A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

They simply lit a fire and placed a pot over it.

Since it was a field meal, nothing extravagant could be prepared.

All they had were dried meat, fruit, cheese, and water mixed with wine.

Everyone ate and drank.

Encrid was tearing and eating the jerky he brought when he noticed a gaze fixed on him.

It was a beastman.

‘Do you want some?’

Seeing the longing in those eyes, it seemed the beastman was quite hungry.

Come to think of it, she probably hadn’t had a proper meal since being captured.

Whether she was to be killed or freed, she should be fed.

The beastman’s eyes, a golden color, shone with hunger.

‘No need to be stingy.’

After all, how significant is a piece of jerky?

Encrid tore off a piece of jerky and sat in front of the beastman. He put it into the beastman’s mouth, who widened her eyes.

“Try it.”

Dunbachel chewed, savoring the salty and sweet flavors that stimulated her brain.

At the same time, she looked at the man in front of her.

As she observed him more and more, envy and jealousy turned into admiration.

‘If only I had lived like this man.’

She felt a sense of longing. It must have been luck to have such an amazing subordinate.

What if that luck had come to her?

Why was she born like this?

Why did she have to be abandoned in such a state?

It would have been better if she had just been isolated. Then she could have risked her life for her village and died for it. How wonderful it would have been to die like that. �

If only she had left for Krimhalt’s embrace.

Regret, jealousy, admiration, and remorse.

Amidst these complex emotions, the jerky was already in her mouth.

As she chewed and swallowed, they handed her a canteen. She thought it was water mixed with wine, but a fresh apple scent filled her mouth.

“It’s apple cider.”

Why are they treating her like this?

Dunbachel wondered if it was to seduce her, but she couldn’t be sure.

However, it was a moment of choice.

Should she speak or not?

It was a crossroads.

Dunbachel made a choice.

“There will be an ambush by the Black Blade Bandits.”

With seasoning still on her lips, Dunbachel spoke.

If asked how she knew, she planned to talk about the markings.

Encrid just looked directly into her eyes and said,

“I see.”

Even after that, Dunbachel expected Encrid to make some move, but surprisingly, he remained quiet.

He simply resumed his meal and exchanged a few words with the noble and the minion of the Black Blade Bandits.

“How do you know the way?”

Being a delegate of the Black Blade Bandits and knowing the way were different matters.

Encrid brought up the topic that even Marcus hadn’t bothered to dig into.

Vancento twisted his lips. With a sneering expression, he said,

“You don’t need to know. Commoner.”

Is it a habit to call someone a commoner after every sentence?

For all that, this one didn’t seem to be such a great noble either.

Encrid nodded, acknowledging the statement, though his thoughts were different.

That wasn’t what mattered anyway.

Encrid looked at the guard in black clothes.

He had been observing the guard’s gait, gestures, demeanor, and choice of positions.

He had seen him a few times in the city, but now that they were outside, he could tell for sure.

‘It doesn’t seem too bad.’

Rem and Ragna, Jaxon, Audin, and even the Fairy Company Commander.

Lately, he had plenty of sparring partners, but none gave him this kind of feeling.

Light on his feet and quick with his hands.

He likely favored short weapons. He probably excelled in throwing techniques too.

Half of it was a desire to see the opponent’s unique skills, the other half was a subtle thirst.

Sparring is sparring, and actual combat is actual combat.

That thought came to him as he watched the man in front of him munching on thin bread and drinking water.

‘I want to fight him.’

The man’s gait and gestures naturally piqued his interest.

‘How effective would my swordsmanship be?’

What should he be mindful of when facing him?

How should he match his steps?

Encrid wasn’t a genius.

Seeing didn’t instantly provide the means to counter an opponent.

However, having had hundreds, if not thousands, of sparring sessions, he could think of ways to respond based on that experience.

‘If I cut his thigh.’

It would stiffen his legs, effectively sealing one of his specialties.

Since he noticed the unique habit, Encrid wanted to fight the man.

Maybe the man felt his gaze.

“It’s annoying.”

The guard in black looked up and spoke. He had just taken a few sips of water after eating some bread.

Encrid, who was at the end of his gaze, opened his mouth.

“Me?”

“Who else?”

A strange tension passed between them. One side showed subtle combativeness, while the other revealed murderous intent and displeasure.

The one revealing murderous intent, the guard in black, remained seated, clasping his hands over his knees.

They had gathered under the shade of a suitable tree.

Amidst the sound of two horses grazing on dry grass and a cool breeze blowing for a summer day, the guard spoke again.

“You’re at a stage where you’re brimming with confidence in your skills.”

Encrid inwardly agreed. He had been feeling what could be called confidence lately.

