378 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

378. Repetition 'How does he achieve such delicate movements?' In his memory, Sinar swung his sword. His footwork was as light as a butterfly, and the leaf-like sword matched that lightness perfectly. Although the sword had the shape of a leaf with a swollen midsection, it gave the impression of fluttering. Watching the blade move as if in dance, it seemed devoid of any force. But facing it in reality was different. It was an attack with proper power behind it. Having dueled with him, I knew this well. How does he manage that? To perform something intricate, you generally need strength. Yet you must relax to manifest such movements. Though I understood the method of implementation, I questioned if the body could truly move that way. 'Is there a path I don't know?' No, I already know. I've learned, practiced, and internalized countless things. "There isn't just one way to apply strength, is there? Without precision, techniques of isolation are meaningless." Audin mentioned that there are different types of muscles. Just as there are large muscles, there are smaller muscles that control fine movements. Having trained and retrained them, Sinar had attained precision. Encrid needed that as well. "If you sharpen your senses, you can feel it," Zaxen often said as well. Building on that, Encrid partially closed his eyes and began swinging the weapons in both hands. He traced an imaginary line in the air and swung his sword precisely toward it. It wouldn't work immediately. That was irrelevant. Encrid repeated the process. The training was akin to drawing a circle on a tree and hitting it precisely, yet the exercise called 'Meeting the Sword's Edge,' which involved slashing at a broadly drawn circle, was different in precision and intricacy. In terms of rank within Nowrillia's military classification, this was the difference between an entry-level and a top-tier soldier. Furthermore, his opponent's sword was constantly in motion. 'Aishia won't stay still.' She would lift her foot, twist her body, and change the direction of her blade. The answer was clear. Precision as exacting as plucking a feather from a moving bird was required. Training was needed to face two sword tips towards each other. Engrossed, Encrid immersed himself in the sea of concentration. Then he heard voices. "Not a business for a barbarian! Go suck on goat's milk!" The third training session today was nominally different from usual, but the real start, the encounter with the magistrate, had changed significantly. When Encrid turned his gaze, Lem was chuckling while gripping a hatchet handle. "Milk from a goat?" Ah, mediation seemed impossible now. Thinking this, Encrid halted the step he was about to take forward. In front of the magistrate, the southern gate captain was desperately trying to intervene, whether out of loyalty, lack of thought, or sheer confidence in his abilities—whatever the reason, a soldier drew his sword and swung it down. "You!" Shouting, the soldier aimed his sword at Lem's head. Just before the blade touched his hair, Lem moved. He ticked the ground and jumped to the side. The descending sword cleaved the air, and Lem immediately twisted his axe and swung it after changing its direction. Thunk! A crisp sound echoed. Instead of a sharp slash, he struck with the axe's head. The back of the axe, the head where it struck the abdomen, caved in momentarily then returned to shape. He wasn't aiming to kill, but it wasn't a gentle pat either. "Guh!" The soldier struck in the belly flew through the air. 'That must hurt.' Speaking from personal experience from taking many blows, that wasn't the force of a mere foam hammer. If Audin's hammer could be endured, this was so forceful it could break bones and rupture organs if hit grievously. The soldier, having been flung to one side, rolled on the ground. Then, he vomited on the floor, mixed with tears and snot. Flecks of blood were intermixed in the vomit. The soldier rolled over once before passing out, having been struck in the stomach. Lem snorted and murmured as if to himself. "Weak." Though it was in a low voice, the one who silenced the room with a single blow had spoken, conveying his words clearly. The magistrate was so struck, he gaped. Then, clamping his teeth, he spoke. "…This is treason!" If left unchecked, Lem would initiate a massacre. Even those like Ragna or Zaxen, standing behind, would sooner join the fight than restrain him. Thus, Encrid acted as soon as the magistrate finished his sentence. He stepped forward again to persuade. Touching the ground with a tick, he advanced, bending his body. Narrowing the space, he struck the opponent blocking his way on the nape with a hand blade. This one was someone whose grip naturally tightened on their spear at the sound of treason while staring dumbfoundedly at Lem. Though the bulging veins on his hand were impressive, it only served to freeze his body. Even if he wasn't frozen, he lacked the skills to respond. Crack! The opponent struck on the nape fell to the ground with a snapping sound. Before his body hit the floor, Encrid spun, adding centrifugal force as he brought his palm down on the helmet of another. A loud bang erupted as his vertically descending palm met the helmet. "Ugh!" The struck soldier's knees gave way, crumpling like the legs of a boiled octopus. His brain rattled; it