WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Ryuu

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 48: If the End is in Sight, You Can Crawl Over It

It was the first time such a level of force had been deployed in a small-scale skirmish. Just as the enemy had prepared sorcery, this side had prepared the squire. The impact of the squire on the battlefield was catastrophic.

Dodging the rain of arrows by advancing, the proto-knight drew his sword and slashed.

Swish.

In an instant, a silver line was drawn in the air, and the heads of three soldiers standing in the front rolled off. The squire retracted his sword and struck downwards. The sword fell like a black lightning bolt and then immediately rose upward.

The head of a soldier holding a pike was caught in its trajectory.

Crack!

It didn’t just cut, it shattered. The impact of the sword blow crushed the soldier’s head, and then the sword flew like a butterfly. The fluttering of the butterfly’s wings quickly turned into a dirge filled with fear. The sword strikes, piercing through gaps, took the lives of enemy soldiers.

Then two soldiers with thick wooden shields blocked his path. Blocking him with their entire bodies, the butterfly’s wings were halted by the shields. As the sword struck the shields, deep dents appeared on their surfaces.

“Surround him!”

An enemy soldier shouted, sweating profusely as he did his best, but even giving his all didn’t free him from the grim reaper’s grasp. The owner of the red cloak gripped his sword with both hands and swung horizontally.

Bang! Crash!

The sword struck the shield. The iron-bound part wasn’t cut but bent, fulfilling its role as a shield, but the hands holding it couldn’t withstand the impact.

“Ahhh!”

The soldier's wrist twisted and broke, with bones piercing through the skin. As the shield fell helplessly to the ground, the sword slashed horizontally across the soldier’s torso. His upper body was severed, and his entrails fell to the ground with a splat. Blood splattered everywhere.

Fear spread through the surrounding soldiers' eyes.

“Shit.”

One of the soldiers from Azpen cursed tearfully. The cloaked figure seemed to twitch his nose at this and then immediately kicked off the ground. His sword was terrifying, but the most frightening aspect was his footwork.

One moment he was here, and the next he was over there, severing throats and piercing bodies. Blocking with shields or armor was meaningless.

“Shoot him!”

One of the commanders shouted. It was a bold decision. Thirty crossbowmen who had been waiting fired their bolts.

He couldn’t dodge all the close-range shots. The commander was sure of it. The owner of the cloak shattered that certainty.

Bang!

Before the bolts could reach him, he kicked off the ground and soared into the sky. The quarrels cut through empty air. What goes up must come down. The cloaked figure, drawing an arc in the air, landed ten steps ahead of the Azpen's commander.

He was in the heart of the enemy camp.

“...Block him!”

The highest commander of Azpen's shout was pitiful.

If the Gray Hounds were still around, things might have been different. They had already retreated, burdened with the responsibility of the defeat and Mitch Hurrier’s injuries.

“Hoo.”

The owner of the cloak took a deep breath and swung his sword again. From top to bottom, and then from bottom to top.

Swish!

The blade, curving like a whip, slashed through the commander’s guards.

Wham! Crack!

The thick leather armor worn by the guards was cut clean through. The guard, wearing an iron helmet, was hit on the head by the sword's flat side and was flung away.

Boom!

Hit once and rolled to the side, blood poured from the guard’s nose. Though he seemed fine on the outside, the inside of his skull had been shattered by the impact. Having dealt with the guards, the squire pierced the commander’s neck.

Thud.

The squire, having killed the enemy commander in the middle of their camp, turned to retreat. Even his retreat was remarkable. He kicked an enemy soldier away and then sprinted across the ground in a series of powerful leaps.

From a distance, it looked like a red line was being drawn across the battlefield. Enkrid and his comrades watched the fight from start to finish. Rem thought the squire was quite skilled.

‘He knows how to play.’

He was a man who knew how to stir up the heart of the enemy camp. By showing his overwhelming power without holding back, he instilled fear. Through that, he ravaged the enemy camp at will.

The most impressive part was how he evaded the crossbowmen's ambush.

‘If it were me, I’d charge straight into the crossbowmen first.’

