Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 82 - 82 - The Concept of Speed
Chapter 82 - The Concept of Speed
"You seem a bit different."
"I've seen a lot lately. Especially regarding speed."
That swordsman was the catalyst, but it started even earlier—things I'd always observed.
Every moment faced during sparring sessions, like axe strikes bending like a whip.
The swordsman's blade, Rem's axe, and the experiences and realizations gained on the battlefield.
Everything I trained for in solitude and with the
Isolation technique
All of it coalesced, settling in my mind.
An indescribable sensation took root within me, and Enkrid entered a state of singular focus.
A world where only the sword and I existed. Even the feel of the hilt faded.
All that remained was the connection of points into a single line.
Strength, the essential element to draw that line.
The moment I met Rem's eyes, I unleashed it.
The tip of my sword traced the shortest path between two points.
The blade pierced his neck.
An illusion unfolded.
So vivid it felt real.
In the vision, my blade had punctured Rem's neck.
He collapsed, blood pooling beneath him.
His eyes wide open, frothing blood at the corners of his mouth.
No grudge, only pure astonishment in his gaze.
"Damn, that was really fast."
The expletive-laden comment shattered the illusion like glass, pieces scattering to the ground.
Beyond the shattered remnants, I saw Rem's astonished expression.
It softened quickly, his eyes lighting up like a child discovering a new toy.
"What did you just do?"
A faint mark marred his neck where the blade had grazed.
"Almost sent me to my grave."
Enkrid responded, "Sorry, nearly killed you."
"I never thought I'd say this, but our little squad leader's got serious skills."
"Pretty sure I'm older than you," Enkrid retorted, his height also exceeding Rem's.
"Interesting guy, aren't you?"
With a playful grin, Rem suddenly thrust his axe forward.
Reflexively dodging, I watched as the axe followed my cheek with an unrelenting whip-like motion.
Sparring resumed.
For the next stretch, I danced between life and death at the mercy of Rem's axe strikes.
"Do you understand now what it means to swing fast? Good. Let's keep going."
Was this retaliation for the earlier graze?
Or was there some underlying grudge?
Regardless, I didn't back down.
"Worried you'll kill me again? Don't be. I'll make sure to finish you first."
Rem's eyes gleamed fiercely, and his arms moved with precision, not as whips but as beams of light.
Where I had barely evaded before, the axe now found its mark on my neck.
Yet it left no wounds, not even a scratch.
The axe's edge grazed and pulled back.
Its bluntness prevented injury, leaving only a cold imprint.
"If you cannot completely control the weapon in your hand, you're a fool," Rem declared, signaling the end of the sparring session.
Lying on the cold ground, I reflected on the lessons gained.
What is speed?
My current understanding is trajectory—movement between points.
The act of connecting these points in a single motion.
Visualizing the line in my mind and executing it seamlessly requires the body to follow
. Strength and training were the foundation.
The whip-like motion of Rem's axe came from this very basis: muscle, conditioning, and physical prowess.
The same attributes Audin had drilled into me.
Strength is the foundation for wielding a weapon swiftly and with precision.
Embedding the concept of trajectory into motion creates speed.
This is speed.
Fast as lightning.
It was part of the quick sword technique.
Despite the day's repetition, near-death encounters, and escaping the ferryman's grasp, I smiled.
"Phew."
I felt a surge of pride—not because someone taught me, but because I realized it on my own.
A life spent being called talentless, never once imagining I'd reach such heights.
The sense of accomplishment was overwhelming.
'I can go further.'
Seeing a path forward made my heart race.
Rem's parting words became a seed to ponder.
Reflection and deliberation were needed.
It was time to delve inward.
"If you don't want to freeze, it'd be best to head inside."
A voice broke my thoughts.
Jaxen, returning from outside, approached me with his usual composed demeanor, the fur-lined mantle on his shoulders billowing in the wind.
I nodded from where I lay, rising to my feet.
Sheathing my sword, I stretched my stiff neck and followed Jaxen into the shelter.
Suddenly, a shiver ran down my spine.
Goosebumps erupted across my skin, and my body tensed.
The sensation was primal, a response born from instinct.
I spun around, drawing my blade reflexively.
Clang!
The metallic ring of steel scraping against the scabbard filled the air.
Holding my breath, I exhaled only after confirming my opponent.
The source of the killing intent stood three steps away. J
axen, as calm as ever, but with his right arm hanging loosely at his side.
His words left me puzzled, though I understood he'd done something.
Could releasing intent alone suffocate a person like this?
"Karmen's stiletto is an excellent dagger," Jaxen remarked, and I realized he was adhering to his promises.
"Why do you keep honing your senses? How can you avoid a dagger flying from behind without even seeing it?"
Those were Jaxen's words.
And now, what he demonstrated was likely the pinnacle of stiletto mastery.
"When one resolves to kill their opponent, an unconscious momentum often accompanies it. We call that killing intent."
Momentum, killing intent, malice, and willpower—all similar concepts.
Enkrid recalled Mathis, the bodyguard swordsman.
When Mathis announced his name, his aura alone drew everyone's attention.
