Eternally Regressing Knight

Enkrid lifted his head, his gaze locking onto the figure who emerged. It only took a moment for the tension to escalate.

“Kill them all!” shouted the presumed leader of the “delivery.”

His sharp, slitted eyes gleamed with malicious intent.

No sooner had the command been issued than the so-called leader turned tail and bolted. Enkrid, irked by the brazen cowardice, immediately gave chase.

“Take care of the rest,” he barked over his shoulder, leaving the skirmish behind.

Invoking the Heart of the Beast, Enkrid surged forward, mimicking the speed dash of a mid-ranked knight he had once observed. But this time, he fused precision into the motion. With each stride, his mastery grew; it wasn’t flawless, but it was no longer unfamiliar.

The coward plowed recklessly through bushes and brambles, but such a futile attempt at escape didn’t deter Enkrid. He was on the man in moments.

The cornered man spun around, drawing an arming sword with alarming fluidity. His technique was polished—quick, precise, and laden with feints.

“A finesse-based style, likely from the Flowing Blade school,” Enkrid assessed, recalling techniques he’d faced before. “Still inferior to the mercenary styles of Valen.”

The man struck with speed, blending trickery into his strikes, yet his offense crumbled against Enkrid’s sheer dominance.

Ting. Crack. Snap!

In a single exchange, Enkrid’s guard sword battered aside the man’s blade, slashing through his defenses and into his chest. The force sent the coward stumbling.

Desperate, the man lunged with a hidden dagger.

But Enkrid was faster. His blade thrust upward, the guard sword slamming under the man’s jaw before he could retaliate.

In a seamless series of motions inspired by Ragna’s drills, Enkrid immobilized his opponent. The would-be escapee now stood frozen, his left arm awkwardly twisted, and his life hanging by a thread.

“Who are you?” Enkrid demanded, his tone cold and clipped.

When the man hesitated, Enkrid tilted his blade, grazing the throat. A fine line of blood trickled down, drawing a hurried response.

“I-I’m from the main base of the Black Blades!”

“The main base?” Enkrid pressed. “Why are you here?”

“Patrolling!” the man sputtered, the lie clear as day.

Enkrid’s instincts, honed by countless battles, screamed the truth. Without a second glance, he drew the blade across the man’s neck, ending his life in one efficient motion.

Time was too precious for interrogations, especially when the enemy had nothing worthwhile to offer.

Returning to the battlefield, Enkrid surveyed the aftermath. Victory was evident in the scattered corpses of the enemy. Only three captives remained alive, huddled together under watch.

Looting began in earnest. Coins, poison sand, crude weapons, and wrist-mounted arrow launchers filled their haul. However, the sheer volume of spoils posed a problem.

“You carry it,” Ragna suggested, pointing to Rem.

“Do you have a death wish?” Rem snapped back, the tension between them bubbling again.

“Enough,” Enkrid cut in sharply, silencing the squabble. His gaze fell on the captured thieves.

“Tell me,” he asked one of the trembling men, “is the main base gone?”

Of the three captives, one wept helplessly while the other two frantically calculated their odds.

“Y-Yes, sir,” one managed to stammer. “I saw it myself. It was burning—completely destroyed. Looked like someone set fire to it.”

Enkrid nodded, glancing at the cloudy sky. The moisture in the air hinted at impending rain. A fire spreading out of control seemed unlikely, especially if the Border Defense Forces had orchestrated it.

“And you three?” Enkrid’s voice was calm yet unyielding.

“A Change in Fortune”

One of the thieves spoke up nervously.

“A representative from the main base said… we were doomed, and some of us had to survive to carry the message…”

His voice trailed off, the implication clear. They had fled without a fight. The lack of blood on their weapons and their sweat-soaked state only confirmed it.

Enkrid guessed they were likely the only survivors. The scattered remnants from the base, those who fled into the forest, had probably become a meal for the beasts that roamed there.

