A Knight who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 419

WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 419: Where the Heart Leads

= = =

"You'll be at Border Guard, right?"

Enkrid nodded at Kraiss's question.

"I figured as much, so I got things ready. If you need anything else, just say the word. My loyalty!"

Ever since he saw the general and the treasure, Kraiss's eyes had gleamed like gold coins, and the word loyalty kept spilling from his mouth.

Enkrid did not blame him. Whatever anyone said, Kraiss always did his job right.

Their lodgings had changed. The place was larger now, with more rooms, and a new training yard out front.

They had already had a dedicated training ground for the Lunatic Company, but this one was different from the ground up.

Flat stone had been laid across the broad yard.

On one side, neatly planted trees held green leaves beaded with dawn dew.

Day was just breaking. It was summer, the season when the sun rose early.

Trees, flowers, the rising sun.

Watching the leaves stir in the wind, Enkrid drew his sword.

Then he repeated his usual training routine. There was no sparring today.

"Let's do it once my axe is finished."

Rem said it through gritted teeth.

"My greatsword isn't ready yet."

Ragna also refused with a frown.

"You're planning to stab and slash with that? General brother?"

Even Audin, of all people, quietly turned him down.

"I'm out."

Dunbakel dodged him.

"I had a new shield made."

Even Teresa refused.

"My ankle grew back, sure, but I'd still need three ankles to face you right now."

Even Ruagarne, his last hope, fell through.

Sinar did not even show up.

"I still don't think I can yet."

He even tried calling out Pel, but Pel shook his head.

He added that he still could not win. He did not look like he wanted to fight right now.

Enkrid could not hide his disappointment. All he had done was test Aker, the finest of fine swords he had just acquired.

During that test, he split Rem's axe blade and cut in half the temporary sword Ragna had found, but that could not be helped.

He had gotten a new sword, so of course he had to test it.

"Don't you think that's a little cheap?"

Rem sneered, and Enkrid answered calmly.

"Having proper gear is part of skill."

"The king just handed it to you... never mind."

Rem gave up arguing. Trying to beat Enkrid with words was worse than drawing on sorcery one more time.

"Come on, then. You western delinquent barbarian."

Enkrid taunted Rem a few more times, but Rem had learned his lesson and ignored him.

Soon, Enkrid cleared his mind and focused on training.

'Draw, thrust, cut.'

As he swung at imaginary enemies, wind rose with each strike and the leaves trembled.

'Everything you can see has something to teach you.'

Great revelations were not always necessary. Repeat the movements, shave down small errors, refine each motion.

As he swung with intent, everything he had learned so far blended together naturally.

Into the chained thrust-and-cut sequence, he wove Momentary Will.

'Two actions in one breath.'

Ragna had once executed three actions in a single breath.

Enkrid had seen it when Ragna cut down the Specter General in front of the count.

Enkrid still could not do that. What Ragna had done went beyond a trick, almost into the divine.

To Enkrid, it looked like the swordsmanship closest to a true knight.

'Repeat, then repeat again.'

If the Boatman had been beside him, he would have cursed him for being unbearably tedious.

A crushing blade after a burst of instant speed.

A binding blade.

As he set up imaginary opponents, he played out exchanges in his head.

The enemies before him ranged from a young genius he had met long ago, to mercenaries from his old days, to Rierbart, Rem, Ragna, and Audin.

None of those fights were easy.

Enkrid was already among the very best of junior knights in pure skill, but victory and defeat in real combat were different from sparring.

Anyone could die to a blind blade.

'Do not talk about victory or defeat before the fight.'

Three of his instructors had told him that same line. Strangely, all three had refused to teach him at first, then relented only after seeing persistence beyond desperation.

He kept swinging, again and again, sweat flying in every direction.

To Enkrid, the one closest to a knight was Ragna.

The way he cut down the one blocking his path in a single strike.

The sword he showed while splitting through a wave of specters.

It was clear he had surpassed the junior-knight level in every way. So Enkrid asked him.

"Have you reached knight?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I've never been there, so I don't know."

Even so, certainty showed in Ragna's voice. The kind of confidence only a genius could carry.

His attitude said it outright.

I haven't gone there, but I'll reach it.

Absolute belief showed in both his bearing and his actions.

Enkrid knew his own talent was poor, and geniuses like Ragna were all around him.

Rem was one. Audin was another.

Even Dunbakel and Teresa had improved so much they were no longer comparable to before. Their talents were different from his.

And Pel? Watching him size up others at a glance, he too was enough to be called a genius.

Even Squire Ropord, whatever had made him follow along, probably had more talent than Enkrid.

Rierbart was a poet sunk in a swamp of frustration and despair.

He sang of despair and danced with frustration. Lamenting his talent, he walked the deviant path.

'Despair and drown in hopelessness!'

The Boatman's phantom shouted.

Enkrid ignored all of it. Distractions at this level would not shake his stance or his mind.

He was deep in training when he heard footsteps from one side.

Enkrid stopped mid-swing and turned his gaze.

It came from the direction of the breaking dawn. A shadow walked toward him with the light at its back.

The rising sun now lit the area clearly. He saw reddish-brown hair and two arms swaying naturally.

Enkrid knew silent daggers could fly from those hands at any moment. He also knew there were countless blades and weapons hidden all over that man's body.

