WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Ryuu

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 125: Today’s Victory Doesn’t Guarantee Tomorrow’s Victory (1)

"Fire! Kill them!"

At the shout of their commander, three soldiers from Azpen’s light-armored troops raised and fired their crossbows.

Thud-thud-thud!

Three bolts flew—a true feat of agility would be needed to dodge them from this range. If you weren’t a master, you wouldn’t even attempt it.

Thunk, thwip.

Rem avoided the crossbow bolts with a forward roll timed perfectly with their approach.

Thunk-thunk-thunk.

The bolts struck the ground where Rem had just been. It looked close, but considering it was Rem, it didn’t seem dangerous.

Even while rolling, Rem barely lost any speed. He rolled forward, pushed himself up with his axe, and resumed running without missing a beat.

How did one even control their body like that? Even Enkrid, watching from behind, couldn’t help but feel amazed.

"Just sit back and watch."

If Ragna hadn’t kept holding him back, Enkrid would’ve wanted to join in for a strike or two himself.

But he wouldn’t get the chance.

Starting with Rem, the fight was over before he could do anything. Before the three soldiers who had fired their crossbows could even reload, Rem was upon them, nearly within arm’s reach.

Instinctively, the enemy soldiers drew short swords. It was different from spearmen.

Even if several spearmen had formed a defensive line against him, Rem wouldn’t have even blinked.

So three short swords?

They didn’t stand a chance. What happened next was exactly as Enkrid had expected.

Swish! Thud! Splurt!

Rem’s axe sliced through the air, taking off one soldier’s head, and as he moved like a storm, his axe drew glimmering arcs in the air around him.

Everyone caught in those arcs died.

The axe struck with such force that, by the time it emerged from a cleaved head, blood and brain matter were only just beginning to pool on the ground.

One soldier, his head split open, swung his short sword wildly into the air in a final reflexive attempt to strike. But before his body could even process its own death, he slumped forward to the ground.

Blood poured from his body.

Leaving the fallen behind, Rem went on a rampage. Meanwhile, Jaxon, who had been unseen, had snuck up behind the enemy commander.

With his mouth gaping in shock at Rem, the commander never saw Jaxon slit his throat from behind.

Slice.

Blood sprayed as the commander’s carotid artery was cut.

Jaxon continued, moving quietly and precisely, with a clear sense of priorities. He went after the crossbowmen targeting Enkrid first.

Jaxon executed each step according to plan, sneaking up to slit throats or stabbing into vital organs.

"Urk!"

The head of a soldier with a crossbow snapped back, seeing only Jaxon’s brown eyes with a glint of indifferent red.

Killing was merely a task.

He had reached the pinnacle of detachment. The enemy soldier died with that chilling gaze as his last sight.

Audin knocked down any enemy who dared approach him. Just sweeping his palm from side to side was enough.

Thud! Thunk!

With one slap, the enemy soldiers flew to the side. One who had charged in with a short sword, yelling, lost his yellowed teeth as they scattered in the air.

They stood no chance. How could they, when one slap sent them airborne?

Mack moved as well. He was a soldier who pulled his weight. He took position back-to-back with Andrew, while Enri, in the center, drew his shortbow, releasing arrow after arrow.

Ragna, of course, needed no extra mention.

One step forward.

He moved as he advanced. For those caught within his sword’s reach, only death awaited.

One scout came at him, wielding short swords in both hands, but even he fell after just two swings of Ragna’s sword.

Clang.

After blocking the first attack, Ragna’s blade glided through the air like a swallow, striking the enemy’s neck with a quick snap.

Blood gushed as a new mouth opened on the scout’s neck. After a few more swings, Ragna shook his head and flicked his sword in the air.

He didn’t seem very pleased with his weapon. If he still hadn’t found a proper sword after all this time, he wasn’t exactly normal.

Enkrid had nothing to do.

There was no reason for him to step in; the fight ended so quickly. While Mack and Andrew each took down an opponent, Enri dispatched two with his shortbow.

The rest were slaughtered.

"Let’s pull back."

Rather than express awe, Enkrid spoke up. With both armies charging, what would they accomplish by staying put?

For now, they needed to fall back to a safer position and assess the situation.

After sidestepping to the rear, they watched as the infantry of both armies, shields riddled with arrows, clashed.

Like lovers reunited after a long separation, exchanging love and affection, the armies met.

Except, instead of love and words, they exchanged jabs into each other’s eyes with spears.

