WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 534: He Walked a Road With No Walls

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Jamal had decided time was on his side. There was no need to swing his sword at full force.

His Inscribed Weapon, Plunder, would chip away at his opponent's strength bit by bit.

The first time someone got hit by it, their face always changed color.

They would not notice right away. Plunder was like a mouse gnawing at cheese, slow and patient.

Then, at some point, their legs would simply give out.

That was when the color drained from their face.

Seeing that expression was not exactly Jamal's pleasure. But it was impossible to call it a bad feeling either. That expression was the signal of victory, so of course he felt relief, a trace of joy.

And if the opponent had been strong enough to chill him to the bone and make his heart clench, yet the ending was still fixed as his own win, how could that not be satisfying?

'Now it begins.'

As he explained the nature of his Inscribed Weapon Plunder, Jamal steeled himself as well.

Why wouldn't he?

Now that the opponent knew their strength was being bled away and understood what was happening, only one option remained.

Kill him before the strength runs out.

On top of that, around him stood not only Jamal himself but also soldiers armed with crossbows and a Frog nearly on par with a junior knight.

Taking Jamal down alone would not end things. Everything pressing on the opponent was a burden.

That was why Jamal had settled into a defensive posture.

He gripped his sword close and readied himself to snatch the shortsword at his hip and fling it the moment any opening appeared.

The core of it was simple.

Absorb the fierce assault and give the opponent no room to breathe.

A tactic to drive them further into a corner.

The harder they pushed, the sooner they would hit the limit of their Will.

They would reach that limit far earlier than they had ever known before.

It was obvious, a fiercer attack demanded more Will.

In other words, explaining Plunder had been part of the tactic as well.

Jamal had poured the poison of urgency into the opponent's mind.

He planted his feet, lowered his center of gravity, and leveled his sword. He even activated a scroll he had been hiding beneath his armor.

A palm-sized spell scroll, containing a ward that would block a single strike from reaching his armor.

No harm in being careful.

Use everything available.

He did exactly as he had learned from surviving this long.

At the same time, in his mind's eye he pictured shackles clamping around the opponent's feet.

Those shackles would grow heavier with each passing moment, until even lifting a foot off the ground felt impossible.

He finished every preparation and moved, but Jamal found reality very different from what he had expected.

Enkrid did not press hard.

The sword came no faster than before, a blade dropping straight down from above, honest and direct. The speed was measured, but a thick, clinging pressure radiated from it and squeezed inward like a vice. It was a crushing sword.

'What is he thinking?'

What kind of person moved this unhurriedly in a situation like this?

Jamal activated his Will and shook off the crushing force, then caught the downward blade with his own and deflected it smoothly.

Trrring.

A soft deflection that did not even spark.

That was the mark of excellent Flowing Sword Style.

And that was Jamal's final weapon.

Continuously deflecting the frenzied opponent's blade.

Through that, the opponent would steadily fall to Plunder, and with the poison of urgency already in them, they would crumble.

It was his last weapon and his finest tactic.

Was that not exactly why Barnas had called him a troublesome opponent?

"To beat you, a quick decisive fight is the only option. Tch."

Without forcing a quick finish, you would be drained dry. And Jamal's Flowing Sword Style ranked among the best even by a knight's standards.

On top of that, he had reinforced his defenses through every available means.

The scroll was just one of those means.

When needed, Jamal would throw daggers, and he had the footwork to circle endlessly around a target and drag the fight out.

He was fast on his feet too.

He knew assassin tactics as well.

All of it was built around exploiting the opponent's impatience.

But what was this?

'What the hell is wrong with this guy?'

Jamal kept his face still, but inside he felt thrown off.

Given the situation, Enkrid showed no urgency, no labored breathing, no distress.

He had been swinging his sword with a blank face from the start.

The only thing that had changed.

'His expression?'

He was not smiling. But to Jamal, he looked like a man absorbed in something, like he was enjoying it. A closer look made it certain.

'What's got you so excited?'

He looked like a boy holding a real sword for the first time in his life. The face of someone lost in a game, utterly focused.

Watching that face, the thrill Jamal had felt suddenly seemed cheap. With the outcome already guaranteed, he had been savoring a false tension, while the opponent, knowing nothing of what was assured, was simply living in the present, in the moment itself.

