Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 347 - Couldn't Be Better
Though Enkrid had decided to act as Krang's escort, it wasn't something that needed immediate action.
"We'll stay here for about ten days, a week at the earliest, before moving on," Marcus stated.
"Wouldn't lingering longer here increase the risk?" Krais interjected, seeking clarification.
Marcus shook his head. "Doesn't this feel like a bit too much risk just to meet one person?"
Krais quickly grasped Marcus's implication, as did Enkrid.
Krang had come to see him, yes, but that wasn't the sole reason for the visit. The journey to the Border Guard city was a gamble in itself, meaning there had to be other practical objectives.
It made sense.
Count Molsan was a significant figure whose influence extended even into the noble circles of the capital.
Avoiding such a man's notice, along with evading the queen who still held the throne at the center of the kingdom, was no small feat. Whether the queen lacked interest in securing an heir or had hidden motives remained unclear.
And yet, in this situation, someone aimed to usurp the throne.
Would it be simple? Or impossible?
Krang started from a disadvantaged position. He had no solid base, advantageous standing, or favorable circumstances—only the royal blood of an illegitimate prince.
"Well, there's also his unique charisma," Krais thought to himself.
Krais had only ever encountered one other person who naturally commanded such presence.
The first? Enkrid.
"The captain is peculiar, after all."
In Krais's eyes, Krang stood out for a different reason.
He wasn't just someone who inspired loyalty and admiration but also a figure who propelled himself forward by rallying those around him to his cause. Krang resembled a massive ship, carrying and guiding its passengers to their destination.
Enkrid, however, was more like a lone flag.
Standing firmly on its own, it waved boldly, leading the charge or serving as a beacon, a goal, or even a shield.
"And his abilities are exceptional too," Krais admitted.
Still, this "ship" named Krang was waging a losing battle.
For Krang to have endured this long and achieved what he had proved one thing: both he and his allies possessed extraordinary capabilities.
"So, are we leaving now, or what?"
Rem, full of energy now that the cold had subsided, asked impatiently, having failed to grasp the ongoing conversation.
Picking his nose, he waited for an answer.
"Not yet," Enkrid said, raising a hand as though calming a restless animal.
"Wait."
His tone resembled someone speaking to a dog.
Rem responded by silently grabbing his axe. It wasn't surprising that he started swinging it around shortly after—it was half-intended teasing.
And so, the days were spent sparring, training, and honing their skills.
It's easier to dig a deep well if you only focus on one spot.
"Focus on one thing and perfect it."
This was the first piece of advice given to anyone picking up a weapon, whether it was a sword or an axe.
Graceful, heavy, deceptive, swift, fluid—which path will you choose?
Ask ten skilled fighters, and ten will give the same advice:
If you dig multiple wells, none will yield water. Eventually, you'll die of thirst.
Of course, there's the added advice that you should at least dig where there's likely to be water—choosing a path that suits you. But that's a more detailed and nuanced topic.
The core conclusion is this:
"Stick to one thing."
Ask a hundred people, and the answer remains the same.
But Enkrid didn't follow this advice.
He dug into multiple wells at once.
The Heart of the Beast, Sense of Evasion, Isolation Technique, and Will—he delved into them all.
He learned a variety of swordsmanship styles.
If asked, a hundred out of a hundred would say this was the wrong approach.
Yet no one in the Madmen Unit criticized him for it.
Because while ten or even a hundred voices may seem to reveal a universal truth, gather a thousand or ten thousand people, and a few will offer different perspectives:
"Why does it have to be that way?"
"Does it matter? Just follow where your instincts lead."
Those who question the norm often hear:
"Do all geniuses think like you?"
People like this were often seen as crazy or envied.
And understandably so.
They defied conventional paths yet outpaced everyone else. They didn't run at the same speed as others.
For ordinary people watching such extraordinary figures, frustration and despair were inevitable.
Talent is the ultimate inequality.
The world is not fair.
The goddess of fortune doesn't favor everyone equally.
This is a truth universally acknowledged.
Enkrid had heard similar remarks countless times.
"Focus on one thing."
Why not devote himself to the Valah-style mercenary sword or specialize in speed?
"Focus on the first strike. Commit to it entirely. You'll improve, at least more than you have now."
Many who admired Enkrid's determination offered such advice.
But Enkrid didn't listen.
He didn't stick to one thing.
To be precise, he couldn't.
Because if he did, he wouldn't have survived.
After the cursed blessing became part of him, he naturally adapted to various skills and disciplines.
During that time, did he never think about digging just one well?
He did. But he dismissed it.