If Audin's body was a steel blunt weapon,

then the one approaching now was a living weapon, a breathing killing tool that could kill by breathing alone.

As his own skill grew, he saw more. He could now see the "preparations" in Jaxon's movements, things he had never noticed before.

Things hidden in every step and gesture.

Watching that, Enkrid adjusted his footing, tugged his sword belt, and set his hand at his waist. Aker settled naturally into his grip.

A famed blade named after a knight from the founding myth.

A treasured royal sword.

'Can I break it?'

Well, they gave it to me, so what can I do?

If Jaxon came at him now, Enkrid felt he would not come away unscathed, Aker or no Aker.

Assassins described their own levels like this.

Third-rate shows killing intent openly.

Second-rate shows it subtly.

First-rate approaches with no trace at all.

Top-tier approaches while giving off an ordinary presence.

Jaxon looked the same as always, but Enkrid's sharpened senses and instincts told a different story.

"You've improved a lot."

Jaxon spoke as he approached.

"I still have a long way to go."

Enkrid answered and let his arm hang even looser. He relaxed further. To burst with speed in an instant, he had to stay loose.

"To become a knight?"

Nod.

Jaxon stopped walking. With the sunlight behind him, his face was all shadow. The deep shade made him look colder than ever.

"There's something I want to ask."

"Ask."

"Why didn't you join a knight order?"

* * *

"Are you returning now?"

Back when Georg's Dagger had its former master, there was an unspoken practice after infiltration missions.

Kill everyone who might guess the infiltrator's identity.

By now, it was no longer an absolute rule.

But if the target was the master of Georg's Dagger, things changed.

The master of Georg's Dagger was someone who had to remain hidden behind a veil of mystery at all times.

"Should I handle it?"

His lover, and the master's daughter, asked.

Jaxon did not answer. The words would not come easily.

"If it has to be done, I'll do it myself."

His lover nodded.

That made sense too.

Then when would he do it, and when would he return? Setting aside the backlog of requests, the bigger issue was discipline. If the master stayed away too long, order would collapse.

There was no shortage of people waiting for an opening to scheme for his seat.

Even a rough count came to more than five.

'No, closer to ten.'

Even so, she respected the master and followed his will.

Though there was no clear reason, Jaxon was still here. He could have left before the civil war started. He could have left after. He did not even need to return all the way to Border Guard.

He had also had countless chances to kill those who suspected his identity.

Success or failure aside, why had he not even tried?

There were mountains of things she found strange and impossible to understand.

"Can I ask why?"

She asked not as a guild member serving the master, but as his lover. Jaxon stayed silent for a moment.

"I think if I ask, I'll understand."

"Understand what?"

"Why he didn't become a knight."

To her, it sounded abrupt. To Jaxon, it did not.

'Master.'

All the way here, his former master's words had circled through his head.

"A technique without heart ends as nothing but killing craft, you idiot."

It had sounded like a strange thing to say to someone who came to learn killing craft.

"You enjoy killing people that much? Is it fun?"

Not often, but yes, it was fun.

"Don't smile. Seeing you smile makes me feel like I made the wrong choice."

He had not cared what choice the man meant.

From the day he first brought him in, the master had said similar things.

"If there's something you hold dear, then what should have remained mere killing craft can become a sword that protects someone."

Jaxon had asked him in return.

"Then what are you protecting, Master?"

"My daughter and family, the idiots who live with their eyes fixed on me, and a fence that keeps men like you from being unleashed on the world."

He understood half of it and could not understand the other half.

In truth, none of it had mattered.

Words to hear and let pass.

What mattered to Jaxon was the power he needed for revenge.

So now that that revenge was mostly over, should he find a new target?

Should he keep repeating the same work, hunting down and killing those who remained one by one?

Was that the right path?

Before right or wrong, he believed it was simply what had to be done. That was why he was here.

"Now then. Jaxon Bensino, true son of the Bensino line. Do you want to become a mad killer? Is perfectly killing people your only goal in life? Was that your dream? Is that your everything?"

His master's words kept ringing in his mind, one after another.

* * *

Enkrid paused to think at Jaxon's sudden question.

'Why?'

He had never really thought of a reason.

But thinking about it now, he could have stayed in a knight order. If he had remained in the capital and asked to join, who would have refused him?

Crang looked ready to create a brand-new knight order if needed, and Eisia had also hinted that he should wear the Red Cloak.

The Marquis of Okto, now a duke, had even said it openly.

"How about staying in the capital and joining a knight order? I believe it would be a great opportunity for you."

If Marquis Baisar had tried to tie him in through backing and connections, then the Duke of Okto had wanted him to become a new pillar of this land altogether.

Enkrid had calmly passed over every one of those offers.

At the time, all he wanted was to return quickly and swing his sword in peace, morning and night.

"Just because."

That needed more explanation, so Enkrid added,

"I moved where my heart led."

If he had to go deeper, it was because he had not found the knight he sought. Enkrid had not found chivalry.

He had seen the knight orders in the capital, but was there chivalry inside them? Honor? Trust? Integrity?

Help the weak.

Take up your sword and fight for justice.

A battlefield where children do not fight.

A fight by those who guard others' backs.

Virtues they had already turned away from.