A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 658

Chapter 658

What Enkrid displayed was a form of total protection. It was an impenetrable barrier constructed from sheer reactionary speed, elite blade-work, and a tactical outlook that seemed to oversee the entire field. His cognitive processing was particularly remarkable; he didn’t focus on isolated points, but on lines, and then beyond those lines into entire planes of movement. He disregarded the individual trees to perceive the entire forest. By capturing the opponent’s full physical presence in his gaze, he was able to respond to every shift, never falling behind even when decisions had to be made in a heartbeat.

Had this been a true struggle for survival with sharpened edges, the outcome might have varied, but that was an unknown for another time. Rem observed this and concluded that Enkrid had managed to synthesize his various skills quite effectively. He felt a swell of internal satisfaction seeing his student apply the lessons so faithfully. Making the most precise choice in the smallest window of time was a hallmark of Rem’s own style. However, that didn’t mean he was ready to concede. In a lethal encounter, a true winner would only emerge if the other was slain or maimed, and a victory achieved in that manner held no value here.

To Rem, a real triumph had to be secured within the bounds of a formal duel. He began to contemplate, calculating and yearning for a solution. He was well aware of the sheer force of Will that Enkrid possessed—the same Uské he had carried from the start. Now, the man had returned with vastly improved mechanics, which explained his current arrogance. Rem wondered how Enkrid managed to return from every journey so fundamentally transformed. It was as if he had found a secret source of power somewhere on the continent, though Rem knew better. He had traveled to the West with him and seen nothing of the sort.

It was simply the result of an unending, monotonous grind. Enkrid had spent every single day in a cycle of training that would have driven most to boredom. Rem had walked that path as well, but lately, Enkrid’s devotion had taken on a terrifying intensity. Even when Rem first discovered the joy of physical tempering in the West, he hadn’t pushed himself this hard. It was no longer about pleasure; a clear objective had birthed a relentless obsession. Rem’s own competitive drive flared up, eclipsing his pride. He didn’t want to kill the man, but he desperately wanted to win.

For fifteen days, he had pushed aside the basic needs of life—eating, sleeping, and resting—to find a path to victory. He didn’t care if he won with his axe or through his current methods. He had enhanced his mobility through specialized retreating drills, a technique he had polished while sparring with Ragna. He could have called it Partial Descent, but names were secondary. He simply needed to tap into that power instinctively.

Rem opened the gap between them and unleashed a barrage of rapid-fire projectiles. This didn’t drain much of his sorcery power. Even with a light infusion of magic, it wasn’t a reckless expenditure of energy. He didn’t need to push his body to its breaking point to compete. This allowed Rem to adopt a strategy mirroring Enkrid’s Uské method, though Rem’s version was purely aggressive. The incoming stones were like a relentless tide; as long as the waves crashed in, Enkrid was forced into a defensive posture, his movements completely restricted.

The air screamed as two slings, operating on different cadences and paths, launched their cargo. Enkrid met them time and again. Loud cracks echoed across the field with every successful parry. Thick smoke rose, and the shattered projectiles veered off, striking and damaging the dormitories bordering the training grounds. The force of these deflected stones was enough to kill a seasoned warrior, but fortunately, the onlookers were of a higher caliber.

However, one person was in danger. Anne, the alchemist and healer, had arrived to collect leaves from the Druires plant. The freckled, red-haired girl had just entered the area, having delayed her arrival while she made her own preparations. A stray projectile whizzed toward her chest, a lethal blow if left unchecked. But a shadow intervened.

Ragna slammed his greatsword into the earth, using the wide flat of the metal to swat the stone aside. Since the projectile had already lost some momentum from Enkrid’s initial block, the impact was muffled. Anne, finding her vision suddenly filled by a massive back in the cramped space, stood frozen. Ragna spoke with his usual detachment, noting that it wasn’t a good moment to be there. Anne, her eyes wide with shock, could only agree as she processed the chaos. Aside from her, the others present—Lua Gharne, Teresa, Rophod, and Pell—had the skill to stay safe.

The environment took the brunt of the damage. The dorms and various training obstacles were being reduced to scrap. A sturdy wall managed to stop three hits before giving way with a thunderous collapse, sending up a screen of dust. Through that haze, Enkrid’s eyes burned with a piercing blue light. He had focused his Will, searching for a single gap to exploit. His path to victory lay in closing the distance, turning a long-range bombardment into a close-quarters brawl where his blade could reach the slinger.

Rem was prepared for this. He knew numerous ways to detonate his projectiles at point-blank range, but those were lethal measures. This was why knights were generally prohibited from dueling one another; the transition from sport to a true killing intent was far too easy. Without a massive disparity in skill, such fights rarely ended without tragedy.

