WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Ryuu

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 140: Sure, Why Not

“We’re learning the Sense of Evasion today.”

If Ragna’s advice was to always carry two swords on his person, Jaxon had a different lesson to teach. Likely, it was one of the techniques he had demonstrated the day they killed the giant.

Enkrid absorbed the lesson alongside his other training. There was no need to compartmentalize; the two didn’t interfere with one another.

Jaxon’s method primarily focused on improving peripheral vision. He would toss stones with markings on them, and Enkrid was expected to read the inscription mid-flight.

It wasn’t easy, of course.

But Enkrid persevered, slowly getting better at it. By now, he could almost clearly see the markings on the stones as they hurtled toward him.

This progress was a direct result of his accumulated experience—repeated failures and breakthroughs that awakened and refined his abilities. It was the result of a belief in himself and a willingness to keep moving forward.

At that very moment, as a stone flew toward his head.

“Ambush!”

The cry pierced the air, and chaos erupted. Enkrid’s hand shot up, snatching the stone mid-flight.

“Enemy sighted!”

Fweeeee!

“Arrows incoming! Heads down!”

The sharp commands of officers and panicked yells of soldiers interwove. Amidst the noise, Jaxon spoke.

“What was written on the stone?”

The man was relentless.

Enkrid had both swords strapped to his waist and his leather armor donned. He was ready to move at a moment’s notice, though the sweat-soaked armor often drew Esther’s disdain. After all, this was still a battlefield, where the threat of combat was ever-present.

Enkrid turned, tossing the stone back.

“‘Mad.’”

“Good.”

Jaxon nodded and stood up. But before either of them could react further, someone else darted past them.

“Where are they?!”

It was Rem.

Eight days without combat had made him restless, even if sparring with Enkrid and Andrew had helped curb his frustration.

Now, with his axe in hand, he charged toward the commotion, his excitement palpable.

Perhaps, he might encounter another giant.

What if that happened? That’d be fun. Too much fun, he mused, his steps light and nimble.

Rem was faster than any officer or soldier as he headed straight for the action. Enkrid followed soon after, moving toward the growing clamor.

The scene was near the unit’s outer perimeter, close to the edge of their defenses, and pointed in the direction of the enemy encampment.

When Enkrid arrived, Rem was already there, swiveling his head from side to side. Enkrid scanned the area as well.

But there was nothing notable.

No signs of an enemy force, just the corpse of a fallen soldier with an arrow lodged in his skull.

“Where’s the enemy?”

At Enkrid’s question, Jaxon surveyed the surroundings and answered calmly.

“They’re gone.”

If even Jaxon’s trained eyes could barely detect traces, it likely meant that no enemy had breached their defenses.

Perhaps they hadn’t even tried.

Firing arrows from afar and retreating?

One soldier dead from a single well-placed shot. But was such a tactic truly effective?

Rustle.

In the underbrush beyond their defensive line, there was movement.

It wasn’t the enemy, though—it was friendly forces. The Eagle Insignia Brigade, known as the Slaughterers of the Frontier, was already on the move.

“Pursue them.”

At the command of their leader, the soldiers disappeared into the brush, moving as silently as shadows.

Their movements reminded Enkrid of Finn’s—nimble and deliberate, every step calculated.

The unit had the unmistakable aura of rangers, skilled in tracking and stealth.

“What’s going on here?”

Rem’s voice cut through the air, thick with annoyance. Enkrid glanced over and saw his comrade’s bristling expression.

“Don’t.”

Enkrid stepped in quickly, stopping Rem before he could escalate.

“Come back here.”

He called him back, his tone firm. For a moment, it seemed as though Rem’s gray hair actually stood on end, bristling with irritation.

Rem snorted and turned away with a sharp exhale.

“Cowards, those enemy bastards.”

His gaze briefly fell on the fallen soldier with the arrow in his head. It wasn’t pity or sadness in his eyes—it was fury, directed at the arrow itself.

“That bastard again? This bullshit…”

Rem recognized the arrow.

“Who’s responsible?”

“You don’t remember?”

Enkrid tilted his head.

The difference in their shared experiences meant that Rem might recall someone Enkrid did not.

“It was that asshole, what’s his name? Something like Hawk’s Talon or whatever.”

Finally, Enkrid shifted his gaze to the arrow.

Its shaft was longer than standard, and its fletching extended further back. Even without closely examining the bloodied arrowhead, it was clear it wasn’t ordinary.

Rem scratched his chin, frustration lingering in his movements.

