WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS
Translator: Ryuu
Editor: Abstract
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES
Chapter 143: Overcoming Traps with Strength (1)
Enkrid was familiar with small-scale operations like leading a recon squad. His past experiences only added to that familiarity.
Experience—there had been days like that.
Days spent crossing tall grass fields. Days spent attacking the Gielpin Guild with his platoon. Nights fighting werewolves, wizards, and ambush units.
What stood out the most?
What should a commander prioritize above all else?
‘Perception.’
Knowing comes first. Understanding what you are doing and what will stem from your actions.
It’s impossible to know everything. It’s equally impossible to explain it all. But there was a sense. It wasn’t mere instinct but a sensation honed through experience.
“Let’s move deeper.”
Enkrid spoke, and Finn adjusted their course. She faithfully followed the captain’s orders. Kraiss, beside her, blinked as he observed his platoon leader.
What could he be thinking? His expression remained as impassive as ever. His stoic demeanor made it impossible to decipher.
Their pace quickened. They couldn’t afford to let the enemy catch them unprepared.
“Can’t we just fight them? If we kill enough of them, they’ll stop chasing us, right?”
Rem’s grumbling was silenced by Enkrid.
“Don’t.”
It was a direct order. That, in itself, was remarkable. Even more surprising was how readily Rem complied.
“Ragna, just focus on the person ahead of you. Don’t turn your head anywhere else.”
Ragna, too, obeyed Enkrid without question. As for Audin and Jaxon, there wasn’t much need to say anything.
They simply followed.
“Haha, you’re starting to really look like a proper captain now, brother.”
That was all Audin had to say. Had Enkrid’s skills improved so much that his attitude had changed?
“Is that so?”
Enkrid replied as nonchalantly as ever. That attitude, that conduct, that tone—none of it had changed. And that was precisely why they followed him.
Even Kraiss found his heart moving before his head could. He was someone who meticulously analyzed every situation and ensured there was no deception in play, however, even he couldn’t help but feel this way.
The other platoon members didn’t need to be mentioned—they were already on board.
Even Jaxon, who prided himself on his emotionless demeanor, sometimes failed to mask his feelings. Moments of exasperation, regret, and concern could be seen on his face.
Thinking about it brought a smile to Kraiss’s face, though now wasn’t the time.
‘Why does this feel so reassuring?’
Kraiss had analyzed everything thoroughly and deemed this plan worth executing, but what he felt now was different.
This platoon was far more formidable than he had anticipated.
If their opponents were equipped with talons like hawks, this platoon was a group of madmen.
Their mobility was unmatched, and their combat prowess was such that only knights could dare to oppose them.
That was Kraiss’s assessment.
What if they used this platoon as a guerrilla unit? It would be a lie to say no adjutant had suggested this idea.
The main concern however,
“Will they follow orders?”
They were excellent fighters, no doubt, but they were reckless troublemakers. A good sword is only useful if wielded properly.
What they needed was a focal point—a single force to control them.
Who could that be?
Seeing them up close, it was clear.
There was something Enkrid had done recently that demonstrated the platoon leader’s impact vividly in Kraiss’s mind.
‘That sparring match.’
If Enkrid, the platoon leader, hadn’t appeared on the battlefield and crossed swords with them, training them under the guise of sparring, the Mad Platoon would have fallen apart then and there.
Had that happened, this battlefield would have descended into chaos.
That’s how Kraiss saw it.
All of this was because of Enkrid.
Just one sparring session had turned the tide of the battlefield’s wind.
‘With a focal point...’
A high-mobility, insane strike mission? The Mad Platoon could handle it.
Since Kraiss was hopeless when it came to handling swords or weapons, he couldn’t evaluate their combat skills directly. However, he could gauge what the Mad Platoon was capable of based on the facts and reality before him.
Above all, he understood them well enough to know.
This was his first attempt.
If the enemy fired arrows, They would respond with their feet. Kraiss hadn’t intended it, but all he told Enkrid was a portion of the truth.
And yet, Enkrid suggested they move even deeper.
Did the platoon leader figure out his intentions? Kraiss couldn’t help but get curious and was about to ask when,
“Disrupt, strike, and retreat. The enemy will be distracted by the movements of our main force, and amidst that, we’ll encounter the guerrilla units they’ve dispatched.”
