Eternally Regressing Knight Chapter 871

871. One-sided

“If massacre is necessary, then so be it. But what if there’s no real reason to do it?”

If there’s no reason to build a river of blood and a tower of flesh, I won’t do it.
That’s Krang’s view. From that perspective, what that madman named Fel is doing is quite admirable.
Reducing the number of soldiers by even one might be better for the future.
The enemy forces now alive could kill my future soldiers, my people.

‘It feels like walking on a tightrope, Enki.’

Krang muttered to himself.
It’s easy to choose the lesser of two evils, but you have to abandon the easy path and choose the difficult one. Those who choose the best path, the path better than the lesser of two evils, must always perform tricks, like tightrope walking.
Just as Krang was doing now.

‘after.’

He sighs only inwardly. He only smiles and displays a confident air. That’s what a king does.
He knows he’s not a brilliant strategist. Instead, he’s someone who knows exactly what to do in his position.
If armies fight armies, both Naurilia and Lichenstätten will end up fatally wounded.

“If the two of us fight this fiercely, who will have the last laugh, Your Majesty?”

Krang asked the distant ruler of the South. Naturally, there was no answer. He had asked in his mind, and he likely hadn’t heard an answer.
He didn’t need one. He knew he didn’t need one.
Even the Great Emperor of the South found it difficult. Would the emperor of the veiled empire, nestled in the north, be pleased?
That’s why there was no need for massacre. That’s why the current situation was so satisfying. He felt like he’d taken a good first step on a tightrope walk.
Fel had done it for him.

‘But that doesn’t mean we can feel at ease.’

The battle wasn’t even over. Krang pondered what would happen next. What to do in his position, what he had come this far for, what to prepare for if something went horribly wrong, and who had sacrificed themselves for this.
The king’s mind was in turmoil. He wasn’t in a position to simply rejoice.

* * *

“So, your colleague is a bit lacking?”

Galuto asked. He watched Fel parry and dodge arrow after arrow. Lawford nodded vigorously in agreement. He seemed to agree with him to an excessive degree. Wasn’t he truly speaking for me? He possessed
discerning eyes. It was a shame to kill him here.
But he couldn’t spare him either.
Encred spoke his mind before charging into battle.

“Subdue all the knights. You can capture them alive, but it won’t mean much. Do what you want.”

As always, I respect everyone. Just do whatever you want.

“What about capturing him alive? I’ll chop off his head with an axe.”

Rem accepted those words.
Knights fight based on oaths and pledges. Just because a Southern knight is a good example, they don’t change their king or place of residence. Even if they do, it’s rare. At the very least, it’s fair to say there’s no room for such composure on this battlefield.
Therefore, capturing them alive is pointless.
This is the second reason Lawford stepped in to replace Fel. That young Fel would undoubtedly show off his skills and swear he’d capture him alive.

‘We are at a disadvantage.’

Lawford went beyond observing small battlefields to scrutinize the overall flow of the war. This was his conclusion, informed by Chrys’s comments. He
couldn’t just spare his opponent’s skills, which was absurd.
Naturally, the primary reason he’d evaded Fel was to tease that bastard, even just once.
After this fight, he’d tease him for being slow, for being as lazy as Lord Ragnar.

“right.”

Lawford opened his mouth to speak. Galut narrowed his eyes. Several thoughts crossed his mind, and he reached a conclusion. Even the slightest provocation wouldn’t work.

“A knight speaks with his sword.”

Galuto said. It’s time to decide the outcome with skill rather than provocation.
Does using composure as a weapon mean you’re inferior? Quite the opposite. Elma is the best fighter in the Amethyst Knights, but in terms of sparring, Galuto has won more.
He knows how to win. He assesses the situation and seizes the high ground. He forces his opponent into a melee and forces them into a calculated battlefield. His individual tactics were the same as when he led his troops.

‘Open the door to all possibilities and prepare for everything.’

