WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS
Translator: Hydrogen B
Editor: Abstract
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES
Chapter 181: Some Madman Is Chasing Me with a Sword (1)
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Enkrid whipped his head around. It was pure reflex, his body moving on his Sense of Evasion.
In an instant, he took in the scene.
‘Kraiss, stick, chest, sword?’
He saw something dull and gray spilling out of the sword embedded in the altar.
The gray haze spread through the area, then wrapped around the hollow chamber.
Bang, Esther kicked off the ground. She shot for the exit, back the way they had come.
At the last second, a gray barrier blocked her.
Thud!
The panther bounced off the barrier, and Enkrid reached out and caught her.
He moved like the wind.
Cradling Esther, Enkrid scanned the area and set one hand on his sword hilt.
It felt like something could jump out at any second.
“Finn.”
At once, Finn moved behind Enkrid.
Ruagarne grabbed Kraiss and pulled him back from where he stood blankly with the stick in hand, then raised her guard too.
Enkrid did not even have time to check on Esther before his danger-sensing instinct flared.
A danger sense only Enkrid had, forged through dying countless times. And yet.
‘Hm?’
Nothing. There was nothing at all.
“What the hell is this...”
He heard Kraiss mutter.
Enkrid looked over.
“Kya.”
Esther opened her mouth, apparently unhurt despite slamming into the barrier.
Enkrid set her down and walked over to Kraiss.
It looked like Kraiss had opened the chest with his stick.
Inside, instead of poison darts, there was dust and a small letter.
Kraiss unfolded it and muttered, “Was this already looted? Or was that bastard Dolph insane?”
“Give it.”
Enkrid stepped in and read the letter.
-Only the one who obtains the treasure can leave.
Did you get in using the back-skip technique? Sorry, but this is the only trap in this place.
Fwoosh.
As the torches burned, Enkrid let out a low grunt.
He could almost hear the writer cackling.
This Dolph guy had awful taste.
Treasure? The chest was empty. What about the other one?
Right then, Kraiss opened the other chest with the stick.
“Nothing.”
That one was empty too.
“Looks like in this era they called the back-skip technique something else. Damn it. What treasure?”
Kraiss grabbed his hair.
That ancient rich man's trap had driven one sharp soldier of the current age into despair.
Could not be helped.
It was a spell-woven trap, and no one could predict a trick like this.
“Anyone who came here would’ve gotten caught.”
Finn agreed.
Leaving Big Eyes to stew, Enkrid turned toward the platform. The sword was still stuck there.
A moment ago it had been caked in moss and dust. Now it looked different.
A faint dark-blue sheen ran along the blade. The hilt was still so old it was rusted, and the blade itself was blunt, but still.
‘The blade color changed.’
Could anyone really have maintained it in a place like this? Who would? Did someone leave a skeleton soldier here to oil it?
At a glance, the edge was gone and it was clearly worn out. Even so, after all this time, it had held up.
That was rare.
Without maintenance, swords usually fell apart. Most plain metal weapons did.
A sword found in an ancient dungeon snapping in one swing was normal.
Time ruined the core.
To a mercenary, a weapon was life. The less confidence one had in skill, the more one relied on weapons. Enkrid had spent years paying close attention to them.
So he had an eye for swords.
That sword had no edge, and the hilt looked so rotten it might crumble in his hand.
‘The core is still alive.’
It was sound. It would need work, of course.
That was the only thing here that could be called treasure.
“How long ago did this Dolph guy make this place?”
Enkrid asked.
“At least fifty years.”
Kraiss answered, still stunned, and turned his gaze. Since only the sword remained, everyone looked at it.
A sword stuck in place for fifty years and still this intact?
If that was not treasure, what was?
It was the only thing left.
“I’ll pull it.”
Kraiss’s misery lasted only a moment. He sprang up, muttered “bastard Dolph” under his breath, and stepped forward.
He was quick to despair and just as quick to move.
He had a natural talent for hiding in the back and running away, yet he could not ignore a mess he had made himself.
