A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Chapter 261

[ … words ]

“Didn’t I say fools tend to flock together?”

Rem muttered as he eyed one of the figures blocking their path.

The man wore a black robe, likely intending to conceal his identity, but the bulging stomach and distinctive mouth left no doubt who he was.

“Hah!”

The corrupt priest snorted.

Rem had mentioned him before they left. He’d seen the bloated idiot in the market, acting suspicious.

He’d also predicted that this fool might join forces with another fool.

That prediction was now coming true.

Though, in truth, it wasn’t so much a prophecy as it was basic deduction.

“Call me Prophet Rem,” he said smugly.

It was like stumbling backward and narrowly dodging an arrow overhead—pure luck, but worth gloating about.

Enkrid humored him.

“Fool Rem.”

“Are your ears broken? I said Prophet.”

“Prophets and fools are the same thing.”

“You just made that up, didn’t you?”

“No.”

Enkrid was straightforward and confident, and Rem, muttering curses, abandoned the idea of being called a prophet.

“There are many lost and foolish souls in this world. It is our duty to guide them to the divine and help them repent, to be reborn anew,” Audin intoned, reciting a prayer.

It sounded more like he wanted to beat them all to death.

He always seemed particularly eager to kill this corrupt priest.

Enkrid stepped forward, representing his group.

His left hand rested on the pommel of his sword, one leg bent casually, giving him an air of nonchalance.

To the untrained eye, it might have looked lazy, but any seasoned fighter could see it was a poised, ready stance.

From the other side, a man stepped out from behind the obese priest.

This man’s posture was firm, his presence unyielding.

“The one who hired me wanted me to ask one last time: have you considered joining the Black Blades?”

Kraiss stifled a snort. Recruitment? Really? What a waste of effort.

He studied the man closely. Taller than the bloated priest, he exuded a rugged intensity.

His long sword hung at his side, his sharp eyes scanning the group with a faint air of irritation.

This man was known as “The Prepared Blade,” a mercenary infamous for his calculated killings.

Enkrid heard Kraiss mutter the title under his breath.

The man was reputed, though not in a way that interested Enkrid. Still, he paid attention, noting the man’s relaxed arms, slightly spread legs, and subtle shift in posture—a readiness to draw.

This was someone who knew how to fight. A skilled opponent.

“Do you know who I am?”

The mercenary’s voice was flat, lacking inflection.

“I didn’t know you’d fallen low enough to take contracts from the Black Blades,” Kraiss replied mockingly, feigning shock.

It wasn’t a particularly sharp insult, but the man’s brows furrowed, his displeasure evident.

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you.”

“And you’ve got a knack for selling yourself for a few coins,” Kraiss shot back, his tone dripping with disdain.

A tall man with a vicious gaze and a sword as large as himself—such figures were rare.

He was likely a mid-tier knight-level combatant, dangerous but not invincible.

The Prepared Blade’s reputation stemmed from his meticulous planning, which had earned him his moniker.

Kraiss’s jabs were deliberate, aiming to provoke. An enraged opponent was easier to deal with than a calm one.

“You see?” the priest blustered from behind. “I told you these idiots wouldn’t cooperate.”

Despite the priest’s interruptions, the mercenary didn’t take the bait.

Instead, he raised his left hand, signaling to his forces.

Heads began to pop up on both sides of the ridge.

These troops had been lying in ambush for days, some belonging to the Black Blades, others part of the mercenary’s personal band.

The Prepared Blade had done his homework.

He had heard about the failure of the Swiftblade and wasn’t about to repeat the same mistakes.

“Relying on scrolls? What a moron,” he thought, dismissing his predecessor’s methods.

Unless one was a fully trained knight, no one could survive an onslaught of arrows.

That’s why he had brought fifty archers. The ridges were steep, and while a few skilled individuals might be able to scale them, the mercenary had stationed two heavily armored squads around the perimeter to counter such attempts.

Over seventy soldiers had been deployed to deal with fewer than ten enemies.

Behind him, his elite mercenary team stood ready.

Getting here undetected had been the hard part. The battle itself would be easy.

That was “preparation.”

“Fools who don’t value their lives,” the Prepared Blade said, his hand still raised.

Mercenaries needed to be shrewd and perceptive to survive. He prided himself on being both.

From behind Enkrid, Kraiss leaned out, grinning.

“Good thing we didn’t run into a bunch of mages. Though, this setup feels a bit underwhelming. Didn’t get paid much, did you?”

He made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, mocking the mercenary’s budget.

Enkrid found Kraiss’s taunts commendable. The man was excellent at getting under people’s skin.

“I’m going to personally flay that bastard alive,” the mercenary growled.

Feigning fear, Kraiss widened his eyes and stuck out his tongue.

“Go ahead.”

Sometimes, childishness could be a devastating weapon.

This was one of those times.

“You little—”

The mercenary’s composure cracked. His rage was apparent.

“Good,” thought Enkrid.

Kraiss’s provocations had worked perfectly.

Even as he taunted, Kraiss’s mind remained sharp. He knew to expect the unexpected.

No matter how prepared the Black Blades were, it was unlikely they had a significant number of mages.

Still, the memory of the scrolls lingered, a reminder of the dangers they might yet face.

Kraiss observed the enemy’s forces and concluded they were strangely inadequate—poorly equipped and too few in number.

“Why?”

The question brought its own answer almost immediately.

“They don’t really understand what they’re up against.”

Enkrid and his squad were infamous enough that their exploits had begun to spread. They had made a name for themselves on the battlefield, dismantling the colony.

“But if these rumors keep spreading…”

Rumors grow and exaggerate as they travel. Fools who think they’re clever will build strategies around those distortions, believing themselves rational.

