Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 691: Chapter 690 - Between Familiarity and Strangeness
’Upper right arm, lower left abdomen.’
Enkrid read the intent behind the strikes of the woman presumed to be Ragna’s mother.
The sword in her right hand slashed downward, while the one in her left hand thrust forward.
The two blades moved in sync, quick yet predictable in rhythm.
Thus—
’This is easy.’
Blocking or dodging was simple.
Ragna chose to evade rather than draw his sword.
His body shifted sideways without even seeming to step.
A knight’s reaction speed far surpassed human common sense.
An ordinary person would be shocked by a Frog’s raw strength, a beastkin’s agility, or a giant’s overwhelming might.
But a knight had no reason—no need—to be surprised anymore.
They now possessed similar strength and movement.
Just like Ragna at this moment.
His mother’s blade twisted at a right angle to follow his movement.
Still easy.
One blade slashed, the other stabbed.
It was so straightforward that it felt monotonous.
’Or perhaps... not so easy.’
Was it because Enkrid was watching from the outside, or had his insight simply improved?
He vaguely grasped the hidden intent behind the strikes.
The twin blades moved at specific angles, forcing certain reactions from the opponent.
For example, the right-hand sword aimed downward at the collarbone, while the left-hand sword slashed outward diagonally—threatening both the abdomen and the arm.
If Ragna dodged sideways, he would impale himself on a blade.
A swift, precise dual-sword style.
In terms of speed alone, it was on par with the best.
This left no room for other movements.
’And there’s not a single wasted motion.’
Ragna had two options: draw his sword to block or retreat to create distance.
’If it were me, I’d grab both wrists.’
Ragna had the superior strength, so he should leverage his advantage.
That was the Luagarne-style tactical approach.
After securing both wrists, he would ram his forehead into his opponent’s nose.
Why this choice?
’If he backs away, it’s harder to predict what she’ll do next.’
Simply blocking would allow her to continue attacking.
Thus, he made his decision—and at the same time, he understood her technique.
’Forced movements.’
If Akker’s Spiderweb Swordplay restricted the opponent’s actions, this technique predetermined the opponent’s path and drove them into it.
A subtly different yet similar approach to structured swordplay.
Ragna combined three options, including Enkrid’s suggestion.
’If possible, it’s best to make multiple choices at once.’
If one could, that is.
And so Ragna did.
He drew his short sword to block one blade, reached for his mother’s right wrist with his left hand, and simultaneously raised his right knee, aiming a toe kick at her chin.
Ting.
His mother’s sword barely met the short sword before instantly snapping back to its original position.
Her body retreated in a swift motion, causing Ragna’s kick and grab to hit nothing but air.
Her long, braided golden hair swayed left and right.
The forceful movement sent ripples through both her clothes and hair.
"Hmm. Son, you’ve changed a little?"
As she moved rapidly back and forth, her apron fluttered before settling back over her stomach and thighs.
For a moment, Ragna glimpsed the scabbard attached to the outside of her thigh.
’She wields a sword even while cooking.’
The blades in her hands hardly seemed like kitchen knives.
They were slightly longer than a short sword, with a thicker blade—yet thin enough to contradict that impression.
A custom-made weapon, somewhere between a gladius and a short sword.
’Or rather, an inscribed weapon.’
He corrected his thought.
Here, even cooking was done with an inscribed weapon at hand.
"It’s been a long time, so change is natural, isn’t it?"
Ragna displayed an assertiveness he hadn’t shown before—an attitude that suggested he wouldn’t mind attacking again.
A stark contrast to how he had been before leaving home.
His mother felt a hint of pride.
"Yes. I always knew you’d return someday."
"I’m not back. I’m here for the Sunrise."
"The Sunrise? Were you promised it?"
His mother glanced at his father standing behind her.
"No."
His father shook his head.
"You’ve grown ambitious, son. I like that."
His mother turned back to Ragna with a smile.
This family was surprisingly optimistic.
Enkrid reviewed the recent exchange.
A brief but fascinating duel.
And he had learned something.
