Chapter 1 - Prologue

A flash sparked.

Encrid couldn't tell what was happening.

He merely felt a pain as if a red-hot skewer had pierced his neck.

And he simply realized that his leather-padded armor was of no use at all.

He gushed out the hot red liquid coursing through his body and lost consciousness.

He opened his eyes again.

It was the start of a day.

It wasn't a dream.

Because it was something he had already experienced several times.

He didn't even know why this was happening.

It was just something that happened.

CLAAANG.

The sound signaling the morning.

The night watchman was banging a pot with a ladle.

The third identical morning.

Encrid finally realized.

'Again?'

That every day, whenever he died, the exact same day would repeat.

1. My Dream Was to Be a Knight.

The teacher who taught Encrid the sword had a pretty good personality and was someone who didn't say unpleasant things.

"You."

The teacher called out to Encrid, leaning his body against his sheathed sword planted vertically on the ground.

"Return to your village. If you hate farming, act as the village watch. Then you'll at least snag the position of watch captain."

If he had listened to the words of that teacher who made a living by the sword back then, things might have been a bit better.

But he didn't.

A single phrase he heard when he was young was the problem.

"Encie, you're a genius."

He dueled a childish neighborhood kid who was three or four years older with a wooden sword and won easily.

He was 11 at the time, and it was the first time he heard the word genius.

He didn't know back then.

That the bastard was incredibly bad at sword fighting.

At fifteen, Encrid dueled an adult from the village with a wooden sword and won.

After that, he gained confidence in his skills.

In the small village where he was born, there was no one who knew how to wield a sword properly.

The one guy who did was a third-rate former mercenary.

He was a drifter who had wandered into the village after losing a leg.

He taught the village kids swordsmanship.

Encrid was among them.

"You're a genius."

At fifteen, he heard the exact same words for the second time.

If previously it was said by a village adult who knew nothing, this time it was the words of a mercenary who claimed with his own mouth to have given up his knighthood and lost his leg for a lady.

'I guess I'm a genius.'

That was what he thought.

He harbored a dream.

He decided to become a knight.

A knight who assists the monarch who will unite a continent engulfed in the flames of war.

A knight who puts an end to the war.

Around this time, the song of a bard spread far and wide across the entire continent.

So widely that it reached even his small village, Encrid's village.

The contents were plain, but the melody enchanted the ears, and the final lyrics shook his heart.

The knight who ends this war!

The knight who will dye the war in twilight!

We call him the Knight of Twilight!

We shall call him the Knight of the Apocalypse!

The Knight of the End! The knight who will end the ravages of war!

The knight to conclude the ravages of war.

The bard's song set the hearts of boys and girls on fire.

'I am the one.'

Encrid was the same.

At eighteen, thinking there was no one in the village who could match him, Encrid left the village.

He had no parents and no siblings.

He had a few friends, but because he had been obsessed with the sword since childhood, there weren't many people around Encrid whom he could attach his heart to.

Amidst that, the boy grew up and left.

That was how he started his mercenary life.

His skills weren't bad. In particular, his attitude of putting in effort wasn't bad.

But it only took him two months to realize that he wasn't a genius.

After getting beaten by a nameless so-called third-rate mercenary.

"You're not ripe enough."

He heard such words.

He thought all he needed was a good teacher.

He saved money. He gave it his all. He fought against bandit groups, risking half his life.

With the money he earned like that, he visited a training hall.

In large cities, there were usually a couple of swordsmanship training halls.

He learned the sword.

His luck wasn't bad.

Because the teacher was honest and conscientious.

He told Encrid to put down his sword.

"No. I won't do that."

Encrid didn't give up.

"You sure work hard. You really do."

Those who saw Encrid all said the same thing in unison.

He had to.

Because effort didn't betray.

His palms tore and his arm muscles trembled.

He repeated it countless times.

In places where birds of a feather flocked together, he was fine.

Encrid was an exceptional hard worker.

Wandering from one training hall to another with the money he saved up like that, he passed the age of twenty.

By the time he surpassed twenty-five, he had built up experience and skills, somewhat making a name for himself as a mercenary.

Even so, it was only to the extent that in a small city, one would have to ask around a few times before getting the response, 'Ah, that guy, he's pretty good with a sword.'

Up until this point, there was a sliver of hope.

The hope that he would become better than he was now.

Then came the spring of his twenty-seventh year.

Encrid realized that his talent was insignificant.

The result of an altercation he got into while passing by made it so.

In just five exchanges, the sword in his hand flew away, and a hole was made in his stomach. Pressing his palm against his punctured stomach, Encrid asked.

