A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Ten whistling daggers, and a wide leather armor lined with thin cloth on the inside so it wasn’t scratchy.

The armor was fine. Quite satisfactory. Although it didn’t have the spells of the previous armor, it should suffice for physical protection.

It might be uncomfortable to wear in hot weather, but if necessary, what can you do?

The armor had a grid of thin metal chains hammered flat and inserted between the layers of leather. It was heavy, but the defense seemed excellent.

“It’s my masterpiece.”

The blacksmith had every right to say that.

He offered it at half price, but the armor itself was expensive. The cost of repairing the leather and painstakingly making each thin chain added up. It took nearly a year to make just one suit of armor.

“Use it well.”

The blacksmith, with his ruddy face, gifted it to him.

But Encrid couldn’t just take it, so Krais paid for it.

The blacksmith silently accepted the Krona pouch.

Along with the armor, he received two daggers to strap to his ankles, a guard sword for his back, and eight throwing knives for his thighs and sides.

He wore the whistling daggers crossed on his chest. He already knew from experience that this angle was convenient for drawing them.

Since he might need a utility knife while traveling, he took one as well.

Should he bring a short sword too? It could serve as a backup if his main sword broke.

With all the things he was packing, it was quite a load.

He also needed a thick blanket for sleeping outdoors and perhaps a pot for cooking. Krais could carry the pot, but there were still many other things to prepare.

He considered bringing charcoal for warmth at night, thick cloth, wooden spoons and forks, and a thin copper-infused iron plate for cooking.

A backpack would also be necessary for the journey, and it was already quite heavy.

Perhaps the reason Encrid survived despite his lack of sword skills was his thorough preparation.

Some habits don’t go away easily, especially when traveling with just four companions, each formidable in their own right.

Frog, who often traveled alone, understood the dangers of the journey all too well, so Encrid couldn’t afford to slack on preparations. It gave him peace of mind.

“Are you taking all that?”

Luagarne asked, perhaps in awe or jest, but Encrid paid it no mind. Peace of mind was his priority.

“Yes, it’s a pity I can’t bring more.”

His equipment was thorough, including gauntlets and shin guards. He meticulously sharpened each knife and polished the blades with animal fat.

The blades gleamed.

“Are you trying to reflect sunlight during the day?”

“That’s sharp.”

Encrid responded casually to Frog, who commented while watching.

It was almost like they were having a chat.

“Why do I feel like my place is being taken?”

Rem muttered nearby.

Encrid ignored it.

“Why aren’t you answering me?”

Rem’s tone grew petulant.

This couldn’t be left alone.

If ignored further, Rem might cause trouble, so Encrid spoke.

“I did.”

“When?”

“With silence.”

“What is this crazy talk?”

Rem’s face twisted in a strange way.

Encrid calmly took in Rem’s reaction and ignored it.

“Tsk.”

Rem let it slide as well. He knew he would lose in a verbal argument, it was something he had experienced many times.

Whether on a mission or not, it was just everyday life.

Encrid did what he usually did. He woke up in the morning and threw himself into intense training, preparing for deployment in the evening. This included not only maintaining his equipment but also gathering various tools. Frog was half-exhausted by Encrid’s relentless dedication.

‘Is he just a tough guy?’

Or perhaps, a dull one?

He did all this without hesitation. Training and preparations were no small tasks.

No sign of doubt or suffering.

Well, sometimes he seemed to struggle under the guise of practicing ‘The Isolation Technique’, but…

Seeing the odd smile on his face afterward made one wonder.

‘Is he just a masochist?’

Maybe so.

Despite being told he couldn’t become a Knight, there was no sign of despair or frustration.

After watching for three months, there was no falsehood in his actions.

Thus, he was just a strange, very strange guy.

Kuruk.

This piqued Frog’s interest.

His appearance was also exceptional, making him intriguing to watch.

Where did such a person come from?

“He’s mine.”

Luagarne sat crouched in the shade on one side of the training ground, watching. The Fairy Company Commander approached and said this, casting a shadow that slightly overlapped the shade.

“Did I say anything?”

Luagarne responded indifferently.

“Kyaa.”

Esther, sitting alone in the opposite shade, bared her fangs.

She often did that.

Since it didn’t concern him, Luagarne let it slide. For Frog, the important things were desire, interest, and stimulation.

With that stimulation before him, she was in a good mood, enough not to kill someone who might hit her heart carelessly.

Though, if they did hit her heart, she’d probably half-kill them.

* * *

Between training sessions, Encrid didn’t neglect his duties.

“You’re going on an expedition? With four people? Including Frog?”

When he reported to the Battalion Commander, he was questioned briefly, but soon received approval.

“That’s unusual.”

That was all that was added.

“So, how do you feel about not being able to become a Knight?”

The Battalion Commander asked as Encrid was leaving.

Encrid responded indifferently before saluting.

“Yes, thank you for the gift.”

Was there malice in his thoughtfulness?

No, there wasn’t.

Even if there had been malice, it was still a good opportunity for him.

Was it said that a dream was never fulfilled?

For Encrid, it wasn’t a story that applied. He had come this far chasing an unfulfilled dream, merely piecing together a dream that had been torn and shredded.

“Thank you?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

After the dull conversation, Encrid left, saluting as he went outside again.

The Fairy Company Commander followed closely behind. It seemed like they had been running into each other more often lately.

Maybe he didn’t have much to do.

With such a thought, he looked at Encrid.

“Fallen for me, have you?”

He made a comment like that. Encrid turned away, denying it.

He returned to focusing on his personal preparations.

“Looks like you’re excited to go out.”

Rem taunted without reason.

