WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Ryuu

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 146: Tolerance, Acknowledgment, and Acceptance

Kraiss adjusted the parchment he had rolled up, tucking it close to his chest as he began to speak.

The path was treacherous; an inclined, rocky trail with a steep slope. It made breathing laborious.

Still, it wasn’t so exhausting that he couldn’t talk.

“Rem, Rem is...”

Hoo.

He exhaled as he wedged his foot into a crevice between the rocks. It felt dizzying. The moment he thought so, a hand came into view—Enkrid’s outstretched hand.

Grasping it, Kraiss pulled himself up. Behind him, the towering rocks of the mountain formed a natural shield.

Of all possible paths, they had chosen the most grueling one. Well, it had its significance.

Just the fact that no arrows were currently flying toward them made it worthwhile, didn’t it?

“If only his personality weren’t so abrasive, I’d say he’s an excellent soldier.”

At Kraiss’s comment, Enkrid stepped onto a nearby rock, leaning slightly against another, and turned to look at him.

“In terms of skill, anyway.”

Enkrid opened his mouth as if to continue but then closed it.

‘In terms of skill’ wasn’t just passable—it was far beyond that.

What if Rem had a more genial personality? Kraiss posed the question again toward Enkrid.

“Would he be alright?”

Even though it was his plan, his unease likely stemmed from Rem’s character.

Despite his outward composure, Kraiss was the type to secretly stash his belongings near the barracks, just in case something happened.

If he was this cautious around the camp, who knew how many hidden stashes he’d left in the city?

“An enemy force might suddenly ambush us, you know. If I die without hiding my things, I’ll feel so bitter that I might end up a ghost.”

Even though there were no such signs and probability of such a situation was highly unlikely,

“It’s just... I feel uneasy, that’s all.”

That was always his excuse. The big-eyed subordinate constantly voiced such concerns.

Sure, that was understandable. People were different, after all. Compared to Kraiss, Enkrid considered himself rather carefree.

After staring at Kraiss for a moment, Enkrid finally answered his question about whether things would be fine.

“I told him to do it, so he’ll figure it out.”

Rem was that type of person. If left alone, he might do nothing. But if he committed to something, he followed through.

“Wanna learn something?”

Wasn’t that how it had been when he taught the Heart of the Beast? Who easily shares their technique like that?

“Watch carefully. You’ll learn this next time.”

It had been the same when he demonstrated his immense strength. When Rem vowed to kill a giant, he did it.

Thinking back on it now—

‘He’s a curious one.’

So, he would do exactly as he had said. What had he mentioned before leaving? The difference between a hunter and a sniper? And he’d added something more.

“I’ll lodge one of these into every birdbrain I see.”

With the arrows he had strapped to his waist, he spoke those words before disappearing.

He would take care of it himself.

“From here on, it’s going to be hard to stay hidden,” Finn said from the front. Up until now, they had moved between rocks and boulders, keeping themselves concealed.

If they failed to secure higher ground, they’d have no choice but to find paths that shielded them from projectile weapons. It had been a painstaking process.

Moments like these reminded them of just how skilled Finn was as a Ranger. Thanks to her, they had managed to avoid danger so far.

But the point where a Ranger’s skill could serve as a shield was rapidly approaching its end.

Enkrid silently gauged the time. It felt like Rem should be starting his part of the plan right about now.

They had maneuvered along the rocky mountainside. If they descended left from here, they would rejoin the main unit and return to their base.

“We should wait here,” Enkrid suggested.

Finn didn’t respond. Instead, her expression suggested that there was a certain unspoken trust between these men.

It was clear from the way Enkrid spoke that he believed in Rem, the man who had vanished into the thicket on his own.

And the others?

Save for Andrew and Mack, the rest of the group seemed at ease.

“May the Lord’s favor guide us, and may sinners repent in His presence. Rebuke and forgive their transgressions,” Audin prayed quietly.

Jaxon, on the other hand, was inspecting a stiletto. Despite his blank expression, his face had a peculiar, almost intoxicated look.

Is he drunk on that blade?

Even Finn had to admit the weapon seemed special.

