WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 278: [It Starts with Jaxon]

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"Cowardly bastard, filthy bastard, go rot in hell, you son of a bitch!"

A Black Blade executive spat blood and cursed Marcus.

There was some misunderstanding, of course. Sinar had started this, and Enkrid had jumped in and finished it in no time.

Still, the more they looked into it, the more they heard the same thing: the Border Guard standing army was tied to it.

Then who ordered it? Who was behind this?

One name kept surfacing and getting under their skin.

Marcus.

A noble bastard with ties to the royal palace, and rumors everywhere that he was aiming for the seat of Northern Grand Duke.

"That bastard deserves to be chewed to death!"

He cursed in his head, he shouted it out loud, and his anger still would not settle.

It was maddening, humiliating, and infuriating.

He wanted to throw himself on the floor, scream, and thrash around. That was how furious he was.

Only after he barely, truly barely, calmed down a little did he stop.

The executive ground his molars. Even then, he could not just go kill him right away.

The Border Guard was a cursed place. Every assassin they sent went silent.

Had they not failed every single time they tried to kill that man, Enkrid?

No, had they even left a scratch on him?

They sent men armed with poison, so why did every one of them get wiped out?

Because the target was highly skilled? Black Blade had considered that too.

The executive thought the same.

At minimum, he judged Enkrid to be squire level.

Some of Enkrid's feats were exaggerated, and some were downplayed.

Still, none of them easily believed Enkrid had truly reached that level.

The story that he had swung a sword from nothing and one day awakened and used Will was hard to believe.

Sure, geniuses like that appeared once in a while. Even so, if he had that kind of talent, why was he only shining now?

If he had been hiding somewhere in secret, maybe. But that was not the case.

His tracks were everywhere.

He had been a mercenary. He had paid shabby instructors in Krona and learned the sword.

He had worked as a hunter for a few Copper Coins and taken odd jobs too.

When he did not have sword work, he moved around doing wall repair labor.

That was the kind of man he was, so who would believe he had become squire level?

Black Blade was rational. That conclusion was unavoidable for them.

More than anything, Count Molsen had adjusted the information from behind the scenes to a certain degree.

So they could not accurately measure Enkrid's level.

That did not mean they ignored him.

It was obvious some late change had happened in him.

Even so, they did not believe he had truly become someone at squire level.

He had to have a helper.

And among those possible helpers, who was the core name?

Marcus, that scheming bastard, had to be the one.

"Now it's war!"

The executive shouted alone in an empty study.

Naturally, that was not just his personal thought.

His superiors, including the Black Blade Bandits' chief, gave similar orders.

Gather all forces.

Take the Cult's help too.

Burn down Border Guard.

They were a deviant bandit group with no lordship and no territory, yet with military and political power in hand. They decided to use it all.

They broke open the black gold they had piled up and pulled every connection they had.

People who had worked as members of the bandit group gathered.

Among them were plenty of mercenaries who would stab even their own parents for enough Krona.

So something close to an army gathered on a small hill west of Border Guard.

It was over five hundred strong. Could that force cross Border Guard's walls?

Not easy, but Black Blade's specialty was not war. It was intrigue.

They moved accordingly.

The bandit group's rise, on the surface a territorial war caused by Marcus seizing and absorbing nearby lands, affected far more than one or two matters.

It became the start of civil war, and the excuse that made countless people move.

Marcus, who was inside Border Guard, had never expected this.

Right before that territorial conflict flared up, he had said:

"How many villages are there? Send troops to all of them and take them. From now on, we are not Border Guard standing army, we are Territorial Border Guard."

"Who is the lord?"

"The first lord is me."

When his company commander asked, Marcus proudly pointed both thumbs at himself.

Soon after, Pig Baronet Tarnin, the neighboring territory's manager and effectively the villages' original owner, declared territorial war.

"How dare you do this without royal permission! You are all greed and no shame! Marcus, beg forgiveness at once! If you do not repent, I shall cut off your head and offer it to God!"

After gathering troops, that was the grand speech he gave.

He did not even bother hiding it, so it reached Marcus's ears quickly.

"Looks like that pig bastard took the wrong drugs too."

Marcus answered with a mutter, chin resting on his office desk, but his meaning was clear.

It was the beginning of civil war. That did not mean they started hacking at each other immediately.

Like most territorial wars, Baronet Tarnin first sent an envoy.

Usually it started as a shouting match, then drifted into reluctant fighting.

"But what is this bastard trying to do?"

This time, though, it was a bit different.

Tarnin was the one who first gathered mercenaries and all kinds of fighters, then picked a fight and provoked.

In other words, he acted like he would attack at once.

But instead of charging, he only dug in and held position.

Why? Who gained from stalling? Who lost?

Marcus was no fool. Better to let Tarnin and his backers waste resources than charge right now.

He dug into what they wanted and turned his brain hard.

Pig Tarnin's special skill?

- Eating.

Idiot Tarnin's strength?

- His skin was so thick blades barely bit.

The power of Baronet Tarnin's territory?

- Worthless as hell.

What was that bastard trusting here?

- The Black Blade Bandits.

Marcus sorted the order of events and checked the situation.

Then why were they acting like this?

Once troops gathered, gold was burned by default. You had to feed and house them.

There were mercenaries too. Their pay had to be handed over.

Even if they were not fighting, if you did not put silver in their hands, some of them would cleanly switch sides and punch a star-shaped hole in Tarnin's belly.

"Then why?"

They had gathered troops, yet looked like they had no intention of attacking.

They only spewed nonsense about running drills.

Marcus waited. There was nothing else he could do right then.