Not everyone's advice is correct. Enkrid followed his instincts.
Above all, it was the enjoyment that guided him.
"This is fun."
And so was that.
Thanks to today's repetition, what could have been torment turned into exhilaration.
By embracing it with joy, the question of whether to dig one well or many became irrelevant.
On top of the skills taught by the Madmen unit, he built his swordsmanship. Every step of the process was enjoyable and thrilling.
Each day felt new.
Every morning was like a gift.
Growth, change, and progress—all of it immersed him in sheer delight.
This wasn't something anyone could do—it required being Enkrid.
Could the joy of crawling forward, even on hands and knees, resonate with others?
No. Not everyone could feel that way.
It was only possible because he was Enkrid.
Because he sincerely appreciated not being able to settle, every day and every moment felt fresh and joyful.
His endless passion, his blessings that were also curses, and the Madmen unit, which started as coincidence but became a bond—
All of these combined allowed Enkrid to draw water from every well.
"If I had to divide talent with swords, weapons, or martial arts, I'd categorize it into two types."
These were the words of an instructor from the great city, a man firm in his principles and standards.
"One is this."
As he spoke, he tapped his forehead with his index finger.
"The talent to use a sword with your mind. Observing, analyzing, strategizing. The second is the talent of the body. Does your body follow through on what you envision? If it doesn't, no matter how resolute your mind is, it means your body doesn't align with your thoughts. For example, flinching when a sword flies toward you? That shows your body isn't obeying your will."
So, focus on one. If you're going to use a sword, strike first.
This was the same man who advised prioritizing fast strikes in the mercenary style.
But no one in the Madmen Unit spoke like that.
They were talents who shattered common sense from outside the norm. Even Shinar was considered rare among the Fairyfolk.
Moreover, even to their eyes, the skills Enkrid had amassed were interconnected.
There was no need to obsess over digging just one well.
"That was good, just now."
Like what Rem had felt moments earlier.
The Isolation Technique combined with Audin's martial arts flowed into Enkrid's sword.
The Sword Capture technique, built on the foundation of an unnamed sword style, was infused with Ragna's greatsword techniques.
Moments ago, Enkrid had struck down with the silver longsword in his right hand while resting his left hand on Ember, taking a half-step forward with his left foot.
Ember was a fast, straight-thrusting sword.
Its overwhelming momentum forced Rem to swing his axe.
Deflect and redirect.
In an instant, his thoughts processed, and he decided.
But Ember didn't thrust.
Nor did the descending sword carry weight.
In that moment of bewilderment, Enkrid used the two core techniques as bait to close the distance.
From there, he initiated close combat.
It was a method incorporating Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship.
Moreover, both sword techniques carried the convincing intensity of being "real."
It was a lesson he had learned from the oppressive sword stance.
"You're crazy!"
Rem shouted excitedly, caught up in the moment.
Enkrid's hand twisted Rem's arm backward.
In a situation where his arm felt like it might break, Rem leapt into the air, pushing off the ground, and spun his body.
It was an acrobatic move.
Twisting his body in the same direction as his arm, he struck Enkrid's forearm with the edge of his hand, breaking free.
As Enkrid retreated, his movements seemed calculated. He caught the longsword he had lightly tossed upward moments before.
Gripping it firmly, he slashed downward. It was the oppressive sword technique combined with the greatsword's downward slash.
The ingenious move was so exhilarating it thrilled Rem.
Landing on the ground and immediately pushing off with immense leg strength, Rem blurred into motion, leaving afterimages.
It seemed as if his body had split in two: one stationary and one retreating.
Enkrid's sword cleaved through the stationary Rem.
The retreating Rem bent his back, then leaned forward, launching two axes from both hands.
"Insane."
Enkrid marveled inwardly.
Rem's move was completely improvised.
Fwoosh!
With a thunderous sound, the axes spun like flying discs.
Enkrid angled his sword diagonally.
In doing so, he perfectly intercepted the axes.
Clang!
The impact reverberated as the axes struck the sword, causing his entire body to tremble.
The sheer force embedded within the axes was overwhelming.
The axes ricocheted into the air, tracing strange trajectories before plunging into the ground.
With weight concentrated on their blades, they landed upright without their handles touching the earth.
Enkrid stood with knees slightly bent, holding his longsword diagonally with both hands.
"Let's stop here," Rem said, seeing Enkrid block the axes.
Any further, and someone would have broken bones or worse.
After everything, Rem remarked, "That was good, just now."
Catching his breath, Enkrid replied, "That axe throw—it was improvised, wasn't it?"
"You already knew, so why ask?"
