WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 285: The Language of the West

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When Enkrid tore into the cultist unit, Sinar moved as well.

She took only twenty soldiers from her command, the fastest on their feet and quickest with their hands, and swept around the outer edge of the battlefield.

Their role was sniping.

That group of twenty never joined the front line. They watched the flow, read the enemy formation, and moved accordingly.

The elf who had lived through hundreds of battlefields read the tide of combat with razor-sharp instincts.

Sinar sorted the sounds she heard, separated them, and picked out what mattered.

Then she fixed on her first target.

"Move."

The handpicked soldiers followed her.

Sinar's unit whipped around the battlefield's edge and slammed into one flank.

"Fuck, these lunatics!"

Enemy soldiers answered viciously. The twenty held their ground and endured.

Their combat ability was excellent, but they were still around the same level.

They were elite, yes, but not on the level of Frontier Guard soldiers.

Sinar was different.

While the enemy's attention was drawn to her twenty allies, she launched herself up and stepped on an enemy soldier's head.

She kicked off and rose so lightly it looked as if someone from above had pulled her up.

It was as if she had wings.

From that foothold, she struck an Adam's apple with her toe.

Thuck!

A blade mounted under her boot punched a hole through the neck of the soldier she had used as a stepping stone, then she drew Naidhl.

Ching, the Leaf Blade flashed in reflected light as it appeared. Then she stabbed downward a few rough times with Naidhl.

Clang, thud, crack.

The lucky one took it on the helmet, staggered, and toppled sideways.

The even luckier one took a glancing hit on his helmet and thrust his short spear upward.

The third, hated by the goddess of fortune, had his brow split open, blood streaming down his face as he collapsed.

All of that happened before the soldier she had stepped on even finished falling.

Sinar pulled Naidhl back and cut through the middle of the incoming spear.

Naidhl split the shaft. The spear lost its tip. It became a short stick.

The soldier, now holding a stick instead of a spear, raised his shield.

Instead of slashing that shield, Sinar stepped on it. She ran forward.

She was a sniping arrow.

Shield, head, shoulder, she stepped on three more men and landed lightly with a stamp. Her target was right in front of her.

The target she had found by filtering sound was the commander. More precisely, the commander of a small unit, the head controlling local forces.

"Stop her!"

The commander's shout rang hollow. The moment he shouted, Naidhl punched a hole through his neck.

It was a sword shot that snapped from shoulder to fingertips with a twist of the waist, Skipping Stone Thrust, one of Sinar's arts.

One reason Baronet Tarnin's force held together at all was commanders like him.

Commanders positioned all across the field.

In that day's battle, Sinar cut down three more commanders of that kind.

"That crazy elf bitch!"

A higher-ranking commander watching the battle ground his teeth and shouted.

He had already doubled his guard, of course.

Simultaneous strikes. This was what Kraiss had aimed for.

One side hit supplies. The other side hit commanders.

Against enemy groups converging from two directions, he wanted to deal the biggest possible blow.

Sinar did her part and took a few scratches for it.

'Hope he's doing fine.'

She wiped blood from Naidhl and thought it.

How were Enkrid and his unit doing?

Had that joke somehow become reality?

'The battle is barely over, and his face is already on my mind.'

Sinar felt something dulled inside her, then smiled.

This too was part of life, and part of joy.

That man had a strange pull. Not the kind that completed a spell, but the kind that made people watch him and cheer him on. So of course she kept thinking of him.

"Retreat."

After finishing what she came to do, on the way back under the noon sun pouring onto the ground, the elf thought of a human.

It was not only a feeling between a man and a woman. It was closer to anticipation for what one human being might achieve.

'How far will he go?'

The elf asked in her heart. Naturally, no answer came.

* * *

'Relaxation.'

If the body stayed tense all the time, it stiffened. A stiff body could not perform at its usual level.

"Muscle growth and stamina growth are the same. Rest matters just as much as brute training. Only after rest do strength and stamina increase."

Audin had said that.

Enkrid chewed on those words. Through battle, he found another small clue and turned it over again.

Tension and relaxation.

What if he gave himself moments to loosen his body even during combat?

He had felt it when he watched Ragna, and he had felt it when he watched Jaxon.

Jaxon seemed to put no force into his body except when swinging his sword, and Ragna seemed to keep little force in his body even while swinging nonstop.

