WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS
Translator: Hydrogen B
Editor: Abstract
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES
Chapter 311: He Earned Praise from the Boatman.
= = =
He earned praise from the Boatman.
Two men chanted the same spell.
A current rose from the stream and blocked the way like a wall.
He lightly cut at it with his Gladius. The water split, then instantly filled back in.
It was like trying to cut water with a sword.
The wall was only about five steps wide, but that was not the end of it.
"Listen, listen, listen to my words."
At the other two men's chants, round masses appeared beside the water wall, each holding something like a club made of water.
Smooth around the head, thick around the chest.
They had hand-like shapes, while writhing currents took the place of feet.
They looked like water spirits.
Or water golems. Either way, part of the spell world had manifested in this one.
"Block him."
At the mage's command, the two footless water fiends surged in, foam churning around their lower halves.
They were not running. "Slamming into him" fit better.
Their bodies swelled upward, then dropped and crashed forward like waves.
Enkrid thrust Spark.
It was an elven blade, so maybe it had some kind of magic on it.
Of course, it did not.
Spark was the product of excellent metallurgy, not a spellbound weapon.
Spark pierced water.
The spirit did not seem to feel even a sting. Without a hint of hesitation, it swung the water club connected to its arm.
Enkrid pulled Spark back and leaped to the side.
Boom!
The water club slammed into the ground.
He could see the floor gouged out.
The deep crater made one thing clear. He could not dismiss it just because it was made of water.
After one exchange, Enkrid found the answer.
'The casters.'
There was no answer in fighting spells directly.
He had to kill the spellcasters.
But two of them were using a water barrier to block his sight and movement.
The other two controlled the spirits and interfered.
On top of that, maybe because they had realized they could not kill him, they focused on pinning him down.
Whenever he tried to break free, the spirits would bloat their bodies and surge toward him, impossible to ignore.
The fight had not even dragged on that long, but before he knew it, Enkrid also had to keep three Hurrier Family swordsmen behind him.
"Didn't think I'd see you again today."
Enkrid muttered.
He meant it.
He had acted almost opposite to yesterday, so why was the result so similar?
"Don't talk to him.
He's insane."
"Pathetic trick."
"You know me?
See me again?
Feels like this is our first meeting."
All three radiated the kind of heat that looked ready to kiss him out of sheer delight.
Not with lips, of course. It would be a deep kiss between steel and entrails.
Enkrid adjusted his grip on his sword.
His arm muscles trembled.
He had not properly rested from yesterday into today.
No matter how trained his body was, overwork was still overwork.
'Rough.'
His breath climbed into his throat.
His heart hammered like twin mallets.
He steadied his breathing and took in the mage-made water fiends, the three Hurrier Family swordsmen, and the mass of soldiers.
Giving up did not exist.
No day passed easily.
So he fought.
He resisted, and he killed two mages and three Hurrier Family swordsmen.
"Yeah, this is right.
Cough."
The last swordsman coughed blood as he spoke.
A water arrow, not a normal arrow or a quarrel bolt, punched a hole through Enkrid's thigh.
If he had not wrapped Inner Armor, it would have lodged in his stomach.
If anything was filthier than a normal quarrel bolt, it was this. Water arrows did their job and vanished, leaving blood to surge out in pulses.
If an arrow stayed lodged, it would at least slow the bleeding. This did not.
And it had hit a bad spot.
The Isolation Technique included methods to stop bleeding by reinforcing muscle.
He did that, but the blood vessel itself had torn.
Muscle could not fix that.
Blood loss made his head spin.
Even so, his concentration did not break.
Steady to the end.
Heart of the Beast was pounding, and Enkrid did not waver.
Adrenaline was exploding through him too.
"You're wearing something valuable."
The surviving mage said that.
Maybe he got careless and stepped in, because Enkrid kicked off the ground with one foot.
A charge built from a limping step.
Blood sprayed from the injured thigh.
Enkrid entered the mage's range before a single drop hit the ground.
He had already lost his sword, so he smashed the mage's skull with his fist.
Crack!
"Urgh!"
The skull burst, spilling blood and brain matter.
No human could survive that.
It was a full-power punch.
That was normal.
The target was not even wearing a helmet.
After taking one more mage with him, Enkrid felt spearheads fly into his back.
Puh-buh-buh-buk!
Metal like red-hot iron tore through his back, cut his spine, and shredded muscle, bone, blood vessels, and organs.
No one could get used to the pain of offering flesh to steel.
But it could be endured.
"Die.
Monster."
"Die."
"Die!"
The enemy soldiers thrust with fear mixed into their spearpoints.
Something crazed glimmered in their eyes.
They looked like eyes cornered at the edge of a cliff.
Enkrid stayed calm.
No scream, no groan, he died.