Feeling cheap made him angry. There was no way around it.

"Are you out of your mind!"

Jamal shouted and swung his sword.

Enkrid's Valerian steel sword met Plunder again.

Clang!

The sound of impact was noticeably smaller than before. The air did not shake, and there was no tearing sound.

Instead, the pale blue blade in Enkrid's hand shifted like a snake, coiling around Plunder in a flicker of motion, then stabbed into Jamal's shoulder.

Thunk.

The moment Jamal registered the hit, he fell back.

Not a deep wound. The tip had caught the edge of his pauldron and grazed flesh. Still, it stung his pride.

'Damn.'

A psychological ploy had caught him. That was how Jamal read it.

This gave the opponent a moment of advantage, and he would charge in without pause. Jamal had just shown that opening.

A shallow cut, nothing more, but that last exchange had clearly put him on the back foot.

He braced for the pressure bearing down on him.

Jamal's prediction missed again.

Enkrid did not charge. Instead, he swung his sword through empty air a couple of times, then slid it back to his hip and drew a different blade, narrow and pointed like an awl.

First the Gladius, then the Valerian steel sword, and now third, Spark, a blade made by elves.

Enkrid raised the drawn sword to face level, then shot it forward.

Faster than sound. Jamal brought every ounce of concentration to bear.

Whatever cheap thrill he had felt or not, he was a knight too.

Jamal twisted Plunder upward to block.

At the same moment he felt a flicker of wrongness, so he pulled a magical weapon from behind his back.

A Guard Sword, a broad defensive shortsword, though this one was far wider than any standard Guard Sword.

It looked like holding a blade-shaped frying pan.

It might have seemed ridiculous, but anyone who thought so would be a fool.

In a knight's hands, it was a shield carrying a ward.

Jamal intended to hold firm and outlast.

He was right to do so.

Spark, having struck Plunder, poured down in a relentless stream of jabs and sweeping cuts.

It was slightly faster than the quick sword Jamal himself had shown earlier.

Jamal's hands grew busy.

Clang! Bang bang bang!

For Plunder to shave the opponent's Will and make it look as though he were absorbing it, Jamal had to burn his own Will at the slowest possible rate.

That was how the opponent would believe their Will was being stolen.

That too had been part of the tactic, but there was no room left to ration his Will and keep up that composed performance.

If things went even slightly wrong, his body would get punctured. When was he supposed to pretend?

He was genuinely just blocking.

Clangclangclangclangclang!

Their fight had already been a close exchange of constant sparks, but now the sparks flying in that single stretch felt like a storm had rolled in.

From the center where they clashed, the air tore apart and formed strange currents that pushed outward.

The ground around them cratered, trees burst, rocks split.

"Fall back!"

General Frog made the sensible call.

Standing there, they would get themselves killed just watching.

Survival meant pulling back now.

The thought of slipping in a crossbow bolt did not even cross her mind.

You had to see something to aim at.

Shoot blind and trust to luck?

And if it hit an ally in the back?

Honestly, she doubted either of them would get hit regardless.

As the soldiers withdrew at General Frog's word, the two weapons kept flying and crashing, each seeking the other's flesh.

The clatter of blade on blade mixed with sharp ringing cracks, and between those came heavy booming impacts.

With one of those booms, something flew over the soldiers' heads.

A piece of armor.

No matter how General Frog looked at it, it did not appear to belong to the enemy.

* * *

Enkrid had shown the crushing sword with the Gladius, used rapid thrusts and Focus Point with Spark, and worked through various techniques using Pressure and force with the Valerian steel sword.

That was not all.

He tried the unorthodox move of gripping the blade and swinging the handle like a bludgeon, and layered in Vallen-style mercenary swordsmanship.

He mixed his breathing freely to pile confusion on the opponent and threw in the Feigned Breath.

When he gasped deliberately, Jamal's eyes lit up for an instant.

He saw it, then returned to his normal breathing.

Jamal's eyes jerked wildly. They said what his mouth could not, his hands and feet were too busy for words.

'This bastard,?'

Then Enkrid showed the Three Sword Style from Vallen-style mercenary swordsmanship.

He feinted with Spark in hand, then suddenly released the blade and threw a Whistle Dagger. Jamal flinched and twisted his body like a worm underfoot.