Enkrid spoke first.
What did it mean to be familiar with small-scale operations? What perspective had his experiences granted him?
‘His intent is clear.’
Kraiss’s intent.
The enemy’s intent.
The task at hand in between.
There was something the Mad Platoon could do. So, they did it. Would this ultimately affect the war? Or the main force’s battle?
‘Probably not.’
But who knew? Kraiss’s perspective might differ.
His friend with big eyes, a flair for Krona, and dreams of opening a noble salon to spend his life with ladies, always seemed to think differently.
“Is your dream still to open a salon?”
Enkrid couldn’t say why he was curious about this. He simply felt like asking. It wasn’t meant as mockery, of course.
Why would he mock someone’s dream?
“Why even ask? Of course, it is.”
This guy was the one strategizing? Truly unpredictable. Regardless, Enkrid’s platoon increased their pace.
They climbed one mountain after another.
Even Finn, a Ranger, was left gasping. Andrew and Mack were breathing heavily. Audin practically carried Kraiss half the way.
Even Enkrid found it grueling.
Finn, a Ranger, remarked that this was an incredible forced march. They climbed ridges and crossed into open plains, descending into the enemy’s rear.
A small elite force using terrain advantages. Of course, this was a tactic the enemy’s guerrilla units had employed first.
“Let’s go.”
Rem, seemingly tireless, moved ahead excitedly. Everyone else seemed equally energized despite the grueling march.
The same was true for Enkrid himself.
What follows a grueling march?
Combat.
The kind where blood splatters, flesh torn, and bones exposed.
“Let’s wreck them.”
Enkrid said as he charged forward. The enemy's rear was riddled with openings. Even though the number of sentries had increased to three, it didn’t matter.
Tweet!
A whistle was blown the moment Enkrid and his group were spotted. Simultaneously, Jaxon darted to the side.
Shing.
He drew his sword and thrust it forward with such fluidity, it seemed as though it was all part of a single step.
Thunk.
One down.
He pulled out the sword and thrust again.
Thunk.
Two down.
After taking out two enemies, Jaxon raised his sword upright in front of him, adopting a defensive stance.
Clang!
Watching Jaxon fight gave the impression that killing people was absurdly simple for him. Two enemy soldiers collapsed with gaping holes in their throats.
Enkrid’s platoon killed six or seven soldiers in total before retreating once again.
This time, they pretended to descend the ridge, only to scout a crossbow unit and immediately withdraw again. They ambushed and wiped out a few reconnaissance units chasing after them.
As night deepened, they hid in the depths of the mountains, setting up camp to rest.
Sufficient rest was crucial.
“It’s nice that the stream is nearby, but it’s a pity we can’t light a fire,” Finn said, removing her boots and shaking out the dirt.
It was spring.
The warm season of magic, as it was called.
Though their meals became a bit makeshift, there was no fear of freezing in the cold.
Even so—
“See? I came prepared for this,” said Rem, a barbarian who hated the cold, pulling out heated leather.
Ragna, however, simply sprawled out wherever and fell asleep.
Jaxon climbed up a tree and managed to sleep on a thick branch.
The watch was rotated among them, except for Kraiss.
“I’ll take the watch,” said Andrew, who had been acting as Kraiss’s bodyguard and hadn’t fought as much. He volunteered with a thoughtful expression.
The others let him.
A burdened heart could dull even the best skills. The strike mission still held potential danger, ignoring that wasn’t an option.
It was better to let go of emotional baggage.
Even Mack didn’t object.
When the next day came and they resumed their march, Kraiss realized Enkrid fully understood his intentions.
“Now, right?”
They had crossed several mountain passes and confirmed the enemy’s position again.
Kraiss had identified a trap the enemy had set up.
It was terrain perfect for an ambush, an ideal spot for hit-and-run tactics.
In that very spot, they discovered an enemy supply unit stationed.
It was a plain nestled between undulating ridges, with several supply wagons visible.
If they pushed inward and blocked off the rear, there would be no easy escape routes. Beyond that, there were other indicators it was a trap.
There was no deployment of crossbow units. They were laying out bait.
Observing this, Enkrid asked.
