Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 671: Chapter 671 - It’s Not Like That at Night
Contrary to Krais’s concerns, there was no intense battle.
Both sides had already fought once and understood—it would be impossible to determine victory or defeat without risking their lives.
"Just because you had the upper hand this time, does that mean it’ll always be this way?"
A man who had barely survived after facing Rem spoke up.
His appearance was unremarkable, but his sharp gaze revealed his intelligence.
His name was Magrun Yohan.
Though his hair color differed from that of Odincar, their facial features were subtly similar.
Odincar had a laid-back aura, while Magrun gave off an intense, unyielding impression.
It was just a feeling, not a perfect match, but close enough.
These people did not bother hiding their true intentions.
That much was clear from observing fairy society.
For them, lying was unnecessary; their language likely lacked even a word for falsehood.
And just as the fairies had no reason to conceal their thoughts, neither did they.
"Yohan has always lived in competition. Unlike you, who complacently sacrifice the weak as stepping stones."
Magrun continued speaking, sweeping his gaze across the crowd.
His eyes and posture conveyed that he would not be outdone in spirit.
Even though he had been beaten by Rem, it did not mean he was finished.
His words struck at the core of a fundamental issue—the way knights on this continent typically regarded individuals like them.
Knights did not duel each other lightly.
They were too valuable as military assets.
The kingdoms that ruled the continent revered their knights and honored their desires.
If knights injured or killed one another in training, the loss would be immeasurable.
Thus, it was common sense to avoid unnecessary conflict.
Magrun’s argument was the opposite.
He criticized those who became knights only to rest on their laurels.
He was passionate.
And Rem completely ignored him.
"What is this guy even talking about?"
Magrun’s words did not fit the people here—the warriors of the battlefield, the ones who bloomed amidst bloodshed.
They were those who stood their ground where the blood flowed, who lived with death at their side, whispering with their swords instead of tongues as they faced each tomorrow.
Enkrid, especially, was an anomaly to even still be alive.
At least, that’s how Rem saw it.
And Audin and Jaxen would likely agree.
At that moment, Magrun snorted and pointed at Enkrid.
"So, all of you gathered to train him, right? He must have been exceptionally talented. Did he savor everything that was handed to him? Walk the predetermined path? And that’s how he got here?"
There was a fervor in his voice, a confidence born from strong conviction.
Enkrid, snapped from his thoughts, looked at Magrun—or rather, at the finger pointing at him.
Magrun spoke as if he were wielding a sword infused with Will.
"Did Ragna lead you all? Was it just luck that brought you here? Wait and see. I’ll catch up to you soon. No more than two months."
Fel had fought demons in the fairy city alongside Enkrid.
He had battled cultists, witnessed everything that had happened upon their return.
"What the hell is this idiot saying?"
Fel muttered.
"If you have no place in this conversation, stay out of it."
Magrun dismissed him without even looking his way.
Fel bristled, but Ropord caught his arm.
Ropord’s expression was as composed as ever, but the way his lips were firmly set betrayed his irritation.
"He’s not entirely wrong, is he?"
Ropord spoke, not to provoke Fel but simply as an observation.
Fel understood that.
Instead, both clenched their jaws, silently resolving to let Audin beat them two levels harder in training starting tomorrow.
Was Enkrid’s method truly the fastest way?
Maybe not.
Maybe it wasn’t even the right one.
But they had no alternatives.
So they would press on.
Hadn’t they learned that from watching him?
Don’t waste time worrying—move forward.
If you collapse, crawl, but keep going.
That was what they had seen and learned.
Fel and Ropord were in complete agreement.
"Idiot. I caught up to my commander in just fifteen days. You think the time it will take me to beat you is more two months?"
Magrun straightened his posture.
He was not arrogant.
His confidence was built on experience.
"Raised on hand-fed competition instead of true struggle..."
His words were openly, deliberately provocative.
Before he could even finish speaking, all eyes turned to Enkrid.
Everyone waited for his response.
Surely, he would say something now.
