Eternally Regressing Knight

Chapter 318 – I should commend everyone for their hard work.
As Enkrid got up, his head spun. He had been lying down for far too long. Though he stumbled
briefly, he quickly regained his balance. His well-trained senses adapted to the subtle differences
in his usual state after days of repetition.
“Not bad,” he mused, appreciating his body’s resilience.
Looking around, he noticed Ragna sitting nearby, eating porridge with just one hand. His other
arm and torso were wrapped in bandages. After swallowing a mouthful, Ragna’s gaze swept over
Enkrid, observing his full figure. Shinar’s eyes followed a similar path, both reflecting the same
thought—something about Enkrid seemed different since he got up.
It was only natural. Throughout his countless days of repetition, Enkrid hadn’t just mastered
evasive techniques; his body had also undergone subtle yet significant changes. However, neither
Ragna nor Shinar voiced their thoughts. For Ragna, this only fueled his anticipation for a
sparring match. His unyielding determination remained intact.
“Is it good?” Enkrid asked, breaking the silence.
Ragna nodded. Though no one had fed him, a soldier named Helma, along with her companion,
had cooked the porridge. Its flavor was distinct from their usual meals—it included the tender
flesh of eel.
As Ragna ate, Enkrid began to stretch and loosen his body. Two days of inactivity had been
enough.
Ragna sat upright as well, seemingly ready to take full advantage of their rare downtime. The
unit’s unpredictability often made their motives difficult to discern, and Enkrid saw no need to
dig deeper into their thoughts.
“How’s the recovery going?”
“I just twisted it slightly,” Ragna replied.
If this “slight twist” had kept him in bed for three days, a more serious injury would have been
catastrophic. Typical, Enkrid thought, though he kept his observations to himself. People like
Ragna, Rem, Jaxen, and Audin were all the same—talking wouldn’t change their ways.
Instead of engaging in banter, Enkrid focused on his recovery, performing movements from the
Isolation Technique. These exercises stimulated his body, increasing blood circulation and
generating warmth. Even during winter, a faint steam began to rise from his skin.
“Sprains? Move to generate heat. Fractures? Move to generate heat. Cuts? Move to generate
heat.”
This was Audin’s approach to injuries. Though even Rem had laughed in disbelief, there was a
kernel of truth to it—provided one’s body had been conditioned with the Isolation Technique.
The enhanced blood flow accelerated healing, and stronger muscles contributed to improved
recovery rates.
Enkrid had experienced this firsthand. Still, his current recovery speed was abnormal, bordering
on monstrous. Of course, Esther, curled up nearby, had contributed as well. Her presence at his
side had subtly enhanced his regenerative abilities. It was a minor trick, barely a spell, but it
made a difference.
Such factors explained why Enkrid was already on his feet, surprising Shinar despite her usual
composed demeanor.
“You really do have a remarkable body,” Shinar remarked, sitting in a chair near the tent
entrance with one knee drawn up.
Enkrid nodded casually, heat radiating from his body as he performed his exercises in a
short-sleeved shirt. Shinar’s gaze briefly scanned his form, but Enkrid paid it no mind.
“That’s true,” he replied.
For him, this routine of eating, sleeping, recovering, and analyzing battles was ordinary. It felt
natural to be surrounded by his comrades like this.
The medical tent was spacious, capable of accommodating about twenty soldiers. A large brazier
stood in the center, with Esther curled up asleep beside it. Ragna sat nearby, and Enkrid moved
around the brazier as he warmed up. Shinar stayed by the entrance, and further in, Dunbakel
dozed off.
Though she bore a few scratches, her injuries weren’t severe. Enkrid had heard she’d charged into
the fray like a madwoman after learning of a trap. Once, she had served as a henchwoman for the
Black Blade, yet now, she was an integral part of their unit.
Why? Enkrid often wondered what drew these people to him.