A sword that blocks, a sword that holds, a sword that resembles a swamp—these are Galuto’s nicknames. Within the Amethyst Knights alone, there are only a handful of knights who can defeat Galuto. He calculates repeatedly and displays extreme insight. This is Galuto’s specialty.
His gaze sinks, as if he can’t tell whether it’s dirt or a swamp before he steps on it. His eyes are dark brown.
Rotten leaves, dirt, decayed animal bones, and accumulated sediments like a swamp, the eyes like a swamp. Things that haven’t completely decayed clumped together to form a black mass. The
brown in Galuto’s eyes faded, leaving only a dull soot.
He calculated repeatedly, observing his opponent’s posture, his center of gravity, and so on. He glimpsed the actions the continental knight before him would take. He saw the future.

‘A point stab.’

It is the action that the opponent will take.

‘Avoid and hit.’

The outcome wouldn’t be decided in one blow. The events that would follow were clear in his mind.
Lawford simply kept his feet planted on the ground, catching his breath. He made no preparations or calculations.
He gauged his opponent’s skill and watched his every move. He was someone who fought in a similar manner to his own tactics.
Having grasped this, he abandoned his thoughts. Lawford settled on one thing: to leap forward and thrust. He bent his knees and placed his foot on the ground. His right foot dug halfway into the ground.

Wood thud.

When the pressure-packed clod of earth hardens into a rock, it’s ready to be used as a stepping stone. Lawford placed his right foot on the stepping stone, leaned forward, and then bent and straightened his knees. Every movement was lightning-fast.

Liar!

The ground is exploding.

puck!

The flesh burst.
Galuto remained in his place, while Lawford brushed past him. Their positions were reversed. Their backs were exposed. A single blow
decided the outcome of the fight. Blood flowed out, both of them.
However, the one whose neck was pierced died, while the one with the scapula blown off and only a wound to the shoulder lived.
Boom. The scapula, split in half by the force of the blade, fell to the ground. Though made of fine iron and beast hide, it wasn’t strong enough to withstand a knight’s sword.

‘Still, it was great.’

If it weren’t for the shoulder pad, the wound would have been even deeper. Lawford felt a portion of flesh on his left shoulder, where the blade had struck diagonally. It
wasn’t a minor injury, but considering he’d defeated a knight, it was a minor one.

“There’s a monster in our unit that can’t even attack no matter what we do.”

Lawford spoke.
A faint light still lingered in Galuto’s eyes, his throat punctured. He was on the verge of death, but his ears must still be open.
Why had victory been decided so quickly? It was simple. Galuto had focused on protecting himself, envisioning a long fight. Did he see Elma’s defeat out of the corner of his eye? That must have played a role.
On the contrary, Lawford fought like Fel. He approached the fight with the same mindset as Encred. He acted as if he didn’t care if he died today.
The dying Galuto waved his hand in the air. Did he have anything to say? It was hard to hear now. Even a knight wouldn’t have the talent to speak with a hole in his throat.
He waved his hand and fell forward.

thud.

Galuto collapsed to the ground, his face turned to the side, gasping for breath. It wasn’t hard to guess what he meant. It was probably
something like a gamble. Judging by the shape of his lips, that’s what happened.
Blood gushed from his neck. The crimson blood was proof that he was human.
Was he resentful, regardless of whether he won or lost, or whether he lived or died? He died instantly as a gambler?
Perhaps it seemed like a gamble to his opponent.

“It’s not gambling.”

Lawford muttered.
It wasn’t really like that. It was the highest probability tactic he’d found, a feeling he’d acquired through countless sparring and fighting. So he simply chose the best move to win.

‘If the fight goes on for a long time, all factors, including stamina, will come into play.’

His opponent was exceptionally skilled in such combat. It was a calculated tactic, one that Lawford also enjoyed, forcing his opponents to retreat.
The difference between Galuto and Lawford was that Lawford was willing to fight like Fel to win. He didn’t hesitate to resort to bold tactics, even abandoning his usual favorites, to win.
Naturally, the root of all this was a mixture of what he had learned. The captain’s words were particularly striking.

‘A round circle.’

This was Encred’s teaching. After displaying a remarkable special ability, he trained it until it seemed ordinary again. Lawford confirmed that his hardships had indeed been worthwhile when he saw the knight’s body fall before his eyes. Blood poured from his neck, turning the earth a crimson red.
Almost as Lawford’s fight ended, Dunbakel struck his opponent’s neck.
The scimitar in her hand drew a powerful line. She stepped back, then leaped forward, swinging her blade, tearing through the air. A crackling sound lingered in the air, and the head of the enemy caught in the gap was also severed.