He had indeed trespassed into others' territory.

He had planned to hush it up, seize a few villages, build something like a territory, then seek royal approval later.

"Feels like someone is standing behind Pig Tarnin."

The question was who.

After that, the trick from that shadowed mastermind landed hard.

Hard enough to crack the back of Marcus's head.

"...Huh."

[Because the territorial war has intensified chaos in the north, we command Marcus, faithful friend of the royal palace and a central pillar of his house.]

That was how the letter began.

Marcus was a gambler. He knew how to catch the moment of decision.

Yet before anything even started, the letter's contents tied his hands and feet. It was a scheme that kept him out of the decisive moment entirely, and he saw no way to dodge it.

"Hah."

Only a hollow laugh came out. He had been perfectly played.

* * *

"So, you had fun without me, huh? Yeah?"

Rem greeted him the second he returned. Enkrid thought this bastard really never changed.

"I was on a mission."

"Yeah, and you were having fun. Me? I was stuck here, huh? Buried while teaching some Beastfolk someone dumped on us, huh?"

That was a very long way to say, let's spar now.

Off to one side, Dunbakel stood there with both eyes swollen blue.

It looked like she had not been bullied lightly.

Enkrid felt bad for her. If he let it pass, Rem would beat her up for fun again today.

More than anything, Enkrid only felt a little tired. He was not hurt.

"Come at me, barbarian who only wags his tongue."

Enkrid said it like a joke, and Rem grinned.

"Let's settle this grudge!"

Then they sparred, right after that nonsense.

"Nothing changed, huh!"

Rem said it while crossing his axes in swinging arcs. Then he suddenly threw out pressure. He said he had learned it by watching the Rapier Swordsman, and hearing that was absurd.

Could someone really copy that just by watching from the side?

Of course, the method was completely different. Enkrid had no way of knowing that.

He rejected the pressure, and after that they spoke with swords.

Clang-clang-clang-clang!

Between them, metal met and kicked out golden sparks.

For once, Teresa sat quietly with both legs together, waiting her turn.

That was daily life.

Next sparring turn was Teresa's. She had built and refined several techniques through training with Audin.

She wanted to know if they would work on Enkrid.

Her heart pounded.

With him gone, things just had not been fun.

She honed techniques, she forged her body, and still emptiness came. She felt like a landlord with an empty granary.

"Why do you seem low on spirit?"

Audin asked when he saw her loose, wavering mood.

Teresa watched her own heart for a while and asked:

"Wanderer Teresa asks, what happens if the captain never returns like this?"

Audin laughed loudly.

"He will return."

Audin was always a man who spoke in God's name, and he usually showed deep thought rather than certainty. But when it came to Enkrid, he was strangely clear.

He had no doubt.

The instant she saw Enkrid return, Teresa's heart raced faster than ever.

Her face turned red too.

How could it not?

"My techniques."

He was the one she wanted to test them on. He was the one who could receive her fighting spirit. He was the one who had pulled her out of the Cult. He was the only one who could match her sword and shield.

Others would spar with her too, sure. Still, it was different.

Enkrid was different in some way. Teresa did not bother naming what that was.

What mattered to her was the process of fighting him. The process of sparring him. The self who stood before him with sword and shield raised.

For that, she could burn her own life away. While burning like that, she would cut down and kill any enemy who blocked him.

She would not leave enemies in front of him and let him move on without turning back.

She would make him look back and face her.

With a sudden realization, Teresa dropped to one knee and prayed.

She steadied her will and carved it into herself.

It was not the Cultist's way, and she did not call a god's name, yet it was certainly a prayer.

"You asleep? Next one not coming?"

Rem snapped her out of it, and right then the captain who had sprung up said it. Teresa planted her kneeling leg and rose.

Shield up, covering her front, she smiled.

"Wanderer Teresa goes now."

Should it be called joyful sparring?

At least for Enkrid, it was.

Rem was fun. Teresa charging in was fun too.

Even Dunbakel, who insisted on fighting with two swords, was a pretty fun opponent.

"Still rough."

"I know!"

Dunbakel knew and still insisted she would absolutely use two blades.

He wondered what was with her, so he watched.

"Crazy woman, truly crazy. If you run into a high priest somewhere, kidnap one and bring them here. Everyone needs treatment."

That was Rem talking. Apparently she wanted to use two weapons because Enkrid had left such a deep impression on her.

He let it be. It was not his place to say anything.

Like that, Enkrid returned to routine.

"But why did you not improve at all while you were gone?"

Rem asked. There was clear dissatisfaction in his tone.

Had Enkrid's skill stayed the same?

It could have. So did that mean nothing changed?

No.

Enkrid had spent two months moving around, and he had plenty of time to think.

He climbed cliffs, rode horses, walked, ran, entered villages.

Combat was short, marching was long.

In between, Sinar tossed elf-style jokes, Finn rambled about pointless things, and Jaxon would sometimes say:

"Do whatever you want to do. Holding it in becomes an illness."

Weird things like that.

"I have never held anything in."

Enkrid was serious. Other people might not have seen it that way.

Compared to his ability, Enkrid did not cling much to worldly rewards.

Then what did he want?

Jaxon's question touched that point.

Enkrid knew what he wanted, and he was properly following the markers toward it.

And this time, after so much walking, his mind stayed tight and sharp.

He reviewed his training method.

What he had, what he needed to grow, what he could gain through refinement.

Before, he had been too busy absorbing and digesting what came from others. Not anymore.

For two months, Enkrid walked and established a training system.

Now it was time to execute it.

"I'll need some help."

It would start with alley cat Jaxon.

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