WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Ryuu

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 135: A Ripened Heart (2)

"Here."

Rem didn’t care who was watching.

He stood there, not in a corner or secluded area, but right in the middle of the camp. He grabbed Enkrid’s wrist and placed it over his chest, a wry smile twisting his lips.

What should he say?

There was a playful mischief embedded in that smile. Then, he began whispering to Enkrid.

It was so quiet that without trained hearing like Jaxon, one wouldn’t have caught a word. Speaking so softly yet still conveying his message was an art in itself.

Ignoring the stares from those around them, it was clear this was his plan all along.

“What you need is trust. Afterward, make your heart explode. If the Heart of the Beast is ripe, try bursting it just enough so it doesn’t shatter.”

Rem refrained from mentioning the sorcerous effect this would trigger. He only relayed what was necessary.

Enkrid complied. From the start, if he hadn’t trusted Rem, the Heart of the Beast wouldn’t have accepted him.

That, too, was something Rem appreciated. Enkrid’s attitude, his responses, his actions—they all carried sincerity.

It was the sincerity of someone who always gave their best. But this time, that approach would ruin everything.

“You need to take it slow,” warned Rem, his voice sharp like a blade. His tone carried a seriousness Enkrid hadn’t heard before, a stark contrast to his usual teasing nature.

That gravity left an impression on Enkrid. This must be dangerous. So, he slowed the beating of his heart. But could one control their heartbeat at will?

Then it happened.

Through his palm, Enkrid felt the pounding of Rem’s heart. Thump-thump! The force was explosive, and the energy within surged through Enkrid’s hand as if it were alive.

“Now do the same. Just a quarter of that effort.”

Was this the sensation he was waiting for? Enkrid searched for that feeling—making the heart race.

Words couldn’t explain it. Nor could actions demonstrate it. All Rem could do was show it with his own body. It was entirely a matter of intuition.

So…

“I think I’m worrying for nothing,” muttered Rem.

Should he have expected this?

“One more time.” 

Enkrid said.

And so, Enkrid and Rem stood with their palms pressed over each other’s hearts until the sun passed its zenith and began to dip.

“I’m seriously curious—sometimes I wonder if you’re doing this on purpose. Or am I imagining things?”

“Hmm.”

Enkrid hummed briefly in response.

“I feel the same,” agreed Ragna from the side.

“So do I, mad brother,” added Audin. Even Jaxon nodded in agreement.

Doing it on purpose? That felt unfair.

“You’re not choosing not to do it—you truly can’t, right?”

 Rem asked seriously.

“Yeah.”

“…Alright. Fine. Let’s try again tomorrow.”

Before anyone realized it, the evening had come.

Thanks to the battalion commander and nearby soldiers' consideration, they were exempt from chores and even meal duties. Naturally, this allowed them to focus solely on training.

Yet Enkrid made no progress—none whatsoever. Not even half a step forward. At least, that was how Rem saw it.

“What are you doing?”

“Right now? Not teasing me, are you?”

“Alright, go ahead. Try again.”

Enkrid only heard similar remarks from Rem. He couldn’t grasp the feeling. Not at all. Was that a problem?

No, it wasn’t.

When had he ever mastered a skill at first glance?

Even during the time he trained his left hand while repeating a single day, the so-called “talent” only surfaced momentarily. Like the instant it felt as though the gift of skill had descended upon him.

That brief moment when techniques meant for his left hand became part of him—that fleeting joy.

Was he longing for that feeling now?

Not in the slightest.

All he did was repeat the process, over and over. Reflecting and rethinking every step. He had no time for regret. Only time to contemplate.

“The battalion commander is calling for you.”

It was another day of agonizing over how to ripen the Heart of the Beast and make it burst—a day when no progress was made. Three days had passed since they began fortifying the camp.

Finally, the battalion commander summoned Enkrid. During battle commendations and ceremonies, he’d acted like he might call for him immediately, yet it wasn’t until now that things seemed settled enough.

According to Kraiss, it was only natural.

Perhaps while relocating the camp and establishing a new base, Marcus must have been burning with frustration. When asked why, Kraiss rambled on for a while.

The summary was simple:

“If the enemy knows we’re just sitting idle, they’ll dismiss us. So, we must at least pretend to act. If it were me… No, never mind.”

He clearly had more to say but stopped himself. Enkrid didn’t press him. If Kraiss wanted to talk, he’d do so in his own time.

It was also the moment to respond to the battalion commander’s summons.

An adjutant personally came to fetch Enkrid. On their way to the commander’s tent, the elf company commander joined them.

With near-silent footsteps, the elf aligned herself with him and spoke.

“When’s our engagement again?”

There she went again. Elf humor was utterly incomprehensible.

“Let’s set it for ten years from now.”

“Hmm, not bad. But I prefer young humans to old ones.”

For such a meeting to even happen, wouldn’t Enkrid have to be drawn to elves in the first place?

Her beauty was indeed inhuman, but inhuman also meant she looked too far removed from what he found appealing.

Delicate, long lashes framed gem-like green eyes. Her golden hair shimmered like sunlight scattering across water, and her pale, radiant skin almost seemed to glow.

That’s what made her inhumanly beautiful.

“Shall we go?”

Enkrid surrendered. If she wanted to play word games endlessly, she could, but he found it exhausting.

