WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Ryuu

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 138: He Had to Endure

"Do you really need to wield two swords?"

The sparring session had just ended, and Rem asked the question. Sweat soaked through Enkrid’s body. Rem’s body was fine, of course, only Enkrid’s body was soaked.

“Yeah.”

Enkrid nodded while slumped on the ground, and Rem hesitated. To be precise, he saw the look on Enkrid’s face and decided to hold his tongue.

Otherwise, he might have said things like:

“Should I explain just how ridiculous dual-wielding is?”

“Did you think holding two swords would magically double your attack power?”

“Stop messing around and just use one sword already. Listen to me before I take my axe and snap that shiny blue blade of yours in half.”

Instead, Rem pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and thought it through.

Well, the axe was a decent excuse.

The axe Enkrid had brought him was surprisingly high quality. Its subtle blue sheen was proof of superior craftsmanship and excellent metallurgy.

It was clearly made from Valerian steel.

Judging by its strength and forging quality, this axe was something Rem could rely on for a long time. He liked it. Quite a lot, actually.

So…

Let him be.

Of course, the axe was just a pretext. In truth, it was Enkrid’s expression that convinced Rem to hold back his nagging.

There were times Enkrid would wear that face. For example, when he mumbled things like,

“I want to become a knight.”

“Today is a perfect day for sword practice.”

“If I have free time, I’ll spend it training, even on the battlefield.”

Whenever he said such things, his expression carried an air of unshakable determination. No, not just determination, resolve might be a better word.

It seemed oddly calm, perhaps excessively so.

That calmness, however, was accompanied by a boundary, one that couldn’t be crossed.

Rem figured he probably had a similar boundary himself, and Enkrid had always respected it.

“If he ends up tangled, stuck, or frustrated, he’ll give it up on his own.”

There had been a lot of talk lately about how Enkrid was a “late-blooming genius” or had “awakened at the age of thirty.”

“Was that thanks to me? Maybe partly.”

But fundamentally, if you looked deeper, it was Enkrid himself who had done the work, entirely on his own.

That’s how Rem saw it, at least. Enkrid never gave up, not even once. He never succumbed to despair or entertained the thought of it. He just kept moving forward.

Even if he had to crawl, he moved forward.

Is that why I keep watching him? Because he’s different from me?

Rem was unsure.

He had walked away from everything, abandoned it all, and became a wanderer. Born with talent and seemingly everything else one could ask for, he had let it all go.

He turned his back on it and ignored it. But his platoon leader was nothing like that. Enkrid had only a sword—a single, sharp blade in his hands.

And yet, he walked forward.

He didn’t know where the path led. He didn’t question whether he deserved to walk it. Nor did he complain about the hardships of his journey.

Because it was a path he had chosen for himself, a path he found joy in walking. What kind of person could live like that?

Rem’s feelings were complicated.

Learning the Heart of the Beast in just one day?

Sure, it was shocking, but geniuses exist in this world. It was remarkable that his platoon leader had achieved it, yes.

But Rem had practically spoon-fed him the process. Explaining it, demonstrating it, monitoring him throughout.

In that case, it wasn’t surprising for Enkrid to at least mimic the technique. But mimicking someone’s life philosophy? That was another matter entirely.

After pondering this, Rem finally broke the silence.

“I think I like you, Platoon Leader.”

“…Did someone spike your meal?”

“Your punches feel good.”

“Huh. That’s so like you.”

Enkrid brushed off the remark casually.

As he did, the lazy, grumpy bastard with no sense of direction—Ragna—poked his head in.

“Finished sparring?”

“I really, truly hate you,” Rem said, putting his whole heart into the words. He meant it sincerely, without room for misunderstanding, mimicking Enkrid’s directness.

“Yeah, same,” Ragna replied, nodding as if in agreement, even adding a faint smile.

It was infuriating. Ragna’s already fine-featured face became even more punchable when he smiled.

“Me too,” chimed in a sly tomcat of a man, arms crossed.

Usually silent, he suddenly decided to voice his opinion.

“Brothers, everything in this world exists within the Lord’s embrace. Of course, our Lord understands even the personal sentiments we hold. Yes, I too am human and cannot hide my feelings as a servant of the Lord. So, yes, I agree. Hahaha.”

