WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Ryuu

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 39: The Flags Flutter, and the Soldiers Dance with Swords (2)

"Eyes, feet and hands."

Ragna had said.

“You start with your eyes, move with your feet, and finish with your hands. That’s how you wield a sword.”

He followed Ragna’s words. By seeing, he predicted the opponent’s movements, positioned himself with his feet, and moved the sword only to finish.

Hooong.

He applied this in the next battle. Instead of reacting to what he saw, he dodged by predicting the attack. As a result, the opponent's attack line missed Enkrid, while his attack line reached the enemy. Thrusting the sword was merely a confirmation.

Thuck!

The sword pierced through the enemy’s throat. Pulling it sideways, muscles, nerves, and blood vessels were severed, and blood gushed out.

As soon as Enkrid killed one soldier, he rolled on the ground and slammed the pommel into the shin of another soldier standing nearby.

Crunch!

Without any protective gear, the bone broke easily.

“Argh!”

The fallen soldier thrashed about. Enkrid picked up a fallen bolt and drove it into the soldier’s heart. The armor prevented the arrow from fully penetrating. He rose up and pressed it down with his foot.

Thuck! The bolt sank to its hilt.

Lifting the dead soldier with one hand, he tilted the body aside.

Thunk, thunk! The bolt was buried into the corpse.

Enkrid made a small mistake here. A bolt grazed his thigh. Reduced mobility made it harder to fight among the enemies. Still, he did what he could.

Thirty-two.

He had killed two more in one day despite the mistake in the middle.

‘Eyes, feet and hands.’

He saw with his eyes, moved with his feet, and finished with his hands. He thought it would be good to practice this a few more times in actual combat.

Enkrid did just that. By repeating today, he also got a rough sense of the enemy’s movements.

‘They protect the flagpoles.’

And they always circled in one direction. One day he charged straight ahead, the next day he dashed to the left. He had never broken a flagpole, but he had come close to touching it.

Enkrid felt a thirst. He felt something was missing.

‘Can I even do it alone?’

If not, he could bring Rem or Ragna along, but he felt stubborn. He had learned proper swordsmanship and mastered it. He wanted to take one more step forward. He wasn’t impatient, but he repeatedly felt it was time to move forward.

‘Let’s see.’

If it turned out he was just being stubborn, he could reconsider later. Enkrid had the chance to repeat today.

“Who the hell are you?”

After several battles, he faced an enemy squad leader. He didn’t recognize the face. It was a new guy with a rat-like mustache.

“What do you think?”

Enkrid replied with a smirk. He couldn’t have faced death so boldly. The rat-mustache of the Azpen Duchy swallowed nervously and thrust his spear.

“Unlucky bastard.”

After dying and waking up again, it was back to training. Once he got used to the concept of eyes, feet, and hands, Ragna moved on. What had started with basic skills now included the history and concepts of swordsmanship.

“Fortunately, the roots of what you learned align with mine.”

It was natural. Ragna had taught him.

“You’re lucky to have mimicked an especially good instructor.”

Enkrid said something that didn’t make sense, but Ragna had no choice but to believe him. Otherwise, it wouldn’t make sense. It was understandable that he improved overnight. If he had been training the basics alone but didn’t know how to apply them, this could happen.

Though it was still unusual, ignoring it was easier. They decided to move on from the fundamentals of Northern-style swordsmanship with the same concept.

What was the point of questioning it?

The squad leader never questioned his past. So Ragna decided he wouldn’t either.

“Do you know? Precision, Power, Mysticism, Speed and Flow.”

Ragna said, and Enkrid nodded.

The correct and precise sword.

The heavy and fierce sword.

The enchanting and swaying sword.

The fast and faster sword.

The soft and flowing sword.

Five hundred years ago, an extraordinary genius was born. Born in a small farmhouse, he was a genius among geniuses. At the age of nine, he killed a gang of bandits with nothing but a fire poker. At the age of nine, he killed twelve adult bandits, even those proficient with swords.

“This is swordsmanship.”

The nine-year-old was precocious. It was said he lost his parents early. By watching the bandits wield their swords, he grasped the principles of swordsmanship.

