WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 192: You Crying?

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Vallen Style Swordsmanship, close-quarters move.

Headbutt.

Enkrid was startled. He was, but the road he had walked was too brutal for him to go down to a strike like this.

His Sense of Evasion kicked in, and his body moved on its own.

He snapped his head aside, dodged, and hooked in a leg.

The instant he swept at the ankle, the White Lion rolled straight forward.

Enkrid's sword whooshed through the spot where she had just been.

If she had stayed there, some part of her body would have been cut. She escaped by fully rolling forward instead.

Her reaction speed was good, and so was her judgment.

Enkrid naturally picked up speed too.

Step, swing.

Then even the speed of his follow-up changed.

The tempo itself shifted.

Lately, this was where Enkrid had changed the most.

A diagonal slash, twice as fast as the way he used to swing, shot out even from a waist-twisted posture.

Dunbakel clenched her molars.

It was an angle she could not dodge.

She raised her elbow.

Crack! Smack! Slash!

She tried to deflect the flat of the blade with her elbow bone, but her opponent read it and twisted the sword.

The edge that had been aimed down flipped sideways in an instant, and Dunbakel ended up driving her elbow into the blade.

Even so, a beastkin's reflexes did not fail her. Part of her elbow was sliced, but she still knocked it away.

"You can do that?"

A low voice reached her.

Sharp. Clear.

More than anything, close.

Dunbakel had thought that if she shifted into beastkin form, she could hold out for a while.

Not a chance.

Before she knew it, a blade dropped over her head.

Honestly, she could not even tell how he had closed the distance and swung.

She was too busy trying to block and dodge.

Dunbakel drove up her scimitar through pain that felt like her arm muscles were tearing apart.

Choosing death did not mean she could die as anything less than a warrior.

After death, she wanted to stand in the sanctuary where their god dwelled.

Krimhalt.

Dunbakel whispered her god's name.

Krimhalt was the god all beastkin believed in, the one said to govern war and fertility. Their one and only god.

Do you want to rest in Krimhalt's embrace?

Then die as a warrior.

If you die as a warrior, you will live as Krimhalt's blade in the eternal, undying vortex.

Thunk! Tatatatatang!

The sword that met her scimitar rode along the blade and sprayed sparks.

For a brief instant, red sparks seemed to light the area between the moonbeams.

In that tiny opening, Dunbakel aimed where his foot should be and kicked at his ankle with a Vallen Style Swordsmanship trick.

The eyes looked one way, the weapon pretended to target something else, and the foot casually swept the ankle.

It was a solid setup, but her opponent lifted his sole and blocked with the top of his foot.

Then the sword came down toward the back of her neck.

Tap. The cold touch landed, and Dunbakel thought of the end.

Will I be able to go to Krimhalt's side?

When death is near, useless thoughts barge in. Of course they do.

People who live grinding their teeth in bitterness always have lingering attachments.

She had been cast out by her village, cast out again by the city, and no beastkin had ever accepted her easily.

That was how she had lived, abandoned by her own kind.

She had tried to prove herself as a mercenary, with her blade, but that had not been easy either.

She thought that was her only path, but that path had closed too.

It was unfair that she could not bear children.

It was unfair that she had been born this way.

Why only me.

Why did only she have to live this kind of life?

Her bitterness turned into a will to live.

Regret seized her ankle, and rage pounded at her heart.

Enkrid had just put his sword to her nape, but he froze there with a strange feeling.

How should he put it, pure instinct. A sixth sense.

A feeling that not killing her was better than killing her.

And there was one rational reason too.

I need one mouth that can tell me where she belongs and who sent her.

At first she had rushed him like she wanted to die, but when the blade rested there and paused, her body soon began to tremble.

Enkrid could see the White Lion's fur shivering.

Fear and resentment, something like that, showed through.

The beastkin planted one palm on the ground, pulled in her rear legs, and crouched.

Looks like Esther when she is tired.

Oddly similar.

With that thought, he asked,

"Do you want to live?"

With the sword still at her neck, Dunbakel lifted her head.

Were her eyes always this blue?

Tears streamed from eyes lined with a faint golden glow.

...She is crying here?

Naturally, this was not something he expected.

"Grrr, grr."