It was the mark of prey that had eluded him, a target left unresolved. Once a hunter, always a hunter. Rem’s eyes sought traces of the culprit.

Should he chase them now? How long would it take? As Rem mulled over his next steps, Enkrid gave his shoulder a firm pat.

“How about a sparring match?”

Leave it. There’ll be another chance to settle things later. At that time, they wouldn’t need words. They’d speak with axes and swords instead.

“Fine.”

Rem sighed, letting the moment pass.A sharp pebble zipped past Enkrid’s head. It grazed his vision, narrowly missing him, and flew on to strike Rem squarely on the forehead.

“‘Barb.’”

Enkrid read the marking aloud, his tone even. Despite his surprise, he was calm.

He had almost missed it.

“Good.”

Jaxon nodded, satisfied.

“Who the fuck throws rocks at people?”

Rem shouted, rubbing his head.

“Oh, didn’t see you there. My bad,” Jaxon lied transparently, shrugging. It was a typical squabble.

“Enough.”

Though routine, there was a difference now. Enkrid no longer had to intervene physically to break things up.

“Stop it, Rem.”

He spoke with slightly more force than before, his tone carrying weight. The lesson from the Heart of the Beast was clear—Rem responded better to firm commands.

Jaxon, for his part, backed down after a single sharp glare.

“Yes, I’ll be more careful.”

And with that, peace was restored.

The squad returned to their encampment, only to find Ragna emerging from his tent, his usual laziness apparent.

“What’s going on?”

“Enemy ambush. Just arrows, then they fled.”

“I see.”

Did he, though? Ragna’s response was devoid of interest, his tone dismissive.

Was he fearless or simply thoughtless? The latter, Enkrid thought. He would’ve bet Krona on it.

Enkrid resumed his drills, maintaining focus on his own growth. There was still so much to refine, so much to achieve.

Enkrid continued his training, unbothered by the interruptions. He combined his practice with reading the markings on Jaxon’s thrown stones, endured the grueling Valaf-style Acupressure, and honed his martial arts, grappling, and techniques. Through it all, he never let go of the two swords that now felt like extensions of his body.

“Posture, brother. Your posture is everything. No matter what you’re doing—whether training or in battle—posture is the foundation. If you lose it, you’ll get hurt. You don’t want to be the injured platoon leader brother, now do you?”

Audin’s admonitions were relentless. His tone had a teasing edge, a subtle reminder not to take the corrections lightly.

It was exhausting work to maintain the Isolation Technique stance while wielding two swords. However, that’s all it was—exhausting. It wasn’t impossible.

And for Enkrid, there was no such thing as too much effort.

As the sun began its descent toward the western horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and crimson, the sound of shouting tore through the camp.

“Ambush! Damn it!”

Another enemy strike.

This time, it wasn’t a careless mistake, the soldiers had been on alert. Still, the outcome remained the same, another arrow pierced an allied soldier’s skull.

The response was swift. The frontier rangers moved out, darting through the dense underbrush like shadows. Their expertise was undeniable, but the results were equally consistent—they found nothing.

“They’re just toying with us now,” Kraiss muttered, his face dark with frustration.

Enkrid chose to ignore him. These were long-range attacks with specialized bows capable of firing at absurd distances. Catching the attackers would be difficult, and the chance of success seemed slim.

His focus remained on his training. This was not a problem for him to solve, not now. His reserves of mental energy were better spent elsewhere.

“Mad.’”

“‘Barb.’”

By the fifth stone, Enkrid had read every marking correctly.

When strung together, they formed a phrase: “Mad Barbarian.”

“This was written before I said I’d be careful,” Jaxon offered as an excuse, not bothering to make eye contact.

Enkrid didn’t bother with a retort.

“Let it go.”

Instead, he turned to Rem, who had silently drawn his axe. If left unchecked, he would surely throw it without hesitation.

The next day unfolded much like the one before.

Training, sparring, and the occasional enemy ambush.

Kraiss continued muttering about the worsening situation, while Enkrid dedicated himself to refining his Sense of Evasion.

“Evasion is about prediction,” Jaxon explained during a lull in the drills. “It’s not just about moving your body—it’s about coordinating your senses with your reaction. Your eyes see, and your body moves accordingly.”

Enkrid stood silently, watching Jaxon’s every move. The assassin unsheathed his blade with a soft shring.

“Are you going to keep both swords on you for this?”

The question carried both concern and warning, but Enkrid didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Jaxon sighed quietly, seemingly resigned.

“Miss, and you’ll die.”

