Eternally Regressing Knight-Chapter 471 - It’s All Rem’s Fault

Chapter 471 - It's All Rem's Fault

The first thing that caught his eye was a group of three girls and one boy playing with a rope braided from tree bark.

The girls were enjoying themselves, while the boy seemed to delight in playing the troublemaker.

He casually tripped one of the girls' feet and dashed away.

"Stop it!"

One of the girls' eyes flared with anger, her tone sharp.

She looked genuinely upset, a face not unlike Ayul's when she swung her axe at Rem.

The boy, sensing danger, scrambled away quickly, darting between the large tents with nimble steps that spoke of a childhood spent running wild.

His thin frame only made him appear faster.

"Not even a bellopter would bite that little pest," one of the girls holding the rope muttered venomously, her dark brown eyes flashing with irritation.

Unlike the adults, who often had painted symbols on their faces, the children's skin was clear and smooth, unmarked by such decorations.

Her naturally tanned complexion seemed to glow in the sunlight.

Clearly, their playtime had been disrupted, and her frustration made it seem she wouldn't let this slide easily.

To Enkrid, it was obvious the boy just wanted to join in the fun in his mischievous way.

Kids that age often sought attention through harmless pranks.

A group of four men working on leather nearby chuckled at the scene.

"If he keeps it up, he'll end up with a broken bone."

"Better to stand your ground and take the beating, kid."

"Running will only make it worse if they catch you."

Their tone was teasing, but their laughter carried a somber undertone that Enkrid couldn't ignore.

The boy, peeking out from between two large tents, shouted back with a cheeky grin, "I just won't get caught!"

The adults laughed again, shaking their heads at the boy's defiance.

"You can't run away forever," they warned, though the boy paid no attention.

A low, guttural sound broke the air—a familiar growl.

Enkrid had sensed the beast's approach long before it arrived.

"Hyah!"

A child rode up on a young bellopter, its soft, unripe scales glinting under the sun.

The small creature's low stature made its rider and Enkrid's eyes meet at the same level.

"Don't block the path of a hero!"

the child declared boldly.

Enkrid stepped aside without protest.

A massive ox lumbered past, dragging a cart laden with goods.

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The child gently patted the bellopter's neck to steer it out of the ox's way.

Though enormous and capable of crushing a human with a single charge, the ox seemed docile, its placid eyes shining gently.

The man guiding the ox paused briefly to let the child pass.

The scene around Enkrid unfolded with a lively rhythm: women carrying baskets of herbs strapped to their backs, men drying grasses, an old man scraping a long pole with a work knife, and a one-armed man meticulously stitching leather with his foot holding it in place.

"It's charming," Enkrid remarked as he surveyed the area.

Though there was an underlying grimness, the place felt alive and full of warmth.

"I told you it's a good place," Rem replied beside him.

He had said so before—a place that wasn't prosperous but peaceful.

To Enkrid, it indeed appeared that way.

It was a pastoral scene, simple and brimming with homely charm.

The bleating of sheep and the lowing of oxen filled the air.

A few short-legged, sturdy horses were visible, bred more for hauling loads than speed.

Bellopters rested in one of the open spaces, their short front legs folded as they dunked their heads into feed buckets.

Their vertical slit-pupiled eyes glanced curiously at Enkrid, and one of them emitted a raspy growl as its scales rippled.

Being cold-blooded creatures, they couldn't survive in colder climates, which was why they were unique to this warm, western region.

Sweat trickled down Enkrid's back under the sweltering heat, though the occasional breeze offered a welcome reprieve in the shade.

Among the bustling crowd, not everyone wore a cheerful expression.

A one-armed man wiped his sweat with a grin, but a gray-haired woman walking ahead of him carried a severe, somber demeanor.

Her short hair and gray eyes bore an uncanny resemblance to Rem's.

With a basket of herbs in hand, she marched ahead, her focus fixed on some distant point, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings.

"Move," she said quietly to a group of children blocking her path.

Without sparing them a glance, she continued, her expression as if lost in thought.