Not all swordplay could be categorized as lethal, sustained, or versatile.
In other words, instinct and calculation alone couldn’t encompass everything.
The swordplay Ragna’s mother had just demonstrated was proof of that.
’Transition.’
She fluidly moved between calculation and instinct—not as a balanced center, but like a seesaw tilting back and forth.
’And extreme speed.’
Enkrid had named his swordplay ’Flash’—but in reality, it was about optimizing thought processes.
Reducing the number of dependent variables in a single instant.
He recalled what Grida had once demonstrated.
More precisely, the method to dismantle calculations.
It was entirely impractical in real combat.
To use it effectively, one had to assume a perfect defense—like when he faced a one-killer—and move with the minimal required motions.
But Grida’s movements had been too large for that.
It wasn’t meant for real combat.
During his spar with Grida, Enkrid had been the one refining rational combat thinking, while Grida had sought to unravel that thinking.
Which was why he had decided not to give her the chance.
’Eliminate all but the best choice.’
That was what made Flash what it was.
It wasn’t necessarily slow by definition, but if one were to speak purely of blade speed, Ragna’s mother’s swordplay was even more astonishing.
’A rapid shift in thought using a fast sword?’
There were likely more hidden techniques than what met the eye.
That thought stirred his anticipation.
Perhaps that was why he unconsciously kept gripping and releasing the hilt of Samcheol in repetition.
"You’re quite the combative guest."
Ragna’s mother remarked upon noticing him.
Enkrid was about to respond when Grida interrupted.
"Don’t."
It was a warning.
"...I came following Ragna."
Enkrid wanted to test himself against her right then and there, but he heeded Grida’s warning.
Magrun interjected, adding more to the conversation.
"This is Enkrid from Border Guard. You must have heard of the ’Madmen Knights’ through the Broker’s Village news, yes?"
Ragna’s mother blinked a few times before replying.
"Oh, that? The Heartbreaker?"
Enkrid felt a moment of unease but managed to endure it.
’How the hell did that nickname make it all the way here?’
For a brief moment, he wondered, but he quickly composed himself and gave a neutral response.
"Who exactly passed along this news?"
If he caught that bastard first, he could trace the source of the rumor.
Most likely, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it was Shinar.
By now, Enkrid knew how far and wide Shinar had spread absurd rumors.
She had circulated the claim that the commander of the Madmen Knights of Border Guard was best known for breaking women’s hearts.
At this rate, even passing children would utter the nickname, and some bard might compose a song about it.
Who knew—perhaps even some recluse mage, secluded deep in the forest, would somehow hear of it.
’No, that’s taking it too far.’
Now wasn’t the time to let his thoughts wander.
Enkrid met her sharp gaze and continued.
"The rumors are quite exaggerated."
"There’s no smoke without fire, and looking at your face, it doesn’t seem entirely false. But well, if one were to believe every rumor, they’d think the lord had eight arms. If it’s untrue, then so be it. I’m Alexandra Yohan. Welcome to Yohan."
She appeared outwardly unassuming, but he had already witnessed her extraordinary skill firsthand.
"If anything, you’re the one with eight arms."
The lord, standing beside her, remarked.
His wife let out a chuckle.
Despite being a middle-aged woman, she had few wrinkles and appeared remarkably youthful.
Knighthood tended to slow the aging process.
’That must mean she reached the level of a knight at a young age.’
It was peculiar.
The lord’s emotions were unreadable, and his wife seemed ordinary at first glance, yet she was just as difficult to decipher.
"If someone is skilled, it’s only natural for them to conceal their intentions."
Even Jaxen had said as much.
And Enkrid understood the implication.
Superior observational skills bordered on insight, and heightened insight could verge on mind reading.
Thus, those with exceptional insight instinctively learned to obscure themselves—whether through calculation, instinct, or pure intuition.
This was something one picked up reflexively.
’Otherwise, even battles like those between Ropord and Fel wouldn’t hold up.’
If one side could read the other’s intent while the other remained oblivious, the fight’s outcome would be easily decided.
