A Knight who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 210

WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 210: Marcus Hid Enkrid

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Jaxon expected the cavalry not to go far before stopping. If men kept dropping in a single charge, any commander would make that call.

So instead of meeting the charge head-on, he lowered his stance and started moving.

Everyone else watched the charging horsemen.

They watched the ones who had repelled that charge.

Jaxon aimed for the point where the cavalry would stop and moved first.

He moved before the riders, and over a short distance, if he committed to a full sprint, he was confident he could almost match a horse.

And this was the result.

He kicked the calf of the man whose pierced neck had made him slump sideways, pulled the foot out of the stirrup, then shoved him off by hand.

The commander hit the ground with a dull thud. Jaxon stayed relaxed.

He climbed into the saddle and patted the horse around the neck, half tap, half stroke.

The mount, which had been twisting in resistance, soon settled down.

Without even looking back, Jaxon rode back to Enkrid.

Clop, clop!

The sound of hooves rang briskly through the silence.

The cavalry watching him were so thrown by how calm he was that they missed their chance to ambush.

"That wildcat bastard always hogs the easy part alone."

Rem welcomed Jaxon back.

"You crazy savage, go do your dumb brawling."

Jaxon returned the greeting, got down, and smacked the horse on the rump.

With a sharp neigh, the horse bolted to one side, hooves pounding.

Naturally, it ran toward open ground with no troops gathered there.

Dust rose behind it like heat haze.

Even in the middle of the battlefield, as if none of it mattered, vicious looks passed between Rem and Jaxon while they greeted each other.

Enkrid, who should have stopped them, had been deep in thought and suddenly spoke.

He had been chewing on this for a while.

"Couldn't they just swing without hooking the shaft behind them?"

If the glaive got shattered by a sword, they could just let go. But they had put hooks on their side armor and horse armor and locked the butt of the shaft in place, so all their reactions were slower.

He thought that was why their response to the first strike had been so poor.

So they had no choice but to get hit.

Rem, watching Enkrid keep spouting nonsense, sighed and answered.

That ended the glare-off with Jaxon. Jaxon also shook his head and looked away.

"If you brace around your waist, you have to endure both the horse's speed and the impact of collision. You think your waist breaks or not?"

Enkrid's would not break. But everyone else? If they were not trained enough, it could.

He understood.

Enkrid's point was simple.

The enemy's attack had been too simple and too linear.

And they were wedging the shaft at their side while making a cutting attack? That might be efficient against weaker opponents, but in this kind of situation, of course it failed.

That was why they had not been able to handle this kind of counter.

Without meaning to, Enkrid had identified the core weakness of the enemy cavalry.

Those glaive charge cavalry were originally specialized in cutting down opponents unprepared for counterattacks, opponents weaker than themselves.

They should have trained raw strength instead of locking the shaft behind them.

After fighting them, he could see what needed fixing.

It hit him again.

Enkrid now knew he could spot and point out an opponent's shortcomings.

That meant another chance to grow.

Good.

Separate from stopping the cavalry charge, Enkrid's eyes gleamed strangely.

The remaining cavalry watched that, hesitated, then ordered another charge.

"Charge! Kill them all!"

In one sense, their nerve was impressive. They had gone through that and still wanted to rush in again.

Enkrid leveled his drawn sword and met the charging cavalry once more.

If he had done it once, why not twice?

When he faced the earlier charge, the goddess of fortune had done nothing.

This was skill, not luck.

"Is this some insane antlion pit?"

Marcus made that remark, and on the opposite side, enemy commander Olf cursed the stupidity of the charging cavalry but still made the best snap decision he could.

Retreating here would have been even more foolish.

"Charge!"

Soon Martai's infantry began to move. The melee had begun.

Before the infantry charge even landed, the cavalry dropped in droves and retreated.

It had happened entirely at the hands of just five people, so it was only natural that the morale of Martai's charging infantry hit rock bottom.

* * *

"Ragna and I take the front. Rem to the right, Jaxon to the left, Audin covers the rear."

Before coming here, as someone leading a unit, Enkrid had considered formation instead of a free-for-all.

It was not a deep plan.

Just hold positions and fight without getting in each other's way.

In a melee, allied casualties rise fast. He abandoned the idea of defensive tactics to reduce losses.

That was not what a small elite force was for.

So he chose the opposite approach. To reduce allied losses, increase enemy losses fast.

That was how this "rough formation" came about.

It seemed more effective to stay grouped than to fight apart.

"Keep your spacing."

None of them were people who normally obeyed structure.

Even if Audin, Ragna, and Jaxon might, would that mad bastard Rem really listen?

