WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS
Translator: Hydrogen B
Editor: Abstract
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES
Chapter 383: Driving Them Back with Pressure
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Enkrid did not know it, but the Red Cloak Knights used different engraved emblems by rank.
A knight bore three crossed blades, the same as the royal emblem, along with the Sun Beast from myth, the one with the round head and flame-like mane.
A junior knight removed one sword from that emblem.
A squire bore only one sword, and as they passed certain tests and missions, the emblem’s shape changed.
The one leveling his sword at Enkrid wore the emblem with one sword and the Sun Beast.
It was the mark of squires recognized for their skill.
The kind who would become junior knights after only a few more tests.
The sword was fast and straight, like an eagle snatching prey.
Enkrid thrust in against it and did not bother reading the man’s specialty or habits.
Instead, he twisted at the exact moment their blades touched.
Tidididing.
The squire’s face changed in an instant.
The force in Enkrid’s blade felt like a giant’s.
No surprise there. Enkrid was swinging with Heart of Superhuman Strength wrapped around him.
Ttadang!
Of the two blades that met and slid, the squire’s flew upward, while Enkrid’s carved the line he wanted.
It shot straight forward. At the end of that line was the armor over the squire’s chest.
Puk, jjik, pook.
Three noises blended into one.
The tip punched through armor and pierced the organ called a heart.
Enkrid yanked his sword free faster than the thrust had gone in, then stepped back.
Exactly one step.
Blood sloshed from the squire’s chest, but he still slashed across.
Whoong, the blade cut empty air, where Enkrid had been a moment ago. His eyes were bloodshot.
“Puh-rup.”
Still gripping his sword, the squire spat out a mouthful of blood and collapsed sideways.
His eyes blinked a few times. Death was arriving.
‘Why am I...’
To the falling squire, everything seemed slow. It was what happened when thoughts accelerated just before death.
He turned away from reality.
Why was he the one losing?
Who even was that opponent? He had crossed swords with plenty of decent junior knights before.
How could he be crushed like this? They had exchanged only one strike.
Then another regret surfaced.
‘Was this the wrong side?’
He regretted it. He should never have involved himself in this. But if he stayed still, what would change?
The promise he had been given for finishing this was an emblem with one more sword.
He was supposed to rise above squire rank.
He had thought the bottle had already tipped. Was it not natural to stand with the side that had better odds?
‘It wasn’t.’
As death came, regret brought clarity with it.
‘This is my fault.’
Back when he first dreamed of becoming a knight, and when his talent was recognized and he moved forward, had he been like this then too?
Had he raised his sword just to stand with the winning side and get paid?
No.
“I want to uphold chivalry.”
His old master, his seniors, his comrades answered that reckless young voice.
“You romantic fool.”
“Yeah, that’s you. If you become a knight, your epithet should be Knight of Romance.”
“What kind of nonsense is that? Not even funny.”
“Puhuhu, anyway, keep going.”
That squire had once dreamed of chivalry learned through poems and songs.
He had simply forgotten it and chased something else.
Power, money, fame.
The moment he started believing fame came from being looked up to, he began to go wrong.
He dreamed of changing his emblem.
He wanted one more sword carved into it.
What did he mean to become through that?
Like a flower withering, like a blade snapping, one squire lay on the ground.
Before him stood a man not even breathing hard, his sword hanging low, eyes forward.
Blood dripped from the sword tip to the floor.
The hallway was already wrecked. Broken furniture, splintered half-split door panels, bloodstains, corpses, snapped blades.
He stood in the middle of it.
Black hair, blue eyes.
Because he had recently been moving around as party escort, a few people there knew who he was.
“So this is Border Guard’s half-wit.”
One of them muttered. He started to speak again, then sucked in a breath and shut his mouth. Enkrid’s gaze had turned to him.
Did he hear that?
He had muttered it quietly. There was no way he could have heard it.
Enkrid did not care at all about the man’s thoughts or his mutter.
“Who’s inside?”
It was an ordinary question, but to those still there, it sounded different.
He had just cut down a squire in one stroke.
The force coming off him naturally had turned into pressure.
It was not exactly Pressure, but it was close enough.