“Bigi, cut it quickly, kid.”

It wasn’t a secret. She simply retreated after observing her opponent’s tactics and special moves, then rushed forward and slashed.
Even so, there was no one to answer her. The knight, beheaded, fell to his knees on the ground.
Dunbakel held his breath with a swipe of his sword, then hurried forward a couple of times before speaking. She used that to dodge the lingering poison in the air. Her sense of smell was different from that of ordinary beastmen. She could see traces of the scent with her eyes, even through her sense of smell. Her nose was so sensitive that no one would believe it, no matter how much she told them.
The fight was one-sided. Both Madman and Krang had expected it, but for the enemy, it was a truly absurd moment.

* * *

Encred balanced himself on his saddle and surveyed the battlefield.
As he soared through the skies, he saw some of the Mad Knights—specifically, Rem, Dunbakel, Lawford, and Fel—jump out and slaughter the enemy knights. At the same time, Fel’s acrobatics were on display.

“Why do you think he does that?”

When I asked the one-eyed man for no reason, he just shook his head, “Huh-hung.” ”
Yeah, you wouldn’t know either.
You can’t know a person’s heart unless you put yourself in that person’s shoes. Even if you’re a mercenary like Temares, you can only read a part of their mind.”

‘If you lie about your true intentions, even Yong-in will be fooled.’

It’s a simple but firm principle. It’s common for knights to deceive their own intentions. Sometimes they pretend to win in a single blow while demanding a battle of endurance. Conversely, they pretend to fight for a long time while simultaneously conceding a single blow.
Deceiving your opponent is advantageous. Everyone knows this simple principle.

‘Deceiving others by deceiving yourself first.’

That was the foundation of the Valensian mercenary sword. Now, I know that this swordsmanship embodies the essence of the deceptive sword. It
could be called the parent of the Encred-style orthodox swordsmanship.

‘Everyone is good at lying.’

The best of them all was the fairy. Shinar even used the dragon to poke fun at them. The fairy, who specialized in distorting the truth, not only didn’t read the dragon’s mind, but was also skilled at exploiting it.
Watching this, a thought occurred to me. It was a habit of incorporating some of the fleeting thoughts into my swordsmanship.
In any case, the fight was one-sided. The tide was turning. It was only a few days ago, the unit that had been battered by the rain of demonic magic alongside the griffons was cheering, no wonder.

“Woooooooo!”
“We are!”
“Guardians!”
“We are!”
“Guardians!”

Each unit has its own traditional motto. For example, the Border Guard chant, “The flower of the battlefield is the infantry.” They chanted that the enemy would fight even in hell. Because the Border Guard
‘s motto relied on numerous infantrymen, rather than a small number of cavalrymen, their main force, the motto became entrenched.
The enemy’s motto likely solidified in this way because it resonated with the spirit of the South.

‘The place where the tactic of clinging to a knight even after death was created.’

To put it more simply, the South was where the Knight’s Thousand Slashes first occurred. The Knight who slashed a thousand soldiers, drugged and ready to die, still lives and breathes in the South, holding his weapon.
Finally, the slogan of this place, which calls itself the southern defensive wall, was simple and clear.

We are the guardians, we are the protectors.

It was a slogan imbued with the pride of those who had endured long years of southern invasion and the invasion of the demonic realm. Encred was merely an ally, and he had no intention of belittling their accomplishments with a final swing of the sword. Even
without him, even without the Mad Knights, the Red Cloaks would have prevailed.
Much less so.

‘That won’t do.’

There were only four knights. While the number of soldiers was somewhat large, considering the prestige of Cyprus that had been preserved, they were too few and too young.

‘Why?’

The question was fleeting. As I continued my thoughts, I saw several dots approaching behind our forces. They were an enemy detachment. Strictly speaking, they weren’t human, so they couldn’t be called an army.
Galuto didn’t simply die. He unleashed every card he had, including his trump card. He
had probably anticipated victory, but the arrows he fired did reach our positions. Encred saw it.