The words were as much a warning as a challenge. Then it began.

Ping.

The sound of the blade slicing through the air reached Enkrid’s ears a fraction of a second before the point was upon him.

Even with Focus Point activated, his body couldn’t keep up.

Tick.

The tip of Jaxon’s blade tapped his forehead gently.

“Next time, I won’t hold back,” Jaxon said coolly, withdrawing the sword.

Enkrid’s mind raced.

Speed alone couldn’t explain it. There was something else at play. He had faced fast strikes before, Rem’s axe swings, enemy thrusts, and even the deadly flight of thrown daggers.

But Jaxon’s piercing strike was different.

It felt… surreal, as if the space between them had folded, closing the distance in an instant.

“Again.”

Enkrid’s voice burned with determination.

New techniques always ignited a fire within him. He was ready to absorb and adapt.

“You’ll really die if you miss again,” Jaxon said, though it didn’t dissuade him.

The training continued.

Day after day, enemy arrows rained sporadically, unsettling the troops.

The frontier rangers failed to catch the attackers, and tensions in the camp mounted.

Enkrid remained unaffected, consumed by his drills. He saw Jaxon’s strikes more clearly each time, though he still couldn’t evade them.

What he needed now, as Jaxon had explained, was coordination—seeing and reacting in perfect unison.

Why can’t I dodge Jaxon’s strikes?

The answer came in Jaxon’s casual explanation during a break.

“It’s called the Pierce Without Killing Strike. No killing intent—pure speed and precision. No need to learn it yourself.”

The nonchalance in Jaxon’s tone only stoked Enkrid’s determination further.

“When can I learn it?”

“When you’re done mastering this.”

“Sure,” Enkrid replied simply.

The Pierce Without Killing Strike was an attack devoid of bloodlust. It was a strike so swift and precise that the body didn’t instinctively register it as a threat.

Enkrid’s training aimed to change that.

He needed to train his reflexes to respond without relying on his natural instincts.

“See it, react, evade—that’s your goal,” Jaxon reiterated.

Simple words, yet the execution proved daunting.

Still, Enkrid was making slow but steady progress. Even the smallest improvements filled him with excitement.

“He’s improving.” 

Jaxon remarked, though his tone lacked emotion.

In truth, he was one of the kinder instructors in the squad. His methods required consistency, effort, and a willingness to push one’s limits, but they weren’t unnecessarily cruel.

Even so, Jaxon found himself questioning his actions.

Why am I doing this?

Though he wouldn’t admit it, watching Enkrid made him feel something new—a faint but undeniable sense of satisfaction.

For the first time in his life, Jaxon felt fulfilled.

Until now, his existence had been defined by death. Killing and confirming his kills, extracting information from corpses—that was all he had known.

But now, for the first time, he felt alive.

As Jaxon pierced the air with his blade, a small smile crept across his face. Enkrid didn’t notice, he was too focused on evading.

Rem, Ragna, and Audin, however, caught sight of it.

“That bastard… really out to kill someone, isn’t he?” 

Rem muttered, his tone laced with irritation.

“This is over the top. My turn’s next.” 

Ragna grumbled, clearly impatient.

“Ah, balance is essential in all things,” Audin mused aloud. “Too much zeal disrupts the scales. As the Lord says, when the scales tilt, calamity follows…”

Each of them harbored their own frustrations as they watched.

Only Kraiss, observing silently from the sidelines, seemed concerned about something else entirely.

This isn’t good.

While the others trained and sparred, Kraiss couldn’t shake the feeling that their situation was deteriorating.

The leadership—whether the officers or the frontier defense unit—seemed content to sit idly by.

How much longer can they afford to do nothing?

Finally, Kraiss broke his silence.

“Hey, Platoon Leader.”

Enkrid paused mid-swing, turning to face him.

“Yeah?”

Kraiss hesitated for a moment, then forged ahead.

“Don’t you think we should make a proposal to command? Sitting here like this… nothing good will come of it.”

Enkrid tilted his head slightly, curious.

“If we keep this up, it’ll only get worse. I mean… we’ve got mobility. We can act, provided someone takes charge.”

His argument was concise and logical. Enkrid considered Kraiss’s words carefully, recognizing the validity in his reasoning.

“Sure, why not?”

It wasn’t a difficult decision. If nothing else, it was an opportunity to put some ideas to the test.

“Sounds good.”

Kraiss exhaled, his tension dissipating.

Enkrid’s agreement came easily—it was, after all, the logical choice. The rest would be up to the command staff.

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