Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 505 - A Rainy Night
Rain fell deep into the night.
Enkrid nodded, though he hadn't intended for there to be gifts; somehow, there was nothing left to give to Ragna.
Krais believed the jeweled scabbard and the upcoming merchant guild themselves were gifts enough.
Sitting to the side like a painting, Esther held one of the items Enkrid had given—a beast's fang.
"I received it," she said, though no one had asked, just as Shinar entered the tent.
"That dagger you gave me—can I consider it an engagement gift?" she joked in the faerie tongue.
Ropord and Fel hadn't received anything either, so Ragna didn't feel particularly slighted.
"Come out, savage. I'll tear your head off."
Ragna simply thought that some barbarian must have pulled a stunt in the middle.
Whether he became a knight or not, bad feelings were bad feelings.
Swordsmanship didn't turn a man into a sage or a saint.
"Fine, come at me you directionally-disfunctional bastard."
Neither of them actually left; it was just their usual bickering.
"So, where were you?"
Enkrid asked, steering the conversation.
Ragna shifted his gaze from Rem and answered without much care—he wasn't truly upset.
"Who's brought who along?"
Rem scoffed from the side, and Luagarne nodded in agreement.
Rem was right.
Krais yawned, as if growing lethargic.
It was peaceful.
"If you were dropped in a desert, how would you get out?"
"If you were dropped in a desert, how would you get out?"
This wasn't just a casual question.
As knights, what would they do if their physical capabilities changed?
Enkrid had escaped the desert, but he believed luck played a role.
Without luck, how would one escape?
Ragna was the first to speak.
The first to respond was Ragna, whose skill at navigation was well-known.
"By finding my way using the stars," he said, lying blatantly but not entirely wrong.
Ragna calmly added, "Then I'd rely on my instincts."
It was madness.
Enkrid had no expectations of Ragna to begin with.
Rem muttered something about a crazy man with no sense of direction before sharing his own thoughts.
"Pick a direction and keep walking. No matter where you are, there's always an end."
Rem's words reflected an understanding of deserts.
Unlike legendary labyrinths, deserts weren't mazes—they were just land.
So walking persistently was enough.
If things got desperate, he planned to summon the guiding bird of wishes to find Enkrid.
"I could go a month without eating or drinking, but there's no need. I'd just run."
His solution was viable due to his shamanic abilities.
Rem's words implied that by invoking the spirit of Belopter, he could run for days.
Next was Audin.
"I would ask God and listen for His guidance."
With divine power, Audin could perform miracles, healing the sick and injured.
To him, asking God and receiving answers wasn't absurd—it was his reality.
If such a situation arose, divine revelation would guide him.
Enkrid knew Audin spoke with complete sincerity.
Jaxen, instead of answering, posed a counter-question.
"You said there's no way to orient oneself. Was that really the case, no matter what you tried?"
It's impossible to change the past, but reflecting on it can prevent repeated mistakes.
Enkrid had asked with that in mind, along with a desire to gauge their thoughts.
Jaxen's question pointed out a critical detail: was there truly nothing he could've relied on to guide him?
"Did you hear any sounds? Wind? How was the western wind?"
Rem thought Jaxen's question fit him perfectly—like a sly desert cat.
Rare though they were, some guides existed even in the western deserts.
Only those with extraordinary senses could do so.
"Wind direction, scent, everything becomes a trail or a clue. You can't get lost."
Jaxen could even navigate labyrinths.
his sense, born from Will,
"An interesting topic," Shinar chimed in.
She understood deserts—a world opposite of forests.
But that didn't mean deserts lacked vitality.
To see vitality was to see spirits.
Shinar had a natural affinity for such energy.
"Deserts aren't devoid of energy. I'd follow the paths of vitality," she said.
"Don't say something stupid. This was hypothetical from the start," Ropord interjected immediately. Fel countered, and Ropord responded with a sharp smile that seemed stiff.
"I'm saying I'd avoid it entirely."
"So don't go in the first place."
This time, Ropord wasn't smiling.
"That's a stupid argument."
Fel crossed his arms.
"You want to get punched?"
"So I just have to avoid getting hit. Easy."
When had it started?
Their relationship was strained, reminiscent of the chaotic past of the Madmen unit.
Perhaps it was because their ideals diverged.
