342 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Chapter 342: Upon Facing the Knight's Sword "You bastard." Rem ground his teeth. Ragna stood before him with a nonchalant attitude. He tilted his chin and slightly raised the tip of his nose, speaking in a poetic murmur as he subtly lowered his gaze. "Press on." It was a command to persevere, to move forward. Enclid thought it perfectly apt. Rem was boiling over inside. He wanted nothing more than to return to his birthplace and retrieve what he had left behind. Even though he hadn't used the sling, he had lost. No, it was more accurate to say he couldn't even bring himself to use it—for two reasons. Firstly, Rem's instincts acknowledged that victory was unlikely even with the sling. Secondly, even if he managed to die alongside him, it would be meaningless. Ragna was an irksome character ever since their first encounter, but he wasn't heinous enough to deserve being beaten to death. In a world rife with scoundrels who commit heinous crimes and live brazenly, a simple-minded fool who constantly loses his way can be left to his own devices. "Do you really want to die?" Rem spoke, though he had no intention of laying a finger on him. While he might risk death if pushed to the brink, he knew he couldn't take such a step. Rem recognized that would only signify his defeat. To truly triumph, he had to surpass him in skill—just as Ragna had done now. Just as Ragna had ended this without severing a limb, Rem knew he must achieve victory in the same way. But at that moment, it was beyond him. His opponent fought wielding what is known as 'will.' Each swing of the blade carried that force—blades flew at an even swifter pace than when deflected. The light jab to the shoulder's tip was imbued with a force seemingly meant to drive deeply with serious power. That such force could be transmitted in the absence of the usual power buildup was astonishing. The reason for this? Rem could define it in one word: will. Had Ragna become a knight then? Not quite. Still, at that moment, he was in a state slightly superior to himself—a fact that infuriated him. "Think you can do it? Go ahead if you want to die together." Ragna's tone carried a knowing arrogance, implying that Rem could indeed cause harm if he really tried. He would suffer from the exchange. If Rem attacked with full force, Ragna might at least lose an arm or a leg—but Ragna's composure remained unshaken. ‘Should I just beat him to death?’ Rem contemplated seriously. "I understand, Rem." Enclid interjected. He too had finished his sparring. It had never escalated to a critical level in the first place. Synar maintained a teaching posture, and Enclid had accepted it, so it ended as a form of guided duel. It wasn't unpleasant, but the tension of Rem and Ragna's battle had consumed his attention. He had naturally concluded his sparring to observe their fight, and particularly their last exchange of blows had stirred Enclid’s emotions. Six rapid, short strikes were followed by a seemingly unyielding final downward slash. It was a downward cut of moderate technique. Enclid sensed a difference in Ragna’s sword work. Rem had crossed two axes against the descending blade, diverting the force with a twist. Both axes absorbed the impact like cotton balls. Had Rem possessed a bit more stamina in that situation, the battle's direction might have shifted. At the very least, it wouldn’t have ended as it did. But Rem couldn't withstand it. Ragna's blade drove downwards with unyielding force. Though it resembled an oppressive strike, it was different. The intent to slash was clear, but unlike before, that intent extended longer—it was imbued with a discernible will for the duration of sipping a cup of tea, compared to the momentary cuts of the past. The oppressive blade applied pressure through its preparation phase. The will that felt like a genuine threat emerged only at the instant of collision. It could be seen as a mere trick since the oppressive force couldn't be employed skillfully for extended periods, hence the gradual pressing approach. But what about Ragna's sword now? ‘The endurance is different.’ Ragna had always used will through techniques called cutting. That was a way to imbue will momentarily. And now? It maintained steady power as it descended—a sword imbued with will. The fight’s outcome was decided there. Rem couldn’t manifest his will. Their physical strength was largely on par—perhaps Rem's physique was more refined. Yet Ragna added will to his advantage. ‘Ah.’ Enclid swiftly grasped the situation. Understanding dawned as he faced the knight’s sword. Ragna had birthed a new swordsmanship—light and heavy blades based on will. It was talent—no, the result of talent blossoming upon encountering the knight’s sword. Previous engagements with junior knights and squires had already fostered a breakthrough mentality. The dissolution of things eating away at him was thanks to witnessing Enclid's steadfast life. All these factors coalesced. What had been most significant recently? The knight. The experience of facing a knight's sword led to this outcome. Enclid offered Rem words of comfort, sharing his experience. "Never fought a knight, have you?" "... What?" "Try fighting a knight. It’ll change things." Enclid conveyed his firsthand experience—a piece of advice for Rem. Ragna chimed in too. "I see. You've never faced a knight’s sword. Have you?" And Rem... “ARGHHHH!” Momentarily exhibited the nature of a beast in transformation but refrained from actual rampage. Enclid had predicted this reaction. While outwardly resembling someone who might