A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 252: The Horse’s Thoughts

Long after Enkrid had left, Torres heard a terrifying roar echo from the forest.

“Shouldn’t we send reinforcements?” asked a clueless soldier.

Hyo-un, a northern warrior with a strong sense of pride, replied on Torres’s behalf.

“Reinforcements? Those four monsters could probably burn an entire domain to the ground.”

For someone like Hyo-un to say such a thing carried weight. Even Torres couldn’t disagree.

“They’ll come back on their own,” Torres concluded.

Who should be worried about whom?

Torres instructed his soldiers to gather the centaur tendons and salvageable monster hides, burning the rest of the corpses.

How many have we lost?

Dozens had died in the earlier battles, and Torres himself had barely survived the first skirmish. Zimmer had come close to dying as well.

The situation had been dire.

At one point, Torres had seriously considered retreating and even voiced his concerns.

“Lord—no, Captain. If we stay here, we’re doomed. Locking the gates will only delay the inevitable.”

There were towers but no moats. When the centaurs approached and started battering the walls with massive clubs made from uprooted trees, how long could they realistically hold out?

What if reinforcements never arrived?

“So, if we abandon the walls, what’s your solution?” the lord had asked in return.

There wasn’t one. Outside the walls, the centaurs would be even more dangerous. They were relentless predators, faster than any human could escape.

Trapped from all sides.

The only option had been to request reinforcements and pray.

The centaur colony, particularly its leader, was terrifying.

Its guttural cries could make even seasoned soldiers falter.

Some men had wet themselves.

Yet, a team of fewer than ten people had managed to end that nightmare.

Fwoosh!

The battlefield was littered with the corpses of monsters, beasts, and three human casualties.

One had slipped and been crushed underfoot by a beast.

The other two had recklessly charged forward to "show the courage of the East" and paid the price.

Three dead.

The number of monsters and beasts slain? Countless.

At least 200, by rough estimation.

Of course, the Mad Platoon hadn’t killed them all. They were merely the spearhead, carving a path through the chaos.

The remaining enemies had been dealt with by the soldiers.

The day was overcast, the sky threatening snow.

A full day later, after organizing the battlefield, catching a few hours of sleep, and going about his duties, Torres spotted the returning party as they passed through the gates.

Drizzling rain fell, hinting at sleet as the temperature dropped.

It was the day after the battle—a day to laugh because they had survived.

And there they were: Enkrid and the Mad Platoon, walking back with the faint sunlight at their backs.

The heat of battle had long since dissipated, leaving behind a subdued calm.

Yet, as soon as they appeared, a voice rang out:

“Colony slayers!”

The soldiers near the gate picked up the chant.

“Colony Slayer!”

“Long live the Mad Platoon!”

“Wooooo!”

“You’re so handsome!”

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“Take me!”

“Holy shit! Thank you so much!”

It was a chaotic blend of gratitude, relief, and admiration for the impossible feat they had witnessed.

The drizzle turned into light snow, then sleet.

Torres stood under the mixed precipitation, watching Enkrid.

Behind him, a wild horse followed, exuding an almost mystical aura. The group carried a chest, and Rem held the glaive that had belonged to the centaur leader.

None of that mattered to Torres.

He stood straight, pressing his right hand to his waist as he bowed his head in salute—a soldier’s thanks for saving his life and the domain.

Enkrid acknowledged him with a slight nod as he walked past.

Rem, following close behind, stopped to ask, “Know any good blacksmiths?”

“There’s a dwarf on the outskirts of the market.”

“Nice,” Rem replied before moving on.

The rest of the squad passed by without stopping, unaffected by the cheers of the crowd.

The thunderous applause couldn’t hold them back.

***

"There's a Dwarf, Right?"

A master of metallurgy, smithing, and crafting.

Of course, not all dwarves are masters of metalworking. Elves have their own methods of metallurgy, and there are exceptional human artisans as well.

But on average, dwarven craftsmanship excels in both quality and skill.

