Eternally Regressing Knight-Chapter 532 - The Pressing Sword

Chapter 532 - The Pressing Sword

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"Though I expected you'd amount to something big, are you really the Demon Slayer?"

The speaker was Knight Jamal, a name even Barnas Hurrier wouldn't easily overcome in a duel.

Jamal, however had a history with the blue-eyed man with black hair standing before him.

Once, under a pact with Abnaier, Jamal had tried and failed to strike down this man.

That failure left a deep impression on him.

How could it not?

"It was heavy."

Jamal's blade had trembled as it parried the man's blow which was far from light.

That moment etched itself into Jamal's memory.

He hadn't anticipated his opponent would withstand the strike.

In fact, "unexpected" would be a better word for it.

Even their brief exchange afterward left a mark.

The man had spoken of honor, calling it a rare privilege to face a knight's blade in battle.

"Such a shame." Jamal muttered, clicking his tongue.

There was a tinge of regret.

Meeting under such circumstances dampened the memory of their encounter.

"Do you know him?"

The question came from General Frog, standing beside him.

Jamal nodded lightly and Frog scrutinized the man closely.

Certain faces stick in memory forever and Frog prided himself on remembering faces especially those of striking humans.

"Ah, that's where I know him from," Frog murmured.

He recalled the man now a soldier killer.

The one who had slain one of his men in a battlefield skirmish where Frog had intervened for sport but failed to kill his target.

And this man turned out to be the Demon Slayer?

Frog, too possessed a knack for appraising potential.

Back then, this one hadn't even seemed noteworthy compared to the gray-haired ax wielder whom Frog found far more threatening.

Frog had withdrawn from that field, unable to guarantee victory.

He remembered now kicking this man aside, certain he would die in battle sooner rather than later.

But here he was not only surviving Jamal's blade but now was also Aspen's most dangerous enemy.

"Something doesn't add up." Frog muttered, raising three stubby white-tipped fingers.

Some Frogs might attempt artistry with such fingers pursuing impossible dreams but Frog had mastered his practical talents.

As a frontline commander, he hadn't reached a knight's rank but was recognized as a sub-knight capable of leading troops effectively.

At his signal, the soldiers around him moved.

Twenty crossbows were aimed forming a half-circle around Enkrid each bolt loaded and ready.

It was a sight to behold: twenty crossbows targeting a single man who stood there seemingly unfazed.

The scene played out in an artificial clearing, carved from the forest of the Pen-Hanil mountains.

Frog had orchestrated this advantage clearing the terrain to fight on favorable ground.

The enemy wouldn't have seen it coming.

The general had scouted tirelessly, sending patrols in teams of five to survey the surroundings.

His conclusion:

"Their commander is an idiot."

The jab, of course was directed at Krais.

Enkrid stood alone his right hand resting on his waist, his left hanging loosely.

He glanced around casually.

"You're serious about this?" he asked suddenly.

"Serious? What kind of question is that for a battlefield?" Frog replied smoothly, skilled in psychological warfare.

Meanwhile, two more squads moved behind Enkrid assembling long spears to aim at him.

Now, twenty crossbows faced him from the front, twenty spears from the rear and twenty soldiers with swords and shields held the front line.

Each was a well-trained soldier personally prepared by Frog himself.

Teeth were gritted audibly as some soldiers clenched their jaws. This was a perilous operation yet they volunteered for it driven by hatred—hatred for Enkrid the man from Border Guard.

"I am Enkrid of Border Guard," the man introduced himself.

"We know," Frog answered, placing his hands on the two loop swords at his waist.

Thick-bladed, heavy weapons—they were his weapons of choice.

"Are you really serious?" Enkrid asked again.

"Is pointless chatter your specialty? Or are you scared? If so, I understand." Frog replied, his calm voice exuding confidence. A leader assured of victory.

He knew his tone would bolster his troops' morale.

"Fire!" he commanded.

The twenty crossbowmen made as if to release their bolts, but Enkrid remained unmoved.

"Really?" he asked again, this time almost mockingly.

"That bastard," one soldier growled through gritted teeth.

But the crossbows didn't fire.

Instead, the twenty spearmen behind Enkrid lunged. Their thrusts were unnervingly fast, precise and lethal.

This was a hallmark of Frog's rigorous training regimen.

Frog anticipated that Enkrid would dodge sideways.

Predicting this, the crossbowmen adjusted their aim in advance.

When facing a knight-level opponent reacting too late spelled death.

But Enkrid didn't dodge.

Instead, he swung his sword downward pressing against three spear shafts at once. It was not a swift movement, but a crushing on as though a massive boulder had slammed into them.

The sheer weight of the strike drove the spearheads into the ground, while Enkrid deflected others with a leather wrist guard or sidestepped their trajectories.

It was a display of mastery reading every attack and responding with overwhelming power and precision.

Not a single soldier died, but three spearmen collapsed trembling from the shock.

Frog's cheeks puffed out in frustration.

Even the spear shafts Enkrid struck had not shattered merely driven into the earth.

Yet, the men who held them were quaking on their knees.

"Ha."

Jamal let out a sound of pure admiration as he witnessed the scene.

Among those present, only he grasped what had just occurred.

"Again!"

General Frog shouted, though the command was for a different formation this time.

"Waaaaaah!"

A group of soldiers armed with swords and shields charged forward with loud cries, while crossbowmen split to the sides firing their bolts.