Would he knock that fool down?
Put him in his place with words?
"Two months, you say?"
Enkrid asked nonchalantly.
He showed no sign of being upset.
In fact, rather than being offended...
"Why does he look so pleased?"
Rem tilted his head.
Jaxen’s eyebrow twitched.
"Brother?"
Audin called, but Enkrid simply held up his palm, stopping him.
Fel, Ropord, and Theresa all watched in confusion.
And once again, it was Luagarne who noticed first.
"He’s excited."
That was correct.
And it wasn’t hard to guess why—because these people could fight.
"Fine. I’ll give you two months. Prove yourself."
Enkrid said firmly.
Magrun was different from Grida.
He was aware of his own shortcomings.
He knew he had a bad habit of provoking people whenever he opened his mouth.
Grida refused to acknowledge her inability to recognize faces, but Magrun accepted his flaws.
Yet this was a first for him.
’Why isn’t he getting angry?’
Usually, when challenged like this, people would start listing their efforts, claim they were being insulted, demand not to be disrespected.
That was the usual response.
"Hmm. Two months should be enough."
The heat in Magrun’s voice cooled just a little.
"Anyway, Krais? Where’s Big Eyes?"
Enkrid suddenly asked.
"He slipped away earlier."
Luagarne answered.
"Alright, Ropord."
"Yes?"
"Find these three a place to stay."
"Yes, understood."
Ropord bowed his head and stepped away.
Magrun’s gaze remained fixed on Enkrid.
Even Grida and Odincar looked on in surprise.
"Alright. Your name is Odinkar, right? Let’s have a match."
Without caring about the attention of others, Enkrid spoke directly.
Odincar shared a similar disposition but was at least aware of his surroundings.
"Now?"
Odinkar asked again.
He did want to fight—yes, his instincts for battle were stirring his heart.
But wait, isn’t this a moment where you should be feeling bad?
Why are you gripping your sword with excitement, your expression practically glowing?
"I’m not drawing this sword yet because it hasn’t fully adjusted to me. I should be able to spar with it by tomorrow. For now, I’ll use this one."
Enkrid had already tuned out everything else.
’Grida Yohan’s specialty is identifying weaknesses through observation.’
Enkrid had figured out Grida’s ability.
There were likely more hidden tricks, but from what he had seen so far, that was the main one.
He was also curious about the skills of that Magrun Yohan fellow, but that one was injured.
"Fel, go call Anne to heal him."
Without shifting his gaze from Odincar, Enkrid spoke.
A knight’s recovery rate was vastly different from that of an ordinary person.
A bit of medicine, and that level of injury would heal in no time.
If lucky, even a broken bone could mend within a day.
The surge of Will could substitute for vitality, making such feats possible.
To achieve that level of regeneration before becoming knights, however, one had to undergo extreme training.
That was what Audin and Enkrid had done in the past.
"Are you excited because you found an opponent to fight, or because you want to beat him up?"
Rem, having caught on to Enkrid’s thoughts, asked.
"Probably both."
Jaxen answered instead.
"Lord, was my brother the true apostle of the war god, not me?"
Despite hearing them clearly, Enkrid let their words slide past him as usual, merely tilting his sword.
Odincar, swept up in the momentum, unsheathed his sword as well.
With a ringing sound, a silver blade revealed itself.
He might be mindful of others, but he wasn’t the type to hold back.
No, if anything, he was quite the opposite.
Odincar repeated a few words to himself, even rehearsing them in his head a few times, before speaking.
"I have an advantage here. The sword I’m using was tempered by my family. And just so you know, I’m not great at stopping. I lack patience, so if things get rough, just do your best to survive."
If Grida struggled with recognizing faces and Magrun had a knack for ruining the mood, then Odincar’s flaw was a lack of restraint.
Normally, he maintained a relaxed demeanor precisely because he couldn’t stop himself once he started.
For example, if he found a dish he particularly liked, he would eat nothing but that meal for an entire year.
The worst of it, however, came during sparring.
Odincar didn’t know how to hold back.
