WE TRIED TRANSLATIONS

Translator: Ryuu

Editor: Abstract

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

A KNIGHT WHO ETERNALLY REGRESSES

 

Chapter 6: His Hands Should Have Torn

 

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Each day that got repeated was spent valuably by Enkrid. He never wasted any of them.

'I'm just average.’

When it comes to swordsmanship, he wan't be a prodigy or a genius, let alone a natural-born talent.

After the eighth failure, Enkrid thought,

'I tried to finish a meal with just one forkful.'

Far from being a genius, he was not even a prodigy or a talent. Enkrid divided his tasks,

'Take half a step at a time.'

There was nothing tedious. The repetitive days, along with the growing skill. It was like an addiction. Enkrid found this situation immensely enjoyable.

'There are many good points.'

Above all, the best part was being able to constantly experience real battles and those experiences were intense, causing him to risk life itself. Enkrid made full use of it, making the most of his days. He trained the Heart of the Beast and learned new sword techniques until he went to the battlefield.

Along with that, the repeating time also made him memorize the events happening around him. The gambling at the neighboring barracks during breakfast was a good example.

"Damn it! You cheated, didn't you?"

"Cheating? You bastard, I'm just lucky."

A familiar morning scene. It wasn't cheating. Having seen it several times, he knew. The dice always rolled the same numbers, and Enkrid was aware of it.

Passing by, he spent another day. Repeating. The recurring real battles broadened Enkrid's perspective. More precisely, having plenty of time to think broadened his range of thought.

'There's no need to specifically deflect an arrow to save Bell.'

That's something only a first-class mercenary could do. Enkrid gave up cleanly, and by doing so, he could save Bell.

Thump!

All he needed was a sturdier shield. The arrow lodged into the round shield. No matter how skilled an archer, it's impossible to pierce the skull of a soldier hidden behind a shield.

"Where the hell did you pop out from?"

Bell, who had fallen, asked with wide eyes.

"How long do you plan to roll around on the ground? Get up quickly, won't you?"

After roughly wiping away the sweat with the back of his hand, Enkrid kicked Bell's buttocks. Having his buttocks patted, Bell headed back into the battlefield again.

'By saving him here, will I be able to see this bastard's face tomorrow?'

Who knows. He had just chosen this as the first point. Slicing through the battlefield to save Bell was the small goal Enkrid had set. He achieved it on the twenty-fifth repetition.

"Damn. Mother Superior's got nothing on you. When you have time, save me too. Instead of saving some other unit's scum."

It was routine for Rem to suddenly pop out from behind and spout nonsense. Every time he saved Bell, he would spit out crazy words with a different repertoire, and each time, Enkrid would respond in kind.

Mother referred to a nun in charge of a monastery.

"You're excommunicated. You look too filthy."

The monastery doesn't accept anyone who's not a believer. Excommunication means being told to leave Mother's embrace, in other words, being kicked out of the monastery. The joke was quite highbrow for a conversation with Rem.

"What a filthy world we live in, discriminating based on looks, ptooey."

As always, Rem left without being deterred. He was off to catch some guy with eagle eyes, he didn't need to say it for Enkrid to know. 

Even after repeating the day about fifty times, Enkrid still couldn't defeat the enemy soldier that stabbed him. He managed to block the attack several times by luck, but at that moment, someone would jump out from the side and smash his head with a hammer.

"There's no need to drag this out."

Said the guy who smashed Enkrid's head.

Enkrid didn't even know how he got hit. Suddenly everything spun, and the ground was rushing up to meet him. He didn't have the mind to shake his head. He just felt a sticky liquid trickling down his face. When he somewhat regained his senses, he realized he was on his knees, having dropped his sword.

"This must be painful, mercy."

Then a blade pierced his throat, forcing him to flail in agony. The blade digging into his neck. An unfamiliar pain surged through his body. It felt like his throat was being gouged with a red-hot iron, scrambling his brain. Dying, Enkrid blinked. The blood in his eyes dyed the world red.

Beyond that red-drenched vision, the red eyes of the enemy soldier wielding the sword could be seen through the helmet's visor. They weren't actually red, but they appeared so at the moment. A shallow thrill lingered in the enemy's eyes. Having died so many times, he saw all sorts of things. It was also thanks to the heart of a trained beast.

