WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Ryuu

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 148: Ten Days, Recognition of Merits

Ten days since the retreat.

It marked the day flowers began to bloom in Border Guard. Spring had fully arrived.

During that time, it rained once.

News of ongoing efforts to clean the battlefield arrived, along with consecutive reports of victory.

Finally, word spread that the Azpen Duchy had requested peace. It was said that Naurillia seized part of Azpen’s territory, and proceeded to secure the Green Pearl Plain.

Though the land had remained barren for years and would require substantial effort to develop, victory was victory—a decisive one at that.

Cheers rang out at the end of the battlefield.

As spring arrived, more people seemed intoxicated by magic. Amidst such festive days, Enkrid’s last ten days had been consistent.

Nothing to change, and nothing changed.

Swinging his sword with a hum.

“Not yet, brother. Hold your posture and stay seated. Straighten your back, inhale deeply, and feel the pressure in your abdomen. If that pressure escapes, your spine will snap.”

Audin laughed heartily as he spoke.

Training his body by performing near-acrobatic feats like squatting and standing with Audin on his back was just another part of Enkrid’s routine.

Sword practice, training, and sparring.

His time was entirely devoted to these three things. No matter how excited others were, it had nothing to do with Enkrid.

While Kraiss flitted about here and there, Enkrid stayed put.

With his rank as Platoon Leader of an Independent Platoon, and perhaps due to his performance in the previous battlefield, he had no duties.

It had been ten days of pure rest. For Enkrid, however, it was ten days wholly immersed in training.

However, something had changed.

“Phew!”

Nearby—or rather, among the soldiers affiliated with his unit—those who knew Enkrid and fought alongside him had shifted their attitudes.

One by one, they began taking up their spears early in the morning, training tirelessly. This trend, which had been faintly noticeable before, witnessed a surge in the number of soldiers engrossed in training.

Every single one of them poured sweat and focused earnestly. They were sincere about swinging their spears and building their stamina.

Another notable change which occurred was—

“Um, could you guide me?”

Some soldiers started to seek out Enkrid.

“Me?”

He took a short break from swinging his sword. He was sweating profusely

Pointing at himself, Enkrid was lost in his thoughts. It made sense to do so. This scene was beyond his imagination.

Him teaching someone? Giving guidance?

His life up until now hadn’t been easy enough for such things. He had never sought anything beyond learning, mastering, and advancing.

Especially teaching—that was as far removed from him as anything could be.

“Go ahead.”

Rem, who had been idly watching, spoke.

Wasn’t he dozing off moments ago? Had he been paying attention?

Enkrid nodded.

He was inclined to try it anyway. He saw the soldier’s eyes right in front of him.

That desperation—the burning desire and the thirst that still lingered within him—was evident in the soldier’s gaze as well.

Ting.

Enkrid flicked his sword, striking the tip of the soldier’s spear. The soldier flinched, his shoulders trembling.

How skilled was he?

Recalling what he had learned from Audin, Enkrid could gauge some things from posture and physical conditioning.

The soldier appeared moderately skilled.

“Private Paul.”

The soldier introduced himself.

Enkrid listened with one ear and let it pass through the other.

All he did was focus. He didn’t take it lightly. Concentrating and observing the opponent—that was his utmost and the only thing he believed he could do.

The soldier Paul swallowed nervously and assumed his stance.

Left hand forward, right hand back.

A stance specialized for thrusting, his feet were positioned in a crossed pattern as he let out a sharp cry, “Haht!” while thrusting his spear.

Swish.

A decently trained soldier, Enkrid thought.

Observing the spear’s trajectory, he moved accordingly.

Seeing and reacting, his body followed. Alhough he hadn’t perfected the technique, the sense of evasion came naturally to him.

He twisted his body to the side, extended his left arm, and grabbed the spear shaft from below with his palm.

“Eek!”

The soldier instinctively pulled back the spear. Veins bulged on his neck as he exerted all his strength.

Enkrid, holding the shaft, pivoted on his left foot and spun half a turn, pulling the spear inward.

Planting his right foot firmly on the ground, he anchored himself while pulling the spear shaft with his left hand. It didn’t require extraordinary strength.

Just a bit of technique and moderate strength sufficed.

Thunk.

He lightly brought his sword down from above. The blade, void of killing intent, tapped the soldier’s head.

It was the flat surface of the blade, and not the edge. Feeling the blade rest on his hair, the soldier gasped.

“Ah.”

“It’s over, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

When Enkrid released the shaft, the soldier fumbled to gather his weapon and stood awkwardly.

“Uh, what am I lacking?”

What did it mean for a soldier to be seasoned?