“But you should be cautious and choose your opponents wisely.”

That was also true.

“Isn’t your rank around the elite level of the trifling soldier grading system?”

…That was not true.

“Don’t risk your life with foolish actions.”

Encrid wasn’t surprised. When had anyone not underestimated him?

It had happened countless times.

Even Krais had said before he left,

“Marcus tends to hide the commander’s achievements. He seems to have an agenda.”

Hidden and concealed. So, the opponent might have misunderstood.

But there was something disappointing.

‘Their discernment.’

He had recognized his opponent, but his opponent had not recognized him.

This was only natural.

Encrid had crawled his way up from the bottom to where he was now.

He did not have the arrogance of someone who had quickly gained skill.

Arrogance and conceit were the farthest things from him.

He was only left with the intensity of someone who had crawled their way up, feeding on defeat.

In other words, on the surface, he appeared to be just someone with decent sword skills.

“Such a damn nuisance.”

Rem commented.

Hearing Rem’s words, the noble Vancento also spoke up.

“You idiot barbarian, shut your mouth. Are you showing that you were raised without a mother?”

The offensive words, sharp as blades, struck Rem. Encrid thought there was no stopping it now.

In fact, he thought it was enough already.

* * *

The guard in black initially planned to reason with them calmly.

After all, it would all be over by the time they finished their meal and traveled for half a day. They would all be killed by the Black Blade Bandits waiting in ambush ahead.

Originally, he had thought of taking them on himself.

‘One opponent wouldn’t be an issue.’

But with Rem and Ragna, both of them…

He wanted to avoid facing both at the same time.

Encrid didn’t even matter to him. Who was he? One of the top fighters among the Black Blade Bandits, trained by an excellent teacher.

Then it happened.

“You idiot barbarian, shut your mouth. Are you showing that you were raised without a mother?”

Vancento spat his usual venom.

Encrid needed to stop Rem again, but there was no time or chance.

Whoosh, thud!

A heavy, terrible sound followed something cutting through the air.

The guard turned his head. He struggled to process what had happened for a while, his head still turned.

“Grkk, grrr.”

A person with an axe blade in their face can’t speak properly. Of course not.

Surviving would also be difficult. If you survive with your face half-split, you’re a ghoul, not a human.

‘A ghoul would die if their face was split like that too.’

Between the vertically split skull, something small and precious that had been in the head spilled out, blood flowing profusely.

An eyeball popped out and rolled to one side.

The body, thrown back several steps by the axe’s force, lay sprawled out as a corpse.

His name was Vancento, a member of the Black Blade Bandits, the envoy for this mission, and a noble.

“Man, that bastard had a sharp tongue.”

Rem muttered, brushing his hands off as he watched.

“What, what is this!”

The guard finally stood up in shock.

Neigh!

The two horses tied to the carriage neighed in fright at the sudden commotion.

Dunbachel also gaped in surprise.

‘Killing a noble?’

They had barely traveled past where the Border Guard couldn’t see them, and it had been just over half a day since the journey started, yet the envoy and the one they were supposed to protect was dead.

Killed by the very person who was supposed to guard him.

“Oh, it happened.”

Encrid’s reaction was simple and plain.

“Oh, it happened? These crazy bastards.”

The guard wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. At least, that’s what Encrid thought.

Ragna was indifferent.

He simply asked Encrid,

“Are you going to handle it alone?”

“I’d like to.”

“Do as you please.”

Rem casually walked over and pulled out the axe he had thrown. With a pop, the axe came out, revealing the dead Vancento beneath it. The scum who took gold from the Black Blade Bandits.

Why hadn’t he been easily killed despite knowing he was trash?

Because he was a noble.

The status of a noble was a shield. Even if he was just a non hereditary baron.

If this got out, that man Rem would be hunted until his death, yet he took this gamble.

The guard’s thoughts became complicated.

“What are you looking at? Do you want a decoration on your head too?”

Rem said as he locked eyes with the guard.

“He’s mine.”

Encrid, rarely showing desire, spoke.

“Oh, I know. If not, I’d have already finished him off.”

Rem wiped the blood off his axe blade using Vancento’s silk clothes as the dead man’s limbs twitched.

Watching this, the guard spoke.

“This area is still patrolled by the Border Guard. What if a patrol comes by?”

It was a natural question for him.

“They won’t come, the patrol.”

Encrid answered plainly. He already knew where and how the patrols were conducted. He had heard everything from Vengeance, who also served as the patrol leader.

“They won’t come?”

Only then did the guard realize this wasn’t an impulsive act.

‘Was this planned from the beginning?’

