Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 429 - 429 - A Man who Dreams with his Sword can Surpass Any Limit
The cloudy sky felt lower than ever, as if the clouds were grazing the small hill rising behind the training field and the lodgings.
Amidst everyone tending to their tasks, the King and Enkrid discussed their dreams.
Breathing in the crisp, refreshing air left behind by dried rain, they exchanged words.
"I want to become a knight and wield a sword."
The tone and demeanor were so calm and unembellished that the dream seemed like someone else's story.
Becoming a knight was just the beginning—it was about the things Enkrid aimed to accomplish across the continent.
The King listened to Enkrid's dream and thought to himself:
No despair. No frustration. He didn't even acknowledge others' ridicule.
He would move forward, forging his path without doubt or hesitation.
This man did not consider the possibility of failure.
Memories of the King's past flickered through his mind.
"Establish a nation? Stop with such absurd nonsense! Do you think that's even remotely possible?"
Those were the words of his younger brother, who had been his most loyal follower. Anu couldn't blame him. His brother was simply a realist.
His words weren't wrong, and there were many others who echoed similar sentiments.
"It's impossible. To invest in such a venture is foolish."
"What are you planning to be, a bandit or a marauder? What is there in the East anyway?"
"Why waste such strength? Focus on defending against the demon realm. I will grant you anything you desire."
But Anu did not heed their words. He rejected them all. Not a single one of their arguments stirred his heart.
"I will pursue what makes my heart race."
And for him, that was establishing a nation in the East. In the end, Anu succeeded.
He poured his life into laying the foundation of his nation.
Everyone said it was impossible. Everyone dismissed it as meaningless. Everyone laughed at him.
But Anu had no time to concern himself with such things. He had far too much to do.
He simply moved forward. And as he walked and pushed onward. "That sounds interesting. Let's do it together."
More and more people began to stay by his side. "You seem to have gaps. Allow me to fill them."
And so, he arrived at the present moment. It wasn't over. This was just the beginning.
Though he hadn't intended to, the King's voice carried weight, and his gaze burned with intensity.
"The Eastern Kingdom? That's merely a checkpoint! A nation is just the foundation. My goal is to conquer the entirety of the East."
To explore the unknown, open new paths, and plant his flag on that land.
As he spoke, the King bared his fangs—a smile, but one that also revealed his fighting spirit.
"Becoming a knight? Are you referring to the knights of old?"
"Yes."
"Do you plan to erase war from the continent? To destroy the demon realm if they are the enemy? To slay devils if they block your path? To topple empires if they stand in your way?"
A dream even grander than conquering the East. This was madness.
While the King respected others' dreams, wasn't this too much?
Enkrid remained composed, sweat now cooled. A breeze tousled his black hair, now grown enough to tickle his neck.
He possessed no exceptional lineage. He wasn't royalty. He lacked extraordinary talent.
He was simply a man driven forward by a single dream. "You really are an interesting one."
Anu echoed the words many had once said to him in admiration.
This was no ordinary dreamer.
"If I ever challenge the continent to a fight, you'll stand against me, won't you? In that case, for the future, I should kill you here and now."
It wasn't a genuine threat to kill. The King had recalled something he had forgotten from Enkrid's words.
For the first time since arriving here, he glimpsed the man's true will.
That was why. The remark about killing was, in a way, a lesson.
It wasn't something he cared to explain with words, so he wrapped it in the guise of a threat.
Of course, no one could truly fathom the King's inner thoughts. After all, wasn't he a capricious man who acted on whims?
Rising from his seated position, the King extended his hand backward. His lieutenant hesitated for a moment.
The man had followed Anu for over twenty years. Is he serious?
That hesitation came from knowing him too well, but duty won out. The King meant to call for a weapon but then spoke. "The Bull."
The lieutenant froze.
The name of a weapon Anu only wielded against opponents who were either his equals or had to be defeated at all costs.
"My liege?" Asaluhi unintentionally questioned him.
"Bring it." The King's tone was resolute.
His lieutenant retrieved the weapon strapped to his back and removed its covering.
The spear shaft was a deep brown, its material indiscernible, while its blade split into two prongs.
The blade resembled horns—gray and sharp like a bull's. In darkness, they might not even be visible.
The two horns formed the bull's head, and the shaft was its body. The King's presence changed as he gripped the spear.
