WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 399: For My Shining Hero, Too

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Rieban, one of the squad leaders in the kingdom army's Capital Defense, knew Enkrid. Back when Enkrid was in the capital, they had spent months in the same place.

Of course he recognized him.

It was the kind of face you did not forget after seeing once.

As Rieban stood at the front and looked ahead, he spotted Enkrid, and the words he had once said to him came back.

"You want to become a knight?"

He had laughed.

"You should find a different path."

He had even offered sincere advice.

Enkrid gave no answer. He just swung his sword. Always in the same spot.

Rain or snow, it did not matter.

"Please teach me the sword."

He never stopped begging for instruction, either.

And strangely, he even looked proud doing it.

More people mocked him.

More people pushed him aside.

Once, a mercenary who had only just picked up a sword joined their circle.

That mercenary crowd usually gathered at one tavern, and Enkrid was there too.

At first, the rookie swordsman had been stiff and awkward, but he improved quickly.

He had talent.

He quickly surpassed Enkrid, then toyed with him in sparring.

"No, you swing your sword that much and you're still only this good? I don't get it. Shouldn't you quit?"

Rieban still remembered that sneering face, laughing as he said it.

What was that bastard's name again?

He could not remember the name. But Enkrid's expression from that moment was still clear.

Enkrid had not gotten angry. He had not fallen into despair. He had looked completely fine. Calm and steady.

Was he really like that inside too?

Or had he rotted and rotted and rotted some more?

Rieban watched him. Not with any particular intent. His eyes just kept drifting over.

The next day, Enkrid swung his sword again.

More people looked down on him.

"Why do you keep hanging around that guy?"

People even said things like that to Rieban. It was not like he had gone out of his way to defend Enkrid.

"That's none of your business."

He just could not stand those trashy idiots gathering and running their mouths.

Even after that, Enkrid never changed.

Even when he got beaten nearly to death.

Even when others caught up to him.

He swung his sword, then swung it again.

For what?

A knight?

What kind of nonsense was that?

A third-rate swordsman, maybe brushing second-rate at best, becoming a knight?

Only a handful among those whose talent touched the heavens and earned them the name genius ever became one.

That was a knight.

"Get a grip."

Rieban had said it with half pity, but Enkrid had not listened, of course.

Back then, Enkrid had been famous in his own way.

A childish sense of justice and reckless bravado.

Meager talent that could not be changed.

That was everything the name Enkrid stood for.

Rieban looked at the enemy ranks in the distance.

The very first thought that came to him when he saw them was run.

We cannot beat that.

Overwhelming numbers. A drilled army. The Count's troops, now rebels. The same men who would soon be fighting him.

Years as a mercenary, then time in the Capital Defense, told him the same thing.

If they fought here, they would die.

A dog's death.

Why am I standing here?

Because of some childish sense of justice?

Because of a few gold coins?

If not that, then what?

When he left mercenary life, there had not been any grand reason then either.

He got a wife, then a child.

There was a woman who talked about love while looking at petals and the moon.

There was a child who called him Dad.

"What the hell are you doing this for? Your palms are split open."

He had asked Enkrid. Why go that far?

Why train while staking your life?

Why refuse to back down even after getting beaten like that?

Deep down, he had known the answer.

Protection.

Protect those behind your back. Do not turn from honor. Stand by your conviction.

Those were the words Enkrid kept living by as he saved people with reckless courage.

Even when he did not say them, his body shouted them.

When he helped clean up the royal palace incident, Rieban saw several corpses.

There had been one bastard who used to beat Enkrid and do all kinds of vile things.

That man, who had crushed people under the name of instructor, lay in pieces on the floor.

Should he call that a good death?

The one who killed him was Enkrid.

A name that was supposed to mean meager talent.

Rieban felt dazzled. Not because sunlight stabbed his eyes.

Some people in this world shone so brightly you could barely look at them.

Call him a hero, call him a shining star, he likely would not care.