The hulking religious fanatic said all this while dramatically stripping off his shirt. It was disgustingly showy.

Wasn’t that just a long-winded way of saying, ‘Yeah, I hate you too’?

What was with all the extra words?

Even though these annoying bastards all chimed in with their remarks, Rem couldn’t help feeling good. Strangely good.

Watching Enkrid had that effect.

Feeling slightly uplifted, Rem decided to show some generosity.

“Andrew, get over here!”

Andrew flinched at Rem’s shout but soon stood tall.

“Fearing your opponent only magnifies them in your mind. Magnifying them means you’re setting yourself up for failure before the fight even starts.”

Steeling himself, Andrew drew his sword.

Schwing.

“Good instincts, kid.”

Rem said, stepping forward. The blade of his axe swung like a pendulum, its sharp edge gleaming ominously.

“…If he asks for mercy, I’ll intervene.”

Mack muttered from the back. Andrew nodded. Mack was a good man, he’d helped rebuild Andrew’s family’s estate, among other things.

But, Mack, why are you stepping back while saying that? Huh? That far? You won’t be able to help quickly in an emergency, will you?

Why does it feel like you’re retreating way too much?

“You can do this, Sir Gardner. You are the hero who will revive the Gardner family.”

Why was he saying that from so far away?

Also, why “Sir Gardner”? Mack usually just called him Andrew, and casually, at that. But Mack didn’t stop retreating until he was standing near Enkrid.

Perhaps it was only natural. In a squad full of lunatics, Enkrid was the only refuge.

Andrew, however, couldn’t retreat to that safe haven. For the sake of his pride, and because sparring with this crazy savage had undeniably improved his skills.

He prepared himself, thinking of the lessons he’d learned from his platoon leader.

“Let’s go, you arrogant barbarian.”

“Oh? Can I take an arm?” Rem asked, his dull gray eyes glittering with sincerity.

“Shut the hell up.”

Andrew lunged, leaving no room for thought—only action.

Enkrid watched the chaotic scene unfold from where he sat. Enkrid sat, observing quietly. He had given his all against Rem during their sparring match.

Using two swords, he had fought with everything he had.

The Heart of the Beast had granted his arms unbelievable strength. His muscles surged with power beyond their natural limits.

The enhancement to his physical capabilities was immense. But even with such strength, dual-wielding didn’t prove superior.

He hadn’t been able to pressure Rem as effectively as he could with just one sword. He felt the lack of refinement in his technique.

“I can’t seem to get used to it.”

Enkrid glanced down at his calloused palms, reflecting on his progress. He didn’t blame his lack of innate talent. He simply realized that mastering this new skill would take time.

What’s the next step, then?

“Are you going to rest?”

The answer stood before him.

Ragna was asking the question, exuding a rare enthusiasm. Why? Why was it always like this with Ragna?

Enkrid didn’t know why Ragna acted this way toward him specifically. But he didn’t mind. Not at all. Enkrid knew this wasn’t a bad thing.

Placing his hand on his thigh, which still ached from the beating Rem had delivered, he got to his feet.

“No.”

Ragna nodded, as if he’d expected that answer, and drew his sword.

“Are you using two again?”

“Yes.”

Ragna didn’t press the matter further.

It was strange.

When Enkrid mentioned dual-wielding, he had expected both Rem and Ragna to object. If not them, perhaps Jaxon or Audin would have.

Even Andrew, Mack, or Kraiss might’ve said something about how clumsy he looked using two swords.

But no one said a word.

It was curious, but Enkrid didn’t dwell on it.

Instead, he resumed swinging his swords, focusing more intently, tightening his grip, aiming for precision.

Dual-wielding required careful thought, a calculated approach. He had spent countless hours pondering and practicing.

He hadn’t been idle while honing the Heart of the Beast; he had also trained with two swords.

And yet, it still felt awkward. It was like carving an unfamiliar statue, unsure of what shape it was meant to take.

His movements were busy, unpolished, and clumsy.

Ragna deflected Enkrid’s strikes one by one, eventually ending their bout in much the same way Rem had, with overwhelming control.

Ragna decisively seized the upper hand and subdued him.

“Hmm.”

Ragna seemed ready to say something but held back, closing his mouth instead.

