WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 387: Everyone Has Their Own Hell

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'For what?'

Andrew stepped out before the gate with five trainees.

Ahead of them stood a man with a sword, and behind him followed a tall man with a heavy mace hanging at his side.

'For the kingdom?'

It felt strange to be thinking about this now, but Andrew suddenly wondered why he was here, why he was risking his life.

It was not as if he had chosen this path simply because he loved to fight.

'Why?'

Was it for the kingdom? No. He could say that on the surface, but deep down, pure loyalty was not the only thing driving him.

More than anything, he had watched Naurillia long enough to realize this much.

'Is this kingdom worth giving my life for?'

Maybe someday. Not yet. He stood on Crang's side because he had no other choice.

Even so, Andrew was here.

"Hold the line! Do not fall back!"

He heard Squire Ropord's shout. At some point, Ropord had become the one commanding the gate.

That so-called Capital Security Captain stayed to one side, reading the room and busy firing arrows.

From what Andrew had heard, the man had climbed by flattery, not skill.

The guard captains could at least fight, but even they could not leave the top of the wall now.

Which meant there was no one else to stop the men approaching the gate.

Andrew glanced ahead and behind, then stepped forward. The thought from earlier kept turning in his head.

Some things could not be done until he reached a conclusion.

One reason he was here was clear.

'My family.'

Was it enough to simply chase noble rank?

Was having a family name enough on its own?

Did he only need those three syllables, Gardner?

The name was not what mattered. That meant nothing.

Andrew adjusted his grip on his sword and took his stance. The blade held straight was his will, his dream, his heart.

Who had he learned this from?

'Captain.'

He had watched Enkrid's life, his days, his training, the time he poured into it, from right beside him. That was how he understood.

He had not only learned technique. He had not only pushed his body through hardship.

Andrew had learned how to dream from him.

'What kind of family will I build?'

"What kind of man will I become?"

The words slipped out as he finished the thought.

He would build a proper house under a proper royal family. He did not want power. He wanted the right path.

That was why he was here, for that life.

Without realizing it, Andrew smiled.

He did not know it, but that smile looked a little like Enkrid's.

It was the smile of someone chasing a dream.

Andrew saw the five trainees off to one side, steadying their breathing.

"Hoo, hoo."

The biggest one breathed the loudest. He was not entirely new to real combat, but this was his first time facing enemies advancing with such clear killing intent.

A few soldiers rushed in to block the approaching swordsman.

No one even had time to stop them.

Like Andrew, they had likely chosen to stand here of their own will.

The soldiers shouted something and charged.

The swordsman's arm moved. The blade flashed as it slashed and thrust.

Thud, prick, slash.

His edge was so sharp that whatever he cut was cut, and whatever he stabbed died.

"Aaagh!"

A soldier with severed fingers screamed and collapsed to the side.

For the soldiers defending the gate, he was an opponent they could not even hope to block.

"Hoo."

Andrew filled his lungs, steadied his breath, and stepped out farther.

"Sir Andrew?"

"Fall back. Do not die like dogs."

Two enemies.

One was the swordsman in front. The other was the mace wielder behind him, heavy at a glance.

Andrew's eyes swept their faces. Then he walked up and spoke. He had not learned only how to dream from Enkrid.

"Hey, beady-eyes. Come here."

The words came out rough and direct.

The man who had been about to dive into the soldiers turned and looked at Andrew.

Because only his head turned while his body stayed in motion, he looked like a stiff puppet.

Beady-eyes. The nickname fit perfectly.

His eyes were small and round, like someone had poked two tiny holes with a needle.

Mocking someone's face was easy work.

This was a battlefield. If needed, you could curse not just a man's looks, but his parents too.

'Like I was taught.'

Andrew hardened his resolve.

Do your best in every moment.

Enkrid did that.

In taunting and in fighting, do the same.

He had said that too.

Andrew did exactly that.

"Can you even see what's in front of you?"

Another insult flew out. Andrew was dressed like a noble. He wore armor engraved with the Gardner crest, and carried shield and sword. He even wore a visored helmet.

His mouth did not match his appearance at all.