Krais, nicknamed “Big Eyes” for his distinctive feature, sat a couple of steps away from the
brazier, his expression thoughtful as always.
“It was my mistake,” Krais said abruptly.
Enkrid paused his movements, looking over at him. “What was?”
“I didn’t anticipate the situation properly. It made things dangerous.”
Though his words lacked context, Enkrid grasped the meaning. This was the same “Big Eyes”
who strained himself trying to predict the enemy’s intent.
“Isn’t it strange to expect to predict everything?” Enkrid replied sincerely. “Especially when the
enemy is insane.”
Krais turned his gaze toward Enkrid, his eyes brimming with emotion—a mix of doubt and
disbelief.
“Even when you almost died because of it?” Krais locked eyes with Enkrid. How could there be
no resentment in those eyes? Why did they always seem so steady?
Krais couldn’t help but wonder. How could a person be like this?
“I’m alive. I’m no ghost.”
The message was clear: he hadn’t died, so it was fine.
“You really are something else,” Krais muttered. Though a flicker of gloom passed through him,
he quickly buried it. There was no point dwelling on it. He knew what kind of person his
commander was.
‘What’s with him?’ Krais thought. Even now, Enkrid’s gaze seemed to silently ask, What’s
bothering you? There was no blame, not even after a brush with death that had been Krais’s fault.
Ragna, sitting nearby, seemed equally uninterested. When Enkrid’s questioning look fell on him,
Ragna’s expression simply asked, What’s there to ask?
“Forget it. It’s nothing,” Krais said, shaking off the lingering emotions. There was no point
asking questions. Enkrid wouldn’t care either way, and even if he did, it would only hurt Krais in
the end. He wasn’t about to fall into a spiral of self-recrimination over this.
Krais settled his thoughts with cold rationality. Next step? Review.
As he had learned from Enkrid, he analyzed the sequence of events: Enkrid’s near escape,
Ragna’s actions, and even the enemy’s movements. The conclusion was clear—he had been
outplayed.
What had he been thinking, trying to anticipate everything like some master strategist? And yet,
the risk had nearly cost Enkrid his life.
Even more unsettling was the enemy’s strategy. They had once saved his life, yet here he had
nearly gotten the man who saved him killed.
The sheer audacity of the enemy’s plan chilled him.
‘Deploy a group of apprentice knights to make us cautious, and then use regular soldiers to
capture an elite?’
A mad plan, but effective. Sacrificing a thousand soldiers to capture a single target, who wasn’t
even a knight? Insane, but feasible.
He should have foreseen it. But he hadn’t.
Why? Lack of experience.
But chalking it up to experience was a poor excuse. Such scenarios could happen again.
What now? Krais resolved to broaden his imagination, to consider the most bizarre possibilities
the enemy might concoct—short of something absurd like a dragon swooping down from the
sky.
Though this wasn’t Enkrid’s intent, Krais reflected deeply.
Above all, watching his commander—so unwavering, even in the face of his own mortality—left
an impression.
“Never again,” Krais thought, vowing not to repeat the same mistake.
After organizing his thoughts, he blurted out, “Why don’t we just open a salon?”
It was a meaningless suggestion. He knew Enkrid wouldn’t listen.
“If you open one, I’ll visit,” Enkrid replied casually.
Sure you will, Krais thought, incredulous. Enkrid would more likely spend that time swinging his
sword.
‘He says things he doesn’t mean so easily,’ Krais mused, though he knew that wasn’t entirely true.
If a salon were opened, Enkrid might indeed drop by—if only briefly, because Enkrid always
kept his word.
But Krais wouldn’t be surprised if Enkrid spent his time there training instead.
‘That would be the worst. Absolutely the worst,’ Krais thought, halting his imagination before it
spiraled further.
Enkrid, who had been stretching and touching his toes, glanced at Krais, amused by his
ever-changing expressions. It was entertaining to watch.