Enkrid was curious too.

If Rem refused, he planned to leave it.

Then Ragna front, me right.

Jaxon, Ragna, and Audin might ignore him too.

If that happened, he would drop the formation and fight. There would be no time to persuade anyone, and no room for it either.

From then on, only swords would speak.

By the time Enkrid brought up formation, he had already made peace with that.

And then.

"Confirmed."

Rem took position first. Right side. About three steps away. Far enough that a sword swing would not reach, close enough to help if needed.

"Three-step spacing, then. Understood."

Jaxon moved to the left.

Starting with Rem and Jaxon, Ragna also stepped two paces forward.

Lastly, Audin took the rear.

"...You're not rushing out alone?"

Without realizing it, Enkrid looked at Rem and asked.

Rem had listened too easily. No way not to be surprised.

"What are you even saying? Those bastards are charging right at us. You think we have time to flap our gums?"

No, they did not. The enemy infantry were crashing in like mad.

There was no time to ask the others, either.

"...Forward."

Enkrid muttered it. Quiet, but to those beside him, the voice struck with certainty.

Ragna matched his steps. No matter what anyone said, Enkrid was the center of this formation.

It really worked out like this? They listened this well?

It was absurd, but not something to argue about.

Waaaaah!

Through the enemy battle cries:

"Kill them all!"

"Die, you idiots!"

"Bastards!"

Among the soldiers at the front, some showed fear, some madness, some calm.

People were all different.

Between fear, madness, and calm, curses and shouts rang out in harmony.

It was an orchestra of war.

Enkrid did not run. He only quickened his pace, and his allies moved with him in step.

Allied morale was overwhelmingly higher.

The force spreading through the ranks felt different.

Enkrid could feel it on his skin.

"Waaaaah, you bastards!"

Hearing allied cheers erupt behind him, Enkrid met the first enemy.

The aftermath of the cavalry charge was worse the second time.

The first had ended in stunned confusion, but the second was different.

They had already seen it once, then watched the same scene repeat, and this time even more died.

The cavalry that got swept aside pulled back immediately. If they had charged again, they would have deserved to be called the dumbest men on the continent.

So it was no mystery why the soldier in front of him now had only fear left, with calm and madness both gone.

A blade flew in, and hot breath rushed through the gap.

Enkrid brought his sword down. A straight top-down cut.

Thud, crack!

The first strike smashed into the soldier's skull.

With a chopping follow-through, the head burst apart, spraying blood and brain matter everywhere.

Drops of blood pattered onto Enkrid's leather helmet too.

And while those drops were still falling, Enkrid was already cutting across another soldier's chest and left arm.

Slash!

If swordsmanship mattered, could the weapon itself not also be part of technique?

After thinking that, Enkrid used his sword's capabilities to the fullest.

A blade with unusual cutting power and strength split through the wave of soldiers pressing forward, again and again.

Formation effect? He did not care about that. He focused on one thing only.

Fight grouped, not scattered.

His intent was clear. Enkrid drove into enemy ranks like a sword tip.

Naturally, everyone, including Rem, followed with him at the center. The Madmen Company's charge was like a knife piercing a soft apple. Soon they were deep in the enemy lines.

And what happened when they pushed that deep?

Encirclement. Put another way, they were fighting with enemies packed all around them.

Was that a bad tactic? Not really.

"Brothers, to heaven!"

Audin, holding the rear, shouted.

His fists and club moved faster than breathing.

Whoom, bam! Whip, crack!

On the right, Rem cackled and swung his axe.

Streaks of axe-light whipped in every direction, smashing enemy blades, splitting skulls, tearing armor apart.

"Come closer. I'm all fired up right now."

Rem said it while drenched in blood.

Between his red-stained helmet and face, only his gray eyes blinked.

As fear settled over the enemy, the soldiers charging from the front flinched.

"You bastards!"

Then someone suddenly rushed in from the left.

Enkrid did not know it, but it was Greg, commander of the 1st Battalion.

A fierce officer trusted by General Olf. In front of him stood Jaxon with his slender sword.

An opponent who had not stood out once until now.

Greg did not underestimate him, but he did not think much of him either.

He swung his hexagonal mace.

A heavy strike with a nasty trajectory.

It came diagonally for the collarbone. Dodge and formation broke. Do not dodge and it was hard to block. The gap in strength looked obvious.

Enkrid caught it from the corner of his eye but did not worry.

Not a chance.

Did he think Jaxon looked easiest from the front?

Greg had clearly lingered near Rem. Even so, he did not engage Rem and came around left on purpose.

He was aiming for Jaxon.

The red-brown-haired soldier met the mace with his thin blade.