Thunk-thunk-thunk!

Spear blades tore into bodies on both sides. Allies and enemies died, but the tide of battle was clear.

This was the first large-scale clash. The surprise attack by the frontier defense and Rem’s rampage had led to a major victory.

Where did the victory start?

Of course, it was with the Mad Platoon. From the platoon leader’s taunts to Andrew’s real blade swings.

"Uooooh! Get out of here!"

"We won!"

"Madmen!"

Well, maybe there was no need to openly shout about their madness, but—

The eyes of the allied soldiers all turned to one group. Those with blood splattered all over their bodies.

It was the independent platoon, led by Rem. Although each bore traces of the fight, Enkrid, standing in the center, was untouched.

He wasn’t even breathing hard.

He hadn’t swung his sword once.

He hadn’t even thrown a single dagger.

All his men were clear on one thing; he needed to recover.

"It’s the Mad Platoon!"

"Enkrid! Enkrid! Handsome!"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!"

The victory-drunk cheers were all directed at Enkrid’s group. No matter who had fought, this independent platoon was under Enkrid’s command.

So there were those who called his name.

Should he do something? Maybe he should raise his hand?

But he hadn’t even swung his sword once! Apart from that first skirmish, he had been at the rear, and the real battle, the grand showpiece of the infantry, had been handled by others.

Why was he being celebrated this much?

"For an independent platoon of less than ten people, we’ve made a pretty lasting impression. That’s job well done, wouldn’t you say?"

Kraiss, who had appeared from who-knows-where, joined them with his comment.

"Guess so. But why does it seem like no one’s looking for me?"

It must’ve been his karma.

Enkrid kept that thought to himself, deciding not to ruin the mood. Instead, he patted Rem on the shoulder.

"Good job."

Rem smirked. Ragna retrieved his chipped sword and muttered.

"I need to get myself a new sword."

His words seemed to convey his thoughts. He didn’t care about the cheering around him.

The infantry was soon called back from their short-lived celebration of victory. The allied commander didn’t push them to pursue the enemy further.

Now, their morale was far superior.

The tables had completely turned. From tomorrow onward, who would find the battlefield more unbearable?

Kraiss observed the unfolding situation, thinking about potential twists.

‘What else could be in store?’

If he wanted to survive and pick up some rewards, he needed to calculate the odds. And he did just that.

It wasn’t too difficult, after all. What could the enemy be planning?

‘They already messed with sorcery in the previous battle.’

Would they try something similar?

"Let’s rest."

Enkrid said after they returned to their tent. It was time to rest.

"All personnel are exempt from guard duty tonight."

A messenger delivered the orders. He briefly wondered if the elf company commander would show up, but that didn’t happen.

Would today’s victory lead to victory tomorrow?

No one knew. Holding the high ground didn’t guarantee a win.

By now, the high command would be busy planning the next strategy to keep their momentum.

Enkrid’s guess was accurate. Marcus wasn’t basking in victory.

"Seems like they have something planned if they’re just retreating like that. You said they pulled some sorcery trick before, right? Any sign of that?"

"None."

They were a group standing in a circle around a wide table. Marcus’s adjutant responded to his question.

Sorcery? No way he’d fall for the same trick twice. They had their own sorcerer on hand now.

The woman sent from the homeland couldn’t wield sorcery herself, but she could detect any foul play from the enemy.

That was enough for Marcus. He didn’t care about the world of sorcery. He just needed this information to be true.

"If Azpen brings in any asymmetric forces, the Red Cloak Knights will be deployed immediately."

If the enemy used knights or sorcerers. They were prepared for that as well.

Marcus nodded.

He was the type of commander who could feel the atmosphere of a battlefield through his skin. Though he used his mind, he was ultimately a person who was sensitive to shifts in the field.

‘But I’d rather not go in there.’

The enemy had retreated as if to say, "Come after us."

Following them left him with a prickling feeling, as though a banshee was breathing down his neck.

The thought of a creature that could freeze a man’s heart with its wails crossed his mind.

That couldn’t be a good sign. Marcus decided to end the battle there.

"Casualties among the Frontier Defense?"

"Two dead."

No matter how elite they were, even top-grade soldiers would die if cut by swords and pierced by arrows.

Still, with only two dead, it was a solid outcome.

The Frontier Defense had taken down dozens of enemy soldiers. In particular, the damage they’d inflicted on the longbowmen was devastating.

By all accounts, they had won the battle. Now, the enemy had two options left.

