A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Enkrid had experienced halts in his life so many times, anxiety was no longer part of him. He simply acted.

He ran, leapt, and climbed the mountains.

Lua Gharne never left any tool unused.

That included people—she used whatever and whoever she could. He was just one of them.

Just yesterday, Enkrid had fought Dunbakel, Teresa, and Rophod.

He thought they’d refuse to fight him three-on-one out of pride, but all three accepted without hesitation.

Lua Gharne taught them a formation to fight together without tripping over each other.

That alone was enough to prevent Enkrid from easily gaining the upper hand. Their coordination was viciously efficient.

Dunbakel circled the battlefield, exploiting her speed and nimbleness to strike only when she saw an opening, while Teresa pressed forward relentlessly with her shield from the front.

Her blinding techniques had grown more refined, and her overall proficiency had improved, making her even more formidable.

And beside them, Rophod swung his sword with stubborn strength.

It wasn’t the style of a heavy blade. He fought with calculated intent, weaving strategy into every swing.

At times, Rophod would swing not at Enkrid but into empty space. But when there was no other place to dodge, Enkrid would be forced to deflect that blade anyway.

That created a gap—and into that gap, Dunbakel’s curved blade would fly.

Enkrid found himself catching glimpses of Rophod’s talent.

Calculating moves in the middle of a three-on-one fight?

That kind of instinct would shine brightest when commanding a small force.

And indeed, Rophod was awakening to that very talent.

He was beginning to read the flow of battle from above, as though watching from high ground.

A skill not only useful for small unit tactics, but potentially applicable in solo combat too.

It was textbook orthodox swordsmanship. Lua Gharne spoke of feints and pressure, but Rophod drove his opponent back by faithfully swinging his blade.

Exceptional.

Enkrid recognized Rophod’s talent.

And Lua Gharne had noticed it long before him, awakening it with just a few words of advice.

One might expect to feel the bitter gap between talents laid so bare—

But Enkrid didn’t even flinch.

He was too busy gasping through daily training to worry about such things.

Even Dunbakel had improved dramatically, though no one could say how.

She fought with two curved blades, her claws, and her whole body—killing techniques using every limb.

It was combat born of instinct.

But her strikes were not mindless—they were calculated even in chaos.

Messy, yet near impossible to guard against.

In any case, yesterday he’d barely held his own against the three of them.

And today, the challenge took a different turn.

“Have you ever fought a mage before?”

Before Enkrid could even answer Lua Gharne’s question, a woman stepped out from behind Frokk—long black hair and nothing but a thin robe draped over her shoulders.