Thududududung!

Neither Abnaier, nor Barnas Hurrier, nor General Frog expected their current forces to defeat a knight or even inflict serious harm.

The strategy was merely to scratch, distract or cause some minor inconvenience enough to tip the scales in favor of their allied knights.

These soldiers were effectively sacrificial pawns.

But they hadn't anticipated this level of futility.

'Was I arrogant?' thought Frog.

What is a knight?

A calamity.

The man before them embodied that truth.

He brought his sword down three times, each stroke carving an afterimage into the air.

Though his movements appeared slower than the arrows that flew toward him, every one of those arrows fell harmlessly to the ground.

Clink, clatter.

The sound echoed as the arrows broke or bounced away.

"How...?" the frog general muttered, unable to comprehend the sheer impossibility of it all.

When the spear phalanx made its move, Enkrid countered with another downward strike of his sword snapping four spear shafts cleanly in two.

The sturdy shafts, crafted from heavily treated birch wood broke like brittle reeds.

The jagged edges resembled the fangs of a wild beast.

With a casual swing, Enkrid swept the splintered remains aside as another volley of bolts came for him.

He brought his blade down once more scattering them like dust.

Then came the squad of desperate soldiers armed with swords and shields their faces contorted with grim resolve.

Their clenched jaws visible beneath their helmets betrayed their desperation.

These men were prepared to die if it meant so much as tearing the hem of their enemy's clothes or at the very least forcing him to expend his secondary weapons.

Yet Enkrid's sword fell upon them.

The soldiers in its path raised their shields, as if the swing had been slow enough to meet them on their terms.

The result was the same as before a crushing blow that broke through shields, sent blood spraying from arms and left many soldiers staggering to the ground unable to recover from the sheer force of the impact.

"Urk!"

"Ugh!"

The unfortunate few whose arms snapped under the blow screamed in pain.

"A crushing sword?" Jamal murmured to himself.

Enkrid nodded, acknowledging the observation.

"Ha!"

Jamal let out another cry of admiration.

This confirmed everything he had suspected.

The young man he once knew hadn't just become a knight—he had returned as someone far greater.

"You've become an interesting one."

If Enkrid had been a rookie knight drunk on his sense of omnipotence, perhaps the reckless tactics employed by the sacrificial units might have worked.

Even a single scratch would have been advantageous.

A well-trained unit, after all was intimidating by mere presence.

The physical toll of a prolonged battle could leave even a victorious knight vulnerable to a final bolt fired at an exhausted opponent.

But Enkrid was no ordinary knight.

Though newly appointed, he carried the experience and cunning of a seasoned warrior.

He responded to provocations not with words but with decisive actions.

From the start Enkrid had dismissed General Frog's provocation as insignificant.

As evidence General Frog had swung his two heavy looped swords at Enkrid, but he had shattered Frog's twin swords with a single strike and kicked him aside.

The sacrificial charges, spear thrusts and relentless volleys of crossbow bolts were meaningless.

They were fighting a true force of nature, a disaster—a Knight.

"Good. Very good," Jamal muttered aloud, unable to contain his excitement.

There was something about Enkrid that stirred the blood.

The crushing sword a technique Jamal remembered vividly.

Years ago, he had asked Enkrid how he had managed to block his attack.

"A crushing sword," had been the answer.

It was now clear why Enkrid had chosen to face the entire formation on his own.

He was calling out to him.

Jamal resolved himself and stepped forward.

The refined Will emanating from him weighed heavily upon the battlefield pressing down on Enkrid.

Yet Enkrid rejected the pressure as naturally as he breathed.

"I never liked Abnaier's methods," Jamal said.

In a knight's duel, there are things more important than victory principles and honor.

Why should a knight bear even the slightest shame to his honor?

The purity of their resolve is what gives their strength its true form.

"Sir Jamal?" General Frog called, retrieving his broken sword.

"Step back. If you stay too close, and you'll die," Jamal warned his gaze fixed on Enkrid.

At last, Enkrid gave a faint smile.

Recognition flashed in his eyes as he regarded his opponent.

Memories surfaced—of battles fought, of comrades lost.

The image of Ragna, slain by his blade burned brightly in his mind.

"Are you ready to die?" Enkrid asked.

"Ha, arrogant brat." Jamal smirked.

Both men grinned, their mutual anticipation palpable.

Was this a contest of equals?

Perhaps not.

Jamal, a knight of many years was polished and well-versed in his craft.

By all accounts, he should triumph.

Yet Enkrid had long abandoned thoughts of victory or defeat.

The sheer exhilaration coursing through him was enough to ignite his very being.

"Fun, isn't it?" Enkrid asked, his voice carrying the manic edge of a man fully immersed in the thrill of battle.

Jamal, too had once burned with that wild fervor.

Now, faced with Enkrid's raw, unrestrained energy he felt that fire rekindle within him.

"It will be," Jamal replied firmly.

In an instant, the space between them collapsed as their swords met.

Whoom!

Jamal swung his vibrating blade in a wide arc.

Enkrid intercepted the strike with his gladius, the two swords clashing with a resounding metallic clang.

Sparks flew as the two warriors traded a single strike, crossed paths and turned to face each other once more.

"Not bad," Jamal remarked, unfazed despite his opening strike being deflected.

Of course, this was not his true specialty.

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Many thanks to 47thdemigod for proofreading the Chapter