Before anyone could say anything, Kraiss grabbed the hilt, then instantly let go.
“Urk!”
He looked startled.
Everyone stared at him, and he continued.
“No, some madman is chasing me with a sword.”
He had only touched the hilt. What did he mean, some madman was chasing him with a blade?
“Let me try.”
Finn stepped up. Courage, and sometimes recklessness, another name for Rangers.
Brave but sometimes reckless. That was exactly what those who walked first were like.
Before anyone could stop her, Finn grabbed the sword and let go immediately.
“He’s right.”
Enkrid’s eyes fixed on the hilt.
“A demon sword?”
Ruagarne glared at it as she spoke. She flicked her hand in the air and puffed her cheeks.
“A demon sword, huh.”
She stepped forward. The moment she touched the hilt.
Slip.
“...Hm.”
Enkrid let out a low sound. Ruagarne tried again.
Slip.
Her hand slid up before she could get a grip.
“Oh, I almost had it.”
Frog skin had a natural slickness. That was why they used looped weapons.
For her, this demon sword was too smooth and slippery.
The end of the grip did not even have a proper pommel.
“The only treasure here is that.”
Kraiss glanced at the sword. One way or another, they had to pull it.
“Can we trust what this Dolph guy left behind?”
Enkrid asked. If they judged this as the treasure, pulled it, and it turned out to be a trap meant to kill them all, they were finished.
“Yes, well, we probably have to. He was a bastard, but they say Dolph lived by honor all his life and never lied. It sounds credible.”
If a man like that lied, it would be lethal. Still, trusting him was the only option.
Thinking that, Enkrid gave a faint shake of his head and stood before the sword.
Slip, slip.
Ruagarne was still trying to grab it.
“I can see him. A guy with a sword.”
She looked focused, eyes half-lidded.
“A demon sword...”
Kraiss clicked his tongue and fidgeted with his fingers. They had to pull the sword, but touching it made some lunatic chase him with a blade. It was brief, but he never wanted to see that again. Cold sweat ran down his back.
Ruagarne gave up, shook out her hand, and said,
“Demon sword. More precisely, a sword inhabited by an Evil Spirit.”
An Evil Spirit?
Enkrid had wandered the continent plenty, but he had only seen that type once.
A Wraith, an Evil Spirit that fed on human fear and anxiety.
He had taken that job, but he could not handle it himself.
Everyone was already dead, the whole village turned into Evil Spirits.
It had been horrific.
A bunch of mediocre mercenaries in metal armor could do nothing. They had needed a priest. A priest who could wield divine power.
‘How much did that cost again?’
Enkrid had paid out of pocket. He had accepted the request, so he solved it. That was his thinking.
The funny part was that the one who hired him had also been a ghost.
A remnant of a human soul that had not become an Evil Spirit, crying without end, begging through tears.
The little girl’s wish had been so desperate that she disguised herself as a street urchin in the city and made the request.
Enkrid kept his promise and wiped out the Evil Spirits in that village.
‘I think it wiped out all my savings.’
Calling in a priest, especially one strong enough to erase Evil Spirits with divine power, always cost that much krona.
Meaning this: Evil Spirits were not something ordinary mercenaries could touch.
While Enkrid drifted into old memories, Kraiss muttered,
“Ah, then if I’d kept holding that...”
Ruagarne answered right away.
“It would have split your skull open.”
That answer sent a chill through him. Kraiss rubbed his arm for no reason, and Enkrid calmly reached out.
Pull the sword and claim it. Then leave. Simple.
More than anything, he was curious.
Enkrid gripped the hilt.
He did not even blink, yet he knew the surroundings had changed.
Even the air felt denser.
He stood on sticky mud.
The kind that dragged at your feet.
Then something dropped from above. A sword. A blade falling straight down.
His body reacted. By reflex, he drew and swung. His horizontal blade met the vertical strike.
Clang!
At the moment they met, he shoved with force.
