316 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

316. Turmoil, ignorance, despair. Those who were pursuing Enkryd gave up. The commander in the lead could not find the words to speak. Seeing this, his subordinate whispered beside him. "We lost him." There was no helping it. Even when they thought it was their last chance and threw a rope, he broke it with sheer strength and fled. Superhuman strength. And that wasn't the end of it. He didn't seem to tire, only moving forward and ever forward. The lunatic didn't know how to rest. He didn't stop his feet. Watching such a sight, they couldn't muster the courage to pursue. The target never rested and moved relentlessly. In the end, he ran and walked on. At some point, the orders from the commander's mouth dwindled, and the pace halted. Enkryd had completely escaped the trap set by Abnaior. Even the Grey Dogs stopped. The commander of the Grey Dogs checked the traces of the vanished foe hopelessly. Not only had he escaped their encirclement, but he'd also entered the enemy's camp. If they pursued from here, they would face a counterstrike. And so, it was the end. "Abnaior, Abnaior." The commander of the Grey Dogs repeated the name of the one who promised to take responsibility for everything himself. Did he say it was fine if every soldier died just to catch that one man? "Well, you can call me a fool in the future. Call me an idiot who sacrificed a thousand soldiers to catch one elite soldier!" The passionate speech that Abnaior had once delivered came to mind. If they had all died, what words of justification would have sufficed? Not even half of the troops had died. In fact, very few had. Two spellcasters, a couple of mages, some mercenaries, and two swordsmen from the Huria family. The number of regular soldiers lost was minimal. The opponent evaded them. By some unlikely route that, if described to someone, they wouldn’t believe possible. The commander of the Grey Dogs acknowledged it. "We can't catch him." All that was left was to report. He had said he would remain as the unfortunate poor commander who sacrificed a thousand soldiers to catch one, hadn’t he? Abnaior couldn’t even secure that title. He had been robbed of that chance as well. * * * Abnaior accepted that something happened to Galaf and the young knight as well. "They're not coming." As he spoke, looking out at the distant battlefield, his aide, Nilf, bowed his head. Abnaior had staked everything on this. It was tantamount to gambling against the king of the land. The end was drawing near. "The ones who claimed to be good at assassinations?" Even those accustomed to fighting in the shadows had been deployed. "There's been no contact. Either they fled, or..." "Or they failed." Flee? They couldn't flee. If Abnaior simply raised a finger, their entire clan would be wiped out. In other words, they had been defeated. By whom? It was simply unbelievable. They were utterly defeated. "Hahaha." Abnaior laughed. If he didn't feel the hollow laughter, he wouldn't be human. "Is the world against me? Or has the goddess of fortune turned her back? Or maybe I missed something? What did I miss?" He mumbled to himself. The words spoken in a calm tone were daggers aimed inward. There was no way Nilf could know what Abnaior himself did not understand. Nilf remained silent. They were alone in the command tent. Left with just the two of them. Abnaior sat in a chair by the brazier, lowering his head. Hot flames singed a few hairs. Crackle, crackle, the sparks from the brazier burst, sending embers flying. Even as embers landed on Abnaior's face, he didn't flinch, lost in thought. He repeatedly pondered. Should I curse everything just because it seems nonsensical? Or should I accept it? Accept what? What should I acknowledge? The lack of fortune? If it wasn't fortune, then how did they escape? What happened to Galaf and the young knight? They were sent for interception. The second plan to catch the small elite force was to fail before it began. The order was to catch a few noticeable individuals in the enemy camp and return, but did they get captured instead? Could such a thing be possible? The thought of Aya crossed his mind. Galaf, who held the river in his grasp? And what happened with the assassination clan? They were supposed to select and kill the enemy commander, but there was no such disturbance in the enemy camp. They vanished without a trace. How could that be? "Did they send a knight from Nawriria?" "Nilf!" Words spilled from his mouth as soon as the thought crossed his mind. "A knight? The Red Mantle? Cypress?" He cried out, naming those infamous to Azpen, but it was pointless. One of Nilf's key roles was to keep tabs on the internal affairs of Nawriria. The conclusion was that they could not have sent any knights now. "No, sir." Nilf's voice dropped to a whisper. Abnaior clammed up again. His mind explored possibilities and probed every angle, but could there be an answer? Truth be told, if he didn’t know Enkryd was living a repeated day, it was an enigma. Abnaior swept his hands over his forehead and through his hair, exhaling deeply. "We've lost." A clear defeat. Considering the possibilities, the opponent had so