The squire clearly had proper training. It was no wonder they were called experts in battle and war. Instead of dealing with the crossbowmen first, he left them. When they targeted him, he used his reserved leg strength, leaping over the ground and flying at the enemy commander.

He was like a flying tiger. It felt like watching a winged tiger.

Ragna assessed his level and compared it to himself. He was an opponent who had walked the path he needed to follow.

‘At that level.’

He would reach it soon enough. Even without shortcuts or grueling training. While Rem had analyzed the enemy’s strategy, Ragna had evaluated the enemy's abilities.

‘His swordsmanship is sharp.’

It was a mix of swift sword techniques and heavy sword techniques. At first glance, it looked like he was using straight sword techniques, but it was all an illusion. It was clear he had an excellent sword instructor.

Typically, mixing two sword styles would make the basics sloppy. But the squire in the red cloak showed no such sloppiness.

‘Well, he is a squire.’

Having gauged his level, Ragna felt his motivation wane. Seeing someone ahead on the path didn't ignite his competitive spirit. It just left him with the task of walking that path.

Only training remained, and it was tedious and grueling. Because his talent was so exceptional, it was a problem.

Jaxon gauged the opponent's skill and found gaps.

‘At least five times.’

The enemy could have killed the cloaked figure. It was a matter of strategy, not ability. The commander had been stupid. And the unexpected strike had left them flustered.

If it had been Jaxon, he would have ended it before it reached such a situation. The religious squad member watched the opponent's movements and nodded.

“He is a brother skilled in guiding souls to the side of the Lord.”

It was a way of saying he fought well.

“We don’t need to fall back.”

Big Eyes was astounded. Just one person was controlling the flow of the battlefield. Victory seemed assured before the fight had even begun.

And Enkrid was...

‘This is a knight.’

He was overwhelmed. His heart pounded wildly, and his whole body trembled. His skin prickled, and he felt a chill. At the same time, he felt a warm heat rising from his lower abdomen.

His eyes were glued to the squire. In the current continent, squires, and proto-knights were the main force of the knight orders. They were one step away from becoming knights who could change the tide of war single-handedly.

The killing machine was now altering the tide of battle. He had killed the enemy commander and calmly returned.

‘How can he do that?’

The cloaked figure wasn’t a beastman or a Frog. Yet he displayed such power. A symbol of power capable of cutting down hundreds alone, that was a knight.

What made that possible?

What had brought him to the limits of human capability?

Enkrid didn’t know. Not knowing made him even more impressed by the figure’s movements. At the same time, he felt something burst in his mind.

“Sometimes you can learn just by watching.”

The words of a sword instructor in a big city flashed through his mind. His excitement subsided, and unbidden, his focused concentration activated. With this superhuman focus, he could understand the meaning behind the opponent's steps. He saw the intention in the sword swings.

‘Heavy sword technique.’

The power of the heavy sword. Being able to swing the sword meant being able to swing it quickly as well. The opponent mixed the essence of the heavy sword with the swift sword technique. Enkrid could see that.

‘He stepped back.’

It looked like a movement to set the range of his attack line.

‘No. He’s not setting it. He already set it.’

The northern heavy sword technique taught by Ragna built its basics around the attack line. The squire’s method was slightly different. He drew a circle with himself at the center.

It was based on the central continent's fundamental technique. He drew a circle with his body as the center and slaughtered anyone within that circle. If they approached, he cut them; if they came closer, he pierced them. It looked like he was using footwork to overwhelm the opponent, but in reality, it was different.

‘He maintained his range.’

He only used his feet when necessary. While a few sword strikes were impressive, most of the attacks were thrusts. He watched and watched again. He gathered the information entering his eyes and organized it in his mind.

‘Does a heavy sword technique always have to involve a downward strike?’

Mitch Hurrier’s ultimate move was similar to a heavy sword technique rather than a straight or flowing sword technique. The wheel slice that cut through anything.

Why did he use it as a trump card?

To deceive the opponent?