Audin was the same.

Dunbakel and Teresa had similar habits too.

The spring that came from controlling tension and relaxation, even the change in rhythm.

Rest raised stamina.

Rest also improved strength.

Could swordsmanship not be similar?

"Rest is important."

Audin had said it countless times, yet it had never fully sunk in. Only now did that short line seep into his skin and settle in his gut.

He could think and act at once, so he did. This battle had become a place of study.

'What if I go deeper into relaxation?'

Watching himself and understanding himself clearly was important, and for Enkrid it was as natural as breathing.

That self-observation taught him this.

It was the beginning of relaxation.

He owed it to the first ability he had gained by repeating his days.

'Heart of the Beast.'

Boldness let him give proper rest to muscle and breath, even while blades crossed and quarrels aimed at his skull.

It was also a way to fight for a long time. If a few had to face many, they had to ration stamina.

Of course, Enkrid's stamina was monstrous.

Compared to ordinary soldiers, his endurance was beyond comparison.

Still, that did not mean he never tired.

From that angle,

'Rem is fine.'

The thought followed naturally.

Who had taught him Heart of the Beast?

Who was best at spouting nonsense in the middle of battle?

You could call him a master of relaxation.

"That is not a master of relaxation. He just has no thoughts," Jaxon said when Enkrid voiced what he was thinking.

"He's an idiot," Ragna added.

“When he was hitting me, his muscles looked full of tension,” Dunbakel said with criticism in her voice, while Teresa said nothing.

Then Audin spoke.

"Are you worried about our barbarian brother?"

Worried? About Rem? That gray-haired monster? That demon-like bastard who would probably chop up a real demon with an axe and come back?

"Me?"

Enkrid chose his words for a moment, then asked back in a serious tone.

Did he look worried, was that it?

Audin smiled softly.

"If residue remains in your heart, your eyes grow clouded. If worry remains in your heart, your thoughts turn that way. Think only of the Lord and clear away that residue. Praise and honor only the Lord. Then find peace in your heart."

Audin recited scripture. Beside him, Teresa echoed his final line.

"Find peace in your heart."

Her face was hidden by her mask, but she looked lost in thought.

Maybe facing cultists again felt awkward.

Was that not her original side?

From what he had heard, she had been born there and raised there.

Anyone could feel unsettled.

Enkrid gave Teresa a brief look and asked himself again whether he was truly worried.

'Not even close.'

Why would he worry about that lunatic Rem?

Still, something scratched at him. Subtle, but unpleasant.

'Why?'

They were pulling back to the rear. There was no sign they had been flanked. No unit member had taken a stray arrow. Naturally, no one was injured.

Everything had happened in an instant.

Ambush, strike, arson, retreat.

They did not even need cover of night, so they did it in broad daylight. It still worked. They moved fast enough to finish before news of their scouts' deaths could spread.

Then why was anxiety seeping in?

He was used to observing himself, so he was also used to replaying what had happened.

'They were too weak.'

Dozens of wolf magic beasts were dangerous enough by nature.

'Would cultists come here without knowing our strength?'

Unlikely.

Then why had they felt this fragile?

Enkrid remembered when Marcus had hidden him and his company well.

'If something looks weak, it means something is hidden.'

The cultists' strength out there was not all they had.

Which meant,

'The Black Blade Bandits are hiding something too.'

Once he went over a few points, the conclusion came naturally. Would Kraiss miss that?

'No, he knows.'

That was why he had set this strategy.

Before the enemy could pull out all their hidden cards, shave off what could be shaved, and take what could be taken.

That was the core of this supply arson operation.

"Even if you desperately pray for him to die, he is the type who comes back."

At the word worry, Jaxon added that. His eyes stayed indifferent. Enkrid looked into those red eyes and nodded.

"I know."

No need to worry. Who was he even worrying about? The one left behind was Rem, a mad barbarian.

* * *

Rem admitted he was excited.

Everything started with recognition.

Only after admitting and recognizing it could change begin.

If you were the type to get fired up easily, you had to know that first to become calm.

"Are all beasts the same? No. But every beast that survives has one trait in common."

It was something he had heard when he first learned to hunt.

Longer fangs did not guarantee survival.

Sharper claws did not matter either.

A lion running the plains or a tiger ruling mountain ranges.

They survived because they knew something.