So, when a dwarf appears in a human domain, it's only natural for them to draw attention—especially when someone with such expertise is precisely what's needed.

Even though dwarves are known for demanding high prices, no one in this group minded spending a few coins for quality weapons.

For those who lived by the sword, a good blade was an extra arm, and strong armor was another life.

Enkrid, too, felt a slight emptiness at his right hip.

"A second sword would be nice," he thought.

A blade forged by a dwarf would undoubtedly be reliable.

While Enkrid was used to piecing together armor from whatever he could find, the addition of the monster-hide inner armor he'd recently acquired was a notable improvement.

On their way in, the lord of Martai personally approached them to offer his thanks.

“I owe you my gratitude,” he said.

“It’s nothing,” Enkrid replied politely.

After a brief exchange, the lord departed, leaving them to rest.

“We don’t have private rooms. Our accommodations are as austere as our soldiers,” Torres informed them.

They were led to a barracks-style room with eight beds crammed together.

True to Torres’s words, the space was spartan. Aside from the beds, there was no furniture, and the room served no purpose other than sleeping.

“Should we tie the wild horse to a post here?” asked a soldier with experience handling animals, eyeing the horse cautiously.

The horse snorted and shook its head as if it understood the suggestion.

“Leave it,” Enkrid said.

The horse had followed him here simply because it wanted to. If it wished to leave, Enkrid would let it.

However, the horse had no intention of leaving.

Its half-monster blood made it an outcast among its herd, which instinctively feared it. For the same reason, the horse couldn’t stay in the stable or return to its territory without jeopardizing its herd’s safety.

In its own way, it had made the noble decision to leave its group and ensure their survival.

Though Enkrid had been the one to slay the flaming skulls, the horse felt an unexplainable bond with him, much like Enkrid felt toward it.

This connection, as the world might call it, was a kind of sympathy.

“You’ve done well. Rest now,” Enkrid said.

The horse neighed softly in response, as though they were holding a conversation.

Rem, watching this peculiar exchange, finally spoke.

“Think it’s gonna turn into a human too?”

“It won’t,” Enkrid said, his tone firm.

Unlike Esther, he was certain this horse wasn’t going to suddenly transform into a person.

“Don’t be so sure. When that leopard turned into a person, who saw that coming?” Rem said, drawing laughter from no one.

Everyone ignored him and set about unpacking their belongings and organizing the chest.

Soon after, Kraiss returned to the group.

“What is that?” he asked, staring uneasily at the wild horse lingering outside the barracks.

Despite being busy with tasks around Martai, Kraiss was now focused entirely on the horse.

“It’s a horse,” Enkrid replied simply.

The fact that it stood untethered outside the barracks, exuding an unusual aura, was enough to make anyone uneasy.

“Does it turn into a human too?” Kraiss asked, recalling Esther’s example.

“It’s male. Don’t even think about checking—it’ll kick your skull in,” Enkrid warned.

Esther had been fierce, but this horse, with its monster blood, was potentially even more dangerous. Kraiss might end up with hoof marks on his chest if he wasn’t careful.

“Do I look like Rem to you?” Kraiss retorted indignantly.

“Who called you an idiot?”

“I’m saying I don’t go around checking if animals are male from behind!”

“It was just a precaution,” Enkrid said flatly.

“Do you know I’m standing right here?” Rem interjected.

“Yeah,” Enkrid replied casually, just as Rem swung and smacked Kraiss on the head.

Smack!

“Ow!”

Though justified, Kraiss didn’t pout or complain about the hit. He merely rubbed the back of his head and moved on to the next topic.

The moment he entered the barracks, his attention was drawn to the smell of the chest.

“What’s in that chest?” Kraiss asked.

“Jewels,” Enkrid replied.

At the answer, Kraiss’s eyes lit up.

There was a strange phenomenon where people’s eyes seemed to sparkle like gold coins whenever treasure was involved.

Kraiss whistled as he inspected the contents of the chest.

“Not bad,” he said, clearly impressed.

"Have You Seen the Dwarf in the Village?"

