like Krais, the weight alone would have driven him to madness.
But Enkrid, as always, simply wielded his sword.
"I’ve spoken to Aetri, so you should get going."
"Why no lecture about breaking gear this time?"
"Would you listen if I did? Besides, this is undergarment woven with genuine thread. Esther added protective enchantments, so take it."
When Krais handed over the thin, translucent undergarment, Enkrid gave him a long, scrutinizing look before asking,
"Are you sick or something?"
"Why is it that even when I help, you complain?"
"Get some sleep."
Despite their exchange, Krais didn’t share his worries and endured several more sleepless nights.
Then Enkrid mentioned deployment.
And somehow, without doing anything in particular, Krais’s insomnia vanished.
Though not intentional on Enkrid’s part, Krais felt as though he had found an answer in watching him.
"What should one do when the situation veers off course?"
What else but to act?
Move things in the desired direction.
And if that doesn’t work, start by changing what’s within reach.
Without self-change, the surroundings remain the same.
Without changing the surroundings, the whole remains stagnant.
Take it step by step.
That had been Enkrid’s way of life all along.
Krais added his own dose of realism:
"Does the world change just because you want it to?"
Of course not.
So what did one need to achieve dreams and pursue ideals?
Strength.
Not necessarily in the form of swordsmanship or physical prowess.
A steadfast conviction born of will could also be strength.
For now, however, fists and swords were what mattered.
Was this what Enkrid’s training and discipline had been for all along?
Krais wasn’t sure.
But for the first time, he felt something new.
"We’re leaving."
As Enkrid announced his departure and the knights mounted their horses, Krais watched.
Oddly, no ominous thoughts crossed his mind.
He felt no urge to bless their journey, either.
"Last night, I thanked him for saving Cross Guard. Do you know what he said?"
Abnaier, who had asked Krais to speak casually as a friend, approached with a question.
"What did he say?"
Preferring formality, Krais stuck to polite speech.
Abnaier respected that.
"He said it was just one swing of his sword."
Abnaier glanced briefly at the departing knights and added,
"Well, maybe it was just one swing. But for someone, that swing might change their entire life. For another, it might make them realize they’ve made the worst decision of their life."
"Ah."
Krais let out a short exclamation, resonating with the sentiment.
Hadn’t he just realized how to confront problems by observing Enkrid?
If strength was needed, wield it.
Swing the sword for the values you believe in.
That was Enkrid’s way as a knight.
"Only by knowing poverty can one appreciate abundance. Only by waiting can one savor joy. And fruit must ripen before it falls."
Abnaier, a devout follower of the God of Abundance, spoke as if reciting scripture.
"Then I suppose it’s time for someone to know poverty."
Krais’s words were directed at the new Cult of the Grey God.
Of course, they would never hear them.
Moving quickly didn’t mean missing the scenery.
The sky, the wind, and winter flowers caught their eyes. Not even a day had passed since their departure when sleet began to fall in the chill wind.
Snow descended from the clear, cloudless blue sky—a rare sight.
Though the temperature plummeted, the sleet’s beauty captivated.
It was as though white paint had been delicately splattered across a blue canvas.
Crunch.
Yet, no matter how stunning the scenery, one among them couldn’t suppress his simmering anger.
"Couldn’t these bastards have attacked in the summer if they were going to ambush us?"
It was Rem.
He was complaining about the cold.
Since Ragna enjoyed the cold, he simply let it slide.
For Ragna, it was the heat he couldn’t stand.
That was why he became lethargic during the height of summer.
"Cold is better. Move your body to generate heat. That solves it."
When Ragna responded to the grumbling, Rem’s eyebrows twisted in frustration.
Not just a twitch, but an actual wave-like movement, rippling up and down.
It was a bizarre sight, something one wouldn’t normally see unless he was in a particularly foul mood.
The first time Ragna saw it, he’d been so intrigued that he’d asked if Rem had once performed in a circus.
"Heat’s better, you bastard. You can just sweat it out, drink water, and soak in a cool lake."
"I must have forgotten I was talking to a beast."
"Go ahead, lead the way and walk far ahead. I don’t want to see your face. If I send you ahead first, we might never meet again in this lifetime."
It was a familiar argument.
The two often bickered about these things whenever summer or winter rolled around.
But rarely did it escalate to the point of swordplay.
During summer, Ragna found sword fighting too bothersome; in winter, it was Rem who couldn’t be bothered.
"Let’s go fight those gray or black bastards instead of arguing here."
Enkrid stepped in to mediate.
Soon enough, their misplaced resentment shifted toward their enemies.
"Let’s see, you fanatical bastards."
"I’m more than willing to wield my sword on those dimwit fanatics who can’t even find their way."
Jaxen silently followed on horseback, and Teresa occasionally hummed songs as they traveled at a steady pace.
Enkrid, riding his horse, reflected on what he had learned so far and pondered over new sword techniques.
Over the past few days, he had picked up additional skills from his unit members.
"It’s cold, but it’s fine now. I can stand on my own."
Shinar had changed her approach—or rather, the tone of her jokes.
She often quipped that she was fine on her own and didn’t need anyone to hold her up.
Curious about her constant joking, Enkrid asked her directly.
"Do you find it amusing?"
"What are you referring to?"
"The jokes."
"Very, immensely, profoundly."
Shinar paused briefly before meeting his gaze with her remarkably clear green eyes, her expression earnest.
"They’re fun."
So, she’s serious.
Enkrid nodded quietly.
And thus, they rode on toward Noah’s monastery, passing several cities along the way.
At a relay station, everyone switched horses, but Enkrid, once again, rode the same horse—his trusty weird-eyed steed—without needing to switch.
"You’re not hurt, are you?"
The question arose as he noticed the steed’s back muscles had become noticeably stronger.
The horse shook its head as if to ask what nonsense he was spouting.
Neigh!
It sounded like a rebuke to stop saying pointless things.
As they galloped forward, save for eating and resting, Enkrid recalled a conversation he’d had with Eightry.
"Did it break?"
This was after returning with the shattered black-gold sword. Despite the effort it must have taken to craft, Aetri spoke in a calm tone.
"Should I apologize?"
Enkrid asked, to which Aetri shook his head.
"Not at all."
Almost as if he had anticipated it, Aetri brought out a new sword.
"It’s lighter. I mixed it with true silver."
Previously, it had been a weighty black-gold sword.
This time, it was a nimble blade infused with true silver.
"Some excellent silver came in from the mines near Lewys. The material is exceptional."
Enkrid nodded again and took the blade.
He swung it a few times, and it indeed felt light.
Though the blade was thicker than Spark, it weighed much less.
Whereas the black-gold sword seemed to absorb light, this new blade subtly reflected it, holding it on its surface.
Depending on the changing light of the sky, the blade shimmered in hues that sometimes appeared golden.
It was light, sturdy, and an excellent weapon.
More than anything, it showcased how much Aetri’s craftsmanship had improved.
It fits my hand better.
The sword seemed to cling to his grip more naturally than the black-gold one, as though it was claiming him as its rightful owner.
Of course, swords didn’t speak.
"Hmm? Feeling restless, are you? Hold on. Soon."
Thus, there was no need to talk to his sword as Rem might to his axe.
During the journey, Enkrid occasionally felt the intense stares of Fel and Ropord.
Both seemed to have much on their minds.
Yet neither spoke, and Enkrid didn’t question them.
Judging by their expressions, they appeared to be sorting out something internally.
Having climbed his way up from the bottom, Enkrid’s insight had sharpened considerably.
He could gauge their states to some extent.
Teresa, meanwhile, wore an unusually calm expression.
"They say divinity is the domain of the faithful, but even that power must operate on principles. Perhaps that’s why a gray holy light exists."
She would occasionally mutter such things but was otherwise silent.
As for Esther, who followed in her panther form, her silence was to be expected.
Oddly enough, Teresa seemed the most composed of the group, despite being part giant.
Before long, they arrived near the location where their enemies had gathered.
"Up ahead, a segment of their forces is visible, not yet in formation."
"Which side?"
Wasn’t it said that Overdier had also organized an army and was on the move?
It could have been them.
Enkrid and his group had rushed so quickly that they hadn’t had time to gather any news about their surroundings.
Even Jaxen hadn’t had a chance to collect information.
They had simply ridden straight ahead without pause.
"They’re the enemy. I spotted gray sacred light and some crusaders leading a force. They’re setting up siege equipment in front of the monastery."
Jaxen, who had gone far ahead to scout and just returned, reported.
He hadn’t just seen the gathering troops but had surveyed much farther ahead.
’Noah must have held out well.’
If siege equipment was only now being set up, it meant the fighting hadn’t truly begun yet.
Of course, Noah had fortified the monastery, curling up inside and enduring steadfastly.
Negotiations had bought some time along the way, but that wasn’t the sole reason for their prolonged resistance.
Muel, who called himself the Pope of the Gray God, understood there would never be a better opportunity to gather his full strength than now.
At the moment, recruiting followers of the Gray God was more important than engaging in battle.
Under the pretense of attacking the monastery, he had gathered like-minded individuals.
Showing immediate results wasn’t as important as consolidating power.
If they launched an attack now, some of those who were hesitating might decide to back out.
Of course, the monastery was as vulnerable as a candle in the wind.
Once preparations were complete, it would inevitably be crushed under sheer force, serving as proof of his righteous cause.
Ideally, Muel also hoped to provoke the Holy Nation into deploying their forces and engage them in battle.
For these reasons, his movements had been sluggish, but Enkrid couldn’t possibly know all this.
He simply saw that they were there and concluded, "They’ve held out well."
The enemy had been sighted, and their own forces were vastly outnumbered.
Normally, this would call for regrouping and planning a counterattack.
But such considerations didn’t apply to these madmen.
"Attack."
With that single word from Enkrid, he charged forward.
His weird-eyed horse responded by pounding the ground with vigor, showing no signs of fatigue despite their relentless pace.
At some point, the sound of the horse’s hooves faded, and Enkrid felt a momentary weightlessness.
The speed had accelerated to match the movement of a knight, propelling them rapidly.
As they struck the enemy’s flank, one of them reacted.
It was someone clad in gray-painted armor.
Enkrid could see the man’s mouth open in a circle of surprise.
He was mounted as well.
The startled opponent quickly pursed his lips and swung a flail.
At just the right moment, Enkrid’s horse adjusted its pace.
Enkrid drew his new sword and slashed.
The blade reflected sunlight, scattering golden light.
The flail, carried by centrifugal force, hurtled toward him, aiming for his forearm.
The fact that it targeted his forearm and not his head or torso was a testament to the enemy’s experience.
With just the strength of his wrist, Enkrid flicked his blade.
The sword’s edge shifted sharply and severed the enemy’s wrist.
Splat!
Blood splattered as the severed wrist fell to the ground.
"Argh!"
A scream followed. Enkrid flicked his blade through the air to shake off the blood and turned his horse around.
The weird-eyed horse pivoted lightly.
’Not bad. Or maybe even better?’
If the black-gold sword had been heavy, this one felt almost excessively light.
Yet, that lightness made its movements swift and nimble.
It was a blade well-suited for fast and agile swordsmanship.
In any case, Enkrid was highly satisfied with it.
The sword crafted by Aetri gleamed as the severed wrist rolled on the ground.
"You..."
The man with the severed wrist couldn’t finish his sentence.
Thud!
Rem’s thrown hand axe embedded itself in the man’s head, knocking him off his horse as his body tumbled to the ground.
"What the hell is this?"
"Huh? Huh?"
"What’s going on? What is it?"
"You bastards, it’s the enemy!"
Thud, thud.
The fallen body rolled among the enemy soldiers, leaving them in a panic as each spat out a few startled words.
Meanwhile, the madmen charged deep into the army’s formation.

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