WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 184: Liberation

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If he could endure Pseudo-Death, something like death but much easier than truly dying, if he could just keep doing that, if he could manage that much.

He had a living textbook. One that showed every movement right in front of his eyes, in detail.

So yes, this was good. Demon Sword, Evil Spirit, whatever it was, it was good, at least for Enkrid.

"Think about why you pull your left foot out to the side there."

He even had a teacher who interpreted that textbook for him, movement by movement.

So this was only natural.

Enkrid learned swordsmanship like wet cotton soaking up water. No, he carved it into his body first and left understanding for later.

That was how he had trained his Sense of Evasion.

'Do I even need to understand it first?'

When he did not understand, he could work through it with his body. Repeat it, engrave it into himself, and leave understanding for later.

"No matter how you look at it, you really are insane."

Ruagarne said it with genuine awe midway through. Enkrid let it slide.

He was completely immersed in swordsmanship.

Honestly, he was having the time of his life.

Why had he learned Vallen Style Swordsmanship in the first place?

Because of a thirst that began inside him.

He had wanted proper techniques, proper swordsmanship, a foundation that could become the strength to keep moving forward.

"Start with the basics!"

Every teacher, every instructor, everyone who took his silver coins had said that.

It was not that he disliked it, and not that he thought it was wrong.

It was just this.

'This is fun.'

Like anyone else, he simply wanted to see what came next.

So Enkrid kept gripping his sword again and again, smiling. A bright smile. A clean, flawless smile.

"To be honest, you're starting to scare me."

Ruagarne said.

"I agree. Gives me chills."

Finn agreed, while Kraiss was unexpectedly calm.

"He was always like this, but right now he's worse than usual."

Kraiss had seen Enkrid do insane things countless times. At least he was smiling, so this was better.

Was this not better than silently swinging a sword while his palms split open, expressionless?

As for gripping a Demon Sword and experiencing Pseudo-Death, Kraiss could not do that even in a dream.

'Still, if it's the Squad Leader, he'd probably endure it just fine.'

The thought crossed his mind. Instinct and insight together. Kraiss saw through the heart of it.

As long as he had the joy of growth, Enkrid could turn the pain of death into effort.

He sank deeper into it. Into his sword, himself, and swordsmanship.

A sword was a tool for killing people.

Swordsmanship was a method for killing the opponent.

"Feet, waist, posture, all of it exists for the next move. Think."

With Ruagarne's guidance added on top, Enkrid kept thinking and kept swinging.

To keep meeting that excellent textbook, he gripped the Evil Spirit-infested sword without pause.

Sometimes, the moment he died, he opened his hand and gripped it again right away.

After several hundred repetitions.

The Evil Spirit seemed to hesitate.

Was that right? Had he really seen that?

Enkrid doubted it. It was strange enough that something that normally rushed him was not swinging immediately.

For Enkrid, that was the one thing he truly did not want.

"Let's not do that. Let's both do our best in our own roles."

Their own roles. If the Evil Spirit's role was to rip into the mind of whoever held the sword, then it should do its best.

Hesitating was exactly what he did not want to see.

Since Enkrid urged it so sincerely, the Evil Spirit fulfilled its duty.

It attacked. They fought. He trained swordsmanship. He learned. Memorized. Practiced. Brooded and reviewed.

Then he gripped the sword again.

He repeated that cycle.

If he knew how to use his body properly, if he could execute exactly what he visualized.

Then all he needed afterward was understanding of the movements.

Once he had memorized an entire sword style, then heard Ruagarne's interpretation move by move, it became easy.

If the person who made the Demon Sword and placed an Evil Spirit in it saw this, he would probably grab the back of his neck, but that was how the world worked.

Things never flowed only by intention or only by prediction.

"Good work."

The Evil Spirit had its chest cut and neck severed. Blue light flickered between chunks of metal. It looked like it was trying to speak.

Enkrid watched in silence.

Then the Evil Spirit in the sword said:

"Thank you."

What was there to thank him for?

The Evil Spirit began telling its story, and it was quite long.

"Short version."

Enkrid did not want to hear it. The Evil Spirit faltered. Its blue light dimmed further. Left with no choice, it spoke briefly and bluntly.

"I was trapped unfairly. And my swordsmanship is not complete, only half. My lifelong wish was to find the other half."

How did a mere swordsman become an Evil Spirit? It took power, spells, sorcery, things like that. But even before that, it needed a deep wish from the one who would become a vengeful soul.

The Evil Spirit's wish was similar to Enkrid's.

One dreamed of becoming a knight.

'It's my family's lost swordsmanship.'

The other wanted to properly restore his swordsmanship.

