Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 667: Chapter 667 - Penna Is Enough
There could be no better compliment for Aetri.
Yet, the madman hammering iron simply stood up without a trace of a smile.
"True Iron."
His greeting was just as simple.
"Understood."
Enkrid nodded in an equally succinct manner.
With that brief exchange, he stepped out of the forge and quickened his pace.
There was no real urgency.
He simply wanted to return as soon as possible and swing his new Sword.
Technically, it was the Mukgeumjin-euncheol Sword, but that name was far too long.
A name like Weird-Eyed’s would be better.
Something just as intuitive and striking would do.
Three-Iron Sword?
If the sword had a will of its own, it would have likely burst out of its sheath and run away in protest.
But since it didn’t, nothing of the sort happened.
I like it.
Enkrid admired his own naming sense.
Though True Iron was the core material, simply calling it True Iron Sword felt inaccurate.
True Iron varied in quality, and the one Aetri worked with had a peculiar trait—when sharpened into a blade, it was fragile, but when forged into a solid core, its hardness increased, and its weight was evenly distributed.
There was a reason the Black Serpent had used it for armor.
It was far more suitable for defensive gear.
Yet, Aetri had skillfully crafted it into the backbone of a sword.
The remaining material had been left aside for research.
By the time Enkrid left the forge, exchanging a few words and thoughts along the way, the market was beginning to stir.
It wasn’t overcrowded yet, as Krais’ district divisions had prevented excessive congestion, and it was still early.
As he walked through the market, his steps followed a steady rhythm—left foot forward, right foot forward.
Then, before his left foot touched the ground again, his hand settled on the grip of his sword.
Pivoting on his left ankle, his right foot naturally stepped back half a pace as he came to a halt.
In that brief movement, Enkrid took in everything around him.
Above to the right, he saw rolled-up tarps and a wooden framework for a new building, with nails and hammers left by a carpenter.
To the left, a child who had woken unusually early sat blankly on the steps in front of their house.
Sunlight streamed down from the clear sky, casting shadows across the buildings and tents, with people moving in between.
And beyond the intersection at the center of the market stood a swordswoman.
She hadn’t hidden in the shadows, nor had she made any effort to conceal herself.
Her armor was a mix of iron plates stitched together into a cuirass, with leather armor covering her waist to her thighs.
There was an unmistakable air of confidence in her attire.
Her lips moved.
"It’s you, right?"
A question, but not really.
She already knew the answer. That was why she acted instead of waiting for a response.
With a light push off the ground, she crossed the intersection.
Shing!
Her blade was drawn mid-stride, slicing through the air as she weaved between the market-goers.
From above, the trajectory would appear as a smooth, flowing arc.
She advanced like a cunning serpent, slipping effortlessly through the crowd.
Her blade, like the fangs of a striking snake, aimed directly for the center of Enkrid’s forehead.
Ping.
Naturally, it missed its mark.
Enkrid sidestepped and swung Penna upward.
The new sword hadn’t fully settled in his grip yet.
This wasn’t the kind of fight where he could afford to test an unfamiliar blade.
Swish.
Penna, too, failed to strike.
He had read the perfect timing, striking along an inescapable path, yet she had read his move in return and retreated.
In the next instant, she was already beneath a tent, its canvas rolled up over the entrance, with wooden pillars supporting the structure.
The deep shadow cast over half of her figure.
Her subtly curled lips spoke volumes about her mood.
She’s smiling.
She looked entertained.
Then, she moved again.
Her speed was nothing to scoff at—on par with Enkrid’s own.
Blades clashed, evasive maneuvers followed.
Neither side could land a decisive blow, nor did they seem to be trying.
Their movements were so refined that even predicting each other’s next step was a challenge.
They were both reading each other’s moves at an equally high level.
Whip, flick, pierce, slice.
Like a silent agreement, they dueled amidst the flowing crowd.
And yet, not a single bystander was harmed.
Penna brushed just above the head of a dazed child who had been sitting on the steps.