would be difficult for him to regain composure for some time. These two soldiers were precisely blocking the line of movement between Encrid and the magistrate. After toppling them, Encrid grasped the magistrate's ankle on the horse. Startled, the magistrate glanced at Encrid. Encrid returned his gaze with a grin, then yanked the ankle. Crack! "Argh!" The magistrate's opposite foot caught in the stirrup snapped. It was a replication of what Doonbakel had demonstrated. Encrid elbowed the half-hanging magistrate on the stirrup into unconsciousness. Thud. Snap. There was a sound of the neck bone dislocating, yet death did not seem to befall him. All of this happened within the span of a few breaths. Neigh! Only then did the startled horse rear up on its hind legs, and Encrid, having already done what needed to be done, took two steps back to avoid the horse's hooves. The squire standing just a step behind the magistrate gripped his half-drawn sword, eyes wide with disbelief. Next to him, the chief of the peacekeepers stood with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, motionless. "Why didn't you just kill him?" Lem muttered again from the side. Encrid looked indifferently at the unconscious magistrate hanging off the horse before briefly furrowing his brow. "What was the magistrate's name again?" Having paid so little attention, he had forgotten. "Pulman Berthes," the captain of the guards replied, attempting to gauge the situation. "If you’re done, it's best to leave," Encrid suggested, and the squire opened his mouth to speak but chose silence instead. What could be said in this situation? Everyone kept their mouths shut. The soldiers had nothing more to add. The captain saw no need to intervene, as it might only lead to a broken leg, just like the magistrate's. A deeper silence fell than when Lem had sent the soldier flying. "You seem even harsher than me. I ought to pass you the title of Noble Hunter," Lem quipped. "Keep it for yourself," Encrid retorted nonchalantly. Clop! Clop! Clop! The sound of galloping hooves echoed, along with a desperate cry. "Save me!" It was a call from the depths of one's guts, sincere, and of course, a familiar voice. It was something anticipated, having happened twice before. It was Marcus. Without hesitation, Encrid cut through the soldiers flanking one side and climbed atop the wall. The soldiers didn’t dare to stop him; rather, they gave way. Lem followed him onto the wall, and next to them, Doonbachel also leaped up effortlessly. "Lem." Encrid spoke while watching Marcus being pursued. A peculiar-looking pursuer was in sight. "The Mad Immortal. Missed him before; seems he lingered around here. I'll go handle him." "Go." Encrid promptly replied, and Lem took off without a backward glance. He leapt from the wall, showcasing an almost inhuman ability to hang in the air. He bounded sideways to land on the roof of another building. With a swift motion, he drew a throwing axe and shouted. "Try running again, bastard!" There was no choice to lay low and ambush. The opponent immediately turned when seen, a welcome sight for Lem. Capturing one who charges is too easy. It’s chasing and catching a fleeing one that stirs the hunting instinct. "You crazy fool." He was labeled a lunatic by the Mad Immortal, yet Lem stayed silent and continued his pursuit. Soon, he vaulted over roofs and walls, landing swiftly on the ground. He closed in with terrifying speed, while the so-called Mad Immortal fled with equal swiftness. Their figures soon vanished from sight. Encrid turned on the wall, lifting one hand as he spoke. "I'm heading to the palace. Anyone going to stop Viscount Mernes's troops from coming through?" He summarized what Squire Rophord had mentioned prior. Things destined to happen would happen, it seemed. Rophord’s considerations mirrored the overarching sentiment. What did this man’s words from the wall imply regarding his own place here? "Ragna, Doonbachel." Noticing the change in Squire Rophord’s eyes, Encrid called the two. "Understood." "Yeah, got it." Both replied, just as Marcus declared that unprecedented events were unfolding at the palace, and as a group of assassins arrived. "Stab…." Once more, he stood on the wall as if it had honey, with a silver-haired monocle-wearing assassin commanding from the center. As soon as Encrid saw them, he charged. There was no need for conversation; it was meaningless. His timing was impeccable, and the skill disparity evident. Leaping onto the wall, he swung his sword from above. For a fleeting moment, a thought crossed his mind as he brought down his blade. 