Rem’s gray eyes began to glow, his sorcery power flowing through his veins and into the stones in his hand. He was frustrated enough with Enkrid’s attitude that he was willing to cause serious harm. He didn’t need a name for what he was doing, but if he was forging a new path, perhaps one was earned. He localized the power of Descent into his hands, his wrists moving with the concentrated power of a titan. That was a mere evolution of his existing skills, something that came naturally. But his next move was different.

“Remain,” he whispered.

He poured sorcery into the stone, casting a fresh spell within it. It wasn’t a talisman or a standard Descent. He recalled how a knight named Acker could imbue his Will into a weapon. Rem was attempting the same with his sorcery, but on a projectile he would no longer be holding.

“Residual. Do not depart. Detonate upon contact.”

It was a stone carrying a triggered explosion. Enkrid, sensing through his sixth sense, saw a predatory beast lunging through the air. These weren’t just stones anymore; they carried a conscious intent, like a living creature being hurled at him. Enkrid trusted his gut. He dropped his center of gravity instantly, shifting not to charge, but to deflect. He guided the momentum past him, tilting his sword Penna to strike upward.

The sword met the beast-like stone. The previous exchanges had shown why the violence of knights was considered a natural disaster, but this eclipsed everything. A brilliant flash and a thunderous boom shook the grounds. A violent shockwave rippled out. Ragna, looking annoyed, pulled Anne behind him and swung his greatsword three times through the air, his strikes cutting the shockwave into pieces. It was a feat that would stun any knight, but no one had the breath to be amazed. They were too busy wondering if Rem had actually tried to murder his captain.

Jaxon’s voice broke the silence, calling Rem insane. Rem felt the man approaching like a prowling cat but ignored him. There was some killing intent there, but it was just Jaxon’s usual irritation. Ragna stared into the center of the blast. Audin offered a soft prayer for their “barbarian brother,” while Rophod wondered aloud if Enkrid had died. Pell, however, didn’t share that fear. He had seen Enkrid survive the fairy city, the labyrinth, a demon, and waves of cultists. That man wasn’t easy to kill.

“This is supposed to be a duel?” Enkrid’s voice rang out, steady and calm.

His right arm was ruined—either broken or with the musculature completely shredded—and hung uselessly at his side. He had moved Penna to his left hand. The weapon, a fairy treasure, glowed faintly, having survived the magical blast. Rem looked at him and laughed, asking if he had a problem with it. Enkrid hadn’t changed at all, even after finding his feet as a knight.

“One more round?” Enkrid asked, a manic, joyous grin spreading across his face.

“You’re all completely mad,” Anne whispered.

For Enkrid, this was pure euphoria. The risk was the point. If he hadn’t blocked that, he might have lost the limb permanently, but he had succeeded. Rem had trusted in Enkrid’s ability to survive, and Enkrid had met that challenge. A surge of excitement ran through him. He began analyzing the moment—wondering if a different angle would have worked, or how to deal with the fact that Rem could fire those explosive rounds in sequence. He didn’t have the answers yet, but he had seen the spark of something new in Rem’s power.

The idea that his comrade had reached a new level was more valuable to him than a mountain of gold. They weren’t fighting to the death, so he had the luxury of learning from this. He knew the inspiration would come if he waited and trained.

“The stars will be very clear tonight, brothers,” Audin noted.

Enkrid looked around at the destruction. A final section of the dormitory wall gave way, turning into a pile of bricks. It was the wall to Audin’s room. Half the building was gone, and Audin’s quarters were now completely open to the sky.

“You’re right. You’ve got the best view now,” Enkrid joked.

Audin just sighed another “Oh Lord,” his voice thick with a mix of resignation and exhaustion. Enkrid tried to move his right arm again, failed, and admitted he needed a break. His arm was completely unresponsive after surviving that final strike. Rem told him to stop making excuses, noting that he could throw another if Enkrid really wanted to die. Rem himself wasn’t unscathed; two of his fingers were snapped from the strain of channeling that level of power through his bare hands.

It was an imperfect technique, but Rem didn’t mind. Perfection wasn’t the goal; usage was. The more he used it, the better it would become. He felt he needed more training as well, though he kept that to himself. He stowed his slings, grabbed his axe, and stood tall.

Then, his voice boomed so everyone could hear. “In the West, we have a term—’Urkiola.’ It means ‘dark sky,’ but the true meaning is the dawn before the light breaks. You are all in that dawn. You just need to push. Don’t be discouraged. Just give more effort. If you can’t beat Captain Enki, that’s just your current limit. The dawn is where you are. Sometimes the sun takes its time, but it’s fine, because I’m here to lead you.”

He delivered his sermon with eyes that shone more intensely than they had during the fight, radiating a sudden, overwhelming energy. In contrast, the faces of everyone listening began to sink into expressions of pure exhaustion.