WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Ryuu

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 136: No Day Is Ever the Same

After leaving the battalion commander’s tent, Enkrid felt significantly more at ease.

Although the commander’s expression hadn’t been particularly welcoming, to Enkrid, the experience itself was novel.

“A knight, discussing dreams.”

The commander wasn’t flustered and didn’t ridicule him. That alone was a refreshing change for Enkrid.

However, that wasn’t the important part. He had spoken, and he had been rejected. Now, it was time to return to his tasks. Back at the barracks, Enkrid stood before Rem.

“What is it now?”

“We’re continuing.”

He meant to pass on his senses. It was nothing more than finishing what they’d started—not a grand affair.

Watching his platoon leader with that determined look, Rem found himself thinking again,

This guy really is crazy. Is this normal?

He knew full well what it meant to teach someone who couldn’t sense anything. Absolutely nothing.

Yet Enkrid insisted on continuing. He never grew tired of it. He didn’t seem to know what frustration or despair felt like. It was as though he’d walled himself off entirely from those emotions.

Still, his curiosity was piqued, so he asked.

“You’re not bored?”

“Huh?”

Seeing his expression which seemed to say, ‘What are you even talking about?’, Rem was at a loss for words.

Fine. Sure. Let’s do it. Might as well make the most of it.

“Alright, let’s get on with it. I didn’t have anything better to do anyway.”

At Rem’s words, Andrew visibly brightened.

Over the past few days, ever since Rem began sticking to his platoon leader, Andrew had felt a surge of peace, love, life, and hope.

“Life is full of beauty.”

“Get a grip, will you?”

Mack stepped in to calm him down.

Enri, meanwhile, was gone. No, he had left. A few days prior, he had joined a unit evacuating the wounded and hadn’t returned.

As a member of the Mad Platoon, such an orderly departure was unthinkable. But it was a privilege and reward for his role in securing victory in battle.

“I’m thinking of trying a different way of living.”

Enkrid had nodded at Enri’s decision to leave, ensuring his departure was smooth and even advantageous.

Enkrid respected Enri’s choice. After all, not everyone could live by the sword. Still, Enri’s absence was palpable.

Even if he was exempt from cooking duties and regular shifts, patrol missions were a different matter.

Thus, combining reconnaissance missions with the exploration of enemy-empty fortifications became their new norm—largely thanks to Kraiss’ persistent suggestions.

Without Enri, even finding their way became a chore. Of course, while Enkrid wasn’t at a pathfinder’s level, he could manage decently well.

Still, there was a difference between him and a skilled guide like Enri. Moreover, it wasn’t as though he could leave it to another squad member.

While Enkrid’s navigational skills weren’t merely average, compared to the others, they were exceptional.

“I might not be able to find paths, but I’m good at sniffing out beasts and monsters. While we’re out here, why don’t we raid a monster nest or two?”

This was Rem’s suggestion, as his skill with the Heart of the Beast technique plateaued and he began pondering new live-combat scenarios. Paths? He couldn’t care less about those.

“We’ll come across something eventually.”

Then there was Ragna, who needed no comment. He was utterly hopeless with directions.

“We simply walk wherever divine guidance leads us.”

And Audin? He wasn’t much better—perhaps even worse. Claiming to heed a divine call just sounded like an excuse to act on a whim.

Jaxon? Silent as ever. Yet it was clear he had no intention of taking the lead or finding a path. If anything, Jaxon seemed more likely to simply disappear than coax the others along.

That left Mack.

Mack was still around, but Enkrid was the better option for leading.

Ultimately, the Mad Platoon scoured the enemy’s position. Despite the Allied reconnaissance teams having already swept through the area.

Kraiss, with his uncanny talent, managed to stuff his pockets.

“Unbelievable.”

“Right?”

“Oh, gems.”

Muttering to himself constantly, Kraiss unearthed coin purses, gem-encrusted daggers, and other valuables.

Nothing overly precious, but plenty of items that could fetch a good price in Krona.

“It’s common for soldiers to stash their goods before heading to the battlefield.”

As Kraiss had said, there were always soldiers who buried their valuables, often in the dirt outside their tents, hoping someone would retrieve them and deliver them to their family if they died.

Of course, if both the owner and the entrusted comrade perished, such efforts became meaningless.

But who marched onto a battlefield expecting annihilation? It was no different this time, and Kraiss excelled at uncovering these hidden treasures.

Even though the Allied reconnaissance teams had already combed through the area, Kraiss still found hidden stashes with impressive precision.

Underneath cots, at the remains of campsites, and near distinct trees, wherever he dug, something inevitably turned up.

