WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 424: Guest.

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Just as Rem had made up his mind, the others were changing too.

It was unavoidable.

"Ha!"

From morning to evening.

Rain or snow, sticky heat or not, if you kept watching a man swing his sword like a lunatic, thoughts were bound to churn in your head.

If Rem had found his trigger and steeled his resolve,

Ragna had taken another look at his own talent.

He looked inward with detachment.

'What do I have?'

First of all, he had a talent for finding shortcuts. He was exceptional at it.

And finding routes was not the kind of talent that needed other people's recognition.

'Not that I'm going to make a living as a guide.'

Ragna actually had worked as a guide before, but anyone who hired him even once swore never again.

A mad guide who fought insanely well but could not tell east from west.

Some even suspected he deliberately led people into places crawling with Demon Creatures and Magic Beasts.

There had been a time when the Guide Guild nearly panicked at the mere mention of Ragna's name.

Fine, leave his guiding talent aside.

'Next?'

The sword. Swordsmanship. Innate talent did not just vanish, and some things did not need anyone to spell them out.

Like how he had some natural talent with the sword too, just as he did with guiding.

'Then what's lacking?'

Knowing what he was good at was not enough.

Even if he was solid as a guide, this was swordsmanship.

If nothing was lacking and nothing got stuck, he should have already reached knight level.

But he had not. He was blocked. At times, it even felt like the flow of his swordsmanship was snapping apart.

Something was missing.

Lately, other people thought he was slacking off, but in truth, Ragna had been looking inward.

After that self-examination led him to one conclusion, he moved.

'Basics.'

Every motion. Swing, cut, thrust.

Ragna started from basic physical training and walked back through the path he had taken.

Even if his sense of direction was awful, retracing his own stamped-down footprints was something even Ragna could do.

In the middle of that, a voice inside him asked,

"Why are you trying to become a knight?"

In the past, that question would have stopped him cold.

"Because only by becoming a knight can I see what comes next."

Ragna now waited for that next step. He also had a near-term goal. The knight who had come from Azpen.

He would defeat him.

Ragna had changed as much as Rem had.

Jaxon had no reason for a change of heart.

He had already decided.

Instead, he was busy physically. He had to keep moving nonstop. If he failed to persuade his own guild members, plenty of them were ready to poison Enkrid's food on the spot.

In the middle of all that, Enkrid kept swinging his sword.

Watching that trajectory, Frog said with admiration,

"Clean."

Those were basics that looked as if they had been repeated thousands of times over many years.

From Ruagarne's point of view, when it came to basics alone, she had never seen anyone like Enkrid.

'Is that too obvious?'

Ruagarne thought to herself. The more she considered it, the more obvious it seemed.

Geniuses were born with talent, so after repeating the same move a few times, they quickly grasped the principle, interpreted it, and modified it.

'But can you call that perfect mastery?'

A flash of talent showed a shortcut, but that was not always a good thing.

Without effort, even geniuses were swallowed by their own gifts.

Ruagarne had seen plenty of those unlucky people too.

So what was needed?

Persistence. Talent without persistence was like a birdsong no one could hear.

Where did that stubborn persistence come from?

'What makes someone repeat something so much that boredom and fatigue never even enter their mind?'

"Hoo."

Breathing out from deep in his lungs, Enkrid brought his sword down.

The movement traced the exact same line as before.

He was not picturing a sparring partner in his head and swinging at that.

It was just the same downward strike he practiced every day, enough to bore anyone. That was how it looked to Ruagarne, yet heat poured off Enkrid's body.

This was not heat that came from boredom.

It was passion only someone drunk on joy could show.

'He's fascinating. Again and again.'

Things she could not see before unless she studied closely were visible now.

He enjoyed swinging the sword itself, so he felt no boredom. He simply enjoyed swinging it, fully.

He was truly insane.

Krang, whose nickname Memorial King was spreading bit by bit, had said this.

"That bastard isn't human."

Ruagarne agreed inwardly.

Her eyes followed Enkrid through his whole day.

Watching and studying every single thing the man in front of her did, that was her work.

Because of that, Ruagarne also saw others changing.

'Knowing and finding your own shortcomings is not talent.'

That needed a trigger, and it needed stimulation.

In that sense, the stimulant called Enkrid was equally available to everyone.

Pel was no exception.

Pel was proud of his talent.

Like Ruagarne, he watched everyone and observed them.

He paid special attention to Enkrid.

'That crazy bastard.'

No rest time. Well, he did seem to rest at times, but was that really rest?

Doing repetitive training every day without showing boredom was already impressive, but this bastard looked like he was staking his life on every single drill.

"I always do my best."

Many people said that.

'But this kind of mad bastard is a first.'

It was not just words. He really repeated that kind of day every day.

He lived as if he were burning the candle of his soul to light up everything around him. Pel himself was not someone who slacked off in training either, but like that every day?

Pel swallowed hard and made up his mind too.

'If that's what I need, I'll do it.'

He had not come this far while getting cursed out by the elder shepherds for nothing.

Pel kept observing and secretly threw himself into training.

Ropord, who could be said to be in a similar position, did the exact opposite.

"Let's have a match!"

Anyone who knew the old Ropord could never have imagined it.

A guy who used to read every room and move by other people's opinions instead of his own now cheerfully ignored everyone's gaze and acted first.

"Do you really want to die?"

Ragna asked Ropord in a serious voice. He was genuinely serious.

"Don't kill him," Enkrid said, swinging his sword beside them.

Ropord was a little bird that had cracked its shell and stepped into a new world.

'He can't mean that literally.'

That was how he took Ragna's words. Until now, he had constantly guessed other people's inner thoughts and misunderstood them.

But not anymore.

That was why their jokes did not shake him.

Resolve became will.

"I want to fight to the death!"

