A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 331

It all started on the day before Enkrid was assigned to the troublemaker platoon.

First, the previous platoon leader, who ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) had tried to force his authority, died.

Then, a noble-born replacement strutted around arrogantly—until Jaxon beat him half to death.

The next one, who tried to discipline them through sheer rage, received a "mental re-education" in the form of threats from Rem and promptly left.

After that, every platoon leader that followed was similarly replaced.

With each new leader being churned out, it was only natural that even the company commander had something to say.

"If you plan to stay in the army, you should at least follow some rules, don't you think?"

At the remark from the company commander, Rem nodded.

"That’s right! But isn’t it all because of that damned stray cat over there?"

"The mouth that blames others is usually the real problem," Jaxon retorted.

Ragna, watching the exchange, calmly stated, "I don’t mind transferring to another unit."

Both Rem and Jaxon turned their heads toward him.

That tone—so indifferent, as if none of this concerned him. As if he was completely separate from the situation.

That languid way of speaking made it all the more irritating.

"That bastard?"

The most recent platoon leader had tried to correct Ragna’s "insincere attitude"—in reality, he had mistaken Ragna’s stillness for weakness and attempted to assert dominance.

The result? His skull was cracked open.

And yet, Ragna still maintained that detached attitude.

It was enough to set Rem off and make Jaxon’s gaze grow sharp.

That was twenty days ago.

For twenty whole days, the platoon had been left leaderless.

The company commander had a headache.

The battalion commander had washed his hands of the matter, telling him to handle it himself—but was that even possible with these guys?

And what would happen if he admitted, "I just can't control them"?

That would be the same as confessing he was incompetent. A complete fool.

And the battalion commander? He’d only have one thing to say.

"You can't even control a single squad of men?"

Given the battalion commander’s personality—one who always shifted blame—it was obvious how things would go.

‘Might as well let them all go out and die in battle.’

No matter how dangerous the battlefield, these lunatics came back with nothing more than a few scratches at most.

And even those scratches were rare.

Why were fighters of this caliber stuck in a unit like this?

Well, considering their behavior, it wasn’t hard to figure out.

Rem, for instance, had been assigned to the 1st Heavy Infantry Company—and had cracked his superior’s skull before ending up here.

Even now, the 1st Company ground their teeth whenever they saw him.

And Rem? He seemed to enjoy the sound, as if it were some kind of symphony.

"I suppose there’s no choice."

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Brother, I shall take temporary command of them. Surely, this is but a trial from the Lord, meant to test me, his small and fragile servant."

Audin spoke with solemn conviction.

The company commander was left speechless.

This religious zealot? The one who always sat still, his complexion ashen, as if he were already halfway to the afterlife?

And now, of all times, he was pouring oil onto the fire?

Besides, was he even aware of his own size when calling himself "small and fragile"?

No, rather than entrusting command to him, it would be better to sacrifice a subordinate instead.

If he put Audin in charge, the platoon would spend their days praying instead of training.

And even if the commander was willing to tolerate that, would the rest of them sit still and accept it?

"What the hell is that bear talking about?"

The first to react was the madman wielding a battle axe.

Then, the lazy bum chimed in.

"If there’s something wrong with your head, take some medicine."

The next response came from the platoon’s best-looking man.

"You wanna die?"

Jaxon, who was amicable enough with the other platoons, somehow always let his temper slip within his own unit.

The company commander clutched his head.

"Enough. A new platoon leader is arriving this afternoon. For the love of God, don’t beat him to a pulp or drive him away immediately."

He prayed for the new leader’s survival.

What else could he do?

There weren’t any suitable candidates, so they had to bring in someone on short notice.

Not a noble.

Not particularly talented.

Not an exceptional fighter.

All he hoped was that this one wouldn't cause trouble.

Even after the company commander left, the air remained tense.

Rem had ended up here due to a series of coincidences.

If he had to be specific, it was because he’d killed a noble’s son and needed to lay low for a while.

He had planned to stay for about half a year before leaving.

But for some reason, this place had gathered a bunch of bastards like these.

‘Every single one of them thinks they’re the greatest.’

None of them knew how to bow their heads.

Not that Rem was any different.

The current battalion commander had gathered all the troublesome men into one place, expecting them to kill each other off or die in battle.

Of course, Rem wasn’t privy to that reasoning.

"I should just kill them all and transfer to another unit."

He muttered the words.

Loudly enough to be heard.

More of a provocation than a mutter, really.

"You looking to die?"

Ragna picked up on it immediately.

"Brothers, if you wish to meet the Lord sooner, I shall pray for you."

And it wouldn’t just be a prayer of words.

"Idiots."

Jaxon joined in.

Until now, they had thrown insults at each other, but had never truly crossed the line.

Because if a fight broke out, it would be a real one—one where someone wouldn’t get back up.

That didn’t mean they were patient.