“How do you even find all this stuff?”

Enkrid’s curiosity was genuine. Though he kept watch for potential threats, the eerie quiet meant there wasn’t much else to do.

“Simple. He sniffs out the scent of Krona. Take a good look at that nose of his—doesn’t it look like a coin?”

It was Rem who chimed in, clearly as bored as everyone else.

How on earth could a human nose—particularly one belonging to someone with the handsome features of Kraiss—resemble a coin?

Rem’s jest was nonsense, but Kraiss, long used to such teasing, didn’t bother engaging. Knowing it would only make things worse for himself, he let the remarks pass—in one ear and out the other. A skill Andrew could certainly learn from.

“It’s all about thinking ahead,” Kraiss said, tapping the side of his temple with his index finger. Somehow, his leather backpack was already bulging with loot.

“Thinking ahead?”

Enkrid repeated, genuinely intrigued. It was an opportunity to clear his mind while learning something new.

“If you were hiding something, where would you put it? Let’s say the fort is obliterated, but you’re the sole survivor. Humans are hopeful creatures; they cling to what they can. So where would you hide your stash if you needed to retrieve it later?”

“…Someplace obvious at first glance,” Enkrid replied.

“Exactly. See this distinctive branch? It’s not far from the camp, making it easy to swing by during an outing. Convenient, right?”

It made sense.

“And more importantly,” Kraiss added, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm, “the more precious an item, the better it’s hidden. That’s human nature.”

This guy really did have a sharp mind.

Of course, once he explained it, it didn’t seem particularly remarkable. But the impressive part was his ability to anticipate and plan all this in advance.

“So, you’re still holding onto that dream of running a salon?”

“What do you think all this effort is for? My dream is to open a luxurious salon in my twilight years, share witty jokes all night, and rake in Krona.”

As far as dreams went, it felt… underwhelming.

Yet Kraiss was utterly serious. Not just serious—he seemed willing to risk life and limb to make it happen.

Enkrid, whose own dream of knighthood was far more idealistic and absurd, couldn’t bring himself to mock someone else’s ambitions.

Compared to knighthood, establishing a noble salon to earn Krona seemed far more attainable.

So he refrained from criticism, condemnation, or derision.

Just as he had with Enri’s dream of marrying a widowed florist, having children, and living peacefully.

To become a knight…

The thought stirred Enkrid’s heart. He felt as though he was inching ever closer to his long-cherished dream.

He wasn’t just excited—his entire body tingled with a surge of emotion. Yes, he was moving forward.

Even if it was only a half-step at a time, even if he had to crawl. Wait for me, tattered and faded dream. I’ll stand by your side and walk with you.

“Here, take these!”

After rummaging through a few more spots, Kraiss handed Enkrid two throwing daggers with slim blades.

“Use them. Nothing fancy.”

At first, Enkrid wasn’t sure why Kraiss had given them to him.

But just ten seconds later, it became clear.

“You’re not expecting me to clean up after you, are you?”

As soon as Kraiss handed over the daggers, Rem was already grumbling.

It seemed he was expecting Enkrid to take care of something—or more accurately, to fend off whatever danger was coming their way.

“Care for a spar when we get back?”

Placating him had become second nature by now. And when they returned to the unit, it was back to relentless training.

Even after his discussion with the battalion commander, it was more of the same. Day after day of seemingly stagnant practice.

When the next day dawned, Enkrid, following his session on the Isolation Technique, suddenly began swinging his sword.

Focus.

Funneling every ounce of his senses into the blade. It seemed like any other day, yet it was different.

No two days were ever truly the same. Unbeknownst to himself, Enkrid had already left behind the days of his incompetent past.

He now possessed countless compensations for his lack of innate talent.

Experience, newfound techniques.

The Heart of the Beast, the Focus Point, the Blade Sense, the Isolation Technique.

And the countless hours of grueling training that followed.

Every single moment had been more intense than before. Enkrid immersed himself completely in that time.

At some point, his eyes unfocused, his pupils dilating. Yet his sword grew sharper, his movements quicker.

Frog, Mitch Hurrier, the battlefield…

As he reconstructed and refined his movements, everything around him began to blur.

His heart, his beast-like instincts, his brute strength, the chaos of battle, his analysis, his reconstructions.

Everything faded, leaving only the sword and himself in the world. Faint afterimages and scattered thoughts lingered briefly before vanishing entirely.

He slashed. Again and again. His recently healed wrist swung with more stability than ever before.

Perhaps it was the divine blessing or the elixir the elf commander had provided—but those details didn’t matter.

