WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS
Translator: Hydrogen B
Editor: Abstract
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES
Chapter 230: Ah, This Is Going to Be Fun.
= = =
‘Can I win just because I know?’
The Boatman’s question lingered in his head.
Enkrid also remembered the answer he had given.
‘It doesn’t matter if I don’t know.’
He had meant it. There was not a single lie in it.
More than anything, fighting the Shepherd was simply too fun.
How could he put it.
The half-Giant, Swallow Blade, Count Molsen’s guard, the rapier swordsman.
And everyone else who had stayed by his side.
Rem and Ragna, Jaxon and Audin.
The Shepherd stirred him more than any of them ever had.
Their skill levels were similar, and maybe their attitude and age played a part too.
Most of all, he could feel himself moving forward.
In truth, Enkrid’s skill did not skyrocket from one spar or one death.
Even if his once-dull senses had sharpened, even if he now had a bold heart and a body that moved as he willed.
Even if he had superhuman focus, enough to see and dodge flying arrows.
Still, he could not ignore that sense of progress. That feeling itself thrilled him.
“Stars are out.”
Enkrid stepped outside before Bell arrived.
Stars glittered overhead, and two moons hung in the sky. The Dual Moons.
It really was a brighter night than usual.
The autumn night air was incomparably cooler than summer.
A cool breeze brushed past beneath his ears. It would turn cold soon enough.
Autumn was short, and Enkrid liked this temperature.
Rem stuck his head out of the lodging, probably wondering what this lunatic was up to now, and said, “There are still mosquitoes out. What are you doing?”
Bzz.
Before the words even settled, a mosquito zipped past his ear.
Enkrid’s left hand shot up and snatched it out of the air.
With his fist still clenched, he turned and said, “I’m going for a walk.”
“Out of nowhere?”
“I feel like it.”
“Wow, very sentimental. Why, pissed because you keep losing?”
Enkrid took a step and asked, “If there’s an opponent you have to beat without getting grazed, what would you do?”
“I’d crack his skull before he moves.”
Rem answered without hesitation. Enkrid always threw random questions like that.
Then Rem dug in his ear and added, “You know that? Your questions are random as hell.”
“Is that so?”
Enkrid agreed.
Why wouldn’t he.
There was time only he walked through.
There was a today only he experienced.
There were moments only he got to enjoy.
Enkrid’s questions came from living through those moments and that timeline.
“Yeah, pretty random.”
He answered offhandedly and started walking.
“Make time and go to a temple or something. From where I stand, that head of yours is loudly broken.”
That bastard.
That mouth of his was always the problem. Because of Rem’s damn mouth, even the Boatman had started saying strange things.
Anyway.
Enkrid thought walls also appeared before him just as suddenly.
Was this the Boatman’s trick?
Or was life always like this.
An unexpected moment, a completely unpredictable death. If this too was a wall like before, then what he learned from one death would not be enough to overcome it.
Even so.
‘Ah, this is going to be fun.’
An unbearable joy rose in him.
He walked and soon met Bell coming from the opposite side. Of course he did. He had already set out while predicting Bell’s route.
Toward the city gate.
“Huh? Where are you going?”
Bell asked.
“Where are you going?”
“I, uh, was on my way to call you, Captain.”
The same exchange from a day he had already lived played out again.
Enkrid reviewed what he knew.
From the moment the priest cut him, there had been a scream that shook his skull, a shriek like something rising from abyssal hell.
More than sound, it had felt like something below grabbing his ankles and dragging him down.
Of course, that was not the important part. What burrowed into his body was neither a spell nor poison.
If he had to name it, it was like the scream of someone maddened with malice.
‘First things first.’
He set all that aside. Fight first. Cross blades first. Even setting the sword aside, his opponent’s skill was excellent.
Now then, should I open like Rem?
Enkrid could not hide his excitement, and a smile kept slipping onto his face.
Bell tilted his head at the sight.
No matter how he looked at it, this man did not seem normal.
“If you’re sick, I can still kick you out.”
Bell said it with concern.
“No.”
Enkrid was firm. He opened his eyes wide and straightened his back.
“Huh?”
“I said no.”
His steps were strangely light as he spoke like he was issuing a warning.
If the whole company knew his situation, every single one of them would shake their heads.
Were those really the footsteps of a man walking toward death?
He looked more like a child heading out on a picnic.
With a light, brisk stride, Enkrid stepped outside the gate.
Again, the same kind of exchange ended.
“Then.”
Enkrid took his stance, and his opponent drew a dagger.
Bliss, excitement, anticipation pounded at Enkrid’s heart. Every hair on his skin stood on end.
Then Enkrid followed Rem’s advice.
Thud.
In one breath, he pushed Heart of Superhuman Strength to its limit and swung his sword.
Whoom.
Heavy Sword Style Lion Cut.
A descending slash that drove straight down. Brutally fast, dynamic enough to cleave a moving torso in one stroke.
The opponent reacted at once. Maybe he judged this was not a blow a mere dagger could block.
