A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Jaxon expected the cavalry wouldn’t go far and would soon stop. It was the obvious choice for a commander after losing many men in one charge.

So, instead of facing the charge head-on, he started moving low.

While everyone else was focused on the charging cavalry.

And on those repelling the charge.

Jaxon targeted the spot where the cavalry would likely halt and moved there in advance.

He moved ahead of the cavalry, and, assuming he was sprinting with determination, he was confident he wouldn’t lag too far behind them over a short distance.

And the result.

Kicking the calf of a man whose neck had been pierced and was tilting sideways, Jaxon dislodged his foot from the stirrup and pushed him off the saddle.

The commander fell with a thud. Jaxon remained calm.

Climbing into the saddle, he casually patted the horse’s neck as if to soothe it.

The horse, which had been resisting, soon calmed down.

Without looking back, Jaxon urged the horse to return to Encrid’s side.

Clip-clop, clip-clop!

The sound of horse hooves echoed cheerfully through the silence.

The watching cavalry missed their chance to attack due to his nonchalant attitude.

“That wildcat bastard, hogging all the glory alone.”

Rem greeted the returning Jaxon.

“Crazy barbarian, stick to your brute fights.”

Jaxon responded cheerfully as he dismounted and slapped the horse’s rump.

The horse neighed and, with the sound of hooves, ran off to the side.

Of course, it went to an area where no troops were gathered.

Dust rose like a haze as the horse galloped away.

Despite being in the middle of a battlefield, Rem and Jaxon exchanged fierce glances while greeting each other.

Encrid, who should have been intervening, was lost in thought and suddenly spoke up.

It was something he had been mulling over.

“Couldn’t you have just swung the spear without hooking it behind you?”

If the spear shaft broke, you could just let it go. But because the shaft was hooked into a loop on their side and armor, their reaction was slow.

That, he thought, was why their response to the first attack was so poor.

Hence, they had no chance.

Rem sighed and answered, seeing that Encrid had been spouting nonsense for a while now.

Thanks to this, the staring contest between Jaxon and him ended. Jaxon shook his head and averted his eyes.

“If you brace with your waist, you have to withstand both the force of the running horse and the impact of the collision. Wouldn’t your back break? Would it, or wouldn’t it?”

Encrid knew his back wouldn’t break. But for others? Those less trained might find it possible.

Understanding achieved.

Encrid’s point was this.

The enemy’s attack was too simplistic and straightforward.

And hooking the spear to their side while slashing? It might be effective against weaker opponents, but in this situation, it was bound to fail.

That’s why they couldn’t prepare for such an attack.

Encrid inadvertently grasped the core of the enemy cavalry.

Originally, glaive-wielding cavalry were specialized in cutting down and slashing those unprepared for counterattacks, weaker opponents.

‘Instead of hooking the spear behind, they should have strengthened their muscles.’

After confronting them, he saw what needed fixing.

A new realization dawned.

Encrid recognized that he could identify and point out his opponent’s shortcomings.

This was another potential for growth.

‘Good.’

Aside from blocking the cavalry’s charge, Encrid’s eyes gleamed strangely.

The remaining cavalry, watching this, couldn’t decide what to do and once again ordered a charge.

“Charge! Kill them all!”

In some ways, it was impressive courage, thinking to attack again after what just happened.

Encrid pointed his drawn sword forward and faced the charging cavalry again.

Having done it once, why not twice?

When facing the cavalry charge a while ago, the Goddess of luck had no part in it.

It was skill rather than luck that had intervened.

“A crazy antlion trap.”

Marcus remarked, while on the opposite side, the enemy commander Olf cursed the stupidity of the charging cavalry but made the best possible decision in that moment.

Retreating here would have been incredibly foolish.

“Charge!”

Soon, Martai’s infantry began to advance. It was the beginning of a melee.

Before the infantry charged, the cavalry had already fallen and retreated.

Since this was entirely the work of five individuals, the morale of Martai’s charging infantry was understandably low.

* * *

“Ragna and I will take the front, Rem on the right, Jaxon on the left, and Audin at the rear.”

Before coming here, Encrid, as the leader of a unit, thought about forming a proper formation instead of engaging in a chaotic fight.

It wasn’t a deeply thought-out plan.

The idea was for everyone to keep their positions and fight without interfering too much with each other.

In a melee, the casualties among allies increase. He abandoned the idea of a defensive strategy to minimize casualties.

It wasn’t something that could be done with a small elite force.

Instead, to reduce casualties among allies, they needed to increase the enemy’s casualties in a short time.

Thus, this ‘adequate formation’ was created.

Fighting together seemed more effective than fighting separately.

“Keep the intervals.”

They weren’t ones to be bound by formations.

Even if Audin, Ragna, and Jaxon followed the instructions, would that madman Rem really listen?

Encrid was curious too.