It meant having confidence in one’s skills to some extent. Yet he was asking Enkrid such a question?

How had the old Enkrid—the one leading the Mad Platoon, a Troublemaker Squad—been viewed?

He had been a laughingstock.

Yet now, someone was asking him this?

Looking closely, the face wasn’t unfamiliar.

They’d crossed paths a few times. Given the harshness of recent battles, this soldier must have been a veteran.

A squad leader, judging by his insignia.

Truly, what was this?

Enkrid looked at him with curiosity.

The soldier, enduring his awkwardness, waited. Enkrid saw that same desperate desire, that thirst and longing, in his eyes.

It mirrored the coiled ambitions within himself.

He couldn’t ignore it.

To be honest, even a single sparring match revealed what the other needed.

“You should build your strength.”

Spears were heavier than they seemed. The soldier was relatively weak for wielding one.

“I see. Thank you.”

The squad leader saluted, and Enkrid nodded in response.

The squad leader turned, and from that day forward, he dedicated himself to building his strength. He focused all his efforts on lifting heavy objects and improving his physical power.

His subordinates followed suit.

It was said that the unit was swept up in a wave of physical training and exercises alongside their regular drills.

Hadn’t this unit just returned from the battlefield? Wasn’t this supposed to be a time for celebrating their victory? Of course, many went to the city to indulge themselves.

Some soldiers spent their days sleeping in and drinking to excess.

Among them, there were those who believed that heading to the red-light district today was better than preparing for tomorrow.

Enkrid didn’t criticize them. Why would he? What did their choices matter to him? He was merely a Platoon Leader leading an Independent Platoon.

For now, he wasn’t even fit to step into the battlefield where proto-knights fought. If Enkrid said he didn’t want to see their battles, it would be a lie.

Still, his resolve hadn’t changed. Once his destination was clear, there was no need to detour or wander.

If it were a battle involving Sir Cyprus, things would have been different. If it were a true knight, one renowned across the continent, then maybe he’d want to see.

But who knows? You can’t be certain of anything until it happens.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Rem, who had been quietly observing, asked with a faint smile instead of his usual laughter.

“Enjoying myself? I don’t know.”

As always, Enkrid answered honestly. Rem finally chuckled. Enkrid returned to his training.

During the time of immersion—

“May I try as well?”

Another soldier approached and suggested sparring. After easily knocking him down, Enkrid gave a single piece of advice.

“Your footing is too stiff.”

Soon, another came forward and sparred.

“Relax your shoulders.”

Another piece of advice.

After several matches—

“Do you think I… can do it?”

This time, the question came without even a subject. Yet, there was no need to ask what the soldier meant.

His eyes burned with determination as he nervously posed the question. His face was relatively young, perhaps around Andrew Gardner’s age? Or younger.

“Well then, let’s see.”

No one from Enkrid’s platoon stepped in to stop him. 

Didn’t they usually appear whenever anyone approached Enkrid? They’d often pick fights over trivial things. But why were they leaving him alone now?

Most soldiers carried spears.

Using something other than a standard weapon often indicated that the wielder belonged to a unique unit.

This soldier carried a war hammer about the length of his forearm. The rounded head of the hammer gleamed, showing signs of regular use.

It didn’t look particularly heavy, but its effectiveness as a weapon was clear.

The soldier spun his wrist, skillfully twirling the war hammer. His proficiency was evident.

“I’m from the Frontier Defense Unit.”

As expected, the soldier introduced himself. Enkrid nodded indifferently.

Swish.

The soldier’s wrist turned, spinning the war hammer as his eyes sparkled. To Enkrid, the soldier’s intent was transparent.

Perhaps he was too familiar with the Vallen Style Swordsmanship. The soldier’s methods and intentions were as clear as day.

Thud-thud-thud!

The soldier swung the hammer with full force, suddenly gripping it with one hand and bringing it down vertically.

Dodging was better than blocking.

Following the soldier’s intentions, Enkrid sidestepped the hammer’s path. The soldier reached for his waist with his other hand.

Before the soldier could fully extend his arm, Enkrid grabbed his wrist.

“I see you.”

He spoke these words flatly.

The soldier’s technique was straightforward and clear. Distract with the hammer and launch a quick dagger strike at close range.

It was reminiscent of the Vallen Style Swordsmanship.

“Vallen Style Swordsmanship?”

When Enkrid asked, the soldier nodded.

“You should refine your hammer technique.”

Enkrid reflexively pointed out the soldier’s weak point. At the same time, he realized something.

This advice applied to him, too.

By mastering the hammer’s movements, the dagger could be concealed more effectively.

The soldier’s talent was abundant. It reminded him of a certain child—a child who had once left a hole in his stomach.