For the swordsman under Viscount Mernes, this was the first time he had ever been insulted like this. He was a blade raised by a noble house, accustomed to respect. He lifted his sword.

"I will not kill you cleanly."

He spat it out in anger.

"Hey, I asked if you can see."

An answer he did not expect came right back.

Furious, the viscount's swordsman strode in and swung.

It was a downward slash timed with his step, heavy and committed.

Andrew took it on his shield. At the sharp crack, just as the blade bit in, he shoved it aside to spoil the angle and drove his sword forward.

The man jumped back and shouted.

"Brick!"

At the swordsman's cry, the mace wielder came pounding in.

He looked like someone who had stolen and drunk giant blood.

"Was your mother a giant?"

Once Andrew's tongue got going, it stabbed at weakness without hesitation. He might have been even more talented at this than with a sword.

"You bastard."

Veins bulged on the mace wielder's forehead.

"Or was it your father?"

That line did not come from Andrew.

One of the trainees chimed in from the side, a freckled girl. Showing what she had learned, she drew the mace wielder's eyes toward her.

"We'll take this one."

All five spoke as one.

Andrew nodded. He and all five trainees had made it this far after enduring that hellspawn Rem and getting past that demon Enkrid.

Whoever came, they had to be better opponents than just these two.

"Die, blind man!"

Andrew threw out one last taunt.

"You fucking bastard."

He drew out more of the man's rage, then stabbed his pauldron. The leather-and-steel shoulder guard dropped away, and blood spurted.

"I'll cut your tongue out first."

Even then, the man was still furious. He ignored the wound and bared his anger. Andrew nodded and answered.

"Who are you looking at while you talk? Look a man in the eyes. Ah, were you already looking? My apologies. I could not even see your eyeballs."

A painting of a dragon was only complete once the eyes were dotted in.

Andrew did the same now. With words, he painted in the eyes and drained away the man's reason.

Having lost his head, the man charged again.

* * *

Squire Ropord watched the battlefield and thought.

'Something is off.'

The enemy numbers were large. They were dangerous. And what about the ten men at the front?

Each one gave off a vicious aura. Three or four even looked above his level.

Even so, they still had room to breathe.

'Is this all?'

He saw no enemy reinforcements. Starting with the mangonels, everything was threatening, yes...

'Though we broke those too...'

Ropord kept thinking. He had seen the man called Enkrid, and he wanted to walk his own road. Then why was he walking it?

To build wealth and raise his status?

He had just ignored, no, gone against orders from above. Even if this ended well, the least he would get was confinement. If anything went wrong, prison.

Yet he was here.

'I am of the Knight Order.'

Squire Ropord wanted to do his duty. He carried one line hidden deep in his chest.

'For the glory of the royal family and the kingdom.'

He had grown up watching his seniors' backs, and he wanted to protect honor.

Then what was Ropord's own hell?

'The royal family disappearing.'

Thought after thought connected to his actions, his will, his heart, and locked into the situation before him.

Cold sweat ran down his back.

Then what did the other side want?

What did the one behind this incident want?

His mind tightened and spun faster than ever. The ears that had always leaned toward others now turned inward and listened to his own voice.

He saw the enemy's strength.

Of course, without Ragna and Dunbakel, this would have been hard.

They were that dangerous.

But another thought came too.

'If we hold the gate, we can hold.'

Even if that path was rough, it was possible.

Then what was the conclusion?

The one who had sent him to Enkrid had not been the Palace Security Commissioner. The moment that face rose in his mind, a thought struck him. What if that man stood on the opposite side?

"The royal palace is in danger!"

Ropord slammed his fist against the wall and shouted.

Yon below heard him. He adjusted his one-horn helmet. Yon, the eastern warrior, loved fighting.

More precisely, he enjoyed using every trick to topple and kill his opponents.

If Frog Maelrun of the Border Guard desired the pleasure of crushing those slightly weaker than himself,

Yon enjoyed watching opponents stronger than him struggle and die. For that, he would not hesitate to take hostages. If it could draw out a lapse, he would do anything.

A damp, ugly desire.

