A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 216: Preparation, Patterns, Experience

“Damn it!”

Olf was shocked by the news of what seemed like a rebellion.

In this situation? At a time like this?

"Who is it?!"

It was soon reported that the one leading the rebellion had taken control of the castle gates.

The rebels couldn’t do anything about the watchtowers or the castle walls, but the gates were an immediate problem.

“Royal Guard!”

In a rush, Olf called for the royal guard. They had already moved ahead.

“Go! Stop them!”

‘Who the hell is this?!’

Olf rushed forward, forgetting the weight of his armor. His breath came in sharp gasps.

He could taste blood in his throat, like the smell of dry iron.

After running for a while, he arrived.

“I’m sorry.”

He saw three members of the royal guard, now pincushions, their bodies riddled with crossbow bolts.

Ahead of them stood a small unit, at least a squad, with crossbows aimed directly at him.

The one who had spoken earlier grinned slyly. It was a smile that could only be described as cunning.

A twisted mouth, narrow eyes, a face and expression Olf had never seen before.

It was the foolish officer who had boasted about charging with the cavalry and smashing the enemy.

A fool who only knew how to fight. That’s how he had been until just moments ago.

‘That guy?’

He never imagined it would turn out this way, that the fool who had acted so recklessly would be the one behind this.

No, had he planned this all along?

Had he been pretending to be the ignorant officer, someone who knew nothing but fighting?

If so, he was truly a born actor.

Olf realized he had been deceived.

“Enemies incoming!”

Pwooo!

A large horn blared, signaling the threat and danger.

“Fire! Fire!”

Archers from the gallery and watchtowers shot arrows wildly, but the foolish officer continued to hack at the gate’s pulley with an axe.

Thud! Crack! Thud!

To Olf, the sounds felt like the death sentence coming for him.

‘Hah.’

A sigh involuntarily escaped him, but his thoughts stopped dead. He couldn’t even bring himself to shout to stop it. It was already too late.

Even if he rushed over now to stop it, he couldn’t stop the gates from opening.

Once those gates opened, the monsters from the battlefield would come flooding in.

Nightmare. Terror. The five beasts.

Just as he had expected.

He had a sense that the wizard’s ambush had failed.

If that wasn’t the case, why hadn’t any of the ones who had been talking about demanding a price shown up?

“Damn shadows.”

Olf mentally gave up. Was he supposed to fight to the death here? To risk everything, including his life? To throw away the lives of his soldiers?

“Damn, damn, damn.”

He couldn’t. What would be left if he killed them all and survived?

Olf didn’t want to end his life in such a pathetic way.

Even as a defeated commander, he would not disgrace his name.

He would die alone, in the end.

“You have to surrender.”

Despite his resolve, when the captain of the royal guard spoke, Olf had the urge to slap him.

This guy?

Anger swirled in Olf’s eyes, but—

“You need to face reality.”

The captain spoke again. His eyes were full of fear, the look of someone who was terrified of losing their own life.

But why was this guy talking so much without even fighting?

Thud thud thud thud.

The gates opened. Soon, a man with black hair, seemingly gazing into the distance alone, was visible.

He wasn’t even wearing a helmet.

His blue eyes didn’t look at Olf but at the empty air.

As the man moved closer, the captain of the royal guard quietly unsheathed his sword and laid it down.

He was preparing to surrender.

This damned bastard.

Olf cursed him inwardly, and then he, too, gave up.

But—

“You don’t have to surrender the city without a fight.”

From behind, Zimmer stepped forward.

“What?”

“Let me handle the final duel. I’ll show you the spirit of the Eastern Lion.”

Zimmer’s eyes burned with determination. He called to Olf again.

“General.”

Zimmer had always been one of the finest swordsmen among the battalion commanders, even including Greg. He had received proper swordsmanship training.

While the normally arrogant captain of the royal guard was already contemplating whether to place his hands on his head or kneel, Zimmer—who had often done the dirty work and spoken his mind—stepped forward.

‘My eyes are also failing me.’

Olf acknowledged it. His choices had failed. He had been outwitted by the ignorant officer, and despite giving importance to the captain of the royal guard, he hadn’t shown the same favor to Zimmer.