The beastkin cried. He could not pin down exactly what had changed inside her, but one thing felt certain.

Sounds like she is begging me to spare her.

He pulled his sword back, and the moment he did, a familiar voice struck his ears.

"What, you are not killing it? Hwaaaam."

It was Rem. He said it with his mouth stretched so wide it looked like it might split. That was an enormous yawn.

"When did you get here?"

"Just now, from when you started clashing blades with that thing. But what is this, a lion-man? Or a beastkin?"

Its appearance was close to a lycanthrope, but no demon creature would lose a fight and cry like that.

"Hey, are you a crybaby?"

Rem smacked the White Lion on the back of the head. Same as always, plain bullying.

He squatted down, poked at her head, then slapped the back of it again.

"Stop crying. He said he is not killing you."

Rem had not come alone.

Audin had already come down, and so had Jaxon, Ragna, and Kraiss.

"What is all this in the middle of the night?" Kraiss asked.

"Was it loud?" Enkrid asked back.

Jaxon pointed to the side as he answered.

"Esther called us."

Same dry tone as always. Still, Enkrid felt something slightly different in it.

Admiration? Something close to it.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You watched the fight?"

Jaxon nodded and shut his mouth. In truth, he had arrived even earlier than Rem and seen everything.

With an even more detailed and precise eye than Audin's.

A first-rate eye recognized first-rate skill.

So he was quietly impressed.

He already knew Enkrid's strength, but whenever he saw growth like this, it felt like watching something close to magic.

Would the others have been any less shocked?

"How did you do that move at the end?" Ragna asked.

"I mixed Vallen Style Swordsmanship with a new sword style I learned."

Ragna's expression shifted.

"Did Frog teach you that?"

"Hm?"

No, Ruagarne had told him to learn different sword styles. Mixing them like that was just something he had tried once, naturally.

In that moment, it had simply felt right.

As he replayed and chewed over that moment, Enkrid found himself wondering why he had done it.

Why did I do that?

Because it felt like the move he needed most in that instant.

Then was it wrong?

No. Probably not. That was how it felt.

She had been weaker than him. He had gone in with the feeling of testing his newly acquired sword.

He would only know after they learned where these people came from, but still.

At minimum, Frontier Guard elite level.

The Frontier Guard was made up entirely of Elite Soldiers.

Even among them, the elites fought especially well.

People often said one guard, currently away on some mission, used to be the Border Guard's strongest blade.

So the carnage Enkrid had made tonight was roughly like facing ten Frontier Guard elites.

The last beastkin had been even better than that.

Since when had he become able to look at them this way?

No idea. Really.

I am still lacking.

Even so, thirst flared again. He was not satisfied. No, he could not be.

What if that squire had been here?

If Eisia, the woman whose name he could never forget, had been here.

This would have been easier than that.

In any battle, in any moment, learning had no end. Enkrid had known that since childhood.

The problem had been that his body could not keep up with his learning, but Enkrid's attitude had always been right.

He craved learning, and he never stopped.

"Which group are you with, exactly?"

Just as Enkrid was finishing that line of thought, he saw Kraiss speak from behind Rem.

He did not stick himself right next to the beastkin, he just spoke.

In front of him, Rem kept talking with a crooked grin.

No, his hands too.

Tap, tap, he smacked her head, then poked at her shoulder, right where the sword had cut.

"Does it hurt? I do not hurt."

"Hey, crybaby. Beastkin crybaby?"

"What is with your face? Did you eat curses instead of meat as a kid?"

"First time I have seen a lion cry. Cry more. Want me to dig into your wound? If it hurts, crying gets easier, right?"

"Come on, I said cry."

Enkrid realized it again. Rem really was the nastiest bastard in the world.

If he ever needed provocation on a battlefield, he could absolutely put that guy in front.

When Enkrid used words himself, it was usually to read the other side's intent. This was different. This was just an evil spirit living in his mouth.

"Why is this bastard out here in the middle of the night, marking territory and acting up, huh? So I have to stop sleeping and come out for this?"

Rem said it, and that line had two errors.

First, crying was not territory marking.

Second, nobody had called Rem.

Why did he even come out here.

As Enkrid started to move, the White Lion snapped her head up first, unable to take it anymore.

Something like anger pooled in those tearful eyes.