The controlled force of the swing caused nothing more than a faint breeze to ruffle the boy’s hair.
He hesitated, then reflexively patted his head—by then, both fighters had already passed him.
The swordswoman’s blade glided just above an elderly woman’s shoulder.
The old woman paused, tilting her head in mild confusion but unharmed.
"Huh?"
Not everyone failed to notice the fight.
But understanding what was happening was another matter entirely.
A baker, up early to prepare his goods, blinked in confusion.
Had something just flashed past him?
It was difficult to tell.
Neither combatant had stopped moving.
Whatever had darted into his vision vanished just as quickly.
At a glance, it almost looked like they were playing tag.
The problem was that their game of tag involved swords.
Their ceaseless, rapid movements made it nearly impossible for the bystanders to make sense of it.
"Is this... a fight?"
That was the only conclusion they could reach.
Enkrid knew fighting here was to his disadvantage.
If his opponent chose to target civilians, he would have to protect them while fighting.
She skillfully used the crowd as a shield.
His strength was superior, but this battlefield did not allow him to make full use of it.
This is a bad tactical position.
He had gone out of his way to ensure the One-Killer’s attention was solely on him in their last battle, preventing the enemy from causing collateral damage.
The woman before him, however, had a superior grasp of tactics.
Would individual duels lack tactics?
Far from it.
In fact, they were full of them.
Every effort to exploit environmental factors and gain even the slightest advantage fell under the realm of tactics.
She’s better at this than I am.
A few exchanges were enough for Enkrid to confirm this.
She knew how to use her surroundings.
She had claimed the terrain as her own advantage.
Every person near her was her shield.
And conversely, every person near Enkrid became a responsibility he had to protect.
That didn’t mean he saw them as a burden.
If he did, he wouldn’t have made a vow to protect everything behind him.
I need to calculate this.
Wavebreaking Sword
wasn’t just about blocking.
It was a sword technique that refined the mind, pushing both high-speed thinking and split-second decision-making to their limits.
Since returning to
Border Guard
, Enkrid had spent time clashing with his unit members.
Had he learned nothing in that time?
That wasn’t the case.
Even if it was slow—so slow that Rem found it infuriatingly bizarre—Enkrid still walked forward.
And in doing so, he gained something.
He expanded the domain of the
Wavebreaking Sword
This was partly inspired by Jaxen’s own specialty.
"It’s about expanding your sensory field to establish your own territory."
Just as Jaxen had described, Enkrid did something similar.
What he saw, what he heard, what he smelled, what passed over his tongue, and what touched his skin—
He condensed all those inputs into his intuition, predicting what was to come.
He took in every bit of surrounding information in an instant, processing and calculating again and again.
’A drill pierces a circle.’
A byproduct of refining the
Wavebreaking Sword
—he fused its way of thinking into it.
In other words, through calculation, he could see the future.
’High-speed thinking lets you see further than your opponent.’
His eyeballs burned, a nosebleed dribbled down, brushing against his upper lip.
To perform this, several conditions had to be met.
First, the location had to be somewhere he frequented.
Otherwise, the number of factors in his calculations would explode, and his brain might as well burst.
Second, he had to know his limits.
’Too much, and I’ll black out.’
Even the human brain overheats and fails.
He had already experienced it firsthand.
Right now, Enkrid was following both conditions to perfection.
He might not visit the Border Guard’s marketplace often, but he was familiar with its streets.
And as for controlling his limits—he had practiced it endlessly, repeating today over and over.
The key was control.
And when it came to controlling
Will
, Enkrid was the most deranged master of them all.
He stomped the ground sharply with his toe—on purpose.
The action drew attention.
Calculations were a game of probabilities.
He preemptively traced a few lines.
Instead of simply dodging to gain a slight advantage, he brought forth a future where he would
collide
—driving his opponent into an inescapable position.
Enkrid pulled the future he saw in his mind into the present.
Sensing the gathered gazes, he shifted his stance to the side.
Compared to before, his movements were astonishingly slow.