“If you’re itching for a fight, shall we spar?”

Encrid skillfully deflected the provocation.

“Sure!”

They engaged in a refreshing bout, landing solid hits.

Clang! Clang!

If there was anything satisfying, it was seeing a different emotion on Rem’s face—a sense of satisfaction.

When Encrid activated his Heart of the Beast and struck down with his sword, Rem skillfully deflected the blow with his foot.

It was the first time Rem used a technique similar to the art of deflection.

“Deflection?”

“Why? Can’t I use such techniques?”

“No.”

That wasn’t it.

The result was a loss when the Heart of the Beast’s power was released after a heavy axe strike.

Afterward, Encrid sparred with Audin and Ragna. When Jaxon showed up again, they sparred as well.

“We need more training.”

Training sessions increased.

Jaxon readily assisted in training.

They focused on honing visual acuity and reflexes, ultimately aiming to develop the Sense of Evasion.

“We still have a long way to go.”

The results were still insufficient, but it was all about repetition.

The essence was this:

Once his personal preparations were mostly complete, Encrid plunged into intense training until the day before departure.

“We have more equipment now, so we need to organize it properly.”

Ragna, uncharacteristically, gave some advice.

Encrid found it worth listening to.

“Indeed.”

He increased his meditation time between training sessions.

Luagarne sometimes wielded a whip or corrected stances when in the mood, but mostly observed.

Encrid paid no mind to it.

He was busy steadily building upon what he had.

‘Basic skills.’

The fundamentals of swordsmanship and training.

These were rooted in the foundational techniques of the Northern heavy sword style and The Isolation Technique.

This was all supported by a keen sense for the blade.

Opening the Gate of Sixth Sense to glimpse a bit of the future.

This didn’t come into play alone.

It required a Focus Point to back it up.

‘I’m not a genius.’

Like a frog trapped in the well of today, striving to climb out to see the sky of tomorrow.

Thus, he struggled.

Thus, he crawled forward, inch by inch.

Encrid hadn’t changed.

He was unwavering.

A wanderer chasing a faded dream, he just kept walking.

Sharpening his skills, fortifying his resolve, and sharpening again.

Mastering the rhythm, adding strength to the heavy sword style.

Becoming a bit more accustomed to the Heart of the Beast.

Then, on the eve of their departure:

“I hear the beast hordes have been causing a lot of trouble lately. Merchants used to travel in groups of ten, but now they won’t go with fewer than twenty. Is it okay to go out like this? Well, I guess we’ll manage.”

“Doesn’t something feel off?”

Frog, Finn, and Encrid’s faces were examined by Krais as he awkwardly voiced his concern.

It was during their usual sparring session after listening to Krais’s words. The opponent was Rem, and they stood at a distance. As Encrid drew his sword and pointed it, Rem swung his axes, twisting his wrists.

How many times had they sparred like this?

They had faced off quite frequently recently.

“Make my day more enjoyable today.”

Rem seemed to have been sulking for some reason.

This sparring session was partly to lift Rem’s spirits.

If that was the case, why didn’t he just come along instead of staying behind and sulking?

It was now mid-season, transitioning into summer.

Encrid felt the change in temperature.

He sensed the subtle shift in the wind’s direction.

As the air changed in an instant, they both gauged the distance between them.

In that moment, a split second, the gap opened.

At that instant, all the lessons from the countless repetitions of today settled into Encrid’s body.

Things he had learned over time.

The lines connecting point to point.

The circle drawn around himself, the sword’s domain.

The rhythm or tempo, known as the timing for attack, defense, and counter.

The slight gestures of his opponent, the breath that showed a glimpse of the immediate future.

Encrid slightly lowered his hand. It was instinctual and necessary because he could see the future.

The tip of the sword tilted slightly forward.

The two axes halted in the sunlight.

He could see the tip of Rem’s nose. He could see his eyes. He could see the sweat running down his forehead.

As Encrid focused solely on facing his opponent, he found the most logical and quickest path.

The point where their domains touched, the tempo and timing favorable to him.

His foot lifted off the ground, catching the rhythm.

The sword cut through the sunlight, descending from above.

The axes moved as well.

The person holding the axes moved as well.

A faint, blurry figure appeared—it looked like a ghost or perhaps a specter to Encrid.

Regardless, the axes of the specter came flying.

Swish!

A vision of his neck being cut flashed before his eyes, but just before the vision became reality, Encrid’s sword fell from above.

It was a lightning-fast slash, accelerating with the weight of the Northern heavy sword style.

Whoosh.

Cut? Nothing.

Neck? His neck was fine. The image of it being cut was just an illusion.

“Well, you’ve learned how to make people serious, haven’t you?”

“You dodged it, didn’t you?”

Turning around, Encrid saw a small cut on Rem’s cheek.

There was no cut on his hand, but he had made a mark.

Just a scratch on the cheek, but still.

A tingling sensation, akin to awe, spread through his body. It felt like the roar of a beast resonating from within.

In hindsight, it was the first time.

Neither Rem, Ragna, Audin, nor Jaxon had ever been scratched by his sword.

“That’s right.”

Luagarne, who had been watching, suddenly stood up, clapping her hands. The sound was dull, despite his smooth palms meeting, but her expression was very pleased.

“Well, um, now, so…”

Encrid struggled to find the words. It was a different experience, though he had experienced something similar before.

‘Mustached man.’

The first time he faced him, when he was deeply absorbed in Mitch Hurrier, focusing on a single point.

It was a moment of breaking through some sort of limit.

Of course, now it is more intense than back then.

He had learned more.

He had acquired more skills.

It’s often said that you see as much as you know.

And so he did, seeing just as much as he knew.

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