Behind her, the children hesitated for a moment before resuming their game, laughing and leaping over the long rope they held, following some unspoken rules.

Their joy and concentration were infectious.

Tents stretched out in every direction, with empty spaces here and there.

The people seemed uniformly shaped by hard labor and limited sustenance, their lean frames emphasizing their wiry muscles.

There were signs of scarcity everywhere—patched tents, worn tools, and anxious faces.

Yet, most of the people seemed content, finding their own happiness amidst the struggle.

"Strange, isn't it?"

Rem broke the silence.

Enkrid remained thoughtful.

Memories of Oara surfaced unbidden—her dream of a city where children could play and laugh freely.

This place was just like that.

It lacked wealth, but the people found satisfaction in what they had.

Now, he understood why Rem had described the place as "boring."

"They're enjoying life as it is," Enkrid thought.

These people seemed content with the present, embracing a life of stability rather than ambition.

No one paid much attention to the travelers standing in the open clearing.

A few passing glances were all they received.

A group of children, however, watched Lagarne with wide-eyed fascination.

"A frog!"

"A frog-woman!"

It was clearly their first time seeing a Frog.

Fortunately, Frogs didn't think of themselves as frogs and were unlikely to take offense at such remarks.

As long as their purpose wasn't interfered with, or someone didn't mention hearts, Frogs were generally peaceful.

The whole settlement had a distinct atmosphere—a life of acceptance rather than striving.

It wasn't unpleasant to Enkrid, even though Rem had warned him it might feel stifling.

For Enkrid, respect for another's way of life was only natural.

Life was like that—similar yet different, different yet similar.

"Who's here now?"

Some passersby called out, recognizing Rem.

"Is that Rem?"

"The real Rem, not an impostor?"

"Wasn't Rem supposed to be dead?"

"Didn't Ayul say he is dead?

Or did you say you will kill him?"

The last words spoken were particularly striking.

The man, who had gray eyes much lighter than Rem's, looked up as Ayul nodded in response to those words.

"I will kill him soon."

Her words sounded so sincere that they sent a chill down one's spine.

"What are you talking about?"

Rem asked, and for the first time, Ayul smiled.

Her smile, with just one corner of her mouth lifted, was not only unsettling but felt ominously foreboding.

It triggered everyone's survival instincts.

"It's all Rem's fault."

Luagarne remarked, her sharpness showing.

Had she always been this quick-witted?

"Right."

Dunbakel agreed.

"Rem, apologize."

Enkrid, too, joined in promptly.

It seemed clear that Ayul, the woman in question, held significant influence here.

It felt like they might leave without even getting a piece of meat, and if told to leave, they would have to obey without hesitation.

It seemed no one would listen to Rem's opinion in this place.

What do you think you know?"

Rem, still dumbfounded, turned to his group.

He didn't understand, but it was still his fault.

Unquestionably.

Enkrid expressed his will through his eyes.

"You've got some backbone."

Ayul showed a slight hint of affection.

Despite the poor first impression Rem had left, things had improved a little.

By siding with Ayul, Rem muttered, "Fighting for your life will be pointless."

In the moment the atmosphere lightened, Enkrid spoke to Rem.

"Go apologize.

Bow your head once every three steps."

"Just shut up and wait?"

Rem said with clear frustration, and Enkrid wisely held his tongue.

"I need to check on the chieftain, so stay here."

Rem took a breath and said with a much lighter expression than when facing Ayul.

Meeting the chieftain seemed like no big deal to him at all.

Thoughts of heading west resurfaced—he had only worried about facing his wife.

"Alright."

Enkrid replied, and Juol stepped forward, indicating a spot to rest—a secluded tent.

In the western culture of sitting on broad cloths instead of chairs, a large cloth had been spread out inside the tent as well.

"You can rest here."

Juol's words were met with a nod from Enkrid.

The thick, cotton-filled ground was quite soft, and Enkrid set his heavy backpack down to relieve his shoulder.

The bag, filled with a thick cloak, wooden dishes, and various other things, had been heavy.

