WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Ryuu

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 32: Dreams, Reproach, Responsibility

"How's the flagpole?"

"It's fine."

The company commander of the Azpen Duchy was not fond of the current operation but what could a mere commander do about orders from above?

If they command you to jump, you jump. That's exactly why he was jumping, and in the middle of it, a small problem arose. A few rats from Naurillia had infiltrated the camp and set it on fire. Even though more than half the troops were lying in ambush in the tall grass, the infiltration was successful.

No matter how displeased he was, the operation had already started. Being caught off guard here would be a stain on their pride. Failure was absolutely unacceptable.

"You should have been more thorough in your defenses."

The owner of the flagpole spoke. The commander's forehead veins bulged at the remark. It was infuriating to hear this chatter from someone whose neck could be sliced off with one sword stroke. But what could he do?

There was indeed a breach in the unit's perimeter.

"Yes, I understand."

Flap!

With that, the company commander pushed open the tent door and stepped outside. He couldn't comprehend the situation.

'Does this make any sense?'

The enemy detecting their presence? Sure, that could happen. But then what?

Attacking the main base's flagpole with less than ten men after bypassing the troops in the tall grass? The company commander trusted his unit. It was natural.

His nickname was the "Demon Commander" because of his brutal training methods.

He believed that coughing up blood during training would prevent them from coughing up blood and dying on the battlefield. This was the unit he had trained.

'They got through this?'

A soldier who loses a battle can still be a soldier, but a soldier who fails at guarding cannot be. The commander sincerely believed this.

So, should he blame his own troops' negligence?

That couldn't be done indiscriminately. The one who planned and executed this was not ordinary. To infiltrate enemy territory with a small group, to survive a clash with his subordinates, and to set a fire and escape perfectly. Even if his platoon leader had to let them go due to the spreading fire.

'Luck is also a skill.'

The Azpen company commander, who had roamed the battlefield for a long time, understood the importance of luck. The commander turned to his waiting squad leader.

"Summon all the officers except the platoon leader on duty."

"Yes, sir."

His company was under the battalion's command but had its own operational authority. So it was an independent company. And usually, independent companies had nicknames.

This unit was called the "Gray Hound."

In the Azpen Duchy, gray hounds were known for their relentless nature, characterized by their gray fur.

Gray hounds were famous for their persistence in connecting with their targets, whether for love or combat. Because of this, the Gray Hound unit was also known as "Persistent Lovers."

Now, the unit's commander had chosen an unknown enemy scout leader as his target.

'I will catch and kill them without fail.'

The Gray Hound, the gray-furred dog, had set its sights.

The commander repeatedly etched his resolve ontohis chest. He would definitely capture and destroy them. Above him, clouds began to gather, possibly due to the shaman's work inside the tent. It seemed like it would rain soon. The recent rains were mostly the work of the shaman inside the tent, and this very shaman was the key to this tactic.

Although he disliked it, there was no denying that it was an efficient operation. If this operation were utterly senseless, the independent company of the Gray Hound, or the "Persistent Lovers," would never have participated.

Victory was promised on this battlefield. Apart from his burning desire for revenge, he found it extremely dull.

"Accidentally discovered the enemy's ambush, then accidentally infiltrated their main camp, and accidentally set their camp on fire?"

When said like that, it sounded odd indeed. Enkrid added some context instead of nodding.

"Yes, I believed it was the appropriate action at the time, and it just happened by chance."

The reconnaissance platoon leader blinked.

What was this guy saying?

He was about the same age but had become a squad leader by sheer luck. Skill-wise, he was pathetic, swinging his sword at any opportunity. That was the external evaluation of the troublemaker squad leader.

But listening to what he had done, it was something else. Even hearing it from Enkrid's mouth, it was astonishing. The surviving squad members' stories were even more outrageous.

"Rumors can't be trusted. If possible, I'd like to learn more from you."

Andrew, who had been too arrogant before he left, was now respectful. He had been worried about sending this guy away, fearing an accident. The command of the recon squad was forcibly taken away, and it seemed justified. No, he wanted to learn more.

Was this really the Andrew he knew?

"From what I see, your skills surpass those of an intermediate soldier."

Next was Mack, Andrew's guardian.

The recon platoon leader knew Mack's skills. He had partly entrusted Andrew to the recon squad because of his faith in Mack. And now Mack recognized Enkrid’s skill. All because of his abilities.

"I followed his orders, and this is the result."

The last was Enri, the plains hunter.

The evaluations from the squad members were unanimous. They just trusted and followed him. They wouldn't all lie together. So this was the reality. Enkrid had seized command of the reconnaissance squad.

With less than ten men, they had bypassed the enemies lying in ambush in the tall grass, set the enemy camp on fire, and returned alive.

'Does this make sense?'

It didn't seem so, but they had already set the fire and assessed the enemy's movements, so there was nothing more to say. Organizing all he had heard, he felt bewildered. Somehow, they had moved through the enemy camp without being noticed.

"Well, um, you must have been incredibly lucky."

In the end, the recon platoon leader could only say this. Enkrid thought the statement was appropriate. He couldn't exactly explain that he memorized the enemy's movements and camp layout because today repeated itself every time he died.

"Yes, I was lucky."