Stray thoughts surfaced momentarily, only to dissolve into the void. Soon, everything else disappeared.

Enkrid experienced an otherworldly sensation as if he were observing his own body from the outside.

A surreal and impossible feeling of separation between himself and his body. In this state, he watched his sword.

He slashed, stabbed, sliced, and drew back.

Crunch.

His steps shifted, scattering small pebbles across the ground. His movement adjusted the trajectory of his sword, altering its angle with every step.

All Enkrid could see was the sword’s path.

Dots, lines connecting those dots, the arcs of the blade.

The rippling blade, the weighty strikes, the tip of the sword stabbing forth like lightning—all dictated by precise intent. It coiled around his imagined opponent, spun halfway, and lashed out like a whip.

Wham!

The blade tore through the air with a resounding roar.

Anyone who knew Enkrid before, especially those familiar with his beginnings, would have been stunned by the scene.

Despite countless hours of training, he had previously remained stagnant, stuck in the same place.

Only the will to move forward had kept him going, like a broken scarecrow struggling to stir.

Now, that same scarecrow was standing on its own two feet.

“He’s improved a hell of a lot.”

Rem, watching from the barracks, couldn’t help but marvel. When had Enkrid grown capable of losing himself in his training like this?

When had he learned to stand so firmly on his own?

The broken scarecrow was gone.

Sitting on his haunches with his chin resting on his hand, Rem felt a strange sense of pride. When had this transformation occurred?

Nearby, Ragna had also stepped outside.

Hearing the blade whistle through the air, Ragna recognized that his platoon leader’s swordsmanship had matured significantly.

He’d already experienced it during their sparring sessions, but watching Enkrid immerse himself in his practice stirred something within him.

It felt like a flame had been lit in his chest. Motivated, Ragna quietly drew his sword.

Schwing.

He, too, began swinging his blade, off to the side. Audin followed suit.

“He’s built a solid foundation.”

To move one’s body as desired requires not only skill but relentless effort to explore its limits, experience pain, and push beyond them.

The Isolation Technique was about pushing boundaries, and the person before him was its greatest beneficiary.

Even the joints moved fluidly now, no longer susceptible to injuries from the same impacts as before.

Recently, he had focused on strengthening his joints.

“Lord, your servant rejoices.”

Feeling pure joy for another’s progress was a rare experience for Audin. Precisely because it was so rare, the joy felt even greater.

Jaxon, too, was overwhelmed by a peculiar feeling.

“It was the right choice.”

Teaching him how to sense things, staying here—it had all been worth it. Although he hadn’t weighed the costs and benefits when making these decisions, he had no regrets.

At one point, he’d considered his time here a waste, but now, seeing the progress his platoon leader had made, those thoughts had completely vanished.

Off to the side, Esther lay with her head resting on her front paws, quietly observing Enkrid.

Magic, she thought, was a way to explore new worlds. The joy and excitement of discovery were incomparable to anything else.

That was why she pursued magic—to experience that joy, to construct her own world atop her discoveries.

For Esther, the sight of Enkrid practicing his sword felt oddly familiar. It reminded her of herself, losing herself in the world of magic.

Even with only a rudimentary understanding of swordsmanship, she could see that his skill was formidable.

Her curiosity was piqued.

“What drives you to move like that?”

It was a simple question born of curiosity—curiosity befitting a researcher and an explorer.

For Esther, this was a surprising shift.

Having spent her life immersed in magic and ignoring everything else, her cursed body was a testament to her single-mindedness.

To take an interest in another person was unusual for her, yet it was something she enjoyed.

Novel experiences energized her, and even this newfound emotion was a source of vitality.

Eventually, Enkrid’s blade came to a halt.

Huff.

He stood still, drenched in sweat. Esther stirred. Holding a piece of cloth in her mouth, she bounced over to him.

When she handed him the cloth, Enkrid, who had been staring blankly into the void, accepted it and said, “Thank you, Esther.”

Nya-aah.

Don’t mention it.

Using the cloth, Enkrid wiped away the sweat on his face, suddenly noticing how warm the weather was.

The pleasant atmosphere—was it because of the weather? Or perhaps the sense of clarity that came from focusing solely on his sword?

Whatever it was, he felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his chest. Feeling refreshed, he turned and called out, “Rem.”

He had glimpsed the essence of Rem’s skill, the Heart of the Beast.

Now that he had seen it, he needed to seize it. And once seized, it was a matter of making it his own.

Whether it worked or not was something to be determined in the doing.

“Let’s continue.”

It seemed like an ordinary day, but no day was ever truly the same.

That much was self-evident.

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