If Rem didn’t listen, he thought of just letting him be.

‘In that case, Ragna will be in the front, and I’ll take the right.’

Jaxon, Ragna, and Audin might also not listen.

If that happened, he would give up and fight. There was no time or energy to persuade them.

From that point on, it would just be communicating with the enemy using their swords.

When Encrid mentioned the formation, he had already made up his mind.

And then.

“Understood.”

Rem was the first to take his position. On the right. The interval was roughly three steps. Close enough to help if needed, but not so close as to interfere.

“The interval is three steps, understood.”

Jaxon moved to the left.

Starting with Rem and Jaxon, Ragna also stepped forward by two steps.

Finally, Audin took the rear.

“……Not rushing out on your own?”

Encrid, almost unconsciously, looked at Rem and asked.

Was he really agreeing so easily? It was surprising.

“What are you talking about? Do we have time to chat idly with those bastards coming at us?”

No, they didn’t. The enemy infantry was charging madly.

There was no time to ask the others.

“…Forward.”

Encrid muttered. It was a small but resolute voice that reached those around him.

Ragna matched steps with Encrid. No matter what anyone said, Encrid was the center of this formation.

Was this really happening? Were they actually listening so well?

It was baffling, but not something to question.

Waaaah!

Amid the enemy soldiers’ shouts.

“Kill them all!”

“Die, you bastards!”

“Sons of bitches!”

Some of the leading soldiers showed fear, some madness, and others calmness.

People are different.

Between the soldiers showing fear, madness, and calmness, curses and shouts echoed like a harmony.

It was the orchestra of the battlefield.

Encrid didn’t run. He just increased his walking speed a bit, and the allies moved with him.

Their morale was overwhelmingly high.

The discipline spread differently.

Encrid felt it in his bones.

“Waaaah – you idiots!”

Hearing the allies’ shouts from behind, Encrid faced his first enemy.

The impact from the cavalry’s charge was greater the second time.

The first time ended in bewilderment, but the second time was different.

Even though they knew it was coming, the same scene repeated itself, with even more casualties than before.

The routed cavalry fled. If they had charged again, they would have rightfully been called the biggest fools on the continent.

So it wasn’t surprising that the fear in the eyes of the soldier standing before him replaced the calmness and madness.

Blades flew, and the heat of the battle closed in.

Encrid swung his sword down. A direct overhead slash.

Thud, crack!

The first blow struck the soldier’s head.

With a slicing motion, the head burst, sending blood and brain matter everywhere.

Blood droplets rained down on Encrid’s leather helmet.

Amidst the rain of blood, Encrid was already slicing horizontally through another soldier’s chest and left arm.

Whack!

If swordsmanship was important, then the weapon itself could also be considered part of the technique.

Encrid thought this and fully utilized the capabilities of his sword.

The blade, with its exceptional sharpness and strength, cut through the oncoming waves of soldiers.

The effectiveness of the formation? He didn’t care. He focused on just one thing.

To fight together appropriately.

The intention was clear. Encrid pierced through the enemy ranks like the tip of a spear.

Naturally, Rem and the others followed him at the center. The charge of the Madmen Platoon was like a knife cutting through a soft apple. Soon, they would be in the middle of the enemy.

What happens when you dig in like that?

Encirclement. In other words, they would be fighting surrounded by enemies.

Was it a bad strategy? Not really.

“Brothers, to heaven!”

Audin, who was covering the rear, shouted.

His fists and club moved faster than the eye could follow.

Wham, thud! Whoosh, crack!

On the right, Rem laughed as he swung his axe.

The gleaming blade of the axe swept through, smashing enemy swords, splitting heads, and slicing through armor.

“Come on, I’m excited now.”

Rem said, covered in blood.

Between his blood-red helmet and face, only his gray eyes blinked.

As fear descended on the enemy, the soldiers charging from the front hesitated.

“You bastards!”

Suddenly, a man charged from the left.

Encrid didn’t know it, but it was Greg, the commander of the 1st Battalion.

General Olf’s trusted brave warrior, Greg, was blocked by Jaxon, who wielded a thin sword.

A previously unnoticed opponent.

Greg did not underestimate his opponent, but he didn’t overestimate him either.

He swung his hexagonal mace.

A heavy blow with a tricky trajectory.

It aimed diagonally at the collarbone. Dodging would disrupt the formation, and blocking it would be difficult. The difference in power was evident.

Encrid noticed this out of the corner of his eye but wasn’t worried.

‘No chance.’

Did Greg think Jaxon was the easiest target to face head-on?

Certainly, the opponent hovered near Rem. Yet, he didn’t attack Rem and instead circled to the left.

He was targeting Jaxon.

The soldier with reddish-brown hair met the mace with his thin blade.

If you can’t dodge, you can deflect.

Clang!

Jaxon received the heavy mace with the flat of his blade and deflected it to the side.