It was only a matter of time.

They had been watching each other since the beginning.

Rem let his arms hang loosely at his sides.

Turning his back here would be dangerous—that much, he knew instinctively.

Ragna had already risen to his feet.

His movements were slow and deliberate, seemingly careless. But was it really carelessness?

Rem knew better.

That lazy bastard could swing his sword even from that position.

Audin brought his hands together in front of his waist—Balraf-style martial arts.

No bloodlust.

Just an overwhelming pressure, thick as tar, suffocating the air inside the tent.

A weaker man would have been crushed by it.

The canvas seemed to bulge outward, as if it, too, could feel the tension.

And then, the tent flap rustled open.

A stranger stepped in.

A man with black hair and blue eyes—a striking appearance, even at a glance.

He scanned the room.

If he had any sense, he’d turn around and leave.

If he were weak-hearted, he’d faint on the spot.

"Uh... yeah. This is the, uh... right place, but maybe you should come back later," the voice of "King Eyeball" muttered behind him.

Kraiss had a sharp sense for these things.

The atmosphere was deadlier than usual.

He tugged at the new platoon leader’s sleeve, trying to pull him back.

But the man didn’t budge.

Instead, he took a step forward and spoke.

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"Platoon Leader Enkrid. Stop fighting."

Rem was waiting.

His arms were loose, but he was ready to grab his axe at any moment.

Audin was prepared to counter any attack.

Ragna had already calculated how to cut down three people at once.

Jaxon’s hands were already resting on the hidden daggers in his sleeves.

The slightest misstep, and blood would have painted the ground.

And yet, an unfamiliar face stepped right into the midst of them.

"Stop."

A fearless act.

Enkrid had wedged himself between them.

He was lucky.

Rem hesitated just before drawing his axe.

A hair’s breadth more, and he would have split him in two.

Audin’s shoulders tensed.

Ragna had already gripped his sword.

Jaxon remained still, though his hands were poised to strike.

"...He’s a little crazy," Ragna muttered.

"Are you insane?"

Even if he had some sense, how could he step in like that?

No—he had sense.

He knew what he was doing.

Which meant he had willingly thrown himself into the fire.

And yet...

"Stop fighting. I’m Enkrid."

No greetings.

No small talk.

He simply stated his name.

Didn’t even ask for theirs.

As if saying, "Just do your job."

Rem thought, What an utterly insane bastard.

He was insane—insane enough to be interesting.

At the time, everyone assumed Enkrid wouldn’t last a week.

***

Enkrid recalled the very beginning of the Mad Platoon.

Why had he stepped in back then?

Ah, right.

Because a platoon leader was supposed to do their job.

At the very least, stopping his own soldiers from killing each other was part of the job.

The suffocating tension in the air now reminded him of that moment.

Back then, too, the pressure had weighed on his shoulders.

It felt like his heart was being torn apart.

Even as a blade came flying toward his face, he had closed his eyes—because enduring relentless pressure and suffering was something he was good at.

That was why he had stepped in between them.

‘I was an idiot.’

Rem stood there, arms slack at his sides.

His axe hung from his waist.

He was ready.

To his left, Ragna had both hands loosely gripping the hilt of his sword.

Opposite him, Audin stood like a frozen statue, a serene smile on his face, his fists held firm just in front of his abdomen.

They were all ready.

If you step in with a half-hearted resolve, you die.

You will definitely die.

The pressure turned into sheer force, stabbing at the heart.

Even though none of them were actively directing their intent at one another, the weight in the air had the same effect as sheer intimidation.

Before, he wouldn’t have seen it.

But now, he could.

And did that change anything?

Not at all.

It didn’t matter if they tried to crush him with their presence or not.

Right now, Enkrid was itching to show them what he had learned, what he had mastered.

Hadn’t he endured the long days of recovery just so he could wield the sword again?

Whether they fought or not was irrelevant.

Enkrid drew his sword.

Not the familiar, stocky gladius of the dwarves, but a long, silver-bladed sword.

Shing.

He unsheathed it slowly, gripping it with both hands.

A sword Ragna had given him.

Taken from the body of a knight-in-training he had slain.

Something about Aya of the Brown Dung?

An odd name for a knight-in-training.

The blade was razor-sharp, pristine even after battle. A fine weapon, as expected from one wielded by a member of the Royal Order.

Its hilt was wrapped in beast-hide leather, fitting perfectly in his grip.

After a brief moment of focus, Enkrid stepped forward.

Straight into the center of them.

Teresa and Dunbakel, who had been watching from the sidelines, furrowed their brows.

"Through the middle?"

Esther was away for the moment, and Kraiss had gone to the market.

Which meant no bystanders would get accidentally killed.

Before, he had stepped in without understanding anything.

Now, he knew—and he fully received the pressure of all three.

Alone, he took it all head-on.

