A Knight Who Eternally Regresses - Chapter 402



Only Krnovel

402. Talent from Heaven

“Send in the Chimera Force.”

At Count Molsen’s words, Learbart raised his flag. The messenger saw the small flag in his hand and ran and shouted.

“Go! Go!”

At the messenger’s shout, the second sword prepared by the count began to run.

The Count sent a pack of werewolves as Border Guards. They were true werewolves, humans turned into monsters. Naturally, they were not all sent to the Border Guards.

The main force was here.

The cavalry was pushed back, the mounted archers were captured by the knights led by Asia, and the infantry was also pushed back in the formation fight.

This is because of the unpredictable forces running wild among the Count’s infantry.

To be exact, it could be seen as something that happened because of one ignorant inspector who got lost easily.

Lebart saw it too, but was indifferent.

Even though the fighting was poor compared to the power they had, it was okay. They were pushed back without mercy.

No, actually I got pushed.

The count just watched as if nothing had happened.

The Count’s army was suffering increasing losses due to movements based on the judgment of his actual commanders.

So people started dying. In the meantime, the Chimera unit ran in.

It seemed like a good decision. Isn’t it basic tactic to deploy other forces when you’re done?

Most of them were wearing tattered leather clothes and straw hats full of holes.

A group of people in clothes that did not match the battlefield began to run forward. When viewed up close, their eyes were cloudy and showed no sign of reason. They were also a group that was busy following simple orders to move forward.

At some point they ran and changed.

Feathers sprouted from all over his body, thick mane-like hairs grew, and his size grew.

His fingernails became sharper and his blurry eyes filled with murderous intent.

In that way, he became a monster born solely for killing.

Owlbear, werewolf, and bearman.

The three types of monsters ran and screamed.

Hooooooo!

Awww!

Ugh!

It was a howling that would send shivers down the spines of ordinary people just by hearing it, a sound that evoked an instinctive fear.

With howling, they aimed for the right flank of the royal army. The group of monsters, easily exceeding a hundred, was enough to discuss the despair and frustration of those standing on the other side.

That was when.

A cry was heard from one side, directed at the herd of beasts. It was clearly a human cry, but it was a different form of voice.

Ororororororo!

It is a cry that is widely spread by rolling the tongue and breathing deeply.

“Chase the wolf!”

“Beast, beast. You have taken the wrong path!”

Ororororororo!

A mixture of shouts and cheers echoed. From one side of the plain, a group of people appeared, running with unbelievable speed for infantry.

It was so fast that it almost seemed like a cavalry charge.

So, it was not inferior to the herd of running monsters.

They were a group of men, all wearing long staffs or spears and wearing brown leather cloaks.

There could not be more than two such groups.

He was a shepherd in the wilderness.

Those who live by running through the wilderness and herding sheep.

Located at the northernmost tip of the continent, they are the ones who deal with the ‘thick-horned mountain goats’ in the mountains and the ‘skinny sheep’, the most ferocious herbivore on the continent, in the fields called the wilderness.

Although the number was not yet twenty, it was a group similar to the Knights Templar.

They ran and charged at the horde of monsters.

A group of people under twenty rush towards a group of over two hundred. At first glance, it seems like a mass suicide, but the result is different.

“I hope that it will become a fertile land.”

At the forefront was a man named Pell.

He wielded a sword imbued with the soul of a demon known as the Idol Slayer.

If you get hit, you die.

It was like it was poisoned. It was a sword that killed the soul, not the flesh.

I was told not to use it recklessly because continued use would awaken the demon trapped in the sword, but it seemed right to use it without hesitation against such a monster.

It was the sword and shepherd that once made Encred repeat today.

Pel thrust his sword into Owlbear’s eye. There was no need to pierce his head. He just poked lightly and pulled it out immediately. A moderate wound would be enough.

Of course, gouging out an eyeball wasn’t an appropriate wound.

It’s just a wound that only a shepherd can see.

“Wow, wow, wow!”

The stabbed owl monster screamed. Instead of dying, it endured. Will? No. It was due to the devilish nature of the monster.

The sword trembled. It sent a short vibration. It was a sign that it didn’t like the cut it had just made. So it was okay to swing it as much as you wanted.

Doesn’t that mean you can use the Devil’s Sword’s abilities without having to sacrifice your soul?

Instead, you will have to cut, stab, poke, and stab more than you would for things that actually have souls.

Anyway, if it doesn’t work once, try twice.

Pell approached just as quickly as he retreated and stabbed him in the other eye.

Owlbear, with his claws raised, swung his paw-like hands.

Pel ducked his head and drew his sword out, his eyes sparkling.

