WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 216: Preparation, Patterns, Experience

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"Fuck!"

Olf was horrified when he heard something close to a rebellion had broken out.

Now? At a moment like this?

"Which bastard is it?!"

Then came word that the one leading it had seized the city gate.

Those so-called rebels could not do much on the watchtowers or walls, but the gate was the real problem right now.

"Escort unit!"

In a panic, Olf called for the escort unit. They sprinted ahead first.

"Go! Stop him!"

'Who the hell is it?!'

Olf moved too, urgently. He ran as if he had forgotten the weight of his armor. His breath rose to his throat.

A metallic smell climbed up from deep in his throat.

It smelled like dried blood.

When he got there...

"I apologize."

He saw three men of the escort unit turned into bolt-studded porcupines.

He also saw at least a platoon-sized force blocking the escort unit's path.

They were aiming crossbows this way.

The one who had spoken earlier grinned slyly. It was exactly that, a sly grin.

A twisted mouth, narrowed eyes, a face and expression Olf had never seen before.

It was that stupid lieutenant bastard who had loudly demanded cavalry and shouted he would crush the enemy.

A moron who only knew how to fight. At least, that was what he had been until moments ago.

'That bastard?'

The guy had fought so brainlessly that Olf had never imagined this.

No, had that been part of the act too?

Had he been pretending to be a dumb lieutenant, a brute who knew nothing but brawling?

If so, he was a born actor.

Olf realized he had been fooled.

"The enemy is coming!"

Bwooo!

A large horn sounded. It was the signal for crisis and danger.

"Fire! Fire!"

Archers on the galleries and watchtowers drew and loosed like mad. While that happened, the brute lieutenant kept hacking at the gate pulley with an axe.

Bang! Crack! Bang!

To Olf, that sound felt like a death sentence being read aloud.

'Ha.'

A sigh should have come out in a moment like this, but his thoughts froze. He could not even force out an order to stop it. It was already too late.

Even if he rushed in now and stopped him, what could he do about a gate that was already opening?

Once that gate opened, those men who had rampaged across the battlefield would come in, right?

A nightmare. Pure terror. The five monsters.

As expected.

He sensed at once that the mage attack had failed.

If it had not, why had those bastards who kept talking about compensation not shown their faces at all?

'Damn Shadow Nest bastards.'

Olf gave up in his heart. A last stand here? Bet everything, including his life? Tell all these soldiers to throw theirs away too?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He could not do that. If they all died and he alone survived, what would be left?

Olf did not want to decorate his end with idiocy.

Even as a defeated commander, he would not stain his name any further.

He would die alone and end it.

"You have to surrender."

Even though he had already made up his mind, when the escort captain said that beside him, Olf wanted to slap him across the face.

This bastard?

Something like rage swirled in Olf's eyes.

"You need to face reality."

The escort captain said it again. Anyone could see the desperation in his eyes, his own life was all he cared about.

Then why was this bastard talking so much without stepping up to fight?

Rrrr.

The city gate opened. Soon he saw a black-haired man who looked as if he were staring far into the distance.

He was not even wearing a helmet.

His blue eyes were not on Olf, but fixed on empty air.

As Olf watched the man walk forward,

the escort captain quietly unbuckled his sword and set it down.

He was preparing to surrender.

This fucking bastard.

Olf tore him apart in his mind. Then he gave up too.

Still.

"You do not have to hand over the city without even fighting."

Zimmer stepped forward from behind.

"What?"

"Leave the final duel to me. I will show you the spirit of the eastern lion."

Zimmer's eyes burned. He called out to Olf again.

"General."

Zimmer had originally been the best swordsman among the battalion commanders, Greg included. He was also someone who had properly studied swordsmanship.

While that escort captain, who always acted steady and dignified, was already wondering whether to put his hands on his head or just kneel, Zimmer, who handled every dirty task including menial work and often spoke bluntly, stepped forward.

'My eyes were blind too.'