For Enkrid, the technique of throwing his sword was a result of days of contemplation.
But Rem? Not so much.
He observed his opponent and devised an improvised move on the spot.
And yet, the execution was flawless.
"What would've come next?"
"Sling, charge, hand-to-hand combat."
Rem was describing what followed after throwing his axes. But such moves were lethal techniques, not meant for mere sparring.
The sequence involved hurling stones with a sling, charging forward, and engaging in close-quarters combat with fists and kicks.
Rem's proficiency in hand-to-hand combat was formidable.
What made him truly fearsome was his relentless charge. As his opponent dodged or blocked the incoming stones, their stance and breathing would falter—a vulnerability Rem would mercilessly exploit.
"Not bad," Enkrid nodded.
In his mind, he could visualize Rem's movements clearly.
"Pretty good," Rem nodded back, genuinely impressed by Enkrid's growth.
Of course, Enkrid didn't master everything in one go. His learning process was peculiar.
At times, it seemed painfully slow, yet when he finally grasped something, it was as if a switch flipped overnight.
He displayed no hesitation, no resistance to change, and no prejudice.
He genuinely admired and absorbed his opponents' techniques, reflecting on them with sincerity.
Such an attitude was rare, and Rem appreciated it.
"Having fun?" Rem asked.
"Do you even need to ask?" Enkrid replied.
Apart from sparring with Rem, Enkrid occasionally crossed swords with Ragna.
He also maintained his training sessions with Audin.
And then there was Dunbakel.
"Take me with you!"
Despite knowing little about the mission, Dunbakel had declared her intent to join.
She wanted to accompany them on a guard assignment.
Enkrid nodded without hesitation.
It was certain that assassins or other threats would emerge during this mission.
Would it be dangerous?
Would it be a thorny path?
Would it be fraught with peril?
Most likely.
And yet, knowing all this, Enkrid couldn't help but feel a spark of anticipation.
"Why do you look so excited?" Big Eyes noticed the expression on his face and asked.
Each time, Enkrid answered honestly.
"Who do you think will come after us?"
In Big Eyes' mind, three or four assassination groups he knew flashed by.
Having started life in the underworld, he had his share of knowledge.
And now, as the head of the Gilpin Guild, which operated much like an information guild, he knew even more.
"Troublesome folks?"
When Big Eyes said this, Enkrid's smile brightened, as warm as spring sunlight. Big Eyes frowned.
"What's so funny about that?"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
Thwack, thwack.
Rem tapped Big Eyes on the head, grinning.
"Trying to understand this guy's mind will only make you crazy."
Enkrid found the comment slightly irritating.
The craziest person here calling him crazy?
It felt like the pot calling the kettle black.
No, perhaps it was more like a dog covered in mud scolding another dog for being dusty.
"Fine. Let's settle this. Rem, I accept your challenge."
"...What challenge? Where in my words was there a challenge?"
"In all of it."
"Pretty sure it was just banter."
Big Eyes thought the two of them were cut from the same cloth.
In any case, time passed, and five days flew by.
"Things wrapped up sooner than expected."
A formal request had come in from Marcus. The task was to guard members of a royal family's trading caravan.
Publicly, it was a guard job for a family convoy. Privately, it involved protecting a royal illegitimate child.
The escort mission would start from the border guard post and end at the royal capital.
With plans set to depart in two days, the group spent the following day selecting who would go and who would stay.
"...Damn it. Who let this stray cat sneak in?" Rem grumbled as he entered the tent.
He had just returned from gathering equipment and provisions, including some spiced jerky. Enkrid had even picked up a flask of brandy—just in case a moment called for a drink.
But as soon as they stepped in, they saw someone seated inside.
"Sneaking in? More like you're too dull to notice," the figure retorted.
As always, the man had blended so seamlessly into the surroundings that he might as well have been a part of the furnishings.
"You're back?" Enkrid asked, standing just inside the entrance.
Jaxen, the returnee, nodded from his seat.
"Yes, I'm back. But I'll need to leave again soon."
"Where to?"
"To the capital."
"...By capital, do you mean Naurelia, where the royal palace is?"
Enkrid's question made Jaxen blink once before replying.
"What other capital would I mean?"
Coincidence? Or perhaps just good fortune.
"We're headed there too."
Jaxen blinked again.
They're going where?
"Deadweight. Are you seriously bringing him along?" Rem interjected.
Jaxen ignored him entirely.
"You're going to the capital?"
"Yeah."
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
Jaxen found the situation remarkable. He had been looking for an excuse to get to the capital—and, more specifically, the palace—as quickly as possible.
The timing couldn't have been better.

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