If the one receiving it felt that way, what difference was there?
Eight men were holding the door.
The commander swallowed hard.
Would eight charging at once work?
‘Not a chance.’
By the time his face had gone pale from tangled thoughts and the sweat from trying to break the door had turned cold, Enkrid took one step forward.
Tak. His foot came down and caught on a half-broken wooden shield piece underfoot.
He shoved it aside as he walked, and one soldier blocking the way moved aside.
A few gritted their teeth and tried to hold the line at the door.
Enkrid walked up and raised his sword.
If they blocked him, he would cut.
As that will aligned, Will followed on its own. This time it was true Pressure.
One soldier in front of him broke into cold sweat. A moment later he moved aside like he was fleeing.
That was the end. No one was left blocking the way.
“Are you staying because you want to fight?” Enkrid asked.
“No,” the commander said.
Then what are you doing here?
Enkrid asked with his eyes.
“We... are pulling back.”
The commander spat the words out between clenched teeth. If they held, they would die like dogs. The only mercy was that Enkrid was not charging in to butcher all of them.
Everyone shut their mouths and followed.
Among them were mercenaries under Viscount Mernes, and soldiers too.
They knew very well they were not supposed to leave this place.
They could be punished and killed for it.
Viscount Mernes was strict with rewards and punishments. He never let mistakes slide.
Even so, they retreated in silence.
The momentum was different from the start.
If they charged, they died. Certain. The presence was on another level. Fear surged from the heart first. Courage was nowhere to be found. Their will broke.
So they could not block him, and so they could not hold.
Without even looking back, Enkrid looked over the blocked door.
“Who’s inside?”
He tapped the half-broken door with his sword tip.
From inside came a sharp cracking sound, like something lashing the ground.
“You?”
The voice from inside was familiar. The whip escort.
‘What was his name again?’
His memory blurred. It was a side effect of repeating countless todays. No matter how good his memory was, this happened.
“Rat?” Enkrid asked.
“...Who is that?”
It had sounded close.
“Melon?”
“...Are you doing this on purpose?”
Why was this man like this in a serious situation?
Matthew thought to himself. He truly could not understand why his lord trusted someone like this.
“It’s Matthew.”
“Ah, right. Matthew.”
“What about the ones in front?”
“Gone.”
“...Gone where?”
“Wherever they were headed.”
Enkrid had no duty to protect some other noble or anyone else. He had no desire to either.
He did not even think he had to kill those men.
Marcus had asked for help, and Enkrid understood why he told him to protect Crang.
So he was doing that. Nothing more.
“You in there?”
“Come in.”
Only then did the dresser blocking the front scrape aside.
Inside was also a mess.
Seven corpses in total.
Matthew stood there with a bandage over half his face, and another female warrior stood beside him.
She held a long trident and watched Enkrid with guarded eyes.
She wore chain armor that covered only her upper body, and the left shoulder section looked broken and cut through.
She looked like she had barely made it through a serious crisis.
The way she moved her left shoulder made it clear it hurt.
“Where?”
“Here.”
Enkrid turned his gaze and saw Crang’s face poking out from inside a hole in some strange structure.
“Didn’t we tell you that even if we died, you had to go?” Matthew asked, anger in his voice. He sounded genuinely upset.
“Where would I go if I left you behind? If this is my end, I’ll take it.”
Crang was calm. Even in a moment like this, his scale felt different. He saw Enkrid and waved.
“You’re late.”
“I tripped on a rock on the way.”
Enkrid shrugged.
He left out the part where that rock had orange hair, was female, and belonged to the Red Cloak Knights.
Crang pulled his hand back into the hole and started climbing up.
It looked like an emergency passage, and Enkrid wondered why it was a hole and not stairs.
There seemed to be a ladder inside, because he heard Crang climbing.
It looked like an angled tunnel carved through.
“You can’t,” Matthew said, trying to stop him.
Just because Enkrid had cleared the front did not mean this place was safe.
Crang ignored him anyway. He climbed out. The woman with the trident watched outside. Enkrid briefly wondered who she was. Matthew could not have been Crang’s only escort.
‘And he’s not the type to sit still and take it.’
He would have prepared some method for this kind of thing.
