A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 659

Chapter 659

Ragna’s fingers spasmed, hovering near the hilt of his blade after enduring Rem’s lecture, yet he refrained from unsheathing the steel.
To strike at this moment would mean executing a man who was already broken and bleeding.
Such an act wouldn’t constitute a triumph; it would be the equivalent of a total defeat.
“Not today.”
His life could be claimed once his wounds had closed.
Ragna suppressed his urge.
Jaxon, conversely, briefly toyed with the idea of opening that fool’s windpipe before the sun broke the horizon.
Employing Carmen’s stiletto to pierce his solar plexus held a certain appeal, and failing that, severing an Achilles tendon seemed like a productive alternative.
Naturally, these were mere fantasies.
He had no intention of following through.
Perhaps he could simply lace Rem’s meal with an additive?
He knew of a concoction that forced a man to vacate his bowels without end.
“Forget it, that bastard’s internal organs are immune to toxins.”
People of the West possessed iron stomachs, and Rem’s was more resilient than most.
Even if the substance were successfully introduced, he likely wouldn’t consume it.
His nose would catch the scent.
And concocting an odorless poison was far too tedious a task to waste on a barbarian of his ilk.
“Heavenly Father.”
Audin invoked the divine without a trace of mirth.
This particular plea was saturated with unadulterated rage.
It felt as though the God of War might manifest at any second.
Luminous gold light surged through his frame like rhythmic tides, ascending from his feet to his torso before receding.
The holy texts commanded the faithful to grant mercy to those who had already paid for their crimes, and to show compassion to those who stumbled due to their own deficiencies.
This situation fell squarely into the latter category—the absolute extreme of it.
Audin resolved to show mercy to Rem, who clearly lacked the mental faculty expected of a man.
Rem appeared quite content, his expression radiating satisfaction as if he had achieved exactly what he set out to do.
Following his sermon, he resumed his typical banter.
“Look at that, the Captain is finally worth my time. Hey, Lost Kid, call me Vice Captain from here on out. And quit calling the big man ‘Brother,’ stick to ‘Big Bro.’ As for you, stray cat—just try to stay out of my line of sight.”
“The position of Vice Captain does not exist.”
Enkrid promptly shut down the suggestion that could lead to administrative chaos.
“Is that right? Well, let’s just pretend it does.”
Rem gave a cheerful nod.
His shrug suggested the title was irrelevant anyway.
The trio had already shown restraint once, so they simply tuned out Rem’s nonsense.
They had witnessed the sheer magnitude of what Rem had just unleashed.
And Rem was merely the opening act.
Every individual here was concealing a hidden trump card.
“The elixirs brewed from the foliage of Druires will likely all be consumed by your own stupidity.”
Anne made her way over once the event—be it a formal contest, a brawl, or a localized catastrophe—had concluded.
While she spoke, she smoothed various salves over Enkrid’s skin.
Jaxon observed from the perimeter, peppering her with inquiries; to his surprise, her grasp of medical lore was profound, and their exchange became quite technical.
As he received care, there was no lingering animosity between the two men.
Enkrid directed a question toward Jaxon, who was being uncharacteristically social,
“Won’t your partner be jealous?”
It was a casual jab, suggesting he was becoming a bit too cozy with Anne.
It felt like a lingering trait from spending too much time around the fey.
Upon hearing the quip, Jaxon’s face went blank before he answered flatly,
“A blade coated in venom is all that’s required. One just needs to close the distance before the sword is drawn.”
Enkrid fell silent, processing the implication.
Was it only two days prior? He recalled Jaxon mentioning he had managed to get behind him.
He hadn’t dwelt on it much then, and Enkrid had only felt a mild twitch of surprise.
But now, with this context, the weight of the statement landed.
“I wasn’t distracted back then. Even if a blade or a bolt had been loosed at me, I would have sensed it. I could hear Odd-Eye’s breath from across the clearing.”
Odd-Eye had lingered for a short while after Enkrid’s return before departing.
It was a stoic friendship—no grand displays of affection or unnecessary clinging.
“I was fully conscious of everything from Odd-Eye’s location to the shifts in the wind.”
Had his survival instincts flared, he would have known.
Yet Jaxon had navigated through all those sensory triggers and touched his back.
“I allowed him to take my rear.”
If Jaxon had been holding a lethal dagger then—
“That was the moment, wasn’t it.”
“That was the moment.”
It was a realization shared only between the two of them.
“What are you two whispering about?”
Anne inquired, but both men kept the details to themselves.
