A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

For three days straight, Enkrid immersed himself in contemplation and recollection.

He had no other choice.

He had pushed his body to the brink, to the point where it was a miracle he hadn’t sustained any lasting injuries.

As a result, his physical training was kept to the bare minimum.

A few movements to maintain flexibility and some simple sword swings in the air to keep his senses sharp—that was all.

The rest of his time was dedicated to thinking and reviewing past experiences.

But it wasn’t boring.

"Using your body in this state is like trying to fill a broken vessel with water, Brother."

Audin’s words made it clear—no matter how much effort he put in now, it would all slip away like water through cracks.

In the past—before he began reliving today over and over again—he wouldn’t have cared whether the vessel was cracked or shattered. He would have pushed through anyway.

But now, he understood.

Rest was necessary.

"You must rest properly to move forward, Brother.

There was once a goat named ‘Nu.’

Nu could walk without stopping.

He had strong legs—so strong that he believed he had been given them for the sole purpose of moving forward.

So, Nu never stopped walking.

Seeing this, the Lord said, ‘If you walk without looking at where you’re going, you will never know where you are.’"

Audin launched into a sermon.

It wasn’t unpleasant to listen to.

Teresa knelt beside them, quietly listening as well.

Strangely enough, they suited each other.

Their statures were similar, for one. They were even jokingly called the "Giant Siblings" because of it.

Looking at them now, they even gave off a similar atmosphere.

After Audin’s sermon—which was, in truth, more of a lecture—Teresa calmly recounted what had happened to her.

Their first meeting had been awkward, but Enkrid knew how to ease people into conversation.

If conversation was a skill, then Enkrid was an expert at it.

"We’re both resting because we’re injured."

"Yes, that’s right."

"You killed the bishop. Aren’t they out for blood now?"

"I don’t know."

"What’s their response?"

"I’ll do what I can."

Surprisingly, Teresa wasn’t well-informed about the movements of the cult.

Trying to extract information from her was proving difficult.

Even so, Kraiss seemed to be piecing things together from what little she did know.

"I’ve been learning songs lately."

Teresa abruptly changed the topic.

Her voice had a naturally husky timbre.

It was rough—like the grain of coarse wood.

But to Enkrid, whose heightened senses had been honed through battle, it was more than that.

It’s husky, but…

It was a voice with character.

Like raw wood that, when carved and polished, could become a magnificent piece of furniture.

Enkrid himself had no talent for singing, but he had picked up a fair share of songs during his travels.

Garrett’s voice, despite his rough personality, was unexpectedly clear and smooth.

He thought it might pair well with Teresa’s husky voice.

"And what were you doing while your captain was rolling in the dirt?"

"Fighting."

"Yeah, but where were you fighting? You’re being vague on purpose, aren’t you? Ah, right, you like getting hit, don’t you?"

"I don’t like it."

"Sure, sure. Let’s go. Let’s get hit—wait, I mean, let’s spar."

Off to the side, Rem gleefully tormented Dunbakel, practically hounding her.

Meanwhile, Ragna was dozing off in a corner.

He, too, was in the process of recovering.

Somewhere in the midst of all this, discussions about hosting a banquet arose, but Enkrid remained focused on his rest.

Rest, for him, meant contemplation, recollection, and interaction with his comrades.

And, of course, eating properly.

"If you ever get the chance to try eel, make sure you do."

He even made recommendations.

Seeing Ragna nod in agreement caught Rem’s attention.

"Wait, even that picky tongue of yours acknowledges it?

I’ve had eel before."

"The seasoning is different."

A peculiar tension settled in the barracks.

Ragna and Rem were exchanging their usual cold glances, pretending to ignore each other.

It wasn’t the first time something like this happened.

Enkrid simply ignored it.

"Here’s more salve."

Shinar occasionally popped in and out, dropping off medicinal ointments.

"Did you raid a fairy treasure vault or something?"

"How did you know?"

Enkrid had grown used to fairy humor, so he played along with ease.

"I just had a feeling."

"And I heard you survived by relying on that feeling. Impressive."

Shinar vanished with a throwaway remark.

The ointment was homemade.

It came in a small, well-used clay jar, carrying the faint scent of herbs.

The jar was worn, but its contents smelled fresh.

That meant it was made recently.

Even after Shinar left, nothing changed.

Whenever he had spare time, Enkrid turned inward.

He reviewed everything he had learned.

Since he couldn’t move his body much, he had no choice.