"Do you know someone in the royal palace?"

Yon asked, face solemn.

From the outside, he looked like a man who fought only fair and square. Inside, he was the exact opposite.

Touching the broad scar on his cheek, Yon spoke. The scar ran from his cheekbone to his jaw.

"I got this scar when my wife died."

It was a lie. What did that matter? If he could twist the other man's insides even a little, anything was fine.

"It was not even half a day. Barely enough time for a candle this small to burn."

Yon spread his thumb and index finger. The gap was shorter than half a finger joint.

"Right. Not an instant, but only this much late. I'll ask again. Do you know someone in the palace? Then I'll send you. Go."

Yon saw it at a glance. The man in front of him was at least a junior knight. He had no idea where someone like this had come from.

He had heard the Knight Order's main force would not be at the gate, so this man was not one of them.

Yon gestured as he spoke, and a mercenary beside him lowered a shield large enough to cover half his body. It landed with a heavy thud.

They had worked together for years. Behind that shield was a net twisted from Demon Creature scales and tendons.

The moment the man in front turned around, they would throw it.

'Yes, turn around.'

Yon played the part of an honorable warrior.

Ragna did not listen to a single word from him.

"The palace what?"

He asked Ropord on top of the wall instead. Ropord could not explain it piece by piece, so he just repeated himself.

"We have to go back and protect the royal palace!"

Danger? Threat?

Everyone has their own hell.

Ragna found the reason he had no drive.

Whether the men here lived or died had nothing to do with him. That was why.

It was like walking without a destination. Without one, there was no need to look back on the road behind him, no need to find a direction ahead.

'Because I had nothing tying me down.'

That was why he had no drive.

There was no reason for him to be here in the first place. It felt like wearing clothes that did not fit.

Like forcing down food he did not even want near his mouth.

He had only just realized it.

That thought came because "threat to the royal palace" immediately turned into "danger to Enkrid."

Ragna found where he was needed.

If Enkrid died because of this?

'Back to the old days?'

Then his life would return to one with no trace of drive.

He did not want to go back. He had learned how to move forward, and he had seen the road ahead. So he did not want the tool he needed for that to die. In other words, the captain could not die yet.

That did not mean he would disobey orders.

Enkrid's order was to hold the gate.

Then he would hold it, then go.

'Shortcut.'

Ragna pictured what he had to do now, and the fastest route from there.

As he stood there with that blank gaze, a mercenary on Yon's side drew a bow at Ragna's back.

He was the type who liked point-blank shots with a shortbow. He also used poisoned arrows.

The string snapped.

Twung!

An arrow drove into Ragna's back. No, it did not.

It pierced an afterimage.

Ragna had folded sharply forward.

The arrow passed through where his chest had been and buried itself in the ground.

Ragna drew again the sword he had sheathed moments ago.

Shrring.

At the scrape of steel, Yon felt something go wrong and brought his glaive down.

It was useless.

Earlier, Ragna had no drive, so he had not shown even half his skill.

Now it was different.

'To the royal palace.'

A traveler with a destination puts strength into every step.

Ragna's sword was the same.

* * *

'What is this?'

The Boatman could observe, but he could not interfere.

In other words, the Boatman could see what repeated. In a way, it was like seeing part of the future.

Because of that, he found no joy in watching.

Knowing what would happen robbed him of the chance to feel joy.

So a moment like this, one he could not predict, had not come in an absurdly long time.

At first, he was bewildered.

But then, little by little, part of an old feeling he had long forgotten woke up.

The joy of seeing the unknown.

"Ha."

In the world of the mind, on a ferry drifting over the river, the Boatman savored that long-lost thrill.

He could not predict it. He could not see what came next. Had this really been such joy all along?

Today was changing. The repeating today he had drawn and watched was turning in a direction he had never expected.

The Boatman was only one who watched, so he watched.

He had one guess about what had changed things so much, but he did not bother to think further.

He simply enjoyed this moment.

Because this was the world of the mind, he smiled in spirit. Because he wanted to ride this vast wave of ecstasy, he laughed out loud as well.

It was that enjoyable.

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