'What a pervert.'

It wasn't the act of granting mercy that was the goal, but the thrill of killing that led to his death. The bastard always thrust the blade into the neck and slowly pulled it out. He might have been getting aroused by feeling the last breath of others through the sword.

Even realizing this, Enkrid remained calm. Having surpassed countless moments of death, a natural boldness settled in. It was only natural.

And then,

"What, are you secretly enjoying a tryst somewhere?"

On the eighty-sixth time, Rem suddenly said. Enkrid frowned at Rem's words.

What kind of nonsense is this?

"What?"

"The Heart of the Beast, you learned that from me, but there's no way you could have trained it to this extent by yourself."

The axe blade stopped a mere finger's width from Enkrid's eye. If it had come any closer, the wind pressure alone might have damaged the cornea. Thanks to that, Enkrid could only see half of Rem's face beyond the finely sharpened axe blade, but even in such a moment, his breathing didn't falter.

The strength brought by the Heart of the Beast. The boldness that allowed him to endure even when he knew pain was coming. Enkrid, looking beyond the axe blade at Rem's questioning eyes, thought,

'So this can happen too.'

By repeating the day, the Heart of the Beast was trained, so it must have been a ridiculous situation for its original teacher. He only realized it now because Rem was the type of squad member who didn't care about the details. Rem might talk a lot of nonsense, but he wasn't the type to question things.

Except when it came to the Heart of the Beast, since he taught it himself. Enkrid didn't make any lame excuses. There was no need for that. After thinking it over for the day, he could just make adjustments on the next repeating day.

Thump, Rem pulled back his axe. Enkrid's view cleared. Not even a scratch was left on his face. Rem handled the heavy axe as if it were his own hand. Pulling back the axe, Rem scratched his head with the end of the axe handle.

"I don't get it, I was wondering if you learned from someone else besides me."

Even as he spoke, his face seemed to question the plausibility of his words. Enkrid was the Fourth-Fourth Squad leader, and this damned squad wouldn't listen to anyone but him. After learning the Heart of the Beast from Rem, Enkrid had never left the squad. So, even if he wanted to, he wouldn't have had the time to learn.

Rem watched Enkrid closely. 

Unless he learned secretly while on night duty… No, that, too, was implausible.

"Your swordplay is good enough that you could die this afternoon and it'd be 'Ah, I see', but how can only your heart toughen up?"

What a thing to say. He would die this afternoon. Rem didn't know anything, but his words inadvertently hit home.

"I've survived death about eighty times."

Enkrid answered vaguely, thinking. He couldn't learn more about the Heart of the Beast from Rem. No excuse could perfectly clear the doubts of this man from the barbarian tribe.

'I can't exactly say, "I learned from you every day as the days repeated, and through dying, I became like this."'

But he could gloss over it. Rem wasn't that fastidious. Indeed, it was so. There was no need to spend time on it.

"Let's say that's true. Sometimes the goddess of luck unwittingly drops a coin."

It's a common saying for a soldier who survives by a fluke of unforeseen coincidences. Does that apply even when mastering such a secret technique? If not, so what. If Rem was satisfied, that was enough.

"Thanks to that, it's more interesting than before. My skills have improved. What have you been up to in secret?"

"Something painfully close to death."

Enkrid wasn't lying.

"Right, a man should have some secrets. That's what makes a man. You know me."

Rem didn't care about this either. Just like before, he picked up his axe and said nothing more.

"Another round?"

Rem, holding the axe, asked. Enkrid silently picked up his sword. 

If saving the fallen soldier Bell was the first goal, the second and last goal was to kill the man who felt a thrill with every kill. He was well-prepared for it.

On the hundred and first day, it was time for a duel with Rem.

Enkrid flexed his muscles as he pulled back his arm. He stretched his left foot forward, aiming to step on Rem's foot.

Rem quickly withdrew his foot, and seeing that, Enkrid, instead of stepping on Rem's foot, twisted his waist around with his left foot planted on the ground and swung the sword with all his might.

