Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 641: Chapter 641 - Meaning, Implementation, Training
The boatman biting his tongue and stammering?
At first, I thought it was some kind of new joke.
Since fairies joke, maybe ferrymen do too.
Of course, that wasn’t the case.
My thoughts accelerated toward a conclusion.
Walking fire and the opposite.
What was needed to cut through Walking Fire’s spell was to put all my strength into a single strike.
So that wasn’t the answer.
In fact, I had already attempted that method countless times throughout today.
Striking with all my strength, imbued with Will, didn’t work.
Then what about the opposite?
Enkrid’s intuition was sharper than ever before.
On top of that, throughout today’s endless repetition, he had absorbed, organized, and internalized a great deal of knowledge.
As a result, he caught glimpses beyond the limits of what he had previously understood.
Just as one can infer the meaning of a word from its context, the accumulated knowledge from repeated experiences allowed him to see causes and deduce results.
Because he could infer and deduce, he caught a glimpse of an answer—hence, he saw light.
"The words are incomplete."
More so since it was just the first syllables strung together.
So then—
Was he just teasing me?
Maybe.
A small part of me felt uneasy about that.
But if there was a method worth trying, wouldn’t it be foolish not to?
That meant all I had to do was focus on the present.
The boatman’s advice was broad.
Enkrid interpreted it in his own way.
"The answer is to oppose it remembering the Walking Fire."
From there, he reconstructed the past—not the moment he mastered a technique, but the circumstances.
He pulled out one by one the experiences of encountering Walking Fire, the repeated today, the mindset he had then, the thought process.
A mere graze meant death.
Even the slightest scratch meant death.
"Then just don’t get hit."
There had been a fight where he endured by peeling away layers of flame.
"Endurance."
A memory suddenly resurfaced.
Someone had specialized in such a fight before—Rievart.
The chimera knight that Count Molsan had put forward.
He was a man who had made endurance his greatest strength.
Even though he used the underhanded method of modifying his body, in the end, he never reached his goal.
Fighting him had been helpful.
And enduring against Walking Fire naturally came to mind as well.
The library of experience opened.
He recalled what he had learned.
By revisiting it, he recreated it within his body.
And he engraved the theory into it as well.
The meaning was—
"A sword that even the waves cannot break."
The implementation method was to block every incoming attack.
The training method was comprised of dozens of variations.
Once the meaning, implementation, and training method were established, it could become a swordsmanship style.
Now that he had grasped it, it was time to put it into practice.
Preparation was complete.
One-Killer’s attacks were all fatal.
Every single swing of his blade was more than a threat—it sent chills down the spine.
To block such an opponent’s sword, Enkrid would have to counter with dozens, even hundreds, of extraordinary strikes.
"Pick the wrong answer and you die."
A thrilling sense of tension, excitement, and exhilaration raced down his spine.
A new today—
As if waiting for this moment, One-Killer swung his swords.
The blades on both arms moved independently, like separate entities.
It was similar to the dual-blade techniques used by mercenaries of the Valen style.
Facing those discordant rhythms, Enkrid wielded only a single sword—Silver.
"Calculation."
He split the incoming attacks into distinct elements and arranged them in order of time.
This was the realm of insight.
His accelerated thought process aided him.
His heart pounded as blood surged fiercely through his body.
Along with that, the formless power of Will coursed through him, adding strength to its master’s intent.
Bang!
He raised Silver and deflected the slanting blade.
Without pausing, he swung again, continuing the trajectory.
No, he had to continue it.
With the next strike, he blocked another blade that had been waiting for an opening.
There was no time to breathe, no time to blink.
He immediately pulled his sword back to guard his face.
The short-sword-length blade that shot out from One-Killer’s extended foot stopped right in front of his chin, blocked by Silver’s blade.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Blades clashed and scraped against each other, each asserting dominance.
’I see the intent.’
A kick was followed by a chain of relentless, uninterrupted attacks.
Enkrid determined that he needed to attack.
So he plucked a spark from his Will, stealing a portion of his enemy’s composure.
One-Killer’s compressed muscles allowed for explosive bursts of speed.
Moreover, he could move just as swiftly in reverse.
It was possible because his legs transformed in battle.
When sufficiently pressured, his legs changed to resemble those of a beast.
Even now, it had happened.
By human standards, it looked as if his knees were bending the wrong way.
But that wasn’t actually the case.
Anyone familiar with the structure of animal legs would know that this was merely an optical illusion.
What humans perceive as an animal’s knee is actually its heel.
In other words, rather than being reversed, the posture was completely natural.
It was an evolution for escaping a predator’s grasp.
For a human comparison, it was like standing on tiptoes—
A stance that allowed for immediate acceleration.
