WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: ZERO_SUGAR

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 154: This Bastard Is the Craziest of Them All

It happened the moment we stepped into the quarters.

“Platoon Leader, I’m convinced you are anything but normal.”

Hearing those words from Rem had Enkrid feeling strange. Why did the fellow always say such things to him without reflecting on his own state?

“That’s rich—coming out of your mouth.”

He tossed the line as a joke, but even the mild rebuke made Rem grin.

What on earth was so amusing? The smile rubbed Enkrid the wrong way. Was he supposed to snap that the grin was punch-worthy, that it turned his stomach? Pointless.

Enkrid only shrugged.

“Have you finally finished training, Brother?”

Audin looked as though a halo had switched on behind him. A bear wreathed in light came lumbering over—clearly in a splendid mood.

Then why approach with the lamp at your back like that?

The gentle smile was the very one he wore when he raised the weight in Isolation Technique.

“Uh… yes. More or less.”

To be precise, he had tacked the afternoon set onto the already skimped morning drills. Even so, his legs were not shaking.

Come to think of it—

When did it begin?

He no longer felt on the verge of death after finishing the drills.

It was bearable. Unless he kept Heart of Superhuman Strength active and brute forced his way through.

He was standing there lost in thought when—

“I’ve got business.”

Jaxon breezed past and was gone.

Since returning to the platoon the man seemed to spend more time roaming outside than inside the quarters—though tonight he was leaving later than usual.

“Rrrowr.”

Esther had claimed Enkrid’s bed and was waving a forepaw. It looked very much like a summons.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

To an outsider he probably seemed like a lunatic greeting a panther.

So what?

Scrabbling to become a knight would look far crazier. He had not given up the dream.

Holding fast to conviction—no, to sheer obstinacy—did not mean he shut eyes and ears to the world.

Not perfectly, but Enkrid could roughly guess how he struck people, especially those meeting him for the first time.

Maybe half-mad?

He appeared fine, yet did things no sane man would. Maybe one of those? At least, he was better than Rem.

Small comfort, but still preferable to swinging a hatchet at a superior’s skull, wasn’t it? A hundred times preferable.

Sensing something, Rem’s mouth opened.

“Your eyes are giving me a real bad vibe.”

Rem’s instincts really were sharp.

“No.”

Enkrid looked away from those grey irises and suggested they eat. It was time to eat and drink. A man should rest when it’s time to rest.

“Shall we? I’ll go ahead and claim a table.”

Kraiss moved first, and Enkrid ducked into the barracks washroom for a quick scrub.

No one dawdled, they all headed for the mess. Wiping himself down, Enkrid scooped Esther up and followed.

It wasn’t a special-meal day, but the Border Guard mess was far from bad, though the picky might dislike it.

“Got any bread?”

That was Ragna.

“Look at you, like you’d shovel dirt into that maw but still complain.”

The group was gathered around a table planted right in the middle of the hall.

Other soldiers kept sneaking glances. Usually, the Mad Platoon didn’t draw quite this much attention—

—but tonight, Frog was with them.

Grrrlp.

Frog seemed to observe Rem scolding Ragna with great interest, those bulging, frog-like eyes fixed on the pair.

“I have no wish to trade words with uncouth barbarians this evening.”

“Oh? Want me to spoon-feed you, then? Skip the chewing, should I just tuck the ration straight into your guts?”

Rem traced a hand-edge across his own belly as though slicing it open. Truly an unchanging bunch.

“The lamb tastes good. The seasoning’s on point.”

Enkrid cut in at the perfect moment, just before axe and sword became the language of choice in the middle of the mess.

“…Tch.”

“Does it?”

Rem and Ragna broke the glare they’d been exchanging. Lately, they listened to him remarkably well, and Enkrid was curious every time.

He had sensed it before—

Why did the fighting stop when he intervened? How had he ended up leading this squad in the first place?

All he’d ever done was treat them squarely, honestly. Say what needed saying, ask when curious.

Blunt yet respectful.

That was it.

Or was it not obedience but a thaw in relations? Of late, their clashes barely felt like fights—more like friendly tests of skill.

They’d always used harsh words yet respected each other’s turf. Now, they didn’t even need clear boundaries to stay peaceful.

Like predators that had grown familiar while roaming the same prairie.

While Enkrid mused—

Grgl.

Beside him Frog forked a bit of salad and spoke while chewing.

“Fresh greens, this city must be prosperous.”

“Trade comes before farming here, so fresh produce is easy to get,” Kraiss replied.

Frog nodded and opened his mouth again.

“There’s a spare bunk. I shall stay a few days.”

“…?”

Salad was about the only thing Frog could eat, his folk lived on insects and leaves. No one reacted to the remark.

Even Enkrid was puzzled.

This was Frog. A distinguished guest just back from the main force, yet he wanted to lodge… where?

All eyes turned, questioning. Eating without so much as a glance, Frog answered Enkrid’s inquiry.

“Next to yours will do.”

Whatever others did, Enkrid kept basic courtesy.