Facing Ragna, with Audin on his right and Rem on his left.

Then—

"Not bad."

He even had the nerve to speak.

And then—

Pivoting on his left foot, he twisted his body and slashed.

It began with "A Moment’s Will."

His waist twisted, and before anyone noticed, the sword—now gripped in one hand—became a piercing point.

It was smoother than before. More refined.

Ping!

A sharp, high-pitched note echoed.

The blade shot toward Rem’s forehead.

"Son of a—!"

Rem’s axe moved.

Like a streak of light, his axe intercepted the attack.

Light against light.

Clang!

Steel met steel, and the symphony of battle began.

That was the trigger.

The tension that had gripped the air exploded.

Enkrid had shown a mere glimpse of his "moment" to Rem—then suddenly, he dashed right.

Seemingly backing away—until he abruptly stopped.

A Valen-style mercenary step.

Feigning an advance, only to stop short and then slash vertically downward.

A crushing blade.

A sword technique infused with Will, based on pressure.

As the weight bore down, Audin let out a battle cry.

"Father!"

Even his cry was uniquely Audin’s.

Woom.

The air trembled.

The crushing blade met resistance.

And that was only the beginning.

While everyone reacted, Ragna—who had remained still—was already on the move.

Enkrid ignored Audin and rushed straight for Ragna.

He had used the crushing blade to buy time and reposition.

"You just gonna stand there and watch?"

He threw out the taunt, his sword already moving.

An unnamed orthodox sword technique.

A trajectory meant to pull Ragna into his flow.

A swordplay that forced a reaction from the opponent.

A deliberate thrust toward Ragna’s right shoulder.

He didn’t even bother to hide his intent—forcing Ragna to dodge.

From there, he had planned to pivot and slice sideways—

But Ragna batted his sword aside before the technique could even fully begin.

Clang!

It wasn’t just a block—it was a denial.

A disruption.

Enkrid immediately felt it.

Ragna wasn’t fighting at full strength.

He was limiting himself.

And yet, even while holding back, he blocked with ease.

Thud.

"You read it?"

"It was obvious."

No—it wasn’t obvious.

Ragna had changed.

His swordplay now cut through intention itself.

From the very first move, he severed the opponent’s flow.

"Goddamn."

Enkrid laughed as he spoke, then intercepted Ragna’s next strike.

A serpent-like swordplay.

He deflected, then smoothly redirected his own attack—

Again, "A Moment’s Will."

This time, toward Rem.

Forcing Rem—who had been trying to disengage—back into the fight.

Then, shifting his footwork, he lunged toward Audin.

A step Audin himself had once taught him.

Serpent’s Step.

A movement technique honed through experience, interpreted and refined through his own instincts.

He didn’t even lift his foot off the ground—yet his entire body glided forward.

Fast.

A seamless advance.

And then, another crushing strike.

Audin responded.

"Lord!"

Clang!

Another impact.

Another shattering force.

That guy had one hell of a set of lungs.

"You’ve gotta be kidding me!"

Rem roared.

And who could blame him?

Enkrid was fighting all three of them.

One versus three.

"You’re insane!"

Ragna tilted his head.

"Brother, I believe your skull is in need of a prayer."

Audin had already grasped the intent.

Enkrid had thrown down the gauntlet.

All of you.

Fight me.

His whole body screamed it.

And he laughed.

Ah, this was fun.

Wasn’t it?

Everything he had learned, everything he had mastered—

He could see it.

See it, feel it, express it.

How does it look?

His sword.

It was thrilling—so thrilling that it didn’t matter whether he faced three or four.

"I can’t hold back anymore."

From the corner, Teresa stood up.

"Yeah, I’m losing my goddamn mind."

Dunbakel exhaled sharply—then her body shifted.

Fur sprouted across her skin.

She transformed into a white-maned lioness.

Chaos erupted.

The entire barracks became a battlefield.

Boom!

The structure groaned under the impact.

A section of the wall cracked.

The doorway shattered.

By the time Kraiss returned, he was greeted by a crowd circling the tent.

"...What’s going on?"

"Looks like they’re trying to kill each other," Graham answered, looking bewildered.

Even the city lord was just watching.

The sheer intensity of the fight left everyone as spectators.

"These lunatics."

Kraiss could only sigh.

This was what they did right after recovering from injuries?

No wonder everyone called them madmen.

Not that he could stop them.

This was just how they were.

The fight finally ended in the late afternoon.

By sunset, a group of steam-emitting soldiers stumbled out.

Every single one of them was bleeding somewhere.

The barracks?

Half-destroyed.

It looked like a warzone.

Kraiss stared at the gaping hole in the ceiling.

"...How the hell did they even break that?"

Then, amidst the wreckage, Enkrid spoke.

"You’re back? We’ll have to sleep somewhere else tonight."

Hearing that, Kraiss could do nothing but laugh.