There were concepts that defied verbalization—like a strike that leaves no ripple or the art of ghosting through a warrior’s heightened awareness.
Anne didn’t push.
She wouldn’t grasp the mechanics even with an explanation, and truth be told, she didn’t care.
Her world revolved around the alchemy of medicine, curing the incurable—and Ragna.
Enkrid pondered Jaxon’s admission and sank back into his thoughts.
“Rem utilized projectiles and timed explosives that hit even when parried. Jaxon claims he can reach my blind spot.”
In a way, it differed from his brawl with Rem, but it was just as stimulating.
Like a childhood game of tag where a ribbon is pinned to a back and children scramble to snatch it.
“I cannot allow my back to be exposed.”
Sparing with Jaxon in a traditional sense was pointless.
The win would be found in the theater of perception.
With Rem, it was about surviving the bombardment.
Both warriors seemed to be presenting him with the same challenge.
That was how it translated to him.
He hadn’t been defeated yet.
Though they didn’t voice it, their resolve was palpable without a single word.
These two had crossed a threshold and were surging forward once more.
How long had it been since he had outpaced them, only for them to begin nipping at his heels again?
Rem had said he was only the beginning.
Ragna was next.
As soon as Enkrid’s vitality returned, he faced Ragna once more.
To put it plainly, Ragna was dead set on shattering the defensive style Enkrid had been refining.
*Whoosh.*
The clash with Ragna was the polar opposite of the fight with Rem.
Their steel rarely met—making it far from a spectacle.
“What did you think of that?”
Ragna questioned.
A spark of excitement he’d never revealed before danced in his crimson eyes.
He was invigorated.
He remained frozen in the follow-through of a swing.
Even so, he left no vulnerability to exploit.
Standard swordplay had been infused with a quality that was entirely unnatural.
That abnormality was practically visible to the naked eye.
“How did you achieve that?”
“I used raw force.”
Hearing that made Enkrid feel a pang of sympathy for Ermen the fairy.
Could that even be considered an explanation?
“Can you truly accomplish that simply by being forceful?”
“I can.”
Ragna spoke as if stating a fundamental law of nature, and internally, Enkrid conceded.
If the only path forward is through sheer power, then that is the path you take.
What other option was there?
Ragna had momentarily expanded the reach of his blade, layering a spiritual edge similar to a fairy’s blade over the steel before striking.
Enkrid had evaded by a hair’s breadth, his gut telling him that blocking it would have been fatal.
Essentially, this wasn’t designed for a friendly spar.
“Is this still a duel?”
Enkrid asked.
“Do you have a problem with it?”
Ragna countered.
That insufferable Rem, that cursed Lost Kid—every one of them was simply manifesting their own brand of obsession.
Rather than practicing the art of the duel, they were hunting for the absolute certainty of a kill.
Rules were nonexistent.
Nothing was standardized.
There was only the momentum of the soul and the hunger for evolution.
How could he not find this exhilarating?
“No.”
Enkrid replied simply.
A grin had already taken root on his face.
Of course he didn’t hate it.
Ragna’s blade was nearly impossible to intercept or avoid.
It was a strike designed to cleave through the very concept of a parry.
“I must decipher the nature of that shroud on his blade if I ever hope to stop it.”
Ragna himself appeared oblivious to the mechanics of his own feat.
To master it, Enkrid would have to probe, dismantle, and study.
“Systematization.”
It wasn’t finished.
In fact, it was just the opening move.
No—this was the true starting line.
Since they were just beginning, a vast horizon of work lay ahead.
Ultimately, even Audin found his own answer.
He mimicked Enkrid perfectly.
“It is a technique to withstand a deluge.”
His execution differed slightly, but he utilized the wave-blocking blade to hold his ground and endure the pressure.
When he failed to win the kinetic struggle, he simply absorbed the impact with his frame, though his armor of holy steel was durable enough to deflect Penna.
Yet, in that heartbeat, Audin channeled divine energy in a manner reminiscent of the others.
The golden radiance condensed, transforming into something with the density of thick hide.
“He compressed and bolstered it.”
Will is a ghost, a force without mass.
Can one truly gather it through effort alone?
It triggered inquiries.
It invited skepticism.
But those doubts were quickly discarded.
“If I believe it to be impossible, then it becomes so.”
If you believe it can be done, the world bends.
Acker, a legendary knight of a bygone age, had once poured his Will into a blade, giving birth to a demonic weapon.
What he had infused was a fragment of his soul, which manifested as a distinct sentience within the metal.
That was his unique manifestation.
“Will, magic, divine grace—they are all malleable.”
