A Knight Who Eternally Regresses
Chapter 788
"You're actually enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Are you having fun? Right now?"
"You really live like there's no tomorrow."
Enkrid had met quite a few different sword instructors in his life, and most of them tended to say things along those lines.
But what could he do?
He really was enjoying himself right now.
"...Why are you smiling?"
The man whom Enkrid had recently started treating as his sword instructor asked him this.
He had lost his two swords that conjured flames, and now wielded another pair that looked just like them.
But this time, the swords emitted a chilling cold that could freeze flesh with the slightest touch.
As he twirled the swords skillfully in his hands, icy air drifted out.
'These would be perfect in summer.'
That's the kind of weapon they were.
The spinning blades pushed away all warmth, rapidly cooling the air around them.
'Are they not releasing cold, but rather absorbing the surrounding heat?'
To use a relic or a Spell Object, you have to understand how the weapon operates.
If you don't know its structure or mechanism, you have to learn by using it over and over until you figure it out.
That's exactly what his opponent had done.
"Spell Objects are a double-edged sword—you'll end up cutting yourself if you handle them poorly."
That was something Jaxen often said.
Master Rino wielded that double-edged sword with remarkable skill.
He had an exceptional talent for striking only his opponent without ever cutting himself.
'What can I learn from this instructor?'
A dull student can barely grasp what the teacher directly shows.
A slightly better student manages to learn exactly one thing for every one thing taught.
But a clever student might master five or even ten things from a single lesson.
And when it came to the role of learner, there was no one on the Continent quite like Enkrid.
Among all races, he was the most outstanding.
Even things his opponent didn't want to teach—he stole and learned them all.
'Is deception his specialty?'
That was the impression he gave, but when it came to psychological warfare—using words to toy with his opponent—there wasn't much to learn.
He wasn't especially sharp there.
Instead, it was a few of his distinct movements that stood out.
'What makes them so special?'
Rino spread his arms wide like a great bird.
As the cold-bladed swords in each hand extended, waves of frigid air billowed out.
The sight reminded him of Beelrog lashing out with his wings.
Beelrog was even known to use his wings as weapons.
And these blades—even a brush with them would freeze flesh.
'It's like Beelrog combining Surtr and his wings together.'
That was the natural thought that flowed through his mind.
Surtr's Black Flame was something you couldn't afford to even brush against.
Right now, Teacher Rino's movements perfectly leveraged the unique qualities of his weapons.
The reason they looked like two wings was because his motions were so broad.
Those sweeping gestures almost seemed unnecessary, but they chilled the air around them.
No, they did more than just chill the air—they caused it to freeze.
Before he knew it, Enkrid felt a layer of frost forming on his own forearms.
It was still just a faint cold for now, but if Rino's awkward-looking dance continued, it would soon become uncomfortable enough to hinder his movements.
He realized this instinctively, without needing any deep thought or retracing of steps.
There was still more he could learn here.
Once again, it was clear that psychological warfare was not Teacher Rino's specialty.
"Go on, keep smiling."
Rino said it, and Enkrid kept his smiling expression.
How could he not?
They said a clever student would master ten things, but Enkrid—the madman—truly enjoyed learning.
This was just as much fun for him as fighting and advancing.
And now, for the first time, he even found himself developing a sharp eye for observation.
'The perfect use of one's weapon.'
Understanding what you can do with your weapon—it's more than just slashing and freezing.
It's about being able to manipulate the surrounding air to your own advantage.
'The same goes for the Blinding Twin Swords.'
The twin swords he usually wielded were known for their blades that emitted heat and flames when swung quickly.
But with just the right force, if he struck them together, he could trigger a brilliant flash.
That technique—using a burst of light to block the opponent's vision—was one of Teacher Rino's signature moves.
'Admirable, truly admirable.'
That's what Enkrid genuinely thought.
But that didn't mean he would simply stand there and let it happen.
Before the chill could seep down to his bones, he moved.
Pushing off the ground, he swung his blade, tracing out a sky-colored crescent.
The move was simple and clear-cut, but Rino dodged it.
Kicking off to the side, he slid his body away, leaving behind an afterimage.
Enkrid had seen it multiple times now, and it was a remarkable step.
It was a high-speed lateral movement, and for an instant, Rino crossed his legs to accelerate further.
Enkrid had observed it many times and had even practiced it on the ferryboat with the ferryman.
Now, the mad student was chasing after his teacher's shadow.
Changing direction midway through his crescent swing, Enkrid's blade sliced across in a horizontal arc.
Teacher Rino, startled, opened his eyes wide and quickly raised both swords imbued with cold to block the attack.
That was a mistake.
Crash!
The Dawnforged was a sword that, if necessary, could strike heavier than most greatswords.
The sky-blue blade broke through both Frost Blades and left a long slash across its master's chest.