A weight emanated from him, compelling those nearby to bow their heads.
Enkrid, seated beside him, felt an oppressive force that seemed to push him into the ground. But he soon activated Will of Rejection.
The force of his will pushed back against the King's pressure, affirming his resolve.
He stood, pressing his palms against the ground for support.
That act alone was astonishing enough to make Asaluhi widen his eyes in surprise.
To stand before the King wielding the Bull, without a tremor—such resolve was no small feat.
Especially after being knocked down twice today by the King. Fatigue should have set in. His spirit should have wavered.
But Enkrid did neither.
Instead, he picked up Aker.
The meaning behind the King's words? That wasn't his concern.
His weakened legs after two rounds? That wasn't his concern either.
The King had heard his dream and now sought to crush it. To kill it.
Enkrid did what he always did. He stood with his sword, resisting. He patched up his torn dream.
He steadied his stance and met his opponent's gaze. He kept walking, his focus solely on his dream.
He gathered strength in his legs and regulated his breathing.
And as always, he resolved to live in the moment, even if it meant death.
The King's spear moved. The horns pierced forward with such speed that even their faint afterimages blurred.
Enkrid angled Aker defensively to block.
Had luck not been on his side, he wouldn't have succeeded. Ting.
The spear, which had approached in the blink of an eye, scraped against Aker's blade and halted.
Then the two horns locked onto the sword's blade and twisted sideways.
The skill to stop an attack after such speed was impressive. More so, the horns now sought to snap the sword. Creak.
The blade caught between the two horns groaned.
Enkrid held firm, gripping his sword tightly with the iron grip honed every morning, aided by the strength of his determined heart.
The blade did not break, nor did the weapon slip from his hands. The King smirked. "Then block this."
With surprising ease, he retracted the spear and thrust again.
To Enkrid's eyes, the horns seemed to multiply into six. Three prongs split and extended, each strike appearing genuine—and in truth, they were.
Speed was relative. To Enkrid's eyes, every strike in this flurry was real.
It was an illusion created by the King's rapid thrusts and withdrawals.
There was no time to shout or gather strength. Enkrid loosened his grip for a brief moment before tightening all his muscles and slashing.
A soldier skilled enough to recognize Enkrid's current technique would immediately qualify to train under Ruagarne.
A combination of Pressing Sword and Will of Swiftness, his strike met the horns of the Bull.
Once again, the horns barely grazed his blade and withdrew. Ting.
Enkrid pulled Aker close, taking a moment to steady his breath.
For some reason, the sword felt heavier than before. No, more than ever, Aker's weight transmitted vividly through his arms.
He wondered if it was simply exhaustion. Instead of attacking, the King spoke.
"A knight creates techniques by realizing Will, and when they surpass that, they fight with Will itself. That's what you're talking about, isn't it?"
Enkrid didn't have the luxury to respond. The King continued.
"If you're fighting with Will, wouldn't you need a weapon worthy of it? The answer is obvious. The Bull is such a weapon—what people commonly call an engraved weapon. It contains my Will."
As he spoke, the King thrust his spear once again. His breathing, if it even existed, was impossible to discern.
Enkrid raised his sword to meet the attack. Ping!
Once again, the blade and horn merely glanced off each other.
Enkrid couldn't decide if this was the moment to make a decisive move.
Even with his Eye for a Step Ahead, the future was obscured as though cloaked in fog.
He tried to predict the next move by observing the subtle shifts of shoulders and the tension in the opponent's footing, but his adversary betrayed no such signs.
It was like peering into the fog.
The sword in his hands felt heavier than ever.
Each clash with the spear made it seem as though someone was secretly adding weight to the blade.
The fog and the weight—it was all bothersome. So what? Ignoring it, Enkrid drew in a deep breath, holding the air tightly in his lungs.
His cheeks puffed out. He would do everything he could. As he always had.
Enkrid's sword seemed to vanish from the air with a sharp shhkk. It was a thrust deploying all his strength—activated with lightning speed.
He had poured every ounce of himself into the strike: breathlessness, singular focus, Heart of the Beast, and Sense of Evasion.
"Where do you think you're going?" The King extended his spear, redirecting the blade's trajectory. Ping!
Another sharp sound rang out. Enkrid yanked his blade back with force.
If one attempt wasn't enough, he'd try twice, thrice—and if that failed, he'd try ten times more.
