WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Ryuu

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 18: Still Alive?

When night fell, he tried to listen for the sound of the assassin approaching. It didn't mean much. There were no sounds or signs to be felt.

‘Let’s do this for now.’

No worries. Once a training method is decided, just follow it like an ox plowing a field. Enkrid did just that.

Before the poison dart flew, the assassin would surely enter the tent. He would listen for that presence. Each day, he would fall asleep and wake up to the same morning. However, he didn’t foolishly repeat only nighttime training.

If he was doing it anyway, it was best to do his utmost.

During the day, he would seek out Jaxon. Today was the day right after he learned auditory training. Enkrid had to wait modestly in front of the tent. He had come too early compared to usual. Since he heard whispering inside, he didn’t get closer.

Whatever secret conversations they were having, there was no need to eavesdrop. After waiting, he met Jaxon.

“Let’s walk together.”

As they walked, they talked. The same questions, the same attitude. Even though Enkrid heard the same words every time, he unconsciously showed the attentive listening attitude that Crang had demonstrated.

Good listening was closely related to good learning. One must listen well and understand to proceed to the next step. Even if he didn’t realize it, instinctively he knew listening was important, so Enkrid listened well.

In that regard, attentive listening was an excellent tool. Jaxon repeated the same words every time. Sometimes, Enkrid had to mimic being a genius.

“Having eyes on the back of your head means listening, right? You mean hearing with your ears?”

“...You don’t even need an explanation.”

“Sounds have directions. You can distinguish front and back, left and right. You can use the direction and intensity of the sound, right?”

“Were you a genius?”

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re smarter than I thought.”

“Did I look like an idiot to you?”

“That’s not it.”

And then he died again. The day repeated once more. It started with the complaints of Vengeance.

“Ah, no breakfast? Where did that bastard go?”

“Yes, it’s natural to get grumpy when you’re hungry.”

“What?”

“I’ll go get breakfast so our platoon leader stops whining.”

“...Are you crazy?”

Not really. It didn’t matter what he said, so he started by teasing. He watched those passing by. Using part of the routine as a reference, he slightly changed how he spent the repetitive day. Enkrid spent the morning half jokingly and then repeated his day.

Five times, ten times.

As he repeated, he got used to pulling Jaxon out of the tent. At first, it was awkward, but after overhearing their whispered conversations, he became shameless. They talked about where they enjoyed it today, where it was good before, and their preferred positions.

In the repeated today, Enkrid unhesitatingly pulled back the tent flap.

“Jaxon, do you have time?”

“...What is it?”

“If you want to continue, I’ll step aside.”

“You sure know how to kill the mood.”

“Then come out.”

The woman next to him gave him a bewildered look as if to say, ‘What’s with this guy?’

At first, it was embarrassing, but he got used to it and became shameless. He ignored her. More importantly, even when he did this, Jaxon didn’t particularly express dissatisfaction. He was just curious about why Enkrid was acting this way. His curiosity was always resolved in the same manner.

“Are you curious about that?”

“No. Never mind.”

The same went for training. Once he got used to hearing sounds to some extent, Jaxon expressed doubt.

“...Did you learn this before?”

“My grandfather taught me a little when I was young.”

Enkrid was a war orphan. He didn’t know his parents, let alone his grandfather.

“I see.”

Even with such an implausible excuse, Jaxon just let it pass. Enkrid always spent his day valuably. When training to thrust, it was all about moving his body. This time, it was all about sitting still.

There were results. Enkrid continued his steady progress, albeit slowly.

‘Let’s do as I learned.’

If he couldn’t take a full step, he would take a half step. If not even a half step, then a quarter step. If even that was not allowed, he would start by wiggling his toes.

About the 20th repetition of the same day.

‘I can hear it.’

He heard the sound of the wind striking the feathers.

Creak.

He heard the grating sound of the wagon wheels. It sounded like the gears meshing in a broken clock.

‘The sound of breaking.’

There were different kinds of sounds. Some sounds conveyed information as if they were speaking. For instance, the sound of the flag fluttering.

“Figuring out the west wind is easy. First, check where I’m sitting, then find the north. Follow the direction of the sound of the flag fluttering.”

It was easy to say but no one could do this instantly. Repeat and repeat again. As always, splitting the day and living each day did not change his mindset. Everything created a synergistic effect.

‘Follow the sound of the fluttering feathers.’

Depending on where he was sitting, he could determine the direction of the wind. It wasn’t particularly practical for everyday life or the battlefield. You could tell the direction of the wind even while sitting. However, the significance lay in figuring it out by sound alone. Distinguishing voices and estimating their size, and measuring distances.

‘If mastered properly, it would be useful even on the battlefield.’

Come to think of it, Jaxon always avoided dangerous battlefields one step ahead. Did he listen, judge, and then move? Is that even possible?

Right now, he didn’t know.

The first step of this training was distinguishing sounds. The second step was measuring distance by sound.

Enkrid had just completed these two steps.

The third step was distinguishing even the smallest sounds. The best training was said to be listening for the presence of an assassin.

‘It’s funny, but...’

It was the best environment. Not knowing what happened and just dying was truly much more unpleasant than expected. The very situation of dying without any resistance was the worst.

Even so,

‘Could this be an opportunity?’

Such thoughts naturally came to mind. He didn’t get up from the bed. If he got involved with the freckled night watch, he would die repeatedly. There was no need for that. Lying down, he closed his eyes and concentrated.

First, listen. The next steps could be considered later.

