Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 659: Chapter 659 - The Knights We Hoped and Dreamed Of
Hearing the sermon, Ragna’s hand twitched and moved to the grip of his sword—but he didn’t draw it.
If he struck now, he’d be killing an injured man.
That wasn’t winning; it was the same as losing.
’Not now.’
He could kill him once he healed.
Ragna endured.
Jaxen briefly considered slitting that bastard’s throat before nightfall rather than waiting until dawn.
A stab to the solar plexus with Carmen’s stiletto would do the job, or perhaps slicing through one of his ankles.
But of course, these were just thoughts.
He wasn’t actually going to kill him.
Instead, what if he spiked his food with something?
There was a certain drug that would make a person suffer relentless diarrhea.
’No, that bastard’s stomach won’t fall for it.’
Westerners had tough stomachs, and Rem was among the toughest.
Even if it weren’t for that, he’d notice the drug the moment it was mixed in.
The likelihood of him detecting it by smell was high.
And making a completely odorless one would take too much effort—too much to waste on a brute like him.
"Lord."
Audin called out to his god, this time without a trace of laughter.
The "Lord" he uttered now was filled with pure wrath.
The god of war might just descend any moment.
A golden ripple, like waves, spread from his ankles up to his chest before fading.
The scriptures said:
Forgive the sinner who has received a just punishment.
Forgive those who err out of ignorance.
This was clearly the latter.
Audin decided to forgive Rem, whose head was filled with nothing but empty thoughts.
Rem looked satisfied, as if he had accomplished what he set out to do.
After delivering his sermon, he spoke in his usual tone.
"Well, the captain’s finally learning to have some fun. Hey, Lost Boy, start calling me Vice-Captain from now on. Big Guy, stop calling me ’brother’ and just call me ’big brother.’ And you, Stray Cat—just stay out of my sight."
"There is no Vice-Captain."
Enkrid rejected the troublesome title immediately.
"Oh, really? Well, let’s just say there is."
Rem nodded with a grin, as if it didn’t matter in the slightest.
The three of them had already endured once, so they simply ignored Rem’s words.
They had witnessed firsthand the impact of what he had just done.
And they knew Rem was only the beginning.
Everyone had a card they had yet to reveal.
"Looks like you’ll be using all the medicine made from Dryas leaves yourself."
After the spar—or battle, or perhaps even natural disaster—Anne approached.
As she spoke, she applied various ointments to Enkrid’s body.
Jaxen, watching from the side, asked her about different remedies.
Surprisingly, he seemed knowledgeable about medicine, and the two found common ground in their conversation.
As Enkrid observed them, their interaction didn’t seem as hostile as he had assumed.
He then turned to Jaxen and asked,
"Won’t your lover be mad?"
It was a random joke about how close he was to Anne—something he had picked up from spending too much time around fairies.
But Jaxen simply stared at him blankly before replying in an offhanded manner, as if talking to himself,
"A single poisoned dagger is enough. I just have to get close before they use their swordsmanship."
Enkrid fell into thought.
He remembered something from two days ago—when Jaxen had come up behind him and said he had been caught.
At the time, he hadn’t made a big deal out of it, just brushed it off.
But now, after hearing this, he began to understand.
’I wasn’t off guard back then. Even if a dagger or arrow had suddenly come flying at me, I would have reacted. I could hear that Weird-eyes bastard mumbling from far away, after all.’
Weird-eyes had lingered nearby for two days after confirming Enkrid’s return.
As if to say that was enough for a friend, he hadn’t approached further or shown any excessive familiarity.
’I was aware of all the movement around me, every sign of presence within my sensory range.’
If necessary—if his instincts had reacted—he would have known.
Yet Jaxen had bypassed all those finely woven strands of awareness and tapped him on the back.
’I let my back be taken.’
What if Jaxen had been holding a poisoned dagger at that moment?
"So, it was then."
"It was then."
A conversation that only the two of them understood.
"What are you talking about?"
Anne asked, but neither of them explained.
There were too many things that couldn’t be put into words—the subtle art of an unarmed thrust, the way someone could slip past one’s zone of awareness.
Anne didn’t push for answers.
She wouldn’t understand even if she heard it, and to be honest, she didn’t care.
Her only concerns were creating medicine, developing cures for every disease, and Ragna.
Enkrid mulled over Jaxen’s words again.
’Rem used a sling, and even if blocked, he had a plan for the aftermath. Jaxen said he could take my back.’
Somehow, this felt different from his duel with Rem, but it was still amusing.
Like a game of tag where children tied long cloths to their backs and tried to snatch each other’s tails.
’I must not let my back be taken.’
Sparring with Jaxen would be meaningless.
He had to win within the realm of awareness itself.
With Rem, the challenge was enduring his projectiles.
Both seemed to be saying the same thing.
At least, that’s how it felt.
He hadn’t been caught yet.
