A Knight Who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 273

Chapter 273: CHAPTER 271
Finn subtly lifted her head and looked in the direction Jaxon had moved.

‘Is he heading straight to the village chief’s house?’

From her perspective, there were too many suspicious things about this village.

Hadn’t she noticed a woman among the people walking by, someone whose steps were unusually graceful?

Even Finn could tell that woman wasn’t ordinary.

‘Damn thieves.’

Through her various dealings with Sinar, she had come to understand just how deeply the Black Blade Bandits’ influence had penetrated the Kingdom.

It was likely connected to central nobility or a Lord with a vast estate.

The biggest problem among them was…

She was deep in thought, walking under the cover of darkness. Her instincts as a ranger led her to move stealthily, avoiding the gaze of others.

Her steps were cautious, always aware of whether someone might be following her.

She made her way toward the watermill on the hill, and as she neared it, something struck her head.

Finn reacted. She twisted to minimize the impact, reducing the damage.

Reacting just before getting hit was half luck.

And if half was luck, the other half was skill.

Ever since encountering Encrid, she had been relentlessly training in Ail Caraz Style martial arts with Audin and Sinar.

She focused especially on defense.

It wasn’t so much by choice as it was by necessity.

“One hit, and you meet the Gods, sister.”

Audin’s fists, when hit wrong, were like knocking on heaven’s door.

“You’re full of openings.”

Sinar would often strike her from behind, outside her awareness, aiming for the back of her head or neck.

For these reasons, Finn had become more sensitive, her senses sharper, and her reaction time quicker.

Thud!

There was a sound of impact, but Finn neither fainted nor fell.

She had tucked her chin and tensed her trapezius muscles, so the blow aimed at the back of her head only grazed near her ear.

It made her head ring.

Her attacker didn’t wait.

Another strike came immediately, this time aiming for her legs.

He was a skilled fighter. The first ambush targeted above, and the next below—tactics that were hard to counter.

But Finn wasn’t caught off guard this time either. She bent her knees and braced herself.

It was an Ail Caraz Style defensive technique.

When the attacker’s foot struck Finn’s shin, she twisted her body slightly, deflecting the blow.

‘Damn bastard.’

Her head was still ringing, but realizing she would be overpowered if this continued, she swiftly drew the shortsword from her sword belt.

Clang!

Without a second thought, she slashed horizontally.

Nothing caught on the blade. It seemed her assailant had retreated.

Finn’s vision blurred, causing her to frown.

“Don’t move. If you move, you die.”

The voice came from behind her, to the left. She also heard the click of a crossbow being cocked.

‘Damn it.’

She was caught in a bad situation. Her opponent was skilled in ambushes. More importantly, they seemed to have been waiting for her. It was a planned attack. Dangerous.

“You think we’re a bunch of blind fools? Damn bitch, maybe we’ll chop you up and sell you to a cheap brothel where you won’t fetch more than a few coins.”

The man who had struck her spoke while holding a short club. His language was not just rough, but downright filthy.

Finn focused instead of replying.

Sweat trickled down her temples. The cold of winter was the last thing she felt.

Her head was still spinning, though it was better than before.

The immediate concern was getting out of this situation, and for that, she needed to assess it first.

“Don’t shoot.”

Finn spoke as she subtly raised both hands. The shortsword she had let go of fell to the ground, sticking into the dirt at an angle.

“Crazy bitch, do you even know where you are?”

The thief with the club twisted his mouth into a sneer.

‘This doesn’t look good.’

By pretending to surrender, she began to grasp the situation.

There were three main points.

First, the villagers weren’t dumb or foolish.

Secondly, it meant that they had made a foolish mistake.

And third, not everything was going according to plan.

The original plan was to observe the village for two days and then sweep through it with the unit they had on standby.

‘Find the evidence.’

Based on that, the priority was to obtain the local Lord’s permission to act.

The Border Guard was part of the Lord’s estate, but beyond its borders, it was technically someone else’s land.

In fact, this situation was tangled with various political factors.

Marcus intended to turn the surrounding area into the Border Guard’s territory and believed this kind of operation was necessary to exert his influence.

He was certainly angry about the drug dealers and the assassination group sent by the Black Blade Bandits, but there was also calculation involved.

Even if he didn’t want to, Marcus’s mind always leaned toward politics.

He planned to liberate the village and reorganize it with the innocent villagers as the foundation.

The goal was to transform the village from a den of thieves producing drugs into a community under the protection of the Border Guard.