He simply stood where he belonged and proved himself.

Enkrid.

Rieban only repeated that name in his heart.

He watched Enkrid step forward and fight. It was clear. Blinding, yet he could still keep his eyes on him.

Rieban could not read which way the battle was turning. But one thing was clear.

It was fierce. Endlessly fierce. As if Enkrid had thrown his whole life into it.

Blood sprayed. Sparks painted the sky.

The man fighting Enkrid let go of his sword, drew a secondary weapon from his waist, and swung it. A machete. Enkrid met it head-on with the sword in his hand.

Kkaaaang!

A thunderous blast rang out. The shock seemed to spread in ripples.

Goosebumps rose all over him. Every hair on his body stood on end. Rieban forgot the despair he had felt at the sight of the enemy and could only stare at Enkrid's back.

He was alone. He had stepped out by himself, blocked the front of an enemy force no one else dared face alone, cut down many, and was now swinging at the next enemy who came.

Something like rays burst between the two clashing men.

Enkrid's body flew backward and rolled. The other man only stumbled back a few heavy steps.

Rieban saw Enkrid roll. He was not the kind of man who stayed down. Rieban knew that.

Thud.

Rieban struck the ground with his spear shaft.

Thud.

Then he did it again.

"For Naurillia."

He murmured it. Words no one would hear. Words that would reach no one. Words only for himself.

He was standing here for his country, his people, his wife, his child, for all of it.

Because he had to protect the people behind him.

Following Rieban's motion, nearby soldiers began striking the ground with their spear shafts one by one.

Thud, thud, thud, thud.

The broken rhythm naturally fell into sync. No commander had ordered it. Every one of them had simply been moved by the fight of the man before them.

And for my shining hero, too.

Rieban muttered it to himself and struck the ground again with his spear shaft.

Then Enkrid, who had fallen, rose.

It looked like words passed between the two, but none could be heard.

Thud, thud, thud.

Only the sound of spear shafts hitting earth echoed.

* * *

Enkrid kept pressing without taking a breath, then pressed again, and Rierbart was the first to pull out a trump card.

He dropped his sword and swung a machete.

Enkrid neither slowed down nor reset his breathing.

He drove Silver straight in. The stance was not perfect, but the strike carried the burst of Heart of Superhuman Strength.

It was a cut loaded with force beyond human limits.

Then their weapons met.

The instant blade met blade, a shapeless pressure rose from the machete's edge and slammed into his abdomen and chest.

It was too sudden and too close to deflect.

Enkrid clenched his teeth, took it with his body, and still brought his sword down in the end.

That was the result now.

His body flew back, and the other man stepped back a few paces.

As Enkrid was thrown away, the world spun around him.

He realized he was flying backward, so he recovered his balance quickly.

Even after he set his stance and stood, the sky still spun. The ground spun too. The opponent's figure stretched and warped before his eyes. Something hot surged up from inside him, and he spat.

"Blegh."

He coughed up a mouthful of blood, and his insides settled. The dizziness faded.

"What was that?"

He asked.

"A magic sword."

Rierbart answered.

Enkrid did not think it was dirty.

As Enkrid rose, thudding sounds had begun shaking the air at some point.

Strangely, it sounded like his own heartbeat. Somehow, it even sounded like a battle chant.

My gut stings a little.

His head was spinning too, but was that a problem?

No. Not at all.

Enkrid asked and answered himself, then raised his sword.

He meant to see this through to the end.

Rierbart looked at his dented shoulder guard and breastplate.

Is this the gap in talent?

He set that thought aside and looked at Enkrid.

His opponent looked bigger than before.

It might have been a difference in willpower, but more than that, it was military spirit.

He could keep pushing as things were, but there was no need.

Giving one day of grace would not matter.

It would even fit what the Count truly wanted.

For those reasons, Rierbart acknowledged defeat without pretense.

He also admitted that if this fight continued, he would be the one pushed back.

"You win."