Olf admitted it. He had failed at staffing too. He had been played by the brute lieutenant bastard, and while favoring the escort captain, he had failed to value Zimmer enough.

He felt like gouging out his own eyes.

"Do it."

Olf nodded. Even if the war was already over, he believed he had no right to stop a warrior who wanted to burn what remained of himself.

So Zimmer moved to face Enkrid.

* * *

A spy had been planted in Martai.

'Since when did he plan this?'

The gate opened at that exact moment. Enkrid recognized it as someone's scheme, more precisely Marcus's scheme.

'Was it really a plan?'

Maybe it was less a plan and more preparation. Maybe it was not set up for this exact moment, and he had simply planted it in advance for whenever the chance came.

His thoughts continued. They accelerated, and before long they reached Correct Sword swordsmanship.

A nameless sword style he had learned from the Evil Spirit of the Demon Sword.

'Correct Sword is built on driving the opponent in one direction.'

Preparing for that was the foundation of that swordsmanship, and everything else.

If Heavy Sword Style crushed with force, and Quick Sword Style won with speed,

Correct Sword was about creating a "pattern" that cornered the opponent.

And that "pattern" needed preparation.

A "pattern" was preparation and method for cornering the opponent.

If the opponent moved as he expected, great, but what if they did not?

'Prepare wider, prepare more.'

Then all he had to do was assume every possibility and move accordingly.

That was why Correct Sword excelled at battles of moves.

The point was preparation. Diversify it from many angles.

The spy Marcus had planted was one of those preparations.

There had to be many more hidden tricks besides that. Even if the gate had not opened, he would not have given up. He would have pulled something else.

Correct Sword swordsmanship was the same. That was how it should be used.

'Do not be limited to one pattern.'

He just had to prepare many responses so he could adapt in many ways based on the opponent's reaction.

Like Marcus had done.

That was also why, among styles that grew stronger with experience, people especially mentioned Correct Sword and Flowing Sword Style.

The more battles of moves you fought, the more different patterns carved themselves into your body.

Thoughts that began with Marcus's magic kept linking one after another, reaching a certain direction in swordsmanship.

Fighting the Evil Spirit of the Demon Sword.

Returning and crossing blades with Ragna again.

Everything he had learned from Frog Ruagarne.

All of it mixed together and intertwined.

Enkrid took three steps and crossed the city gate. During those three steps, he realized his own advantage.

'Today's repetition.'

Experiences of fighting with his life on the line.

Experiences of throwing his life away while fighting.

Review after review, after countless defeats and battles.

Were those not all patterns and experience?

Yes. They were patterns and experience.

'That old teacher, Correct Sword must have been his specialty.'

He even realized the specialty of the coastal village swordsmanship teacher who had taught him the importance of review.

Two more steps as he awakened to the diversity of patterns.

As he took those five steps, Enkrid felt the need to revisit all the experience he had gained so far and melt it back into his body.

If he had been a genius, or even merely gifted, would he have realized all of this at once and put it into action immediately?

It would be a lie to say he had never regretted the talent he lacked.

Still, now he no longer craved talent as desperately as before.

'One step at a time.'

Move forward. This was the path toward Will, and the path toward becoming a knight.

A forgotten dream struck his heart again.

Only then did Enkrid register his surroundings.

The gate had opened, and one of the battlefield's main figures had stepped in.

Even if arrows flew, there should have been hundreds more. If not that, spears, swords, or hammers should have been right in front of him. Yet it was quiet.

"Ah."

A short gasp came from someone, and Enkrid lowered his shield. It was a wooden shield with arrows stuck in it. He set it aside, looked left and right, and took in the situation at a glance.

'They have no will to fight.'

Only troops who had lost the will to fight stood before him.

They were men who had already been beaten badly in the previous battle and had returned to hold a defensive siege.

Their final stronghold was the gate and the walls.

They had just watched the enemy cling to the walls like lunatics.

"What if it breaks?"