To be honest, he did not even have the strength to open his mouth and let out one breath.
That was how he died.
No one ever got used to the pain of death.
'Hoo.'
One deep breath shoved the pain of that day aside.
There was no dream.
The Boatman did not appear.
It was simply the beginning of the third today.
And in that third today, he sprinted down yet another path.
Even so.
"Why is there a cliff here?"
He had not even climbed that rise very high, yet a precipice greeted him.
Would he live if he jumped?
With luck, maybe he would end up half-crippled.
Even that would require the goddess of fortune to fall in love with him.
That was how much luck it took just to survive crippled.
Meaning if he fell, he died.
"That is your grave."
Behind him were still three Hurrier Family swordsmen, a mercenary who could really fight, and now a Sorcerer he had never seen before.
'I came from a different direction today too.'
Instead of his right hand, which he could not raise, Enkrid scratched his chin with his left.
Something about this was strange.
How was the result always the same?
He fought while instinctively searching for an answer.
The end of the third today was sorcery.
Enkrid was struck by a technique called "Invisible Force."
Something truly formless shoved and struck his body.
Of course, this was after he had already thrown his Gladius into the heads of Mercenary Cent, the three Hurrier swordsmen, and finally the Sorcerer. He took that hit only after killing everyone he needed to kill.
"Faaall!"
The Sorcerer shouted, then took the Gladius in the skull like an ornament.
Enkrid fell from the cliff.
Naturally, he learned firsthand how horrific death by falling was.
First his breath stopped. Then impacts pounded his whole body.
Even then he did not die quickly, so he experienced truly exquisite pain.
The fourth today passed, then the fifth.
He died again on the ninth today.
This time, one Hurrier swordsman dropped his weapon, grabbed Enkrid, and held him in place.
That tiny opening let one mercenary slash Enkrid's neck with a poisoned dagger.
By then, he had spent too much strength wiping out their heavy infantry.
His body stiffened little by little.
There was nothing he could do.
Even enduring with Sense of Evasion had limits.
No human could withstand that many enemies.
Twenty-five todays passed.
The form of death changed, but it was all similar.
No matter where he went, it was a maze with no exit.
A labyrinth.
A maze.
He was trapped.
It was a prison.
The sky became a ceiling, the wind became iron bars, and every officer bastard wanted him dead.
Around then, he realized something else.
It was an extension of what he had already realized in earlier todays.
Why did saving the child always lead to the same result?
He had always acted differently.
'Someone watched and activated a scroll.'
It was the same now.
Someone outside was directing the troops and killing him.
That was why every path led to the same outcome.
Then how was he supposed to break through this?
He knew it was a wall, but how was he supposed to get over it?
On the thirty-fourth today, the Boatman asked again.
"You can answer today.
So, are you enjoying it?"
He had room to answer now.
And he felt like saying it, so Enkrid answered honestly.
"A little."
He paused only because he had a lot to think about, then continued.
"A lot."
A state of mind the Boatman could never understand.
Enkrid smiled.
That was his nature.
People despaired when it was dark, pitch-black, and nothing could be seen ahead.
Enkrid had always been different.
Even in darkness and blackness, he found joy in moving forward.
He knew he could lay something new on top of change.
He had still figured out nothing at all, but that changed nothing.
Even without knowing, he could welcome it gladly.
"You truly are a madman."
Enkrid earned praise from the Boatman.
* * *
Long ago, the greatest military theorist and strategist on the continent said that five things must be examined before war.
First, are the king's heart and the people's heart aligned.
A war led by a king ruled by his own greed and blind to his people can never be welcomed.
Second, have you considered the season, cold and heat.
Third, have you thoroughly understood the terrain.
Fourth, is the commander stepping forward truly competent.
Fifth, are military organization, command lines, and supply systems tightly connected.
In short: the king's governance, the timing, terrain analysis, the commander's ability, and organizational structure.
Of these, Abnaier paid extra attention to the third, fourth, and fifth.
The second was already lost. This fight began in the cold and from a disadvantageous position.
The first was a matter of the king's politics, something to review after returning.
As for terrain, he reshaped unfavorable ground.
In some places, he had pits dug.
In others, he had nets laid out.
For the fourth, the commanders in the field, he put in considerable effort.
"Are you going to bury the name Gray Hounds here?
If not, do what you came to do."
Proper provocation, and rewards to follow later.
Even if the Gray Hounds broke here, they would be reborn.
Their current commander chose to bear the sacrifice.
He stepped forward in patriotism and loyalty.
Abnaier used that.
The fifth, organizational structure, was what Abnaier cared about most.
Criminals. Men with families back in the homeland.
He gave them a chance to change their lives in this single battle.
Desire and threat.
Those two weapons held the army structure together.
Enkrid did not know exactly what Abnaier had done.
