A Knight who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 710

WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Abstract

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

Chapter 710: By the Law of the Continent

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Under normal circumstances, there was no reason for any member of the Zaun family to dutifully follow the words of someone who was not the family head.

"Who does this guy think he is?"

That was the natural response, ears turned away without a second thought.

But this was also a moment that called for direction, and it happened to be Enkrid giving it, which made it sit right. More precisely, no one felt any instinctive resistance.

By now Enkrid had eaten and slept and swung swords alongside these people.

The time spent sparring together had been especially rich.

An outsider, a stranger, and yet Enkrid was the kind of person whose color fit the Zaun family's brushstroke better than anyone, as though it had always belonged in that sketch.

Either way, Enkrid had finished drawing the Zaun sword from its sheath and was ready to swing. Anahehra had just opened the battle, and the Demon Creatures arrayed before the family head, Alexandra, and Lynox began to move.

The horde of Demon Creatures closing in on the wall the family head had formed took shape around the Scalers at the center. They were not simply charging. They were building an encirclement.

Had Enkrid been watching from a distance, he would have offered genuine admiration to whoever had drilled that kind of movement into Demon Creatures.

Ragna had not heard Enkrid's orders, so he was still standing where he had been from the start, an arguably ambiguous position, somewhere behind the family head.

"Father."

Ragna called out to the back turned toward him. His eyes stayed forward, and his greatsword was drawn, hanging loose at his side.

Outwardly it was a posture with no apparent meaning, yet it was one from which he could raise his sword at any moment. He would fight the instant he needed to.

That stance looked very much like his father's. It could not have been otherwise. Ragna had learned the sword by watching his father.

He had taken his father as his goal, taken beatings from his mother, and picked up the sword. That was where Ragna had started.

"Speak."

His father answered without turning around. The Demon Creatures were closing in. These creatures would not be the death of him, but this could still be the end of the Zaun family. Which would mean the end of his father.

"What do you want to leave behind? What have you already left behind?"

He might have caught it from Enkrid, a sudden curiosity about another person's dream. His father's in particular. What was it his father wanted?

"My body cannot recover anymore. I know my own body well."

The answer came without hesitation, as though it had been waiting.

On the surface it sounded like a pointless thing to say, but if his father had decided this was what needed to be said right now, Ragna had to listen.

"Take Ilchul. But give up the family."

Tempest knew his body was no longer what it had been. That was why, when the chance came to say in person what he had conveyed through Enkrid, he had not wanted to let it pass.

He kept talking with his back still turned.

"I will leave the family to Odinkar."

Was this meant to ease Ragna's heart? The tone alone was utterly casual, almost careless.

He spoke as if handing over a piece of candy he had picked up somewhere.

The position of family head, Ilchul, neither was the kind of thing you could discuss so lightly, yet that was how it landed.

It was not that he lacked sincerity. His father could not put emotion into his voice, so he had developed an old habit that only a few people knew, his wife, Grida, and a handful of others. Not that it was some grand secret.

Those who needed to know, knew. Ragna had understood it in his head all this time.

Now I understand.

His father's resolve cut deeper now. A blade past skin and muscle, scraping bone.

His father always spoke with sincerity. When he kept silent, there was no telling, but the moment he opened his mouth, only sincerity came out.

Unable to show emotion, yet loving his wife and his family and his clan, the method Tempest had chosen was to put sincerity into every word he spoke.

A father who told his child a hundred times that he loved them would be met with a blank stare, so a father like that had to do the best he could in the way he could.

And this was it: let every word carry only sincerity.

That was the will and the oath of Tempest Zaun.

The method his father had chosen reached his son's chest. He was genuine.

The son who had wandered and lost his way had grown and returned, and now he could understand his father's heart and truly hear what he was saying.

The family could not be given to Ragna. Ragna's home was no longer Zaun.

Leaving Odinkar behind, a man who would stake his life for the family, must have been for the same reason. He would lead the family in Tempest's place.

And to Ragna, his son, he gave Ilchul and freedom.

"Then this fight feels like my last duty. Father."

Ragna answered in tune with what his father had said. The hidden meaning was something like respect for his father's wishes.