As Kraiss was admiring the gold and jewels from the chest, Ragna casually asked, “Have you seen the dwarf in the village?”

Hm?

Did Ragna have an interest in this too? Was he tired of scavenging for weapons?

As Enkrid watched, Kraiss replied, “Oh, I was going to mention that. Yeah, it’s a real dwarf. First one I’ve ever seen, and honestly... kinda pretty-looking.”

Pretty-looking?

What did that mean? Enkrid figured he’d need to see for himself.

After organizing their gear for the rest of the afternoon, Enkrid spent some time loosening up with the Technique of Isolation before deciding to visit the dwarf the next day.

For now, he ate dinner, closed his eyes, and began his usual nightly routine: reflection.

What if I hadn’t let the leader escape?

He had pursued the monster leader after losing sight of it, during which he’d experienced a strange moment of heightened concentration.

While Enkrid often blended focus with sensory techniques, the moment he hurled his sword at the leader’s head had been different.

Was it Will at work?

No. Enkrid understood what Will was now: a mysterious, formless strength based on resolve.

It was a power difficult to describe with human language, akin to spells or incantations, yet uniquely personal.

It manifested in those who honed their bodies, mastered their weapons, or wielded their fists as their only tools.

So, no—it wasn’t Will.

When Enkrid threw his sword at the monster leader, he had felt something else entirely. A sensation of merging, where all his senses fused into one singular experience.

He had seen the path forward as though it were laid out before him. His instincts had coalesced, forming something new.

“It’s called the Art of Senses,” Jaxon had once said during a lesson.

The memory surfaced, bringing with it flashes of Enkrid’s sparring sessions with Вell, his hard-earned experiences, his revelations about life, his mindset, and even his mastery of Will—all of it culminating in this new insight.

“Don’t bother splitting it into intuition and reflex. Just call it sensory art,” Jaxon had explained, though in a manner as obtuse as Rem. At the time, it had made little sense.

Now, Enkrid closed his eyes and unified his senses. Without separating them, he could see, hear, and feel all at once.

He opened his eyes slightly and saw Audin praying.

“In Your will, Father, guide Your lamb so it does not stray,” Audin intoned softly.

Was he praying for Ragna?

It didn’t matter. What Enkrid realized was that it felt as though he had opened a third eye.

Despite Audin’s thick tunic and heavy coat, Enkrid could perceive his physique—the dense muscles, the explosive strength. Even while praying, Audin’s posture remained impeccable, unshaken.

Audin’s body was a masterpiece.

This realization brought Enkrid to a moment of unexpected clarity.

The path forward in his training became clear:

"Without a strong body, nothing else matters."

It was an obvious truth, but rediscovering it gave it renewed significance.

Enkrid determined his next steps for conditioning his body, knowing Audin’s guidance would be crucial.

Rem, observing Enkrid, muttered, “Hey, isn’t there a temple in Martai?”

Kraiss, polishing a jewel, replied, “Yeah, there’s one. Smaller than a shrine, though. Heard bad things about it, but it’s there.”

“That guy’s completely broken,” Rem muttered, watching Enkrid sit with his mouth half-open, seemingly lost in thought.

Kraiss glanced at Enkrid, noticing the drool escaping his mouth.

“Looks about normal for him,” Kraiss said. He’d seen this behavior countless times before.

No one else paid attention, but Dunbakel made a bold decision.

She mimicked Enkrid’s expression, mouth half-open, and let her own drool drip.

From now on, she resolved to follow everything Enkrid did, believing there must be a reason behind his actions.

“Want me to crush your skull? Why are you copying him?” Rem scolded.

Dunbakel remained steadfast, her resolve unwavering.

Truly mad.

The door to the barracks was half-open, and the wild horse stood just outside, peering in.

It seemed to be deep in thought.

Should I leave?

For a moment, the horse considered departing.

Its ability to understand Enkrid’s words wasn’t a coincidence—it had always been intelligent, even before its monster bloodline emerged.

The horse knew this was its chance to leave.

It contemplated its next move.