With a heavy crash, the floating sword was knocked back through the mist.
Using that recoil, he retreated, but the muddy ground made footwork hard.
As he kicked back through the muck.
Whoooooosh.
Wind rose, and mist drifted behind the floating sword, then vanished.
Beyond the fading mist, his opponent appeared.
Helmet and plate armor, and inside the helmet, blue flames burned where eyes should be.
‘What is this?’
No words. No breath. No tell before it swung. None of what a human should have.
The sword simply started moving.
Clang, clang. After several exchanges, Enkrid realized his body was not the same as usual.
‘Heart of Superhuman Strength isn’t working.’
He was fighting with something missing. His reaction speed was close to normal, but his body was stiff.
More than that, the enemy’s swordsmanship was shockingly orthodox, a style that read several moves ahead.
Whenever Enkrid lashed out on instinct and reflex, the opponent seemed to expect it, guiding his blade away and flowing into the next strike.
A thrust this time.
Hup.
He inhaled and pulled back. He had to. He just needed to shift his awareness back outside.
By instinct, he sensed the way out.
The problem was that the opponent was too close.
‘I’ll get cut before that.’
Obvious.
Regardless of physical ability, the opponent seemed to read every move he made.
The result was inevitable.
Thud.
An iron gauntlet slammed into Enkrid’s abdomen.
Enkrid did not just take it. He swung with raw force, smashing toward the enemy’s shoulder.
He had aimed for the neck, but the pauldron blocked it.
‘Read me.’
He barely dodged the next blade, but the follow-up elbow struck his cheekbone.
Crack.
If you have felt your neck snap enough times, you learn one thing.
This meant death.
“Ghk.”
Enkrid let out a dying gasp. That was the end.
He thought he had died, but when he opened his eyes, everything was back to normal. He had been thrown out of that place, whether it was a mindscape or an Evil Spirit’s playground.
“Captain?”
Kraiss’s big eyes stared at him.
Finn and Ruagarne were beside him, and Esther too.
“Are you okay?”
“How much time passed?”
His throat felt oddly dry. Enkrid spoke and rubbed his neck.
The pain was still vivid. The area around his neck felt cold too, but it was not twisted in a direction it should never turn.
Only the pain and the moment of death remained.
“By feel, not even a minute.”
Enkrid frowned. Rare for him. He died, but did not die?
How to put it. Fighting in there felt like fighting barehanded.
Like leaving everything else behind and speaking only through the sword.
For Enkrid, it was no different from fighting with his arms and legs torn away.
“You’re really okay?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded at Kraiss and studied the sword.
It had not come out. It looked the same as ever. Like an aloof noble lady.
Of course, inside it was just a lump of metal.
“Did it get you?”
Ruagarne asked from beside him.
“My neck snapped.”
“In there?”
He nodded.
Ruagarne fell into thought.
Evil Spirits could not be dealt with by physical force, but they had not been able to harm Enkrid either. That had been true on that old request too.
So was this the same case?
It did not feel like it.
It felt real. Even knowing it was fake, it felt the same as truly dying.
As someone who had died countless times, practically an expert on death, Enkrid knew.
Meanwhile, Ruagarne inspected the gray veil, tracing it with her fingertips and tapping it.
On the other side, Esther lightly scraped the veil with her claws.
“What does that panther know that she’s doing that?”
Finn muttered, baffled.
‘Maybe?’
Enkrid knew the Lake Panther by his side was not ordinary.
For a while, everyone focused on figuring things out.
The answer came from Ruagarne. After tapping the veil, observing the sword, and trying several more times to grip it despite it slipping free, she spoke.
“This is half a guess.”
“What is it?”
Enkrid asked.
Ruagarne answered in a heavy tone. Reading a Frog’s emotions was difficult, so certainty was impossible, but she sounded convincing with her arms folded.
“You have to die dozens of times. Only then will you start to see something like the treasure.”
For Enkrid, that was easy enough, but Ruagarne had no way of knowing that.
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