No. Just because sword techniques were divided into five categories didn’t mean they were entirely different styles. There was overlap between the five sword techniques. Using the heavy sword technique didn’t necessarily mean downward strikes and brute force were the only correct methods.

His eyes rolled. His brain whirred. Enkrid’s fingers twitched involuntarily.

“Enjoying the view? Hmm?”

Rem tried to strike up a conversation, then stopped. Ragna, no longer interested in the squire’s movements, turned around at the sound.

“Don’t touch him.”

Ragna whispered. He recognized the state of the squad leader at a glance. Whether on the battlefield, in a tavern, or in an alley, or in the arms of a lover. Realization came like a trick played by the goddess of fortune.

Suddenly, abruptly, unexpectedly, silently arriving, shaking one’s brain out of the blue.

“Stand guard.”

Jaxon stepped forward and spoke. Ragna stood on the right, Rem on the left. The religious squad member silently moved to stand behind Enkrid. Big Eyes whispered, asking what was happening. Rem answered the whisper.

“The Squad Leader is about to break out of his shell. It was about time. He’s been swinging his sword day and night alone.”

Rem acknowledged the squad leader's effort. He deserved this fortune. Of course, this was no mere fortune. It was a natural process that had come through countless battles and rebuilding the basics of swordsmanship.

Ragna, seeing Enkrid’s current state, felt a surge of motivation.

‘How can this be?’

What makes the squad leader like this?

Knowing the end, knowing his limits, why does he not let go of the sword?

To Ragna, it was a mysterious thing. As always, he was more fascinated by the squad leader compared to the squire rampaging in the enemy camp. After the knight order’s member returned, the ally commander’s shout echoed in the air.

“Chargeee!”

The allies soon rushed forward. Amidst the mingling shouts and cries, as the infantry charged, the ground rumbled. Enkrid continued to stare blankly into the air. He was still in a state of realization. Thanks to their previous battle’s exploits, the troublemaking squad could take a spectator's stance. No one could scold them for standing still.

Even if they wanted to, the murderous aura exuded by the four excluding Big Eyes was too intimidating to approach. Despite seeing the squire rampaging ahead, the allies found the troublemaking squad more chilling up close.

Thus, leaving them alone, the war raced toward its end. The following winter and spring would likely be very busy. They would have to spend the winter with the resources they had stored and rebuild their base.

The boundary between Naurillia and Azpen would be redrawn.

While the allies charged, Enkrid was reviewing the basics he had learned. The intersection, the swordsmanship, the Vallen-style mercenary sword, the northern heavy sword.

Everything was a weapon he had learned. There was no need to confine these weapons to the frame of basics. A heavy sword could also deflect and flow.

Binding, the technique of connecting swords, was the basis of deflecting. When he learned, he hadn’t even noticed.

In a state of realization, the unexpected enlightenment didn’t instantly elevate Enkrid's skills. No, it improved his insight to some extent, but his talent was too meager to instantly incorporate it into his body.

However, Enkrid clearly understood his limits. That meant he could train up to his limit and surpass it given time. He could now see the top of the cliff that once seemed endlessly high and invisible. He could see the end of the wall that once seemed too high and wide to scale.

When the end is in sight, no matter how far, high, or wide, even if you can’t walk, you can crawl over it. Enkrid realized this.

“Ah.”

He felt so joyous he could drool. In fact, he was drooling as he awakened from his state of realization.

“Why are you drooling?”

Rem teased him from the side. Enkrid opened his eyes and looked around. There were no allies in sight anymore.

“They all charged. If you’re tired, you should rest in the tent, not sleep standing.”

“Ah.”

“What do you mean, ah? Let’s go back. There’s no more fighting to be done.”

It was true. The squire with the cloak had returned to the main camp. The battle was over. The enemy was retreating beyond their homeland. It was time to return. Time to go back to the city. Enkrid turned his body, looking at the setting sun.

Having seen the squire’s power, his passion reignited. With his destination and ideal place in sight. Once again, his old dream surfaced.

‘How do I become a knight?’

It wasn’t just about increasing his power. First, he needed to prove his skill. His time as a bottom-rank soldier was over.

Enkrid muttered to himself.

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