Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 675: Chapter 674 - Triple Iron
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
Grida spoke, tilting her head askew.
Ragna’s mouth opened instinctively.
"What’s wrong with my eyes?"
Now that she thought about it, his little brother had always been like this since childhood—though she’d never seen him open his eyes quite like that before.
"I’m asking why you’re staring like that."
Grida’s voice carried a faint trace of fighting spirit.
Though there was a considerable age gap between them, they had started wielding swords at the same time.
Hadn’t Ragna first picked up the sword just to avoid getting beaten up more?
Yeah, there had been days like that—memories from childhood, when he had just learned to walk and begun to understand the world.
Of course, there was no reason for Grida’s memories to be Ragna’s as well.
"It’s my business."
Ragna answered without blinking.
Her younger brother, who had needed less than a month after picking up a sword to stop getting beaten, still got on her nerves.
His eyes, his way of speaking—everything.
Grida’s right hand dropped slightly, then rose again.
She loosened her fingers, then clenched them tightly around the grip of her sword, which had somehow found its way into her palm.
Ping.
The drawn blade rushed toward its target.
Its exceptionally bright steel caught the sunlight, momentarily disrupting Ragna’s vision.
If he failed to dodge, he’d pay in blood.
The sword’s trajectory was bold, soaring upward before plummeting straight down—then, like a swallow, it curved toward his forearm.
Clang!
Ragna twisted his left foot and drew only half of his greatsword to block Grida’s strike.
Then, as he fully unsheathed his blade, he slashed upward.
From childhood, the siblings had grown up clashing swords.
This was their greeting.
Grida was secretly surprised at their exchange of light blows—
surprised by two things, in fact.
The first was—
"Evasion?"
The Ragna of their childhood didn’t know how to dodge.
"Dodge? Why? Blocking is enough."
That was simply Ragna’s nature.
The family had once speculated that he might become the greatest pioneer of their lineage, though he had an obvious flaw.
"Too stubborn."
His persistence was extreme—excessively so.
Sometimes, one had to take a step back, but Ragna only ever looked straight ahead.
To wield a sword properly, one had to move like flowing water—extending, retracting, cutting.
This was the wisdom passed down through generations of their family.
But Ragna found all that tedious.
He simply repeated what he was used to.
It was exactly how he had been when Enkrid first saw him.
Grida knew that version of her brother well.
Yet now, he was deflecting attacks.
His movements were more akin to flowing swordplay than the heavy strikes of a greatsword—something Grida never expected to see from him.
And there was one more thing that startled her.
Grida swiftly tightened her grip with both hands,
bracing against the force of Ragna’s attack.
Clang—grrk—grrrrrkk!
She couldn’t even think of blocking it with just one hand.
’Just how strong has he gotten?’
Her fool of a younger brother.
From the outside, Ragna’s upward swing appeared effortless—
but Grida, bearing the brunt of it, felt a cold sweat run down her back.
Thunk!
In the end, she disengaged and leaped backward.
Whoosh.
Ragna’s greatsword passed through the space where she had just stood, halting mid-air with its tip pointed skyward.
Holding the massive blade in one hand,
he looked straight at her.
Earlier, his eyes had reminded her of that barbarian, Rem.
But now—
"He keeps surprising me."
A third thing startled her.
For the first time, Ragna’s eyes held something—
determination.
He had left the family because he was sick of following a predetermined path.
Back then, his eyes had been like those of a rotting ghoul.
He had always been bored, always indifferent, never finding joy in anything.
To him, swinging a sword had been nothing more than labor.
But now, deep in his eyes,Grida glimpsed the same fire she had once seen in Enkrid—the madman.
Her keen observational skills did not deceive her.
"What the hell happened to him?"
Grida adjusted her grip on her sword.
Instead of asking aloud, she would press for answers through their blades.
Enkrid stood alone in the training grounds, swinging his sword, lost in thought.
Would devoting himself entirely to sword training open the way forward?
Could he simply fill his mind with nothing but swordsmanship?
Would that be enough?
No.
He had to let his thoughts flow freely.
If he focused solely on swordsmanship, he would only trap himself.
By letting passing thoughts drift away one by one,
new paths would sometimes reveal themselves.
That was how Enkrid approached it.
And naturally, the first thing that came to mind was a missing squad member.
Ragna had been absent for a month, yet no one worried.
He would come back on his own.
"Grida remembers faces of people she sees often. Likewise, Ragna remembers the paths around the barracks."
More accurately, he had memorized the entire terrain.