The elf company commander seemed to enjoy teasing him just to this extent. Honestly, though, it didn’t bother him much.

That’s just who she was.

A bit saner than Rem, but still, weren’t there bound to be a few half-mad elves out there?

"Let’s go," said Enkrid, following the adjutant, with the elf company commander on his left. Together, they entered the tent.

“You’re here.”

Inside was Marcus, the battalion commander. His appearance was unkempt, his beard scruffy from the toils of the battlefield.

Seeing him reminded Enkrid of his own stubble. He resolved to shave later and offered a salute, pressing down on his sword’s hilt and bowing his head.

“Good,” said Marcus, nodding vaguely.

The three of them stood together. Marcus barked an order to his adjutant: “Bring some tea.”

Moments later, three cups were placed before them. It wasn’t luxurious by any stretch, but on the battlefield, even tea was a rare indulgence.

“Every time we head into battle, I get annoyed about not having good tea. This time, even this mediocre brew feels satisfying.” 

Marcus commented, breaking the silence.

With no chairs provided, the tea was consumed while standing around a table usually reserved for strategy discussions.

“So, what do you think? How about officially working under me?” 

Marcus proposed, his words casual yet carrying weight.

Enkrid had barely taken a sip when the question came. The elf commander remained silent, her face unreadable.

Enkrid looked at Marcus, considering his response before quickly abandoning the effort. When had he ever sugar-coated his words for a superior?

“I’ll decline.”

“Why? I’d like to think I’m a pretty solid leader.”

He wasn’t wrong. When Enkrid had mentioned meeting Marcus earlier, Kraiss had outlined the likely sequence of events, down to what the commander might say.

The accuracy had been eerie, like listening to a fortune-teller.

“Let me guess,” Kraiss had said. “He’s going to propose you join him. He’ll call in the elf commander too, for formality’s sake. And why? Because he wants to officially recruit you and groom you. Why aim higher, you ask? Are you seriously asking me that? You know why.”

Kraiss had gone on to explain in exasperation.

“Think about what you’ve done so far. On the frontlines, in the rear, and even during covert operations—every fight you’ve been in, every task you’ve completed. Do you think Marcus wouldn’t have noticed? Of course he did. And now, he wants you for himself.”

At the time, Enkrid had only half-listened, preoccupied with his struggles to master the Heart of the Beast. Yet now, standing before Marcus, Kraiss’s predictions rang true.

“You seemed to have anticipated this.” 

Marcus observed.

“To some extent, yes.”

“Can I ask why you’re refusing?”

Enkrid didn’t answer immediately. Sipping his tea gave him a moment to think.

After days of focusing solely on training, the warm tea brought an unexpected sense of relief—a brief reprieve from his relentless self-imposed pressure.

‘Have I been shackling myself with my own determination?’ he wondered.

The thought came with a sudden, almost tangible sense of liberation, like chains crumbling away in his mind.

Just a few seconds, but they made all the difference. With a lighter heart, he straightened his posture.

After one last sip of tea, Enkrid finally spoke.

“I have a dream.”

Marcus’s eyes narrowed slightly. Enkrid continued, his voice steady and resolute,

“I aspire to become a knight.”

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Marcus felt a chill run down his spine, his entire body breaking into goosebumps. Behind Enkrid, it was as if he glimpsed another world—a battlefield, a radiant figure wielding a blade, and an undeniable aura of purpose.

‘What is this?’ 

Marcus thought.

It was a single sentence, but it struck with the force of a declaration. It wasn’t merely a rejection; it was a proclamation of a dream burning so brightly that it felt impossible to ignore.

It reminded Marcus of something he had long abandoned—a dream from his youth, one he had given up in favor of the life he now led.

Grinding his teeth unconsciously, Marcus felt the tension in his jaw and the ache of old regrets.

‘I threw it all away,’ he realized bitterly.

Finally, Marcus exhaled deeply, his emotions swirling. He regarded Enkrid with a mix of respect and something unspoken.

“Go, then. Follow your path.”

Enkrid saluted again, this time with greater conviction, and exited the tent.

The elf company commander lingered for a moment, eyeing Marcus carefully. She wondered if envy or resentment might drive him to act out in some petty way. After all, humans were known for their unpredictability.

But instead of anger, Marcus let out a deep sigh and stared at his now-cold tea. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but clear,

“This is interesting.”

The elf tilted her head. 

“What is?”

“Do you think he’ll truly become a knight?”

“That’s not for me to say. It’s his journey.”

“Fair enough. They say elves always speak plainly.”

Marcus smirked. 

“It’s been a while since my blood boiled like this.”

The elf didn’t reply. She could sense the fire reigniting within Marcus. His past ambitions, long buried, seemed to flicker to life.

After the elf left, Marcus walked to a chair and sat down heavily. His back was damp with sweat. A strange mixture of emotions churned within him—discomfort, exhilaration, and something close to hope.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out an old letter, its edges frayed from years of neglect. Though he had tried to ignore it, he had never been able to discard it entirely.

“Alright.” 

He murmured to himself.

The insignia of the royal family was faintly visible at the bottom of the letter. His hands trembled slightly as he unfolded it. In his eyes, for the first time in years, burned the same fierce determination he had once carried in his youth.

“Let’s see where this leads.”

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