“You made it here by some miracle, then?”

“There’s a shortcut!” the sharpest of the three piped up, seizing the moment to prove his usefulness.

The Black Blade thieves were infamous for their adaptability. Whether building nests in treacherous mountain ranges, becoming raiders in the wilderness, or even pirates at sea, they had a way of surviving where others could not. Yet, this group, lacking the refinement of those who dominated the seas or the plains, had grown infamous as the largest inland thieves’ guild.

“I know the paths well!” another thief blurted out eagerly. His attempt to gain favor only soured when he began to badmouth the lone beastkin among them.

“That filthy mutt knows nothing! Thinks she’s still a mercenary, the fool…”

“Enough,” Enkrid cut him off coldly. “We’ll talk when we reach the city.”

The captives’ fate would be decided there. Whether execution, imprisonment, or endless torment, the choice would no longer be his concern.

One thief let out a weak groan, as if realizing this was truly the end for him.

“P-please, have mercy…”

Enkrid tilted his head, showing a brief moment of cruel humor.

“Would you rather I end it here?”

The man’s panicked refusal brought an end to his plea, though his despair remained written all over his face.

After stripping the bodies for anything useful, the group bundled their findings in improvised sacks made from torn clothing. Then came the grueling task of digging graves.

“You dig too,” Enkrid ordered the surviving thieves, who reluctantly complied. Meanwhile, Ragna cut the bindings on the beastkin thief, as promised earlier.

By the time the graves were filled and the looting complete, the sun had set.

“We march through the night,” Enkrid decided, and his companions quickly agreed.

On the way back, they found an abandoned wagon. The loot was loaded onto it, but with no horses in sight, the three captives were forced to pull it themselves. Drenched in sweat, they struggled to drag the wagon, with the beastkin thief offering occasional pushes from behind.

Enkrid’s thoughts drifted. The beastkin woman’s determination and lack of malice stood in stark contrast to the other thieves. While her tenacity was impressive, his decision to free her stemmed purely from practicality. He had no interest in her beyond that.

The journey back to the city took twice as long. By the time they arrived, dawn was breaking.

“Who goes there?”

A soldier on the city wall called down, flanked by three archers ready with their bows.

“Captain Enkrid of the Independent Company,” he declared, his voice firm.

The recognition was immediate. After a brief exchange, the gates were opened by none other than Vengeance himself.

“What is all this? Did you loot a village or something?” Benzens asked, his eyes narrowing at the loaded wagon.

“Not looting—repelling a ransacking,” Enkrid replied dryly. Looting the defeated was only natural in his eyes.

Despite Vengeance’s suspicions, he didn’t press the matter further. Instead, his focus shifted to the palpable tension hanging over the city.

“You’re heading straight to the commander, aren’t you?”

Enkrid nodded.

“Good. You’ll get the details there.”

Vengeance refused to elaborate, clearly unwilling to share more than necessary.

“Stingy as always,” Enkrid muttered with a smirk before heading inside.

Rem and Ragna followed close behind, leaving the thieves to be handed over at the gate.

“Take care of them,” Rem instructed the guards, not sparing a glance as they entered the city.

“Who are these people?” Vengeance asked, watching the group with suspicion.

“Black Blade thieves,” one of the guards replied.

Vengeance blinked in surprise. What’s their name doing here?

As his thoughts churned, the white-haired beastkin trailed behind Rem and Ragna, staying close but silent.

Should I stop her? he wondered briefly but decided against it. If Enkrid hadn’t raised an issue, there was probably no need to intervene.

Once the group was out of sight, Vengeance turned to a subordinate, his tone measured.

“Am I… stingy?”

The subordinate swallowed hard. Honesty was a virtue, but some truths were better left unsaid.

“N-no, sir. You’re… fair. Perfectly ordinary, even.”