If needed, he would climb trees, leap across rooftops—
whatever it took to return.
Even if he couldn’t find his way on the ground, he would figure it out from above.
There was a chance he had left the city,
but that seemed unlikely.
Just as Jaxen regularly ventured into town for errands,
Ragna would occasionally wander into the marketplace to waste time however he pleased.
Everyone assumed the same thing:
He had probably gone to the market,
eaten his fill,
found a warm place to rest his back,
and dozed off out of sheer laziness.
It wasn’t an unreasonable guess.
Even Enkrid thought the same.
So, he put aside any concerns about Ragna.
Instead, his mind drifted over the past month—
The usual training, the usual drills,
and the addition of three members from the Yohann family.
"Yohan."
He had seen, heard, and learned what they had to offer.
And in the process, Enkrid had felt something stir within him.
Then again, the very concept of a knightly order, the thing he had always aspired to, was already a source of endless inspiration for him.
If Krais knew his thoughts, he would probably just scoff.
"Even Juri, who sells marmalade at the market, would know that the captain has always been like that."
Wouldn’t that be the way to put it?
In any case, neither Jaxen nor Rem were the type to settle comfortably in Enkrid’s orbit.
That was immensely satisfying.
And the three of the Yohan family were like a slice of butter melting on a well-toasted white bread.
Thanks to them, the usual satisfaction had increased even more.
"Recognition, calculation, anticipation."
As he thought, Enkrid mulled over Jaxen’s words.
They had surfaced in his mind suddenly.
These words swirled around, stirring his thoughts before settling down in an orderly manner.
"Confirm the opponent and grasp the environment."
That was recognition.
"Then, outline the possible attack paths."
That fell within the domain of calculation.
"Next, predict the impact of my actions."
That was the process called anticipation.
Jaxen had described the foundation of assassination, a principle that remained core even now.
"I first learned within this framework, and even now, everything I use doesn’t go beyond these boundaries."
What had he gained from Jaxen’s words?
The fundamentals.
Doing what he had been doing but doing it better—he had determined that was what he needed now.
Recognition, calculation, anticipation. He had been harshly practicing these concepts lately.
Yet, there was an undeniable drawback.
’Overworking my brain with calculations shortens my endurance.’
That wasn’t the direction the Wave breaker Sword sought.
But was the Wavebreaker Sword the only answer?
That wasn’t the case either.
’Finish the calculations in an instant.’
His mind held memories of sparring with Rem, dueling with Audin, and training with Jaxen, where they had engaged in a relentless game of feinting.
Swinging his sword and training all day.
Constantly thinking, analyzing, and reviewing his matches.
In the past, such realizations would have only come at the cost of his life.
But as experiences piled up like a mountain of stones, they eventually became lamps illuminating his path.
Now was such a moment.
Insights flooded him, and Enkrid condensed them all.
’Rem focuses on the moment.’
Jaxen moves with everything in his surroundings in mind.
Audin secures his distance, even through deception.
All these factors overlapped, shaping Enkrid’s vision.
When he blocked an incoming arrow, when he noticed the projectile Rem had slung—
It was a world of fleeting moments.
Within stretched-out time, he had to capture and react to each moment.
’An attack only matters if it lands.’
Flash—lightning.
Not simply speed, but speed imbued with calculation—then, it would truly match the meaning of a flash.
A light that bursts forth in an instant.
Its execution would be deadly swiftness through calculated precision.
And the training method?
’Strike with tactical thought in response to spontaneous moments.’
Never forgetting speed in any moment.
A difficult path, no matter how one looked at it.
Yet, having found his way, Enkrid trembled with unparalleled exhilaration.
"What’s wrong with him all of a sudden?"
Magrun, who had been researching swordsmanship at the training grounds, asked while staring at Enkrid.
He was trembling all over, even drooling—clearly intoxicated by euphoria.
To an outsider, he would appear outright insane.
The Yohan family had its fair share of eccentric individuals, but none as peculiar as this.
To Magrun, Enkrid belonged to a realm beyond comprehension.
"Just leave him be. He’s just excited."
Rem, having seen it before, remained unfazed.
"Does this happen often in the West?"
"What do you mean often? The West is just a place where people live too, you idiot."
Rem snapped at him before walking away in irritation.
’So... does that mean he’s not human?’
Magrun’s confusion only deepened.
Meanwhile, Enkrid, having bathed in his euphoria, returned to his senses.
Now that he had a direction, all that remained was training.
