A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 261: Just Because You Strike Softly Doesn’t Mean the Blade Becomes a Pillow

“Did you enjoy being a recruiter? Did you find any good recruits?”

The rapier swordsman nodded at the question of his old friend.

“There were some.”

“...Really?”

Someone who would say such a thing wouldn’t be one to praise ordinary talent.

Who was the last person his friend called a good recruit?

It was someone with exceptional ability, even among the highly talented individuals of the Empire.

Even in an empire full of geniuses, this particular individual was one of the few who could acknowledge others as exceptional.

So to suddenly hear this now? That piqued his interest.

He had just returned from traveling through the kingdom’s lands, hadn’t he?

To the man sitting before him, this whole recruitment affair was nothing more than a break, a sort of vacation.

He had become nearly addicted to work, so this was a chance to rest.

Thus, for him to say something like this during his vacation was a rare and unexpected event.

It wasn’t the kind of answer one would expect from such an offhand question.

The two sat in a small room in the inner castle of a border estate, furnished only with a round table and a few wool cushions.

One was the estate's lord, the other a training officer just returning from his break.

The rapier swordsman spoke simply about what he had observed, presenting only the facts.

Even though his words were plain, there was a certain intensity in his eyes.

The lord thought it sounded like a quiet sermon.

“So, you’re saying this person was a talent you couldn’t see, yet they repelled your intimidation?”

The rapier swordsman was shocked, repeating “Huh?” for half the day in the rain, but ultimately, he simply relayed the facts.

“He’s quite a fascinating fellow.”

The commander of the estate scratched his chin. He took a sip of whiskey placed before him.

It was a strong drink called ‘Farmer’s Tears.’

The liquid slid down his throat with a sharp burn, making its presence known as it warmed his stomach.

“Is he the kind of recruit that could be called a ‘skilled mercenary’?”

The term “skilled mercenary” referred to mercenaries hired by the Empire, a colloquial expression.

It was a term used to describe those who managed to survive on their own in the wilderness while still accomplishing their tasks.

How skilled was this individual? That was the question.

“Mercenary.”

The rapier swordsman spun his glass in his hand, replying nonchalantly, as if there was no real need to think about it.

“Not even close.”

Was he saying the individual wasn’t even at the level of a skilled mercenary? Or was he saying that someone with that level of skill wasn’t enough? The answer was, of course, the latter.

The lord picked up on that.

“Did you realize something special about ‘Will’?”

Yes.

But there was something even more peculiar, things that couldn’t be conveyed by just recounting the facts.

‘The way he uses a sword as well.’

It had developed in an unbelievable way. It had changed. He had grown, evolved.

And it happened overnight, something the rapier swordsman had witnessed with his own eyes.

Had someone else said it, he wouldn’t have believed it, not in the slightest.

‘It’s almost easier to believe he was tricked by some spell.’

If it were the work of a skilled mercenary or someone who only roams the frontier...

‘How long would he last?’

There’s no way he’d survive, not against someone like Enkrid.

The rapier swordsman stared into his glass, watching the brown liquid reflect the lamp’s light.

It had been crafted over a long period, hence the name ‘Farmer’s Tears.’

It was said that only after great hardship could it be produced.

This process was something required for common soldiers, squires, or lower knights.

‘Time, effort, tempering.’

The process was clear in his mind, as he had seen it time and time again.

As a training officer, he had the expertise to recognize such things.

He had been respected as a talent reader among mercenaries.

From his expert viewpoint, Enkrid showed effort, but it didn’t make sense.

Time was fair to everyone.

Therefore, it was the talent that counted.

If everyone spent the same amount of time and effort training, the one with the greater talent would always rise.

So what was this Enkrid?

A person outside of common sense.

He was someone with an unknown explosive talent.

That was his conclusion.

‘If not that, maybe he spent years in another world, training by repeating the same day over and over again.’

He chuckled, dismissing the thought as absurd.

