A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 645

Chapter 645

Upon hearing those words, Bran’s face, etched with the texture of bark, folded into deep creases. It was his unique way of beaming.
“Ha ha.”
Ermen and several other sprites joined in with light laughter—a few were even moved to tears.
Only in this moment did Enkrid truly perceive that he was deep within the heart of the fairy realm.
He hadn’t fully grasped it earlier, but it was evident that a portion of the forest folk had picked up on the humor Shinar had woven into her words.
There seemed to be a profound, almost melancholic weight to the exchange as well.
“Fairy wit… I suspect I’ll never truly comprehend it.”
Enkrid locked eyes with Shinar as he spoke his mind.
“There is no necessity for you to understand. I shall remain by your side to murmur them into your ear whenever you like.”
Shinar stepped toward him, closing the distance until her breath ghosted against his skin.
“You are standing quite close, Shinar,” Enkrid noted.
The gathered fairies began to whisper among themselves at his reaction.
“I see how it is.”
“Is that the situation then?”
“The Heartbreaker.”
…What?

Enkrid dedicated another pair of days to mending his spirit and his flesh before he finally rose from his sickbed.
It went without saying that stillness was just as vital as exertion.
Because he required gradual rehabilitation, he commenced by flexing the small joints of his fingers, slowly workiing the stiffness out of his frame. For a span of three days, he engaged in calisthenics alone, transitioning from minor muscle groups to the larger ones.

By the dawn of the fourth day, he returned to his rigorous morning habits. The intensity of Enkrid’s drills was startling to witness—whether one was of fairy blood or human.
“Already at it?”
“Is he not meant to be in repose?”
“The Slayer of Demons is back on his feet?”
“Does he perhaps possess the blood of a troll?”
He caught various remarks. One was a hair’s breadth from an affront—though the fairy who uttered it held no malice. They were merely overflowing with anxiety for him.
It was a concern so profound they would likely sacrifice their own existence for his sake. Such an intense devotion was typical of fairies who had never known life beyond their secluded borders.

A constant cloud of fairies hovered in Enkrid’s vicinity.
Many carried armfuls of fruit or various tokens of appreciation.
There were even more striking comments than the “troll mother” remark—or rather, rumors that had taken root.
“So it is true, he is the heartbreaker they spoke of.”
That sentiment was echoed by the majority.
How a tale like that had permeated the entire city was a mystery to him.
“Why do you wonder at the title? It is because he captivates many ladies only to cast them aside,” one explained.
“When have I ever done such a thing?” Enkrid countered.
Just then, Zero was escorted over, and in the middle of that meeting, an even more preposterous claim surfaced.
“Lady Shinar is the source. She mentions it every time you come to our city. Constantly. It is in every word she utters.”
He felt the urge to let out a heavy sigh but suppressed it. He had duties to attend to. Even now, Zero stood before him, his gaze burning with intensity.
“Are you still prepared for the duel we agreed upon?”
“I presumed you might have forgotten. But… is your physical form truly ready?”
Pell and Lua Gharne observed the scene from the rear. Enkrid intended to accurately assess Zero’s prowess, so he had no intention of being careless.
One cannot truly weigh an opponent’s capability without exchanging genuine strikes. It is only in the heat of a clash that certain truths are unveiled.
Enkrid lingered in silence for a moment before answering. His choice of words was designed to spark a fire in Zero—a peculiar form of encouragement.
“Oh, even if I were missing both legs and had an arm bound, you would be no challenge. Facing you in a duel is simpler than drawing breath.”

In the tongue of the fairies, such a statement could be taken as a sign of deep sincerity. The sprite who had previously questioned if his mother was a troll had been an excellent instructor in this regard.
Enkrid mirrored that style. It produced the exact result he desired.
Zero, despite his fairy heritage, was born with a fierce competitive spirit and a hunger for victory.
Not every fairy shared the same temperament.
While some Frokk spent their days crafting finery, others, like this youth, lived for the struggle of combat.
At Enkrid’s provocation, Zero gave a slow, deliberate nod.
“My blade is somewhat oversized for my years.”
His voice remained steady, yet Enkrid’s keen senses detected the underlying tide of feeling.
‘He is incensed.’
Zero stamped his feet against the earth several times, then sank into a low combat stance.
“I, Zero, formally challenge the Demon Slayer to a duel.”
Enkrid viewed this as the perfect opportunity to probe Zero’s mastery over his own emotions.
He had grown quite fond of Zero. Thus, with genuine intent, Enkrid remarked:
“Perhaps we should set the swords aside? Shall we use only our palms? Though even using my fingers might make it too one-sided for you.”
“…Human. I am going to end you.”
Zero’s composure shattered instantly. A fairy who loses their emotional anchor is a simple opponent to topple.
To the defeated Zero on the ground, Enkrid said:
“Are fairies not famed for their rigid emotional control?”
“I am somewhat deficient in that particular discipline.”
“Then, for the time being, I suggest you lean into your natural talents rather than trying to fix your shortcomings.”
It was a casual bit of guidance—yet Zero nodded, his eyes shimmering.
When a warrior of Enkrid’s stature offers a lesson, one pays attention.
And if one plans to disregard it, they had better be prepared to justify it with victory.