In sheer desperation, they were similar.

Enkrid nodded.

It meant he would do it if the chance came. He was already busy chasing his own dream. He could not carry someone else's dream on his shoulders too.

In its last moment, the blue light flashed and vanished, and a faint human figure appeared and said:

"And let's never meet again."

The Evil Spirit was sick of it. Truly sick of it. It never wanted to see a person like him again. It meant that from the bottom of its heart.

Of course, the two would never meet again.

One would leave for somewhere far away as the vessel holding the Evil Spirit was erased.

The other would remain in this land.

The soul that had been an Evil Spirit was very glad about that.

"Seriously, let's never meet again."

It repeated the same line one more time.

Enkrid tilted his head. He was the one who had been tormented, so why was the other side saying that?

"My family's name is..."

He could not hear the final words. Its energy scattered. Everything around them began collapsing. Beyond that crumbling world, he saw familiar faces. As he left the world of mental images, the Evil Spirit in the sword disappeared.

"You won."

Ruagarne's voice came. It was reality. Enkrid nodded.

"Was it dangerous?"

Ruagarne asked again. Enkrid shook his head.

It was not dangerous. Once inside, all that remained was swordsmanship.

It was a battle of reads. Victory did not come from raw power. He had to defeat the opponent through swordsmanship itself.

He had gripped that sword well over a hundred times, but he had not bothered counting.

By time, more than a full day had passed.

The gray veil vanished without a sound. As it disappeared, Esther raised her head and glared at Enkrid.

No doubt about it. She glared.

Esther was stunned. How had he done that?

Driving out an Evil Spirit through divine power or spells was one thing. Purifying and releasing it through brute force with one's own body was another matter entirely.

'Even outstanding mages struggle with the latter.'

She was a panther now, but Esther had once been a mage who possessed a World of Spells, and a witch.

From her point of view, what Enkrid had done made no sense.

That was why it was startling and fascinating.

'How can he do that?'

In truth, the soul had been purified because he used swordsmanship until it was numbingly, crushingly exhausting, and because the Evil Spirit passed on its dream. But Esther had no way to know that much.

Still shocked, Esther blinked again and again. Enkrid saw it.

"What? Hungry?"

He waved a hand as he said it. Esther snorted in disbelief and lay back down. She decided it had to be a chain of coincidences.

Even if she dug deeper, she would not get an answer anyway.

Enkrid looked at Esther and admired her inwardly.

For a panther, she really had a wide range of expressions. She was fun to watch.

Even now, her eyes looked startled, and when he asked if she was hungry, he swore he saw something close to contempt around them.

Enkrid chuckled and sat down. His legs were not shaking, but he had swung his sword all day, truly without pause, and mentally he had experienced Pseudo-Death.

Saying fatigue had not built up would be a lie.

Still.

'Kraiss was right.'

Had he said it was like picking up dropped copper coins?

That was how this felt to Enkrid. He thought he was picking up copper, but what he found was gold.

He had learned a new sword style. How much farther had he advanced from it?

Hard to measure. It depended on what standard he used. Still, instead of arrogance, he had gained a little confidence.

'Naurillia's soldier rank system means nothing.'

In the end, he needed Rem. How about smashing into that axe of his and leaving a couple of scratches on his cheek?

A crisp goal.

"Let's sleep and head out."

Enkrid said it. That seemed fine. The gray veil was gone, there was no danger, no flying bugs, and it was perfect for staying a day. Cool enough, not damp either.

So the group stayed the night.

Enkrid slept and dreamed. In the dream, the Evil Spirit appeared again.

"Let's cross swords again."

It said. Enkrid nodded. He won easily again.

Movement began with understanding, but what if he had memorized everything? If the opponent only repeated memorized moves, there was no reason he could lose.

And now, a bit more understanding had been added too.

The reason the left foot moved out to the side was to prepare the thrust after splitting the crown.

And twisting the wrist to match dozens of enemy dodges or blocks became a strike along an unpredictable path.

Basic after basic linked into one flow. That was swordsmanship.

As he reflected on it again, everything in the dream tore apart, and the Boatman suddenly appeared in empty space.

He said nothing. He showed no intention.

He just looked wronged.

'You're using my curse for something else?'

It almost seemed like he was saying that.

Enkrid lightly placed a hand on his right waist and gave a military salute in apology.

When he opened his eyes, he was in the cave again.

It was a nonsense dream.

"You sleep so quietly."

When he woke, Ruagarne said that.

"Didn't you sleep?"

"I did."

Ruagarne watched Enkrid for a moment, then asked:

"You really plan to become a knight, right? You?"

No need to answer with words. Enkrid nodded.

"Right."