If this was luck, it was extraordinary. The level where the goddess of fortune not only kissed but slept with him. However, there was no other explanation besides luck. So rumors began to circulate within the recon squad.

That the troublemaker squad leader Enkrid was a man of luck, that the goddess of fortune had left her coin with him, that he was fortune itself. Or that he had used up all his lifetime's luck in this reconnaissance mission.

The return journey to the main camp was uneventful. It only drizzled briefly during the half-day walk. Rain fell from a clear sky. It was rare, but it happened occasionally.

And throughout the return, Enkrid was preoccupied with one thought.

'Was that the best I could do?'

A question he asked himself. If he had repeated "today" several times, could he have achieved a different outcome?

No matter the task, regrets linger. Enkrid had known this since he was young. What mattered was the choice and the process of making that choice.

'I thought it was the best choice.'

Repeating today made him think differently.

Was it really the best? Doubts and uncertainties arose, wondering if there could have been another option.

'Only four.'

That was the number of survivors. Including himself, there were five. Half of the squad had died. The results posed a question to Enkrid.

Was this the best outcome? Was there no other way?

'Five died.'

They were neither his family nor his friends. They were just squad members he had briefly worked with. Their presence or absence didn't change anything. They were simply his responsibility at that moment, on that day. The dream he had harbored for so long, the conviction that had guided him thus far, reproached him.

Was this really the best you could do?

Couldn't you have saved more?

'What kind of knight do you intend to become?'

Enkrid, as a boy, had been captivated by the mere notion of a knight. The idea of a knight, as sung by minstrels, had enchanted the boy who had grown up to become a man.

As time passed, Enkrid realized his talents were insignificant. Rolling through battlefields, he understood his limits.

Yet, he never abandoned his dream.

Even if that dream had become a tattered piece of leather. Even if it had been torn and shredded by the reality of a knife, he had never given up.

Thus, he could avoid ending as just someone captivated by the word "knight." A knight was a protector, a leader, someone who embodied their beliefs.

'What kind of knight do I want to be?'

By repeating today, Enkrid had stepped beyond his limits. If so, he should adhere to what he had seen, heard, realized, and established through his own eyes and ears.

'What kind of knight do I aspire to be?'

His torn and shredded dream, now a conviction, reproached him. Enkrid accepted the reproach.

By doing so, he decided to let go of the past. Even if repeating today could have saved five more, it was already done. That "today" had ended. Dwelling on it was foolish.

"The main camp is in sight."

One of the soldiers walking with him spoke.

"Phew, we're alive."

Enri, who had been supported from behind, murmured.

"So, are you going to run straight to that widow florist when we get back?"

"We can go after this battle ends, can't we?"

Enri spoke with a joyous expression.

Surviving and returning from such perilousness filled his heart with joy. The same feeling was shared by others. Especially the thug-turned-soldier. He had been reflecting on the whole incident throughout the journey.

How exactly had he survived?

He had expected to die living as a thug but somehow ended up serving in the military and somehow he ended up serving under Enkrid. This reconnaissance mission had given him much to ponder.

The thug soldier, still limping from his injured leg, approached Enkrid. It wasn't intentional, but he hadn't spoken a word the entire journey.

"One who doesn't repay a favor isn't a human being."

It was a saying his older brother, who had taken care of him, used to say. That brother had long since died, but the words had become his guiding principle. Even though he had lived a carefree and rough life, the thug understood gratitude.

"I apologize for my insolence. I will repay the debt of saving my life when I get the chance."

Enkrid looked at the soldier who suddenly approached and nodded. Had he really saved his life?

In truth, it was the soldier's luck that he survived such a risky situation. There had been many instances where the soldier had died in previous iterations of today. The goddess of fortune had just briefly visited him that dayon that moment.

"Do as you wish."

Replying indifferently, Enkrid turned and looked at Andrew and Mack.

"Thanks for the help," Mack said first, his gaze unusually friendly.

Andrew was even more respectful.

"I hope to see you again."

Enkrid had thought of him as an arrogant brat, but his attitude had changed. His gaze was now respectful. Enkrid pressed his palm against his aching side.

"If we're in the same battle, we'll see each other again. The flower of the battlefield is..."

"The infantry."

They used the infantry's motto as their farewell. Watching from the side, the reconnaissance platoon leader approached.

"Everyone is free to return. Wounded should go to the medical tent for treatment. Good job, everyone. And, well, never mind."

The recon platoon leader almost spoke to Enkrid about his achievements and rewards but decided against it.

'First, the report.'

He had done something unbelievable.

Who knew if the higher-ups would believe it? Talking about it now seemed premature.

"Alright then."

Feeling his side pain subsiding, Enkrid decided he didn't need treatment and began walking. It was time to return.

'I hope nothing happened.'

In the tall grass, he hadn't had time for such thoughts, but now returning to the camp, he wondered if his squad had behaved. Perhaps they had clashed with other soldiers. Or maybe fought among themselves. Something must have happened. They weren't called the Troublemaker Squad for nothing.

He was close to the camp when a loud clang filled the air, the sound of metal striking metal. His trained hearing, honed through lessons with Jaxon, pinpointed the source instantly. It was near the main camp.

Enkrid quickened his pace. As he neared the camp, he saw a crowd gathered.

In the center, he saw Rem holding an axe and Ragna wielding a sword.

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