And when his legs transformed like this, his leg strength more than doubled.
Boom! Boom!
The rock floor burst apart, leaving craters.
Amidst the chaos, countless orange streaks shot forward like lines drawn across the air.
The retreating One-Killer now charged twice as fast.
With both arms swinging, he created a breathtaking spectacle.
From the perspective of his opponent, it looked like a meteor shower was falling from the sky.
The orange streaks resembling shooting stars didn’t just move downward;
They moved in straight lines, curves, and even horizontally across the ground.
"Wasn’t there a saying that when the Autumn Sword evolves, it becomes a Meteor Shower?"
It was similar to the Rain Sword technique Shinar had shown him.
But this was faster, stronger.
Blocking each and every strike was overwhelming.
Enkrid had to break through his own limits.
So he did.
His body, tempered through rigorous training, pushed past its limits,
Like a blade heated in fire.
His mind, sharpened to the extreme, shattered its constraints and advanced.
If he didn’t—
He would be stabbed, slashed, or struck dead.
His eyes, breaking past their human constraints, captured the changes in speed.
Beyond human limits—his dynamic vision reached a new level.
Will surged.
First, it strengthened his muscles.
Then, it shielded his organs, flowed through his entire body, and surged toward his brain.
It augmented all his senses, elevating him beyond the ordinary.
That was why feats bordering on miracles were possible.
One-Killer’s body kept transforming.
First, his legs—next, his arms.
Like a mollusk, his arms elongated.
Now devoid of bones, only firm muscles remained, coiling and accelerating his blades.
Enkrid saw it.
Dodged it.
Blocked it.
Struck back.
Blood trickled from his grip on Silver.
Even with cloth-wrapped gauntlets, the impact wasn’t entirely absorbed.
New wounds formed over the hardened calluses that had split and healed countless times before.
’It’s overwhelming.’
Yet, the thought of giving up never crossed his mind.
He blocked and blocked again.
He had no way of knowing how many times.
He had lost track of time.
At some point, his eyes burned as if drops of candle wax had fallen into them.
It was only natural—countless decisions inevitably led to mistakes.
Fatigue accumulated, and blind spots emerged from repeated calculations.
The blade of the One-Killer brushed past his cheek with a sharp flick.
His sinewy arm stretched, leaving behind an orange afterimage.
Thud!
In exchange for a scratch on his cheek, Enkrid severed both of the bastard’s arms.
’If it grazes me, I die.’
That fact didn’t change.
It was a failure.
A pain tore through his entire body, as if someone had thrust a blade directly into the blood flowing inside him.
He recalled an old crone with a foul temper from his childhood, who had once frightened him by saying that if a needle pricked the wrong spot, it could travel through the bloodstream and kill.
It truly felt that way now.
Crack!
While he hesitated, a blade shot up from the One-Killer’s foot and stabbed into Enkrid’s skull.
Pain surged from his head like a lightning strike running through his entire body.
’It hurts.’
If darkness followed pain, it meant death.
This was the end of today.
"Is that your answer?"
On the black, rippling river, the ferryman holding a violet lamp asked indifferently.
Enkrid did not reply.
’The answer is the opposite of the Walking Fire.’
He sensed a disparity between this ferryman and the one he had encountered before—as if they were entirely different people.
"I don’t know either."
"Ridiculous."
The ferryman spoke without a trace of amusement.
And then, today began again.
The same beginning as yesterday, as all the days before.
He wielded his sword, with fervor as his blade and determination as his shield.
"Today will be more interesting than yesterday."
Enkrid murmured something no one could understand.
"What are you talking about?"
Shinar asked, but he had no time to answer.
The One-Killer had already reacted to his killing intent and lunged straight at him.
Clang!
Blades clashed in harmony.
The battle had begun again.
He calculated the variables, drawing logical conclusions.
Within a single day, Enkrid felt his growth.
If the bastard didn’t change his arms and legs, their fight was evenly matched—or perhaps Enkrid was slightly at a disadvantage.
But if the bastard transformed, his strength and speed should have overwhelmed him.
’But I can keep up.’
And so, he did.
He clenched his teeth and endured.
It was a battle of sheer persistence.
The toll manifested on his body.
First, his tears turned red.
His overheated Will burst the capillaries in his eyes.
Next, his nose bled.
The more variables he had to calculate, the harder his brain worked.
His mind burned, and blood gushed from his nostrils.
Then, his lungs shrank, his muscles flared red-hot.
In an instant, his entire body was covered in deep bruises.
"Damn it."
That was Luagarne’s comment upon seeing him.
Clang!
Fel, upon seeing Enkrid’s state, drew his Idol-Slayer and prepared to fight.
’I think I’ve lasted long enough.’
The One-Killer didn’t seem tired.