He felt like gouging his own eyes out.

“Do it.”

Olf nodded. Though the battle was practically over, he didn’t think he had the right to stop someone who was burning their own spirit as a warrior.

And so, Zimmer moved to face Enkrid.

***

Planted in Martai

‘When did he plan this?’

As soon as the castle gates opened, Enkrid realized this was someone’s maneuver, specifically Marcus’s.

‘Was it really planned?’

It might not have been part of a plan after all—perhaps it was just something he had prepared. It wasn’t necessarily meant to be used at this exact moment, but rather something he had planted just in case.

His thoughts continued, building momentum, and soon they reached the point of the formal swordsmanship he had learned.

An unnamed, unknown style of swordsmanship, learned from the cursed sword spirit of the magic sword.

‘Formal swordsmanship is based on cornering the opponent into a single direction.’

That was the essence of preparation—swordsmanship’s foundation and everything it stood for.

If the heavy sword style wins through force and the swift sword style wins through speed, then...

Formal swordsmanship is about creating a ‘pattern’ that forces the opponent into submission.

And creating a ‘pattern’ required preparation.

‘A pattern is a way to push the opponent into a corner, a strategy and method.’

If the opponent moves according to our plans, it’s ideal, but if not, how do we respond?

‘Prepare widely, prepare abundantly.’

It’s about anticipating every possible move and acting accordingly.

This is why formal swordsmanship is so adept at dealing with tactical battles.

The key is preparation. Diversifying and ensuring the right kind of preparation.

The piece Marcus had planted was one of those preparations.

There were likely other tricks he had hidden away as well. Even if the gates hadn’t opened, he wouldn’t have given up. He’d have used another trick.

Formal swordsmanship was the same. It could be used that way.

‘Not confined to a single pattern.’

The key was preparing in many ways, responding to the opponent’s reactions, and adapting accordingly, just like Marcus had done.

This is why formal and flexible swordsmanship gets stronger with more experience.

The reason why we speak of swordsmanship growing stronger as we fight more, especially formal and flexible sword styles, is here.

As we engage in more tactical battles, different patterns naturally become ingrained in the body.

The thoughts, sparked by Marcus’s magic, wound their way through to a certain direction of swordsmanship.

While battling the cursed spirit of the magic sword.

Then, while sparring with Ragna.

And also the lessons learned from Frokk Lua Gharne.

Everything mixed together.

Enkrid took three steps and crossed the castle gates. In the time it took for those three steps, he realized his own advantage.

‘Today’s repetition.’

The experiences of fighting with his life on the line.

The experiences of fighting while risking his life.

Countless defeats and battles that led to introspection.

Wasn’t all of that a pattern and experience?

Yes, it was a pattern and experience.

‘That old teacher must have specialized in formal swordsmanship.’

He realized that the teacher who had taught him the importance of introspection in the coastal village must have specialized in this sword style.

Awakening the diversity of patterns, he took two more steps.

As he walked those five steps, Enkrid felt the need to reintegrate all the experiences he had gained into his body.

Had he been a genius, or even just highly gifted, would he have realized everything in an instant and immediately acted on it?

It would be a lie to say he didn’t regret the talents he’d been born with.

But now, he no longer craved that talent as desperately.

‘One step at a time.’

He moved forward. This was the way to reach ‘Will,’ and the path toward becoming a knight.

The forgotten dream struck his heart again.

Only then did Enkrid become aware of his surroundings.

The gates had opened, and one of the key figures from the battlefield had entered.

Even with arrows flying, it should have taken at least a hundred arrows to reach him, and even without that, spears or maces should have been seen before his eyes. Yet, it was eerily silent.

“Ah.”

A short exclamation rang out, and Enkrid lowered his shield. It was a wooden shield, an arrow stuck in it. He lowered it to the side and looked around. The situation became clear in an instant.

‘There’s no will to fight.’

The only thing before him was a group of soldiers who had lost the will to fight.

These were the same soldiers who had returned from the previous battle, battered, and had now entered the defensive phase.

Their last defense was the castle gates and the walls.

It was right after he saw the enemy foolishly sticking to the castle walls.

