A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

What do the opponents have?

Some soldiers were obsessed with thrusting.

Another soldier held the middle of the spear shaft, wielding it like a club with great skill.

Another soldier was poor at wielding the spear but sharply targeted openings.

It’s a natural talent. You could call it a realm of innate abilities.

But they seemed to lack training.

They were short on stamina, and even more so on strength.

Their reaction speed wasn’t bad, but that was all.

Each soldier carried, held, raised, and wielded something they had learned and trained with.

Even with the same training, each developed differently.

Though they all held spears, their ways of using them were all different.

Encrid took all of this in.

The shaking spear tips, the trembling eyes.

The habit of stepping forward with the left foot.

Some pretended to stumble, perhaps having learned the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique.

Among them, there were many soldiers showing traces of constant training.

But if there’s something more frightening than overwhelming talent.

Crack.

It’s the enemy who, even with a severed finger, grits their teeth and charges forward.

Their courage and determination were different, and their resolve was evident in their bloodshot eyes.

Encrid never took any moment lightly. He never faced them carelessly.

Hiding his skills was one thing, but swinging his sword with sincerity was another matter.

As he changed his stance while watching the incoming spear blade, the opponent dropped the spear and charged. It seemed they intended to overpower him with strength in an instant.

Recalling the battlefield where he obtained the Heart of the Beast, Encrid bent his knees and caught the opponent with his back.

Using his strength, he threw the opponent over his shoulder.

The soldier flew through the air and landed on their shoulder, rolling on the ground.

‘The Heart of the Beast.’

Those with a strong heart are fiercer than those with superior talent.

Encrid reminded himself of how important the Heart of the Beast was to him.

He had never forgotten it.

How could he furnacet, repeating everything he had learned every day?

When trapped in ‘today’, he would reexamine and reaffirm everything he had, so how could he furnacet?

He continued to observe the soldiers’ movements.

‘Twisting the body using the left foot as an axis for a single strike.’

It was similar to a one-handed thrust with a sword, but the soldier extended the spear forward and released it, almost like throwing a javelin.

It was an unexpected strike, a creative attack.

But it wasn’t threatening. Their timing was different from the start.

The Heart of the Beast, Focus Point, The Sense of Evasion, and above all, the body honed by The Isolation Technique.

It was a surprising technique, but it was avoidable.

As soon as he saw it, his body reacted first.

The review was over. Now he just had to absorb the techniques and efforts they had shown.

Afterward, time would be necessary.

As he retreated and looked back, no thick black smoke rose above.

Though he had set the fire, it had been quickly extinguished.

So, it didn’t deal a significant blow to the supply base. It would only leave the impression that they had been hit despite being prepared.

And no matter how little damage there was, the fact that the supply base had caught fire was a blow in itself.

Getting out wasn’t difficult.

“Krrrr.”

Esther walked lightly beside him, unlike before.

This panther rarely clung to him except when sleeping these days.

As they ran, Esther looked up from below with bright, large eyes. It felt like her eyes were clearer and bigger than before.

“Kyarr.”

It seemed like the panther was asking what he was looking at.

If this friend were a person, she would have a temperament as fiery as Rem’s.

“No.”

Encrid brushed it off, as he would when dealing with Rem.

“There they are!”

As he pushed through the bushes, a shout came from behind. It was the soldiers chasing him.

Encrid listened to the soldier’s voice and roughly estimated the distance.

This was the auditory technique he learned from Jaxon.

Based on his keen senses, Encrid calculated the positions and distances of those pursuing him and concluded that it would be no trouble to lose them.

He felt relaxed. At the same time, he had a thought.

From observing the habits of the enemy soldiers, he realized something.

Someone, one of the Platoon leaders, was thinking clearly even in that chaotic situation.

“Bring the net!”

Shouting like that, he tried to catch both Esther and himself simultaneously.

As he stepped back and kept his distance, he said,

“If they were determined to kill me, it wouldn’t be that difficult, but they didn’t feel the need to.”