Jaxen had assessed him as someone on the level of a city-level warrior.
"Perceiving killing intent is key. What you just saw was so blatant even a passing child could feel it and panic. It's only natural. Keep feeling it. Use every sense you have—this is the next stage of 'Blade Sense': the 'Door of the Sixth Sense.'"
Thud.
Enkrid's heart raced again, as it had when he first conceptualized the essence of speed.
"I understand."
His answer was calm, but his heartbeat betrayed his excitement.
He felt as though he might go mad from joy.
This newfound passion was perhaps the most significant change in Enkrid.
Each day had become an unrelenting delight.
The thrill of growth he had never experienced before acted as both a whip and a carrot, urging him forward.
"You can do more. You don't have to stop here," it seemed to say.
For what purpose?
The goal was clear.
Knight.
That dream remained a shining star within his heart.
"Let's go inside," Jaxen said, heading into the quarters first.
When Enkrid followed, Audin greeted him with a question.
"Finished training for the day?"
"Not yet."
It was a task yet to be completed, one that would hurl his entire body into a sea of pain.
But it was pain he no longer dreaded.
The sweetness of the fruits that followed the torment was too alluring.
Physical agony transformed into pleasure.
"Let's begin."
He and Audin then began the
Isolation Technique
After their training, Enkrid, thoroughly drained, washed up and returned to his bed.
But Esther was already sprawled across it, resting her head on her forepaws.
Enkrid reached out to stroke her head.
"Ka-ang!"
Just as his fingertips neared her crown, Esther swiped at his hand, her claws grazing his knuckles.
If she had been serious, she could have severed his wrist instead of merely scratching his hand.
Her action was nothing more than a playful protest.
"What's with you again?"
He couldn't understand her behavior.
Krais chuckled nearby.
"She's been like that since the 'Enchanting Squad Leader' song."
Apparently, the jokesters in the unit had composed a ridiculous ditty about him.
"Yoo-hoo, the conqueror of every woman in town!"
"The hunter who targets every passing lady!"
"The enchanting squad leader!"
Krais started the first verse, and Rem chimed in.
The lyrics and melody were atrocious, hardly qualifying as a song.
"Kyah!"
Esther despised the song with a passion.
At its sound, she let out a shrill cry of protest.
"Is it because of Krais?"
Krais sang terribly, while Rem's deep, manly voice made his parts bearable.
"What's the story with the squad leader and all these women? Enchanting squad leader, huh?"
Ragna joined in, pretending to be curious but only adding fuel to the fire.
"Shut up."
It was better to let the rumors die down naturally than to deny them and risk further escalation.
"Did you or didn't you?"
This needed an answer—it was a matter of Leona's honor.
"I didn't."
"...You sure about that?"
"I wouldn't lie about something like this."
What was the point of lying?
Knowing Enkrid's straightforward nature, Rem nodded, satisfied.
"Are you impotent? When did you lose it? Is that why?"
This bastard...
"It's fine, Brother Enchanter. God loves everyone, even those who've lost something."
Audin chimed in, inexplicably attaching the 'Enchanter' title before 'Brother.'
"Pfft."
Krais laughed.
Jaxen suppressed a grin.
And Ragna, never missing a chance to provoke, added, "Then what about the commander?"
"Crazy bastards," Enkrid muttered, frustrated by the abnormality of his squad.
Still, he found solace in the fact that this was preferable to internal discord.
"Something's changed," Rem remarked, observing Enkrid as he lay down.
"I think so too," Ragna added, with others silently agreeing.
Changed?
Enkrid reflected on their words.
Had he really changed?
"You smile more often these days. And there's something else..."
Had he not smiled much before?
Enkrid thought back to his former self.
He couldn't remember much, but one thing was clear:
Back then, he was clawing through darkness with no end in sight.
Now, he could faintly see a path ahead—a path that brought immense joy.
"Always a sword-obsessed madman, but recently, it's been more intense. Smiling, improving—something's definitely changed," Rem concluded.
The squad agreed, though Krais quipped, "Maybe just a little crazier than before."
Enkrid disagreed.
He was nothing extraordinary—just someone who trained a bit more and dreamed a bit bigger.
"Not that it's a bad thing," Rem added, but Enkrid ignored him, closing his eyes.
Later, Jaxen and Krais left for their duties, and Enkrid quickly fell asleep, as always overwhelmed by fatigue.
Esther found him infuriating.
'Why is it that every time he leaves, there's always some woman involved?'
Even within the unit, trouble arose.
How could he look at other women when she was right there?
Once, she had been the epitome of allure.
Men lined up to offer their devotion.
But now, she was a panther.
'Why do I care?'
It was a trivial, unnecessary thought.
Her goal was clear—to rid her body of the accursed burden.
With that resolve, Esther leaped silently into Enkrid's embrace, pressing against him.
"Ow. Go to sleep, Esther," Enkrid muttered, pulling her closer.
'He's so shameless,' she thought, before using her ability to siphon away a fragment of his fatigue, casting it into the void.
It wasn't much, but for someone who pushed himself to the brink daily, it made a difference.

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