A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“Making a fuss, aren’t they?”

He was the one who showed that skill and personality don’t always align. What was his name again?

The guy twisted his lips into a sneer.

“Want me to give you another hole, Enki?”

He said as he took a step forward.

Encrid decided to speak just once before killing him.

“What was your name again?”

In the stance with his right foot slightly forward, the guy stopped.

“…Anyway, you talk too much, you bastard.”

He didn’t say his name. Oh well.

It’s not like it’s necessary to know.

“Kill him.”

At the unknown bastard’s command, nine others around him moved.

It felt like they were the Border Guard, corrupted and twisted.

Each one wielded a weapon, looking like they knew what they were doing.

There seemed to be the smell of blood on their weapons.

Bang!

One of them shot a slingshot. It was aimed, pulled, and released in an instant, the motion was smooth.

The slingshot fired small metal pellets.

Ragna simply tilted his head to dodge. The shot aimed for his eyes.

“A slingshot.” Ragna muttered. Encrid saw a heat in his eyes that wasn’t usually there.

Well, there shouldn’t be anything to worry about.

“Alone?”

Someone spoke from behind, it was Vengeance.

With a limping gait, Encrid’s eyes went to Vengeance’s thigh.

Before he could ask how he got injured—

“While trying to save me from that filthy bastard.”

One of the soldiers behind Vengeance, showing both concern and resentment in his eyes, spoke up.

It was clear without needing an explanation. He must’ve done it as usual.

Deliberately harassing a soldier to make Vengeance intervene, then exploiting the opening to stab him in the thigh.

That was exactly the kind of thing that bastard would do.

In contrast, Vengeance must have taken the injury to save his comrade.

What would have happened if Encrid hadn’t come here?

He would have died. Vengeance was prepared for death.

For a person like this, perhaps it’s possible to think of him as a friend.

Someone like Vengeance could be a good friend.

But not that bastard. Thinking of him as a friend is absurd.

“Sharp, that one.”

Vengeance spoke again, and only then did Encrid remember the guy’s name, clapping his right fist into his left palm.

“I remember your name.”

The guy smirked.

“How could you forget my name? You little prick.”

He spoke as he drew his sword with a ting. A flexible blade that bends under force, made of soft iron.

The wavy blade caught Encrid’s eye, and he spoke.

“It was ‘bastard,’ wasn’t it?”

His nickname, his name was ‘bastard’, wasn’t it? That must be it. Probably.

“…You’ll be begging me to kill you.”

The man’s eyes gleamed maliciously. Was he angry? That wasn’t the intention.

Encrid shrugged his shoulders.

The two exchanged trivial words, heating up the situation.

Among the bastard’s nine subordinates, the one with the slingshot moved again.

Thump, whizz, bang!

This time, it was aimed at Encrid, but Ragna, who had approached unnoticed, drew his sword with the sheath still on and deflected the projectile. The metal pellet shot vertically into the air, glittering as it disappeared into the fog.

“You’ve got quick hands. It’d be fun to put a hole in them.”

The slingshot wielder said. Beside him was a guy with dual axes, one in each hand, similar to Rem’s equipment.

“Interesting, you think you can take us all on by yourself?”

The dual-axe wielder said, eyeing Ragna.

This was bad, Encrid thought.

Sure enough, Ragna reacted.

“A cheap imitation of a barbarian.” he said.

“…What?”

The ax-wielding guy, with blonde hair and red eyes, stared blankly at him, not understanding. There was a clear hostility in Ragna’s red eyes.

Two hand axes? That was a poor choice of weapons.

Three others wielded swords, each with a distinctive blade deeply etched with blood grooves. They looked similar, triplets.

“After this battle, we’ll become part of Aspen’s group. We might even get noble titles.”

The bastard said, sounding proud. It was the same as before.

The same expression as when he saved himself, as if declaring that this fight was for such a reason brought him satisfaction.

I see.

Encrid stopped talking.

Thump.

He advanced and struck with his sword. The opponent underestimated him, still sneering as he parried the blow.