Krais, finally finishing his train of thought, shook his head. Regret was regret, but he had learned
his lesson. It was time to move forward.
It was a lesson Krais had learned from childhood.
So, he let it go.
There was no consolation to be had, but he brushed it off. What good was lamenting a mistake
now?
Did I even do anything?
The truth was, he had done plenty.
If not for Krais, Enkrid would have fallen into every layer of Abnaier’s trap.
Esther had also played her part, eliminating the wizard Galaph and cutting off a crucial means
for the enemy to block Enkrid’s retreat.
Ragna’s actions were no less significant. What role had the knight-apprentice and knight he
killed been meant to serve?
Shinar and Dunbakel, too, had made substantial contributions. Without them, the initial skirmish
might have turned into a rout.
If the enemy’s rear force had been more than a feint, they might have posed a genuine threat to
Border Guard. That would have endangered their supply lines, cutting off their escape and
throwing the battlefield into chaos.
The people gathered here had held this front together.
Enkrid sincerely believed that.
If ever there were words to be spoken without reservation or hesitation, it was this kind.
He halted his movements, knowing how to imbue words with sincerity and resolve.
Standing upright, he lowered his hands, scanned the room, and spoke.
“I should say this—you’ve all done well.”
Ragna paused mid-spoonful. Krais blinked in surprise. Dunbakel lifted her drowsy head. Near
the tent’s entrance, Shinar fixed her gaze on Enkrid, her lips curling into a smirk.
“Not a hint of blush, and you say that with a straight face. Is this why they call you charming?”
she teased, clasping her hands in front of her raised knee.
“That’s not what I meant,” Enkrid replied, pushing back against her fae-like humor.
“But wasn’t the hard work yours, Commander?” Krais asked, blinking again, his tone
incredulous.
Esther, stirring from her nap, glanced briefly at Enkrid before tapping her paw against the
ground, as if to say, Don’t mention it.
Ragna simply stared at Enkrid and, with quiet resolve, said, “I fought for myself,” before
resuming his meal. Dunbakel nodded in agreement, adding, “Yeah, I’ve worked hard, too.”
Enkrid couldn’t help but think how fascinating they all were—a whimsical fae, a human, a
beastkin, and a wizard.
“Where’s Jaxen?” Krais asked.
“He said he’d be back later,” Enkrid replied.
“Where’d he go?”
“No idea.”
“And you just let him go?”
“Why not?”
Fair enough. It wasn’t like they could stop him even if they tried.
From their days in the “Troublemaker Unit,” Enkrid’s approach had always been the same: Do
what you need to do. I won’t get in your way.
Ragna showed no interest in Jaxen’s whereabouts. What did it matter if that sneaky stray cat
wandered off?
For now, Ragna sat deep in thought, reflecting on what he had gained. His spark of
determination hadn’t yet dimmed.
Shinar observed Enkrid, while Dunbakel sharpened her scimitar.
Swish, swish.
She sprinkled water from her canteen and pressed the blade against the whetstone, honing its
edge with the practiced hands of a seasoned mercenary.
Krais sat quietly, marveling at how such an eccentric group had come together.
Everyone spent the moment in their own way until Enkrid, heating up from his exercises, was
interrupted by the sound.
Rip!
The sharp tearing of the tent fabric.
Shinar reacted instantly.
Clang.
Without hesitation, she drew her knives and rose to her feet. Esther’s eyes snapped open, and
Ragna gripped his spoon like a sword.
“Well, well,” came a voice through the torn tent, accompanied by a gust of cold wind.
“Black hair, blue eyes, and a decently handsome face—yeah, it matches.”
The flickering fire in the brazier flared, casting chaotic shadows. It was past dusk, the time when
twilight surrendered to night.
Through the torn opening, blue moonlight mingled with the red glow of the brazier, painting a
surreal scene. At the juncture of those lights stood a figure.
“Apologies for the intrusion,” the man said.