"And my wish is a stable shelter. Better still if there is no curse or sickness."

The family head spoke again.

"No one will be able to stand in the way of your dream, Father."

Ragna answered.

Two different things exchanged, fitting together in a strange way, and each ended as words meant for the other.

Then the Demon Creatures surged in like a wave, and Ragna reflexively moved to guard the family head's back and waited for Enkrid's word.

He trusted that Enkrid would tell him what he needed to hear.

So for now, he only had to wait.

Give the order.

Ragna said it inwardly and stepped back.

* * *

When your dream and someone else's desire find a crossing point, what do you do?

Simple. You settle it by the law of the continent.

The strong one has the answer.

The Empire had always worked that way, and so had the world Enkrid had lived through. In the end, only the dream of the winner would remain.

This place was no different. Someone was dreaming of change, and someone else was trying to protect what they had.

"This is foolish."

The one dreaming of change said.

"Heskal, you have never once beaten me."

The one trying to protect what was his answered back.

It was not said directly between them, but it amounted to the same exchange.

They were having their conversation through action.

Shhhhhh.

The rain chorus had not stopped singing.

Crack!

Thunder struck now and then, lending force to the orchestra called war.

Wit, knowledge, and strength in contest. That was war.

Enkrid had sent out Anahehra and Kato. Both were faster on their feet than anyone else.

And on this side was a man who could not use his legs but whose swordwork was not easily outmatched by either of them.

"Riley holds the center! Ivan, Lennon, Rontis, go left and hold! Anyone who was fighting alongside those three, fall in! Betty, Roodens, Kal, hold the right. You are the supports! Fight like you are guarding the rear! If the line breaks, we lose!"

Instinct is a tool that draws on experience and information, pulling even what lies buried in the unconscious to find an answer.

That was exactly what Enkrid was doing now. The time he had spent rolling around and sparring in Zaun had not been wasted, and the path showed itself naturally.

He knew Zaun. Not everything, but enough to command.

Still, something feels wrong.

Instinct needled the inside of his skull like a finger jabbing at his eye.

Ssssssssss!

The Scaler horde spread their sound. Disrupting the senses was their specialty.

With that sound, several plague maidens drifted into the air.

They had deliberately sent none toward the family head.

The family head turned wall, or Alexandra, would cut down those kinds of wraiths in an instant with Will or some other means.

Heskal clearly knew how to work a battlefield. Sending the right force to the right place.

Wraiths summoned by spell, spreading disease as they drifted, floated closer.

"Take it out and spread it."

Enkrid said, eyes on the wraiths.

Ann was no fool, and Enkrid even less so. Both had been through this before, so both had prepared.

While Enkrid spent his time sparring and training, Ann had invested hers gathering medicinal herbs and mixing medicines.

She had given amber-colored powder bundles to everyone setting out.

With Riley at the center, the fighters drew the powder and coated their blades.

"Everyone dressed up? Now dance!"

Unease kept stabbing at the inside of his skull, and the situation could not be called favorable.

"This will be exhilarating."

As Ruagarne had once said, Enkrid felt a rush as he moved the pieces around him.

A battlefield was like swinging a sword made of soldiers.

I will not lose.

Even feeling that rush, a resolve rose from deep in his gut, he would not be beaten, not under any circumstances.

"What are you raving about?"

Riley reacted to Enkrid's outburst even in the middle of all this, pulling a throwing dagger and extending his right arm behind him. He had worked hard at the throwing technique because of his bad leg, he had once said. It was different from Jaxon's method, but there was still something to learn from it.

He balanced on one leg and used his whole body as a launcher. With that leg as the axis, his entire body spun like a whirlwind, and the arm stretched behind him cracked forward like a whip.

Crack!

When his arm split the air, the dagger vanished as though it had teleported, punched through the skulls of two plague maidens charging in, and disappeared beyond the storm.

It was a technique that used every muscle in the body to throw a dagger. Hard to use in rapid succession, the elasticity was poured so fully into the throw that the throwing arm's hand nearly grazed the ground. Every throw had to carry everything he had.

Impressive.

Enkrid acknowledged it quietly. Riley, too, was a Zaun sword. Despite being cut by Heskal, he had not crumbled. He stood alone and faced forward.