But no, it was just a dagger. Could anyone truly treasure such a simple blade this much? Jaxon’s face even seemed to radiate a liveliness rarely seen.

The slacker of the group, meanwhile, had sprawled out on the ground. After squeezing himself into a crevice between rocks, he cradled two swords in his arms, eyes closed.

“I’m so sleep-deprived,” he mumbled, his tone half-conscious.

‘Is this normal?’ Finn wondered.

Should we even leave him like this?

It should be fine, right?

From Finn’s perspective, though, this was the time to move. Somewhere out there, a marksman beyond compare lay in wait.

It was a threat. Perhaps they were closer to death’s door than they realized.

“I think it’ll be fine,” said Kraiss, the big-eyed soldier beside her.

Despite constantly expressing unease, Kraiss still managed to declare that everything would be okay. And his follow-up comment was even more absurd.

“It seems like we’re almost out of variables to worry about.”

What variables?

He didn’t elaborate.

Finn deliberately leaned out from cover to survey the area behind them, using herself as bait to pinpoint the enemy’s position.

No arrows flew her way.

‘Man, this takes me back.’

Long ago, he used the plains as his bed and the sky as his blanket. He played on mountain ridges as if they were his playground.

What kind of person was he back then?

A skilled and exceptional hunter, burdened with the expectations of others. He was caught between responsibility and duty in an era when power was a frequent topic of discussion.

There had been good times, bad times—moments of every sort. 

Times he could never return to.

But such is life. You accept what you must and move forward.

Now, the West had become a frontier.

Tolerance, acknowledgment, and acceptance. 

Rem had learned those from observing Enkrid.

In a way, his Squad Leader was someone who absolutely refused to tolerate, acknowledge, or accept anything.

But at the same time, he could also be a man who tolerated, acknowledged, and accepted all that he must.

‘That skill, that talent.’

To become a Knight despite lacking talent? It wqs a suicide attempt—a means of killing both body and soul.

Even so, he had persevered. Watching that unwavering back, countless thoughts crossed Rem’s mind.

How could a man do that?

The question only brought one answer.

‘It all starts with recognizing that you have no talent.’

Enkrid’s journey began there. Recognizing, tolerating, and accepting it. After reflecting on what he had, what had he done?

He had pushed forward. He’d attained the Heart of the Beast, a skill most would struggle to embody fully.

Now, even incredible strength was part of him. Enkrid recognized, accepted, and tolerated himself. Then, he took the steps to prepare for tomorrow.

Be it dawn or dusk, he remained resolute.

Thinking of his Squad Leader always put Rem in a good mood. A soundless smile crept onto his face.

Feeling unexpectedly cheerful...

‘For the first time in a while.’

He felt like swinging his axe with wild abandon. Nostalgia for the old days when he lived for the thrill of the hunt quietly surfaced.

Tracking the talon marks of a hawk wasn’t difficult. Rem wasn’t a Pathfinder, nor was he a Ranger.

But he was a hunter.

What makes a hunter?

A Pathfinder walks well.

A Ranger walks well and fights well.

Specialized members of the reconnaissance unit—they’re Rangers. But does that make them hunters? You can’t call someone a hunter just because they’ve caught a few rabbits.

So what is a hunter?

‘What else would it be?’

It’s someone who catches what they aim for. The continent was full of pretenders. Like that “Plains Hunter” Enri. What? That’s a hunter?

In his tribe, Enri wouldn’t even have been considered a guide, much less a hunter.

Not even half of one.

In the tribe’s eyes, a hunter was someone who killed and captured their prey, sustaining the tribe’s livelihood.

‘I found it.’

At the end of his thoughts, Rem’s eyes locked onto his prey. Sniffing the air, he followed the scent and flanked them, closing in from behind.

Covering his tracks? That was child’s play.

Walking silently? He could move as stealthily as a sly feral cat. By Rem’s standards, prey fell into two categories—easy or difficult.

And this one was as easy as they came.

A distracted fool too absorbed in their surroundings? Could there be an easier target?

His footsteps were like those of the Western Wilds’ greatest predator—the spotted beast.