It’s easy to say, "Repeat a day, train endlessly," but in reality, it was simple only in words.

Who could endure such a process?

Having seen and nurtured many talented individuals, he knew no one could endure it.

And if someone did?

‘If such a person existed.’

Whether from the Empire or anywhere else, he would want to see that person’s will bloom with his own hands.

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It was a talent so tempting, so pure.

He had once written in a scholarly text within the Empire:

“What is the greatest talent?”

The drink in his glass continued to reflect the light of the lamp.

As he lifted it to his lips, he began to organize his thoughts.

‘The greatest talent is the one that never breaks, the one that always looks ahead, no matter what happens.’

It’s the kind of will that never knows defeat.

That was his conclusion.

Of course, without the foundation of physical talent, all of this would be for nothing.

Had he ever nurtured such a person before?

Yes, many times.

But even with all his effort to forcefully push talent into them, all those attempts had failed.

If a talent like that were to grow explosively, it would need to be aided by some curse, or the goddess of fortune, or some divine mystery.

If that happened? What if such a person really existed?

If someone with such monstrous willpower, whether born or made, overcame the trials of their body and reached the rank of a knight?

‘A monster would be born.’

The rapier swordsman thought, his mind briefly crossing the face of the man.

Dark hair, blue eyes.

An uncommon appearance. A face not easily forgotten.

***

“There’s someone looking for me.”

Enkrid answered while glancing at the Fairy Company Commander. Gilpin, standing beside him, was literally sweating buckets, looking at him in silence.

However, noticing the situation, Gilpin didn’t immediately interfere but instead kept glancing nervously at both Enkrid and the Fairy Commander.

“I see.”

The Fairy Commander nodded and remained still, as if ready to follow.

It seemed like he would follow them wherever they went.

Should Enkrid refuse? There was no real need to, so he left it be.

Enkrid turned to Gilpin.

He wore a coif made of fur, and sweat streamed down his face.

He looked like someone who had been running tirelessly. His face was flushed, and the heavy fur cloak he wore was rising and falling with each breath.

“Phew, please help me.”

Gilpin said, and Enkrid suddenly remembered the name of the mercenary who had been looking for him at the Border Guard.

He hadn’t forgotten that name. The mercenary had said he would return, and he would keep his word.

After all, those who are mercenaries must honor their words.

“Meelun?”

The thought escaped from his lips without passing through his mind.

Gilpin’s eyes went wide. His pupils dilated, clearly shocked.

“...How did you know? The guildmaster has been captured. Again.”

The emphasis on the word “again” sounded like an understatement.

Officially, the guildmaster of the Gilpin Guild was the bald man in front of him wearing the coif.

But all of them recognized Kraiss as their superior.

The Gilpin Guild had started as a criminal guild formed by illiterate, rowdy ruffians.

Though its nature had changed somewhat, the foundational character remained the same.

For them, the guildmaster was Kraiss. In that case, the guildmaster’s superior was Enkrid.

“If it’s dangerous, just go and call him. It’s Enkrid, the commander. Don’t forget the name. If you meet him in the market, look down, and if you see a gray-haired barbarian next to him, just run. If you lock eyes, escape.”

Kraiss had emphasized this to everyone in the guild, including Gilpin’s men.

Of course, Rem and the others knew this too.

He had repeatedly warned them not to make the mistake of confronting Enkrid.

Gilpin had also seen Enkrid fight.

So, it was natural for him to come looking when things went wrong.

“Let’s go.”

Enkrid said and immediately started walking.

‘Wearing armor, carrying weapons on my body—this is part of my training.’

It was advice Enkrid had received when he first became a mercenary.

He followed it diligently.

Since he was inexperienced with handling weapons, he adhered to the advice carefully.

That habit remained with him even now.

He was wrapped in leather bandages made from Beastman hide, with a cursed sword, Tutor, on his left waist and a gladius from the dwarf on his right.