Enkrid threw a second Whistle Dagger at Jamal's hip.

The close-range knife-throw form he had learned from Jaxon detonated.

Fweet,!

With a sharp cry, just as the dagger was about to sink into his hip, light flashed near his belt and the blade bounced away.

The ward stored in the scroll had done its job.

Enkrid did not know this. He had no need to.

He was only enjoying the moment.

Beyond all that, he used the Shadow Thrust and the dual sword draw.

Clang, crack!

Jamal blocked the dual sword draw and found both of Enkrid's hands now each holding a sword.

The dual performance of Vallen-style mercenary swordsmanship.

Two swords moved on different rhythms, different timing.

The Valerian steel sword in the right hand bore down in Heavy Sword Style, while Spark in the left surged forward in a fast thrust.

Jamal held his breath and blocked again and again with the blade he had drawn as a makeshift shield.

'I'm losing ground.'

Jamal understood it.

And Enkrid was still enjoying himself.

Why would he not be?

'Everything is going as planned.'

His reaching hand, his trained techniques, the insight born from Sensory Technique, all of it worked.

The opponent could only scramble to defend, and even those reactions stayed within Enkrid's predictions.

No reason for his hands or feet to slow down. Everything moved as intended.

He had never experienced this before.

In Enkrid's world of swordsmanship, falling down, getting knocked over, and thrashing through it was the baseline.

Getting knocked around and beaten, then dragging yourself forward anyway, that was the sword Enkrid had learned, the sword he had trained. That was how he had always walked.

Forcing himself forward regardless.

But now was different.

Everything he had ever learned and trained flowed out with ease, and everything moved exactly as he had first intended.

For the first time in his life, Enkrid walked a road with no wall in his way.

He walked a road with no thornbushes.

He walked a road with no scorching sun bearing down on him.

He walked a road with no biting wind cutting through him.

How could he not be happy?

As a knight, Jamal was not exceptionally skilled in technique. He was an opponent broad in knowledge but not deep, a perfect training partner.

Release what was learned, realize what was trained. Enkrid was delighted, sinking fully into the present moment.

Starting with what he had learned inside the mental world Aker had built, working backward through everything he had honed, each technique left a mark on Jamal's body.

Where Jamal failed to block, pieces of armor cracked and burst free.

Fragments flew outward from the pressure they generated at the storm's center.

The edge of the blade used as a shield chipped, and Plunder cracked.

It was proof that the conviction of the knight called Jamal had begun to shake.

"You freak, why won't you dry up."

For Jamal, this was something he had never encountered in his life. His voice was soaked in grievance.

'Will that never runs dry?'

Was that not something out of legend?

The opponent in front of him right now was demonstrating that legend with his own body.

Jamal had used Will freely. It had been stripped by Plunder. And yet it had not run dry. The man was the same as at the start.

No. He looked even more excited.

Jamal sensed the end.

Enkrid saw the same thing.

Both their insights looked upon the same future, so nothing was going to change.

Enkrid had already finished the dual performance and put both swords away, holding only Spark now.

Jamal discarded the broken Guard Sword and gripped Plunder with both hands.

Enkrid stepped forward with his left foot and drove his body boldly into the path of the opponent's blade.

Left foot and right foot split forward and back, crossing as they launched him ahead. It was like a single arrow loosed in flight.

Arrow Step, a reworking of the basic lunge step of swordsmanship.

Just before Plunder could carve a downward strike through where Enkrid's head had been, the sword in Enkrid's hand reached Jamal's throat first.

Thud.

Parting bone and flesh, the tip of Spark sliced through part of the cervical vertebra and emerged from the back of the neck.

The blood-red Spark withdrew as fast as it had entered.

Fwump. Jamal's sword fell from above without strength, dropping straight to the ground.

Enkrid had already finished the thrust and turned to the side.

He had avoided Jamal's sword cleanly.

Standing there, he watched as the body of the man who had been the knight Jamal tipped forward and fell.

The body tilted slowly until it struck the ground with a heavy thud, and no one watching said a word.

Was it an overwhelming difference in ability? More accurate to say the matchup had simply been bad for Jamal.

But who among the onlookers would know that?

To them, the presence that was Enkrid simply bore down on the space and crushed it.

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