Of course, the local noble who officially owned the estate would be furious, but there were plenty of ways to handle that.

The best scenario would be to find evidence linking the Lord to the bandits, but even if they couldn’t, it wasn’t the end of the world.

Marcus knew how to wield influence, and he was the kind of man who could swallow a village whole if he played his cards right.

Starting was crucial. Once you took one village, the next would be easier.

Giving up one village wouldn’t stop at just one.

But who could predict that? The local Lord was just a pig-headed idiot with nothing but dung in his brain.

They had made various preparations and tied up many loose ends, which was the background to this operation.

But things had gone wrong from the start.

Of course, Finn couldn’t know all of this.

She simply reminded herself of her mission, remaining the loyal soldier she was.

Finn thought.

Finding evidence seemed like water spilled on dry soil.

‘We’ve walked into a trap.’

They had been ambushed.

Sweat ran down Finn’s face as she prepared for her next move.

She wasn’t about to just sit there and take it.

Fight back with all you’ve got.

She had learned something from watching Encrid.

Keep moving forward because you don’t know how to quit, and by moving forward, you change.

Finn had watched Encrid closely.

Soon, she kicked the sword embedded in the ground.

The sword sprang free and shot forward.

Simultaneously, Finn drew two short daggers hidden in her forearm, each just over a span long.

It was time to fight. Even if there was no chance of winning, if the moment called for it, she had to do it.

* * *

This was after Jaxon had slipped out through the window.

Encrid absentmindedly stared outside.

‘How did he manage to get out through that hole?’

The window was small. Jaxon had slipped through it as if he’d oiled his body, and the way he did it was remarkable.

He didn’t struggle, he simply gauged the size of the window and his body, then, with a single leap, he smoothly slipped through.

It was as if he had straightened his body in mid-air, or as if someone had pulled him from outside. He vanished as if he had flown away.

Jaxon had an astonishing sense of proprioception.

‘He sees, judges, and moves his body with perfect precision.’

It was a feat possible only because he had an impeccable understanding of his body and its capabilities.

Could Encrid do it himself?

He wasn’t so sure.

His curiosity ended there. Encrid gazed beyond the window where Jaxon had disappeared.

The moonlight outside seemed to scatter like broken dust. It was a bright, moonlit night.

After a moment of observing the outside, he turned his attention back to the room.

It was a winter night, so there should have been a chill in the air, but the brazier, filled with heated stones and glowing red charcoal, dispelled it. Beneath the coals were logs about the size of his forearm.

Encrid dragged the brazier to the front of the bed and stared at it quietly.

When he placed a log on top, the red-hot coals began to singe the wood, causing it to crackle as it started to burn. Soon, red tongues of flame licked up and ignited the log.

He watched as the log began to burn with a faint crackling sound. Encrid’s gaze was distant and unfocused.

He simply sat there, gazing at the flames, his body half-slouched and entirely relaxed.

The fire blazed, sparks flew, and the sound of the burning wood combined with the heat pushing back the cold air.

The warmth created by the meeting of heat and cold surrounded him.

It was as if someone had gently cradled his body and laid him down on the bed.

Soft straw cushioned his body.

The bed was soft, his belly was full, and his back was warm.

As the comfortable air enveloped him, it felt as though he was being held in a mother’s embrace.

Although Encrid was an orphan and had never known a mother’s touch, he felt a similar warmth now.

Like a child, he curled up. The warm bath in a wooden tub he had taken for six coins had relaxed him completely.

Encrid fell into a short dream.

In it, he was a child whining to his mother.

Then he set out on a long journey, only to face mortal danger after ten days.

Having barely survived, he felt a sudden wave of regret.

‘Why did I ever leave home?’

Once he left, all he found was suffering. Difficulties piled up.

Even the slightest mistake put his life at risk.

It was like crossing between cliffs on a tiny rope.

‘Will you still cross?’

Someone asked.

He could have simply gone back home, but Encrid did not.

Despite the peace and comfort, the pastoral meadows, he didn’t turn back. Even though all the things he loved were behind him, he didn’t retreat.

Despite missing his mother’s embrace and his father’s large hands, he didn’t turn back.

‘I must cross.’

‘Why?’

‘Do I need a reason?’

‘Aren’t there things one does without a reason?’

‘No, everything has a reason, even if you don’t realize it. Why are you walking this path?’

Encrid thought it was a question without an answer, but in the dream, he responded without hesitation.

‘Because it’s fun.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Would you rather see a smile or a frown? Do you prefer pain or joy?’