His breathing was slow and steady. When concealing his presence, he held his breath, mimicking the hunting techniques of the Lake Predators of the Western lakes.

The faint sound of his clothes brushing against stone might have been audible, but it didn’t matter.

His prey was too focused on what lay ahead. Drawing closer, Rem positioned himself directly behind the last man in the line.

Even then, the target remained oblivious to his presence.

The group was heading toward higher ground, moving in a single file up the incline. Reaching out, Rem placed a hand on the left shoulder of the man in front of him.

The man flinched, startled, and spun around sharply.

‘Good reflexes.’

As soon as Rem touched his shoulder, he sidestepped to the right. His movements were ghost-like, silent as a prowling leopard.

From the prey’s perspective, when they turned towards their left, there was nothing to see.

Thunk!

Then came the axe strike.

The axe cleaved into the man’s exposed neck as though splitting firewood. A wet, sickening sound followed the blow, and blood spattered in all directions.

Thud-thud-thud.

A cascade of crimson droplets rained down, splashing against Rem’s cheek. He didn’t bother wiping it off.

Instead, he turned his gray eyes to observe the remaining enemies.

One by one, their faces contorted in horror.

Wide-eyed, their expressions reminded him of startled prey—deer frozen in the face of a predator.

Seeing such terror-stricken faces was part of the thrill of the hunt, wasn’t it?

“...An ambush!”

“Shit!”

“Block him!”

With curses and frantic shouts, the enemy scrambled into motion. 

The three closest to Rem drew short swords with a swift shink-shink-shink. Even amidst the chaos, Rem couldn’t help but acknowledge their speed.

‘Not bad.’

Shrugging his right shoulder, Rem extended his left hand in a deliberate motion.

It was a simple feint.

His axe was in his right hand, naturally drawing their attention. As expected, their eyes locked onto his right side.

That was their mistake.

The moment their focus wavered, Rem flung a hand axe from his left hand. The weapon spun through the air with a faint whirring sound before embedding itself in the forehead of the archer at the back of the group.

The force of the blow lifted the archer’s feet off the ground, sending him crashing backward.

“Scatter!”

One of the swordsmen issued the command, recognizing the immediate danger of staying clustered together.

‘Good instincts.’

Rem noted the decisiveness of the order.

The remaining swordsmen executed a practiced maneuver, fanning out to encircle him. Meanwhile, the others attempted to flee—some darting left and right to descend the rocky slope, while one scrambled upward to higher ground.

Originally, there had been ten of them. Now, with two dead, only eight remained.

Rem adjusted his grip on his axe, his movements deliberate yet deceptively casual.

Their reactions were sharp, but it wouldn’t matter. Rem swung his axe as the first swordsman lunged toward him.

The encounter was brief and brutal.

The blade of the axe met its target with a single, decisive swing, leaving another lifeless foe on the ground.

Another charged at him, only to suffer the same fate—a clean, effortless kill. The third swordsman hesitated, but it was too late.

With practiced precision, Rem dispatched him as well, his axe carving through flesh and bone like a hot knife through butter.

By the time it was over, the battlefield was painted red.

The remaining enemies had scattered. Their terrified faces lingered in his memory, but Rem paid them no mind.

Amid the carnage, his gray hair, now matted with blood, shimmered faintly under the dim light. He sniffed the air.

The metallic scent of blood mingled with the faint traces of human scent still lingering nearby.

He wouldn’t let a single one of them escape. Rem’s footsteps echoed softly as he moved.

He was relentless; a hunter in pursuit of his prey. The man known as “Hawk’s Talon” was fleeing.

‘What the hell is this?’

He couldn’t believe it.

Born in the mountain village of Azpen, he had been hailed as a prodigy with the bow since childhood.

By the time he was fifteen, he was already the village’s most skilled hunter. For him, that was a given.

He hit every target with unerring accuracy. He knew exactly where to aim to ensure a kill. When he left his village to become a mercenary, his reputation grew.

Eventually, he caught the attention of a noble family and was invited to serve in their military. It had been the start of a new chapter in his life—one filled with status and wealth.

