A Knight Who Eternally Regresses
Chapter 809 - Can You Beat Him?
As always, Enkrid enjoyed seeing those who would charge at him like this.
Thanks to that, a smile naturally formed on his face.
Seeing it, Shinar asked without batting an eye.
"Why are you smiling like Rem?"
Enkrid immediately shot back.
"Why the sudden insult?"
Ragna, standing beside them, opened his mouth.
"Even if it wasn't a very pleasant expression to look at, that is excessive."
Jaxen added a word as well.
"That is an insult."
Even Audin spoke, laughing heartily.
"For a moment, Brother Commander's inner thoughts were revealed. You were thinking of beating them all to death just now, weren't you?"
Of course not.
When Enkrid turned his head to the side, he saw Rem grilling the soldiers before taking out his axe and asking.
"Hmm? You want to split them all apart too? I know, I know. I know how you feel. But you have to hold back. If I beat all those bastards to death, who will be the meat shields?"
There was Rem, talking to his weapon.
The soldier right in front of him, who had been getting tapped on the thigh until it bruised under the pretext of correcting the stance, broke out in a cold sweat.
Weren't the madmen knights called mad because they fought as well as berserkers?
Why did they seem like just plain crazy bastards?
Since this was daily life for them, Ropord and Fel didn't even turn their heads.
In truth, the two of them were busy fighting each other.
The difference in their skills was minimal, and they knew each other's habits well.
That was why a winner couldn't be easily decided.
Fel played a tough hand, momentarily throwing his sword to try and grab and twist an elbow, but Ropord had recently started properly re-learning the Valen-style martial arts he had learned by watching over the shoulder.
Of course, this was a secret from Fel.
It meant that when Fel threw his sword and closed in, Ropord also let go of his sword.
Afterward, the two of them rolled on the ground like they were in a dogfight.
Rolling in the mud created by the rain, they both looked like stray dogs soaked to the bone.
They didn't care about their bodies getting wet or dirty, willing to let go of their swords just to win.
It was the will to do whatever it took to seize victory.
That extraordinary resolve was visible in their eyes.
One could probably see it without needing any special insight.
That kind of spirit was naturally felt from the two of them.
"They've improved."
Seeing them, the frog was once again impressed.
She had helped those two get to where they were now, so it was more than enough to feel a sense of satisfaction.
Of course, what Luagarne enjoyed most was seeing Enkrid's change.
And because of that, her life was currently renewing its happiness every single day.
'Extinguishing Embers.'
It was a sword style based on insight and experience, and high-speed thinking on top of that.
No, it would be more correct to call it a combat style rather than a sword style.
As could be seen from how he subdued Aishia earlier, it was not a technique that used only the sword.
'The experience of blocking Beelrog's attacks became his nourishment.'
Was it good luck?
If not, there were too many parts that were incomprehensible.
She saw that it was based on insight and experience.
Then, setting aside insight, what about experience?
'Unless he fought an adversary on the level of Beelrog countless times.'
Though she hadn't seen the fight directly, Luagarne knew Enkrid.
The him before and after fighting Beelrog were completely different.
It was a thought that came to her as she studied and tried to grasp the parts she felt in that difference.
"Beating them to death? This is sparring. Getting hurt during sparring can't be helped, but I have no intention of that."
Enkrid said, subtly emitting pressure.
It was to the point that the soldier standing before him, hoping to learn a thing or two, looked pitiful.
The fact that his legs weren't trembling was enough to say that soldier in front of Enkrid had guts.
Was his name Rierban?
'So the person hasn't changed.'
But his skills had improved to an absurd degree.
'If a mouse stands before a snake, can it win against the snake?'
One's skills only grow when they meet a foe at the level of a natural predator.
If this wasn't a mystery, what was?
Gurgle, gurgle, burble, burble.
The frog's cheeks puffed up and then deflated as she got excited from her thoughts.
Her nostrils flared as she let out a snort.
Among the reasons for her getting so excited so easily was probably the fact that she was in a good mood from being soaked by the rain.
For a frog, swamps and rain gave a similar comfort to what a human would feel eating roasted potatoes in front of a fireplace on a cold winter day.
The pupils of the watching soldiers trembled severely.
Why is that frog suddenly acting like that?
It wasn't that no one knew the habits of a frog, but seeing a frog that excited was not a common sight.
And what was with that elf?
Her appearance was superior even when compared to other elves, but the words that came out of her mouth shattered all expectations.
There were elves among the Royal Guard.
Though they weren't from Kiraheis, the emotionless racial trait unique to elves was unlikely to be different.
They knew that too.
But that elf didn't seem to be like that, did she?
"Just don't kill him. The poor thing."
She was saying such things even now, but it was half a joke.
If you thought about it, it meant it was a joke.
Though half the soldiers present couldn't even understand the elf's joke.
"I told you I'm not going to kill him."
Enkrid retorted, sheathed his sword, then undid the scabbard from his belt and held it in his hand.
The click sound was more chilling than the sound of a sword being drawn.
At least, for the soldiers standing opposite him.
"I'm starting to regret asking for this."
One of the soldiers muttered.
But that didn't mean he was backing out.
Though his words said so, his eyes did not.
They weren't blazing, but the coldness reflected in his languid-looking eyes was, on the contrary, filled with the will to try something.
"Rierban, you're not planning on going all night, are you?"
Enkrid asked.
"Of course not, Sir."
It was a tone filled with respect and reverence.
The reason Rierban's legs weren't trembling was solely because he trusted Enkrid.
He would not be killed.
But this pressure was real.
Within that pressure, Rierban somehow managed to draw and swing his sword.
His swordsmanship did not draw an elegant line, nor was it a remarkable blow by any means, but those among the soldiers with a discerning eye inwardly nodded.
He overcame that pressure.
He shook it off and swung his sword in the end. That's impressive.
Just as such thoughts were crossing the soldiers' minds, Enkrid's mouth opened.
"Have you been slacking off?"
With his words, Enkrid kicked Rierban's thigh.
Tap —he kicked off the ground and approached, and his right leg, which had become like a whip, seemed to slash his thigh.
POW!
There was a sound of a muscle bursting, but of course, that wasn't what actually happened.
"Ugh."
Rierban couldn't even let out a scream as his stance crumbled.
Still, he didn't fall.
He held on with his one right leg.
The thigh that was hit felt as if it had been severed, all sensation below the hip gone.
But he endured.
"Your spirit isn't bad."
Was Enkrid's evaluation.
Objectively speaking, Rierban's skills had also improved considerably.
However, Enkrid's standard was the standing army of the Border Guard.
That is to say, people who, if they didn't run, would be prodded with a sword to make them run, who had to run around the Pen-Hanil Mountains with an axe in hand, who would frequently become the punching bag for a genius—Ragna—and who, if they didn't lift a stone heavier than their own body weight every day, would hear the words, 'Brother, are you a person who does not keep his promises?'
"Next."
Enkrid continued the sparring matches relentlessly.
One of them left an impression.
It was that fellow whose eyes had been cold.
'Talent.'
The way he swung his sword was ingenious.
Suddenly, he thought of the child named Broomhilt.
That child he had met in the Pen-Hanil Mountains had also been a genius.
This soldier also possessed that much talent.
However, he was still too lacking in training and experience.
It wasn't hard to guess his state just by facing him before their swords even met.
'The type who trusts in his talent and is lazy with training.'
The Ragna type.
Enkrid gave him a lesson with sincerity.
"If you act high and mighty trusting only in your talent, you'll be caught by a Westerner."
With his words, he tripped him and threw a punch that grazed his chin.
With that one blow, his legs gave out and he collapsed.
"And your spirit is inferior to Rierban's."
The evaluation was cold.
Though he didn't know what the previous words meant.
The man threw up everything he had inside him onto the floor.
With a retching sound, yellow fluid trickled down the corners of his mouth.
The man, kneeling on the muddy ground, couldn't even lift his head.
"If you keep this up, you'll never be able to beat Rierban."
This man, who usually spent his time leisurely, must have thrown up what was inside him for the first time in a very long time.
Rierban has probably experienced it often from over-training.
Talent does not represent everything.
The sum of time and effort put in every day surpasses talent.
Enkrid himself was the proof.
No, he wanted to be the proof.
Though he had reached his current state with the help of the Ferryman, he was still a person who focused more on effort than on talent.
"Take him away."
The man who had been rolling in the mud watched Enkrid's back to the very end with hazy eyes.
Next, an elf came at him, and Enkrid didn't go easy on him either.
"Just because your agile body is your specialty, is it okay to only develop that?"
Each and every one of his words was like gold, if only the listener could properly digest them.
Of course, Rem's teachings were the same.
"If you have no spirit and no skill, what should you do? You roll."
Rem's mouth curled up more sharply than Enkrid's smile.
It wasn't too difficult for the soldiers, upon seeing that face, to think of a pervert who felt sadistic pleasure.
It had already been several days like this.
And yet, there were no deserters.
These men, too, had been carefully selected to be gathered here.
Enkrid was also pleased by that.
The next day, Enkrid moved around noon to escort Krang.
The midday sun had thoroughly dried the rain that had poured down yesterday.
It was a hot day.
A day where sweat would flow easily.
He wore a dark green cloak on his back, Dawnforged on his left hip, the broken Penna on his right, and even the Beelrog armor underneath his outer clothes.
Regardless of skill, moving with the best possible equipment was a habit from his mercenary days.
But hadn't they said there was some seditious movement?
'Is an inspection at a time like this the right move?'
A question arose, but it was not Enkrid's business to be concerned with.
Just as he was heading toward the front of the inner castle to meet Krang, he could hear the captain of the Royal Guard kneeling on one knee and letting out a blood-boiling voice.
"Your Majesty! You can only proceed if you have the minimum protection of twenty Royal Guards, Sir Matthew and at least three other close-protection escorts in place of Sir Aishia, and two hundred from the security forces! Is not what rests on Your Majesty's shoulders more than just your own neck?"
Weren't those words a bit of an exaggeration?
He thought so, but there was no sign of surprise from those around him.
Matthew and Marcus were also present but just listened as if it were a matter of course.
From that, Enkrid could guess the usual relationship between Krang and the Royal Guard captain.
'An informal relationship.'
Close-protection escorts, a group that sometimes crosses the line for the king's safety.
That was the shield that protected the king, the Royal Guard.
I said it's fine.
Krang shook his head as if it were nothing.
Your Majesty.
The Royal Guard captain showed no signs of backing down.
But if it came to stubbornness, Krang was no pushover either, and he also enjoyed using his head more than his opponent.
That is to say, he was also skilled at creating a situation that the opponent couldn't refuse or reject.
And that Krang pointed at Enkrid, who had just appeared.
The index finger he extended and the smile on his face looked truly confident.
Can you beat him?
The words that followed made the Royal Guard captain's face turn pale as dust.
Who in this land right now could guarantee they could win against the commander of the Madmen Knights Order?
No matter how confident one was in their skills, he was a knight who had returned after killing monsters in droves.
The Royal Guard captain's mouth clamped shut like a clam.
Though he had said it without any context, the gist of his words was singular.
It meant that even if hundreds of soldiers didn't step up, a single knight called a calamity could take their place.

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