Back then, he had collapsed without even resisting. That’s how it had been.

But now?

A lesson from one of his instructors came to mind.

“Growth begins with recognizing where you stand.”

Awareness.

To move forward, he first needed to understand where he stood. Sparring and teaching, over and over again.

More and more people sought Enkrid for guidance. Each time, Enkrid discovered something new, something he hadn’t realized before.

Slow steps forward. He didn’t rush. 

Watching a soldier hurriedly thrust his spear had taught him a valuable lesson.

Haste was never helpful.

There were opponents who, despite their calm demeanor, displayed remarkable decisiveness in their actions.

“I’m Ruth.”

He introduced himself as a member of the Frontier Defense Unit, hailing from the western regions.

While introducing himself, Ruth glanced briefly at Rem. Rem, however, paid no attention.

Enkrid knocked him down as well. Was Ruth an easy opponent? No, he was a challenging one. But Enkrid’s experiences were so rich and vivid that he found no difficulty in handling him.

“You’re strong.”

Ruth admired him as he walked away. As he turned, he only had eyes for Enkrid, not Rem.

As more and more soldiers sought him out over the ten days, Kraiss eventually stepped in to impose some order.

“This is too much. You need to organize and filter the people coming to him. You all know better than to disrupt our platoon leader’s work, don’t you?”

The weight behind Kraiss’s words was different now. With Rem, Jaxon, Audin, and Ragna standing behind him, his authority carried greater gravity.

Meanwhile, the four of them silently nodded at their platoon leader as if in mutual understanding.

Awareness. 

To understand where one stood, one needed to observe above, below, left, and right.

Only then could they grasp their position. At some point, they had all faced this moment themselves.

For Enkrid, it seemed overdue. Spring had arrived, and he was thirty-one years old. By the continent’s standards, he was practically an old mercenary.

Of course, there were plenty of people over forty who still survived by the sword, but none of them had lived the way Enkrid had.

And so, as they observed this peculiar man, they felt a sense of satisfaction.

Audin found the answer to his question for the divine through his platoon leader.

Rem delved into fragments of his past memories.

Jaxon pondered what it meant to live like Enkrid, why he lived this way, and what kind of future it might lead to.

Ragna, reflecting on swords, people, ambition, life, knights, and the power wielded by knights, came to a realization.

He, too, was on this path.

And he would continue to walk it.

With greater conviction than ever, he realized the value that his platoon leader represented.

A late-blooming genius.

This was the most fitting description for Enkrid at the moment. The changes he inspired in the soldiers around him had little to do with his genius.

Among the soldiers—especially those who refused to stay stuck in the present and aimed for tomorrow—Enkrid became a symbol of change.

He was an idol, someone they aspired to emulate. All of this became clear when the time came.

“Everyone, form ranks.”

The time had arrived for the Recognition of Merits ceremony. The normally boisterous training grounds were now filled with soldiers.

Every soldier, except those on duty, stood at attention. It was time to assess the contributions made during the recent battles.

Who was the star of this event?

Everyone knew the answer. Marcus, unlike his predecessor, was a different kind of battalion commander.

Standing on the podium with a few nobles seated behind him, Marcus began his speech.

“In the last battle, whose efforts mattered the most? If I need to tell you that, your head’s not even good enough to hang a helmet on.”

His voice was loud and commanding, cutting through the ears of every soldier. Rough and coarse words, delivered in a blunt tone.

The nobles sitting behind Marcus frowned at his lack of decorum. Was this truly fitting for someone of his rank?

However, for the soldiers who were the subject of his words, it sounded entirely different. 

Because there was sincerity in his tone. With his mind already made up, Marcus spoke with conviction.

“I will now call forth the one who made the greatest contribution. The Platoon Leader of the Independent Platoon, Enkrid.”

Everyone knew what word he was about to say before he corrected himself. A man walked up through the ranks of assembled soldiers.

Sweat-drenched, empty-handed, this man approached with a calm demeanor. The rising temperatures weren’t enough to explain his sweat.

But no one questioned it as they watched him. It was clear to all that he had been swinging his sword tirelessly before arriving here.

That was simply who Enkrid was.

A man who proved himself by swinging his sword again and again.

A man who demonstrated his value through action.

A man who treated nothing carelessly, a paragon of sincerity.

The Mad Platoon Leader, Enkrid, approached the podium, and none of the assembled soldiers dared to speak.

An odd silence filled the air, broken only by the palpable tension. For those who had experienced the battlefield with him, Enkrid was many things.

To some, he was an idol. To others, a hero. On the battlefield, he had been such a figure.

Marcus had not forgotten this.

On the podium stood one man, and before him stood another.

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