Of course, there were attacks that couldn’t be stopped even if one saw them coming.
But still, that was the gist of it.
"We were preparing a meal for our guests anyway. What a coincidence. We didn’t expect this, but there’s plenty. Join us. But first, freshen up a bit."
Yohan was a small castle, and there were a few attendants.
Several maids and servants stood in the background, watching.
They were either exceptionally bold or simply unfazed, given how nonchalant they remained after witnessing the swordplay earlier.
"I’ll show you the way."
Grida stepped forward, and Alexandra, the lady of the house, nodded.
"Alright. The location hasn’t changed."
At some point, she had sheathed her sword.
Her movements were so natural that he had missed it again.
To put away her blade mid-conversation—was this what one called seasoned expertise?
Even the smallest of her gestures exuded something extraordinary.
’She’s definitely unusual.’
The lord glanced between Enkrid, Ragna, and Anne before speaking.
"I’ll see you later. Dinner should be interesting. It’s been a while since we’ve had so many people."
His tone lacked even the slightest hint of enthusiasm.
"This way."
Grida bowed slightly toward the lord and his wife before leading the group away.
"I have something to attend to."
Magrun broke away from them partway.
Once they were a fair distance from the lord and his wife, Anne finally spoke.
"I was going to mention that we came for medical treatment, but Ragna’s father looks terrifying."
"Does he?"
"There’s no resemblance at all."
Ragna nodded at Enkrid’s remark.
"They’re my foster parents. It’d be weird if we looked alike."
"Huh?"
That was news to Anne.
She turned toward Enkrid, but it was Grida who responded first, glancing back at them.
"I’m a foster child too. You didn’t know? Well, I suppose that idiot isn’t the type to share those kinds of details."
Ragna didn’t particularly respond and simply looked around.
It was the house he had returned to after a long time.
Some of the memories buried in the corners of his mind stirred, filling him with nostalgia.
"If I go this way, that used to be my room. Is it still the same?"
Though called a castle, the structure was no different from a large mansion.
A few pillars marked the boundary between the interior and exterior.
The scale wasn’t particularly grand, and the corridor Ragna pointed toward extended to the right—leading inside.
The left side, in contrast, opened into a small garden.
"That’s just the head’s bedroom. It hasn’t changed since the generation before last."
At Grida’s words, Ragna tilted his head in slight confusion.
"I got a little mixed up."
"A little?"
Grida sounded exasperated, but it was understandable.
No matter how much one had grown up in a place, it was natural to get lost after returning after such a long time.
For Ragna, losing his way was almost inevitable.
"The bath is this way. No attendants will be helping. In Yohan, we believe in handling our own needs. If you don’t fulfill your duties, you don’t receive anything in return. Oh, but they’ll bring you clothes."
Swinging a sword wouldn’t magically make bread fall from the sky.
This place must have its own way of maintaining order and functioning as a collective.
It seemed they kept only the minimal necessary staff, with the rest expected to handle things themselves.
"It’ll be nice to finally bathe in peace."
Anne commented.
"You’re coming with me."
Grida pulled Anne along to the other bath, separated by a wall.
Enkrid also stepped inside and found a large wooden tub filled with drawn water.
There was even a hearth on one side, allowing them to heat water if necessary.
Steam rose from the top, indicating that some had already been prepared.
The sizable tub immediately caught his attention.
Ragna wasn’t so much lost as he was momentarily disoriented.
Now that he was getting used to it, memories resurfaced, and he naturally grabbed a wooden bucket, starting to mix hot and cold water.
He didn’t just prepare his own but also took care of Enkrid’s, as if instinctively falling back into an old habit.
It was a peculiar mix of familiarity and strangeness, like blending warm and cool water in preparation for a bath.
"What’s ’sunrise’ supposed to mean?"
Enkrid asked, watching Ragna.
After spending long hours on the road without a proper wash, his body reeked of sweat.
It made sense why they had been told to bathe before eating.
As Ragna poured the water into the tub, the sound of splashing mingled with his voice as he answered.

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