The foot was a feint. It was a move anticipating Rem's retreat. He exerted force in his muscles and swung his sword. For a moment, Enkrid saw Rem's arm whip around unrealistically. So unreal, even the axe in his hand seemed to bend.

Clang!

It all happened in an instant. The axe blade bent and then shot up like lightning and it struck the sword Enkrid was holding.

The sword flew upward.

Slipping from Enkrid's hand, the soaring sword spun in the air and then landed with a thud on the ground. The sound was made by the sword blade accidentally hitting a rock on the ground. The rolling sword was visible to the eye.

"Let's see."

Rem abruptly approached and grabbed Enkrid's wrist. The shock of dropping the sword made his hand tremble. Rem looked at Enkrid's hand, clicked his tongue, and said,

"This should have bled a bit."

"What?"

Swinging the axe so recklessly and then saying such a thing.

"That stabbing was good, really good, but it was lacking. I can't explain it well, but your grip should have been torn apart. You shouldn’t have just dropped the sword.”

"Don't let go of the sword even in death?"

Enkrid raised his voice, a phrase he had heard countless times from his swordsmanship teachers. Living through each repeating day is a burdensome task. Enkrid remembered each day's beginning a bit differently. He had always had a better-than-average memory since he was young. Until now, that memory hadn't been of much help in swordsmanship, but now it was helpful especially when reminiscing about what he learned from his teachers.

That's what he was doing now, reminiscing as he spoke.

"What kind of nonsense is that? If necessary, throw the sword at the opponent's face. Eh, ah, let's take it easy. That stabbing earlier, where were you aiming?"

Rem said, blowing out his breath. Enkrid couldn't easily respond. This stabbing was his secret technique. He had stolen it by being stabbed in the neck by enemy soldiers more than a hundred times. From the overall posture, the position of the feet, the shift of the center of gravity when using the sword, the movement of the muscles, the direction of the toes, to the shape of the hand holding the sword. He had stolen and imitated everything.

"That sword strike earlier, it looked decent, but, damn, it's hard to explain. Look at this."

Rem let the axe hang down and drew a large circle on the dirt floor. It was about the size of a human head.

"Let's say our target is somewhere around here."

Saying that, Rem rotated the axe above the circle and then made a dot with a stab.

"But in reality, we're going to go here."

At first, Enkrid wondered what he was talking about but perhaps the time spent learning from swordsmanship teachers wasn't in vain. Despite the crappy explanation, it was like a pickled fruit that settled well on the tongue, clear and understandable.

'The target point.'

What was embedded in the stabbing he had just performed? Did he want to be praised for doing well? Did he want to be acknowledged for having even a speck of talent because he imitated well? What's the point? What is a sword for? 

To cut and stab the opponent, a weapon for killing. Especially stabbing, it's a basic technique in swordsmanship that aims for one point. It's often used in rapier swordsmanship. He had heard that there were knights who used a thin blade for stabbing through armor gaps as their primary weapon.

"I really can't explain any better. I assumed I would naturally dodge or block, so you dropped the sword so easily but that stabbing earlier should have been decisive. Just like, 'I'll stab you. You can't dodge.' You had to show that convincingly."

Even after speaking, Rem was reevaluating whether he had explained properly. Being a guy who plays at his own pace, he was terrible at explaining. However, if the other party somewhat understood, then this explanation, akin to a neighbor's dog barking, could be considered excellent. Thus, for Enkrid, it was an excellent explanation.

'I lacked confidence in my sword.'

The stabbing earlier was like that of a third-rate mercenary. On the hundred and first day, Enkrid realized, 

And until the hundred and twenty-third day, he performed a full-power stabbing,

On the hundred and twenty-fourth day, Rem's lightning-fast axe swing tore his grip apart. Not just torn, but it exploded. Blood dripped down his grip.

Enkrid laughed at that. Because he had achieved what he wanted.

"Have you completely lost your mind? There's nothing more dangerous on the battlefield than a mad ally, you know? Why are you still laughing?"

Seeing that, Rem showed a rare look of confusion, but Enkrid couldn't stop the laughter coming out.

"Fuck, stop laughing. You look like a madman, you know?"

Rem said, witnessing the events of the hundred and twenty-fourth 'today'.

 

 

 

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