Ruagarne spoke evenly.

"Does it really have to be this country?"

What she added after that was meaningful, but Enkrid could not ask further. Right after saying it, Ruagarne turned as if she would hear no more.

What she had said was not a question. It was advice. Enkrid knew that, so he did not press.

'This country.'

As a child, he did not understand the concept of a country.

When he grew older, he learned that being a knight bound by oaths of loyalty was not the same as what he had dreamed of.

Then was there another path?

Not something to worry about yet.

'When the time comes, in that moment.'

His heart would point the way, and he would walk the right path.

That was how he had lived so far. Call it conviction or call it stubbornness.

"Let's go."

Enkrid had just said that when:

"Oh!"

Kraiss cried out in surprise.

"There's a hidden box under the chest!"

Kraiss looked up and met Enkrid's eyes as he spoke.

Whatever Dolph had intended, one thing was clear. He loved messing with people.

Empty the chest, draw attention with a letter, lock someone in a dungeon with a Demon Sword, then give treasure again only to the sharp-eyed.

"Ancient Gold Coins!"

Something expensive had come out. Modern currency had long settled into imperial money.

Imperial Copper Coin, Imperial Silver Coin, and Imperial Gold Coin were the Krona standard.

That monetary standard had been fixed for over a hundred years. Naturally, when people said Krona, they meant imperial currency.

And now, from an era before that, from somewhere between history and legend, this appeared.

It was not exactly priceless, but in the hands of the right owner, it could fetch ten times the value of the same weight in ordinary gold.

There were more than ten of those coins.

Each one was as big as a palm, not small at all. The pouch was heavy.

"Split it."

Enkrid said. Kraiss made a miserable face, then nodded.

He even forced some into Ruagarne's hand when she said she did not want any.

"We're taking this too, right?"

Kraiss asked as if it were obvious.

Of course he meant the sword stuck in the ground.

Before the question had fully left his mouth, Enkrid was already standing before the sword again.

The madman with the sword had been liberated and left for another world. He had gone to a world of souls beyond reality.

Then what remained?

"Looks expensive at a glance."

Kraiss said.

Enkrid gripped the sword in one hand and pulled it out in one smooth motion. Strength close to brute force. Maybe because he had often used Heart of Superhuman Strength, he felt stronger than before.

The sword he pulled out was dirty, but its core was still alive. If he preserved and sharpened the blade well, it seemed usable.

He gripped it and swung it a few times. The balance was decent enough, but the grip and pommel would need a lot of work.

"That is strength worthy of being named an honorary Frog."

Ruagarne praised him in a very Frog-like tone.

"You'll sell that, no, you're not selling it, right?"

Kraiss asked.

"I'm not selling it."

His two swords happened to be in terrible shape anyway.

Enkrid and his party packed up and finally started back in earnest.

Magic Beasts and Demon Creatures still were not rare.

Maybe because of the aftershock from the large colony, even common bandits were nowhere to be found no matter how hard they looked.

Finn showed unusual recovery, and on the road she occasionally asked Enkrid for martial sparring. They could not fight seriously, so they moved slowly and only played a battle of reads with hands and feet.

After learning new swordsmanship, Enkrid had become twice as seasoned, so Finn did not win even once.

And then Ruagarne left.

"Then I'm off."

"See you again."

It was a plain farewell. Kraiss waved too, and Finn gave a rough nod.

Esther ignored her. Ruagarne did not seem especially regretful either. She just turned away.

Enkrid watched the lone Frog's back as she left, then turned too, as if he had forgotten any regret.

"She really just took off."

"It was strange she stayed this long to begin with."

That is because of you, Squad Leader, Kraiss thought, then said it short and blunt.

"Alluring."

"Don't."

That was the nickname he hated hearing most. Some kind of alluring this and alluring that.

"Alluring."

Kraiss said it again, lifting the corners of his eyes. Enkrid did not hold back.

"This is Ael Karaz-style wrist lock. Good thing to learn."

As he spoke, he twisted Kraiss's wrist hard.

"Gyaaaak!"

Kraiss's scream spread into the summer sky.

Without further incident, the party returned to Border Guard.

And so Enkrid's party made it back to the city again.

The upper ranks who had dispatched the Cultist, meaning the priest sent by the Cursed Ground Holy Sect, heard an absurd report.

* * *

"It failed?"

It was the bishop who managed the diocese, the priest's direct superior.

Anyone would call him handsome, with thick blond brows.

A white robe with gold embroidery only made his appearance more striking.

With a face full of disbelief, he asked again.

"Did a knight order come?"

That was not it.

"What? A squad leader? A panther?"

Hearing who had caused the failure made it even more absurd.

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