Sparks flew as metal ground against metal. Jaxon’s expression remained unchanged. He was just doing his job.

For what it was, it was a high-level deflection.

It was clear he had thoroughly mastered the basics of swordsmanship.

“Ugh!”

Greg tried to force the direction of the deflected mace back on course.

“Idiot.”

Jaxon muttered, and Greg heard it clearly.

This bastard? Greg cursed with his eyes as he controlled the mace and stomped the ground.

He intended to crush him with brute force.

If Jaxon tried another deflection, Greg was ready to drop his weapon and rush in to break his neck.

He was confident in his hand-to-hand combat skills.

Greg envisioned the outcome of the fight in an instant, predicting the scene of snapping his opponent’s neck.

The strange part was, that scene kept repeating in his mind.

Dropping the mace and rushing in. Snapping the neck. Crunch!

Dropping the mace and rushing in. Snapping the neck. Crunch.

Dropping the mace and rushing in. Snapping the neck. Crunch.

Then suddenly, the world spun, and looking down, he saw the guy who called him an idiot already thrusting his sword towards another opponent.

A soldier screamed as the blade pierced through the visor, skewering his eye and head.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

“Argh!”

‘Why am I seeing all this?’

Greg looked down in confusion, seeing a body with blood spurting out. The lifeless body splattered red paint everywhere as it fell forward with a thud.

From where the head had been, blood gushed out like water from a tilted bucket.

The fallen one’s armor looked remarkably similar to his own.

That was the end. His thoughts ceased, and darkness consumed everything.

* * *

As soon as the one targeting Jaxon was pushed aside, Ragna delivered a blow.

There was no need for a severance strike, a steel slash sufficed.

The armor covering the neck looked quite tough, but it was meaningless.

Whack, slice!

The slash cut through armor, neck bones, and tendons. It was a Middle Sword Technique steel slash.

The head flew through the air, and it strangely seemed like the eyes were blinking.

Ragna lost interest after that.

He was exhilarated.

‘Interesting guys.’

He was referring to everyone, including Encrid.

Where could one find such people?

Something created by a series of coincidences.

A prank played by the Goddess of luck.

Such things might have created this situation.

‘Or maybe not.’

Life often starts with coincidence and ends in inevitability.

This might be something that happened independently of luck. If not for Encrid, Ragna wouldn’t be here, so it was inevitable.

But did Rem and the others play no role?

He had seen skilled fighters during his mundane life. Naturally, it made him stop.

Coincidence and inevitability, useless thoughts disappeared.

Exhilaration, fun.

Ragna was drenched in things he couldn’t easily feel while swinging his sword. That exhilaration filled him and overflowed.

Because of that.

Ragna’s sword became fiercer, more precise, and busier.

At some point, even Encrid had to match Ragna’s rhythm.

When Ragna took the lead and started swinging his sword, he was like the Grim Reaper.

The enemy’s eyes started to reflect something beyond fear, an incomprehensible dread.

“Ughhh!”

“Spare me!”

“It’s a monster!”

Cries instead of shouts.

With screams, cold despair began to blanket the battlefield.

The orchestra was coming to an end.

“…What kind of monsters are they?”

A Platoon leader who once tried to capture Encrid by using underhanded tactics on the supply route had also joined the battlefield.

A sigh of despair escaped his lips.

If he had survived, he might have become an excellent commander and outstanding soldier, but he too did not survive.

An axe had already approached and struck his chest.

“Ugh.”

His breastbone caved in, and his heart burst. Excruciating pain coursed through his body. Thus, the Platoon leader fell, shedding tears of blood.

When the number of the dead exceeded a hundred.

* * *

“Shit.”

Olf sensed defeat.

No, it was beyond just sensing.

This was on a level where they couldn’t even compete.

‘Five Junior-Knights?’

Damn bastards, they hid them well.

Olf felt not just disheartened but dizzy with despair. Five Junior-Knights, this wasn’t a Knight order, what kind of madness was this?

No, even if they weren’t Junior-Knights, how did they manage to hide five with such power?

Olf couldn’t accept it.

He hadn’t lost the war.

This was a victory of politics. The victory of those who hid well.

This happened because Marcus hid Encrid so well.

“Maintain the melee.”

In the midst of this, a commander with no insignia ran and shouted.

There was nothing to maintain.

The flow of the battlefield was no longer his.

From now on, his life, the beginning, and the end of everything depended on Marcus’s whims.

Beyond morale and momentum, everything on the battlefield was now in the hands of a politician.

“Truly, what a bastard.”

Who could understand Olf’s miserable feelings, being utterly defeated by a strike relying on his subordinate’s strength?

Should this be called the realm of strategy and tactics?

Hiding the power of just five men so well?

If someone were to name this battle, it would be perfectly fitting to say this:

Marcus hid Encrid.

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