A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“Where did you learn that step?”

Ragna abruptly asked on the fifth ‘today’.

Of course, you taught me.

Encrid couldn’t be honest.

“I’ve been to over twenty training schools.”

Some of them were close to being frauds, but many taught properly.

“Hmm.”

Ragna nodded.

As Encrid moved based on the steps he learned from Ragna, Ragna’s expression became more lively. He was enjoying this moment.

To be honest, Ragna wasn’t a great teacher.

He couldn’t be.

A genius doesn’t look at their own feet.

That’s why it’s difficult for them to teach the path they’ve taken.

How do you explain something that you just do naturally?

When he says to strike with the sword, he thinks you just strike.

He doesn’t explain the steps and weight shifts needed in between. No, he can’t explain them.

He’s the worst type to open a swordsmanship school.

Encrid realized this on the first day.

But it was fine.

If the teacher is a mess, the student just has to be good.

In that sense, Encrid was arguably the best on the continent.

“Where should my foot go? Which direction should my toes point?”

“Do I have to tell you that too?”

It’s not a tone of criticism. He’s genuinely curious.

“Yes.”

Ragna corrected his posture by telling him the direction his toes should point and showed his own stance.

That stance was exemplary of basic techniques.

Anyone with an eye for talent would drool over such skills.

Just watching Ragna’s stance repeatedly helped Encrid.

“How about the weight shift?”

“Yes, do it at that timing.”

Encrid asked, and Ragna answered.

Throughout the twelve repetitions of today, Ragna only taught Encrid steps and posture.

“Stance and footwork first, basics next.”

“Sometimes you manage a decent swing.”

“Right now, you’re not even capable of chopping firewood.”

“If the enemy soldier dies from that downward strike, thank him three times for dying.”

“So, was I dancing just now?”

“It was a dance. Since you held a sword, it might be called a sword dance, but I don’t want to call it that. Let’s name it the stick dance.”

Ragna delivered his sarcastic remarks calmly.

‘Was this guy always like this?’

Rem was a much softer teacher by comparison.

Sometimes, his comments made you wonder if he was crazy, but overall, he was satisfying.

Every day felt like breaking out of an egg and being reborn.

As they started practicing diagonal slashes, Ragna spoke.

“The line connecting the opponent and yourself is called the attack line. This line is usually the shortest distance between two people and the path the weapon will take during an attack.”

“Blocking the opponent’s attack line and extending your own, this is also a basic. Do you understand? It doesn’t seem like you do. Oh, is this one of those things? Where you understand it in your head but your body won’t cooperate?”

“Let me rephrase. The squad leader understands it only with his mouth.”

Ragna was a person who couldn’t teach without sarcasm.

Learning and learning again.

Twenty days passed.

Twenty-five days passed.

“…I thought your basics were terrible, but at least you know how to use your feet.”

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It was something he heard on the thirty-fifth day today.

By this time, Encrid’s behavior had changed a bit.

He didn’t die immediately after the mist settled.

He dodged the first thrust of the spear, then charged in and died.

Spears often stuck into his body like a porcupine.

It was a pretty decent method.

Sometimes, a spear would miss.

Why would anyone withdraw a spear when someone runs at them asking to be killed?

I understand. It must be baffling to see someone suddenly rushing in asking to be killed.

When the spear missed, he had to writhe for an hour before dying.

That was truly an unbearable sequence of pain and a series of horrible moments.

Each time, Ragna would call or shout at Encrid.

“Squad Leader!”

“Crazy!”

“Hey!”

Eventually, in urgent situations, he would just shout “Hey!”

Encrid faithfully filled each day.

“Your posture is better than I thought.”

He improved little by little. Every time he changed, Ragna frowned.

“Until yesterday, you definitely…”

He would mutter like this.

“…Where did you learn that?”

When a hundred days had passed, Ragna asked,

“Who are you?”

When Encrid looked at him wondering what he was talking about, Ragna exclaimed, “You were a mess until yesterday. How did you improve so much in one day? Is it magic?”

Ragna was astonished. Encrid burst out laughing at his reaction.

“Why? Do you think my skills are better than you expected?”

“It’s more than just a little. I’m starting to wonder if you’re really the squad leader.”

Ragna looked at him with genuine suspicion.

This was the squad full of troublemakers, and Ragna was an eccentric himself.

“So, are you not going to teach me?”

“It’s not that.”

Ragna started again with a hesitant attitude.

After that, they practiced with an imaginary sparring partner.

Concepts of the attack line, how to grip the sword, and how to use the sword for defense.

“If it’s a good-quality sword, you can block with the side, otherwise, block with the blade.”

“Slashing, thrusting, cutting—these three are the basics. Your steps and posture aren’t bad, so focus on refining these three fundamental techniques.”

Ragna taught many types of steps.

Advancing, passing by, penetrating, evading, sidestepping, turning around, and making a wide turn.

Just memorizing these was mentally exhausting, but through practice, they became somewhat ingrained in his body.

Even a slow learner improved with one-on-one guidance from someone of this skill level.

While the subtleties were invisible to a genius, for Encrid, every slight improvement was exhilarating.

“Picture your opponent in your mind. Then swing your sword.”

Clang!

He continued learning through dozens of repetitions of ‘today’.

Diagonal slashes, sword binds, wrapping strikes, angled cuts, overhead horizontal slashes, side slashes, top-down slashes, counter strikes, half-sword fighting, parrying, deflecting, continuous strikes, penetrating, drawing cuts.

As time passed, Ragna’s sarcastic remarks diminished.

“You’re better than I thought. Where did you learn the binding technique?”

“One of my previous instructors drilled binding into me relentlessly.”

“Excellent.”

Ragna seemed satisfied with that.