While he couldn’t call him “generous” with a clear conscience, this was as close to the truth as he dared to go. After all, Vengeance’ petty jealousy of Enkrid’s popularity with women was no secret.

“Exactly! I’m not stingy, am I?”

The subordinate nodded quickly, a display of wisdom in action.

Meanwhile, Enkrid stood before Marcus, the battalion commander, his mind brimming with questions.

“Why didn’t you inform me earlier?”

Surely, knowing the situation would have allowed for better preparation or a more proactive response.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. His response was blunt.

“Because you’re terrible at lying.”

Enkrid blinked. Have they been watching me? he wondered, though Marcus’ statement seemed based more on his usual demeanor than any direct observation.

‘If you want to fool the enemy, start by fooling your allies,’ Enkrid mused, silently conceding the point.

“And what if I’d been in danger?”

“That’s why I had you take Rem and Ragna.”

A brief silence followed. The risk hadn’t been that significant after all.

“What’s going on with the city?” Enkrid changed the subject, sensing a shift in the mood.

The Fairy Commander, seated nearby, took over.

“There’ve been multiple incidents—two ambushes on scouting parties, four attempts to breach the walls by infiltrators, and three attempts to sneak past the gates disguised as civilians.”

This hadn’t all happened in a single day but rather was a culmination of recent events.

“Who’s behind it?”

“Do I really need to spell it out?” the Fairy Commander retorted.

“Martai,” Enkrid answered, cutting the pretense.

Marcus nodded grimly.

“Yes. Martai has officially declared war.”

The timing wasn’t a coincidence. It was a calculated move, likely made before any preemptive actions could be taken.

“This isn’t just a border skirmish,” Marcus continued. “It’s a full-blown war between cities. Martai has already sent forged documents to the central authority, claiming our territory has been theirs since the previous administration.”

Marcus let out a bitter laugh. The absurdity of the claim was evident, but the implications were far from amusing.

“We sent them our own forged documents in response,” the Fairy Commander added, smirking. “Claimed Martai was under our jurisdiction instead.”

So, it’s not just a war of swords but of paperwork too, Enkrid thought wryly.

Marcus’ tone grew serious as he fixed his gaze on Enkrid.

“I’m expecting great things from you on the battlefield.”

The intensity of his gaze was both unnerving and oddly reassuring. Marcus wasn’t just placing faith in him—he was relying on him.

The Fairy Commander chimed in with his usual lighthearted sarcasm.

“Shall we call this the ‘Honeymoon War’?”

“Is Marcus planning another marriage?” Enkrid quipped in return, drawing a hearty laugh from the battalion commander.

Despite his reputation as a warmonger, Marcus appeared unfazed by the impending conflict, as if he held an unshakable belief in victory.

After finishing his report, Enkrid left the command center, heading back toward his quarters.

“Not leaving yet?” he called, noticing the beastkin, Dunbakel, lingering near the barracks.

She had been trailing them all the way but had stopped just short of the entrance. It was odd that no one had challenged her presence, especially with war looming. This place is getting sloppy, Enkrid thought.

As he turned to her, she met his gaze, her voice calm but resolute.

“I have something to say.”

Her husky tone carried the distinct cadence of a beastkin, but it was unmistakably feminine. There was a weight to her words that hinted at more than mere gratitude.

“I want to fight,” she said simply.

Enkrid blinked, surprised but unreadable.

“You’re not part of this battalion,” he replied after a moment. “Hell, you’re not even a soldier.”

“I was once,” she countered. “And I can be again.”

Her tone didn’t waver, but there was a certain weight behind her words, a reminder of a past she wasn’t ready to leave behind.

Enkrid crossed his arms, studying her. Most people begged for freedom, especially those dragged into situations like hers. Yet here she was, asking to step into a battlefield she had no obligation to face.

“Why?” he asked finally.

She hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before she spoke again.

“Because I owe you. Because I owe myself.”

The answer wasn’t what he’d expected, but it was genuine. That much was clear.