If he could not avoid it, he could redirect it.

Screeeech!

Using the flat of his blade, he received the heavy mace, put force into it, and slid it aside.

Metal scraped metal and sparks flew. Jaxon remained expressionless. He moved as if just doing his job.

For someone "just doing his job," it was a very high-level deflection.

It showed he had properly mastered the basics of the Soft and Flowing Sword.

"Huh!"

Greg tried to wrench the mace's path back by force against the redirect.

"Idiot."

Jaxon muttered as he watched.

Greg heard it clearly.

You little bastard? Greg cursed with his eyes, regained control of the mace, and stamped his foot into the ground.

He meant to crush down with brute force again.

If that bastard tried to redirect again, Greg planned to let go of the weapon, rush in, and break his neck.

He was confident in hand-to-hand combat too.

In one instant, Greg sketched the outcome and pictured snapping his enemy's neck.

The strange part was that only that scene kept repeating.

He lets go of the mace. He rushes in. He snaps the neck. Crack!

Then suddenly the world spun, and when he looked down, the one who had called him an idiot was already thrusting his sword somewhere else.

A soldier screamed as the blade punched through the visor slit, skewering his eye and skull.

"Aaagh!"

Why can I see all this?

Greg looked down and saw, fwoosh, a body spraying blood. The body, drained of strength, collapsed forward with a thud, scattering red everywhere.

From where the head had been, blood gushed in heavy surges like water from a tipped bucket.

The armor on that fallen body looked a lot like his own.

That was the end. His thoughts cut off, and darkness swallowed everything.

* * *

The moment the one targeting Jaxon got shoved sideways, Ragna landed a strike.

No need to use Severance, so he used Steel Cut.

The armor guarding the neck looked tough, but it meant nothing.

Smack, slash!

He cut armor, neck bone, tendons, everything. A Heavy Sword Style Steel Cut.

The head flew through the air and seemed to blink, strangely.

After that, he lost interest.

Ragna was in high spirits.

These are fun bastards.

He meant all of them, including Enkrid.

Where could he gather men like this?

Something made by chance piling on chance.

A prank by the goddess of fortune.

Something like that had probably created this situation.

No, maybe not.

Did life not begin in chance and end in necessity?

Maybe this was something that happened apart from luck. If not for Enkrid, he himself would not still be here, so that was necessity.

Then did Rem and the others play no part?

In a dull life, he had found fighters around his own level. Of course that made him stop and stay.

Chance and necessity, useless thoughts faded.

Thrill, fun.

Things Ragna could not easily feel just by swinging a sword soaked through him. The thrill filled him, then overflowed and kept spilling out.

That was why.

Ragna's sword grew fiercer, more precise, and faster.

At some point, even Enkrid had to match timing with Ragna.

Once Ragna took the lead and started swinging, he looked no different from a grim reaper.

In enemy eyes, something beyond fear began to form, a dread they could not understand.

"Uaaaaah!"

"Spare me!"

"It's a mooonster!"

Not battle cries, but sobbing.

With screams, cold laments started staining the battlefield.

The orchestra was ending.

"...What are those monsters?"

The squad leader who had once used tricks on the supply route to catch Enkrid had joined the battlefield too.

A hollow sigh escaped him.

If he had lived, he might have become an excellent commander and an outstanding soldier.

He could not survive either.

By the time he noticed, an axe had struck across his chest and passed through.

"Ghk."

His chest bones caved in and his heart burst. Terrifying pain shot through his whole body. He collapsed, crying tears of blood.

Around the time the dead passed a full hundred.

* * *

"Fuck."

Olf felt defeat hit him.

No, it was beyond that.

They were not even in the same class.

Five squires?

You bastard, you hid them well.

Olf felt dizzy past despair. Five squires, and not even a knight order. What kind of madness was this?

No, even if they were not squires, how had he hidden five people with that much power?

Olf could not accept it.

He had not lost a war.

This was politics winning. The one who hid his strength well had won.

This happened because Marcus had hidden Enkrid so well.

"Maintain the melee."

In the middle of that, the unmarked commander who had come with them said it while running past.

There was nothing to maintain.

The battlefield's flow was no longer his.

From here on, his life, beginning, and end all depended on Marcus's will.

Beyond morale and momentum, everything on this battlefield had fallen into a politician's hands.

"Truly a complete bastard."

He had thrown a blow by leaning on his subordinates' strength and gotten crushed in a way that made no sense. Who could understand Olf's misery?

Could this be called strategy and tactics?

Just hiding the power of five men that well?

If someone had to name this battle, this would fit perfectly.

Marcus Hid Enkrid.

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