The following day followed a similar pattern. Zero issued another challenge.
“You are capable of felling a ghoul, are you not?”
Enkrid once again sought to unbalance his calm.
“Hold on… is one of your kin a snail? Do snail-fairies exist? You move with such sluggishness I nearly fell asleep.”
“Graaah! I will slay you, mortal!”
After several such bouts, Shinar walked over and questioned him:
“Is your goal to transform a fairy into a mindless berserker?”
“This is a lesson in emotional fortitude,” he replied.
“Are you certain you aren’t just tormenting him?”
“Hardly. But… what is the meaning behind this ‘heartbreaker’ label?”
Shinar hesitated, then answered:
“I am unable to depart from this city. I am your betrothed.”
She spoke with her customary stoic expression, tilting her chin upward. To Enkrid’s eyes, it appeared as though she had briefly lost her footing.
Her subsequent words were the same ones she had been repeating lately during every encounter.
“Let us refrain from circulating bizarre tales.”
“…Very well. I shall stop.”
Shinar was being transparent. The stories already in circulation couldn’t be retracted, but she gave her word not to add to them.
Every time Enkrid visited the hidden city, Shinar had regaled others with tales of him:
Describing him as a captain with a dangerously magnetic charm…
Claiming he was buried under love notes but refused to meet any of the suitors…
Asserting that he only interacted with women when it served a purpose.
That last accusation stemmed from how he only sought her out for training and vanished without a farewell before long treks.
So, in a sense, if “purpose” meant only appearing for a duel—she wasn’t entirely wrong.
What term describes a man who awakens the heart but never claims it?
“They call you the Heartbreaker.”
Bran was an attentive listener. Occasionally, he and Shinar would unite to vent their frustrations regarding Enkrid.
And now that very man was present in their domain.
Bran ignited his usual herb and strolled over.
“You seem quite energetic, Heartbreaker.”
“Fairies do not speak falsehoods, yet they are masters of twisting the reality, aren’t they?”
“Indeed. We hold that a distortion is preferable to a flat lie. And we prefer to avoid conflict whenever possible.”
“A race that cherishes peace, is that the idea?”
Bran looked toward the vessel of water Enkrid was consuming. The sigil of the Dew Gatherers was carved into its surface.
That liquid—saturated with arcane essence—cleansed the blood and fortified the skeleton. It was a holy elixir of the fairy folk.
To obtain water from that specific lineage required immense service.
Yet Enkrid had more than five containers resting by his side.
‘When I requested even a drop, they provided every imaginable excuse…’
Fairies didn’t lie—they skewed the truth. A memory of a talk with the Dew Patriarch surfaced:
“That moisture was harvested over fifteen consecutive nights.”
“I am aware. That is why I only ask for a sip.”
“It is a treasure. It required fifteen days of labor.”
“Merely one sip.”
“Fifteen nights of sacred devotion were poured into its collection.”
Whether it was a distortion or mere pigheadedness, the result was the same. The Dew Patriarch, master of the dew, was stubborn to a fault. The most tight-fisted soul in the entire tribe.