“How about becoming a member of the Duchy?”

He had nearly become the adopted son of a noble, a benefactor whose life he had saved.

Never mind that his prospective adoptive father was only ten years older than him. What did that matter?

Status was everything.

This mission was supposed to be the final step before that future became his reality.

“My new estate will be yours.”

The noble’s promise had been tantalizing.

Hawk’s Talon had been on the cusp of attaining everything—a title, land, and perhaps even the hand of his benefactor’s half-sister in marriage.

But now?

Whoosh!

Thunk!

“Ugh!”

Pain exploded in the back of his thigh as something sharp embedded itself there.

He tumbled forward, rolling uncontrollably down the rocky slope. His head struck a boulder with a sickening thud, and stars danced in his vision.

When he finally stopped, his world spun as he struggled to regain his senses.

“Cough.”

Choking on the bile rising in his throat, he spat weakly and tried to focus his blurry vision.

As the haze lifted, his blood ran cold.

“Ah...”

A figure stood before him, clad in the blood of his comrades, silver hair gleaming ominously.

“Man, you’re quick on your feet,” the figure said.

Hawk’s Talon tried to form words.

“How...?”

How had this man tracked him? How had he failed to notice?

His question carried countless unspoken thoughts, but there would be no answer.

Rem never spoke to his prey.

Thunk.

An arrow pierced Hawk’s Talon’s throat—the same arrow he had loosed earlier.

It drove clean through his neck, its bloodstained tip protruding out the back.

Gurgling on his own blood, he collapsed.

A dark red pool spread beneath him, staining the dull gray stones of the mountain red.

“Hm.”

Rem regarded his handiwork with a calm, detached air. For a moment, he observed the scene as if appreciating a work of art.

“It was a good hunt.”

He dusted off his hands, satisfied. But even so, something about the hunt had felt too easy, too unfulfilling.

What a pity.

Acceptance, acknowledgment, and tolerance.

Those thoughts persisted in his mind as he hunted. Throughout it all, he kept thinking of his Squad Leader.

If he chose to live as Enkrid did, where would it lead him? It was a question that had been occupying his thoughts lately.

Marcus led his battalion forward, advancing toward the Cross Guard. They had been moving for two days now, at a deliberately unhurried pace.

Or rather, it was slower than normal.

They took every opportunity to rest, their pace lacking urgency.

‘Will this even work?’

And if it didn’t?

What then?

Should he ask Enkrid, the one who’d proposed this strategy, what to do?

No, his subordinates weren’t fools.

“If it doesn’t work, we simply withdraw. Whether the enemy falls for it or not, they’ll be forced to react.”

“Attacking the city itself would be a poor choice, but... who was it that proposed this strategy again?”

Through the Elven Commander, word had reached him—from a Platoon member under Enkrid’s command.

His name was Kraiss, wasn’t it?

Why was it that Enkrid’s entire platoon seemed... abnormal? Still, the plan was clever, no matter how you looked at it.

Feign an assault on the city, then maneuver the battalion to flank the enemy and cut off their retreat route.

By linking with the main force’s tail, they’d block any possible escape routes for the enemy.

If the opposing army redirected their focus to defend the city or cover their flanks, the strategy would be a success.

If they didn’t react at all, that would still be a win. The key to all of this was the Mad Platoon.

Even if they couldn’t deal a devastating blow, they could at least rattle the enemy’s rear lines.

Marcus smirked to himself.

The squad responsible for this might not pack the punch of a full-on strike, but he was confident they could flick the enemy hard enough to leave a sting.

‘Perhaps the deadliest flick on the continent?’

The thought made him laugh. Regardless, everything had gone according to plan.

For two days, they advanced steadily. By the third and fourth days, they’d begun to circle back, moving to rejoin the main force.

Marcus took his time on the return journey as well. He had no reason to rush.

After all, he wanted to see the outcome of their efforts firsthand.

His patience paid off.

“The Mad Platoon, seven men plus their leader, have returned.”

The reconnaissance unit sent to conduct guerrilla operations had successfully completed their mission and come back.

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