Now that it was off, his shoulders felt lighter, and he had the sudden urge to move.

He had thought of many things while coming here, and now he felt as if something tangible could be grasped by facing a giant.

As he stood and grabbed his sword, he stepped outside the tent, and Dunbakel asked from behind,

"Where are you going?"

"Just stretching."

"Later, ask what this smell is.

What kind of herb is burning?

It's annoying."

It was a comment from a beastkin, who had a keen sense of smell.

Enkrid nodded but responded,

"Don't you worry about the smell coming from you?"

"I kind of like it when I smell it."

Enkrid almost moved his hand involuntarily but restrained himself.

His right hand lifted slightly, but it was his left hand that touched the gladius at his side.

With that, he paused, using his self-control.

His willpower shone through, and he almost acted like Rem, but it wasn't entirely his fault.

Dunbakel's provocations often made people lose all rational thought.

What made him angrier was that she hadn't meant to provoke him at all.

"Come on.

If hitting her would make her listen, she'd have listened already."

Luargarne said, showing some insight.

She had never been intimidated by Rem's violence, so in some ways, Dunbakel could be considered the most stubborn of all.

"Understood."

After responding, Luagarne followed him out.

Standing in front of the tent, Enkrid swung his sword to clear his mind.

Whoosh, swipe, whoosh, swipe.

A slow swing followed by a fast one.

Repeating the motions.

He had watched enough of the surroundings, and with the large tent blocking the view, there was nothing more to see.

Instead, the gazes that had been quietly observing them earlier disappeared.

Apart from the children, everyone had looked at them once, but it didn't seem like they were particularly interested.

Enkrid kept swinging his sword, focusing inward.

He reflected on what he had learned from Oara earlier and revisited his accumulated experiences from fighting giants.

"After enough real combat, your balance will inevitably start to skew, and your stance can break.

That's why you shouldn't slack off on training."

It was advice he had heard from a mercenary.

Enkrid recognized it as something most of his instructors would agree with.

"That's a given.

Proper training will come out subconsciously."

Luagarne nodded in agreement.

The same had been said by Ragna, Rem, Jaxen, and Audin, though their interpretations were slightly different.

Ragna had mocked the concept of training, suggesting that even if he didn't perform well, he should swing a sword a few times, which was more of an insult to the word "training."

Jaxen had criticized others, claiming that training in the mind made it easy to reproduce in the body, calling everyone else foolish.

Rem simply believed in swinging the sword however he could, which made Enkrid acutely aware of the difference in talent.

Audin had emphasized training, particularly his isolation technique, which required daily practice.

Despite his immense talent, he never skipped training the body.

When Enkrid thought back on it, a wave of nausea nearly rose—he remembered the brutal three-times-a-day training routine Audin had put him through early on.

"Wasn't that the Three Times Method?"

Back then, when he had trained three times a day, it felt like his body was falling apart, and moving a finger was almost impossible.

But if anyone asked if he blamed Audin for it, Enkrid would shake his head.

It was because of those painful days that he now had the strength to swing his sword.

"Did you come with Rem?"

The voice broke his concentration, and Enkrid returned to the present.

It wasn't like he had sunk deep into his focus, but training often made him lose track of time.

He felt the approach of someone and, without hostility or intent, simply let it happen.

His eyes shifted forward.

A middle-aged woman stood before him, holding a long stick.

She took a drag from it and exhaled smoke—a cigarette, with a sharp, spicy scent.

"Who's burning something?"

Dunbakel, from inside the tent, stuck her head out and asked.

Enkrid didn't answer immediately but instead looked behind the woman at the two westerners standing behind her.

They had similar brown hair and looked like twins.

"You wanted to spar?

Rem sent me."

As the smoke passed in front of his face, the strong, bitter scent lingered.

But within it, there was a subtle sweetness.

Whether the scent was real or not, it seemed to linger.

These two must be skilled—he could tell at a glance.

"Are you really sure you want to spar?"

The middle-aged woman asked, and Enkrid simply nodded.

It was a question that didn't need an answer.