Then, Jaxen’s final piece of advice surfaced in his mind.
A lesson about never letting one’s guard down or growing arrogant, no matter the situation.
"Anticipation isn’t the end. The last step is retreat. If there’s no opening, why charge in? If no opportunity arises, pull back for a moment. Of course, even in retreat, you need to know how far to fall back, how much damage you can afford, and where to reposition yourself."
A warning against getting lost in aggression without considering one’s rear.
Jaxen had meant it as a reminder not to throw one’s life away in vain, but how one interpreted it was up to the listener.
’Getting too absorbed in technique without considering what comes after is dangerous.’
That was a lesson he had already learned today.
Obsessed with thrusting, he had failed to consider what followed.
Hadn’t he already reviewed that mistake to ensure it never happened again?
Thus, as he continued refining the swordsmanship he dubbed ’Flash,’ Ragna entered the training ground with Grida.
A month had passed since he got lost, but—
"Why were you trembling and drooling earlier? Is there something wrong with your body?"
Magrun, without even turning his head, directed the question at Enkrid.
Rem, off to the side, simply muttered to himself while sharpening his axe on a whetstone.
Audin gave a brief glance before devoting himself to assisting Fel and Ropord with their training.
Audin’s voice filled the brief silence.
"You said the first to scream loses, didn’t you? I shall assist you with what little strength I have. The Lord shall watch over you, brethren."
The color drained from Ropord and Fel’s faces as they bit down on wooden rods.
Understandably so.
They knew all too well what was coming next.
Whoosh.
Audin swung a specially crafted, smooth metal club—thick as a grown man’s forearm.
Thud!
That was the sound of it landing on Ropord’s bare thigh.
"You held back."
Theresa said.
She was watching the match, her gaze and demeanor exceptionally cautious.
"Good."
Audin, pleased, raised his club toward the next opponent.
Fel hesitated for a moment as he watched.
Should he admit defeat?
No, he couldn’t do that.
As he wavered, Audin swung his club.
Thud!
Both of them took a hit—perfectly even.
From a distance, Luagarne, brandishing a whip and sword while dripping oil, spoke.
"You’re here."
That was all.
Ragna entered without much fuss.
Odincar, absorbed in his solitary training on one side, noticed Ragna and picked up his sword.
"Yo."
It was a greeting.
"Odincar."
Ragna raised his hand slightly in response.
That was all he said.
Odincar seemed completely assimilated here.
The way Ragna casually greeted him showed it.
It was a level of adaptation that could put even the fairies’ Assimilation technique to shame.
Then, behind Ragna, Shinar entered and called out to Enkrid.
"Fiancé, I’d like us to decide on our child’s name today."
Yes, it was just another ordinary afternoon.
"You guys really are weird."
Grida muttered as she observed it all.
Ragna, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, went back and forth between the dining hall and the bathhouse before heading toward Enkrid.
"You came at the right time. I needed you."
Enkrid welcomed Ragna.
He had just devised a new sword technique—Flashing Strike.
The urge to test it was overwhelming.
Swish.
Ragna drew his greatsword.
Despite Aetri’s modifications, the blade had chipped.
It had happened while facing Penna and then Grida.
Enkrid unsheathed his sword crafted by Aetri from three different types of Iron.
Shing!
The sound of the blade being drawn was remarkably crisp.
Then, they sparred.
It was routine.
"What’s the child’s name?"
"I’ve already chosen it."
Grida paid close attention to Shinar’s words to Enkrid, wondering if there was truly a child.
But Enkrid simply gripped his sword and spoke, which only reaffirmed Grida’s belief that he was insane.
"Triple Iron."
After much deliberation, Enkrid named his sword Triple Iron.
"It’s a miracle Big Eyes hasn’t lost his mind yet. Seriously."
When Rem remarked while looking at Enkrid, he nodded.
"Right? It’s a great name, isn’t it? Big Eyes was so excited at first he went wild."
"What a convenient set of ears. I don’t know why you even keep them."
Rem left him with that sarcastic praise.
Days passed—one, two, three.
Even after Ragna’s return, nothing changed.
The same monotonous days passed, ones that some might find dull.
And then, on a bright spring day—two months in—it happened.
The sky was clear, without rain or clouds.
That morning, Grida made a proposal to Enkrid.
"Let’s have a real fight."
For two months, she had focused solely on fundamental training rather than sparring.
Watching her, Enkrid thought her approach was similar to Aetri’s.
’Like tempering steel with fire.’
Grida had forged herself in that very fire.

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