He did not even know the enemy commander's name.
But he was certain of one thing.
It felt exactly like standing on a cliff with every side blocked.
Even so, Enkrid remained steady.
He rose, opened his eyes, and repeated today.
This time he charged straight toward what looked like the center, and Mercenary Cent welcomed him first.
Maybe this was the first time they met without either side already wounded.
"You are not going anywhere."
"Nowhere?"
"Nowhere."
Cent clenched his teeth and set his stance.
Behind him, Enkrid also saw the man who had once slashed his neck with a poisoned dagger.
He still did not know that bastard's name.
Not one method of escaping today came to mind.
The future was unclear.
The signposts he had once seen blurred again.
But.
"You're smiling?"
Cent looked at Enkrid's face and raised an eyebrow.
Was a man smiling in this situation sane?
Cent doubted Enkrid's state of mind.
A true lunatic.
Enkrid felt cornered, but he was enjoying it.
He could not see the way, yet he did not feel stifled.
Whatever blocked his path, he would break through.
And where would he end up then.
Because he never gave up, because he never retreated, because he kept moving forward even if he had to stitch together a dream torn apart again and again.
Enkrid smiled.
He had already gained a lot.
Had he not lived through countless todays?
What had he gained from all of them?
Experience had piled up, so even an uncertain future was something he could accept gladly.
"Kill him!"
Archers came rushing in from behind Cent and the two mercenaries.
He had already faced Mercenary Cent many times. This time, three cuts were enough.
If he could throw the Gladius, two would do.
Should he throw it?
No, he could not.
This had to be a long fight.
In one against many, letting go of your weapon was not a good choice.
Still, because he had met them right at the start, he still held that blue-glinting steel longsword.
This one was worth throwing.
It was the sword that broke after a few swings every time.
Luckily, Enkrid had two more swords.
Left foot forward, right hand drawing, he threw the sword.
The follow-up motion was smooth.
He had done it a few times.
Repeating today over and over was not just suffering.
Enkrid had honed what he had.
That was how he engraved longsword throwing into his body as well.
It was an application of Sword Flicking Technique, originally a dagger-throwing skill.
Clang!
Startled by the spinning blade flying at him, Cent hurriedly knocked it away.
Enkrid drove his foot down and activated Momentary Will.
Second proof that he had not spent that time idly.
It was the second Will he had gained while learning the fastest sword strike.
He overlaid will onto an instant and charged.
The world around him snapped backward.
His thigh muscles swelled as if they would burst from acceleration.
The blood surging through every vessel in his body seemed to thunder.
Like a wild horse in full sprint, blood raced through him.
Enkrid thrust Spark.
The accelerated thrust pierced Cent's neck.
In this today, he started by killing Cent.
"Peekaboo."
He stabbed and taunted him. Cent probably did not hear it, but it was enough to terrify the mercenary behind him.
"You crazy bastard!"
Cursing first when startled. A born mercenary.
Enkrid drove in with the Gladius like a thrust, the man knocked it aside, and Enkrid stabbed again with Spark.
Using Momentary Will twice, he cut down both mercenaries.
After that, he met heavy infantry and the three Hurrier Family swordsmen.
He even saw a few elves among the crossbowmen and archers.
Some of them were absurdly good shots.
They aimed only for the instant a motion ended.
They struck gaps when breathing fell out of rhythm.
Naturally, this was not his first time facing it.
Enkrid endured.
Longer than before, and longer with every repetition.
As fifty todays passed.
Enkrid fully ingrained Momentary Will into his body.
He sharpened his swordsmanship again.
After Snake Sword, he created a second sword form.
'Should I call it Jab Thrust?'
His naming sense was still the worst.
He jabbed and stabbed, so Jab Thrust?
As he repeated review and battle, he changed the name.
'Lightning Thrust.'
Lightning blade, flashing blade. That sounded better.
Lightning Step. He rolled that one over in his head a few times too.
A good name gave a technique more force.
Snake Sword and Lightning Thrust.
Snake Sword and lightning blade, or lightning stab.
Neither was bad.
Along with swordsmanship, he learned a great deal in the continuing battles.
He died in a pit under a storm of poison arrows and improved his footwork.
He died tangled in nets and learned how to cut through loose mesh in a single burst.
'Not enough for Severance, though.'
Now he could use Steel Cut even while moving.
Heavy Sword Style was a sword art that added force for destructive power.
He absorbed and learned that as well.
Today repeated.
Today continued.
It went on and on.
Through one hundred five todays, Enkrid trained.
He reviewed every skill he had learned so far.
His techniques became cleaner and stronger.
But he still could not escape the trap Abnaier had built.
Then came the two hundred fifty-fifth today.
The Boatman said something Enkrid had never expected.
In previous todays, he had told him to give up. This time, he said something else.
= = =
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