Additionally, he carried five throwing knives in a knife sheath across his chest.

He couldn’t get a proper dagger for his whistle, so the special scabbard remained at his lodgings.

With a gambeson, chainmail, and helmet, he was practically fully armored.

So, it was fine to leave like this.

“Are you heading out?”

A soldier guarding the barracks asked. Enkrid responded casually as he walked slowly.

“I’m just going for a short walk.”

“I’ll join you.”

The Fairy Commander fell in step beside him.

With no smile, he added a fairy-style joke.

“Don’t you know, spending time together is how bonds form?”

“Is that so?”

“The woman who fills the bathwater told me that. I think it’s good advice. So, I believe we should spend time together.”

Even in the midst of such a joke, Enkrid responded indifferently.

“If you’re suggesting we train together, sure.”

If she were a typical woman, she would have kicked this man’s shins for such a remark.

“Spend time together? Why not eat something nice, watch the sunset, and whisper sweet words?”

But Shinar wasn’t a typical woman, nor even a human.

The fairy spoke as they walked.

“That wouldn’t be bad, but how about checking out the market? There are many interesting things in the Border Guard market these days. There have been quite a few problems, though.”

It hadn’t even been a month since they left the estate.

What kind of trouble could have emerged in that short time?

As Enkrid and the Fairy Commander walked, Gilpin was left to wonder what the two of them were talking about.

What was he going to do with the mercenary?

Still, he had to chase after them, as their pace was incredibly fast, and he had to nearly sprint just to keep up.

“Did you say the mercenary came back?”

Enkrid asked.

“Yeah, that’s the one. The guy with the white scar on his neck.”

Gilpin huffed and puffed as he responded, rubbing his hand across the right side of his neck.

It was the same man who had come to collect money from the Gilpin Guild before.

He hadn’t forgotten that face.

Back then, his job had been to drive him away, and even that had been barely accomplished.

But now?

“That’s him!”

Gilpin exclaimed, pointing.

It was almost funny.

The same place, the same situation.

Should they call Kraiss a fool now?

Instinctively, Enkrid knew what to do.

They entered the estate, passed through the hallway, and stopped in front of a door.

Had they learned anything from the last fight?

The door was wide open.

Last time, he had kicked it open and thrown his whistle dagger immediately.

This time, Enkrid raised his left hand, palm facing up, and spoke.

“Been well?”

It was a greeting.

He saw the mercenary sitting in the hall next to Kraiss.

“Damn, are we friends now? Is it nice to see me after so long?”

Meelun also greeted him, though it didn’t seem as enthusiastic as Enkrid’s.

Enkrid was eager to show him the difference between them.

And there was no need to delay.

While Meelun was speaking, Enkrid dashed forward, and the sound of his footsteps echoed loudly as he leaped forward.

Despite Enkrid’s fearsome speed, Meelun didn’t seem flustered.

This was a fighter skilled at creating unpredictability and chaos, and Enkrid had experienced it before.

Before Meelun could even finish his greeting, he unsheathed his loop sword.

The heavy blade came crashing down.

Enkrid, too, drew his sword in a flash, and their blades collided.

The strange noise rang out.

Meelun attempted to press the attack and deliver a crushing blow with his fist, aiming for Enkrid’s head.

But he couldn’t follow through.

The sword that had swung down veered off, as though someone had pulled it to the side.

‘Damn?’

A curse slipped from his lips, and then the sword’s edge, transformed into something snake-like, slashed through his eyes.

“Gah!”

Meelun screamed as Enkrid effortlessly dodged, watching as the mercenary rolled back.

With a single stroke, Enkrid had made the gap clear.

It was his first time using his new sword technique in real combat.

‘It works.’

There was both joy and exhilaration.

Enkrid raised his sword again.

He had made the first move of his newly developed sword style.

‘Just because you strike softly doesn’t mean the blade becomes a pillow.’

And so, that became the first technique in his newly formed sword style.