"How old are you?"

"Twelve."

Twelve, he said. It was absurd.

This was a true genius.

"Sorry, it was my first real combat."

The kid said. A kid of serf origins, neither a noble nor a commoner.

He had only held a sword for half a year.

"He was too heavy-handed. Put this toward your medical expenses."

The guy who was the kid's master tossed him a coin pouch.

It wasn't a life-threatening injury.

His internal organs weren't damaged, and he wasn't stabbed that deeply either.

Still, he took the pouch.

From age eleven until now, he had swung his sword for 16 years until his palms burst open.

And yet he lost to a twelve-year-old kid who had only learned for 6 months.

It would be a lie to say he wasn't depressed.

Even so, he didn't live harboring gloomy emotions.

There was no reason to live so darkly and drearily, was there?

'It's not like my arms or legs got cut off.'

Encrid knew he wasn't a genius, but that didn't mean there was a law saying he had to give up.

So, he continued his life as a swordsman.

Roughly ten years in the mercenary life alone.

Even if he couldn't become an outstanding knight or swordsman, he could become a seasoned soldier.

Encrid quit his mercenary job and received military training. This was the best choice he could make.

He couldn't just go and farm for a living now, could he?

A third-rate swordsman of mercenary origin, it was an appropriate modifier.

"Do you think the military is a joke? You think we just accept anyone?"

Someone mocked him.

"Hang in there."

Someone patted his shoulder.

He gained recognition, and he also fell behind.

Just like that, he turned thirty.

Naurilia Kingdom, Cyprus Division.

4th Regiment, 4th Battalion, 4th Company, 4th Platoon.

Being a member of what was known as the 44 Platoon was exactly where Encrid belonged.

Right below the Platoon Commander, Decurion was Encrid's position.

CLANG, CLANG, CLANG.

The night watchman struck a piece of iron, waking up the entire barracks.

"... That was one seriously messed up dream."

Encrid, awoken by the sound, muttered.

"What kind of dream did you have to say that?"

The subordinate from the cot next to him got up from his field bed made of layers of cotton cloth and spoke while shoving his feet into his boots.

He had a flippant attitude, but he was a guy whose skills were better than his own.

"My entire life."

"Ominous, tsk. Ah, a bug."

As if there was a bug in his boot, the subordinate took off the boot he had half put on, shook it out vigorously, and put it back on.

After that, seeing the bug that fell to the ground, he spat on it and crushed it under his foot.

A trace of sticky bodily fluids mixed with spit remained on the ground.

Seeing that, Encrid also got up and got his gear ready.

A breastplate with throwing knives stuck near the heart, arm guards to protect the arms, shin guards, and so on.

Underneath, he wore an under-armor made of layers of thick cloth.

Over that, he threw on an armor made of leather.

The armor was an item padded with several layers of leather, but it couldn't be said to be very sturdy leather.

It was something that could be easily sliced through by a well-sharpened blade.

His arm guards, which were padded with oiled wood, were at least a little better than what the other guys had.

"I heard the previous decurion had a dream like this before he kicked the bucket."

Encrid muttered, vaguely recalling hearing such a rumor.

"Are you fated to kick the bucket today?"

As the subordinate laughed, Encrid lightly smacked the back of his head.

"I'm not dying. Stop saying such unlucky shit."

He stood up, poured water into a pot, and threw in a few pieces of jerky. After that, he added a few edible vegetables and boiled it.

It was breakfast.

"Are there any plans for combat today?"

Encrid shook his head when the subordinate next to him asked.

"I don't know."

He was a lowly decurion.

Above the four decurions was a single Platoon Commander.

Even that Platoon Commander probably didn't know.

Because Encrid's swordsmanship was mediocre and he wasn't a noble, he remained a decurion and Squad Leader, but his years of experience rolling around on the battlefield could chew up and spit out most Company Commanders.

Because they knew that, the subordinates of his ten-man squad also respected Encrid.

"So what did you want to be when you grew up in that childhood dream of yours, Captain?"

The subordinate casually approached and asked.

"A knight."

"... Will you hit me if I laugh?"

"I won't hit you."

"Pfft."

"You're mocking me anyway? This bastard's lost all discipline."

Saying that, he kicked him in the ass.

The struck subordinate pretended it hurt as he spoke.

"No, but seriously, a knight."

What is a knight?

One who changes the tide of the battlefield.

A monster who faces a thousand on their own.

A hero who slashes and kills hundreds of enemies alone.