“Huff… huff…”

Enkrid was breathing heavily, his chest heaving as sweat dripped from his body. He planted his right hand on his thigh for support, while the sword in his left hand rested tip-down on the ground.

Bent forward, his head hung low, sweat beading on his brow and dripping off the tip of his nose to the dirt below.

What would you even call this? Overtraining?

Whatever it was, his limbs were trembling uncontrollably. It was a side effect of the Heart of the Beast, which momentarily pushed his muscles beyond their limits.

While Ragna remained silent, Audin stepped forward.

“You’ve overdone it, Platoon Leader.”

Enkrid looked up, catching sight of Audin’s familiar smile—the same smile he always wore during their Isolation Technique sessions. It was the kind of smile that usually masked something wicked.

“You need to rest.”

“Rest?”

“And don’t even think about attempting the Isolation Technique right now, brother.”

What was this about? Normally, Audin would be itching to push him harder, to drill him further.

“We’ll discuss it later,” Ragna said, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

As Enkrid tried to straighten up, his legs gave out, and he collapsed sideways. Audin caught him, as though he had been waiting for this.

“Let’s get you inside.”

“Don’t we have duties or patrols today?”

“Even if we do, you’re not in any condition to go.”

Fair enough.

Enkrid had already suspected as much. The Heart of the Beast was an excellent weapon, a valuable technique.

The ability to enhance one’s strength momentarily was a solid foundation, allowing him to face creatures like Frok or withstand a giant’s crushing blows—just as Rem had once done.

The sight of Rem standing firm against a giant had been unforgettable.

It had even stirred a twinge of envy. Having witnessed that, there was no way Enkrid would abandon the Heart of the Beast.

Audin helped Enkrid to his feet.

“Go wash up.”

Despite his trembling limbs, Enkrid carefully secured his equipment.

“Why do you have to fight so much every single day?”

Nearby, Kraiss offered a sarcastic remark, though he quickly got to work helping Enkrid.

“Go on and wash up. I’ll take care of your gear.”

“Really? You will?”

“How long do you think I’ve been surviving on army rations, huh? And how much Krona do you think I’ve earned maintaining equipment? I’m probably better at this than most blacksmiths.”

Come to think of it, that made sense. Whenever Kraiss wasn’t gambling or drinking, he often wandered between other units’ barracks.

Maintaining gear had always been Kraiss’s way of connecting with soldiers from other squads, and earning extra income.

For most, weapon maintenance was a tedious chore. Soldiers who didn’t treat their weapons like lovers often neglected them.

Enkrid, however, valued his equipment. His swords, his armor—they were dear to him.

And Kraiss was trustworthy.

By the time Enkrid returned from washing up, Kraiss had polished his swords until they gleamed.

“If I draw these under a bright moon, they’ll serve as a perfect beacon, telling the enemy exactly where I am.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve got a funny way of giving compliments, Commander.”

Before Enkrid could respond to Kraiss, Audin approached, casting a shadow over both of them.

“What’s up, Audin? What do you want?”

“I need to speak with the Platoon Leader.”

Audin’s grin stretched wide, a bear’s grin, a predator’s grin, or perhaps a devil’s grin.

This couldn’t be good. Enkrid had that thought just as Audin’s hands reached for him.

“When you strain your muscles, they tend to seize up. There’s a method to relieve that tension. I’ll teach you.”

The words “teach” and “learn” immediately piqued Enkrid’s interest, replacing his earlier defensiveness.

“What is it?”

Audin only responded with another ominous grin. The ominousness proved justified.

“Ah… aaagh… ughhh…”

Audin’s fingers pressed and twisted into various spots on Enkrid’s body.

The pain was blinding.

His vision darkened.

For a moment, Enkrid thought he saw the ferryman on the black river again.

It felt as though he’d dipped a foot into death’s waters before being pulled back out. The agony coursed through every fiber of his being.

“This is how you release tension in overworked muscles. When I learned it, they called it blood, sweat, and tears.”

Was that the name of the technique? No way. But Enkrid didn’t have the mental clarity to ask.

As Audin kneaded his flesh, the pain soared through him like lightning. Words failed him. Even his screams were strangled by the intensity of the sensation.

It wasn’t destructive pain, it wouldn’t harm his body.

Enduring it was the only option.

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