many cards to play. He might have abruptly evolved into a knight-level fighter in the midst of the battle. Or they might not have realized he was knight-level from the start. In that case, whatever happened to Galaf and the young knight would make sense. It's the outcome of what happened on their end. The assassination clan was countered. Did a fairy intervene? He had heard there was a faerie swordsman among the enemy. However, it'd be by no means an easy feat even for a faerie. Fine, assume they had a hidden skill. And then Enkryd, Enkryd, Enkryd. Abnaior echoed the name three times in his mind. Enkryd was the one thing that slipped away. He truly baffled him. What kind of human could manage that? Was he really born under a lucky star? Or perhaps... "A genius of intuitive judgment." A commander moving not with his head, but instinct. He'd heard of it. He thought there could be no such person. Intuition is the composition of experience. One cannot discuss strategy solely on instinct. One might be able to sense the flow of discipline and wish for luck once or twice, but at the core, one must have knowledge to develop intuition. Only then does intuition become a standard for judgment. Therefore, experience must underpin the ability to sense something ominous. Yet the opponent doesn't seem to be a late-blooming genius or a commander who's roamed battles all their life. Even a veteran among veterans would find this impossible. Even a war-toughened veteran, who might have roamed a thousand battlefields, could be caught and defeated. Yet, they escaped. "We can’t just give up because we don’t understand," Abnaior murmured. He had exhausted his options, yet he still had what he risked his life to attain. "Will you use it?" Nilf asked, knowing what was implied, and Abnaior nodded because he too understood. "A task begun must be completed." In borrowing a mage and enlisting the young knight from the king, Abnaior had brought along an unexpected ally. Using them, however, would mean admitting his own defeat. Upon returning to the principality, he would face a barrage of criticism. Maintaining his former status might not be feasible. It would be fortunate if he avoided execution. Yet, he could not allow it to end in defeat. Abnaior stepped outside. 'I think this is the first time I've lost so disastrously.' None of the plans he had meticulously laid out came to fruition. What was his original plan? The top priority was to reduce the main force of the enemy, represented by their few elites. Among them, the first target was Enkryd, followed by his subordinates. 'I never thought Aya would fail.' Her eyes were unique. In some ways, her eye for talent surpassed even Prok's. Her 'Will'-infused gaze could instantly discern an opponent's strength. Because of it, she had a nickname, "Aya Who Never Fights a Losing Battle." Though she called herself Azpen's most beautiful woman. 'Aya, defeated?' Although it was incomprehensible, he had to accept it by force of will. There was no stopping here. The young knight Aya was to find and kill her target. Galaf was reserved as a trump card for later. As for capturing and killing Enkryd, that had been the top priority. And that wasn’t all. There were further plans. This wasn't about sacrificing a thousand soldiers just to kill one enemy. There was an alternative objective. 'Alas, how frustrating.' With this battle, Azpen might have once again extended its reach into Greenfur. Had the plan succeeded as intended, it might have been so. The strategy considered capturing the enemy's elite force, but it now seemed futile. What remained was either stubbornness or lingering regret. It was ambiguous. Abnaior clenched his teeth. * * * "Is that a sprain?" Enkryd asked, as Ragna raised his roughly torn and wrapped forearm. "It's just a sprain." Is feigning all it takes? Is that how it works? Even Audin had insisted it was a sprain though it was broken, and with Ragna's injury looking severe, he still claimed as much. Without proper treatment, he'd face a disabling injury in the arm. Enkryd himself was far from unscathed. "My whole body feels sprained." Enkryd remarked, glancing over himself. Ragna didn’t even crack a smile. Below them, Esther made a low, resonant sound, incredulous. Enkryd attempted humor that didn't land and turned to look behind him. The pursuers' traces were nowhere to be seen. Had they escaped? It seemed that way. The oppressive feeling looming above, the ominous sensation piercing his entire body, had completely dissipated. So, what was next? Was it time to feel relieved? Perhaps so. "Hey—yah!" A booming shout echoed from afar. A resonant female voice. Squinting, he saw Dunbakel running towards them. Dunbakel was soaked in blood from head to toe. Her white fur drenched in blood gave her the appearance of a ferocious, dark red beast. The mix of white and dark crimson created a mottled pattern. 'She looks like a spotted cat.' Enkryd mused absently. She galloped as if flying. Behind her, the movement of their allies could be seen. Kreis had sent reinforcements he couldn’t hold back any longer. "Fiancé, is this what happens as soon as I take my eyes off you?" Following close behind Dunbakel was Sinar. With light leaps over the ground, she covered distance swiftly. It was the nimble agility typical of a faerie. Approaching him, she spoke, and only then did the reality sink in for Enkryd. ‘Tomorrow.’ Advertisements The day was drawing to a close. The elongated sun cast long shadows beneath the hills. It was a time when the light illuminating all things began to fade from the western horizon. The sunset blended with orange hues, narrating a today different from yesterday. Enkryd savored that light. Having survived, struggled fiercely, and prepared to face tomorrow. "Let's go back." Enkryd spoke. None fully knew what was happening with Enkryd. The details were a mystery. However, the soldiers of the battalion had witnessed Enkryd fight. They knew he had been at the forefront, alone amid the enemy forces, swinging his sword like a madman. What was an ancient ordeal for someone cursed to relive today was only a day or two ago for them. Waaah! A mighty cheer ripped through the air. It was a hymn for the hero who had pierced through the enemy and returned alive. "Pain is!" "Death!" Together with such a crude chant. To Enkryd, it all felt distant. The sounds seemed to fade. Why was that happening, he wondered, as his body started to tilt. Then someone came to support him from the side. It was Ragna, uncharacteristically lending him a shoulder. "Fool." Enkryd said to Ragna. Behind them, with the sunset at their backs, both wounded leaned against one another. Ragna was in no condition to walk without assistance either. Reaching this point had been a marvel. "Growl." Below, Esther shook her head. As if saying they were foolish humans. "Come on." Dunbakel stepped forward. She was equally exhausted. How could there be so many proficient swordsmen in the enemy’s ranks? Though I wasn't exactly at the brink of death, my body was utterly exhausted. But it wasn’t to the point where I couldn't walk on my own. Nevertheless, Dunbakel decided to carry Enkryd. The feel of her soft, furry texture lifted Enkryd’s spirits. "Wow, you're so fluffy," Enkryd commented in a daze. Indeed, she was. “Did you take some kind of drug while fighting?" Dunbakel grumbled. Advertisements Enkryd looked back again. The enemy that loomed beyond the distant hill did not advance further. "I could carry him too," Sinar, walking beside them, mumbled something, but Dunbakel ignored her and kept moving. Ragna, who had been staggering while trying to support himself, finally collapsed. A few nearby soldiers tended to Ragna. Considering how he had managed to walk this far, it was astounding; he barely had any uninjured parts on his body. Waaah—? The cheers quickly died down. They weren't pursuing the enemy anymore, and those who returned found it impressive that they could even walk. Among the cheers, the quick-witted ones took charge first. "Make way!" "Get inside!" "Medic!" The soldiers busied themselves with their tasks. The commander stepped up and took charge. Enkryd and Ragna were escorted swiftly through the ranks. Esther, trailing behind them, looked at Enkryd's condition and, deep inside, shook his head. He appeared to have crossed dozens of death's lines. Ragna might have looked worse on the outside, but in truth, Enkryd’s condition was far more dire. Some bones were fractured or misaligned. It indicated just how much he had pushed himself. Not that Ragna was fine either. But Esther couldn’t care less about Ragna in the first place. By dusk, they could receive treatment within the camp, accompanied by Garrett's eager assistance. Though termed nursing, the purpose was elsewhere. "Your mouth isn’t injured. I bet you have loads of interesting stories to share." He just wanted stories; that was all. Sinar, overhearing, grabbed Garrett by the ear and remarked, "You should learn to respect the injured who led us to victory." She seemed ready to hit him if he didn't back off. Garrett quickly caught on. "Nuart, I messed up, didn’t I?" Always having his back, Lieutenant Nuart answered promptly. "Yes, if you stay any longer, you might find your position changing." "Why would it change?" "If you die, it will." "Let's go." Did he bring them along for comedy or what? Bandaged from head to toe, Enkryd watched the duo's banter. "Tell me next time." Garrett, leaving those words behind, walked away. Advertisements "Focus on healing," Sinar said as she stayed by his side, her thoughts unreadable. "Aren't you leaving? I'm sleepy." "Go to sleep. I’ll just watch you." Elven humor never seemed to get any less baffling. Enkryd slowly let his mind drift. The cheers that greeted their return got jumbled in his memory, with chunks missing. He had pushed his body that hard. Now in the medical tent, having had a bit of porridge and with ointments and herbal remedies slathered over him, he lay down. His whole body felt feverish. For someone known for his resilience, this was a bit much. Enkryd fell asleep. Closing his eyes, he saw a black river. There was a ferryman. “First is turmoil, second is ignorance, third is despair.” Enkryd couldn’t understand what it meant. The ferryman today seemed more solemn than usual, and Enkryd, weary to his bone, didn’t find the strength to move his lips even in the dream.