“Shoot!”

It was an impressive tactic.

He was prepared for the net, but instead, arrows came flying.

At the command to shoot, the soldiers surrounding him momentarily pulled back.

It was a coordinated movement. Above all, their trust in the Platoon leader was evident, as they faithfully followed his command.

The call for a net was a ruse, and what they had actually prepared were arrows, but of course, he didn’t get hit.

Instead, he had some leisure to fill his mind with various thoughts.

He recalled the snowy day when their group, still known as the Troublemaker Squad, set out to deal with the Gilpin Guild.

“Give the command. Then those who can will do it.”

Ragna had said.

Encrid observed the Platoon leader’s way of thinking, his personal tactics, and the platoon’s combat strategy and realized that this wasn’t his area of expertise.

However, he knew that something different was needed.

The current battle was the same. Defense alone was not the answer. Hitting the supply line to this extent was not enough either.

This was merely a stopgap measure.

So, what should be done?

‘If I press Krais.’

The answer would come.

Didn’t he learn that winter day? If he couldn’t do it himself, he should have someone who could.

Anyway, leading a unit required quite a bit of effort.

‘I couldn’t be a Battalion Commander.’

It was a trivial thought.

In any case, for now, it was enough just to return.

There was no time to learn and master strategy and tactics immediately. Besides, he couldn’t keep fighting this way forever as a Company Commander.

‘I’ll learn one thing at a time.’

You need to know what to command to give orders effectively.

Understanding the intent when someone speaks is crucial for being a proper leader.

A Knight walks ahead, but sometimes they also become commanders responsible for their troops.

Even if that’s not the case.

‘If my allies die under my command.’

Especially if it’s due to neglecting learning, Encrid could never stand for that.

* * *

“Did it happen again?”

Olf didn’t get angry recklessly. His eyes were still sharp.

No one could say he was a dull person.

‘This feels off.’

It wasn’t a significant blow. The supply line wasn’t just one, they had only touched the supply base near the furnace.

It was literally a touch. Not a fatal blow.

This alone wouldn’t have a substantial impact on the entire battlefield.

But the fact that it kept happening was bothering him.

“What about him?”

Olf asked. Greg, sweating profusely from his forehead, answered the commander’s question.

“We lost him.”n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Greg, the charge captain.

His unit specialized in chasing down retreating enemies, beyond just personal combat skills. Even in battle, he wouldn’t easily be outmatched by anyone.

Before the rumors about Encrid had spread, he was already a renowned warrior who had single-handedly wiped out two colonies.

When considering fame categorized by village, city, and continent, he was undoubtedly a city-level warrior or higher.

If there were anyone under him better than Greg, it would be at most two people.

“We lost him?”

Especially Greg, whose specialty was charging, running, and striking, lost his target.

‘Marcus, you crazy bastard. What are you scheming?’

Olf wondered inwardly. Whatever the intent of the enemy was, there was certainly something.

A sense of unease piled up in his chest. But it wasn’t the time to get angry.

“It’s just a clumsy trick. Besides, the troops I brought haven’t even shown their true power. If we keep pressing and attacking, there’s nothing they can do!”

The actual commander of Viscount Bentra’s army said. From Olf’s perspective, the mere mention of Encrid’s name made him visibly uncomfortable.

His relatively young face showed a mix of confidence and arrogance.

His expression said it all.

That he was better, that he would take care of it.

‘Inferiority complex?’

Probably not, he was the commander of the Viscount’s army. Rumor had it he was an illegitimate child of a noble.

In contrast, the opponent was a street soldier who had made a name for himself.

Regardless, the unease remained.

Olf hadn’t just brought troops without preparation.

Naturally, he had a few aces up his sleeve.

For instance, there were noble private soldiers who had joined after erasing their crests, hiding their presence as a demonstration.

There were hidden elements, so maintaining the current battlefield wasn’t necessarily bad.

Maintaining the status quo could be advantageous for their side.

“Let’s observe for a few more days. We’ll watch for two days and gauge their response. After that, we’ll attack the walls again.”