He intuitively understood the information pouring in from all directions and moved accordingly. Pel began to run wild even more.

Then two companions approached him. They were old shepherds. One of them was wearing a hat made of a wolf’s head, the other of a bear’s head.

“You crazy Pell bastard, go wild.”

“Anyway, kids these days.”

One held a long spear, the other a long staff.

Shepherds of the wilderness have always preferred long weapons, such as spears and staffs.

Pel insisted on his sword among such people.

“Can’t you just leave it to them to do as they please?”

Pell said, kicking the dying Owlbear with his foot.

“Is this what you mean, you don’t want to hear nagging right now?”

“I guess I’ll have to tell your father about your rudeness.”

Noisy old ladies.

Pell spoke without thinking.

“Yes, I was wrong.”

“Just talk, just talk.”

“Anyway, kids these days.”

The old man with the bear head had a habit of saying the word “young people” these days.

So, it was okay to ignore it.

Pell thought it would be better to have a chat with Owlbear.

Chat is a conversation that includes laughter, but you may be the only one laughing.

A fool would not be able to laugh, and he would not allow the demons to have that kind of leisure.

The two old shepherds followed along, assisting the fell.

Two more are added next to those three, and the five move as one.

It was the basic formation of a shepherd.

The five of them struck together. The diamond-shaped blade, the staff with a metal ring on the end, and the sword of Fel mercilessly killed the test subjects who had become monsters.

The Count’s Chimera army ultimately failed to achieve its purpose at all.

So how did the shepherd of the wilderness come to be here?

It was Krang’s work.

He asked for help from a shepherd he met by chance while wandering the continent, and the shepherd came to remember the favor.

No, to be honest, it’s been years since I’ve been here.

It wasn’t just something I waited for today.

They also came because they wanted something.

Of course, Krang knew all this and took full advantage of it.

Isn’t it the basics of politics to use what the other person wants to get your way?

Krang did so, and that is why the twenty shepherds of the wilderness are here.

Their number could not have been more than twenty.

To the soldiers, it felt like Encred’s mad company had been split in two.

The older commander thought it was as if the knights were torn into three parts and were trampling upon the enemy.

Asia and the Squires.

A flock of shepherds in the wilderness.

And Encred and the Mad Company.

Funnily enough, the most impressive of them all was the Mad Company.

The destructive power of the Red Cloak Knights was the most minimal.

Even though there was no article about it, it was still an absurd thing.

* * *

Count Molsen was something of a boil.

A boil that hurts if left alone, but becomes more annoying if touched carelessly.

Such boils had to be removed all at once.

That’s why. At first glance, Krang made an absurd claim.

“We need a civil war.”

The civil war he speaks of is the gathering together of all the diseases in the Count Molsen’s palace, cutting them out and burning them.

Therefore, the battle that just took place was more likely a result of Krang’s intentions than Count Molsen’s.

Then, did Count Molsen not know about Krang’s intentions?

Count Molsen may have been a natural politician, but he was an ambitious villain. He knew that. He agreed despite knowing that.

That’s how it was now.

Marcus’s head spun like never before.

We moved our troops based on the information we heard from the scouts.

Marcus had to see no openings and destroy every means the enemy had prepared.

That’s how it has been so far.

And Marcus inwardly asked the Count a question.

‘You didn’t know it would go this far, did you?’

I had called in a completely different armed force. Instead of the Knights, I thought the enemy would be confused.

I heard that he called the shepherds of the wilderness and promised to give them some land.

The shepherd chieftains will receive a nominal title, and their lands will become self-governing.

They had their own lands in various places, not only in the northern lands, but also in kingdoms and empires.

However, it is not like he ruled the land directly.

They only receive a portion of the crops from tenant farmers.

It goes without saying that the Marquis of Octo exerted his efforts for that.

This would not have been possible without his talent.

So it would have been difficult to predict.

‘Stop it, you traitor.’

Far in the northern continent, a sword that once herded sheep now slaughters hordes of chimeras sent by the enemy.

Count Molsen, for some reason, pushed more troops into them.

The Count’s next move was unexpected.

‘what?’

Marcus frowned. What the hell is he doing now?

‘Pushing with numbers?’

They were not refined soldiers. The rear units surged forward like a tidal wave along the path they had created by splitting off to the left and right.

There were so many of them that it looked like waves were coming in, but they just ran without any formation or anything.

‘Dunjeonbyeong?’

This refers to people who develop land in remote areas during peacetime and become soldiers during wartime.

Even the cavalrymen received basic military training. Those who went further turned into professional soldiers, and even those who were less advanced were required to receive training during peacetime.

So they were not dullards.