They hadn’t said it out loud, but words weren’t the only way to convey intent.
Both had crossed a certain threshold and were moving forward again.
How long had it been since he surpassed them, only for them to catch up and reverse the tide?
Rem said he was just starting.
Next was Ragna.
As soon as Enkrid recovered, he faced off against Ragna once more.
To put it simply, Ragna was dead serious about breaking down the swordsmanship Enkrid had honed.
Whoosh.
His duel with Ragna was the opposite of his duel with Rem.
Their blades didn’t even clash, so the fight wasn’t loud.
"How is it?"
Ragna asked.
There was a newfound excitement in his crimson eyes.
He was enjoying himself.
His posture was frozen mid-swing—but there wasn’t a single opening.
There was an extraordinary quality to what seemed like an ordinary strike.
That extraordinariness was even visible to the eye.
"How did you do it?"
"I did it with strength."
Hearing that made Enkrid feel a little guilty toward the fairy, Ermen.
Was that really an explanation?
"Is using strength all it takes?"
"Yes, it is."
Ragna answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
And in truth, Enkrid found himself agreeing.
If strength was all you had, then you simply had to use it.
What else could you do?
Ragna momentarily doubled the length of his sword, creating something similar to a fairy’s spirit blade along its edge as he slashed.
Enkrid, instinctively realizing that blocking it would mean death, barely managed to evade.
In other words, this wasn’t a sparring match.
"Do you call this a duel?"
Enkrid asked.
"Do you dislike it?"
Ragna countered with a question.
Both that little brat Rem and that lost little brat fought in madness.
They didn’t think about fair play in a duel; they simply sought ways to win.
No rules.
Nothing predetermined.
Only the will to push forward, the burning desire to improve.
How could that not be exhilarating?
"No."
Enkrid answered plainly, a smile forming on his face.
Of course, he didn’t dislike it.
Ragna’s sword was impossible to block and difficult to dodge.
One could call it a sword that cuts even through waves.
’I need to figure out what he’s enveloping his sword with if I want to block it.’
It seemed even Ragna himself didn’t know exactly what he had done.
To understand, Enkrid would have to analyze, investigate, and unravel it.
’Establishing a system.’
That process was far from over.
In a way, it was only just beginning.
No, it was the beginning.
There was still much to do.
Even Audin had come up with a solution in the end—he had simply copied Enkrid.
"It’s a technique for blocking a downpour."
Though his approach might have been slightly different, he had fully endured the wave-cutting sword by blocking it outright.
Whenever he lost in a battle of techniques, he just took the hit with his body.
His divinely imbued iron plate armor was tough enough to withstand Penna.
But then, in that moment, Audin too began using his divinity in a manner similar to the other two.
A golden glow condensed, transforming into a thick, leather-like texture.
’He compressed it and layered it on top.’
Will was an intangible force.
Could it really be condensed simply because one willed it so?
A doubt formed.
Suspicion followed.
But that thought was quickly cast aside.
’If I think it’s impossible, then nothing will ever be possible.’
If he believed it could be done, then it would be done.
A knight of past generation had once infused his will into his sword, creating something akin to a demonic blade.
What resided within that sword was a fragment of his own will, which took on a personality of its own and expressed its intent through the blade.
He had made use of a technique known as Manifestation.
’Will, sorcery, and divinity—they can all change.’
Endure was a force of resilience, but when honed, it could become armor.
His will had changed, fortifying itself into a shield for his body.
"There exists a state that never dries and never ceases. They called it Uskera. And there exists another state where what one possesses is fundamentally different, called Indules. It’s an ancient term."
Enkrid recalled something Luagarne had once said.
She had merely passed down words that had been spoken for generations.
Now, at this moment, Enkrid found himself reevaluating them and defining them anew.
’Uskera refers to an inexhaustible well—it’s about the quantity of will. And Indules...’
It wasn’t about quantity.
It was about quality.
A fundamentally different form of will.
How was that achieved?
How did one awaken to it?
How did one grasp it?
The path ahead felt shrouded in darkness.
Somewhere, it felt as if the Boatman was lurking, ready to mock him.
"And when will you master that? After dying thousands of times like before? Grind yourself down, let yourself be broken. In the end, you’ll be shattered and forever trapped in today."
The Boatman’s taunts meant nothing.
As always, Enkrid felt only exhilaration.
Indules.
He had Uskera.
He had already manifested it in his swordsmanship.
But Indules was an entirely unknown realm.
Thump.
His heart pounded.
Euphoria surged.
He wanted to run.
The intensity of his emotions roared like a flood, excitement and anticipation urging him forward.
"...Are you seriously planning to sleep under the stars? Why did you destroy a perfectly good lodging? I don’t get it. Well, I don’t need to get it. I’ll rebuild it. Might as well make it bigger this time. Until then, you’ll have to stay in a tent. That should be fine, right?"
Krais was rambling beside him, but Enkrid barely registered his words.