He was the platoon leader, strangers might think him half-mad, but those close knew—in the Mad Platoon he was nearly the only sane one.

Hence the honorifics slipped out naturally.

He figured the frog-man would soon leave.

Frog did not belong to their unit. Staying this long just to tell Enkrid he could never be a knight seemed wasteful.

A full day had passed, he should have been gone already. The squire who’d traveled with him had left, so why linger alone?

Of course they all had their guesses.

Ragna figured that Frog’s interest lay with Enkrid.

Therefore, no one asked about his intentions. The platoon, Rem included, scarcely cared. If he wished to stay, fine.

“Any particular reason?”

With nothing to hide, Enkrid asked outright. An odd hush settled over the mess.

Only the din from other tables—dice, battle tales, women—echoed. Letting the noise wash through one ear, Enkrid watched Frog.

A shrug, and Frog said no more.

Enkrid studied him a moment longer, then let the puzzle drop. He did not feel hostility. Besides, it was Frog, helpful at worst, and never a hindrance.

Wanting to share quarters was strange, but there was no cause to refuse.

“Me too, me too—I’d like to crash in the dorm now.”

Finn raised a hand. Lamb glaze smeared her lips. Table manners were not a ranger’s forte.

Expecting refined etiquette from those who slept under the sky and the moon was laughable.

This was a barracks, no one dined primly.

Only Frog showed any polish.

Unbeknownst to Enkrid, that was likely how nobles ate. Transferring the greens neatly, mincing them, and popping them in.

Though the act itself was uniquely Frog—tongue darting out to snatch the bits.

“Suit yourself.”

Enkrid gave permission. She hadn’t formally joined the platoon, but lodging posed no problem.

Should I file a report?

Probably. Let them stay if they like. Thinking that, Enkrid kept chewing. The lamb’s glaze really was splendid—delicate herbs, just enough fat, a zing of spice and sweet weaving through.

Truly well seasoned. Compared to usual, the meal felt almost cozy.

“Brother, today’s lamb is magnificent.”

Audin laughed heartily.

“Oh, that you can stomach?”

“Mind your own business and move your hands. That thing beside you is a fork. If you can’t use it, leave it be.”

Rem and Ragna bickered, but no murderous intent flew—peaceful enough. Strange that when he first walked in the air had felt so stifling.

“Amusing. Not a single one of you is normal.”

Finn muttered. Seasoned ranger as she was—she’d met all sorts of people, yet never anyone quite like the Mad Platoon—in skill and personality, both strangers to the word ordinary.

She kept chomping lamb. Tonight’s marinated lamb was exquisite.

“So, where are Andrew and Mack?”

Kraiss asked through a mouthful, quick to notice. Recalling last night’s bout with Andrew, Enkrid answered.

“They’ve filed for discharge.”

“Huh?”

Andrew was heir to House Gardner, bound by duty to revive the family. Just before leaving, he had said:

“I learned perseverance from watching you, so I’ll do the same. Someday we’ll meet under the name Gardner.”

The tone—supremely confident.

Eyes—burning with desire.

The stance—brimming with conviction.

So be it. That night Andrew and Mack left the unit. Reporting it was Enkrid’s job. The Elf Company commander let it slide cheerfully.

“If you’re lonely for numbers, Platoon Leader, I’ll fill the ranks.”

Enkrid had shaken his head.

“Independent platoon” sounded fine, but stuffing it with cast-offs would sink them. One needed Andrew-level talent just to breathe here. I heard every previous squad leader died…

Better to keep things as they were than bloat the headcount.

“I’m fine.”

The commander joked, “Shall I join myself then?”

Enkrid laughed it off and withdrew. Pushing the memory aside, he continued.

“They won’t be back. Our roster stays as is for the time being.”

“Ah, right.”

Kraiss seemed to know something and let it go.

“What? One of my toys left without telling me?”

At that Rem sprang up.

“Mm?”

“I’ll be off.”

With that, Rem stormed out.

“I’m sleepy, so I’m turning in.”

Ragna left as soon as his stomach was full.

“It is the hour of prayer.”

Audin departed as well.

Finishing the remains, Enkrid rinsed his mouth with the mess-hall’s cheap tea and stepped outside. Instead of heading for the dorm, he angled toward the training yard. From behind, Frog called,

“Where are you going?”

“Still have drills left,” Enkrid answered calmly.

Evening training time. For the first time since meeting Enkrid, Frog actually stopped walking.

“More training? Again?”

A hint of fluster entered Frog’s voice.

“Of course.”

Enkrid remained indifferent.

Whether Frog stayed or left, whatever happened, whether people proclaimed he could never be a knight—work was work. If it must be done, he would do it.

Put today’s tasks off until tomorrow?

Enkrid was incapable of that. He was the sort who dragged tomorrow’s work into today.

This bastard really is the craziest.

Frog thought so inwardly.

Mad Platoon? Clearly this man was the maddest of the lot. Enkrid believed himself the only sane one—but that, alas, was merely his own view.

Others saw things very, very differently.

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