If Kraiss were in their shoes, he would have obsessively verified the truth of those rumors before making a move.

The Black Blades had made a critical error.

Trying to dominate the streets of the border guard had proven difficult due to the influence of the Gilpin Guild.

Infiltrating the castle had been impossible thanks to Marcus’s exceptional vigilance.

Despite his reputation as a warmonger, Marcus was meticulous about internal security.

Since his arrival, even the merchants had noted that the border guard’s standing army had become tougher and more disciplined.

That, too, was a misunderstanding.

The grueling training led by Enkrid had left soldiers more eager to prolong their patrols and gate duty rather than endure more drills.

The Black Blades underestimated their foes, unaware of Enkrid’s abilities or even the existence of someone like Kraiss.

Kraiss, for his part, found their ignorance somewhat understandable.

“After all, where else would you find a group of monsters like this gathered together?”

This wasn’t a knightly order.

The lack of information had allowed Marcus to reap benefits on the battlefield, and it continued to sow doubt in those who questioned Enkrid’s strength.

More importantly, the talents of the squad members hadn’t even made it into the rumors.

A mid-tier knight-level mercenary, a band of archers, and a handful of competent fighters—this wasn’t a bad force.

It wasn’t truly lacking. The problem was that the Black Blades didn’t know who they were up against.

“They over-prepared for the wrong things.”

Kraiss snapped his fingers.

Snap.

Naturally, nothing happened. There was no way a finger snap could echo beyond the ridges.

“What was that?” Ragna asked, watching him.

“Do you need a trip to the temple too?” Rem added.

Clearing his throat, Kraiss replied, “Just a timing issue.”

He didn’t feel embarrassed in the slightest, speaking as if it were a minor error. But then, noise erupted from beyond the ridge.

“What the hell?!”

“It’s an ambush!”

The cry came from the enemy soldiers lying in wait.

Some archers turned their attention behind them.

It was already too late for them to launch a coordinated volley.

The armored soldiers positioned alongside the archers quickly turned to engage the attackers who had taken their rear.

“You dare?”

One of the mercenaries, wielding a bastard sword, charged forward.

With both hands on the hilt, he swung the blade in a clean, powerful arc. His skill wasn’t bad.

The man opposing him was unarmed.

He sprinted forward to meet the attack, closing the distance and slipping inside the swordsman’s guard.

Thunk! Squish!

The swordsman collapsed forward, and the unarmed man shoved him aside as he emerged.

Torres wiped the blood from his dagger onto the fallen man’s tunic.

He wore a gambeson under thin leather armor bearing the border guard’s insignia.

“Not late, are we?”

From the opposite direction, another man moved swiftly into the fray, cutting through the enemy ranks.

His draw and thrust were like lightning—so fast that by the time anyone noticed him, he’d already pierced the throat of one mercenary.

Gurgle!

The mercenary clutched his neck, blood streaming between his fingers as he staggered and fell to his knees.

Zimmer had acted with precision, showcasing his specialty before stopping.

“Pathetic thieves.”

He surveyed the battlefield from the ridge, his face fully visible.

“Well, that’s that,” Kraiss muttered, his tone dripping with mockery.

Gathering such a force on short notice was impressive, even for a group like the Black Blades.

They had managed to hire a mid-tier knight-level mercenary, which was no small feat.

True knights and knight-tier fighters were still a league apart, but such individuals were rare, even in the North.

The Black Blades simply didn’t understand their opponents.

“Such a pity,” Enkrid murmured.

Kraiss ignored him.

He had anticipated the ambush and planned accordingly.

Now, forces from the border guard and Martai’s army had taken control of the area near the ambush site.

With their rear exposed, the enemy archers were thrown into chaos.

“Shit! They hit us from behind? Then what about the front? Is there a way out?”

There wasn’t.

Kraiss had predicted and accounted for everything, starting with the enemy’s position.

Torres, attacking the archers from the rear, silently marveled at Kraiss’s foresight.

“Big Eyes isn’t just for show.”

The Prepared Blade’s ambush had been completely neutralized.

The soldiers now controlling the ridge were elite forces—murderous professionals obscured by Enkrid’s presence.

The Prepared Blade himself showed no emotion.

However, the mercenaries supporting him betrayed various reactions.

“Shit, we’re screwed.”

Some showed fear.

“Screw it! We just have to kill these bastards!”

Others bristled with defiance.

“We should retreat while we can!”

A few voiced pragmatic concerns.

“Now, who’s the fool?” Kraiss asked, his tone gleefully smug.

The Prepared Blade’s expression darkened, his brow furrowing deeply.

“This should’ve been settled with brute force from the start.”

A large man stepped forward from the Prepared Blade’s side.

Behind him, about twenty mercenaries followed, all appearing competent by ordinary standards.

“Anyone brave enough to step up, I’ll kill you all,” the man declared, his iron maces slamming into the ground with heavy thuds as he advanced.

Winning the fight before the ridge battle began was still possible.

Despite his brutish appearance, the man was sharp—likely a veteran of countless battles, his instincts honed.

“I agree with him,” a woman beside him said, licking her lips. Her tongue was unusually long, almost reaching her chin.

Her face, grotesquely elongated, made her appear inhuman.

She carried three throwing knives in each hand, knockoffs of Whistle Daggers.

Rem growled at the advancing foes.

“I’ll handle them. If anyone tries to jump in, I’ll bury my axe in the back of their head.”

Enkrid stepped back, letting him take the lead.

With his enhanced perception and intuition, Enkrid paused and glimpsed ahead.

Not a single one of their enemies could stand against Rem’s axes.