And if knowing mattered, then the start was yourself.

Know your claw length, leg strength, stamina. That was step one.

'From that angle, Captain is really unique.'

He knew himself, knew his own level, and clearly knew what he could do, yet his body had not followed. No, it had not followed before.

Now it did. His skill had grown into something threatening.

Watching that growth had sometimes felt like luck.

Knowledge, change, blood that had boiled after lying still for days, mixed reasons.

Thrill rose in Rem, and he got a little excited.

He read the situation, recognized himself, and did not bother hiding it.

"You stupid mutt-headed bastards."

The three wolf magic beasts charging him were different from before.

Their speed, power, and brains were on another level.

Not all magic beasts were the same.

Even among them, there were exceptional ones.

These three were like that.

Fast as hell, smart as hell.

To butcher them quickly, Rem allowed a wound in his side, deep enough to gouge in about one finger joint.

He let a claw graze him.

In that instant, his axe whipped out and split the skull of the one pressing closest.

Blood and brain matter burst and blocked his vision, but Rem did not blink once. With his other axe, he cut the neck of the one with the split skull.

Then he backhanded that half-split, dangling head and sent it flying aside.

As that head flew like a blooming flower, one magic beast dodged to the side. Rem had already expected that, and he threw his axe.

Whoosh, spin!

Spinning so fast it looked like a disc, the axe dug deep into the skull of the wolf magic beast that had just shifted position.

It was almost as if the throw and the beast shoving its head forward happened at the same time.

He could do it because he had already planned the beast's dodge direction.

One left.

Rem twisted his mouth into a full smile.

"Monster!"

"That bastard is a monster!"

"Aaaah, may the curse of the Cursed Ground take you. The master of the magic beasts will personally chew you to pieces!"

The nearby cultist group kept shouting.

"What are you saying, you crazy zealot bastards? Just come at me."

Rem grumbled and moved the axe in his left hand to his right.

"Hey, mutt, not coming?"

The last magic beast dropped low, bared pure killing intent, and lifted its eyes. In that gap, one cultist threw a dagger.

Rem did not take his eyes off the wolf magic beast. He only tilted his head and dodged.

The beast lunged through that opening.

There was not even a sound of its feet kicking the ground. Wind reached his nose first.

It flew in with a whipping rush, too fast and sharp for its size. It crouched so low that its snout came into Rem's range.

Watching it charge, Rem swung his axe twice as fast as he had a moment earlier.

Whoosh.

Very few of those watching saw his motion properly.

Before they could blink, his right arm and axe seemed to vanish, moving from high right to low left.

He had been swinging lightly on purpose so these bastards would get used to it, then he delivered this one strike for real.

The magic beast could not react. It charged straight in, got its neck half cut, and sprayed blood.

Still, the force of its rush remained, and it crashed into Rem.

Rem swung, stepped aside, and shoved the wolf's body away.

The corpse hit the ground with a heavy thud and shut the cultists up.

Still smiling, Rem said to them,

"See you again."

A normal greeting, but it sounded murderous to the cultists.

They had to see that thing again? That monster?

Rem pulled out cleanly. As he moved, he retrieved the axe he had thrown and ran.

'Let's see.'

His side had been gouged a bit, and maybe one rib had cracked.

Rem checked his own condition calmly. Nothing major. It was a fair result for cutting down three monster-class magic beasts that would be treated as demons anywhere.

Some of the cultists gave chase, but it was only for show.

"Want another axe in your face?"

What Rem tossed over his shoulder was vicious as hell.

He headed off to find Enkrid and tell him the tale of how he chopped down three almost demonic magic beasts.

'Maybe he'll be so shocked he'll ask me to teach him something again.'

While that random thought passed through him, Rem's body slid sideways. He planted his right foot, drove power through his big toe, braked his forward momentum, and cut sharply to the side. Inhuman leg strength and balance made an absurd move possible.

He was sprinting, then shifted at a right angle.

Thuck!

An arm-length throwing spear buried itself where Rem had been running.

It sank to the middle of the shaft and trembled.

It would not come out with ordinary strength.

Rem saw the shape of the throwing spear.

Familiar. Not now, but familiar in the past.

It was a throwing spear favored by western tribespeople.

"Seeing one of my own kind all the way out here?"

Then he heard a voice.

It was not the Empire's language. It was the language of the West.

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