Ting, ting, ting.

The distinctive flexible blade aimed for Encrid’s wrist, bending down as it struck the longsword and then curving upward toward his wrist.

A masterful technique, the best of swordsmanship.

Did he say he learned it in the East?

There was something about that.

Encrid watched the blade aiming for his wrist and then shook his sword up and down.

The flexible blade, riding along his own, was flicked upward.

Thud.

‘What is this bastard?’

The opponent’s face showed confusion and surprise, but Encrid wasn’t interested.

He simply advanced, swinging his sword, as he had learned and trained.

Hadn’t he learned how to deal with a master swordsman?

‘Begin with a solid strike.’

He did so, as Ragna had taught him.

Whoosh.

The blade cut through the air. Through focused concentration, everything seemed to slow down, becoming tangible.

Connecting point to point, adding strength to a diagonal slash aimed at the opponent.

The bastard quickly stepped back, raising his sword.

Whizz, ting, ting, ting!

The flexible blade cut through the air, aiming for Encrid’s neck.

But it was only aiming.

For by then, Encrid’s diagonal slash had already connected with the man’s body.

Faster, stronger, and more precise.

One strike was enough.

Crack.

A sensation of resistance registered in his hands. Though the strike had been clean, to the point that his hands felt numb, it wasn’t possible not to feel anything as the sword cut through armor and other accessories.

Encrid’s longsword cleaved through the man’s armor, half of his ribs, and even severed the wrist holding the sword.

The sword that had been curving towards Encrid’s neck clattered to the ground.

Ting.

Encrid paused in the position of swinging his sword, then swung it to the side.

Thud.

Blood splattered onto the ground.

Before him lay the remnants of the past, eyes wide open in shock as he died.

Encrid silently spoke to his past comrades.

‘I’ve avenged you.’

There was no reply. The dead never answer.

The same was true for the opponent who died without a final cry.

It was an expected outcome.

The mercenary who used Eastern swordsmanship, the bastard, had impressive skills, but…

‘Compared to Frog and Mitch Hurrier.’

Lacking. Compared to his own squad members? They were incomparable, laughably so.

However, if it hadn’t been for Encrid, this battlefield might have been in disarray as well. It could have been as chaotic as the one with the Giant.

It was all relative.

On this side, they wielded killing swords, men who made a profession of killing and honing their skills as tools for that end.

Against someone stronger, they could die just like this, but if the roles were reversed, they would become efficient murderers, sure to go on a rampage.

“…What the hell.”

Said one of the three brothers wielding swords.

“What do you think?”

Ragna replied as he stepped towards the man with the slingshot.

It was astonishing just to watch his movements. In a few steps, he was already at the side of the man with the slingshot.

“Tch!”

The man twisted his body sideways. That was his last move. With a “tch”, his head flew into the sky, the surprised expression still on his face.

When did he draw his sword? When did he strike?

His skill was frighteningly quick and clean.

Even to Encrid, the curved blade remained only as an afterimage.

“Slingshot,”

Ragna muttered towards the fallen opponent as he moved.

“Three swords.”

This was directed at the three brothers. They drew their swords, clearly not intending to go down easily.

Ragna saw the red bloodlust in their eyes.

Killers who used their swords to kill people as a means to an end.

There were some like them, wretches who didn’t even know how to properly hone their skills.

Swords that started by killing the powerless, learning only to kill the weak.

No matter the opponent or the situation.

Ragna felt quite pleased.

How many times in his life had he felt this kind of overflowing vigor?

Three times? Five times? It didn’t feel like five.

He was filled with pent-up frustration. That frustration had turned into a sparring session with Encrid.

Something that started as a small spark was now burning in his eyes.

His already red eyes now glowed with light—an aura.

Ragna, with a glint in his eyes, swung his sword.

Whoosh, thud, squelch, splat, swish!

The three wielders of killing swords fell, their throats pierced, heads severed, and split from chin to crown.

Ragna’s sword cut through anything in its path, be it swords, armor, flesh, or bone.

It was impressive.

“Pitchfork.”