More accurately, resentment.

"Grrh, fuuuck, what kind of damn..."

Her resentful shout did not finish.

Crack, thud!

Rem showed no mercy. Still seated, he slid his left foot out and whipped his right elbow sideways.

A strike driven by a twist of the waist.

If this were any other moment, it was the kind of perfect crouched striking form that would earn admiration.

"Excellent."

Even Audin voiced admiration.

Either way, the elbow smashed into the back of the White Lion's head.

She rolled forward from the hit.

"Ghk!"

A groan spilled from her mouth as she rolled.

"No, wait, let us talk first," Kraiss said, stopping Rem.

Enkrid had to side with Kraiss there.

At this rate, Rem looked ready to beat her to death.

"This cat bastard, hissing at me out of nowhere."

Rem was grumbling, and he looked fully capable of exactly that.

"Do not kill her."

When Enkrid stopped him calmly, Rem raised both hands.

"No, I just gave her a tap. Just one little tap, like this, yeah? Like a hello wave, nice to meet you."

If he got friendly twice, several people would die.

"So, which group are you with?"

After getting hit, crying, getting mocked, bursting with resentment, then getting hit again, the White Lion gave up.

She wanted to live, she was bitter, and in truth she had no loyalty worth protecting.

The fame she had built in the mercenary world was not something she had wanted in the first place.

She could lose it.

It was not like she had hidden any Krona pouches inside the bandit gang.

She had spent everything as fast as she earned it.

Thanks to that, Dunbakel opened her mouth easily.

"Black Blades."

"The bandit group? That one?" Kraiss asked.

"Yes."

Dunbakel nodded, and Kraiss's expression hardened.

"Well, now."

Enkrid listened in silence.

They had stopped this through overlapping coincidences, but there was still no way to know what sat behind it.

Battalion Commander Marcus had asked if Enkrid loved the city.

In a moment like this, he had ended up protecting it, and that did feel like a decent result.

Still, something bothered him.

Weak.

The guard forces' combat power was too poor.

Part of it was that his standards had risen, but if enemies like this came again, would that not become a problem?

If a similar raid happened again, the patrol troops would die without putting up real resistance.

More than anything, one of them had even worn a soldier's uniform and tried to open the side gate.

A city having many spies was unavoidable, but openly opening a gate was a different problem.

This had happened right in front of Enkrid's eyes, so naturally he wanted to do something. But there was nothing immediate he could do right now.

"Captain, I think we should report first."

Before he noticed, Kraiss had approached and said that.

Rem watched and asked, "We are really keeping this thing alive?"

"We have to keep her alive," Kraiss said quickly. He probably thought Rem would really snap her neck if left alone.

Enkrid nodded. He backed Kraiss with that gesture and added,

"Escort her."

They just needed to hold her for now. The Battalion Commander would handle the rest.

As he moved with that exact thought, he saw groups of soldiers who had become spectators one by one.

When he turned, his eyes met a commander.

A man with epaulets. The moment their eyes met, he gave a military salute.

A platoon leader. Enkrid had seen his face in passing before.

He had received the position of company commander, but it had not been officially recognized yet.

So this was the first crisp formal salute he had received like this.

Enkrid sheathed his sword and accepted it by lightly tapping the pommel against his palm.

"Thanks to you!"

"Enough."

He said that and turned away. The platoon leader had truly been shocked earlier, and now he was moved.

If not for Enkrid.

If not for that mad platoon, no, that company.

He would have died just like those raiders.

He would have left his wife behind as a cold corpse.

And not just him. Several subordinates he thought of as brothers would have died too.

While he was lost in those thoughts, Kraiss hurried over and said,

"The Black Blades part is secret."

"...Mm. Understood."

Right then, he was ready to agree to anything they said.

"We will make the report from our side too."

Kraiss kept talking, then started cleaning up and stayed glued to the bodies.

At first, it was not clear why.

"Shouldn't our company be the one to recover the spoils?"

His eyes were shining, and his confidence was utterly shameless.

Of course, he was right.

The platoon leader personally had his men carry the Manticore corpse.

He also had them search the dead.

No Krona pouches, but every weapon they used was quality iron.

So this haul could pay very well.

And Kraiss was not the kind of man to let an opportunity like this pass.

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