Along that wound, Black Mist began to ripple and flow out.
"You!"
Rino, unable to withstand the force behind the sword, tumbled backwards and came to a stop.
With both hands and knees on the ground, he lifted just his head to speak.
Rino knew that the wound he had received was fatal.
But that was only true when he still had a body where blood circulated.
Now, his form was different—so he could still speak and move for the time being.
That didn't mean he could suddenly overcome the opponent standing before him, nor did it mean he intended to charge in recklessly.
Nevertheless, he was deeply unsettled.
That step Enkrid had just shown—he had invented it himself.
And now someone was imitating it?
After seeing it once?
No, Enkrid hadn't even seen the whole thing, yet he'd managed to mimic the movement.
"You stole my technique and learned it?"
It was obvious to anyone that Enkrid had watched and copied it.
Rino's pupils trembled with disbelief.
He saw it once?
No, he didn't even get a proper look—he just mimicked what he'd caught glimpses of right in front of him?
It wasn't just a simple step, either; it was a technique for controlling Will.
Can you really pick that up after seeing it once?
And he hadn't even watched the entire sequence before imitating it.
No matter how much you expand your thinking, that doesn't make sense.
There shouldn't be a genius like this in the world.
It was absurdity piled on absurdity.
From Rino's perspective, it felt painfully inevitable—yet utterly impossible.
Meanwhile, during moments Rino knew nothing about, Enkrid had watched the move over and over in his mind and practiced tirelessly on the ferryboat, often receiving harsh words from the ferryman.
"You trying to fall in the river again? Training here, of all places. I've never seen anyone like you."
That's what Enkrid would hear in one ear, and then he'd practice it hundreds of times regardless.
"In any case, it's just unfair."
Even as his eyes began to lose their light, the teacher muttered bitterly.
Enkrid nodded, silently agreeing.
"...You smug bastard."
Rino defined Enkrid with an archaic word and then took his own life.
At some point, he had drawn a short dagger, which now sat in his hand.
Still kneeling, he held the dagger and stabbed it into his own neck.
The teacher turned into Black Mist and vanished.
In other words, today's first lesson had ended.
'His specialty isn't deception—it's adaptation.'
A saying from the past resurfaced in his mind.
"How skillful you are depends on how you handle your weapon."
A mercenary captain he once relied on had told him that for a mercenary, a weapon is his life.
'So this is what it means to truly handle a weapon.'
Bzzz—
As the thought took shape, the Dawnforged blade hummed.
Flutter—
The fairy's cloak billowed on its own, caught by a breeze, even though the cave's air remained still and heavy.
Yet the cloak stirred.
'Have I ever truly wielded my weapons properly?'
Besides these, he also had several Horn Trumpet Daggers, as well as Penna and a pair of gauntlets wrapped in cloth.
He wore armor made from fairy leafblades in the style of an undergarment, and Esther had even breathed her blessing into the armor.
Organizing his thoughts, Enkrid headed toward the second lesson.
"My name is Donafa!"
He's a master who gets excited easily and enjoys deciding the fight with a single blow.
Battles with him never last long.
Donafa carried just a massive axe, armor draped over his body, and his Ghost Steed—no other weapons.
'Such an extreme temperament.'
He never considers anything beyond a single swing of his axe.
That's why Donafa's axe strikes outclass his overall skill.
It was reminiscent of the way Roman used to swing his sword when he was a Junior Knight.
Back then, just once, Roman managed to swing his blade like a true Knight, well above his level as a Junior Knight.
The reason Roman came to mind now was simple: Donafa resembled him in his approach.
If Master Rino taught the art of wielding weapons, then what I could learn from my second master, Donafa, was far more straightforward.
'Simple thinking.'
He wields simplicity as a weapon, replacing complexity.
That simplicity goes beyond mere focus—it becomes downright aggressive.
It's like a horse wearing blinders, only able to charge forward.
Blinders are tools that block a horse's vision to both sides, making them focus solely ahead.
By shutting out all distractions, the horse can reach its destination faster and more efficiently.
'Donafa's senses are probably dulled too.'
He's the exact opposite of Jaxen.
So, when he swings his axe, he often throws even his own head into it.
Complex, multifaceted thinking helps with calculations, but in the process of pure focus, it only serves as a contaminant.
Donafa rejected all those impurities.
I might not know all the rules of this Labyrinth, but I do understand now that they were once Knights in life.
Donafa, the Dullahan, must have maintained this kind of approach to life even back when he lived and bled red blood.
It was as if his entire existence was built around swinging his axe.
But there's no need for me to absorb all of that.
'That would just be regression.'
Enkrid not only stole and learned from his teachers, but also figured out how to digest their lessons in his own way.
Always hungry for knowledge, his attitude and mindset toward learning, as well as his perception, had improved dramatically compared to before.
It was such progress that you could even call it evolution.