Kraiss answered.
“Yes.”
Did the Mad Platoon’s strength lie solely in their mobility?
No. It lay in their ability to strike hard enough to leave the enemy reeling.
With this one fight, they could scatter confusion through the enemy’s ranks.
Kraiss could already predict the enemy’s reactions, either due to foresight or calculation.
‘In that case...’
The movements of the main force would gain significance too.
“Let’s go.”
Enkrid steeled himself.
No matter how many predictions were made, a battlefield was always an unpredictable flame. It could burn uncontrollably, even consuming the one wielding it.
So, was this like charging into the fire while carrying kindling?
‘I don’t think so.’
The enemy didn’t know, but Enkrid did. The enemy underestimated him.
The soldier who killed the giant? That’s all they thought he was.
But that wasn’t nearly enough.
Enkrid took the lead. As he ran toward the supply wagons between the ridges, soldiers clumsily organizing food and supplies reacted.
If they wanted their trap to work, they should have reinforced it properly. Instead of hiding soldiers, they should have equipped them thoroughly.
Enemy soldiers appeared. Amidst them, Enkrid saw a familiar face.
“You.”
A mustachioed man. If he recalled correctly, the man belonged to the Gray Hounds.
Enkrid met his gaze and advanced.
The enemy soldier thrust a spear at him.
Enkrid’s hands moved.
Shing! Shing!
Two swords were drawn.
Clang! Thunk!
Two distinct sounds followed.
Using the sword in his left hand, he deflected the spear, and with the sword in his right, he stabbed through the soldier’s heart.
‘Would Frog freak out if he saw this?’
With that idle thought, Enkrid withdrew his sword. The enemy’s gambeson, made of layers of quilted fabric, was now dyed red.
Fragments of cotton and fabric clung to the blade, mixed with blood. There was no need to worry about cleaning it.
After all, it would soon be drenched again.
Shing.
Enkrid sheathed the sword in his left hand at his waist once more. He would draw it again when the moment called for it.
With both hands gripping a single sword, he stood his ground. That posture, that presence, that aura—
The enemy soldiers hesitated, unable to approach recklessly.
“Good! Excellent!”
Beside him, an excited Rem swung his axe wildly.
Audin laughed as he brandished a club.
Jaxon didn’t bother stepping forward. He simply swung his sword with indifference at any enemy charging towards him.
But the two who drew the most attention were Enkrid and Ragna.
“Hm.”
Ragna stepped up beside Enkrid and began swinging his sword relentlessly. Though he carried two more swords at his waist, they didn’t seem to hinder him.
With a swift motion, Ragna’s sword carved a sinister arc through the air.
Whoosh.
A heavy and fierce sword technique. With a basic downward slash, he split an enemy soldier’s skull.
Pulling the sword free, he swung it horizontally, decapitating another enemy who had stepped back.
Ragna’s feet moved constantly.
In a fight between spears and swords, distance favored the spear.
Ragna’s footwork eliminated that advantage. Amid his swift steps, enemy lives were extinguished one by one.
The faces of the enemy soldiers darkened as they realized.
What was this?
How could soldiers of such skill merely be part of a guerrilla unit? No, wasn’t this far beyond their expectations? Could this even be real?
The enemy soldiers numbered over forty and they weren’t particularly lacking in skill.
“Form ranks, all of you!”
The mustachioed man’s shout rang out.
The soldiers who had underestimated Enkrid and his group moved differently now. The mustachioed man stepped forward to face Enkrid directly.
“You bastard.”
Looking at the angry man, Enkrid nodded. If someone recognized him, there was no reason not to return the greeting.
“Ah, hey. It’s been a while. Have you been well?”
His tone was lighthearted and familiar, which only made the mustachioed man’s pupils tremble wildly.
His eyes burned with fury. It seemed like he would charge at any moment. Enkrid prepared himself.
Instead, the mustachioed man took a deep breath, calming himself.
Impressive, truly.
He wasn’t an amateur. His emotions didn’t dictate his actions. Instead of succumbing to anger, he steadied his breath.
In that case,
‘It makes the test even more worthwhile.’
Would a dual-wielding swordfight hold meaning against a skilled opponent?
It was time to find out.
Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried