Eternally Regressing Knight Chapter 823

823. Five, three, two

It wasn’t really the smell of alcohol. Encred pulled himself together. He’d fallen asleep while drinking, but he’d seen everything and heard everything.
His memory hadn’t lapsed, so he remembered everything until the very end. Everyone had been drunk and then fallen asleep, and nothing had happened.
Rem howled like a wolf.
Saxon, seeing this, said, “Pure love doesn’t suit you. So die!” and threw a dagger.
Ragnar woke up and shouted, “It’s not heat, it’s a blade.” Audin began to sing, “Lord, Lord, Lord,” and it became clear why he hadn’t focused on singing or chanting.
His voice was powerful, but the pitch was off. He
seemed to be okay when he sang softly, but was that achieved through effort, or through sheer effort?

‘They say singing is a talent?’

A thought suddenly occurred to me.
Who said that? Nurat’s face flashed through my mind, then the face of someone I’d forgotten.
So…

‘Captain Garrett?’

Garrett Guy, that was his name. He was a gifted singer, and he retired from the military to pursue a life as a bard rather than a soldier.
News of him continued to come from time to time. He had composed songs like “The Magical Knight” and “The Heartbreaker,” but his songwriting skills were reportedly lacking.
Kreis, feeling a twinge of anxiety and pressure, would often resort to chatter to relieve his stress.
This was part of the conversation.

“Don’t you remember Garrett Guy? He’s become quite famous these days.”
“Who was he?”

It’s impossible to ask a man who repeats the same day to remember every passing relationship.

“Sometimes I think it’s stupid.”

Encred flicked his finger on the forehead of the muttering Christ.

“Oh my god, my head is going to explode.”
“So what?”
“No, it’s just like that.”

He became famous for his singing talent, but he was worried about his lack of songwriting skills.
He said he had received a letter from his lover and bodyguard, Nurath.

“Your thoughts are long.”

Encred lifted his head at the boatman’s words. It was strange. This was a world of dreams, or of imagination.
To think otherwise in such a place?
And, as always, the boatman today was kind and gentle.
Even when Encred was lost in thought, he waited and simply stood in his place.

“What’s going on?”

Encred asked. “You’re not the kind of person I’d call just to see your face.”

“Look.”

The boatman immediately reached out with the hand not holding the lamp. A long pole suddenly formed in that hand. A purple light pulsed through its pitch-black body.
Encred wondered what it was, but instinctively he took up his stance.
Before he knew it, he too held a sword, identical in shape to the dawn.

hook.

A spear flew. A spear is a weapon. It’s a weapon more advantageous than a sword in a fight over space.
The ferry had already expanded, providing ample room to maneuver. The wooden floor felt harder than marble.
He raised his sword and struck the blade. Ting. If he channeled the force of the thrust, a gap opened. Digging in, he now had the distance of the swordsman.
It was a simple thought process, but it wasn’t calculated, but intuition. That meant he ducked and lunged forward as soon as he’d slid the blade with his sword. Then,
Encred saw the tip of the other spear shaft shoot upward.

‘If you get hit, you die.’

This time too, because I knew in advance, I was able to apply the brakes and pull the sword to swing.

Bang-!

A crisp noise erupted as the spear and blade met. With that noise, the attack ended, and the sparring ceased.
The boatman had already retreated a considerable distance, more than ten paces away. Yet, his voice was still clearly audible.

“It’s murder.”

The boatman spoke. It wasn’t difficult to understand his meaning. There are many similar skills in swordsmanship.
To put it simply, the first is the “Pagap.”

‘Breaking the armored man.’

Technically speaking, it refers to targeting areas that are not covered by armor.

‘Like the spear that was aimed at my neck a moment ago.’

Even if you aim at armor, you swing it with enough strength to target an area unprotected by the armor.
Second, you attack with a non-blade area. This means that attacks that normally rely on the blade take on a different form.
In other words, it becomes a fatal weapon with unexpected power.

‘A technique that decides the outcome in an instant.’

It’s similar to Fel’s. It’s a single-hit, decisive attack.
The blade is a trick, and the subsequent spear strike is the real deal, making it an attack that utilizes several psychological devices.

“Stick to the basics, but don’t judge others.”

As soon as he heard it, he chewed on the meaning of the words.
The boatman taught, and Encred lowered his sword and listened. It was something born from experience, or perhaps something learned through dying.
Before he knew it, the sword in his hand vanished, and the spear the boatman had held dissipated like smoke.

“Are you happy?”

The boatman asked.
Encrid raised his empty hand, as if to ask if he would like to compete one more time.

“I think it would be more fun if we did it a few more times.”

Instead of granting Encred’s wish, the boatman said:

“It is said that if you know the desires and fears of another, you can know him.”

The purple lamp was still. The river was less rippling today than usual. The boat was equally quiet. Just moments ago, when he’d swung his spear and sword, it felt like he was moving a steel boat on the ground.
As Encred stared blankly, the boatman’s mouth fell open again.

“Do you want to know the devil’s desires?”

I knew it the moment I heard it.
It was an offer. It was a temptation.

“I will tell you their fears.”

The boatman didn’t finish his speech. He continued.

“You could also have such pleasant dreams every day.”

This was a declaration from someone obsessed with technology, swordsmanship, sparring, training, and discipline that promised to grant him his greatest pleasure.
He also promised to reveal the identity of the unknown enemy, shrouded in mystery.
Of course, this wasn’t a promise made without any strings attached.
The sailor always has a desire.

“Repeat the day you just had today. Ten times. It’s simple. Just say you want to die right now. That’s it. The next nine times, just commit suicide before the end of the day. It’s not difficult.”

So far, there have been so many deaths. Suicide was nothing to Encred. True. It wasn’t difficult.
Yet, Encred remained silent. The boat was calm, the river less turbulent than ever, yet somehow, his stomach still lurched. Silence settled between them. The boatman’s parched lips, reminiscent of a wasteland untouched by rain for months, parted once more.

“Five times?”

The numbers dwindled.
Encred knew what the ferryman wanted.
He wanted a day without darkness, a day without thunder and lightning.
He urged them to repeat that day, but his only wish was for peace.

‘Go forward as if you’ve never died.’

It must be a different boatman than the one who said that.
Their desires are the same.
Well, maybe each boatman is a little different? Encred knew he couldn’t know everything, and he didn’t even try to find out.

“Will that work?”

Only then did I open my mouth and ask again.

“How about three times?”

He knows that today is precious because it never returns.
Encred knows that even if he were given some magic that allowed him to repeat today at will, he wouldn’t.
He must move forward toward tomorrow.
He has used the opportunity to repeat today as death, but he must not become complacent.
His unwavering conviction remains unwavering.

“Twice?”

The number the boatman wanted was reduced, but Encrid did not listen.

“You will regret it.”

Finally, the bad news came out.

“Aren’t you tired of saying that?”

The captain realized that he had repeated similar threats.

“……You will really regret it.”

It seemed this time the
boatman’s vocabulary was a bit lacking. Encred opened his eyes. Those who had been lying around drunkenly also woke up one by one.

“Why am I here?”

Lawford blinked at the clothes and boots I had taken off and laid out.

“What kind of alcohol did you bring?”

Saxon added a word. He looked at Rem with languid eyes.
Saxon was no stranger to alcohol. But what he had yesterday wasn’t even close to his ability to handle.

“Oh, I don’t know, kid. Anne said she’d brew a drink that would get you drunk instantly, even though your body wouldn’t develop a tolerance to it.”
“It’s not alcohol, it’s medicine.”

Anne, who had been visiting since mid-morning, received those words.

“I took it and wondered what it would do. I told you, it’s something people who can’t function normally because of alcohol drink a little bit every day.”

Anne’s research is broad. The recent affluence of the Border Guard has fostered leisure, and this leisure has fostered a variety of hobbies.
One man, who discovered that some of them suffered from health problems due to excessive drinking, dreamed of a drink that would induce intoxication but be less taxing on the body. After all ,
you can’t sell tea at a salon.
Is there a drink that gets you drunk but lessens the burden on the body?
The request was this:
the drink they drank yesterday was the result of research funded by Kreis.
It also means that Rem and Kreis collaborated on this project. They wanted to taste it and see how strong it was.

“I’ll be okay if I sweat a little.”

Encred said. He woke up later than yesterday, but he moved his body without a second thought. People
say they live each day the same, but that consistency isn’t always the same. There are days when he misses training. Encred knows that’s possible.
He just keeps trying.

“Anyway, you drank well.”

Anne’s eyes also lit up. The proof of the remarkable potion or potion I had created was abundant before my eyes.
The knight got drunk, the prog got drunk, the fairy got drunk, and even the bear-man got drunk.

‘Oh, it’s not a bear.’

It’s a correction. Instead, the half-breed giant also got drunk.
Teresa got up, still wearing only her tight underwear, and hurriedly gathered her clothes.
Lawford stared at her. She wasn’t the only one who had slept naked.

“Yeah. I guess it’ll get better if I sweat a little.”

As always, Fel agreed with Encred.

* * *

No matter what the Mad Knights did, Rem’s assault unit continued their daily routine:
training and patrolling the foothills of the Fen-Hanil Mountains.
They had their own areas along the road connecting the mountains to the city and at the foot of the mountains, and another area was under the command of the ten swordsmen under Ragna.
Naturally, the Holy Infantry also had their own area.
Of course, Rem’s assault unit was the furthest inland.
Was that their will? Surely not.

“Our unit is the furthest in. No objection. All the bastards here have their heads chopped off by axes.”

Rem doesn’t explain. He simply makes a polite request and wish.
Of course, it’s Rem’s usual politeness.
The upside is that his psychological structure isn’t difficult. He doesn’t twist things around either.

‘You’re saying you don’t want to lose.’

They liked that too. If they were going to do something, they had to be the best. Perhaps that
simple mindset didn’t originate with Rem, but rather with the very fact that they’d gathered such people from the beginning.
Rem’s assault unit numbered over a hundred. Including the reserves and trainees, it even exceeded a hundred and fifty.
And among them, some were worthy of being called Rem’s assault unit.
Within the Border Guard, they were sometimes called Rem’s personal guard, and within the assault unit, they were simply called the 1st unit.
The unit numbered just over twenty, and all were following Rem’s training wishes. Furthermore, many of them were from the West.
They had followed Rem’s example or were wanderers from the West who had joined.
Naturally, they didn’t belittle or fight each other based on their origins.
That’s why their training was so arduous. It was enough to naturally foster a camaraderie that had never existed before.
To them, the assault unit was like brothers and family.
Race or origin didn’t matter.
Those twenty were gathered together, prowling and rummaging through the mountains.
This mountain range was a constant headache if not periodically cleared of demons and beasts.
This patrol and practical training were for that purpose.

“Hey, have you ever seen anything like that?”

One of the men asked. He was a man with a habit of furrowing his eyebrows.
The western warrior raised an axe.

“It’s already hot.”

It was summer. The mountain range was damp and hot. A thick sweat flowed down my face.
A monster emerged from the midst of it all, its entire body composed of flames. It resembled a lump of blazing firewood.
It had three legs and two heads.
It was a strange creature.

“It’s my first time seeing him.”

They all acted like brothers, but of course, there was a chain of command.
Usually, a warrior recognized by Rem was the commander. His recognition meant surviving a blow from his own axe without dying. “This is what the
former mercenary, now the commander of the Rem assault unit, said,” said the man with a long scar across his eye, a former mercenary and current commander of the Rem assault unit.

“Oh, I don’t know. Just take care of it.”

Would you run away from a monster you’ve never seen before?
Rem’s assault unit didn’t. One of the men reacted to the words by throwing a hatchet.
The axe, forged from steel, pierced the monster’s body.

pop!

The flames spread in a circle, then converged again.
And this time, a foot was added and a head was half crushed.

Hurruk.

As the creature opened its perfectly healthy mouth, flames erupted. The two-span flames ignited, incinerating the surrounding grass.
The damp weather made it difficult for fires to start.

“It doesn’t work.”

The brother who threw the throwing axe spoke. It was a monster impervious to ordinary weapons, even those refined from iron.
And it breathed fire.