His moment to leave his father's side had come.

Those who do not press forward have no tomorrow.

Riley would see tomorrow. He had earned that right.

Thud thud thud thud!

The lizard cavalry closed the distance fast and came within sword range.

Scalers mounted on lizards charged in with what looked like black wooden sticks held in a reverse grip. No need to ask, every one of those sticks was soaked in poison.

Then they crashed into the fighters centered around Riley and the melee began.

"Die before the cripple and you are a bigger cripple!"

That was Riley's cry.

It tore through the hissing the Scalers had been spreading through the air.

A shout that carried even through the downpour.

Riley had no experience on a military campaign, but he had learned the sword from Heskal.

And because he was missing a leg, he had grown deeply accustomed to training in coordination with others.

He was the only one here capable of leading even a small unit.

Look at him now, raising his allies' morale right before the fighting started.

Of course, it was possible only because Enkrid had set the board.

"Ha ha ha ha!"

Anahehra's laughter rang out from far off. The warrior who had been adopted into the Zaun family as a Giant swung again and again, gripping a sword handle thick enough to challenge any ordinary person to hold.

Thwack! Crack! Crunch!

Anahehra's greatsword tore and crushed a portion of the lizard riders who had spread out and come charging in.

"Den! Pick nine, make it ten with yourself, and punch a hole right there!"

Enkrid drew his sword and pointed toward one side.

Den was one of those who had been struggling to pull himself together. Enkrid had called him because he saw Den react to Riley's shout by muttering something foul under his breath and drawing his sword.

Den's fighting ability was nothing special, but he was well-liked among those around him. He had also been friends with two of the four people Heskal killed as he abandoned Zaun.

Which was why Den had shot Riley a look filled with hatred.

And watching Riley step forward like that had probably made Den feel ashamed.

Even the cripple abandoned by his father is out there fighting. What am I doing?

Some thought along those lines must have crossed his mind.

Whatever it was, he was clearly ready to fight, so Enkrid put him to use right away.

At Enkrid's shout, Den and nine other swordsmen stepped forward. Every one of them carrying a single blade.

These were the Zaun family. Set aside the ones whose talents had not yet been drawn out for lack of time, and every last one of them would be called a monster the moment they set foot on the wider continent.

He called to them and gave directions, but Enkrid's gaze kept sweeping left and right.

Crack! Bang!

The family head swung and thrust his greatsword at the Demon Creatures rushing him, nothing more than that, yet the force he put out surpassed even Anahehra's.

And he did not step back a single pace.

Alexandra standing at his side was the same. She leaped and dove and crawled within five steps of where she stood.

And in every place she had passed through, Demon Creature arms, legs, and heads lay severed on the ground.

Lynox drew two of his six swords and held one in each hand.

The sword in his left was an estoc, a thin blade, notably light. The one in his right was a falchion, a comparatively thick single-edged blade.

He blocked with the estoc and cut with the falchion. A simple approach, doing nothing more than blocking incoming attacks in order and cutting through them, yet the number of Demon Creatures dead in front of him was the highest of the three. Enkrid had seen it before, but it was a swordsmanship worth studying.

He deflects with the light sword, then strikes with the heavy one.

He had replaced the concept of blocking with the flowing deflection of the Soft and Flowing Sword, and for offense he used the Heavy Sword Style, loading maximum force into the shortest possible movement.

Truly fitting for a man who could break a hundred techniques and forge a hundred new ones.

Shhhhhh!

The rain suddenly came down harder.

Perhaps because the plague maidens had appeared and retreated straight back into hiding.

Even through the thick smells and stench of the battlefield, beneath all of it, came a sharp sugary scent.

No spells had been unleashed yet, the rain was pouring down like this, and still his finely honed instinct caught that faint smell.

Zaun had a knight, and Heskal was sharp. He had started this fight already knowing a knight was present. Would he have come without a countermeasure?

This must have been one of them.

The one called Dmuel was the monster who claimed to be a god and spread disease, the root of the threat, without question.

But this battle had been drawn by Heskal.

And his drawing had not yet been torn apart. That was how Enkrid saw it.

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