Rather than forming a formation, they seemed busy running haphazardly.

The common people, or to be precise, those within the count’s domain, were given a spear and sent out.

Behind them a group of archers could be seen with their arrows drawn on strings.

A person who makes soldiers fight even if it means killing the soldiers who are running away is called a Dokjeon-gwan.

The count created a poison arsenal.

If you retreat, you will die by arrows, and if you go out, you will die by the enemy’s sword.

It is said that he gave them a reason to fight by promising them land and status if they survived, but Marcus could not know that.

Marcus racked his brain desperately.

‘Are you intending to let go of your strength?’

It was a move that could not be avoided even if one knew it.

The Count was not a crippled fool. He was also a man who influenced an era.

When I was young, I was even called the Guardian of the Territory.

The meat shields he sent began to slice and rip apart when they reached the friendly forces. It was a natural result. After that, the army raised by the count also came rushing in.

The fight continued without pause. It was unclear what the Count’s intentions were, but one thing was certain.

Blood will flow as much as the rain pours down on this land.

* * *

Ragnar was in the middle of stabbing and slashing his enemies.

“Stop it!”

“Kill him!”

Blood spurted out. Bones broke. Heads burst open, brains spilling onto the floor. Severed limbs fell, and next to them lay the corpse of a dead soldier with his eyes open.

Ragnar didn’t care much about the sword. It would be more accurate to say that he didn’t care much about those who died.

Instead, he honed his skills.

I made this place my training ground.

That’s okay.

He thought as he stabbed, cut, and swung his sword, replayed the fight, and realized.

I did all of that at the same time.

I just created a few crafts.

And so, naturally, I merged and organized what I had. I threw away what I had to throw away and took what I had to take.

‘Cutting off the Mac is like catching.’

I learned it on the spot from the semi-knight I had previously faced, but upon thinking back on it, I realized it was a technique I didn’t need to keep.

It may be useful against weak opponents, but it will be a meaningless technique against opponents of similar level to me.

It’s a technique that may cause a moment of confusion, but it’s difficult to expect any further results.

Therefore, there was no need. Ragnar lightly discarded and forgot what he had learned.

There were a few little epiphanies like that.

‘Stronger and faster.’

Increase overall strength and speed. Based on that, add strength to the basics of cutting and stabbing. That’s the point. Strengthening the body.

It is a strengthening of skills based on will that goes beyond the level of training.

You walk without having to wonder if you are on the right path. You don’t have to ask anyone for directions. You don’t have to shake your head from side to side to check the constellations.

That’s talent.

He is a genius, a talent given by heaven.

Ragnar was in the process of creating and repeating a craft that he had to master and learn on the spot.

In the midst of all this, guys who didn’t even know how to fight approached us.

These are the soldiers who were sent out by the Count as mere cavalry.

‘It’s annoying.’

Why? You don’t need to know. Ragna moved without hesitation. He kicked the ground and moved, looking for people he could swing his sword at, like professional soldiers.

Before long, a fighting group appeared.

As Ragnar approached, the unit with the hollow center suddenly moved as if inviting him.

Ragnar walked into the middle of the formation they had formed, and a circle of men holding thick square shields formed around him.

They were trained to hunt wild beasts. That was the clear feeling.

“now!”

As soon as I entered, a net flew over my head. Along with the net, arrows and crossbows flew from all directions, aiming for me alone.

Ragnar lifted his sword and cut through the net.

It wasn’t difficult.

It wasn’t difficult to cut the net and dodge arrows and such.

He swung his sword horizontally to the ground, flowing like water. He aimed at the shield. He was going to cut down the shield and those holding it all at once.

but.

Kagagak! Jjang!

It was the first time. The sword was blocked. Even though it was only a shield for those who were neither knights nor quasi-knights.

It wasn’t an ordinary shield, and neither were the men who carried it.

It was a heavily armored infantry unit wearing thick armor all over their bodies.

The shield he held was a three-ply block of iron that was five times heavier than a normal shield.

Even if it was the Will of Cutting, it was obvious that it could not physically cut anything longer than the sword’s length.

That was the situation a little while ago.

The sword cut through the shield, but it was too thick to split it.

Those holding shields glared at Ragnar, holding their breath.

Ragnar took one look at my sword and then looked up.

He saw a chilling gaze looking at him from beyond the shield.

These were the eyes of a soldier who was trained to overcome fear, who knew how to endure fear but was afraid.

Ragnar thought it would be a good time to test out his newly honed skills.

‘Faster.’

Stronger.

Cut better.

Stab better.

That’s the core of Ragna’s new craft.

It would be a good idea to practice cutting and stabbing through that thick shield.