Eternally Regressing Knight-Chapter 530 - Uncertainty and Conviction

Chapter 530 - Uncertainty and Conviction

Barnas Hurrier, contrary to his savage appearance was a man capable of meticulous calculation.

Though he might look like a dog salivating at the sight of a battlefield—and being a wolf beastkin didn't help with that impression, but inside he was a serpent keeper, harboring dozens of cunning snakes.

When he saw the two knights standing against him, he swiftly made his calculations.

"Victory is mine."

Why such certainty?

Because Barnas already had a rough estimate of the number of troops Naurillia would send into the Pen-Hanil Mountain Range. Even if every soldier who entered the mountains was a knight, the numbers worked in his favor.It wasn't that hard to gauge their forces. His side commanded a fairy unit adept at navigating the terrain and they had already employed lures to test their enemies' reactions.

If their foes had blindly charged into the Pen-Hanil Mountain Range en masse, Barnas would have judged them to be led by a cowardly commander with few knights at their disposal.

But the enemy had split their forces, almost as if they'd seen through his intent and two knights had been sent to this position.

Still, Barnas was confident even if he had to face the pair alone.

Why?

Even if he had fifty heavily armored soldiers as a shield, wouldn't he still outnumbered them in a one-versus-two situation?

That perspective was naive.

People who thought that way understood only half the equation.

Barnas, alongside Abnaier had been relentless scattering bait through every diplomatic and political channel they could reach including the Ekkins family renowned for their administrative influence. They had scurried around like dogs to ensure that none of the knights from Naurillia's Red Cloak Order would make it here.

"Not all knights are equal."

Those who saw all knights and thought that they were the same, were clueless.

That was as absurd as believing all soldiers were identical.

Even among knights, the gap between their abilities was vast. This disparity wasn't visible to the untrained eye, but for someone who had reached the level of a knight, it was undeniable.

The differences were apparent in judgment, spatial awareness and how they wielded their strength.

This was why Barnas was confident—so long as Cypress the strongest of the Red Cloak knights wasn't among his opponents.

Had another knight joined the two before him, Barnas still wouldn't have been worried.

Even if an equally skilled knight were added to the mix, Barnas would still have predicted his victory.

In the end, only two knights had come.

From that fact alone, Barnas could deduce the broader situation on the battlefield.

"So, this is how the game is set up?"

The battlefield was divided into three fronts, a strategy designed by Abnaier but executed by Barnas himself. Why three fronts?

The obvious reason was to divide the enemy forces, but there was a deeper purpose: to maximize the performance of their own troops.

"Knights aren't suited for fighting in close formations."

Barnas had learned this from experience.

Knights didn't become stronger when grouped together.

More often, they got in each other's way. Unless their enemies overwhelmed them with sheer numbers, it was better to deploy superior, smaller units.

Cooperation among knights didn't multiply their strength—it often diminished it.

"Of course, if they've trained together for years, that's a different story."

Like twin knights, for example.

But that was rare.

Most knights with overflowing talent were too busy honing their individual skills to waste time practicing joint techniques.

The same was true for the eccentric junior knight under his command, who had openly declared his ambition to surpass Barnas within the next decade.

Barnas didn't see this as a flaw.

Quite the opposite—he believed that fostering a competitive environment would continuously push his subordinates.

He deliberately set up rivalries among those who had the potential to become knights.

But Barnas always remained at the top, standing firm like an immovable pillar.

This was how he trained his protégés.

Given this dynamic, spreading his forces out was the optimal choice. Especially since Abnaier had allocated troops to wear down the enemy on other fronts.

Full-scale battle?

It wasn't necessary.

Barnas knew his other fronts would hold.

"That guy won't lose."

Among his subordinates was a warrior who excelled in one-on-one combat, a man whose blade Barnas trusted second only to his own.

Barnas considered every angle. What if the enemy abandoned one of the fronts or tried to retreat?

"Oh, please do."

If they lost control of just one front, this battle would be over.

Even if the enemy forces converged and became a larger unit, it wouldn't matter so long as that wasn't happening here.

The enemy wouldn't abandon any of the three routes.

Barnas knew this because he wouldn't if he were them.

Letting one path fall would expose their rear and while Barnas had ruled out a full-frontal clash losing their rear meant losing everything.

"A strategist would never take their opponent's words at face value."

Barnas held one front.

A vain subordinate and a newly rising knight held another.

The third, led by a knight bound by a vow was supported by General Frog—an adept commander who knew how to synchronize perfectly with a knight in combat.

"That third front will be the toughest."

But it didn't matter. Barnas, moments before the battle muttered to himself.

"This is going to be fun."

***

"There will be many knights."

Krais's voice boomed with certainty.

"I estimate there could be five. In such a battle, is it right to be so greedy? Even if luck is on our side and our numbers match theirs, how will we handle the other unpredictable factors?"

Krais spoke with conviction, cutting off Enkrid just as he was about to express his ambition.

His warning carried weight, emphasizing the potential dangers of their situation.

Krais knew the inherent variability of knights, how some could far surpass others in strength and skill. Even among knights, not all were created equal.

