A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 400: Eating Meat

Marcus, now the main commander of the central force with Crang’s support, understood the value of the time Enkrid had earned for them.

One day—it wasn’t much, but it was enough to make a difference.

"Summon all unit commanders!"

It was time for tactics and strategy. Was he particularly skilled in such things? Not really.

But that wasn’t a problem.

The solution was simple—just gather the people who were skilled in it.

"The scouts will keep monitoring the enemy’s movements without rest. The rest of the troops will stand down! Make sure they eat and rest, but don’t remove their armor. Keep weapons within reach at all times!"

Marcus barked orders nonstop.

Crang watched him and thought of Enkrid.

A shiver ran down his spine.

There was a man who stood alone on the battlefield, showing his back to no one.

Such a man—Crang called a knight.

Not the kind of knight who symbolized raw power, but the kind sung about by bards.

A knight of honor and conviction.

A guardian of oaths.

Enkrid wasn’t the pawn Crang had prepared, and yet, he trusted him.

He wanted to ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) support him.

And it had worked.

Everything had gone as he wished.

Yet, even as he looked at Enkrid, Crang wasn’t sure if he could truly claim him as one of his own.

Could I take him in?

Greed stirred. He wanted to keep Enkrid by his side. The thought boiled up within him.

But just as quickly, Crang discarded it.

There was a better way.

I don’t need to claim him.

What about simply being friends?

Not a bad option.

And as luck would have it, that very hero had just returned.

"Enki."

Crang greeted him first.

Marcus turned to look as well.

All Enkrid had done was cut down a few enemies and fight an opposing commander to a draw, yet the strength he had displayed left an impression on everyone.

Moreover, his battle had ignited the morale of the troops.

They were inside the command tent, where battle strategies were being laid out.

Crang raised a hand in greeting, and Enkrid gave him a small nod in return.

Even if they were friends, there were places where shouting someone’s name freely wasn’t appropriate.

Enkrid had enough sense to read the situation and act accordingly.

Of course, even if he had called Crang’s name outright, no one would have dared to reprimand him.

But Enkrid was unaware of the weight of his own deeds.

And to Crang, that was simply another one of his traits.

More and more commanders entered the tent.

Among them—

"Put me in the vanguard!"

Baron Rudin, a man who had dreamed of joining the knightly orders his whole life, spoke up. His blood boiled as he witnessed a man stand alone against thousands.

If one’s blood didn’t boil at such a sight, they weren’t human.

His eyes burned with fire.

"Restrain yourself."

Marcus cut him off.

Tactics and strategy aside, Marcus knew what needed to be done.

They had to turn the tide in one decisive battle.

And to do that, they had to use every trick they had.

"The Count’s hidden cards—those might not be all he has. But one fact remains unchanged. We must fight. And we will hold our ground as one."

Marcus laid out the overall strategy, while those skilled in tactics filled in the gaps.

At the heart of it all was Enkrid’s Mad Company.

But no one could dictate how they should move.

The best strategists kept soldiers in constant motion.

They ensured everyone knew their role and carried it out.

But there were some who needed no such orders.

Some who instinctively found their place and fought where they were needed.

Enkrid was one of them.

That was why Marcus said nothing to him. Commands weren’t necessary.

When assigning positions, Marcus simply skipped over Enkrid.

Enkrid and his unit were the size of a squad.

But no one thought of them as just a squad.

Everyone had seen it now.

His strength was real.

The title of "Border Guard Hero" was not mere flattery.

As the strategy meeting neared its conclusion, Marcus turned to Enkrid.

"Mad Company will move on its own, I assume?"

He needed confirmation.

Would they be the blade that cut down enemies for their liege?

Had he judged them correctly?

Would they fight on their own terms, finding their place without orders?

"Yes. We will."

The response was simple.

But it was enough to reassure Marcus.

Enkrid gave a nod and left the tent, returning to his assigned quarters.

The tent was large.

Outside, Rem sat by a campfire, preparing something.

"Looks like tomorrow’s gonna be rough."

The warrior, often called a barbarian, spoke from instinct.

And he wasn’t wrong.

It would be brutal.

It would be dangerous.