Ragna muttered, seeking his next opponent.

The next adversary wielded a pitchfork, seemingly chosen for the pain it could inflict.

He swallowed nervously, realizing he had met his match.

“Attack all at once!”

The man shouted. As soon as his words left his mouth, they all moved. Then he turned and fled.

Encrid’s eyes widened in surprise. Normally, Ragna wouldn’t even glance at someone fleeing like that.

But this Ragna…

Bam!

He moved so quickly it was almost invisible.

He dashed forward, swinging his sword to the left and right. He moved so fast it looked like wings were fluttering around him, though these wings were formed by the afterimages of his blade.

Those “wings” split the head of the spear-wielder and severed the arms of a woman wielding daggers.

Clang!

The blade of the dagger that caught in the middle was also cut in half.

It was a fearsome strike, difficult to describe in words.

“Aaaah!”

The scream of the woman with the dagger tore through the air.

Ragna continued to chase the fleeing man. The man with the pitchfork turned and brandished it in defense.

It was a solid iron weapon.

Ragna swung his sword again, this time aiming to deflect the pitchfork sideways while delivering a backhanded strike.

The first swing nearly cut the pitchfork in half, and the follow-through beheaded the man.

Screech.

With just a bit more force, the pitchfork might have been completely severed.

Only one remained.

“Damn.”

Muttered the man wielding two axes.

“You’re the main dish.”

Something about Ragna seemed very different from usual.

He calmly approached the man with the axes, who looked nothing like Rem.

But that was not what mattered to Ragna.

“Starting with the legs.”

He said, and then acted. Ragna’s sword moved. The man with the axes might have been skilled, but…

This was something else.

It reminded Encrid of himself, or rather his past self.

It was a moment of facing a wall that no amount of effort or training could overcome.

“Aaaaah!”

The man wielding the axes struggled in vain. That was all he could do.

Ragna first slashed at his thigh, then severed the tendons in both of his arms.

With a dull thud, the man dropped his axes. Ragna placed his sword on the man’s head, realizing with surprise that he was quite excited.

It was a strange feeling.

‘Is this something to be excited about?’

In any case, it wasn’t a bad feeling.

“If you spare me, I can show you where we hid the treas—”

Slice.

No matter what the man said, Ragna wasn’t listening.

In the end, the last remaining member of the mercenary group wielding axes died, his head split open.

Ragna noticed that the blade he was using had lost its edge and the handle was loose, so he discarded it.

He then gathered the swords used by the triplets.

“Hmm, I have three swords now.”

He strapped two swords to his hips like Encrid and slung one across his back.

“Are you going for a three-sword style?”

Encrid asked.

“No, I’ll use them one at a time.”

Ragna replied, shaking his head.

“Do you know what technique I used just now?”

His speech was faster than usual, which was unusual.

How would he know?

It seemed like it was just cutting and slashing, but there was something impressive about it. Ragna’s sword had cut through everything, whether it was daggers or anything else.

As Encrid pondered, Ragna spoke again, still faster than usual.

“I named it ‘Severance’.”

It was a plain name, but the technique’s power was undeniable.

Severance, the art of cutting.

It referred to a skill honed through his own method of cutting with a sword.

“I’ll teach you.”

Ragna declared his intention, and Encrid nodded in agreement.

Vengeance, who had been watching the fight, couldn’t even shake his head.

‘Monsters.’

That was the only thought that came to mind.

Encrid gathered the two axes that had fallen to the ground. Since Rem had broken his weapons fighting the giant, he would need new ones.

There wasn’t much else to take, just a few throwing daggers from the woman who wielded the daggers.

It was a shame he had used up all the whistling knives.

‘It would be good to make new ones.’ he thought as they finished the battle and began to regroup.

From the front, a cheer erupted.

“Audin! Audin!”

The shouting came from the front lines, where something seemed to have happened around Audin.

Encrid looked forward.

The sun had risen, and the fog was starting to lift, revealing the surroundings.

Beyond the clearing fog, Audin stood alone.

He was right in the middle of the enemy forces.

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