310 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Abnaya's actions were slow in their advance, but it was far from leisurely. In truth, they were exceedingly busy. It was akin to a swan gliding gracefully on the surface, while its feet paddle furiously below. Starting from spells, there was much to prepare and accumulate. Building fortifications on the mountainside was no small feat. Yet, this was the technique Abnaya had devised. "Nilf, go ahead and stack stones here. Build a wall." As he pointed at the map, the subordinate nodded. "What a daunting schedule you have." "Stop talking and start moving." He dispatched his most loyal commanders first. Nilf, being meticulous, would manage well. Afterwards, some troops advanced disguised as scouts, but their real role was more akin to that of engineers. They constructed walls between the mounds. It was these very walls that Enkried would face. Maintaining the pace of the main army, additional units were later sent to continue the work. Constructing stone walls and digging traps wasn’t something that could be rushed. ‘There's no need for a massive scale.’ It was intended for capturing a limited number of elite foes—perhaps two or three, maybe just one. They proceeded anticipating variables and predicting scenarios. That's how Abnaya operated. Having always been labeled as brilliant since a young age, what was the core of his brilliance? Among those who knew him well, one of his largest strengths was his boldness. Some called it audacious, the ability to catch others off-guard. "You’re a little insane, you know. Bold, yes, but your tactics are impossible to execute." He was in a lesson under a mentor, learning strategy and tactics. His peers' comment was spot on. Abnaya's strategies were daring but often deemed impracticable. Yet, what if it were possible? This is where Abnaya's secondary strength came to the fore. He was thorough. Even when hunting a lone rabbit, he would prepare second and third traps. He never hesitated to invest resources extravagantly to achieve his goals. He always succeeded. “Isn't it a loss then? The only gain from a rabbit is some fur and meat, yet you expend more than you collect.” His comrade criticized once more. Knowing part of the story isn't knowing the whole. Abnaya's perspective differed. “I’ve just developed a habit of thorough preparation.” He glossed over it, but he wasn’t solely focused on that one rabbit. ‘The traps laid in the hunting ground can be reused. Just drive rabbits this way.’ Future hunts would become twice as easy. Thus, it wasn’t wasteful. Though it might seem so when only fixating on one or two rabbits, his preparations could catch deer as well. By maintaining steady upkeep, several valuable hunts could be secured before summer arrived. In addition to his meticulousness, constructing a convincing framework was part of how Abnaya crafted his strategies. Naturally, not everything could be shared. The so-called comrade was a noble, aligned with the Ekkicans next to the royal family. If Hyuria was the body of Azpen, Ekkins was the head. Abnaya hailed from common stock. He was quick to notice and astutely assessed situations. ‘Situations can change at any time.’ He harbored ambitions. Since his youth, he was clever and knew how to claim what he wanted. He was a man who achieved all he sought. It was only natural that he brimmed with confidence. Entrusting himself to a nobleman mentor of moderate ability and gentle disposition aligned with similar reasons. It was a result of finely meshed calculations and boldness. He incurred the enmity of a band of vagrants and displayed confrontation along his mentor's path. None of it was coincidental, yet his mentor considered it fate. “Follow me. A better life awaits.” “Yes.” It was a meeting calculated to precision. Abnaya thus continued on his own path. His desire had been singular since youth: “Why should Azpen be satisfied with being a principality?” Aspiring to magnify the nation’s power into a thriving country. It was achievable. Although a principality, they possessed a knight order and knight-level forces. Even if neighboring country Naurilia posed a problem. ‘Azpen may have only Naurilia as its adversary, but Naurilia has more than just Azpen to contend with.’ He sought the chance to prove his capacity. And intertwined with this was the wish of a mentor who had deeply cherished and loved him since his youth. Being human, Abnaya was susceptible to such affection. “I love this nation. My son.” The man who ultimately took him as a son. Unversed in politics, but devoted in patriotism. Despite knowing deception, still gave love. This describes his mentor and father. Navigating between ambitious aspirations and his mentor's influence, Abnaya wielded them effectively as his weapons. ‘I will prove myself here, in this land.’ Thus, realizing a part of his mentor and father’s dreams. ‘That's why you must perish.’ No one in Azpen had scrutinized Enkried as much as Abnaya had. Like devouring an engrossing book, he delved deep. He recognized Enkried and his forces would pose a significant threat to Azpen and his dreams. ‘A future knight.’ Or perhaps even more. Though his approach diverged from Cryas, the outcome of his predictions was comparable. Particularly since he also valued Enkried's future potential highly. Cryas had even included plans to induct Enkried into his own salon, underscoring the similarity in approach. The notion of knighthood bore reasonable justifications more so than Cryas could offer if he considered feasibility. Although revealing this to royalty wasn’t possible. For they would dismiss it as absurd speculation. However, if, by some improbable chance, a knight were born on the borders of Naurilia—especially squarely on Azpen’s frontier? A single knight signifies a shift in national strength. The emergence of an adversarial knight is undoubtedly a misfortune. ‘It cannot be perceived positively.’ Therefore, he must be eliminated. Abnaya conceptualized the Triangle Seal, a triple-layered barrier. ‘Three mounds with artificial structures.’ To win a war, one must make the terrain their ally. Abnaya did just that. By employing artificial power, he transformed the geography into his ally. He turned both the land and the sky into formidable companions. He then mixed in sorcery. It obscured the sky, making it impossible for the enemy to get their bearings. It was simpler than conjuring a fog of annihilation. As a result, he didn't need to exhaust multiple sorcerers, although even this alone could wear them out. The spell only needed to be maintained for a critical moment, for less than a day, which made it feasible. Otherwise, sorcery wouldn't have even been considered. In essence, Abnaya drove his opponent into a corner through calculated measures and temporarily blinded them with sorcery. He was confident this would trap the enemy. And indeed, it played out that way. Inside a natural prison, he cast in over a thousand soldiers against the prey. Was it an efficient battle? 'Absolutely not!' Hardly. But it ensured that one could be definitively killed. It ensured that the prey could not escape. Using twenty traps and five hunters to catch a single rabbit. But what if that rabbit transformed into a frenzied monster with a sword in its mouth in the future? Would it still be wasteful? Abnaya thought not. He sent out a dozen messengers continuously, commanding the flag-bearers. "Move the white banner!" Each flag-bearer was a tool to relay his orders. Even the sound of drums had to be suppressed for the prison to remain impenetrable, thus this method was chosen. This marked the completion of the Triangle Seal formation. One side was secured by an artificially erected wall. The other two were supported by sorcery and magic. The third side was maintained by a thousand soldiers. ‘Even a knight cannot easily escape.’ This was the trap Abnaya had prepared. * * * The boatman asked. A purple lamp swayed over the dark river. Between the flickering purple lights, a shadow bent and twisted. "Wasn't it enjoyable?" The boatman asked again. The face was faintly visible now. Even at the sight of the face, Enkried did not speak. The boatman awaited an answer. There was none. Time passed. In a mental realm, time was imperceptible. The boatman knew that their meeting was nearing its end. Soon, Enkried's body, visible to the boatman, began to crumble like grains of sand. It marked the transition from the inner world back to the outer reality. A repetitive occurrence. The boatman watched as Enkried dispersed into particles. As he vanished, he muttered. "Ah." It was odd. It was as if he had only recognized the boatman at that moment. Was his silence due to having nothing to say, or was it out of disregard? The boatman felt something stir within but asked again. Despite the past when he cursed at Enkried, he was no longer the same. "I'll ask again next time." The boatman's words lingered in the space where Enkried had vanished. * * * Enkried had no time to respond. Up until the point of death, or as he was dying. No day was accepted with death as a certainty. Yet, instinctively, he absorbed the surrounding happenings into his mind. It was a habit. A habit to review for tomorrow's preparation. Numerous events transpired. The sheer volume of information flooding his mind, the memories naturally committed, recollections, essentials. He sifted through it all. Even then, it was substantial. ‘It's a lot.’ As he gathered surrounding information, questions intruded naturally. Had such a force been deployed just to capture him? He didn’t know. Did the reason matter at this moment? It was time to accept what had occurred and navigate through it, not to ponder. Casting aside idle thoughts and questions, Enkried replayed the events in reverse. While recalling, he heard rustling. Since he sensed a presence the moment he awoke, it was expected. It was a repeat occurrence. There was little time to reflect. The moment he regained consciousness, it was time to fight. Though not a crisis. 'It's fragile.' Enkried didn’t perceive it as a wall. After enduring a mantra-like arduous day, he could grasp what occurred around him. At most two days, and he would make his calculations. Today was one where he could find a way through. Escaping danger was something he'd done countless times. When he fought the rose thorns' Retssha, the werewolf, and Azpen's elite troops, it was the same. Even when infiltrating the fool's mess. When facing the peculiar one who first stabbed him, it was similar. Some things change, others do not. 'The major flow is the same.' Having observed the enemy's movements through one bout of experience. 'Is a second today necessary?' Thus, it’s no wall. In comparison to previous loops, this was pathetically easy. Enkried moved his feet. What if he ran in the opposite direction from yesterday? ‘One spot must be left unguarded.’ Surely, they wouldn’t have committed a brigade-level force just to catch one person. To conclude, his opponent indeed had done so. Similar confrontations ensued. A repetition of yesterday. "My name is Sent." Enkried was slightly surprised. Running in a different direction than yesterday, yet confronted by the same person. ‘Why?’ Today was a repetition. An unchanging element unless significantly altered. A throbbing arm, a broken sword, a newly gripped gladius. The battle wasn't prolonged, but Sent’s interception twisted his path. Blocking and deflecting with the first technique of the swordsmanship he crafted, the Snake Sword, he severed the opponent’s fingers. Crack! Thanks to the blade striking the hilt, blood and fingers flew through the air. A gap appeared. Sensing the gap, his body moved on instinct. Though not to the extent of ‘Will,’ the skills honed through bouts with Lycanos remained. Not merely an intuitive dodge, but an intentional reflex. "Urgh!" He drove the tip of a spark into the neck of the opponent swallowing his scream. It was close to a single, continuous motion from striking the fingers with the gladius to producing the spark. Such was its speed and fluidity. Thunk! Click! Withdrawing the sword from the thrust, a jet of blood spurted from Sent’s neck in a single stream. “Grr.” The opponent clasped the gaping wound in his neck. Blood flowed freely, aided by his severed fingers. With a thud, he collapsed to the ground, headfirst. "Let's not meet again." As Enkried spoke, he hoisted Sent's corpse. Using his left hand to raise the body as a shield, a crossbow bolt thudded into the mercenary's body. Thwack! 'They just keep coming.' There were truly too many. The reason for their sheer number remained a mystery. Arrows and crossbow bolts continued to fly; spearmen and heavily armored infantry, along with men from House Hurior, skilled mercenaries were in pursuit. Much like yesterday, the relentless assault continued. Barely holding on, Enkried dashed in one direction, only to be intercepted by more enemies. "Persistent one." "Be cautious." Four men stood in his path. Clad awkwardly in gambesons tailored for cold weather, to Enkried, they appeared as average combatants. His eyes didn’t deceive him. While their weapon skills were mediocre, they wielded something else. Magic. They blocked his escape along the riverbank. Enkried regretted not bringing his whistle-daggers. 'Or, I would have run out of them by now anyway.' Every attempted route had concealed enemies, and every direction faced lined with hostile soldiers. It felt as though a ghost was toying with him. This result was the outcome of his escape attempts.