One was to retreat.

The other was to deploy asymmetric forces.

All Marcus had to do now was keep sending out scouts to monitor any signs of the enemy’s next move. The following day passed without a fight, and though Marcus doubled the number of scouts, they came back with nothing.

The nickname the Naurillia’s heavy infantry went by was ‘The Turtle’, and they were akin to a turtle hiding in its shell.

The enemy forces soon hunkered down. They showed no signs of their inner workings, and skirmishes between scouts were rare. It seemed they had dug in completely, holding their ground in defensive positions.

Were they baiting him?

The ominous feeling lingered, keeping him from ordering an attack.

"If we strike now, we’ll win decisively. If they’ve set up defenses in their positions, we could just rain arrows down on them, couldn’t we?"

"We wouldn’t even need arrows. We could surround them, torch a few tents, and send in spearmen to skewer them."

"How about we deploy the Frontier Defense to cut off their rear escape?"

The adjutants each offered their suggestions.

But it still felt...off.

"Stand down."

Marcus decided to hold their current position. It was a decision based on intuition. In all the battles he’d fought, his gut had kept him alive.

It told him the enemy still had something up their sleeve. The Azpen commander had witnessed the enemy’s power firsthand.

Naurillia’s tactics were unchanged.

‘Using the Frontier Defense for disruption.’

Marcus’s approach was predictable. He condensed his forces to reverse the battlefield’s momentum in one decisive move.

It had worked. He had turned the tide with an unexpected strike.

So what?

He had seen everything the enemy had prepared. Now what would they do to stop what he was about to unleash?

A bunch of cowards hiding behind their skirts. The Azpen commander cursed Naurillia in his mind and felt certain of victory.

The time to strike was drawing near.

He would start by killing that arrogant fool from the other day, the one they called the Madman. He was the one who had shouted fresh insults about a ghoul’s head.

And the one with the axe.

If knights had proven anything, it was that small elite forces could change the tides of war. So who said those elites had to be knights?

Focusing on that thought, the Azpen commander had prepared a dagger.

No, it wouldn’t just be a dagger.

That dagger would become a warhammer to shatter the entire battlefield. One day of rest was enough for a full recovery.

A day without guard duty, accompanied by good food and rest. Enkrid had a brief dream during the night but soon forgot it.

A ghost from his past had appeared—the mercenary who taught him that skill and character were not always proportional.

It wasn’t a pleasant memory, nor was it one he cared to revisit. In any case, thanks to Audin’s divine skills and the elf’s medicine...

When would he ever enjoy such luxury again?

"It seems my medicine did the trick."

The elf company commander arrived and said, stopping by in the morning. Enkrid was in the middle of training, drenched in sweat.

It was the Isolation Technique. Audin had said that it was now time for him to start strengthening his joints.

The training felt brutal at times.

But the results were always worthwhile; his body grew stronger with each session. Wasn’t his body already proof of that?

In a prone position, he balanced on his fingertips and toes, pressing his weight through his wrists as he straightened and bent his arms.

At first, it seemed easy, but after a few tries, it became grueling. It was like his wrists bore the weight of lead.

One set of eyes watched him, arms crossed. Another set belonged to the leopard, looking lively now that its health had returned.

One pair of gleeful, predatory eyes watched him from a distance. A mad barbarian crouched, observing him right outside the tent.

Elsewhere, dark, brooding red-brown eyes watched him closely.

And then, there was Big Eyes, who kept scratching marks into the dirt and erasing them, deep in thought.

Lastly, the lazy genius swordsman, who often got lost on his way, waited beside him, sword in hand.

"Didn’t you have somewhere to be?"

Enkrid asked as he finished his morning training, turning to the elf commander. The elf’s green eyes locked on him as he replied.

"No, I don’t."

Then why wasn’t she leaving? Enkrid shot her a questioning look, but it didn’t have any effect.

"Shall we start now?"

Ragna asked. They had set the order of sparring by a bet, and Ragna had won.

And so...

Enkrid prepared for a sparring session. He was ready for a fight now. Moving his body wouldn’t be a strain anymore.

He directed his gaze at Ragna. Ragna seemed as excited as a child. Why was he so eager to spar?

Enkrid didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. Since when had he ever needed to know everything about these people?

Enkrid gripped his sword.

He held it with both hands, his blade angled upward toward the sky. A second sword hung at his hip.

Though everyone saw it, they stayed silent. Enkrid wanted to meet their expectations.

The desire surged within him.

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