A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

After being unconscious for two days straight, Encrid slept for another half day.

Upon waking, he saw bread and soup in front of him.

A long shadow passed over the bread and soup, then disappeared.

He turned his eyes to the half-open tent entrance. It seemed to be dawn.

There was no sound of people coming and going, and fewer torch stands were set up, so the light entering the tent was much less than before.

Everyone inside the tent was asleep.

Encrid reached for the bread.

'My arm moves without any trouble.'

Since he was reaching for the bread, he decided to try to sit up.

Zing.

Then pain surged from his side, hurting so much it made the back of his head tingle.

'Still, this much…'

Rem said it wasn't broken.

He thought the same.

Although he had fainted from the shock to his head, luckily, there didn't seem to be any serious damage.

He wasn't dizzy, and his eyes, nose, and ears were all fine.

He dipped the torn bread into the cold soup and shoved it into his mouth.

'My tongue is fine too.'

He must have been really hungry because even this tasted good.

His tongue reacted to the subtle sweetness of the flour. The soup, though slightly more flavorful than plain water, was enough to fill his empty stomach.

Encrid chewed each bite thoroughly and swallowed slowly, as if the thick soup and bread were dishes from a proper restaurant.

'Eating quickly after fainting will upset your stomach.'

He knew this from experience.

Normally, this would be something a soldier guarding the infirmary would tell him.

The soldier he saw in the evening seemed annoyed by everything.

A soldier guarding the infirmary—was that really a necessary position?

'He must have some connections.'

Otherwise, would a perfectly healthy person be here guarding the injured?

After filling his stomach, Encrid forced himself to sit up.

Lying down immediately after eating hinders digestion.

If you're injured, you need to eat well and rest well.

Proper digestion was part of eating well.

"Whew."

Encrid let out a small sigh and stared blankly at the flickering light at the tent entrance.

His eyes were fixed on the flickering torch, but his mind was filled with other thoughts.

The repeated days, today, and finally, that day he overcame.

Encrid reviewed and reviewed that 'today'.

He recalled that moment so vividly that it even appeared in his dreams.

If he considered the thrust alone, it was excellent. Even he thought it was a perfectly clean strike.

'Bringing the fight to that point wasn't bad either.'

Valen's Mercenary Sword Style was a great help.

And he had honed his skills through countless repetitions of today.

But that didn't mean everything was perfect.

'It was sloppy.'

That was the result of recalling that moment countless times.

Someone passed by in front of the tent.

Whoosh.

The shadow of a soldier passing in front of the burning torch stretched long.

In Encrid's imagination, the elongated shadow transformed into a thrusting form.

'When I thrusted…'

What if the opponent had dodged?

The shadow evaded the thrust. After dodging, it swung its sword and slashed.

The blade effortlessly cut through the neck of the shadow that represented Encrid.

'Then I'd be the one dead.'

Was he fully prepared? Hardly.

'I was lacking.'

If the opponent had been just a little bit smarter, if they had known how to fight just a little bit better.

If they had just a bit more experience.

If they had survived just until the next battlefield.

'No, that's going too far.'

That's an exaggeration.

Thinking like this could go on forever.

The shadow wielding a sword was a product of his imagination, and as he shook off his thoughts, it disappeared.

Encrid stopped worrying about what had already happened.

'Instead of dwelling on what-ifs, let's think about the next step.'

Rem said that he must know how to thrust with all his strength.

But that didn't mean he could do it with every attack.

So, he thought it through.

Show the thrust once.

Before that, keep provoking the opponent.

When the provoked opponent attempts a thrust, counterattack.

'I bet everything on a single thrust.'

A thrust that, if it failed, meant death.

Was that really the right thing to do?

Leading the fight in that way was not the answer. Encrid knew that too.

What if it didn't work out and he faced a new 'today'?

'If the thrust didn't work, should I have relied on luck?'

No, that couldn't be.

That was unacceptable.

Not luck, but skill.