In real combat, his recklessness sometimes turned into brilliant, decisive moves, but in sparring, it was nothing but a problem.
Yet none of this seemed to bother Enkrid in the slightest.
In fact, it wasn’t even worth considering.
Not recognizing faces?
That wasn’t too bad, was it?
It was far better than constantly getting lost and going missing.
Speaking harshly?
That was nothing.
Compared to Rem, this guy was practically polite.
Sometimes, hearing Rem talk made Enkrid wonder if he should hold a moment of silence for Rem’s enemies.
That savage’s tongue was growing sharper by the day.
And restraint?
’Why should I hold back?’
He had people around him who could take his sword strikes.
More than that, he had people who would push ahead of him and tell him when it wasn’t time yet.
So why should he hold back?
"Come at me, Two Months."
Enkrid, unable to recall Odincar’s name, called him whatever came to mind.
"I’m not Two Months."
Magrun mumbled, baffled.
Grida chuckled beside him.
By now, they all understood what this madman truly wanted.
"You must get told you’re strange a lot, huh?"
Odincar asked, lowering his sword slightly.
When a member of the Yohan family set foot on the continent, the most common thing people said about them was that they were ’unique.’
That was the polite way of putting it.
Behind their backs, people didn’t hesitate to call them lunatics.
And yet, here stood someone even crazier.
"Not at all."
Not only did Enkrid refuse to acknowledge it, but he also sounded completely sincere.
"No, you’re definitely weird."
Odincar grinned.
This time, he didn’t bother choosing his words carefully.
He just spoke what was on his mind.
So... was it really okay not to hold back?
The others instinctively stepped back, clearing the space for them to duel.
Luagarne took a few steps back and suddenly realized something.
Right now, Enkrid wasn’t just excited because he had found a strong opponent.
There was something else mixed in.
’Curiosity.’
Enkrid had a dream and a passion.
And recently, that passion had been accompanied by a growing curiosity.
For a Frog, there was no better word.
Curiosity.
A thirst for knowledge.
’But about what?’
The Yohan family had an established system for training knights.
What they possessed was a refined, effective method of knightly development.
Enkrid wanted to know that too.
That was why he told them to stay.
Ragna’s absence had been a convenient excuse.
Magrun’s foolish remark about ’two months’ had been another good excuse.
But in the end, they were all just excuses.
’Even without them, he would have made them stay.’
Luagarne was certain of it.
By then, a smirk had formed on Enkrid’s lips.
A satisfied grin spread across his face.
He had already found a weakness in Odincar.
One that Odincar had even pointed out himself.
A lack of patience.
"Do you have a lover?"
"...What?"
"If you do, I offer her my condolences."
"Why? You planning to kill me?"
Odinkar countered the crude provocation with a grin.
But Enkrid was not someone who made weak provocations.
"No, you said you lack patience? Then how unfortunate must she be. For her, the nights will feel long. Most nights, she’ll fall asleep unsatisfied."
The words were twisted in a way that made everyone reflect on them.
Odincar was no exception, but upon understanding the meaning, a flush of red crept across his face.
He spoke with eyes full of anger.
"It’s not like that at night!"
With those words, his body stretched out, launching him at incredible speed.
If he could break his composure, he would.
Taking advantage of the slight opening, Enkrid gently pushed Penna forward.
It was a technique of the Valaf-style martial arts, using the body to execute a flowing motion, as if it were a blade.
With a flick of the wrist and gathering force from the body, he executed the move.
The weapon was merely an extension of the hand.
He casually named it "Feather Toss."
Enkrid was still in the phase of fighting based on his special skills.
By his standards, this was considered intermediate level.
The outcome wasn’t determined simply by skill level, especially not in a sparring match.
The Wave Guard sword especially shone in sparring, which gave him an advantage.
Boom!
The two blades collided.
Without a soundbox, the blades resonated, creating a sharp clash as they met.
Boom! Thud! Ding!
The sound of the blades meeting echoed, playing a march of battle.

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