WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 525: Four

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"As expected."

Abnaier received his report on what the enemy had done, and he received it immediately.

His position was in the rear, far back at that, and for appearances he had placed a puppet commander at the front.

If this had been a straight-up battle, Barnaas Hurrier would have been in command, but the outcome of this fight would be decided not at the front, but on the flank.

'Looking at it this way, does it resemble the last war?'

Back then too, a small engagement on the flank had pressured the main front.

Every battle fought against Naurillia lived in Abnaier's head, so those old memories surfaced on their own.

A similar shape, but a different fight.

Last time, the flank skirmish had been secondary. This time, the battle on the bypass route would decide everything.

Abnaier took a sip of tea. He had just finished a solid meal. A well-fed mind worked better, after all.

Even now, eating well and resting well kept his brain turning fast enough to see straight through an opponent's intentions.

Then again, this much did not require him specifically. Anyone paying attention would have caught it.

Even the puppet standing in for him up front would have read the enemy's intent.

Which meant Abnaier had to see past what the enemy was showing.

So what was the obvious, unhidden intent, clear as day?

They were testing the water.

They were asking him to show what was left in the main camp. Asking whether, beneath all the feinting and deceiving, preparations for a full frontal engagement were underway.

'Obsession.'

That was what Abnaier felt in the enemy's move. Obsession.

The kind of person who would not just tap a stone bridge before crossing it, but would research when it was built, who built it, and how sturdy it was, checking each detail before setting a single foot on it.

'Checking whether knight-level strength is still sitting on this side.'

And while doing that, shave down morale, and claim a psychological edge for any frontal engagement that might come?

The intent was transparent. But transparent did not mean easy to stop.

"Send word to put forward someone who is confident they can dominate their opponent. They do not have to win outright, but they must not lose easily. And add that their opponent is no pushover."

Abnaier sorted his thoughts and spoke without pause.

What card had the enemy played? Assume the worst.

'A junior knight?'

Probably. Then this side just had to show a card to match.

Abnaier did not know exactly who had stepped out on the enemy side.

Honestly, he did not expect them to show anything truly impressive.

The real contest would be decided at the Pen-Hanil Mountain Range.

Abnaier still believed this fight would end as Azpen's victory.

He had no certainty, but his conviction was full.

Knights, forces capable of swinging a war's outcome, had been kept hidden. Even if three of the four were barely past the threshold of knighthood, knights were still knights.

How would the enemy stop a force like that?

Naurillia would have their own hidden strength, of course.

'Two knights at most, if they pushed their luck.'

One person who had come to the Azpen border and killed two junior knights.

Plus one unexpected number on top of that.

Two, total.

'Fine, suppose it surpasses expectation and there are three.'

Even so, nothing changed.

The Wolf Beastfolk General was a symbol of power that stood on equal footing with Cyprus of the Red Cloak Knights.

And when it came to single combat, there was also a knight who was confident of victory.

His Will had weakened somewhat after he sold away his oath not long ago.

'That would not be a problem.'

Remove those two, and there were still two more.

Even leaving General Frog out of the count, that held.

But General Frog was actively leading her unit forward with full intent.

Fight and win. Win simply by engaging. She had even been sent to advance first in that kind of fight.

It was to hold a slight psychological edge, on the assumption that the enemy had knights too.

That slight edge could be the thing that decided the outcome.

Every person who had become a knight said the same thing without exception.

"When skills are even, the one who wavers even a little is at a disadvantage."

It was the answer to the question: what is the single biggest factor that decides victory or defeat in a fight between knights?

The Beastfolk general who gave that answer had poked himself in the chest as he said it.

Abnaier recalled the image of General Frog beside him at the time, puffing out her cheeks in disgust at the gesture.

Abnaier finished his calculations.

In the meantime, the second messenger arrived from the puppet commander he had planted up front.

He had just been eating fruit pie as an afternoon snack after lunch.

A sugar pie would keep his brain turning even faster.

His tongue would be happy too, naturally.

He had picked up a fork in anticipation when the messenger arrived.

Not a single bite yet. Abnaier set down the fork and waited for the man to speak. The messenger sat across the table and caught his breath.

"Four of our side lost in the front-line duels."

"Four?"

"After the first, Naurillia kept demanding more duels."

Abnaier knew there was unexpected combat strength even among his own forces. He had hired mercenaries as a blade held in reserve, and he had also left junior knights from the Royal King's Knights in place.

And four of them had lost?

"Did you send out junior knights?"

"Yes."

"And they still lost?"

An unknown variable. Fine. As long as they had not lost easily. The real fight was beyond all this, at the Pen-Hanil Mountain Range..."Morale has hit the floor. Every loss was one-sided. The second duel loss was the assault unit commander, who said the opponents are deranged."

Abnaier's train of thought broke off. The messenger's words reached his brain first and lit something up.

What the enemy had done, what they were aiming for, connected itself one piece at a time.

"...Bastards."

The enemy had siphoned off part of their forces.