“I hope they don’t break.”

“Damn, do you think our gates are made of clay?”

Anxiety and rough words spread through the soldiers, and an unsettling atmosphere filled the air.

Even knowing that, there was nothing they could do at that moment.

The gates opened, and the five monsters from the battlefield stepped inside.

“Damn.”

Is charging toward death courage, or stupidity?

The Martai soldiers didn’t need to know the difference between the two. They didn’t bother to check.

They simply stopped.

The eyes of those who had given up now fixed on Enkrid.

Silence. The wind blew. The wind swept over the flagpoles planted above the city.

Flap, flap.

The sound of flags flapping mixed with curses from some soldiers.

Curses mixed with surrender and self-loathing.

Seeing and feeling all of this, Enkrid opened his mouth.

“Should I say my name again here?”

My name is Enkrid.

What once sounded arrogant, foolish, and like mad ramblings, now had a weight that fell over the city of Martai.

Even so.

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Even if everyone gave up, there would always be someone who made a last-ditch effort.

The heavy silence and the frozen soldiers. A thin man stepped forward through the soldiers who had been hesitating, his fingers still on the bowstring.

Enkrid could tell that, though the man’s build wasn’t large, he was made of firm muscle.

His balanced stance caught Enkrid’s attention, and the absence of fear in his eyes was striking.

“My name is Zimmer.”

The man spoke.

Enkrid didn’t know who he was.

He had never considered such a thing when making his move.

“I’m the second battalion commander of Martai.”

The man introduced himself politely, and Enkrid spoke in turn.

“I’m the independent squad leader of the Border Guard’s reserve forces.”

“I see.”

Enkrid looked into Zimmer’s eyes. They weren’t the eyes of someone who had given up. At the very least, this man was someone who had the intent to act.

“Well, this is awkward.”

As Rem grumbled behind him, Audin laughed and added.

“A duel is sacred. Brothers, on behalf of the Lord’s eyes, I shall deliver His will.”

It sounded like something a priest devoted to the divine would say, but no one objected.

It was simply.

“I can’t back down without swinging my sword properly.”

Zimmer showed his intent.

Behind him stood General Olf, but he appeared to be half out of his mind.

He was a man who had returned from the edge of anger and reason. Of course, Enkrid didn’t care.

Only Kraiss was watching the surroundings.

The fight was over, but to some, it was a fight that couldn’t end with just surrender.

‘Why are they risking their lives like this?’

Kraiss couldn’t understand.

But it seemed like the others were accepting the situation.

Ragna stepped to the right. If the enemy archers or anyone else tried to interfere, he would draw his sword without hesitation.

Ragna’s usual composure was gone, and his presence seemed several times larger to the enemy soldiers.

There were actually warriors whose size matched the imposing figure he presented.

“If anyone tries to interfere, their skull will be shattered and they’ll go straight to heaven, brothers and sisters.”

Audin took it upon himself to act as the judge, and Rem also stepped back.

Rem also respected the opponent’s courage. To challenge in a duel in this situation—this was a warrior’s act.

Zimmer, was it? Even if he had been from his own tribe, he would have earned the title of warrior.

Jaxson had already hidden his presence, and if things went wrong, it seemed he was planning to attack the commanders’ necks.

Enkrid was also impressed by Zimmer’s stance as he stepped forward.

Even if Zimmer lost, the likelihood of him dying was high.

Yet he didn’t step back.

He was a warrior. A man who knew how to fight.

Clink.

Enkrid drew his sword. Once a magic sword, but now simply an extremely sharp and solid blade.

“My sword is not ordinary.”

And Enkrid made sure to mention the advantages of his weapon.

He respected Zimmer’s courage.

Zimmer nodded.

Then, he too drew his sword.

Clink.

It was short and straight. An Esterk sword.

The moment Enkrid saw Zimmer’s stance, he could almost predict his specialty. No, it was more like an instinctual certainty.

‘A fast sword, light feet.’

Light feet meant swift movements were possible.

Zimmer lowered his knee. The tip of his sword aimed forward, and in that instant, his foot struck the ground.

The blade, shimmering like an afterimage, shot toward Enkrid, aiming to strike.