A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

I should at least say something to everyone for their efforts.

As Enkrid got up, his head spun.

He had been lying down for too long.

He should have staggered, but he quickly corrected his posture.

The countless repetitions of today had trained his senses, allowing him to adjust to even the slightest differences in his equilibrium.

Not bad.

He could feel his body responding.

Standing upright, he turned his head left and right, scanning his surroundings.

Ragna sat nearby, his body wrapped in bandages from his shoulder down to his torso, eating porridge with one hand.

After swallowing a spoonful, Ragna’s gaze swept over Enkrid’s entire body.

Shinar's gaze followed the same path.

Both of them had the same thought.

They hadn’t noticed it while he was lying down, but now that he was up, something seemed different.

Of course, it made sense.

Among the countless cycles of today, Enkrid hadn’t just learned how to dodge.

Still, there was nothing to ask or point out just yet.

Ragna, however, was already anticipating their next spar.

His enthusiasm remained steady, undiminished.

"Is it good?"

Enkrid asked.

Ragna nodded.

No one had fed him, but Helma—or whatever her name was—and the other soldier had cooked the porridge.

It had a different taste compared to a regular meal.

Apparently, they had added eel meat this time.@@novelbin@@

Enkrid slowly stretched his body.

Two days.

Ragna also straightened up.

Wasn’t this the perfect time to laze around?

The Mad Platoon were men difficult to read, so Enkrid didn’t bother trying.

"How’s your injury?"

"It was just a slight sprain."

A slight sprain that had kept him bedridden for three days.

If it had been a fracture, he would have been dead.

Obviously.

Enkrid didn’t say any of this out loud.

That was just the way these people were.

Rem, Ragna, Jaxon, Audin—none of them were any different.