A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

The Turtle Heavy Infantry, led by First Company Commander Graham, did their job.

“Who are we?!”

The captain shouted.

“Woo-ha!”

The subordinates responded.

“We are the wall! The moving fortress of the Border Guard!”

Once again, the captain shouted.

“We are the fortress!”

The Turtle Heavy Infantry soldiers strained their vocal cords to let out a sound that was almost a roar. Despite the abuse of their vocal cords, their morale soared proportionally.

Regardless of the exploits of Encrid’s party, Graham intended to become a wall.

This was what his company excelled at, and it had been the plan from the start.

Graham anticipated facing his old rival, Greg’s Assault Company.

The Assault Company of Martai and the Heavy Infantry of the Border Guard had been long-time rivals.

However, there was no chance to face Greg.

Encrid’s group of five had already dismantled Greg and his Assault Company.

After witnessing that, Graham’s battle was relatively relaxed for a battlefield.

“Raise shields!”

The unique strategy of the Heavy Infantry was simple.

Raise shields and hold the line.

“Two steps!”

Close the gap. Thud! Thud!

‘Two steps’ meant two paces forward. Though slow, their unified steps were deliberate and stable.

The Turtle crept forward.

“Attack!”

The third command was to swing their heavy maces at close range.

Each soldier was armed with a mace ending in a round weight.

Wham! Wham! Wham!

No armor or leather helmet could withstand such force.

Crack!

A mace struck the shield of a Martai infantryman, splitting the round wood shield in half.

The next mace strike inevitably met the soldier’s head.

Crunch!

It was inevitable that skulls would be cracked and blood would flow.

Even if one could deflect swords or spears, there was no defense against the maces.

Bodies of enemy soldiers piled up in front of the Heavy Infantry.

Some agile opponents managed to evade and thrust their swords, but clang!

The Heavy Infantry, clad in plate and chain armor reinforced with additional layers of cloth and leather, were impervious to such attacks.

Even if an enemy blade pierced the chainmail, it couldn’t penetrate the thick padding underneath.

“Die!”

One of the Turtle Heavy Infantry, who had been stabbed in the side, shouted as he swung his mace.

The mace fell vertically, striking the shoulder of the enemy who had thrust the spear.

“Gah!”

With one arm disabled by a single blow, the next step was inevitable.

Falling to the ground after being pushed back by a shield, the enemy was trampled to death.

Though slow, the Turtle Heavy Infantry under Graham had a terrifying bite once engaged.

Their slow but overwhelming force battered the battlefield.

However,

“Even so.”

Graham’s company would not receive any attention.

Encrid and his party were mercilessly increasing the number of casualties on the battlefield.

With just five men, they accomplished what fifty Heavy Infantry soldiers could not.

Such individuals were referred to as extraordinary forces, and those at the pinnacle were called Knights.

Although they could not be called Knights just yet.

‘At least Junior-Knights.’

Graham had a discerning eye.

“Raise shields!”

The simple tactics of the Heavy Infantry continued. There was no one to stop them.

Those who were supposed to block them had already been torn apart, crushed, struck, slashed, stabbed, and cut by someone else.

* * *

The Border Guard Commander glanced to the side and asked quietly,

“May I ask your name?”

He saw a separate group starting to move forward.

They were all agile.

Should they be called the second dagger prepared by Martai?

That seemed to be the case.

The Border Guard Commander understood that this detachment was clearly aimed at them.

The Border Guard’s unit nickname was Frontier Slaughterers.

They earned that name for their exceptional skill in cutting, slashing, and fighting, and the enemy resembled them in that they were a small, elite, special force.

The nickname ‘Slaughterers of the Frontier’ no longer seemed to fit.

‘These days, it seems like just being the Border Guard is enough.’

Why wouldn’t it be?

There is a class of fighters whose small-scale battles dominate the battlefield, forming the basis for strategy and tactics.

Knights.

So, do they fight like before when there are no Knights? No. The concept of small elite groups, special units, was developed to represent the tactics of Knights.

Until now, the Border Guard garrison had been renowned, but their fame had been overshadowed by the reputation of Encrid and the Madmen Platoon.

