A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

The moment the tide of the battlefield completely shifted, Marcus withdrew instead of constructing an encirclement.

As the flag waved to signal retreat and the trumpet sounded according to the predetermined signal, the Border Guard, who had been rampaging in excitement, halted their steps.

“Stop, that’s enough!”

As the Turtle Heavy Infantry, who had been advancing, began to withdraw, Rem grumbled.

“Well, it’s just getting started.”

Blood dripped from the blade of Rem’s axe.

In such a situation, speaking with a smile caused a few of the cheering allies to turn their eyes.

Even Encrid found his aura terrifying, but he wasn’t a madman who would swing an axe at his allies.

‘Maybe just his fists.’

It was a stray thought.

Even those called Knights would accumulate fatigue in prolonged battles.

Rem was no different.

It was about time for the finesse of his swinging axe to become slightly dulled.

He had slashed through dozens, no, over a hundred people.

And it hadn’t taken a long time either.

Anyone who had watched this battlefield could not forget the names of the five who now stood in the middle of the battlefield.

Moreover, the enemy halted the moment Encrid’s name was mentioned. They were terrified. They were scared. Their morale was broken.

Marcus had timely provided the enemy with a retreat path.

Marcus glanced at Encrid’s party in the distance and then cast his gaze elsewhere.

He saw a blue flag raised high.

It was the signal from the Border Guard that had maneuvered to the right.

‘We’ve also captured the detached force.’

Considering the damage inflicted on the front line, calling it a great victory was an understatement.

The enemy was defeated by five men.

A victory of strategy, a victory of cunning.

It was a victory for the commander who had cleverly hidden Encrid.

“Are we not pursuing them?”

It was the 2nd Company Commander. He approached, panting, and spoke. Marcus shook his head.

“Let them go. Even a cornered rat will bite the cat, and a ghoul, when cornered, will use its last bit of brain.”

Krais, who had slyly positioned himself in what he thought was the safest spot on the battlefield, listened to the Battalion Commander’s words and thought. Ꞧ�

‘Letting them go.’

Was it because, despite being a fight to the death, they were still under the same Kingdom’s banner?

‘It’s a shame though.’

It was the commander’s choice. It wasn’t his place to say anything.

Even without the Madmen Platoon, the Heavy Infantry or the Border Guard alone could capture the enemy commander, yet they were letting them go.

From the start, they had no intention of capturing the enemy commander.

Perhaps they intended to use this opportunity to demonstrate the strength of the Border Guard?

Still, it was a shame.

‘Capturing the enemy commander would bring great rewards later.’

Capturing the enemy commander and releasing him for a price would bring many benefits from Martai.

‘Securing trade routes.’

The Border Guard was now fully prepared to become one of the major trade cities.

Securing the trade routes, especially penetrating the Martai region, would be crucial.

Capturing the enemy commander would provide the easiest advantage in negotiations.

Is that all? No.

‘Ransom money.’

If the one calling himself a General had significant wealth, capturing a noble and ransoming him for Krona was commonplace.

It was a common occurrence even when dealing with enemy nations.

Especially since the enemy was the Mayor and General of Martai. Publicly, he was an ally.

Martai was nicknamed the city of mercenaries, and Krais knew they amassed Krona.

So it was frustrating.

‘They must have earned an enormous amount of Krona.’

At this point, Marcus, the Battalion Commander, was either a fool or someone without greed.

‘He doesn’t seem like a fool.’

Krais scratched his chin.

Considering what had been done so far, it was clear. The strategy of hiding Encrid and deliberately drawing the enemy in for an ambush.

This wasn’t something a fool could pull off.

Moreover, entrusting all the credit and the outcome of the battlefield to just one person.

‘This guy’s guts aren’t just big, they’re monumental.’

It was such a bold strategy that it was almost insane.

And now, after it had worked, this was the result.

A cheer erupted under the clear blue sky.

“Woohoo!”

“Encrid!”

“Come at us!”

They raised their spears.

“You’ll die!”

Thud!

They shouted as they struck the ground with their spear tips.

The morale of the surviving allies was higher than ever.

Which is why it was even more frustrating.