"Are you even listening? No, you’re definitely not. Ah, he’s lost it again."
Krais gave up and turned away.
There were things he needed to get permission for and some tasks to handle, but given Enkrid’s current state, there was no point in trying to talk to him.
Enkrid simply remained where he was, swinging his sword downward three hundred times.
Repeating simple drills while contemplating was an old habit of his.
He pondered and deliberated.
Through this process, he found new destinations, dreamed new dreams—how could that not be enjoyable?
By nightfall, his excitement had slightly settled.
Gazing at his subordinates, he spoke with absolute sincerity.
"Honestly... you’re all insane."
The way he said it was reminiscent of Crang.
It was a statement filled with genuine conviction.
And everyone there took deep offense to it.
"...Of all people, I did not want to hear that from you, captain. I’m being serious."
Rem didn’t lash out but spoke more solemnly than ever.
"Begone, foul demon. Lord, cast out the devil that has taken hold of our brother’s mind."
Audin prayed fervently.
He even called for Theresa, who immediately began singing a hymn beside him.
Theresa nodded in agreement, earnestly aiding in exorcising the demon possessing Enkrid.
"And who exactly are you calling insane? Did Anne spike your drink with poison or something?"
Jaxen, noticing the fire of zeal and euphoria flickering in Enkrid’s eyes, muttered in suspicion.
No one could act like this without being under the influence of something.
Why was he suddenly like this?
Then again, this was nothing new.
He had always been like this—his skills suddenly skyrocketing, doing things that made no sense.
It wasn’t even surprising anymore.
What was bothersome, though, was being lumped together with savages and lunatics.
Jaxen subtly shifted his footing and nudged Ropord forward.
"It’s not me. I’m perfectly normal."
Ropord denied any involvement.
Meanwhile, Fel murmured, "So... is madness just another talent?"
Ropord, overhearing that, replied, "Oh, in that case, you’re a genius. You’re already a complete lunatic."
The two exchanged sharp glances.
Esther, still in her panther form, lay on the rooftop, resting her chin on her paws as she watched the spectacle unfold.
Luagarne, meanwhile, stood by the destroyed barracks, next to a tent, roasting larvae over an open flame.
Once cooked, they would be sweeter than honey, so she had no intention of sharing them with anyone.
Not that anyone was likely to ask.
She quietly hummed to herself as she grilled the larvae, cheeks puffed up in amusement.
"Do you really need to say it out loud?"
It was something that needed to be said to be known, but of course, no one paid attention to those words.
Truth was always bitter, but if even that bitterness was not spoken, it could be hidden.
"Are you calling me crazy? I don’t think so. Well, considering what these guys did when asked for a spar, I guess I can understand why you’d think that."
Ragna’s final words sparked an uproar.
"Huh? You want to die? The Captain was hit in the arm, but you’ll get hit in the head, you directionless bastard."
"I’ll just cut it down before it even arrives."
"Want to try?"
"Go ahead."
Rem and Ragna were at each other’s throats.
"Stop whining about talent. If you set a limit for yourself from the start, that’s as far as you’ll ever go."
"Ah, well, I have limitless talent, so it doesn’t matter for me, but I see why it bothers you. It’s fine, I understand. I won’t comfort you, but I’ll pretend not to notice. I won’t say anything to the trainees under you."
Fel made a motion of sealing his lips. Seeing that, Ropord flinched.
Since when did this bastard get so talkative?
His way of provoking others had changed.
He used to be on a similar level, but now he was different.
"You wanna die?"
Ropord snapped back.
"Oh, wow. There aren’t many people who actually want to die, but it turns out you’re one of them?"
Fel smoothly countered.
It was clear—he had improved.
The reason?
It had to be his journey with Enkrid. He must have learned on the way back.
Realizing this, Ropord briefly looked at Enkrid with a hint of resentment before immediately discarding it.
At first, he had wondered why Fel had received separate training, but now that he thought about it, was it really that big of a deal?
He just had to catch up.
Luagarne was eating a roasted larva, while Jaxen, who had gotten his hands on some wood from somewhere, began carving.
As he shaved away at the wood, thin bark shavings fell to the ground.
Watching it all, Enkrid smirked.
A thought crossed his mind.
He truly liked this place, this moment, these people.
None of them mocked another’s dreams.
If they lacked skill, they simply trained.
That was the norm.
There was no envy, no underhanded attempts to surpass each other.
To them, this was natural.
But was it really?
How much had he wandered to find something like this?
How many people had he met who only envied, ridiculed, and scorned?
It just hit him then—this was the knighthood he had always longed for.
And so—
"How about walking the path of a Holy Knight? You must have faith in God, faith."
When asked this question the next day, Enkrid was able to shake his head with firm conviction.
"And you are?"
"You could say I’m your foster father, brother."
He was a guest who had arrived at Border Guard while Enkrid had visited the Fairy City.

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