Not that there was any resentment about it.

‘Just by looking, you can tell. That guy is extraordinary.’

The Commander acknowledged Encrid.

In fact, who in the Border Guard Reserve Unit wouldn’t recognize him?

Everyone would acknowledge him.

Encrid was the kind of guy who made people feel good just by watching him. He had a way of stirring something within people. He was someone you couldn’t hate.

“No.”

At the end of his thoughts, he heard the refusal from the Fairy Company Commander.

She wouldn’t even reveal her name.

Thirty-six years old.

The Commander was quite senior. His pupils wavered, although no one noticed. He lowered his head slightly, even avoiding the Fairy’s gaze.

Officially, they held equivalent ranks, but the Border Guard Commander had a unique position similar to that of a First Company Commander.

If the Battalion Commander’s influence was low, sometimes the words of the Border Guard Commander carried more weight.

However, the Fairy Company Commander didn’t seem to care at all.

‘She won’t even tell me her name.’

The Border Guard Commander, approaching middle age, gently put his feelings aside.

It was time to let go of the late-blooming excitement and head into battle.

However, a bit of lingering attachment led to one more question.

“Are you really involved with Encrid?”

Sinar stared straight at the Border Guard Commander and said,

“What you wish for and what happens are two different things.”

Her expression was colorless. Her tone revealed no emotion.

The Border Guard Commander closed his mouth, then spoke again.

“My name is Zenok.”

The second bit of lingering attachment made him reveal his name.

Sinar didn’t even nod.

In the meantime, Torres came up from behind and poked the commander in the side.

“I told you not to do that.”

The commander didn’t respond.

Torres had tried to stop him before he could even speak.

But what could he do?

When pure feelings are burning, whose fault would it be if he died without speaking up?

“Today, I’m fighting with passion.”

The commander said. Torres nodded. Behind them, the core forces of the Border Guard all had determined looks in their eyes.

For their commander, who had been rejected in love.

Their eyes echoed their resolve. Soon, Martai’s prepared detachment reached the promised point.

Fairy Company Commander Sinar was here to support, but she had no subordinates with her. There were no skilled fighters under her command that could match the strength of the Border Guard.

Martai’s detachment commander looked desperate. Discipline was slipping, and the formation was falling apart. When a commander’s mind is unsettled, it affects the soldiers under them.

Their haste to advance, rather than checking their surroundings, contributed to this.

The Border Guard charged in from the side.

“For unrequited love!”

One of the guards shouted.

“Who the hell is that?!”

The commander shouted too.

One of Martai’s detachment turned. He was a dual-wielding warrior with sharp, fierce eyes.

He led the others to turn. It was a battle between the detachment aiming for the Border Guard’s flank and the guards hitting Martai’s detachment from the side.

The dual-wielding warrior’s reaction speed was extraordinary.

He aimed at the neck of the approaching Fairy Company Commander with the swords in both hands.

His movements were swift. His reactions were excellent, and his attacks followed smoothly without hesitation. He was top-notch.

Until then, Sinar, who had been standing still with her hand on her waist, moved.

She stepped back, drew her blade, and struck towards the crossing point of the dual-wielding swords. The leaf-like blade split the sunlight and also split the swords.

Clang!

“Where do you think you’re aiming?”

Sinar danced with the blades she wielded effortlessly.

Each swing of her sword brought forth a mist of blood. Those cut and stabbed fell to the ground.

Torres, too, had just pressed close to an enemy with a sword and shield, pulling out a hidden dagger to slit the man’s throat.

A precise strike between the helmet and armor caused the neck to split open.

He pushed the blood-gushing man aside.

After killing one enemy, Torres moved next to his commander and saw Sinar dancing with her blades, as gracefully as Encrid.

“How can anyone not fall for that sight?”

The commander muttered.

“Do you fall for that?”

Torres shook his head inwardly as he answered.

Isn’t that just slaughter?

Of course, this was the battlefield, and she was an ally, so it wasn’t slaughter but an act of valor.

One thing was certain: this Fairy wasn’t beneath Encrid or the Madmen Platoon in any way.