Seeing the break in his high-speed movements, his opponent judged it as an opportunity.
A blade came slicing toward him from the left rear.
Enkrid twisted his waist fluidly, drawing his sword with the smallest motion necessary.
’The new sword here.’
With his left hand, he half-drew the newly received sword, using it as a
If his opponent withdrew their attack, he would immediately press forward, chasing with his blade.
Knowing this, the opponent had no choice but to commit to the attack.
Clang!
The sound rang out intentionally.
As the clash of swords echoed, someone finally shouted—
"A fight!"
Krais had once insisted on conducting evacuation drills for the Border Guard residents in case of emergencies.
Back then, the citizens had cursed him for forcing them through such "pointless" training.
But now?
The moment they heard the shout, they bolted—diving into houses and stores.
"Guards!"
Another person called out.
"Our time here will be short, won’t it?"
The swordsman, realizing her attack had failed, muttered.
Yet she showed no disappointment at losing the human shields around her.
She hadn’t taken anyone hostage, either.
She was a knight.
Or, at the very least, someone with comparable skill.
Instead of responding with words, Enkrid simply sheathed his half-drawn blade.
Click.
Smooth when drawn, smooth when returned.
A fine sword indeed.
Even the scabbard was treated as part of the weapon.
It was meticulously crafted down to its finish.
If he wasn’t confident of winning or if things got dangerous, he wouldn’t hesitate to draw a new sword, even if it was unfamiliar in his grip.
’Penna is enough.’
But since he didn’t think he would lose, he didn’t do so.
Something felt strange, though—his opponent’s face was vaguely familiar.
But from where?
He couldn’t remember.
No matter how well he remembered people’s faces, it was impossible to recall every fleeting encounter from his past.
"Your tactical thinking is excellent. You judged this battlefield as unfavorable and erased its disadvantages."
The female swordsman spoke again.
Enkrid simply nodded.
The fact that he hadn’t targeted the fleeing people was answer enough.
"And you’re confident you can take me down, aren’t you? That half-drawn sword—did you just receive it? The other sword, did you change weapons recently? Given its length, it compensates for a certain drawback. And judging by its single-edged blade, it specializes in cutting."
Her words contained answers.
She wasn’t demanding a response.
She let her sword droop slightly—a blade with an unusually white sheen.
Even from their brief clash, Enkrid could tell—it was no ordinary sword.
"I wonder what the others are doing right now?"
Then, she suddenly spoke again.
"Do you think I came here alone?"
A habit, perhaps—every sentence was a question.
"No, probably not."
Even when she wasn’t expecting an answer, her words always had implications.
"Who are you?"
This time, Enkrid was the one asking.
If she wasn’t alone, then others had been ambushed too.
Which meant their target wasn’t just him—it was
Border Guard
itself.
Her identity was difficult to guess.
There was too little information.
But if he didn’t know—then he simply had to
ask
Of course, by
beating it out of her.
"Who do you think I am?"
She asked while moving again.
Now that the bystanders were gone, she seemed more unrestrained—her footwork was quicker than before.
Her sword left afterimages, transforming into a streak of light as it sliced through space.
Enkrid never stopped calculating.
To see before his opponent, he
overclocked
his mind even further.
He calculated probabilities and searched for the most rational path.
Maybe this was the
true way
to make every strike the right answer.
His overheated brain frantically sought a solution.
Amidst the incoming blade’s trajectory, he
his opponent’s intent and chose the best response.
His honed muscles were the perfect tools to support his high-speed cognition.
Clang!
Their swords met once more.
The force was strong enough that Enkrid’s grip tingled.
His opponent was powerful.
"Damn, you’re strong."
His opponent muttered in surprise—but her voice stretched strangely.
Even as she spoke, she moved—her steps dynamic, charging forward once again.
Between the flashing blades, Enkrid continued his calculations.
Even as his nose bled profusely—
He was
thrilled
Honestly, this fight had been so
damn fun
from the very beginning—
His brain felt like it was
melting
with excitement.

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