They had agreed not to engage in a full frontal battle. So why divert forces? If things went sideways, to win even the fake fight on the front rather than the real fight on the flank? What would they even gain by that?

'To buy time for the Red Cloak Knights to join the battle?'

No.

Border Guard simply had people remaining even after Enkrid and the knight-level forces were removed. Leaving them on the field had been Krais's overcaution.

"How many?"

The messenger was quick.

"Four stepped forward."

"Four? And what is this about being deranged?"

"Every one of them is apparently out of their minds..."

The soldier who had become Abnaier's messenger precisely because he spoke clearly and sharply let his words trail off.

Something strange was clearly happening at the front.

Abnaier pushed the fruit pie aside.

"Send word. No more fighting from here on."

Let morale collapse if it had to, they could not fight. That was his judgment.

He had decided it was all a ploy to chip away at morale, this talk of derangement and madness.

He was wrong.

There were simply things neither Krais nor Abnaier could have factored into their expectations.

* * *

"Is that a challenge by size? I will go handle it."

Just as Audin had provoked them, a prominent figure stepped out from Azpen's side.

The puppet commander had just finished hearing the messenger from Abnaier.

The one who stepped forward was a man of considerable martial skill.

"Defeat will not be tolerated."

He was a member of Azpen's Royal King's Knights.

Not among the top handful of fighters, but still a junior knight.

"Hey! You will pay for that arrogance!"

The junior knight rode out on horseback. Audin had dismounted and looked as though he was simply enjoying the sunshine.

He had tilted his face toward the light and was humming softly with his eyes closed.

The sight of it made the junior knight so furious that he did not even bother dismounting before swinging his mace.

From horseback, he added the momentum of his charge and poured his Will into a diagonal downswing. On that trajectory, from the back of a galloping horse, a heavy dark line stretched outward and fell like the scythe of death.

Audin listened to the hoofbeats closing in and the opponent's furious shout. He planted his feet wide and set his stance.

Then he raised his head and looked directly at the dark line descending on him.

In an instant he calculated everything, the horse's speed, the timing of impact, and extended one hand. The rough steel gauntlet wrapped around his left hand caught the light.

Thunk! Clang! Two sharp crashes struck the eardrums of every soldier watching.

The sound came from where Azpen's junior knight on horseback and the fighter on their own side crossed paths.

The Will packed into the mace was a will to shatter.

Audin did not bother matching force against force. He looked nearly dead when he relaxed, but his specialty was technique.

He extended his hand, caught the mace on the beveled surface near the back of the gauntlet, redirected it away with a twist, and in the same motion brought his free right hand into a Hand Blade and drove it into the opponent's side.

That ended the duel.

The opponent wore a gambeson under chainmail, but neither stopped Audin's right Hand Blade.

Flesh caved in. The lumbar vertebrae disappeared. Part of the organs seated there scattered across the ground.

The opponent had not been careless. He had intended to hold through the first blow and trust the armor's hardness, then exploit his mounted advantage to grind the enemy down and break them.

It was a tactic he used often, wearing away flesh bit by bit.

The opponent who had stepped out first on the field was large in frame too.

Azpen's junior knight had not considered this opponent easy, and that was exactly why he had built that plan. Audin dismantled it in a single strike.

The gap in level had been too wide to begin with.

Audin shook his hand as if brushing dust from the air.

"Are there any more brothers here who know how to fight?"

"Hrgh..."

Before the words finished, Azpen's junior knight, who had somehow still been clinging to the saddle, vomited blood and toppled to the ground.

His foot caught in the stirrup, so only his body pitched forward. The startled horse screamed and reared up on its hind legs.

The man's body hung from it, swaying, the man who was probably standing beside his god right now, asking whether he had died and whether it even counted.

"What in the hells was that?"

One of the soldiers at the very front of Azpen's formation muttered it without thinking.

Most of the soldiers watching had no idea why the man who had ridden out on horseback had suddenly dropped dead. He charged out, and then he was dead. That was all they saw.

The scattered organs were not clearly visible from where they stood. What was visible was the monster still standing, calling out for the next opponent.

The creature that had killed their mounted comrade from beneath the horse, bear or giant, who could say, filled the soldiers' field of view entirely.

The overwhelming display of force pulled every eye to him, but Audin himself was nothing but calm.

That made it something close to fear.

Was this what they were going to be fighting from here on?

Azpen's junior knight had gotten a raw deal, but the opponent had simply been too far beyond him.

Enkrid had now reached the level of a knight, which meant Audin, who could contend with knights even without divinity, was without question the strongest at the junior knight level.

On top of that, Rem's return recently had left Audin with a certain amount of frustration building up, whether he admitted it or not.

That was probably why his hand had moved a bit too far just now.

Audin did not look away from that feeling. It was his own.

Rather than look away, he had wanted to use his hand a little more while he was at it. It was absolutely not venting frustration.

It was not because the barbarian brother had been joking around calling him 'hey, youngest,' and Mia had been nodding right along with it.

When those two came to mind, his fist had clenched a little harder than intended, but it truly was not venting.