So there was no way this fight would be fair.

“You crazy bitch!”

Among the enemies, a warrior with facial tattoos, who seemed to be their leader, shouted a curse.

Upon hearing the curse, the commander and some of his men moved.

“Tear that mouth apart!”

The Border Guard soldiers, spurred by their love-struck commander’s cry, charged. This fight was one-sided too.

Thanks to the influence of the main force’s victory. Martai’s detachment, having moved first, was at a disadvantage, and even with their initial ambush, the dazzling performance of Fairy Company Commander Sinar was overwhelming.

Now it was time to consider reducing the number of casualties, not worrying about losing.

* * *

A blade that slays the elite.

When did that become his name?

The memory was faint.

He concealed his presence, even silencing his footsteps.

He weaved through his dying comrades and glanced at some of the enemies.

One particularly fierce-looking enemy was encouraging his subordinates and continuously firing arrows.

Capturing that one would certainly help the battlefield.

He licked his lips, suppressing his urge.

No, he didn’t come all this way just to capture a lowly enemy.

He lowered his stance, even hiding his breath. Regardless of his skill, he crept or walked through the gaps between the enemies and allies.

Occasionally, someone who didn’t know any better would stumble upon him, and he would quietly pull them in and strangle them to death.

Silent killing was one of his specialties.

As he walked, a memory from his past pierced his brain like a shard.

“Are you giving up on becoming a Squire?”

Those were the last words of his fencing instructor.

What had he responded?

He nodded without a moment’s hesitation.

“Yes.”

“Will you let your talent go to waste?”

If you become a Squire in the Knighthood, you end up doing errands and chores for Knights and Junior Knights. That’s how it started.

Once recognized for your skills, you become a Junior Knight. If you step back from there, you become just another swordsman or warrior.

After becoming a Junior Knight, you could become a Knight if you learned to channel ‘Will’ throughout your body.

What was that stage called? Was it Flow? It might have also been called the Unending Stream.

It didn’t matter. Knights were few, and their stages were all unique.

Anyway, despite being told that the path to ascend was open, he gave it up.

“You fool.”

The instructor was angry. But he wasn’t.

There was no reason to be angry.

Killing was easier than fighting, so he did that, but there was no real reason.

So, he gave up being a Squire and left the Knighthood.

He wandered and during his peak as a mercenary, Count Molsen approached him.

A Count known as the King of the frontier.

He thought it was an arrogant title, but the offer wasn’t bad.

“Would you like to work under me?”

He nodded.

“Do you regret not walking the path of a Junior Knight?”

The Count asked. The man replied with a smile.

“I may not be able to become a Junior Knight, but I can kill Junior Knights.”

That was his answer. He mastered silent footsteps, wielded sharp blades instead of Will. One day, he saw a needle-like weapon unique to the Fairies and searched for a similar sword.

The sword he found was strapped to his waist, chest, and forearms.

It resembled a stiletto, but the tip was like a sharp awl.

It was made by an unnamed craftsman who had seen the Carmen Collection, a famous assassination weapon. It was designed to pierce anything, including plate and chain mail, to create holes in the opponent’s body.

It was a sword made of pure Valyrian steel.

It was also a gift from Count Molsen, and due to this weapon and his skills, he soon earned the nickname of the Elite Slaying Blade.

If a few could dominate the battlefield, it made sense to have a blade specifically for killing those few.

His goal was to someday put a hole in the neck of those called Knights.

He had once come close to killing a Junior Knight.

He even took a few fingers as a souvenir instead of a head.

“That talent is wasted.”

He recalled the words of the Junior Knight who had lost his fingers.

So what?

It wasn’t something the defeated should say.

His memories faded as he focused on the battlefield. The man’s target was clear.

‘The black-haired one.’

The one who, with four others, tore through the battlefield.

The one leading them, the one who announced his name, the one who stood out from the beginning.

The one called Encrid.

He seemed to be at the level of a Junior Knight. This excited him even more. He could kill someone of that caliber.

‘Kill one, hide, then kill another.’