Encrid believed it was the best way to seize the opportunity given to him.

Thinking it over didn't fill him with self-reproach.

It was simply a matter of recalling the facts and distinguishing between what he did well and what he lacked.

Just as he had always done after a battle or a sparring match.

"If you fought and survived by betting half your life, that fight will become your asset, Enki."

The old swordsman was a fencing teacher in a quiet coastal town, teaching children.

In terms of skill, he was probably too ashamed to make a name for himself even in a small commercial city, let alone a big city.

But he wasn't bad at teaching.

At least to Encrid, he was an excellent teacher.

"If you plan to eat sword meals until the day you die, after a battle, digest everything you gained from that fight, defecate it, and then digest it again. That's how you'll survive."

It was a path the old teacher had experienced firsthand.

He limped on his left foot.

His body was covered in sword scars.

Hard-earned lessons learned through life and death struggles.

That instructor charged a lot for his lessons.

But it wasn't a waste.

It was a valuable time.

Now was the time to recall what he had learned from him.

'There must be another way.'

He couldn't thrust with all his strength every single moment.

Otherwise, he would be the one to die.

Rem wouldn't fight like that either.

But when it came to sparring with that crazy Rem bastard, every single one of his axe swings felt heavy and filled with killing intent.

'How could he do that?'

The joy of successfully landing the thrust was fleeting.

Encrid didn't let himself bask in the sense of achievement.

Well, he was happy.

He felt a great deal of satisfaction in overcoming a barrier through his own efforts.

But he didn't stop there.

Naturally, Encrid envisioned the future.

What came after the successful thrust.

Because a future he couldn't see before achieving it was now visible.

He was reaching for and walking toward that tomorrow's sun.

'What if I thrust with all my strength but didn't put my whole heart into it?'

He was getting closer to the answer.

Thinking alone revealed very little.

But that was okay.

This wasn't all the time Encrid had been given.

The faceless ferryman had said so.

This wasn't the end.

Walls would keep appearing.

'Did he say it would repeat?'

Then, he would just have to bet his life and challenge again.

Knowing that such moments would come again made his heart race.

A peculiar warmth that started in his lower abdomen spread throughout his body.

Encrid ignored that heat.

Now was not the time to push his body.

'First, I need to rest.'

Even without a doctor, his throbbing side clearly needed several days of rest.

'But how did I even get here?'

What usually happens when a soldier gets injured?

Regardless of the severity, they are either treated at their own barracks until they die, or, 'if they're lucky, they get a doctor by their side for treatment.'

Alternatively, if the goddess of luck showered them with a bundle of coins, they might receive a priest's prayer.

Divine healing is possible only when luck and connections come together.

Of course, it would be a different story for a high-ranking officer.

In any case, Encrid was none of these.

That meant someone had intervened here.

'I have no idea.'

Seeing that he was starting to burp, it seemed his digestion was done.

Encrid lay down and slept.

He slept very deeply.

When injured, eating well and sleeping well is the best.

The next day, when he opened his eyes,

He saw a pair of large, round eyes.

"Move your face away."

When he pushed the big-eyed face with his hand, the person moved back before he could even touch them.

"I didn't want to wake you because you were sleeping so soundly, but you woke up at the right time."

"Hardly."

This guy was more likely to kick him awake, complaining about wasting time.

"Who do you think put the Squad Leader in here?"

The big-eyed guy said, puffing out his chest.

So, it was his doing.

Well, if it wasn't him or Jaxon among the squad members, no one else had such pull.

"I had to loosen my purse strings for this. You owe me. Don't forget it."

He never asked to be put here.

But still, it was a good thing.

The infirmary offers better meals than the regular barracks and is located at the rear.

It also has the advantage of not having to do anything.

Everyone is exempt from duties, regardless of their status.

If it weren't for being here, Encrid would be clutching his aching side and struggling to keep the squad in order.

'But will the squad run well without me?'

It was an unnecessary worry.