After hearing that a nine-year-old boy had killed twelve bandits with a fire poker, a noble sought him out. The noble adopted the boy.

Thus, the boy was given the surname Oniac.

Leonessis Oniac.

The genius thus gained a name. Leonessis was endowed with talent from heaven, but he also bore great misfortune. At around ten years old, he contracted a disease that weakened his limbs. It was an incurable disease that no mage, doctor, or healer on the continent could treat.

Before he turned twelve, his entire body was paralyzed. Despite the illness, the Oniac family did not abandon Leonessis. The unfortunate genius was almost forgotten.

But at the age of twenty, paralyzed, he left a mark on the history of swordsmanship on the continent. He compiled all existing swordsmanship into five categories.

These were Precision, Power, Mysticism, Speed and Flow.

The correct and precise sword.

The heavy and fierce sword.

The enchanting and swaying sword.

The fast and faster sword.

The soft and flowing sword.

Despite being unable to use his body, he rewrote the history of swordsmanship. This marked the beginning of the transformation of the Oniac family into the greatest in the empire. The swordsmanship school created by Leonessis was passed down through generations and became an established doctrine.

Today, it was commonly referred to as Northern-style swordsmanship, Central-style correct swordsmanship and soft swordsmanship, Western-style fast swordsmanship, Southern-style enchanting swordsmanship, and Eastern-style technical swordsmanship.

The continent was broadly divided into five regions, each developing its weapon techniques differently.

“To use Northern-style swordsmanship, I’ve developed a technique. It’ll be more useful than the beast’s innards.”

It was another sunny, windy day. On this day, Enkrid learned a new technique from Ragna.

From Rem, he learned the Heart of the Beast.

From Jaxon, the sense of the blade.

And from Ragna, he learned a technique called Focus Point.

“The principle is simple. Forget everything around you, focus your eyes on the opponent, and concentrate on what you’re doing. Focus on nothing else.”

The explanation was terrible.

“The essence of Northern-style swordsmanship lies in its basics. It’s known as the sword that breaks even when blocked, the sword that can’t be avoided even when known, and the sword that pours all its power into one strike. That’s how you do it. Focus.”

If focusing was all it took, then what of those who couldn’t do it?

“Let me show you the trick.”

With those words, Ragna’s sword became a streak of light. Even though he had just changed his sword, the blade wasn’t visible. Even his arm, which swung like a whip, was invisible. Just in a flash, something passed by his neck.

Swish.

The blade grazed his neck. The sword was so fast that he only realized his neck was cut after it happened. His nape grew warm. Blood trickled down.

“Are you bullying the squad leader again?”

Rem appeared and glared. Enkrid touched his neck.

‘That was close.’

It was a dangerously close strike. The blade had grazed his skin with unseen speed.

“They say humans become several times more focused when facing death. I’m helping.”

“This crazy bastard, what good is learning such a technique after you’re dead? Do you even know how long it took the squad leader to master the Heart of the Beast? Huuuh?”

Why was he emphasizing weirdly? Wasn’t the ‘huh’ too long?

As Enkrid tried to speak, Ragna snorted.

“The teacher was bad.”

“Huh? You want me to chop your head with an axe?”

Rem placed one hand behind his ear and said.

“I’m not an ignorant barbarian. My teaching methods are rational.”

Rational? Enkrid pondered the meaning of that word.

To him, Rem and Ragna were equally difficult.

“But if you’re from the polar tribes, aren’t you also a barbarian?”

Ragna had pale skin and red eyes, characteristic of the northern tribes.

“Don’t lump me with Western barbarians. It’s offensive. Very offensive.”

“...Fine, just die. When you do, I’ll personally go north and bury you.”

If left alone, they’d probably continue bickering. Enkrid intervened.

“You know what I’m going to say, right?”

Despite his intervention, Ragna looked past Enkrid.

“I know the squad leader is as dull as a Northern ox. But I didn’t realize you had mastered the basics so well.”

“What the hell, don’t change the subject. Get your head ready. I’m going to chop it with an axe.”