split others' heads with an axe, despite being slightly mad, he adhered to his principles. That was the Rem Enclid knew. Seeing him unable to wholly accept his advice was unfortunate, but he still offered it. "Once you've faced a knight’s sword..." “Damn it, what are you babbling about?” “It’s just because you’ve never faced one. But once you do, things will change.” “Shit, shit, shit.” Afterward, Enclid insisted he didn't mean to tease, but Synar, who had watched, thought otherwise. She summed up the event of that day: "My fiancé is possessed by a demon’s tongue." Esther, who had been lying on the side observing, had a similar thought. Even a magician who had encountered real demons would likely think that a demon’s whisper was not as potent. “This is for you.” Especially when he spoke like that, it was clear the intent was to drive a person mad. "Enough, enough already!" It was an unusual sight. Rem was genuinely distressed. After hearing Enclid's words dozens of times more, Rem eventually surrendered. "Alright then, I suppose I’ll have to meet a knight someday." Witnessing this, Audin quietly offered a prayer. "May the blessings of the Lord embrace and enlighten you, brother." "Indeed, I shall seek enlightenment." Rem agreed with resignation. Ragna observed Rem for a while before addressing Enclid. "I must acknowledge, our leader surpasses us all in cruelty." Though Enclid protested it was a misunderstanding, nobody believed him. It was only by nightfall that Rem regained his senses. “If you mention knights one more time, I’ll snake your tongue with an axe,” Rem threatened, suggesting he would split it in two like a serpent's tongue, and it did not seem like an empty threat. Such strong intention often resonates deeply. Enclid stopped taunting and merely smacked his lips. “Alright, let’s cease this.” Opportunities to tease Rem were rare, so Enclid had gone all out. “Damn it.” Although Rem eventually flared up, he did settle down. Following the event, he focused on solitary training, occasionally challenging Ragna to a duel, once a day or once every few days. "You, you fool who always loses your way, how are you so good in combat? Come to the training grounds." Despite his crude manner, it was a formal challenge to spar, to which Ragna courteously agreed. "Let’s see then. Today, we’ll see if that useless head of yours can stay attached." Enclid sometimes joined in their duels, but he often found himself engaged in instructional spars with Synar, who diligently sought him out. "Have you been quite free recently?" "I'm busy. The Lazy-eye is stirring up a lot." Enclid was privy to the gossip. Cryse often rambled on about his works. Cryse was expanding trade routes extensively, laying blue stone paths to offer passage even amidst rainfall. “Who’s overseeing that work?” Enclid would query back at the talkative Lazy-eye as Cryse detailed the plans. The Border Guard was short on manpower. They were also working on reclaiming the Greenpearl Plains. “There are skilled laborers from the frontier village for these kinds of tasks. We’ve compensated them.” Although frontier villages likely weren't overflowing with extra hands. “I used your name, Leader.” Cryse claimed proudly. Enclid didn’t reprimand him. Cryse’s brain was indeed the best fit for making things run effectively. Besides, exploiting one’s own name wasn’t much of a problem. “They even considered naming their fortifications after you, Leader. This is mutually beneficial.” Beyond that, manpower was also dispatched from Martai, and even a passing mercenary group lent their aid. “The shortage of hands will soon be resolved. Meanwhile, could you oversee the training of recruits?” Just as Cryse confidently predicted, the workforce issue indeed sorted itself out. The reverberations of Enclid’s name had spread far and wide. Moreover, word was out that no one starved at the Border Guard. In this world, where monstrous beasts and aberrations roamed freely, there were no wandering vagrants. Instead, those forced into becoming bandits existed, having escaped the grasp of lords who bled them dry like leeches. Cryse accepted such individuals, including refugees who fled various cities. Though problematic individuals were mixed among them, it wasn't the time to be picky, so he accepted them all. Any misconduct within the city was met with harsh punishment. All of this was carried out with the lord’s endorsement, so there were no issues. Naturally, some who fretted about the implications were not absent. “If you accept just anyone, it’ll inevitably lead to security issues,” one of the lord’s aides commented. “What do you suggest we do instead?” Cryse retorted sharply. “Hm? Scrap the chance to transform this into a bustling trade city because we can’t handle a security matter? Miss out on reaping substantial profits? Hmm? And still stand as the lord’s aide? Go and ask that friend Rem to detach your head for you. He’s quite irritable these days, and would do it prettily. What are you waiting for? Off you go, don’t linger.” If there was anyone who could spar verbally with Rem, it was Cryse. Especially when matters of profit were concerned, his verbal prowess increased exponentially. The aide was left speechless. He thought he had heard nonsense about “profits” somewhere mid-conversation, but found himself unable to argue. He also couldn’t beat Cryse for his impertinence. Cryse behaved like a mad corporal, even inviting blows by presenting his face boldly. “If you won’t hit me, let’s focus on work.” The aide, cool and rational, sat in the position he did rightfully, knowing he couldn’t strike Cryse. Cryse