Time was on his side, or so Olf judged.

He decided that this was a moment that required calmness instead of anger.

After spending the night like that, the fourth morning of the battlefield dawned.

Olf had a breakfast of well-baked bread, fresh cabbage, jerky, dried fruits, and water mixed with wine.

The battle so far had only involved small skirmishes.

Was there significant damage to their troops? None.

Clearing away the lingering unease with a cool-headed judgment, he wiped his face, donned his armor, and prepared himself.

“General!”

A messenger hurriedly burst into the command tent.

All the commanders who had gathered after breakfast turned their eyes to the messenger.

“What is it?”

Greg, still on edge from losing the big guy the previous day, spoke roughly.

“The enemy is coming out.”

Blink.

Everyone just blinked.

“Where are they coming out?”

Battalion Commander Zimmer asked.

“They’re coming out of the city.”

“Why?”

It was so absurd that the words in his chest spilled out without thinking.

“……

How would the messenger know that?

Did Zimmer expect him to know?

“What are they doing outside?”

Even the rough Greg, in his astonishment, blinked and spoke in a much softer tone.

“They’re forming a battle line.”

The messenger reported what he had seen and heard.

A river of silence swept through the command post. It was as if a silent roar was shaking the tent.

Why are they coming out?

Are they all crazy?

Forming a battle line? Are they asking for a full-scale battle?

Really? Leaving the walls behind?

Even with the walls, we have the advantage!

No, why are they coming out to die? What are they relying on?

“Interesting.”

The pseudo-commander of the troops without insignia, who had been standing still like a scarecrow, expressed his thoughts.

“Looks like they’d rather resist than stay trapped.”

The commander of Viscount Bentra’s army also spoke.

It was hard to think of any other reason.

However, the unease that Olf had forcibly dismissed began to spread like a wine stain on a carpet in his chest.

But retreat now?

He would be a laughingstock for life.

If there were a bard, they might give him the nickname of ‘The Cowardly General’.

Sometimes on the battlefield, even if the fight seems unwinnable, you must step forward.

Right now, it’s clear to anyone that they have the upper hand.

But retreat?

This is not the time to withdraw just because of unease.

“I will use all the cavalry. Block the front with a spear formation. If they are challenging us to a full-scale battle, it’s right to accept!”

Olf spoke with determination. Whatever the enemy’s aim, if they abandoned the advantage of the castle, they would just crush their forces.

Then this unease would also disappear.

‘Did they request reinforcements somewhere?’

No, that’s unlikely. As soon as we advanced, we surrounded the city, and even if someone sneaked out to request reinforcements, who would send troops?

Count Molsen? He’s the one who also inserted troops without insignia to tear apart the Border Guard?

‘From the central command?’

That’s even less likely. The chance of the central army of Naurillia intervening? It’s lower than a passing crow pecking out a Knight’s eyes.

“Let’s go.”

At the general’s command, all the commanders rose to their feet.

“Please allow me to take the vanguard.”

Greg stepped forward.

“Of course.”

Charge Captain Greg, a warrior who wouldn’t easily be outmatched by anyone.

“We’ve reinforced the defenses on the supply line. Even if it’s a diversion, we won’t fall for it again.”

Battalion Commander Zimmer also added. He’s a meticulous and faultless commander.

Olf nodded with a satisfied expression.

Finally, there was the 3rd Battalion Commander, who led the cavalry and scouts. His name was Lettley.

While his individual combat skills might be inferior to Greg’s, his ability to maneuver troops through gaps in the enemy lines was superior to his own.

“Lettley?”

“Yes, we are ready.”

And that’s not all.

“My side is ready too. In fact, we’ve been ready for a while. We’ll end this by cutting down that boastful fool and putting an end to those weak rumors.”

Viscount Bentra’s army had secretly prepared cavalry as well.

Their number exceeds fifty.

So, who has the advantage in this fight?

Olf asked the distant, unseen enemy commander, Marcus.

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