“Crazy barbarian.”

Northern oxen minimize movement to endure the cold. It’s a metaphor for dull people. Although both Ragna and Rem kept calling Enkrid dull, he didn’t feel wronged.

“You said you’d teach me the trick.”

Enkrid held Ragna back with his words and turned to Rem.

No words were needed. Just a look. Rem, still fuming, saw Enkrid staring at him and snorted loudly before shouting.

“They told us to gather!”

Then he turned and stomped back to the camp.

“It’s time to go back,” Ragna said, watching Rem leave. He began to sheathe his sword, but Enkrid grabbed his wrist.

“The trick?”

The thirst for knowledge drove Enkrid. Especially now, as he was about to learn something new.

Focus Point, Ragna called it, a refined technique handed down from old secrets.

“I’m warning you, it won’t be easy.”

The basics hadn’t been easy. Learning new stances, steps, discarding bad habits, and mastering slashes and thrusts— none of it had been easy.

Yet, it had been enjoyable.

The thrill of growth filled him every day. Even though he aspired to be a knight, perhaps it was his love for the sword that had driven him this far. When wielding the sword, Enkrid forgot about everything else and felt pure joy. Holding Ragna’s wrist, Enkrid listened intently.

“When you’re on the brink of death, humans naturally become much more focused. It’s about harnessing that sensation and repeating it.”

Learning the Heart of the Beast had been similar. However, while the Heart of the Beast required boldness in the face of death, Ragna’s Focus Point demanded the opposite. You had to desperately fight to avoid dying. That fear of death would sharpen your nerves like needles.

‘I’ll combine it with real combat.’

Enkrid formulated a plan and set it in motion.

“It won’t be enough just to learn the trick,” Ragna warned.

“Describe what it feels like when you master it.”

“It feels like everything else fades away, and the sword moves as you will it.”

Ragna spoke candidly. Enkrid looked into Ragna’s red eyes, noticing a rare seriousness.

‘What wind has blown through him?’

Ragna was whimsical. But he had never been this passionately engaged before. With a hidden passion, his eyes burning like embers, Ragna said, “It’s time to go.”

Enkrid nodded in agreement.

“Let’s go.”

The battle began again, and the fog rolled in.

“Damn sorcery?” Rem cursed.

“Keep low!”

Ragna shouted to Enkrid as he charged.

Previously, Ragna would have been too busy trying to stop him. But now, he knew Enkrid wouldn’t fall to a mere soldier. Charging forward, Enkrid followed the sequence of eyes, feet, and hands against the enemy soldiers.

‘Start with the crossbow unit.’

One thing had changed; after repeating today several times, Enkrid had memorized the enemy’s formation.

To be precise, he hadn’t just memorized it. It had become second nature.

Before the first enemy soldier could thrust his spear, Enkrid closed in and drove his dagger upward. The dagger pierced through the chin and into the roof of the mouth. He abandoned the dagger and shoved the dying soldier with his shoulder.

“Ah!”

“Ugh!”

The soldier stumbled back in surprise. At that moment, Enkrid threw two more daggers. The daggers flew and pierced the throats of two more soldiers. It was an impressive feat.

Drawing his longsword, he executed a diagonal slash.

Clang!

A spear shaft blocked the slash. Expecting this, Enkrid used the rebound force to retrieve his sword and slashed the neck of the soldier on the opposite side.

Shhhk!

The well-sharpened blade cut through the soldier’s neck. The fight continued. Another battle. Another repeated today. He fought and died again. But Enkrid fought fiercely. He grasped the trick the moment he heard it.

Instead of facing boldly, he had to desperately struggle to survive. That was crucial. Ultimately, he couldn’t avoid death.

But that was fine. He would get what he wanted anyway. Of course, he still had tasks to accomplish.

‘The flagpoles.’

The goal was to attack the flagpoles, the medium of sorcery. Enkrid overlaid his real combat with this objective. He charged toward the goal. Through the repeated todays, he had learned the enemy's movements in advance.

Trusting the fog, the enemy soldiers were caught off guard by a single attack. Enkrid made full use of this.

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