exploited that fact boldly. If it hadn’t been the case, he might have just punched him outright. If the aide had been the type to act on impulse, Cryse wouldn’t have dared to provoke him this way. Thus, the aide faithfully followed Cryse’s unwritten orders and buried himself in work. Because of the lord, who had recently rediscovered the joy of wielding a sword, the dark circles under his eyes never receded. Nonetheless, the aide began reciting prayers before bed—half filled with curses for Cryse, and the other half for the lord. Enclid couldn’t know all the details, but he had a rough grasp. If Cryse was working diligently, others would naturally groan from the exertion. Cryse had the knack for squeezing every bit of capability from people. “Father Audin will oversee the recruits’ training,” Enclid assured Cryse, offering him support. “Yes, Brother. I’ll handle them. At least ensure the young ones can run,” Audin nodded in agreement. When it came to basic physical training, there was no better fit than Audin. Of course, the new recruits likely shed tears, but it wasn't all bad for them. Going through gruelling training that felt like death increased their chances of surviving the battlefield - a fundamental truth. In compensation, soldiers’ salaries were significantly increased. Additionally, numerous workers were hired for various tasks, more maids were brought in, and a sewing guild was established by gathering women skilled in needlework. "Let's burn through the Krona." Cryse sought to fully utilize every last copper remaining in the castle's coffers. “That’s the castle’s budget,” protested the aide, gathering his last bit of strength, but it was a futile effort. “So what? Keeping that money stashed away will it rain wheat from the sky or gift us apples? What exactly are you suggesting, then?” “I was just saying,” the aide admitted defeat. The lord had given Cryse the authority to manage as he saw fit. It only meant that the aide’s nightly prayers grew significantly longer. Cryse made several revisions to the unit organization, prioritizing those deemed veteran soldiers. Equipment was outfitted anew, standardizing it to enhance a sense of belonging. Any shortfall in funds was made up with a loan from Leona. "There’s no interest. Just don’t forget to extend my privileges," Leona requested. Regardless, Cryse intended to assign trading and other administrative matters to the Lokfrid Merchant Guild. Though Leona knew this, she offered the gold without hesitance, taking a cooperative stance. That way, should Lokfrid eventually receive any preferential treatment, there’d be no objections. Rumors spread that the pay varied for those joining the Border Guard's standing army. With word spreading like wildfire, recruits were soon flocking in. Once serfs from neighboring territories began fleeing, lords from all around raised their concerns to the royal court, trying to tighten control over their lands. Though representatives were dispatched to chastise the actions, the lord merely acknowledged them outwardly, disregarding them internally. "If they’re so concerned, maybe they could lend us a hand when we’re under pressure." Cryse criticized them bitterly. He understood that the royal court, for the time being, wouldn’t exert military power. Thus, he continued as he pleased. After all, once they amassed enough strength and legitimacy, further complaints would be futile. They began paving roads and constructing outposts within visible range. The outposts flanking the main roads became landmarks for the Border Guard. Freshly organized units were dispatched there. A ten-man squad was aptly named the Outpost Squad. "We're to guard this place?" The squad leader expressed his anxiety openly. Tasked with day and night shifts, there was no guarantee that no monsters or aberrations would emerge. Cryse nonchalantly offered his solution. "You’ll receive extra pay." "Even so..." "Would you prefer to undergo more intensive training?" "I’ll guard the outpost." Audin’s training among new recruits was likened to stepping through the gates of hell. Hence, the sardonic saying, “If you want to die, become a soldier,” circulated. Yet, many continued to enlist. The Border Guard was constantly evolving day by day. At its core was Cryse. He truly orchestrated numerous changes. Additionally, Synar found herself busier than before. Her unit was in the midst of surveying the newly acquired marshlands. It was indeed a tremendously busy period. Even so, she consistently sought out Enclid, prompting him to ask whether she wasn’t overwhelmed. "In that case, can’t you come when you’re a bit less busy?" Enclid countered, but to Synar, it was an absurd question. "We have a date scheduled." "...Ah." Enclid realized there was more to it; surely, Synar wasn’t this dedicated to just a mere date. There was something else at play. If not, wouldn’t she have suggested simply going out to the marketplace for once? But that wasn’t the case. "When the time comes, I’ll make my request." That was all she would say. "Let’s have fun today too, fiancé." Synar unsheathed her rapier. Enclid drew his own silver longsword. Now a sword perfectly attuned to his grip, it seemed to have forgotten its previous owner. "You’ve surpassed me now." As they dueled under her guidance, Synar finally acknowledged his advancement. Enclid didn’t deny it. He too felt the shift. As their routine sparring session neared its conclusion, Synar stepped back, examining him closely. She tilted her head, studying Enclid’s face intently before she spoke. "It won’t be enough like this." And with that, their spar changed entirely.