Enkrid knew this too not just through observation, but through personal experience.

Through battles fought alongside Rem, Ragna, and Shinar.

Against the Eastern King, the demon fragment of the Grey Forest, and Aker.

Time and time again, he had pushed past his limits and grown.

Victory was never a certainty in battle.

That was the rule.

"I see."

Yet, Enkrid's simple response was frustrating.

Even with his wealth of experience he seemed unmoved by Krais' argument.

This left Krais deeply uneased.

***

While Barnas calculated and Krais nervously shook his legs, elsewhere on the battlefield others destined to meet finally encountered each other.

"Why do humans hate one another?"

Rem listened to the brat blocking his way and scanned his surroundings, tilting his head from side to side.

There were a lot. Through the dense undergrowth, a sinister killing intent pricked his skin.

It was intimidating enough, though not strong enough to cause even a scratch.

'It's not as bad as when Ayul gets mad.'

The one blocking the path was a knight of Aspen.

The figure, resembling an indigo-maned beast kept his gaze down as he continued to speak, regardless of what Rem might be thinking.

With melancholy eyes and a deep, composed voice, he seemed intent on appearing profound.

His head tilted at an angle, chin raised just enough to aim his gaze toward the sky.

Rem wondered, 'What the hell is this idiot looking at?'

Doesn't it hurt his eyes?

"That is likely the trial the world has given us," the knight declared.

"And we must overcome it."

Rem placed a hand on his axe handle and shifted his weight onto one leg.

He felt like yawning but wasn't particularly sleepy.

After all, he had rushed here upon hearing Enkrid's words, only to meet these clowns. To an outsider neither side seemed particularly eager to fight.

"What about the ones hiding nearby?" Rem asked in his usual slouched posture.

"The Swamp of Monter."

The answer came from behind. There were two blocking Rem's path and the second one standing in the rear behind the first knight, had crimson eyes like rubies embedded in his eye sockets.

They didn't look like ordinary human eyes. Pupil split vertically, they resembled those of a beast and the savage aura emanating from his entire body reinforced that impression.

There was even the faint scent of sorcery.

Rem was now certain thought back to his suspicions: there was someone in Aspen who was tampering with sorcery.

Judging from its origin, it didn't seem to follow the typical paths of Western sorcery but rather something branching into different territory.

The unsettling mist of annihilation in the previous battle had hinted at it, and now this peculiar figure had appeared.

Who could be responsible for such sorcery?

Rem scratched his head with his thumb as he mused.

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'The Madman of Immortality is dead.'

That guy was a brawler by nature, not one to delve deeply into sorcery.

Yet he had claimed he would achieve immortality a pursuit as ridiculous as it was impossible.

The strange aura surrounding this red-eyed fellow, however wasn't likely a relic of that lunatic's experiments.

Then what was it?

As the fool in front spewed poetic nonsense, Rem quickly sized up the situation and the enemy's tricks.

'Possession?'

It was a type of sorcery that used the body as a medium. It resembled Rem's own talents, but what would happen if someone without natural aptitude attempted such a thing?

Beyond shaving years off their lifespan, they'd likely fall deathly ill after every use, that's if they were lucky.

No, there must be some sort of safeguard in place.

The aura was more disciplined than expected. It wasn't an undeveloped technique.

They were using it while managing its side effects or drawbacks.

The whole thing piqued Rem's curiosity. The source and origin of that sorcery in particular. After all, he had a vested interest in the subject.

'Still, it's more refined than that idiot Molsan's crap.'

Compared to crafting knights through chimera research, this approach seemed far more sophisticated.

That was as far as Rem's assessment of the enemy's strength went.

The front man, pretending to recite poetry was a barking knight.

The red-eyed one who had risen to knights through sorcery.

And about a hundred bugs.

Surrounding him was the Swamp of Monter, an assassination guild.

If the Dagger of Geogr had a reputation spanning the entire continent, the Swamp of Monters was restricted to Aspen's sphere of influence.

Formed from assassins funded by Aspen's king and nobles, they could be seen as illegitimate offspring of the monarchy.

Neither naturally formed nor fully integrated into the kingdom's forces, they remained a hybrid force.

Like bastards being accepted into a household during dire circumstances, they had been absorbed into the kingdom and restructured over time.

Each assassin was armed with poisoned daggers, darts, toxic sand, nets and grappling spears, all eyes trained on Rem with menacing gazes.

Even without seeing them individually, Rem could feel their presence.

Though assassins didn't necessarily fight with emotionless precision, the tension in the air was palpable.

But as usual Rem couldn't care less.

"I am sad, deeply sad. To think I must kill another chosen by the gods born with such talent."

And the bastard in front of him was equally indifferent.

It was clear from his arrogance that he was certain of victory, looking down on Rem and possibly high on something.

His ramblings were annoying.

When something annoyed Rem, he spoke his mind.

"Have you been dining with ghouls? What the hell did you eat to mess yourself up like this?"

Trained under Enkrid, Rem's sharp tongue lashed out.

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Many thanks to 47thdemigod for proofreading the Chapter