Clang! Thud!
He half-drew his sword from a black rod-like sheath, one hand on the hilt and the other gripping the sheath, and blocked.
Kaaang!
Lion Cut was stopped. Enkrid poured force into the clash. His opponent did the same.
Grrrk.
Two swords met and greeted each other.
Steel began to sing against steel.
With blades locked, Enkrid’s eyes tangled with the Shepherd’s.
For a brief moment, they measured each other through that gaze.
Enkrid thought again that this man might be better than he had looked in all those repeated todays.
‘What if he’s originally a swordsman who just uses a dagger?’
Then maybe that was true.
It did not matter. Whether his opponent drew his sword or not was his choice.
Enkrid had already decided to push what he chose.
From far away, Bell watched and swallowed hard.
That was the moment their blades broke apart.
Soon, the same brutal clash from the repeated today resumed.
Enkrid pressed him relentlessly. He ignored the small cuts from the dagger. As long as he avoided vital points and stayed in range, he kept trying to cut him.
He trusted his body’s senses and his natural athletic instinct, aiming to end it in one strike.
In the end, the Shepherd drew his sword again.
This swordplay was different from the strike that had cut Enkrid’s forehead.
Ting! Tang! Kkang!
The Shepherd deflected Enkrid’s sharp one-handed thrust with the dagger, used his other hand to toss the sheath upward, drew the sword, then threw the sheath.
Enkrid, equally submerged in total focus, reacted to all of it.
He yanked back the sword that had hit the dagger, turning the downward press into a heavy severing cut, and took the flying sheath with his forehead.
The sheath smacked into his brow and bounced off, but Enkrid did not blink.
If he did not lose sight of the opponent’s sword, he could still dodge.
He had Sense of Evasion. It was not impossible.
Whoom!
The instant the Shepherd caught the sword he had tossed into the air, the blade curved like a snake and tore Enkrid’s cheek.
He had dodged, but he was short by half a finger joint.
A vicious close fight, a prolonged clash in total immersion.
‘I saw it, though.’
His opponent was no joke. By Enkrid’s judgment, he was above Swallow Blade.
Not getting grazed by someone like that was too difficult.
Of course, difficult did not mean he would give up.
He only reviewed what he had learned from today’s clash.
Kyaaaahhh!
The scream rang by his ear again.
“Ah, damn, I shouldn’t have. I cut you without thinking.”
He heard the man mutter.
Grrrraaaah, grrraaaah.
A shriek like something crawling up from abyssal hell seized his ankles.
His body was growing heavy.
Enkrid already knew what would happen from one prior experience.
Pain he knew could kill him, but it could not stop him.
“What is that sword?”
“...Do you happen to have it?”
“You look like you’re about to die. At least answer me.”
“You can still talk after getting cut? What an interesting person. This is a sword with a demon soul in it. I swore not to use it on people carelessly. So I’m sorry.”
Rambling nonsense. The idiot was still a mess in the head.
“Fine, got it. Pel.”
“...Did I tell you my name?”
No. Enkrid had heard it in the first today.
That was the end.
He died.
“You’re insane.”
The Boatman appeared twice in a row.
Seeing that, Enkrid let his true thoughts slip out.
He did not mean to. This was inside a dream, and in here he could not hide what he felt.
“Have you been bored lately?”
The Boatman’s body swayed on the boat. The violet lamp swayed with him.
Silence flowed. Brief, but deeply still. The black river made no sound of running water.
At the end of that silence.
“You son of a...”
The Boatman tried to spit out a curse, and Enkrid woke up.
The moment he opened his eyes, he pressed Ragna.
“Is there a sword art that can block every sword strike?”
“Where did you hear that? That’s the ultimate of Flowing Sword Style.”
Flowing Sword, the flowing blade.
A sword that carries attack and defense at once.
“Can you use it?”
“The basics.”
If even Sense of Evasion could not avoid that speed and timing.
‘Then I block it.’
He decided that was the way. After learning the basics of Flowing Sword from Ragna, he headed out again that evening.
Still.
‘Today should be even more fun.’
From two experiences, he had already picked up a few of his opponent’s habits.
He would use that today.
And so came the third today.
“Do I know you?”
“No.”
“Then what’s with that look? Is pretending to be close your habit?”
The Shepherd tilted his head.
Enkrid ignored him.
They crossed blades again. What he had taken for a habit turned out to be a trap, and he learned that only after falling for it.
After barely surviving it, crossing blades, then crossing blades again.
Slice.
This time it grazed near his thigh.
He wore no armor, so the blade split his pants and left a wound.
Again, the scream. Again, that abyssal shriek.
When Enkrid said something, a similar question came back.
“Do you happen to have it?”
What was he always asking if he had?
“What?”
The Shepherd answered as if it were obvious.
“Will.”
“No.”
Enkrid got only a few more words out before he died.
How should he put it, this death felt especially foul. His neck was not cut, and his heart was not crushed.
If he had to name the cause of death, what would it be?
‘Cardiac arrest?’