'Has my sword become more precise than before?' Who could tell? Physical perception of change had yet to manifest. To the assassin’s eyes, something seemed to fly, and suddenly, something was hurtling down. The assassin didn’t even attempt to dodge, and he offered his head to the blade. Squelch, thud! The descending blade sliced vertically through the assassin's head. The split head burst open sideways, and from where the sword cut, brain matter and blood trickled down. After slaying one, Encrid leapt back. Thwump, thwump, thwump. In the spot where he stood, three daggers and five darts embedded themselves. Evidently anticipating it, Encrid dodged and spoke. "Just to be clear, I've been stabbed. So, the job was completed. Ouch, it hurt a lot, huh? That's what you were hired to do, right? See, I've got scars to prove it." Raising his left arm as he spoke. Naturally, his armguard concealed any scars. "That crazy bastard," murmured another assassin. "Your insults lack originality," Encrid casually retorted. Agitation came naturally to him without needing lessons. "You!" The assassin barely contained his rage. Assassins, after all, specialize in covert kills. How often do they incite someone to rage verbally? It's rare for them to face such provocations. Thus, such antics were effective. It was only natural that the assassins, regardless of their skill, had their attention captured. A single sword swing and a few words led to this triumph. By then, Zaxen had vanished. He knew what needed to be done without it being said. The silver-haired assassin at the center ground his teeth. "Information's been leaked! Everyone, respond!" Encrid's reaction was almost too rapid. It was something that couldn't have been achieved without foreknowledge, as the assassin perceived it. And as for what he said afterward. Stabbed? Where? A quick thought revealed the meaning. He referred to an assignment. Claiming to have been instructed to kill, yet insisting he was merely stabbed; and seeking originality in their insults? All nonsense. From the start, it was clear he intended to fight. He was one of the leaders of the assassin's alliance, after all. When it came to combat, he knew how to handle himself. Of course, all of this was happening because Encrid had experienced this day repeatedly, though he couldn't possibly know that. A movement he was already familiar with unfolded. Encrid could feel the weight of the assassins' years of training. No matter the situation, they commenced their battle in a similar fashion. The ones who needed to throw did so, those who needed to retreat withdrew, and those who needed to use poison applied it. Meanwhile, Zaxen's approach had varied with each iteration of today. Initially wielding a longsword with reckless abandon, this time he sprinted along the wall, brandishing stilettos in both hands. Blood splattered from the sharp blades, evidence of the four assassins already slain by him. Encrid found this immensely intriguing. The opponents' reactions were consistent, yet Zaxen's approach differed each time. 'Is he adapting to my movements?' It was merely a hunch, but Encrid felt confident in his deduction. "Attack him first!" This time, the shout came from someone other than the silver-haired one. It was directed at Zaxen. Zaxen's threat level warranted such a response. Seeing this, Encrid subtly retreated and called for One-Eye. "Give me a lift." As he spoke and ran outside the estate, One-Eye came to his side. Marcus was on horseback at the entrance of the estate. He gestured for him to stay mounted, which he did, riding alongside. This was the third iteration of today. Encrid judged that keeping him with them was better than hiding him away. Most people might make similar judgments to his first day, but nothing can be flawless. Though he strove for each day to be the optimum version despite its repetition, dedicating his all, perfect harmony wasn't always achievable. 'Not everything can be perfect.' He knew this, and acceptance sufficed. "A place to hide?" "I'll manage. The lord is detained at the palace. Seems the knights have mobilized." "Yeah, I know." "…What?" Thud, thud, thud. Further words from Marcus were swallowed by the increased pace of hoofbeats. Marcus veered off to the side soon after. Evidently, he intended to find a hiding spot himself. In a brief respite, he tore his shirt to bind his injured arm tightly. It wasn't a severe injury requiring immediate attention. Encrid continued racing along the perimeter road towards the palace, leaping over obstacles. "Wow." He observed the look of surprise on a soldier's face as he dashed past, timing his leap to coincide with One-Eye's stopping motion. Leaping off sideways as though flying, even One-Eye looked impressed. It seemed to question whether such feats were possible. "Thanks." Encrid offered a short reply and strode confidently into the palace. Midway, an old nemesis appeared as if to intercept him. "You…" Bam! Barely did the words escape when Encrid surged forward, sending the man's head flying with a slash from Silver. The head struck the meticulously white wall lining the palace garden, leaving a spatter of blood. Before the group of his canine-expert trainer companions could respond, Encrid was already weaving through them. Still behaving like a lone wolf, he sliced through them, ending the lives of those who had acted like wild dogs. After exchanging words with a maid, he continued ahead at a rapid pace until faced with the obstacle of a red-haired wall. "Well, this is it, then. Let's begin right away." He got straight to the point while running, not waiting for Aishia's retort before pointing his sword at her. It was about meeting the sword's edge. Encrid aimed his strike at that point. The nature of the fight remained largely unchanged from before. He hadn't yet surpassed Aishia. The only difference was the absence of the figure he had noticed on the first day. Instead, whenever Aishia defeated Encrid, she immediately turned. "I have something to confirm." Each time, she left and didn't return, the world plunging into darkness. Afterward, it was repetition upon repetition. Encrid continued in the same fashion, day after day.