"Are you dying from excitement?"

"How’d you know?"

"It’s written all over your face."

Enkrid sat down on a flat stone Rem had set up as a seat.

He had to admit, Rem had a knack for this.

Where did he even find something like this?

"Where’s my seat?"

Ragna stepped out of the tent and demanded.

Rem, in response, told him to piss off.

"Did you reserve one?"

"You’re just bitter about getting beaten up when you sprained your ankle."

Ragna was still mocking him for the time he got injured fighting the Undying Madman.

He was persistent.

Rem ignored him.

Ragna, being just as stubborn, found a similar stone and set it beside them.

Jaxon, however, was smarter.

He carved a wooden seat with clean, precise cuts.

At this point, wouldn’t it have been easier to just ask the quartermaster for a stool?

Dunbakel simply sat on the ground.

It looked comfortable.

Esther transformed into a leopard and curled up in Enkrid’s lap.

As he wiped himself down with a damp cloth, he watched Rem work.

Had he held an axe to the quartermaster’s throat?

Because he had managed to bring fresh meat.

He must have gone hunting on the way back.

Ordinary soldiers wouldn’t even dream of fresh meat.

Rem sliced into it with a small knife, sprinkled salt between the cuts, then wrapped it in clean cloth.

Noticing Enkrid’s stare, Rem finally spoke.

"This drains the blood and makes the meat more tender."

"Sounds delicious."

At Enkrid’s response, Rem glanced around.

At some point, Aisia had joined them.

Unlike the others, she had actually gotten a chair from the quartermaster.

It was simple—wooden legs that spread apart when unfolded, with cloth stretched across the frame.

Fragile, but easy to make.

"What’s this? What are you making?"

Aisia, ever sociable, kept her friendly demeanor.

Not that it saved her from getting hit on the back of the head earlier.

What was the name of that semi-knight whose momentum he crushed?

Enkrid tried to recall, then gave up.

It didn’t matter.

"Brats won’t get any."

Rem muttered.

But he would share, eventually.

He wasn’t as stingy as he pretended to be.

Ragna thought for a moment before narrowing his eyes.

"If you share, I’ll let it go."

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

He meant he’d stop teasing Rem about his injured leg.

Judging by their expressions, they had mocked him a lot while Enkrid was away.

Crazy bastards.

Mocking someone for getting injured in a fight?

And getting angry when mocked in return?

"I’ll let you off this time."

Rem relented.

Ragna was picky about food, after all.

Enkrid silently watched.

Rem salted the meat, and Jaxon tossed a small pouch toward him.

Rem caught it with a smirk.

"You bastard."

It almost sounded like praise.

Jaxon, naturally, ignored him.

The pouch contained spices.

Rem sprinkled them over the meat.

The scent spread.

Was that a mix of herbs?

"If you poisoned it, you’re dead."

Rem muttered as he worked. From the grin on his face, it was clearly a joke.

Jaxon, as expected, ignored him and sat next to Enkrid.

Dunbakel, surprisingly, stayed quiet and helped Rem with the preparation.

"Don't use your claws. Did you even wash your hands?"

"I’ll use a knife."

For once, Dunbakel was surprisingly well-behaved.

The meat had been scored, seasoned with salt and spices. When the cloth wrapping it turned red, Rem unwrapped it and switched to a fresh cloth, gently patting the meat dry.

He surrounded the campfire with stones, creating a raised platform.

Then, somehow, he produced a cast-iron pan.

Rem poured flaxseed oil into the pan.

"This stuff’s rare, you know."

He said as he worked. Enkrid nodded.

For now, Rem was the law.

Just for a moment.

The pan heated up. The oil spread, filling the air with its rich aroma.

Finally, Rem placed the meat on the pan.

SIZZLE!

The scent of roasting meat mixed with the oil, rising in a wave that assaulted their senses.

Enkrid felt it rush through his nose and slam into his brain.

His mouth flooded with saliva.

"Hmph."

Enkrid let out a small, appreciative sound.

Rem stared at the meat with utter seriousness.

His hands, however, moved with practiced ease.

He flipped the meat.

The seared side had turned a rich, dark brown.