If an endless wall blocked his way, stopping would mean he could never surpass it. Aker's blade shattered the twilight, dancing wildly in the air.
The King deflected each strike with the horns of The Bull. Drip. Drip. A few raindrops spilled from the dark clouds above.
Ting ting ting ting! Aker and The Bull clashed countless times, parting and meeting again in an instant. After a brief but fierce exchange, Enkrid staggered back.
Fine raindrops fell onto his sword, steaming as they evaporated with a hiss. "I see. You need to die."
The King's voice cut through the stillness. Enkrid, though staggering, did not loosen his grip on his sword. After a tense moment of mutual observation, the King spoke again.
"Axe, I know you're hiding back there, so don't bother throwing anything."
His words hung in the air, then continued. "You're still awkward with your senses. If you take the wrong path now, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."
The King's gaze bore into Enkrid as he raised The Bull, planting its shaft firmly into the ground. "And let me remind you—I'm a beastkin, and I haven't even transformed yet!"
His final exclamation sent shivers down everyone's spines. It was a roar of self-assured confidence, forged through long years of proven dominance.
Despite the King's erratic tone, his meaning was clear. "Why now?" Luagarne asked.
She had been standing to one side, idly fingering the handle of her loop sword. The Frog, too, seemed prepared to jump into the fray if needed.
The King knew this but pretended otherwise as he replied. "Whim. Asaluhi."
"Yes."
The King tossed The Bull, and Asaluhi caught the heated spear. He swung it lightly to cool the horn-like blade before wrapping it back in cloth.
"Let's go."
With that, the King decided to leave, as abruptly as he had come. No one stopped him.
As he passed the barely conscious Enkrid, he paused briefly, whispering something into his ear before giving his shoulder a firm pat. Then, he walked on.
"We'll meet again if the need arises," Asaluhi called back, looking over his shoulder. No one responded.
From the treetops, where she had been watching tensely, Dunbakel locked eyes with Asaluhi. He offered her a gentle smile before retreating.
Each of them had been ready to strike. On their way out, they passed Teresa, who stood holding her shield at the ready.
"Take care," Asaluhi said as he followed the King. "Why did you do that? They don't seem like people heading to the East."
Asaluhi asked as he caught up with the King, quickening his pace to match. He had followed the King long enough to understand the reasoning behind most of his actions.
Though initially puzzled, Asaluhi soon grasped the gesture. The King had given Enkrid a gift—even his parting whisper was part of it.
"I received a gift first."
"What do you mean?" Asaluhi pressed further.
The King chuckled as he answered. "I took to swords and spears the moment I touched them. You know this, don't you?"
"Yes, I do."
The King had once been known as the Mercenary King, famed for his natural talent and charisma. "Born the son of slaves, I freed my parents from servitude before I turned sixteen."
After that, he gained renown for slaying a lion with nothing but a spear. "And yet—"
The King hesitated, swallowing his words. The brief rain had passed, leaving behind a clear, crisp sky and air that felt fresh and sharp against the skin.
The cool wind brushed past his cheek. Could I dedicate my life to conquering the East? he had once wondered.
The question lingered, an internal struggle fed by the passing years. Somewhere along the way, he had forgotten his youthful ambition.
Was recruiting talent necessary? Did he need companions to forge ahead?
Even after establishing a kingdom in the East, he felt an insatiable lack. It was the loss of his spirit.
During those fleeting ten days, the King had watched Enkrid and remembered what he had lost. That forgotten spirit had been reignited.
"A man with clumsy swordsmanship showed greater resolve than I ever had."
Asaluhi tilted his head, puzzled, before asking abruptly. "Do you think he'll become a knight?"
"I don't know."
"The path isn't easy."
Asaluhi had sharp eyes. He couldn't see knightly potential in Enkrid—no talent to speak of.
Hearing this, the King laughed before responding. "His talent is abysmal. I've never seen someone so unskilled."
Compared to others, Enkrid had no exceptional gifts. From their duel, the King had confirmed that much.
Yet, he believed Enkrid would become a knight. "Does swinging a sword endlessly make one a knight? Or is talent the deciding factor?"
"Isn't it both?" Effort and talent—surely those were the prerequisites.
The King smiled knowingly, thinking of the man who had reminded him of what he'd once forgotten. "A man who dreams with his sword can surpass any limit."
That was what the King believed.

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