Big Eyes had said this kind of fight was necessary, so he had stepped up. Nothing more.

"I make no distinction between brothers and sisters. Step forward."

He meant that any woman who came out would be turned into the same lump of bloodied meat as the rest. He said it with the volume of a shout but the tone of calm. He had silenced the enemy with one strike, so his voice carried clearly, yet it was still quiet.

The response came from his own side.

"Hard to get anyone to step up when you fight like that. I would not want to fight you either, honestly."

Fell walked over, saying it. His eyes were sunken and his face was heavy with things weighing on him, but for whatever reason he took a position beside Audin and finished his thought.

"Go back in. With you standing here, nobody's going to step up. Fighting in turns and winning every one is more effective than one person beating everyone to death alone. That's what Big Eyes said."

Audin felt a reluctance to leave, but he steadied himself.

"I see."

He should have held back a little.

But the moment the enemy said 'hey,' his body had moved before his mind caught up. Pure instinct. That 'hey' had sounded strangely like the barbarian brother's way of speaking.

Naturally, it had not been venting.

"Then."

Audin stepped back and Fell took his place.

"Next, step out," Fell said.

Even with Audin standing there, Azpen still had a few warriors willing to fight. Their commander had simply been holding them back.

Abnaier had told them to hold out as long as possible, so what were they supposed to do when someone died in one hit?

Was their own side weak? Was the enemy strong?

They had said there were no knights among the enemy. Then was that not a knight? A giant? Even real giants that good at fighting were not common.

"Let me out."

Someone with savage eyes stepped up to the commander and said it.

The assault unit commander. Not attached to a knights order, but someone who knew how to win a fight.

"If we charge as things stand, our people will be cut apart. We need to knock at least one of them down."

The assault unit commander was the kind who ran at the very front. His instincts told him that fighting like this would mean taking losses they could not even call losses before being pushed back. The commander shared that read, but he knew one more thing.

No charge without Abnaier's approval. No frontal engagement.

Even so, he could not leave things as they were. He had his own thoughts on the matter.

What if it came to a fight? What if a full engagement broke out?

"Go."

"Yes."

The assault unit commander sprinted forward.

Fell waited without moving, whatever Azpen decided to do.

He was not comfortable fighting from horseback, so Fell had also stayed on foot.

He waited for Azpen to make their move and looked up at the sky, felt the wind brush his cheek, caught the sharp smell of blood in the air.

In truth, the sky, the wind, even the smell of blood, none of it registered.

Inside him, his worries were still packed full.

'Maybe my talent is actually nothing special.'

There had been a time when he watched Enkrid's strength grow explosively and blurted out that he had never met a genius like him.

That was their first meeting.

When he said it, Fell had privately ranked his own talent higher.

He had seen Enkrid as someone he would catch up to soon enough.

That held later too. When they met again, he had felt the same.

And now, the foundation of that belief had been shattered once.

So what was left?

'Idol Slayer is left.'

Was a single Demon Sword his everything? Did it stand for everything he was?

"Stop being so damn arrogant."

That was what Ropord, that prissy swordsman, had said to him. He wanted to kill the man, but in terms of pure skill, it was a close thing. Did that mean he had to lean on the Demon Sword to do it?

No. His pride would not allow it.

Then what? Fell had lost his way. The night sky above was dark with not a single star. Only darkness.

And in that darkness, he felt a single spark of flame.

'I want to do something.'

He wanted to swing his sword.

The impulse surged up. Enkrid's Will had touched him.

And from the root of that impulse, a question formed on its own.

'Is it not allowed for someone to be more talented than me?'

Enkrid had become a knight, absurd as it was. He had awakened right in front of Fell's eyes. And after that, he had not stopped training.

"Being a shepherd means you can get trampled to death by your own sheep any day."

That was what it meant to be a shepherd. Same went for a swordsman.

"Then why would anyone choose to be a shepherd?"

A question he had thrown out as a child. The village elder, supposed to be the wisest person around, had smiled. He still remembered the clear whistle of air through the man's chipped front teeth.

"Shall I say, because someone has to? Or because this is simply what I love? Or maybe because it is a vow, and vows must be kept?"

'The answer is inside me.'

The elder's words made sense to him now.

Fell stopped looking around at others.

Instead, he connected what needed to be done now to what came after.

For now, he would do his duty as the person standing here.

After that.

'I will try catching up.'

He had decided to set Enkrid as his goal and run toward him. An acknowledgment of talent, and a resolve to close the gap through effort. That beginning was now.

"You look young. How old are you?"

This time the opponent had also dismounted, saying it as he climbed down. The Shepherds of the Wilderness were more at home using every kind of method in a fight than they were in straight head-on combat.

Against Fell, a shepherd himself, the opponent made the first move.

He spoke, reached into a pouch, and tossed it.

Azpen's assault unit commander, a man whose specialty was winning fights, threw poisoned sand. Fell read the motion of the opponent's arm, traced the trajectory, and leaped sideways to avoid it.

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