It was rare to find someone with both the vision and skill. Therefore, the opponent wouldn’t recognize him.

Junior Knights were usually arrogant.

He had rolled around in a regular soldier’s clothes and helmet to blind the enemy.

Covered in the blood and dust of others, he dragged his feet and approached.

He calculated the distance from the blonde one, ignored the rampaging axe-wielder on the opposite side, and closed in on Encrid.

Joy and excitement filled him.

‘I may not be able to become one, but I can kill one.’

That was his guiding thought.

He gripped the specially made assassination dagger. He held his breath, found an opening, and struck. He kicked the ground and closed the distance in an instant. It was a kill shot.

The footwork he learned as a Squire.

He had closed in silently, the fight was already over. He thought so as he thrust the blade.

Clang!

‘Blocked?’

He saw what blocked his blade. It was a blackened dagger.

“Who are you?”

Was it disappointment? Regret? His voice carried a mix of such emotions.

A dizzying slash came from behind. The man instinctively rolled forward.

In front of him, he saw a point. No, it wasn’t a point, it was the tip of a sword. The man ducked his head.

Dodging twice was already remarkable.

The final strike was beyond his ability to avoid.

A log-like object swept across the ground.

Whack, crack!

“Ugh!”

It was Audin’s low kick. Both of his legs broke in a single blow.

It was a terrifying combination of strength and skill.

Rather than sending his body flying, it accurately broke his legs.

His upper body sank to the ground, his head hitting the floor and bouncing up, then slumping down.

It was an unintentional acrobatic display caused by the powerful kick.

Before he could regain his senses, a sword fell toward his head. The man saw blue eyes.

Thud.

That was the end.

The sword slashed his shoulder as he twisted his head to the side. He didn’t die immediately thanks to dodging the blade, but he lay on the ground, bleeding profusely.

He was as good as dead.

The man writhed on the ground.

The owner of the blue eyes looked at him briefly before turning away.

In his dying moments, the man recalled his last fencing instructor.

“Why are you wasting your talent?”

He had asked.

The man should have answered back then.

‘I’m not wasting it, I never had it. You fool.’

If he could have risen higher, he would have. But he was surrounded by nothing but monsters. They were everywhere.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

It didn’t take long for him to realize the limits of his talent.

Since then, his goal shifted from becoming a Knight to becoming someone who kills Knights.

The man’s dream ended.

The sword of Count Molsen, who had lived as the Blade that Slays the Elite, was broken.

Encrid wouldn’t know any of this.

However,

“Is he insane?”

Rem’s words summed up everything. Did he really plan to charge in here?

It was like he had charged into the midst of five Junior Knight-level opponents.

And none of them were lax individuals.

Encrid, in every moment and situation, did his best with his sword, putting his all into every action.

Whether it was a killing blow or a simple step, he did everything with utmost effort. That was his nature.

In a way, this trait might be what made him a monster.

Among them was Jaxon, notorious for his cunning.

Jaxon had been waiting for the man to charge in recklessly and caught him.

It was an easy hunt.

‘But calling this a hunt doesn’t seem right.’

Rem thought inwardly as he struck with his axe.

Clang!

“Come at me!”

Rem shouted.

By now, the surrounding soldiers had retreated. A clear space had formed around them.

It was a clearing made of corpses, blood, severed limbs, and entrails.

Standing in the midst of it, Encrid felt his muscles tremble.

It was the aftermath of the intense battle coupled with the Heart of Great Strength. Was there a problem? No. Though he felt sore, it wasn’t to the point of being unusable.

He looked around. The sky was clear. It wasn’t going to rain, and though the air was thick with the stench of blood, the morale of the victorious allies buoyed him.

He had seemed isolated in the middle of the enemy, but now he could hear what sounded like Vengeance’s voice from afar.

Understanding the entire situation, Encrid felt his spirits soar again.

“My name is Encrid.”

Just a single sentence.

It was just words.

However, when those words reached the enemy soldiers’ ears, there was no response like before.

In the middle of the battlefield, centered around the clearing Encrid created, a chilling silence spread.

“Attack further and you will die.”

Encrid declared.

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