He used this approach when learning other techniques as well.

“The previous training school said my overhead horizontal slash was always a mess. If you’re going to teach me swordsmanship, we should start with that.”

“…I’m the one teaching, but it seems you’ve already decided what you want to learn.”

“Not necessarily.”

When Encrid shrugged, Ragna conducted a short test.

Then, he soon followed Encrid’s suggestion.

“Let’s do that.”

Ragna would never know, but after repeating today several times and teaching, he would move on once he thought it was enough.

Each time that happened, Encrid moved on to the next lesson.

Repeating today, sweating under the blazing sun as their roof.

What might have been tedious and nauseating for someone else, was not so for Encrid.

When about two hundred days had passed.

“Hmm?”

Upon opening his eyes, he saw a black river.

What was going on?

He saw a ferryman, a ferryman with his eyes covered.

Although he didn’t see the ferryman’s mouth open, a voice clearly pierced his ears.

“Are you crazy? You keep dying on your own? You foolish idiot.”

The ferryman’s tone was calm, but the content was not. Before Encrid could respond, he woke up from the dream.

Again, it was the familiar ‘today’.

Encrid just opened his eyes and didn’t move. He fell into thought.

“Did you have a wet dream or something? What are you doing?”

Next to him, Rem made a noise like a puppy might make.

Ignoring him, Encrid got up.

‘Let’s just assume he wanted to call me a crazy idiot.’

Even if he wanted to ask why, he couldn’t ask that.

There’s no point in clinging to a question that won’t yield an answer no matter how much he thinks about it.

Encrid stood up.

“Do you know anything about magic?”

At those words, Rem quickly turned his head.

“Magic?”

“If you know something, tell me.”

Every time the mist rolled in, Rem would say something related to magic.

He surely knew something.

All this time, Encrid had been too busy honing the basics of swordsmanship, but now he had some leeway.

His training had become second nature.

Ragna was always surprised by how much his skills had improved.

Although he hadn’t tested his abilities yet, Encrid felt he had definitely gotten better.

“Magic is magic, what else would it be?”

“Tell me what you know, it sounds interesting.”

Normally, Encrid wouldn’t start a conversation like this. Rem grinned and began to speak.

“What wind blew that made you curious? Alright. Let’s put it simply. Do you know the difference between magic and witchcraft?”

“Magic is more common.”

Although rare, magicians could be seen occasionally.

But witchcraft? Encrid, who had traveled all over the continent, had never seen it. It was that rare.

“That’s not incorrect.”

Rem said as he tidied up his sleeping spot. He roughly rolled up the blanket and pushed it aside, put on his boots, and stepped outside.

Encrid followed him out.

It was the same today as always.

He didn’t feel bored. Whatever today was, for Encrid, it was always an enjoyable day.

As Encrid followed, Rem continued.

“Witchcraft requires a medium. I know magic sometimes needs a medium too, but witchcraft relies heavily on sacrifices or mediums. Without them, it can’t even begin.”

“Did your tribe use that too?”

Rem was from the western frontier.

That area became a frontier because the central continental empire won the war.

Before that, the west was the land of different tribes.

This story was over a hundred years old.

Now, it had firmly become the western frontier, and the western tribes had been assimilated as a part of one race.

They were still derogatorily called barbarians sometimes, but witchcraft had originated from the west.

That was common knowledge.

“I’ve seen it a few times. But do you know that there are very few real witch doctors? The ones wandering the continent are all charlatans, charlatans.”

If Rem says so, it must be true.

Encrid nodded and went back to his tasks.

“Where are you going?”

“Training.”

He went to meet Ragna to hone his basics again.

Around the 250th repetition of today, Ragna spoke up.

“Have your fundamentals always been this solid?”

Ragna’s red pupils widened as he brushed his blonde hair aside.

“It seems you’ve always specialized in the longsword.”

Yeah, that sounds about right.

He had been training with this sword all along.

It’s unfamiliar, but his hand is used to it. It’s the first time this sword has felt Encrid’s touch, but this process has been repeated many times.

It’s the familiarity gained through repeated days.

“It’s time for some real combat.”

Ragna said after training.

Encrid nodded, acknowledging.

“What are you doing? They’re calling us.”

Rem called them. On the way back, Encrid got some bread through Krais and started chewing.

He soaked the hard bread in water and chewed it down, also getting some jerky to eat.

He checked his equipment and stood back on the battlefield.

As the longsword he exchanged with Ragna swung at his waist, Rem asked,

“Didn’t you pay a lot for the sword you were using?”

“This one feels more comfortable.”

“I’ve seen many guys switch weapons overnight and end up dead.”

Is that a curse or a concern?

“Worry about yourself.”

He exhaled and steadied his mind.

The Heart of the Beast is said to give courage, but he couldn’t rely on that alone.

If it’s real combat, it should be for the sake of ‘tomorrow.’

Encrid thought before the enemy came into view.

‘Witchcraft needs a medium.’

That medium is incredibly important.

According to Rem, it is.

What if the enemy stayed in the tall grass not for an ambush, but for concealment?

What if they had something they wanted to hide?

Encrid had seen it beforehand.

Flagpoles and banners.

When he set fire to one tent, instead of killing the intruder, they were busy putting out the fire.

Soon the enemy came into view.

A soldier from the adjacent 3rd squad, holding a spear, frowned and muttered.

“Why is their formation like that?”

It was a formation clustered around the flagpoles, with no tactical value.

Then it must hold only ritualistic value.

Six flagpoles and banners rose above the enemy.

They are the mediums of witchcraft.

“Huh!”

Fog spread and obscured his vision.

Alright, let’s swim through the fog of witchcraft.

Encrid’s ears twitched.

The keen hearing he got from Jaxon would now replace his sight.

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