"Fuck, what, is our gate made of dirt?"

Harsh words spread from anxiety, and a dangerous mood spread among the soldiers.

A moment when they knew it and could do nothing.

Then the gate opened, and the five battlefield demons walked in.

"Damn it."

If someone runs toward death knowing it, is that courage or stupidity?

The soldiers of Martai did not need to know the difference. They did not test it.

They just stopped.

The eyes of men who had given up fighting fixed on Enkrid.

Silence. Wind blew. That wind brushed the flagpole planted above the city.

Flap-flap-flap.

The sound of the flag mixed with curses from a few loose-mouthed soldiers.

Curses mixed with surrender and self-mockery.

After seeing and feeling all of it, Enkrid spoke.

"Do I need to say my name again here?"

"My name is Enkrid."

At first, those words had sounded arrogant, laughable, insane. Now that single line settled over the city of Martai with weight.

Even so.

Even if everyone gave up, there was always someone who made one last struggle.

Between the heavy silence and the frozen soldiers, a thin man stepped forward, slipping past soldiers who had fingers on bowstrings and kept watching each other.

Enkrid saw that the man's frame was not large, but tight muscle was packed into it.

His balanced stance caught the eye, and the fearlessness in his gaze stood out too.

"My name is Zimmer."

The man who stepped out said it.

Enkrid did not know who he was.

He had never moved while keeping track of such things in the first place.

"I am the commander of Martai's 2nd Battalion."

Since the man politely introduced himself, Enkrid spoke too.

"I am the commander of an Independent Company in the Border Guard standing army."

"I see."

Enkrid looked into Zimmer's eyes. They were not the eyes of someone who had given up. At least, he was someone still trying to do something.

"This is awkward to interrupt."

Rem, who had followed behind, grumbled. Audin smiled and added,

"A duel is sacred. Brothers, in place of the Lord's eyes, I will convey His will."

It sounded like something only a priest serving the God of War would say, but nobody bothered to challenge it.

They simply listened.

"I cannot retreat without properly swinging my sword even once."

Zimmer simply made his intention clear.

General Olf stood behind him, but he already looked half out of his mind.

A man dragged back from the edge between rage and reason. Of course, Enkrid did not care.

Only Kraiss looked around.

A finished war, but for someone, a war that could not end with surrender alone.

'Really, why risk your life like this?'

Kraiss could not understand it.

The others seemed to accept the situation well enough.

Ragna moved to the right. If any enemy archer or anyone else tried to interfere, she would draw her sword without mercy.

She showed a pressure she did not usually show, and to enemy soldiers, Ragna looked several times larger.

And there was someone actually that huge.

"If anyone interferes, your skulls will break and you will go to heaven, brothers and sisters."

Audin took the role of judge, and Rem stepped back too.

Rem also highly respected his opponent's spirit. In this situation, charging in just to cross blades once was exactly what a brave warrior would do.

Zimmer, was that his name? Even in Rem's tribe, he would have been called a warrior.

As for Jaxon, seeing he had already hidden himself, if things turned messy he was probably planning to throttle commanders again.

Enkrid was impressed too by Zimmer stepping forward.

Even if Zimmer won, it was a duel with a high chance he would still die.

Yet he did not retreat.

A warrior. A man who knew how to fight.

Chriiing.

Enkrid drew his sword. It had once been a Demon Sword, but now it was simply an extremely sharp and sturdy blade.

"My sword is not ordinary."

Then Enkrid told him about his weapon advantage.

He respected the courage shown by the man who stepped out.

Zimmer nodded.

Soon he drew his own sword as well.

Ting.

It was a short, straight blade.

It was an Estoc.

The moment Enkrid saw his stance, he guessed his specialty. No, it was close to certainty.

'Fast sword, light feet.'

Light feet meant fast movement.

Zimmer lowered his knees. The moment he leveled the sword tip forward, his foot kicked off the ground.

The sword tip blurred like an afterimage and shot toward Enkrid as if flying.

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