Sizzle!

White smoke curled into the night sky as he cooked the other side.

Then, he speared the meat with a metal skewer, carefully searing the edges as well.

Once he decided it was done, he transferred the meat onto a clean wooden board.

Dunbakel reached for it immediately.

"Eat that, and you’re dead. Wait."

Rem didn’t even look up as he warned her.

"Ugh, why?"

"Because it tastes better if you let it rest."

It was uncharacteristically reasonable and gentle of him.

Dunbakel accepted it without protest.

After cooking several more pieces, Rem sliced the first one open.

Inside, the meat was still red, while the outer layer was a rich, golden brown.

"I picked a cut with high fat content. This is going to be good."

"Where’d you even get this?"

"Ran into some nomads nearby. Had fresh stock."

He casually answered as he carved the meat into bite-sized pieces.

"Eat."

Rem folded his arms.

Enkrid wasted no time.

He moved with explosive speed, skewering a thick slice in one fluid motion.

Then, into his mouth.

Crunch.

The moment he bit down, juices burst forth, flooding his tongue with rich, savory flavor.

The scent had stimulated his salivary glands—

but the taste struck his senses like a blade.

Every hair on his body stood on end.

This is it. This is what food should be.

The tender meat glided between his teeth, then—gone.

"What the hell?"

Had he swallowed it already?

Was this a dream?

Before he knew it, his skewer moved again.

"There's plenty."

Rem assured him.

And they ate.

They ate a lot.

Every single one of them was a glutton.

They burned too many calories to eat lightly.

They only stopped when their stomachs finally felt full.

Even Jaxon, usually the most restrained, wordlessly devoured chunk after chunk.

It had become an unexpected feast.

"Alright. We ate well. Now, let’s have some fun tomorrow morning."

Rem smacked his stomach with satisfaction.

"That’s my line."

Enkrid responded.

"Ah, that was good. Enkrid, I saw your fight today."

Aisia commented, standing as she spoke.

Then, she left.

There wasn’t much to do that night.

Everyone spent their time as they pleased.

Ragna had no thoughts.

Rem was excited.

Jaxon, using "a walk" as an excuse, slipped out.

As he walked in the cool night air, a shadow emerged from the side.

It was his lover.

Also, a guild contact.

"Do you really have to go this far?"

She asked, skipping past any greetings.

She couldn’t understand him.

"This is the last time."

Jaxon answered.

Her question was why he was following Enkrid into battle.

His answer?

This would be his final gift.

His lover stared at him.

She didn’t know why.

She couldn’t guess his reasons.

But she had a feeling.

That Jaxon would never come back.

"Do you remember what your father said?"

The words of his master—his late father—came to mind.

"Find the place where you belong."

It had been both an order and a farewell.

Jaxon had never taken those words to heart.

But his lover had.

For now, though, it wasn’t something they could discuss.

While Jaxon was out, Dunbakel, unable to sleep, left her tent.

She sat on Rem’s stone seat, staring at the sky.

The moon was bright.

A perfect night for a raid.

Yet, the enemy was silent.

Dunbakel shivered.

Not from cold.

Her life had been filled with struggle and survival.

She fought to stay alive.

Or more accurately, she had done whatever it took to survive—whether by fighting, running, or worse.

And now, her instincts screamed.

A gut-wrenching sense of danger.

It was like standing at the edge of a cliff, leaning forward, waiting for the fall.

But she didn’t want to leave.

So what should she do?

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"Struggle."

She had seen it up close.

Enkrid had shown her the way.

The moonlight shifted.

Clouds drifted in, covering the sky.

Darkness settled.

Crackle.

The torches flickered around the camp.

Whoosh.

A cold wind swept through, cutting to the bone.

"If struggling is the only way forward, then so be it."

Dunbakel steeled herself.

Even so—

Her hands still trembled.

Esther’s Senses Stir

Esther, still curled up in Enkrid’s lap, opened her eyes.

She felt something.

A stirring of mana.

A flow of magic unlike anything she had seen before.

She couldn’t place it.

But it was there.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze.

She saw Enkrid, fast asleep.

His breathing was steady.

As if he had not a single worry in the world.