So Enkrid had never thought Crang would be dead.
Still, asking for help had sounded like real danger.
It meant he needed Enkrid.
“I didn’t think you’d ask me for help.”
“I told you we’re friends. Let’s call this one debt.”
Crang finally climbed up and said it.
In truth, Crang had prepared ways out. He was just so pressed for time that everything was about to fall apart.
If Enkrid had not come, he had been ready to hold out and die.
That was why he smiled now, even after nearly dying. Not one finger trembled.
“You said you wanted to become king of a nation, so why...” Matthew said, bitterness heavy in his voice. To him, this had to be maddening. They had that kind of relationship. Crang listened when he spoke. He was that kind of lord.
“Because I wanted to become king.”
Crang spoke.
The weight in that one line changed again.
Heavier than before.
It felt like all surrounding noise vanished.
The mood shifted, and Crang opened his mouth.
“If I want to be king, then what can I become if I spend all my time running just to save my own life? If I can’t protect even one person I care about, what can I do sitting on a throne? Sit there and stuff my face with grapes peeled by maids? Shut up, Matthew. If I die here, then that’s as far as my fate goes. I did my best, I prepared many things, and I am here. I have no intention of losing more and walking out.”
Goosebumps rose on Enkrid’s skin. From words alone.
How did words gain power?
When they did not end as words. Crang had shown that through action.
He had to stake his life.
“I have to do this to keep the promise I made to the queen.”
Crang said it, then smiled at Matthew.
“So stop nagging already.”
The last line was light, like he was tossing it to a friend.
Only then did Enkrid clearly understand why Crang had called him.
Because it was dangerous? Because it was a crisis?
No.
‘To avoid running away.’
It was a desperate struggle not to turn his back on his own dream.
Ridiculously enough, Enkrid saw himself in that.
He knew it did not fit, knew it was far removed, yet still.
He saw himself thrashing inside today.
It was a struggle to move even one step forward.
That was how Crang was living.
Something stirred in Enkrid. He wanted to help.
This was probably Crang’s talent.
“Someone is coming from outside,” the female escort with the trident said. As she spoke, she tried to drag furniture back in front of the door.
“How many?” Matthew asked.
“One.”
Matthew ground his molars audibly.
“This was the worst case, right?” Crang asked from behind, still in that light, bright tone.
Matthew had said it earlier.
They could block many enemies rushing in together, but they might not stop an enemy who approached alone.
“Now it’s time to test luck.”
Crang continued, and Enkrid spoke from the heart.
“Then I’ll be your luck.”
Crang turned his head at those words. Instead of waiting for a reply, Enkrid looked forward and spoke.
“Don’t block it, Matthew.”
Matthew had been trying to barricade the front with furniture again.
Holding out inside worked well against many soldiers, but it meant nothing against people called a small elite.
In other words, anyone with strength around Enkrid’s level would not be stopped by this flimsy obstacle.
He pushed the door aside and stepped out. One man stood there.
Enkrid had seen him before, but for the other man this was a first meeting.
The Flow-Breaking Junior Knight from a previous today.
The man facing Enkrid twitched his left eyebrow upward.
“Did you kill Eisia and come here?” he asked.
“I put her to sleep and came.”
Enkrid answered.
With his fists and feet as a lullaby.
The man looked like he was about to say more, then suddenly rushed in and drew his sword in one motion.
Ching! Enkrid barely heard the draw before a streak of light dropped over his head.
From the opening move, it was timing meant to break his flow.
Because he had seen this opponent once, Enkrid reacted.
He drew Gladius with his right hand and tried to catch the blade with the flat, then guide it away.
Kwang!
His intent failed.
The impact nearly broke his right wrist.
Along with the timing, even the sword swing itself was layered deception.
The question, the step, the feints mixed into it, the sword stroke, every piece focused on breaking rhythm.
And in the moment Enkrid endured and blocked all of it, he felt it.
‘Above Eisia.’
So, Rem level.
In that instant, between one gap and the next, the opponent drew a second sword and stabbed.
Right then, between Enkrid and the man, a whip braided from magic beast hide cracked in with a pang.
It was Matthew’s skill.
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