Their differing perspectives on swordsmanship turned their skills into the ultimate argument for their beliefs.
For various reasons, their animosity grew intense.
Enkrid, watching them quietly, eventually spoke.
In this regard, they were oddly similar—they didn't waste energy on unnecessary things.
Fel stifled the bubbling frustration inside.
There was no reason it couldn't be done.
Catching up to someone who had been lucky enough to get ahead wasn't impossible.
Ropord had similar thoughts.
He needed a lesson.
With Ragna back, there were more opportunities to spar and hone his swordsmanship.
Somehow, Ropord had already forgotten his original intention to return to the order.
Enkrid observed the two and thought how nice it would be if Rem, Ragna, Audin, and Jaxen could follow orders this well.
Some would push forward with raw determination, while others would rely on their unique abilities.
'Could I also sense the wind's scent?'
Jaxen had once told him to rely on scent if he couldn't hear.
He wasn't sure.
Perhaps there had been something.
Knowledge was power, and every piece of insight they shared had proven useful.
Thinking back, he remembered the soldier who had charged at him in the camp. That soldier—Marco—had wielded Will.
What method had he used?
Even if he didn't win with a single thrust, he could leave a lasting impression of his spear's lethality.
Every stance, movement, and strike had been part of a strategy.
"There's not just one way."
He spoke softly to himself.
It was true—since taking that final step in the desert, every step he'd taken had been imbued with Will.
Enkrid carefully organized his thoughts and carved the lessons he'd gained into his mind. The Eastern mercenary king, Anu, had always said to experience as much as possible.
And not just differences—he saw commonalities too.
"Since we're all gathered here, let's hear your story, fiancé."
Shinar, sitting with one knee pulled up on her chair, spoke casually. Her words made Enkrid look up.
"What did you do to earn titles like the Savior of the City or the Pioneer of the West?"
Her question came again, her expression more relaxed than usual—or so it seemed to Enkrid.
He spoke well, and before long, everyone was utterly absorbed, swallowing nervously as they listened.
"You should've been a bard instead of a knight," Krais quipped, his tone playful.
Not that he was the continent's greatest bard—apart from Krais, his companions' storytelling skills were generally terrible. However, Krais's well-placed interjections enriched the tale further.
The most shocking revelation was about Rem's wife and child.
"Trash," Krais spat in disgust, his tone biting.
In truth, Ayul had urged Rem to leave. She was a remarkable woman who supported her partner's big dreams.
"Marriage? Did you threaten her?" Ragna asked.
Rem's answer was a silent swing of his axe.
Audin offered a prayer of blessing.
Though it sounded more like personal opinion than a proper blessing.
"Damn it, how is that a blessing?" Rem grumbled.
They talked until dawn. Shinar, uncharacteristically, shared tales of the Forest of Energy. Her story ended with a demonic domain.
"If you fall into it, you die. Every single one did."
As he spoke, his gaze lingered on Enkrid, filled with warmth and determination. It was not affection but gratitude and the competitive spirit of a student toward his teacher.
"Cultists should be killed on sight," Luagarne declared.
Jaxen's story, related to the Carmen Collection, sent chills down their spines despite the lingering summer heat. It was a harrowing tale of a person's relentless revenge.
Surprisingly, Jaxen spoke eloquently despite his usual reticence, proving himself capable when the occasion called for it.
"Met a few who were decent with a sword while out for a walk."
The very reason he'd gone out on that walk was because Enkrid wasn't around.
Feeling his drive dimming and slipping away, he'd forced himself to go out in search of some stimulation.
"Are you out of your damn mind?"
Between laughter and conversation, a few soldiers brought over bottles of alcohol and food. It was on Krais's orders, and everyone partook, eating and drinking together. It was an impromptu feast. For Enkrid, this finally felt like truly coming home—unimportant jokes, stories, and each person speaking their mind. They talked and bantered, letting the night deepen. Eventually, the scuffling stopped, and only real conversations remained.
"Would you guys at least try to stop him? A Beelrog, seriously?"
Stories passed around—tales of the Demon realm, Holy Church, childhood memories, the time in the West meeting Jiba and her mother, the man who loved her. Fragments of what Oara had left behind made their way into the conversation.
The night wore on. Rain fell. Drinks circled among them. The crackling fire drove away the dampness just enough.

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