Encrid unsheathed his sword with a ringing sound. The sword reflected the sunlight, scattering light. Seeing the sword tip pointing at him, the guard drew his own weapons.

Silently, he drew two black daggers.

The guard held both daggers in reverse grips, the blades pointing downwards, and instinctively took a stance.

‘There’s reinforcements half a day’s distance away.’

Forget about Vancento’s death, it was time to think about survival.

How could he survive?

Encrid said he would face him alone.

Rem and Ragna seemed uninterested.

‘I’ll go all out and make a run for it.’

He was confident in his speed. There was something he needed to do to make that happen.

“You knew the patrol wouldn’t come. So, you planned this from the start?”

Encrid shrugged.

“As long as no one sees, it’s fine, right?”

As they spoke, the guard started to move his feet stealthily, seemingly to have the sun at his back. Encrid also moved accordingly.

The guard took his desired position.

To be precise, it was where the carriage was positioned to his right rear.

He flipped the daggers he was holding in reverse upward.

Encrid instinctively raised his sword.

As he prepared to react to a possible throw or rush.

The guard tossed the daggers upward and swung his right hand. In sync with that gesture, two throwing knives flew backward.

Quick hand movements. Throwing the weapon in hand to distract, then throwing the knives strapped to his waist.

The two knives flew swiftly and embedded themselves in the horse’s neck.

Neigh! Hiiiiii!

The horse cried out in pain, tilting sideways as blood poured out. Its cries were loud. The knives were so deeply embedded that saving the horse would be impossible.

The guard calculated that without the horse, they couldn’t chase him.

All that remained was to get past Encrid, who was blocking the way.

The guard caught the daggers he had tossed into the air, lowered his stance, and pushed off the ground.

He closed the distance at a frightening speed. He was quickly within sword range.

Common wisdom suggests that in a fight between long and short weapons, the long weapon has the advantage.

But at this close range, the short weapon held the advantage.

“Got you.”

With confidence, the guard crossed the daggers held in reverse grip and slashed.

The timing of the left and right slashes was staggered, targeting Encrid’s wrist and neck.

Encrid deflected one blade with the guard he wore on his wrist.

He evaded the strike aimed at his neck by tilting his head back.

It was a feat made possible by accurately reading and timing the attack.

In that position, he raised his knee, leaving no room for the close opponent to evade.

The guard quickly raised his knee to block.

Thud!

“Ugh!”

“What kind of strength is this?”

Just one strike, a simple knee kick, and his shin throbbed with pain.

And that wasn’t the end.

In an instant, Encrid disappeared from sight, only for the guard to sense a threatening presence at his side and duck his head.

Whoosh.

A broad-bladed guard sword grazed the guard’s hair, scattering a few strands into the air.

Without time to catch his breath, the guard thrust both daggers forward.

Swish!

The thrusts sliced through empty air.

Behind him, he couldn’t even fully perceive Encrid’s attack.

From above, Encrid swung his arm like a scythe, delivering a slashing blow.

Wham! Crash!

The strike hit the back of his head directly.

The guard, who was in a lowered stance, had his forehead slammed into the ground.

Without hesitation, Encrid aimed the tip of his sword downward and plunged it in.

Thud!

Pulling it out after creating a second mouth under the back of his head, a stream of blood spurted out like a fountain from the new opening.

Encrid stepped back and shook his sword in the air. Drops of blood scattered to the ground.

“Not looking so good, huh? Wasn’t it fun?”

Rem asked after watching.

Encrid answered honestly,

“Too bland.”

His speed was slower than that of the knoll leader.

His strategic thinking was inferior to the dark spirit of the cursed sword.

He didn’t have anything particularly striking about him.

He was better than that beastman, but not overwhelmingly so.

As a result, Encrid felt like he had unfinished business, like leaving without wiping after using the bathroom.

“What’s your name?”

Encrid asked, still in the same position. The question was obviously not directed at Rem or Ragna.

Soon, the beastman answered,

“Dunbachel.”

Encrid, watching the beastman’s surprised golden eyes, asked with some regret,

“How many are in the ambush?”

If a feast was prepared for him, it would be right to at least taste it.

Encrid was sincere.

Dunbachel had no choice left.

These people were certainly crazy.

“It’ll be a small, elite force. They’ll be lying in wait, so there won’t be any easy targets.”

At that, Encrid didn’t laugh but his eyes sparkled.

Rem smirked.

Ragna, remaining silent, looked at Encrid and spoke,

“Why did you give them distance?”

“To induce carelessness.”

“Not bad.”

Even in this situation, they were talking about swordsmanship as if they never got tired of it.

It was rather shocking that they didn’t seem to care about killing a noble at all.

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