So, he worked his mind to the limit instead.

And he gained a lot from it.

What if I could use my intuition in battle?

It seemed possible.

Broadly speaking, intuition was already used to grasp the flow of the battlefield.

But if I focused solely on my opponent, couldn’t I apply it in a different way?

The Royal Knight he had fought before had already proven this was possible.

The boldness granted by the Beast’s Heart, the sharpness honed through sensory techniques, and his refined concentration—all of these factors played a part.

But what was still lacking?

Thinking—true thinking—was the key.

He needed to train his ability to perceive his present state, to gain a clearer vision of himself.

He had done this countless times before.

That was why he could so easily identify what he lacked.

And right now, what he needed was agility of thought.

Reacting to situations, moments, and conditions instantly.

Weighing multiple options in an instant and executing the best one.

It wasn’t just about sensory reflexes.

It was about compressing the process of thought itself.

Not just intuition…

Condensing thought itself into a streamlined process.

After all, intuition was nothing more than accumulated experience manifesting as instinct.

In the end, it all came down to agility of thought.

Relying solely on intuition would leave him vulnerable to deceptive strikes.

How much had he benefited from the Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship?

Enkrid never thought of himself as special.

He always considered the possibility of being caught off guard in the same way he caught others.

It was a given.

Ever since he left his village as a so-called "prodigy," he had been beaten down, over and over again.

That was why repetition and training were second nature to him.

Once a thought caught fire in his mind, it burned ceaselessly.

And while Enkrid was deeply immersed in his own thoughts, things were happening outside.

But he neither knew nor cared.

In fact, he didn’t even hear them.

"Who are you here to see?"

The faint sound of voices reached him.

He ignored them.

He plunged deeper into his own mind.

A knight…

That knight’s sword—its trajectory played over and over in his mind.

Understanding the sword’s path was all he could do.

He couldn’t even read the knight’s breathing until he had died countless times.

What made it different?

He could tell it was different.

But why?

As he delved deeper, he began to feel something.

By moving beyond the repetition of today, Enkrid gained a new perspective.

What was the key to saving the child?

Speed.

What was necessary to break through the walls of strategy?

Perception.

The knight’s sword was said to bring despair.

But it was not despair.

His expanded perspective, his experiences against that knight—

Something inside him awakened.

To overcome the knight’s sword, he shifted his approach.

Instead of blocking, he struck first.

He surpassed the condition that had been imposed upon him—"one strike."

Ah…

A small revelation flickered to life, faded, then ignited again.

The moment he recognized it, Enkrid urged himself forward.

What had he gained from throwing himself forward to save the child?

A momentary Will.

To slip into the brief instant when the enemy’s attention wavered, speed was needed.

And in that moment, Will took hold.

Even when shackled by strategy, it was the same.

Fear, hesitation, and attack intent—weren’t they all connected?

They were.

He wove them together.

Merged them.

Until he forged an impossible instinct.

And in that, Will had been present all along.

He could feel it.

Will—the Will—layered over his intent, making it possible.

It was the same realization that had allowed him to break through overwhelming pressure.

Just as he had grasped rejection to overcome its weight, he had forged a suppressing blade to withstand the knight’s sword.

And now, Enkrid hesitated.

Should he take a major step forward?

It felt possible.

But was it the right path?

He thought he had merely closed his eyes while seated—but before he knew it, the boatman was there.

"Do as you always have."

The boatman’s face appeared hazy before fading away.

Was it advice? Or was it interference?

Even in moments like this, Enkrid’s instincts flared to life.

It sounded like advice.

Enkrid took it as a signpost.

One step at a time, steadily, as he had always done.

It felt like the right answer.

When he opened his eyes, he heard Rem’s voice.

"Oi, how about fixing that habit of dozing off all the time?"

Once again, he had lost himself in the world of the sword without realizing it.

"How long has it been?"

"Two days."

Kraiss answered.

But that wasn’t the real issue.

"You should hurry to see the lord."

"Why?"

"Someone’s been waiting since yesterday."

Enkrid quickly assessed the situation.

He was still inside the barracks, and Audin was nowhere to be seen.

His sharpened senses picked up a conversation in the distance—Audin speaking with someone outside.

"I held them off yesterday," Rem added, sounding irritated.

Enkrid grasped the situation.

He had been so absorbed in his sword meditations that his subordinates had intervened to keep him undisturbed.