"Even then?" Ragna asked flatly.

"Don't kill him."

Enkrid shook his head.

Ropord did not bend despite their back-and-forth. The two of them really loved joking around.

Naturally, charging in and getting beaten senseless was his part to play.

Ropord did not stop there. Even after lying in pain for days, he got right back up.

"Lady Teresa, let's have a match!"

Ropord charged at anyone.

"I won't send you to the Lord," Teresa said with a nod. Recently, she had gained a small realization.

It came after watching several sparring challengers seek out Enkrid. All kinds of people showed up.

Trash mercenaries, some noble's guard who said he did not believe the rumors, warriors from other lands, wandering swordsmen from the East, and more.

Frog Maelrun was in the city and filtered out most of them, but a few still reached the barracks.

Even Maelrun could not be in two places at once.

Enkrid personally faced them, and Teresa watched and nodded to herself.

A lion gave its all even when hunting a rabbit.

Enkrid never took it easy against anyone.

She drew Aker and activated Swift Will. That thrust, fast as a streak of light, looked like a single bolt of lightning.

She acted like Enkrid.

She smashed the charging Ropord with her shield. It was a shield bash loaded with a half-giant's strength.

Wham!

"Guhk!"

Ropord's neck snapped sideways and he flew, rolled three times across the ground, then stopped. He was out cold. If Teresa had used just a little more force, he might have knocked on heaven's gate.

"Are you trying to kill him?" Enkrid asked when he saw that.

"I entered a spar, so I only gave my best."

Half-giant Teresa spoke, heat rising from her. Her eyes said she wanted to fight.

And Enkrid was not the kind of person to avoid a spar.

"Come."

He did not dodge it.

If someone came and watched, they would have thought it was utter chaos.

The man called general, the uncrowned lord who ruled this whole area, was always fighting like he meant to kill.

"Let's have a match!"

The one who looked weakest charged at whoever he saw.

Among those who came seeking spars, some were so impressed by Enkrid and the others that they wanted to join the unit.

"I want to stay under Demon Slayer."

No one really stopped them.

After a little time, those people came to their senses.

"I'll start from the Border Guard standing army. No. No, wait. You're saying I should go under Lord Rem? I was wrong. I think I'll try farming. Standing army? No, I'll become a farmer."

Their attitudes flipped in an instant.

No matter how hard normal people struggled, they could not keep up with madness.

There was a reason this was called the Lunatic Company.

"Spar!"

Ropord shouted.

Pel watched with a subtle gaze.

Rem thought about when he would head west.

Jaxon kept moving in and out without rest.

Ragna devoted himself to basic drills more than ever.

Audin, too, sank into thoughts about his Prohibition Seal.

'My Lord, may I undo this Prohibition Seal?'

The thought had been coming to him often lately. Audin only believed that his god would grant another revelation.

Dunbakel had recognized her own weakness.

Her excessive desire to survive, that was her weakness. Because of that, she always looked back first and planned her escape first.

'I had no choice if I wanted to live.'

A beastfolk's survival instinct was stronger than that of other races, and Dunbakel's had grown even sharper while she was being chased out by her own pack.

Why did the desire to live return so quickly even after she had prepared for death?

Because he did not truly want to die.

'I have to get over this.'

Enkrid was a strange existence. Just watching him made Dunbakel realize what her own problem was.

So it was another ordinary day at the training ground.

Pel saw someone approaching through the gap between three trees near the entrance.

Not a familiar face.

Not dressed like a guard either.

A cloth vest, both arms and fists covered in scars, a square jaw, protruding cheekbones, and muscles with no extra fat anywhere on his body.

Pel's gaze swept across him in an instant.

"Let me play too."

The moment Pel saw the man's lips move, he heard the voice, and the man's figure suddenly blew up in his vision.

"Huh!"

Startled, Pel drew Idolslayer and slashed upward.

How could he not?

A guy who had been slowly walking from far away was suddenly right in front of him.

Instinct made him swing Idolslayer, and the man struck the blade with his palm.

Fssst, the palm was cut slightly.

"Sharp blade."

He just flicked out his tongue and licked the wound once, and that was it.

Idolslayer's magic power did not activate.

"You look kind of boring."

The man who had barged in spoke, then stepped into the training ground.

To Enkrid's left and right stood Rem, Ragna, Audin, Teresa, and Dunbakel.

Ropord, who used to read the room well but had now lost that ability completely, asked,

"Who are you?"

At a glance, he clearly was not an ordinary soldier.

"Just a passerby."

That was his answer.

The man had done nothing, yet Enkrid felt pressure and thought of someone.

It was a memory pulled up by instinct.

That opponent had come from Azpen, ripped into a tent, and sent a sword flying.

A knight, an opponent so strong that even blocking one strike had been difficult.

"They said the rumors were exaggerated."

The man spoke and let both arms hang down.

He did nothing and raised no Will, yet there was not a single opening.

Did that mean they should back off?

Enkrid sharpened the sword in his heart.

Will was a blade honed on the whetstone called resolve.

He steadied himself, straightened his back, and rested a hand on his sword grip.

It was not only Enkrid.

Rem, Ragna, Audin, Dunbakel, and Teresa were the same.

None of them looked ready to retreat.

Summer heat thickened the air. It was hot enough for heat haze to rise.

Sweat had already been pouring from the humid weather, but the tension turned that heat cold.

No one spoke, then someone else cut in.

He appeared behind the newly arrived man.

"Please stop fooling around."

The man approached and spoke, but the tension did not break. At first, the mood had been created on purpose by the man in the vest, but now it was different.

'Well, look at that?'

The vest-wearing man stared straight at Enkrid.

Now, the one maintaining this atmosphere was that bastard.

The one at the center of all those rumors, Demon Slayer.

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