If they had pursued the retreating enemy, the battle would have been more efficient than ever.

In a full-scale battle, you suffer more when you’re being chased.

The pursuer always has the most advantageous position.

“Do we have almost no cavalry left?”

Marcus’s voice was heard again. Krais pricked up his ears.

“Yes, we got them all. Some of the cavalry were held back from the beginning.”

The adjutant replied.

“If we hadn’t opened a retreat path, those bastards would have charged and only managed to rescue Olf.”

That could have happened.

Krais nodded to himself.

An unexpected situation. But it was worth a try.

After that, Marcus was silent for a while. The retreating enemy raised dust.

Because the battlefield was filled with humans, neither monsters nor magical creatures roamed.

Even mindless ghouls would run away from a battle of this scale.

As silence fell, the adjutant, perhaps feeling frustrated, spoke first.

“Should we retreat?”

It was a moment where they could withdraw, regroup, and celebrate their victory.

Opening a bottle of wine, indulging in various foods, that wouldn’t be a bad way to celebrate.

But Krais thought it would be inefficient.

‘What have we gained from this battle?’

To Krais, who equated everything to Krona, this battlefield had yielded nothing.

The joy of survival? The thrill of crushing the attacking enemy?

If that didn’t turn into Krona, what was the point?

Well, they might turn into Krona later, but there was no immediate reward. That was quite frustrating.

Even though the battle seemed over and it was time to return, Marcus, who had been silent to the adjutant’s question, finally spoke.

“Advance the entire army.”

Advance?

Krais tilted his head in confusion. This time he couldn’t hide his inner thoughts. Fortunately, the only one who noticed was Finn, who was beside him as a guard.

“Why?”

Finn asked.

“He said to advance?”

Krais whispered, “But where are we advancing to?”

The adjutant standing next to Marcus up front also asked in surprise, “Where are we advancing to?”

“Where do you think?”

At that moment, Krais could see Marcus’s face.

It wasn’t the face of a commander drunk on victory.

It was an expression one might expect from a politician or merchant pleased that things were going their way.

So it wasn’t over yet.

“Let’s go.”

Marcus said, baring his fangs. In that clear smile, Krais understood his intentions. His teeth reflected the light.

Sparkle.

‘Ah.’

He never intended for this battle to end without gains from the start.

A brief realization struck Krais’s mind. It was small but intense, like a sudden shock of understanding.

Krais learned something new.

‘If we let them go and then chase them.’

The enemy would return to their home.

A cornered rat might bite the cat, but if you let it go, it will return to its hoard of treasures.

It was an opportunity to gain wealth.

Krais’s thoughts advanced one step further.

He understood Marcus’s intention.

Was this just pressure?

A threat not to attack the Border Guard again?

‘No way.’

That couldn’t be it.

If Martai cooperated, they could secure trade routes and various benefits.

But what if they occupied the city?

Then the story changes. The game changes. It’s not just about trade routes.

It would be like giving wings to the trading city of the Border Guard.

Martai is nicknamed the Mercenary City of the East.

Its power, strength, and location are all useful.

If they could consume it, if they could digest it.

“It’s truly a gourmet dish.”

Krais muttered.

Whether Marcus heard this or not, he spoke again, baring his fangs.

His teeth still reflected the light.

Sparkle.

“We are going to attack Martai.”

Marcus commanded the advance, and the order spread through the adjutant.

---

Naturally, the same command reached Encrid, who was at the forefront.

“Advance from here?”

In a brief moment, several situations raced through his mind. What Krais had said, the current state, the morale and strength of their allies, and the issues that would arise if they advanced.

There were none.

Well, one nagging issue remained.

The five enemy wizards that were hidden were nowhere to be seen.

Was that their trump card, or had they fled upon seeing the tide of battle turn?

There was no way to know.

Encrid didn’t so much reason it out as instinctively understand Marcus’s intention.

‘To take the city.’

What would happen if the growing Border Guard swallowed Martai?

‘It would be great, I guess.’

Who cared about the aftermath? Encrid did his job with the situation he was given.

“If it gets tough, you can fall back.”