‘What?’

He couldn’t see the face of the person asking the question. The last words came out aloud.

“I’m walking the path that I find enjoyable and right.”

He had no doubts about it. Encrid didn’t even call it a conviction.

He opened his eyes.

It had been an extremely short dream. The firewood hadn’t even burned out yet.

The log was still not completely charred, so it was indeed a very brief rest.

And yet…

His body felt light. His steps were swift, and his hands were filled with strength.

Normally, it would take some time after waking up for strength to return to the body, but not this time.

It was as if someone had infused every muscle fiber with power, making his body brim with energy.

Then someone knocked on the door.

Knock, knock.

The sound of knocking reached his ears.

“Are you in there?”

It was the voice of the tavern servant.

“Are you there?”

The servant asked again. Encrid quickly dressed. He wrapped his inner armor around him like a bandage and threw on a thin leather armor over it.

He also fastened his sword belt.

The speed at which he armed himself was beyond exceptional.

Why wouldn’t it be?

If you weren’t skilled with a sword, you’d end up doing a lot of menial tasks. Encrid had served many other mercenaries.

Even then, to survive, he had to be meticulous in putting on his armor and preparing his weapons.

His speed in doing so was remarkable.

And so, he finished arming himself.

“You’re in there, but you’re not answering.”

The servant’s voice had a hint of amusement.

“Hey, you idiot.”

Then came the words. There was a click, and the door opened. The lock was meaningless.

The opened door allowed the light from the room’s brazier and the light from outside to meet and clash.

The lights didn’t compete, they simply did their job, illuminating the surroundings.

The inn’s hallway was narrow. Beyond it stood the tavern servant, the innkeeper, and beside them, a man with a thick beard like a bush.

Each of them had gleaming eyes and an air of arrogance.

“Three?”

Encrid skipped over the small talk and asked directly. He lowered his head slightly, then tilted his eyes up to ask. As he spoke, Encrid adjusted the position of his sword belt. He shifted it slightly forward, making it easier to draw his weapon, just a bit more comfortable.

The servant sneered at him.

What a foolish sight it was, this idiot clumsily gearing up.

“What? Three? This crazy bastard must be out of his mind.”

The servant sneered. Encrid continued adjusting his gear. He had recently realized the importance of small preparations.

The angle of the Dwarf’s gladius on his right hip wasn’t quite to his liking.

He adjusted it, pulling it tighter.

“You can handle a sword, can’t you? So why the hell are you acting so clumsy?”

Suddenly, he thought of Krais.

A nagging voice in his mind reminded him not to act.

For a moment, Encrid resented a world that didn’t appreciate his acting skills.

Surely, when he reached the estate, there would be a playwright who recognized his outstanding talent.

“There’s no need to drag this out, right?”

The servant sneered as he spoke.

Normally, the servant was someone who exploited his opponent’s weaknesses and moments of carelessness, but to him, Encrid seemed too clumsy.

The Fairy beside him might be a bit tricky to deal with, though.

“Do you even know where you are?”

The servant was brimming with confidence. He was sure he could take down these intruders who had wandered into the village.

“Hey, kill him already.”

The bearded man, who had been watching from the back, spoke up.

No need for words—this wasn’t some fancy parlor for idle chatter.

Encrid gave his sword belt one last tug forward.

Now the hilt of the sword rested perfectly in front of his hip.

Finally, his gear felt just right. He lifted his head and straightened his back.

During this time, the tavern servant dusted off his hands. The smirk that had formed on his face was far from the innocent look he had worn earlier, his eyes now gleamed with deadly intent.

Encrid took it all in. In the slowed perception of time, he noted every expression and every glance.

They were only three or four steps apart.

The servant threw a dagger, and Encrid tilted his head to the side.

He gripped his sword but didn’t draw it just yet.

The dagger whizzed past, grazing his hair, and embedded itself in the wall behind him.

“So, you’ve got some skill, huh!”

The servant shouted fiercely, raising both hands. Each held another dagger.

Encrid instinctively gauged his opponent’s physical abilities from the way he moved, his posture, and the act of throwing the daggers.

This led to a minor adjustment.

He slid his left foot forward. The leather boots made a quiet scraping sound as they moved. It was a subtle movement that no one noticed.

Now everything was perfect. The minor preparations were complete.

The servant, apparently confident in his knife-throwing skills, shook his hands once more, while the tavern owner behind him drew a shortsword.

The sound of metal rang out, as if each weapon was declaring its presence.