But if the lord of Graham had allowed this visitor to wait for two days, then this wasn’t just anyone.

"Who came?" Enkrid asked as he rose.

"Count Molsen."

Kraiss answered.

"Him? In person?"

"Yes."

At that, Enkrid started walking.

The King of the Borderlands—a noble with monstrous ambition.

If he had come all the way here, he had an agenda.

"He specifically said he came to see you, Captain. Be careful."

Kraiss warned.

A noble had waited two days.

Enkrid could make him wait longer, but that would be a foolish move.

He was obsessed with the sword, but he wasn’t stupid.

He knew which path was easier.

He was a little hungry, but his mind was clear, and his body was in decent condition.

"Hold on."

Enkrid quickened his pace, and Kraiss followed.

If Kraiss had something to say, he’d say it while following.

The two of them soon arrived at the barracks entrance.

There, standing beside Audin, was a woman draped in a thin fur coat, her long black hair catching the light.

Esther.

"Got tired of being a leopard?" Enkrid remarked.

Her fur had been warm and soft.

At his words, Esther turned her head.

"It’s not like I chose to become a beast."

She was as prickly as ever.

Which meant she was normal.

In front of Audin stood a man with a fierce expression and a woman clad in scaled armor.

The woman’s eyes were half-lidded, glowing faintly with an eerie light.

The man, on the other hand, looked as solid as a boulder, standing with unyielding posture.

Behind them, several soldiers stood at attention.

"Listen before you act," Kraiss muttered from behind.

At that moment, the woman’s gaze shifted to Enkrid, scrutinizing him.

"You must be the one called Enkrid?"

"That’s me. And you are?"

"Sister, look at that. Waiting worked after all," Audin interjected.

"Two days. You made a count wait for two days," the boulder-jawed man spoke.

When he clenched his teeth, the muscles in his jaw flexed like he could chew through stone.

Was his main weapon his teeth?

The guards at the barracks looked uneasy, but Audin remained calm, smiling his usual serene smile.

"Well, he’s here now. That’s what matters, Brother."

"Do you not take the Count’s name seriously?

You’re playing a dangerous game, you big oaf," the boulder-jawed man warned.

Enkrid stepped forward.

Audin was slow to anger, but he wasn’t the type to let insults slide either.

Knowing this, Enkrid decided to intervene.

Audin wouldn’t throw the first punch, but it was always better to avoid unnecessary conflict.

He had shown up now, hadn’t he?

"I apologize for the delay. Let’s go."

"This should come first."

The woman with glowing eyes spoke, standing tall.

She carried a rounded helmet at her side and wore a thick fur-lined cloak.

Her irises shone a peculiar shade.

"A clan that engraves spells into their eyes," Esther muttered behind him.

Such a thing existed?

Enkrid stared at the woman.

So what?

The fact that she had spell-engraved eyes wasn’t the issue here.

Though, considering that Esther had appeared, it likely meant this was a matter of concern.

His guess was correct.

Esther had stepped forward, prepared to ensure there were consequences should the woman attempt any magic.

Do they think they can pull something cheap here?

Enkrid scratched his chin with his index finger.

All of this effort just to avoid disturbing him?

That was unexpected.

No… perhaps it shouldn’t be unexpected anymore.

He could now predict how his people would act.

That was the truth.

The woman with the glowing eyes spoke again.

"We’ve come from Baisar.

Someone important is waiting to meet you."

How many nobles were there in the Kingdom of Naurillia?

More than a few.

And among them, Enkrid was—frankly speaking—a nobody.

He had been to the capital, but staying there had been too expensive, and he hadn’t had much to do there.

That was why he had drifted toward the frontier.

It wasn’t for nothing that he had ended up training under a sword instructor in some coastal corner.

But even he knew of Centerpole—the Thumb House—one of the five great families that formed the backbone of the kingdom.

That was the Molsen family’s house.

If Marcus had returned, this wouldn’t be how they approached him.

It had to be someone else.

Enkrid processed the situation with just a few words.

Agility of thought came into play even now.

By compressing his thought process, he determined his course of action.

"Let’s go together."

Their intentions were obvious.

So this approach would work just fine.

No—this was actually the better option for him.

At his words, Boulder Jaw and Glowing Eyes exchanged glances.

It was clear that neither of them wanted to wait any longer.

They had already been exceptionally patient.

Had he not been spoken of as a war hero and a potential knight, they would never have waited.

Moments later, both of them nodded.

And with that, the meeting was set.