To his gentle reminder to the remaining four.

“Are you crazy?”

“My name is Ragna. I can still run.”

“Heh heh, Commander, shall we go?”Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Rem, Ragna, Audin, and then Jaxon, who silently swung his sword in the air before discarding it.

Then, after scanning the ground, he picked up a relatively intact arming sword.

Seeing it, Jaxon muttered,

“The blade was damaged.”

Although it was an advance, there was no need to hurry.

Marcus’s, or rather the commander’s, intention was clear.

Maintain morale, advance at a moderate pace.

Naturally, Encrid was at the forefront.

“Ragna, were you teasing me earlier?”

As they walked, Encrid asked, and Ragna tilted his head before replying.

“I spoke sincerely. My name is Ragna, the man who does not retreat, that’s me.”

Hearing this, Rem also started laughing beside him, saying, ‘My name is Rem’.

They weren’t normal to begin with, but now they were undoubtedly crazy.

That’s what Encrid thought as he continued walking.

The sunlight poured down on his back as he walked on.

Heading eastward, it was the sunlight from the west.

For a moment, a soldier of the Border Guard watching Encrid’s back thought he looked like he was shining.

Of course, it was an illusion. Similar to a mirage.

But it was true that he had achieved enough valor to seem as if he were shining.

A soldier with a knack for making up lyrics on the spot started to chant a song.

The lyrics were crude and the melody was simple. It was a mix of familiar tunes, but everyone shouted the last verse together.

“Who is the flower of battlefield?”

“Infantry!”

“Who is the strongest in the Border Guard?”

“The Madmen!”

It was a troublesome song. Encrid couldn’t help but chuckle as he walked ahead.

He now fully felt that they had become the most formidable force in the unit.

Cheers and shouts, ‘My name is Encrid!’ Songs with such lyrics continued.

“Is it good?”

Rem asked beside him. His smirking face was annoying, but Encrid didn’t bother to point it out and simply replied,

“Not bad.”

---

Marcus did not hurry.

There was no need to show themselves to the enemy.

It was half a day after General Olf had entered the city.

Quietly and without a sound, like a lynx, they began setting up camp in front of the city.

Olf had no strength to send a scouting team back.

It was only natural. It was a defeat, a crushing defeat. They barely made it back alive because the enemy had opened the way. There was no time to look back.

They returned with drooping shoulders.

“Damn bastards.”

Olf vowed that next time, he would slit Marcus’s throat.

Bang!

He punched the wall in frustration, self-loathing, anger, and humiliation.

A part of the wooden wall caved inwards.

“I have prepared the bathwater.”

It was the chief steward of the inner court speaking.

“Understood.”

It was time to disarm, wash away the fatigue and rising tide of emotions, and rest.

Olf didn’t even want to see his wife and daughter, heading instead to his office.

‘Let’s sleep on the cot today. That would be best.’

He decided this and entered the office, but sleep did not come.

Not long after,

“General!”

The office door burst open. The adjutant seemed to have rushed in with a messenger, as if in great haste.

Olf, dressed in a silk shirt, sat up on the cot.

“What is it?”

As he asked, a cold sweat immediately ran down his back. The tension squeezed his heart.

“We’re surrounded!”

The adjutant said.

“By whom?”

Did someone attack after watching the defeat at the hands of the Border Guard? Where? Was it Count Molsen’s doing?

“The Border Guard Reserve Unit!”

The eyes of the speaking soldier were constantly trembling.

He was not in his right mind either.

Olf had no time to check on that.

“…What?”

Olf opened his mouth in shock. Why are those bastards here? We fought just a day ago and they let us go. But why are they here now?

He looked at the adjutant for an answer, and the adjutant spoke up.

“What should we do?”

Drip.

Unconsciously, Olf drooled.

Things had taken a serious turn for the worse.

Defeat, a demoralized and reduced force, a conflict with familiar noble forces, and the sword given by Count Molsen was broken.

It was also his fault for misjudging the strength of the Border Guard.

Drip.

A second drop of saliva fell from Olf’s mouth.

Neither the adjutant nor the messenger thought it was disgusting.

They were just as panicked as he was.

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