“How do you find the water?”
“Ah. It is superb.”
“It is a tribute.”
But even that stingy fairy wasn’t someone to resent. Bran, if given the chance, would surrender his own heart for this man.
Instead, he presented a vial of essence from Woodguard.
“What is this?”
“Tree marrow. No alchemist could ever replicate this. It is far more precious than that water.”
There were no lies there, only a shift in perspective. Both the dew and the marrow were invaluable.
One was a catalyst for alchemy, the other a restorative tonic—their functions were worlds apart.
Thus, their worth could not truly be compared.
“I will not ask why everyone is so intent on drenching me in riches… but this is becoming excessive,” Enkrid remarked, taking the marrow. The way he handled it with care, storing it away safely—Bran admired that quality.
Even ignoring that—what would they not sacrifice for the hero who destroyed a demon and preserved their people?
It wasn’t just Bran; every soul in the forest felt a deep affinity for him.
“It is not excessive,” Bran stated, shaking his head.
“If you say so.”
For a reason he couldn’t name, Enkrid felt a strange sense of ease around Bran.
Bran stood beside him, steady as a great oak.
In truth, as a wood fairy, he could literally manifest as a tree—standing motionless.
A signature technique of Woodguard: Treeform. The human knights possessed a skill called Assimilation, which had its roots in fairy magic.
For the forest folk, merging with the landscape was as natural as breathing.
Sometime later, a group of dryads glided past, offering him enchanted foliage—relics of the fairy world.
Enkrid accepted them, carefully tucking them into a cloth wrap. He now had four such gifts.
Bran, observing this, thought to himself:
‘They will likely uproot the entire forest and present him with every sapling next.’
In simpler terms, they would spend their very foundation.
Just then, Ermen made his way toward them.
He, too, held a gift with both hands.
“No language could express the depth of my gratitude. Please, take this in its stead.”
Buried in the heart of the city stood the Perennial Tree—a primordial entity that had sustained the forest’s vitality for ten millennia.
The World Tree, as the wider world called it.
Ermen had brought a piece of its fruit.
‘To part with that, every member of the high council would have to give consent, and the queen herself would have to sanction it…’ Bran mused.
But who would have the heart to say no?
“When the season turns warm, consume it. It will provide heat and sanctuary for your body. However, it requires time to reach its peak ripeness. Furthermore… Shinar is required to stay within these walls. I trust you grasp the situation?”
“I do. She has already informed me.”
Shortly after regaining consciousness, Enkrid had been told.
To vow to duel until the final rest… was the same as promising her life to him. And she had determined to stay behind to safeguard her home.
Enkrid held that decision in high regard.
Then, Ermen lowered himself into a quiet kneel.
The movement was heavy with gravity, stillness, and deep respect.
He pressed both knees into the soil.
Regardless of race, it was a posture one only adopted when driven by a desperate need.
“Ermen?”
Bran, witnessing this, moved forward to speak.
But Ermen did not turn his head.
“I come with a plea. Demon Slayer of the Border Guard.”
“You may speak freely.”
Enkrid rubbed the back of his neck. He had paused his training to organize the messy thoughts clouding his mind.
That was when Ermen had arrived.
“Instruct us in the art of slaying monsters.”
Enkrid blinked in surprise.
His intuition swept through the history, the current state, and the path ahead for the fairy people.
‘Peace.’
The fairies had existed in a walled-off society, shunning the concepts of war, devils, and the hellish realms—convinced that isolation was the key to survival.
But then the abyss had opened in the middle of their home.
‘Crisis.’
The demon hadn’t just been a danger; it had nearly wiped their species from the map.
It was a brush with total annihilation.
The fairies were far from unintelligent.
‘If they gained any wisdom from that horror…’
It was this: to preserve a life of peace, one must be prepared to strike when the time comes. Their worldview had to evolve.
Yet, this catastrophe hadn’t been born of simple stubbornness.
‘They were already in transition… it was just happening too slowly.’
What Ermen was proposing now signaled a massive transformation.
Enkrid recalled Shinar’s words from a few days prior:
“I am unable to leave this city. You comprehend that, yes?”
“That is the fortieth time you have mentioned it.”
“I could repeat it for every year of my life.”
“More than four hundred times?”
“…That was a slip of the tongue. Until we meet again.”
Shinar had visited frequently just to converse. Her admission of a mistake stuck in his mind.
She did not seem like the type to admit to a blunder easily.
Was she that desperate for a particular outcome?
Was her focus so consumed by another thought that her speech faltered?
“I cannot depart the city. That is an unchangeable fact.”
That was the heart of the matter.
Ah. This fairy…
Unable to tell a lie, the fairies instead bent the truth. As a scion of a protector family, she was bound to defend her city and her kin.
“To battle monsters… you would require the fundamentals. But if I am to teach you from the ground up, I would need to stay here for many months.”
Pell asked from his position behind.
Lua Gharne was faster to grasp the intent.
“That isn’t what they are seeking.”
And Enkrid’s thoughts raced even further ahead.
“This city… its vitality is leaking away, isn’t it?”
A lingering scar from the demon’s presence. The very land was losing its power.
Shinar and the others had hinted at this. Looking back, it was always Shinar who prompted others to bring it up.
“You were aware?”
Ermen was contemplating a mass migration. Whether beasts blocked their path or men stood in their way—they would carve a path through.
The fairies were preparing to step out onto the wider continent.
They would march through hardship as if sprinting across a frozen waste without cover.
They would plant a single flower seed in a wasteland, hoping to create a garden.
But if they had a support system… they wouldn’t have to suffer like that.
It is far better to travel by carriage than to walk the sands barefoot. It is wiser to prepare the earth and plant saplings than to wait for one seed to survive the elements.
“We shall begin with the migration,” Enkrid declared.
That was the first step in learning to fight the dark.
The primary rule:
Stay close to those who are already masters of the blade.