'What matters is simplifying my thoughts only when the moment calls for it.'
Ragna's usual laid-back manner came to mind.
Although he was terrible at verbal explanations, he was still a good teacher.
There was a lot to learn just from observing his day-to-day demeanor.
'That slack attitude is actually a process of emptying his mind, and when he picks up his sword, what changes is how he shifts his thinking to guide his Will.'
It's enough to adopt that kind of simplicity by shifting your mindset.
As long as I can focus when it matters, that's all I need.
'All it takes is a single point of intense focus.'
To be precise, it's about immersing myself even deeper into that point of focus.
How?
By cutting off every stray branch of thought and discarding the impurities.
He learned this from Donafa's single-minded strike.
As blue from indigo is bluer than indigo itself.
It's like when a small campfire spark spreads and grows into a roaring blaze.
"Huh?"
Donafa's blow sliced through empty air.
That happened right after Enkrid blocked out his thoughts and focused solely on dodging.
Enkrid's sword swept across Donafa's waist.
On the surface, it looked simple—a Dullahan astride his Ghost Steed threw back his head and charged forward, and his opponent, the swordsman Enkrid, dashed in at full speed as well.
The two passed each other, crossing paths in a swift blur, and that seemed to be all there was to it.
In that instant, Donafa's axe cleaved through the air, while Enkrid's Dawnforged blade cut through the waist of the ghostly knight.
Skeok.
When needed, Dawnforged becomes as sharp as Penna.
Enkrid had pulled off a horizontal slash using that sharpness.
"I lost."
Donafa's upper body slid off and thudded to the ground.
His voice came from somewhere far removed from his fallen body.
As always, the words came from his head.
He accepted defeat easily when beaten head-on.
He could shift gears as quickly as his thoughts were simple.
Enkrid moved on to his third teacher.
All of this, of course, was thanks to time spent honing his skills.
It was also the result of the effort he put into swinging his sword atop the ferryman's ferryboat.
"Are you trying to pick a fight with me?"
The ferryman asked this as he watched Enkrid's sword practice.
Of course, he wasn't serious; it was just sarcasm.
The master of the single-edged sword narrowed her eyes the moment she saw Enkrid.
It was obvious he wasn't an ordinary opponent.
The air of authority radiating softly from his whole body was so substantial, it looked like a massive castle wall.
"So you've made it past Donafa."
The single-edged sword master's specialty lay in the explosive power she displayed while staying on the offensive.
Analyzing that explosive power revealed her true ability: an exceptionally long breath.
That long respiration was her greatest strength.
However, her technique only truly shone when she was attacking.
The moment she switched to defense, her rhythm faltered, her breathing broke up, and the difference between her movements when attacking or defending became strikingly apparent.
A fatal flaw.
She was in high spirits when attacking, but when defending, her heart just wasn't in it.
Even as she spoke, her nose displayed a distinctive breathing technique—a thin, drawn-out inhale.
Observing, learning, and mastering this was endlessly fascinating.
During scraps of spare time, even atop the ferryman's ferryboat, Enkrid would steady his breathing as though training in the imaginary realm.
It wasn't because he was impatient—he just genuinely enjoyed learning and picking things up from these people.
"Why are you practicing breathing exercises here?"
Of course, the ferryman kept nagging him about it.
If he let the single-edged sword master take the initiative, she would immediately launch a relentless offense.
Enkrid would watch and steal her breathing techniques as she did so.
Then, when the moment came that her breath faltered, he would switch from defense to offense and strike.
But he didn't just attack—he would do it while practicing her own style.
"You—you, how...?"
Setting Donafa aside, these two were pretty quick on the uptake.
Every time, they recognized what Enkrid had done and were surprised.
"Just so."
When he gave a vague answer, the single-edged sword master's eyes dimmed.
For ordinary people, it's common to meet someone more talented than themselves, but so-called geniuses rarely encounter those who surpass their own gifts.
That's why moments like this could really shake someone.
Besides, the mind of the single-edged sword master right now was hardly whole.
How could a life spent wandering the labyrinth while trapped by Beelrog be considered whole?
After defeating the single-edged sword master, Enkrid met Oara, spoke with her, and then faced Beelrog.
It was the One Hundred and Fifty-Fourth day.
All this time, he had never once managed to break the all crystals exposed on Beelrog's chest.
He might be able to cut one, but never all three—so it was pointless to attack.
And to cut even a single crystal, he would have to disregard his own life.
A fight like that would be no different from suicide, and that was not a path Enkrid would choose.
Even so, he kept struggling and fighting.
Yet Beelrog remained, standing there like an insurmountable wall no matter what Enkrid tried.
And before the next today—the one hundred and fifty-fifth day—the ferryman, unable to bear it any longer, told him how to escape this day.
"Listen to me."
His tone was as if he were saying, "Fine, you win."

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