Who is the weakest in the 4-4-4th Squad to be worrying?

'Ah, the weakest one is this guy.'

Big Eyes was terrible at fighting.

But that didn't mean he was without talent.

No matter what trick he used, he managed to get out of the way every time a battle broke out, claiming he was in a special unit and heading to the rear.

Quite a talent.

This time, Encrid benefited from his skills.

"Should I thank you by bowing my head?"

"No need for grand gestures. Just don't forget."

'Why is it so important for me not to forget?'

"Got it."

"Good. I'm busy, so I'll be off now."

It was gracious of him to visit despite being busy.

It wasn't just Big Eyes and Rem who came.

Jaxon stopped by and casually tossed a small jar to him.

"Apply this to your side once a day, and it should ease the pain. Just don't mention where you got it."

"Especially a secret from our squad members, right?"

Jaxon shrugged and left swiftly.

When Encrid twisted open the small jar, about the size of two fingers, he saw a dark green ointment.

'Did they crush some herbs to make this?'

If it was made specifically for him, it was quite thoughtful.

Of course, that wasn't the case.

He had seen this stuff a few times before.

Though it was his first time using it.

He scooped some ointment with his fingertip, shoved his hand between his clothes, and carefully spread it over his side.

The pain surged every time he moved.

But the area where he applied the ointment started to warm up, and the pain eased considerably.

'Not bad.'

Encrid decided to use it sparingly, closed the jar tightly, and put it under the bed.

'But was the infirmary close to our barracks? Doesn't seem like the kind of place you'd just pass by.'

Anyway, it didn't matter. Getting an effective ointment was enough.

After that, two more squad members came and went.

"Sorry, Squad Leader. There's nothing I can do to help."

One spoke as if there was something he could do but wasn't doing.

"The squad's a mess without you. Here, take this."

Another tossed him half an apple he had been eating and left.

The last one who stopped by definitely just happened to pass by.

That guy often got lost.

He had heard him outside the infirmary saying, 'Our Squad leader is here? Why?'

'That guy didn't even know I was injured.'

Raising squad members is a waste.

'Not that I raised them.'

Everyone but Encrid knew how to fight well and bail out when needed.

'I should worry about my own matters.'

If one person's absence makes the squad a mess, imagine how chaotic it would be.

Everyone will manage on their own.

It's best to set aside unnecessary worries.

But…

"Hey, you."

This was more concerning.

A new visitor entered the barracks during lunchtime.

The infirmary was large. It could accommodate over ten people if squeezed in.

Yet, there were only three patients in this large infirmary.

Encrid, with a sore side.

And the newly arrived squad leader who was staring at him.

And in the corner, lying down, absentmindedly staring at the ceiling, was a blonde.

The one who approached Encrid was the squad leader.

"Skill level of a bottom-tier soldier, and a mercenary turned squad leader. Are you going around giving orders, even kicking someone's butt? How did you become a squad leader?"

So, this was the bigger issue.

This squad leader was a real piece of work.

His name was Vengeance.

Whoever promoted him must have really liked his name.

Why Vengeance hate him? No idea.

He'd been growling since their first meeting.

"And to top it off, you're in the infirmary. Real comfortable, huh?"

"Yeah, that's what I think too."

The armrest is quite comfortable.

If only Platoon leader Vengeance weren't here, it would have been perfect.

"Yes, nice to meet you, Platoon leader."

"Nice?"

Would it be rude to say he was just okay?

Encrid was an adult.

He knew how to wear a mask.

"Yes, a bit."

"A bit?"

"Not very much."

"This guy…"

Vengeance erupted in anger, but he didn't rush in.

It was more accurate to say he couldn't.

He had deeply wounded his thigh in the previous battle.

It was so difficult for him to get up right away.

So.

'Isn't this the perfect opportunity to tease him?'

Encrid was an adult. He knew how to wear a mask.

And he knew how to tease a stubborn guy.

[T/L: Please support me here: /revengerscans ]