During the day, he listened to the sound of wheels turning, wooden nails breaking and shaking, and the sound of intact wheels. He distinguished the sounds of flags, tents, and people’s voices fluttering in the wind. Repeating the same thing could be tiresome and painful for someone.

‘It’s fun.’

For Enkrid, it was different. Even the smallest growth brought him joy. It wasn’t like learning the Heart of the Beast where he had to move his body, but it consumed a lot of mental energy. When he concentrated too much, he often got headaches as if his head was going to split. But even that became manageable, after about thirty repetitions. Although small, he lived a different life today than yesterday.

Enkrid loved that immensely.

So, on the 56th night.

Sss.

The sound of the torch burning on the stand. The sound of a night guard startled awake, striking the ground with his spear. The sound of the freckled medic night watch occasionally lifting the tent flap. Among those sounds, a tiny sound pierced his ears.

The swish of air escaping.

‘I heard it.’

It was clearly different from usual. Enkrid’s ears distinguished the subtle difference. The moment he heard it, he rolled to the side without hesitation.

‘I dodged it.’

The initial plan was to roll away and then shout. Enkrid couldn’t do that.

Swooosh.

He heard the sound of air being sliced behind him. There was no time to draw the dagger hidden in his bosom. He rolled forward again.

Swish, swoosh, swoosh.

Indescribable small noises kept coming. By distinguishing the direction of the sound, Enkrid barely, really narrowly, avoided the attacks. The blade tip grazed his thigh.

‘That was lucky.’

If he had made a mistake, his thigh would have been cut. Even a scratch was dangerous with this opponent. Would someone using poisoned darts not coat their blades? Rolling repeatedly, he dodged and bounced his body. The Heart of the Beast shone.

Despite the continuous dangerous moments, his heart cooled and settled. There was no need to get excited if it was just listening and dodging.

‘It’s okay. I can handle this.’

If he gave up on counterattacking, he could avoid it. The blade targeted his back, drawing a long vertical line. The opponent’s intent was clear.

To at least make it graze.

Enkrid rolled towards Vengeance’s bed, who still didn’t seem to wake up from this commotion. As he rolled, he pushed the bed with his shoulder.

Thunk.

A heavy impact returned to his shoulder muscles. Even though he rammed it with all his might, Vengeance didn’t wake up.

‘Poisoned dart.’

He wouldn’t wake up. It must be a paralyzing or sleeping poison, he thought.

“Persistent bastard.”

This time, perhaps in a hurry, the assassin muttered and kicked the ground. Enkrid, breathing heavily, gasped for air. The assassin, sensing his opponent’s labored breathing, thrust the knife in his right hand while throwing a poisoned dart with his left.

It was almost a deadly move. Despite his heavy breathing, Enkrid responded swiftly. He dodged the knife and blocked the poisoned dart by raising Vengeance’s arm as a shield.

Thunk, the poisoned dart embedded itself in Vengeance’s forearm. Seeing it blocked, the assassin hesitated, and Enkrid rolled towards the tent entrance. His heavy breathing was a ruse.

‘This is the Vallen Style Mercenary Sword, the feigned breath.’

It was a trick to create an opportunity by appearing to give an easy finish to the fight and exploiting the response.

It worked perfectly.

Rolling, Enkrid used the momentum to half rise and dashed towards the tent exit. The assassin lunged forward.

That too was a feint.

Enkrid headed for the tent wall instead. Drawing a dagger from his bosom, he aimed to slash the tent wall. Winning the fight meant tearing through and escaping.

Rip.

The tent wall tore before he could. Beyond the torn tent wall,

“You’re a bit late.”

A voice accompanied by glowing green eyes.

It was the elf company commander, the mastermind behind the assassination. Instinctively, Enkrid attempted a thrust. Although it was a dagger in his hand, it was a technique he had repeated countless times, ingrained in his body. Pivoting on his left foot, he twisted his body and thrust at the opponent in one swift motion. His right arm extended like a spear.

The elf company commander, with glowing eyes, stepped inside and swung her right hand from inside to outside.

Thunk, swoosh.

With that gesture, the trajectory of the thrust was diverted. At the same time, the commander kicked Enkrid’s supporting leg.

The world spun, and Enkrid soon rolled to the ground.

Then, the elf company commander displayed an incomprehensible move.

Tinkle.

Enkrid turned away, grabbing his cloak and flinging it in front of him.

Thud, thud, thud, something embedded into the cloak.

Poisoned darts.

“Are you alright?”

In a dazed state, he saw Crang crouched outside the tent.

“Was there a guard?”

The assassin’s voice was evidently shaken.

“Assassination makes me nauseous.”

The elf company commander said, letting the cloak fall. Enkrid’s mind raced to understand the situation.

‘There wasn’t an assassin?’

Was he on the defense? So, the one he saw when dying was not the one who killed him but someone who arrived late?

“You don’t seem hurt?”

“I’m just startled.”

Enkrid replied to Crang’s question and turned his body.

The assassin, upon seeing the elf company commander, seemed to have decided to escape, and his center of gravity shifted backward. The commander didn’t seem to intend to stop him.

Soon, the assassin backed away, then bolted out of the tent entrance and fled. Even while running, his footsteps were almost silent.

“Well then.”

Crang chuckled awkwardly and stepped into the tent. The commander approached the tent entrance, grabbed the shoulder of the seemingly unconscious freckled soldier, and dragged him inside.

After a glance at Vengeance, the commander turned around. Her green eyes met Enkrid’s.

A brief silence.

After a moment, the commander tilted her head and spoke.

“You’re alive?”

That question carried a note of surprise.

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