Even for Enkrid, who had died over and over, feeling his heart actually stop was rare.
Anyway, something burrowed in from the wound, crawled through his body, then ripped through and shook his head.
That was all. If he had to compare it.
‘It feels like a bug got inside me.’
That bug was fast and merciless, tearing his body apart.
It squeezed and broke his heart.
Fourth today, fifth today.
Enkrid honed Flowing Sword Style.
As he repeated the twenty-eighth today.
“Take care of me.”
He had started to read his opponent’s swordsmanship.
“I’ll say this first. If you die, I won’t know anything about it.”
Shrrng.
With just a few swings, Enkrid forced the Shepherd to draw his sword.
Enkrid tried to dodge. He tried to block.
He repeated it.
The wall that had appeared out of nowhere gifted Enkrid death again and again.
Then, on the forty-seventh time, he opened his eyes and muttered immediately.
“If I can’t dodge and I can’t block?”
Rem was up early for once, beside him that morning. He spoke.
“...Well then, tell me. What dream did you have this time? I used to read dreams back in my day, so come on, what was it?”
“A dream where even a graze kills.”
Enkrid was honest.
“Hey, you have to explain in detail. Your attitude is all wrong.”
Enkrid brushed himself off, stood, and moved through his usual routine.
Isolation Technique, training, and honing Flowing Sword Style.
“Did you already know this? Or where did you learn it?”
Ragna said it while watching Enkrid’s sword. His skill had jumped overnight.
Enkrid did not even realize it.
His mind was tangled.
‘Is the wall just killing one guy who fights well? Is that it?’
He was questioning the premise itself, what a wall really was.
Come to think of it, the walls the Boatman spoke of had never been ordinary.
‘The thrust freak.’
From the very beginning.
‘Magic traps.’
From the trap that exploded out of nowhere.
‘Only one hand allowed.’
None of the walls had been simple. When he had gone for the enemy banner, he had even faced sorcery.
Then what was this one?
Around the seventieth today, Enkrid dealt a major wound to his opponent.
Thud!
His blade skimmed under the chest, and the Shepherd coughed up blood.
It had landed more like a blunt impact than a clean cut, and his insides seemed damaged.
“Fuck, you charged in there instead of dodging?”
Enkrid took a cut from his opponent’s sword and swung his own blade like a club. For the first time, the Shepherd dropped formal speech. His eyes were full of shock.
“I saw an opening.”
“I told you, if my sword stabs you, you die.”
Right, he had said that before they started.
If it cuts you, you die. Even a graze kills. I’d rather not go that far. I just want to check our skill in a proper spar.
But why should it be that way.
Enkrid truly, honestly, sincerely did not want that.
A fight at the absolute limit, the first opponent since Mitch Hurrier who forced him to pour out everything.
‘If you are the wall.’
What happens if we die together?
A question rose in Enkrid’s mind.
On the eighty-ninth today, that question was answered.
“Ghk!”
He took his opponent’s sword and punched a hole in his belly in return.
The blade pierced flesh, cut entrails, and cracked a few ribs on the way. As soon as Enkrid buried it, he twisted his wrist and pulled it free.
Blood gushed from where the blade twisted out. The Shepherd’s face went pale blue.
Blood dripped to the ground. If there had been sunlight, pink entrails would have been visible in that wound.
The Shepherd clutched his stomach and muttered.
“Ah, I can’t die here. I still have a lot to do.”
His eyes dimmed. Death had fallen over his face.
Those eyes moved from Enkrid to somewhere far away, into empty air.
In the end, his gaze returned to Enkrid, and the Shepherd said, “It didn’t have to go this far.”
“Didn’t it?”
Enkrid had also been cut at the nape by his opponent’s sword. He spoke with one hand pressed to the wound, his voice roughened. The cut was not deep.
Blood streamed down, but normally it was not a fatal wound.
The problem was simply that the Shepherd’s sword was not normal.
At the same time, something had changed.
‘I can endure this.’
He had gone through more than eighty todays. That meant the same experience over eighty times.
Without realizing it, Enkrid had begun resisting whatever dwelled in the opponent’s sword.
That did not change the ending.
Death settled over him. With the scream, something roamed through his whole body like it was home, drilling into heart and brain.
“Fuck! Captain!”
Bell’s voice came from behind. Because death had been delayed, Enkrid could hear Bell shouting as he ran closer.
Morning came again as he opened his eyes to a new today.
Enkrid lay there with his eyes open, lost in thought for a moment, then raised his upper body.
By then he had already returned to routine, finished Isolation Technique before dawn, and come back to the lodging.
Then he asked in front of the whole company.
“Anyone here who can use Will?”
Now he felt it clearly. He needed to awaken at least a fragment.
He had decided that when the time came, he would overcome it.
He thought that time had come.
He would not clear it in one go.
He did not believe he would become a knight in one leap. But if it was just a fragment, now was the time to reach for it.
That was what Enkrid believed.
The time to walk, keep walking, and reach out, was now.
= = =
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