Furthermore, the name of the unit they currently belonged to, that is, the division's name, was also taken from a knight's name.

The Cyprus Division, meaning the army of Sir Cyprus.

To think his dream was to be such a knight.

"It's great that your dream is so ambitious."

"Dreams are supposed to be ambitious, you punk."

Saying that, Encrid nonchalantly gathered the bowls.

Today, it was his turn to do the dishes.

He didn't know about the other ten-man squads, but Encrid's squad shared all the chores equally.

Even as a decurion, it was just to the extent of receiving and relaying orders.

So usually, it was bound to be done by the guy who was best at using a spear or sword.

In that regard, Encrid was a little special.

His martial prowess was weaker than the other squad members.

But he could unite those who had been practically kicked out of other squads into one.

When other units talked about Encrid's unit, they called it Squad 444.

Saying they were the troublemaker squad of the 44 Platoon.

Encrid was the Squad Leader of such a squad.

"I'll help you."

"Then shut your mouth a bit and follow me."

"Let's do that."

The subordinate snickered.

How did this guy end up rolling all the way here?

He was a unique guy, but Encrid wasn't particularly curious about his subordinate's personal history.

So he didn't ask.

The squad members liked this attitude of Encrid's.

He didn't ask about the past, and he didn't nitpick about the present.

Nor did he demand anything special.

In this regard, he figured this was probably why all the squad members followed him.

While he was clattering away washing the bowls, the subordinate splashed the stream water and asked.

"Why did you want to become a knight?"

He tagged along saying he would help, but now he was just playing in the water.

Would he laugh if I answered that it was because I fell for a bard's song?

Encrid thought for a moment before answering.

"I wanted to be good at the sword, and I thought since I was already at it, it would be nice to become a knight too."

"You sure have the sentiments of a young boy."

The subordinate snickered again.

"I told you to shut that mouth of yours."

"So is that why you were dancing around with a sword morning and night like that?"

"Because effort doesn't betray."

Because he had swung his sword countless times, his palms were full of calluses.

"So even now?"

Do I want to become a knight?

How could I? I know better than anyone that it's impossible.

However, I won't give up.

I will just silently endure and move forward.

Encrid wasn't ignorant of reality, either.

It's just that his dream had fallen silent against reality, and the silenced Encrid merely became a soldier making a living by the sword.

"If you're done washing, let's go."

"Let's."

It was a trivial conversation.

They stood up and returned to the barracks.

Whether there would be an engagement with the kingdom they were in a local war with.

Or whether they would attack the recently formed bandit group rumored to be targeting supplies.

He didn't know what they would do.

'The air feels heavy.'

The air of the battlefield was always like that.

But today, it felt even more so.

The standby time was long.

Since there wasn't anything particular to do, he thought about swinging his sword, but took a nap instead.

There were bound to be days when one didn't want to do anything.

'It's hard to do as much as I used to.'

Relentless effort, he had done it.

This was the result of that.

A decurion at the level of a third-rate mercenary.

Only when the sun had passed about two handspans to the west from its peak in the sky did the Platoon Commander shout.

"All members of 44 Company, assemble."

It was combat.

The company members gathered and formed an axis of the army.

Encrid's ten-man squad was the same.

A cold tension wrapped around his body.

Encrid gripped the necklace charm he had obtained during his mercenary life once, then tucked it away inside his clothes.

'Did she say this would save my life?'

It was probably bullshit, but naturally, soldiers heading to the battlefield easily believed in superstitions.

However, if someone asked Encrid himself if he believed in this charm, the answer would be a skeptical "Well, I don't know."

He had merely looked into the eyes of the old woman who handed this to him back then, and her desperate tone had moved his heart.

'Nothing to lose, really.'

After putting his life on the line and fighting, the only thing he received as a reward was this single charm.

It was half luck that he managed to kill it; if things had gone south, he would have been the one to die.

Even though it was a grueling subjugation of a monster.

Because it was a small slash-and-burn farming village, they had no money to give.

They had merely grabbed onto the trousers of Encrid, who was coincidentally passing through the area, and clung to him, begging him to deal with the monster.

'It's a funny thing.'

Risking his life out of sympathy, it was an act of madness.

But Encrid didn't regret that action.

Because that was what a knight was.

Even though his dream was silenced by reality, devoured, and torn apart, traces remained.

He wanted to become a knight.

He wanted to become a war hero.

But right now, he was just a mere soldier.

WAAAAAAAH!

A battle cry erupted.

Following suit, Encrid also strained his neck, veins popping as he let out a roar.

From the front, a wave of an army came surging in.