No—he didn’t even seem like he
could
tire.
A knight could cut down a thousand men in a day if he wielded his blade with controlled bursts of Will.
But Enkrid had been using Will throughout his entire body, cutting down not a thousand, but far more enemies in a condensed span of time, throwing himself into an accelerated battle.
So it was no surprise that his nosebleed turned into a flood, as if a dam had burst.
’This isn’t good.’
Enkrid recognized a flaw in his training method.
He relied on high-speed thinking to make hundreds of calculations at once.
It was the only way to block the ever-changing swordplay before him.
’There’s a clear limit to accelerated thought.’
Then what was the solution?
Had he hit another wall?
No.
Even as he thought about blood loss killing him, Enkrid planted his blade into the ground to steady himself.
He saw the One-Killer withdraw.
’That bastard.’
He had assumed the bastard only targeted him because he was a threat.
But no—
’His combat strategy is as sharp as mine.’
That was it.
It was true that the One-Killer targeted him because he was a threat.
But beyond that, the bastard fought with cold, tactical efficiency.
The moment Enkrid’s combat ability declined, he moved on to the next target.
The One-Killer fought with optimal, logical efficiency.
’If he kills me, he doesn’t have to deal with the rest.’
If he had gone after Luagarne, Fel, or the others, they would have joined forces against him.
But even then, the outcome wouldn’t have changed.
Yet the One-Killer hadn’t chosen that route.
He simply took the most advantageous course of action—just as Enkrid himself would have.
Demons were rational.
No doubt about it.
"It’s not over yet."
Enkrid spoke.
The One-Killer did not respond.
Instead, he turned his blade toward his next opponent.
Not LuaGarne. Not fel.
But Bran, the Woodguard.
"I knew this would happen."
And Shinar rose to her feet.
Drip.
As she stood from her stone chair, something like blood vessels peeled off and fell away.
Blood trickled from her back.
That wasn’t just an ordinary chair.
Enkrid saw his dying comrades.
He saw the fairies band together in battle.
He saw Shinar rise in defiance, but not fight as she had before.
And then—she died.
Clenching his molars tightly, he endured the searing pain of his torn muscles and charged forward—only for One-Killer to pierce his heart in an instant.
And just like that, he died.
After the darkness swallowed him, with even the boatman nowhere in sight, he awakened, his body trembling from the lingering memory of pain.
"If high-speed thinking doesn’t work..."
His mind remained sharp despite the pain, making the words slip out unconsciously.
Within his head, theory and imagination, training and experience all converged, once again opening a new path.
Wavebreaker Swordsmanship.
A sword that even the waves cannot breach.
Its execution lay in blocking attacks.
Its training method—
’Strengthening the mind.’
How does one train their thoughts?
Until now, Enkrid knew only two ways.
One was accelerating his thinking.
The other—he had learned in the fairy city.
’Divide it.’
A division of thought.
The enemy fought with both hands independently.
They split their thoughts in battle.
Sometimes, they used their entire body to fight, and their mind likely wasn’t limited to just two separate thought streams.
What they had absorbed was the combat style of the Fairy Knights.
’A natural-born combat instinct, replaced with the battle cognition of the fairies.’
Their mere touch was deadly.
Their form had been shaped accordingly.
And so had their way of thinking.
Wasn’t it said that demons were the natural enemies of knights?
It was a fitting description for them.
"If dividing it is all it takes..."
A gleam shone in Enkrid’s eyes.
Instead of succumbing to despair from failure, the seeker who always sought new paths took his first step forward.
And so, Enkrid repeated today, again and again.
He died and died once more.
Five hundred and fifty-six todays passed.
At some point, the boatman no longer appeared.
Even when he did, his demeanor was like that of a third-rate actor reciting the same predetermined lines.
"Give up. You are trapped in today."
"Do you need someone to hate? Then hate yourself."
In that never-ending today, Enkrid spoke to Shinar once more, and she gave the same response.
By sheer coincidence, it was identical to what she had said on the very first today.
Such occurrences were rare in a world where the future was ever-changing.
But perhaps, in a life that constantly shifts, coincidences could sometimes become miracles.
"Then, Enki, will you save me?"
Shinar asked.
"Yes, I will."
Enkrid answered.
Wasn’t that the very reason he had come here?
Even after more than five hundred todays, his resolve remained unshaken.
The blade of his will, though endlessly battered, still gleamed with its sharp, blue aura.
His task was clear, and he had pursued it without faltering.
From high-speed thinking to the division of thought.
There were no guarantees.
As always, Enkrid would simply challenge it head-on.
One-Killer stepped forward.
Watching the creature, Enkrid muttered to himself.
’I’ve seen you so much, I’m starting to grow fond of you, you bastard.’

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