That was why he said it.

It was not what Enkrid expected to hear. He just stared at him.

"The goddess of fortune is the same as ever today."

A deep regret lay beneath Rierbart's words. And deeper than regret was resentment toward the world.

"Still, it does not matter. Nothing will change."

"You not continuing?"

Enkrid cut him off.

"This is enough for today. I lost my appetite."

The thud-thud of spear shafts still echoed across the field.

To Rierbart, that rhythm sounded like a call to protect the man named Enkrid.

Above all, he could see others had come close while they fought.

Rem, Ragna, Eisia, Dunbakel.

On the other side stood Malten, Benukt, and Banat.

The core strength of both armies had gathered.

No, one more.

Someone with first-rate, beyond first-rate assassination skill.

Using senses beyond normal human limits, Rierbart pinpointed the position.

Under the shade cast by a horse's shadow. Someone was hiding behind the horse's body.

When Rierbart looked right at him, the man stepped out to the side. His manner said he did not mind being seen.

Naturally, it was Jaxon.

"It would be a waste to burn everything here. You should learn that battle is not only sword fights."

Rierbart spoke, then turned away. He signaled to his warhorse, and the black horse that had been with him for years came over.

He picked up his fallen sword, stowed his gear on the barded horse, and mounted.

"You're bland."

Enkrid threw out a taunt, but Rierbart did not respond.

"Next time, I will not be bland."

For someone who had just admitted defeat out loud, his bearing had not faltered at all.

Their eyes met.

Rierbart thought of the goddess of fortune and cursed her.

Enkrid watched him and wondered if this was really all there was.

His instincts answered.

This was not all.

"The battle is tomorrow. We begin at dawn. This is the respect I show because you defeated me."

Rierbart turned with those words.

Enkrid watched him.

Should he strike him in the back even now?

He did not like that.

He did not do things he hated.

It was not the right path, either.

And it would mean nothing.

His senses told him, and reason agreed.

If the enemy started a full engagement now, Enkrid's side would be at a disadvantage. If they withdrew, Enkrid's side should be handing them silver in thanks.

Thud, thud, thud.

A unit kept striking the ground with spear shafts. Their spirit was high, but that was all.

Rising momentum did not increase their numbers.

If a melee broke out before proper reorganization, the smaller side would lose.

What should they do to raise even a little chance of winning?

Enkrid felt the answer by instinct.

Buy time, reorganize, form ranks, then fight and claim even a slight edge.

He had stepped out earlier because he knew that instinctively.

So grabbing Rierbart and forcing a fight now was meaningless.

Enkrid turned as well. Rierbart was already moving away, and the distance between them quickly widened.

"Why'd you come all the way out to greet me?"

That was what Enkrid said when he saw the men standing about halfway between him and the main force on his way back.

"If you'd died, I was gonna pay him back with revenge axe swings."

"That no-breath tactic was good."

"Why isn't there a single easy bastard here?"

Rem said it while lifting an axe, Ragna while holding an apple seed, and Dunbakel while glancing past Enkrid's shoulder.

Last, Eisia stared hard at Enkrid and spoke.

"Handsome bastard."

He could not tell exactly what she meant, but he got the rough idea.

He had shown his skill. That was why those words came out.

What had Enkrid shown today?

It proved his claim that three bouts today would be enough against the Flow-Breaking Squire, and it carved the name Enkrid into everyone watching.

Without momentum, this unit had nothing left.

Enkrid had created that momentum and set it on them.

Thud, thud, thud, thud!

The sound of spear shafts striking earth rang in time with heartbeats. Listening to it, Enkrid returned to the main force.

No one spoke to him, but everyone watched him.

* * *

"How was he?"

"He is strong. Better than me."

"And?"

"I need to kill him."

"Then do it."

Rierbart returned to the Count, and the Count asked and answered in a bored tone.

The start of full battle was postponed until tomorrow morning.

That was fine.

No, it was exactly what the Count wanted.

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