Endurance is a capacity to wait, but if honed, it becomes a suit of mail.
Will shifts and becomes a bastion that solidifies the flesh.
“They speak of a state where the well never runs dry—that is Uské. And there is a stage where the very essence you hold is transformed. That is Indurés. It is an archaic tongue.”
He recalled a teaching Lua Gharne had once shared.
She had offered an ancient proverb, and now Enkrid could meditate on it and find its true meaning.
“Uské is the eternal fountain—it refers to the volume of Will. And Indurés…”
It wasn’t a matter of quantity, but of fundamental quality.
A different species of Will.
How does one arrive there?
How do I wake it and perceive it?
The road forward was shrouded in fog.
He felt as though the Boatman might appear at any moment to sneer at his progress.
“When do you expect to grasp that? After perishing a thousand more times? Wear away and crumble. That is how you will be shattered and imprisoned in this cycle.”
The Boatman’s taunting was irrelevant.
Enkrid, as was his custom, simply felt the fire rise in his chest.
“Indurés.”
He possessed Uské.
He had even integrated it into his martial forms.
But Indurés remained a territory completely alien to him.
*Thump.*
His pulse quickened.
A wave of bliss washed over him—he wanted to sprint.
His heart was that turbulent.
The blend of thrill and hope created a pressure that made him feel as if he might burst.
“…Are you truly intent on sleeping in the dirt? Why demolish a perfectly functional barracks? It makes no sense. Not that I need it to. I’ll build it again. Bigger. Until then, stay in the tents. That’s better anyway, right?”
Kraiss’s voice drifted in his ear, but it was background noise.
“Are you even listening? Doesn’t look like it. Yeah, he’s gone. Why is he in a mood again?”
Kraiss turned away.
There were documents to sign and commerce to manage.
Trying to talk to him in this state was a lost cause.
Enkrid, rooted to the spot, performed nothing but vertical slashes three hundred times over.
Thinking through physical repetition was an old, reliable habit.
He analyzed and he puzzled.
In that process, he looked toward a new horizon and allowed himself to dream.
How could that be anything but joy?
As night settled and the heat of his excitement began to dim, Enkrid looked at his companions and voiced his genuine thoughts.
“I’m being completely honest—every one of you is out of your mind.”
It felt less like his own observation and more like something Crang would say.
It was a statement delivered with total sincerity.
And his entire unit took great offense to it.
“…Honestly, Captain, that is the one thing we refuse to hear from you. Truly.”
Rem didn’t bark back; he spoke with a heavy, uncharacteristic seriousness.
“Depart, wicked spirit. Oh Lord, purge the madness residing in this man’s soul.”
Audin offered a prayer.
He even beckoned Teresa to chant a hymn by his side.
Teresa nodded solemnly and immediately began her attempt to exorcise the demon possessing Enkrid.
“Who are you to judge? Did Anne put something in your tea?”
Jaxon remarked after seeing the raw intensity and bliss in Enkrid’s gaze.
One didn’t behave this way without chemical assistance.
There was no explaining his state of mind.
Then again, reflecting on it, he was always this way.
Sudden leaps in skill followed by sudden bouts of insanity.
It wasn’t even shocking at this point.
He just didn’t appreciate being categorized with the savage types.
Jaxon stepped back and nudged Rophod into the spotlight.
“Don’t look at me. I’m sane.”
Rophod deflected.
Pell whispered nearby, “Is being a lunatic part of having talent?”
Hearing this, Rophod snapped,
“Fine, then you’re a prodigy. You’re already a complete nutcase.”
Their eyes met in a sharp glare.
Esther, in her leopard form, sat atop the roof with her chin resting on a paw, observing the chaos.
Lua Gharne was charring caterpillars over a fire near a tent by the ruined building.
When scorched, they tasted sweeter than nectar, so she had no intention of offering any.
Not that anyone would be interested.
As the insects sizzled on their spit, Lua Gharne puffed out her cheeks and grinned.
“Did you really need to say it out loud?”
As if to imply, “Isn’t it obvious?”
Of course, nobody paid her any mind.
The truth is always unpalatable—but if you keep quiet, you can pretend it’s hidden.
“You’re calling *me* the crazy one? I don’t see it. Sure, everyone did some bizarre things during what was supposed to be a friendly match, so… maybe.”
Ragna’s parting shot caused a minor uproar.
“Huh? You looking for a fight? The Captain is down an arm, but your head is still attached, Lost Kid.”
“I’ll have yours off before you even move.”
“Want to test that?”
“Try me.”
Rem and Ragna began to square off.
“Quit whining about natural gifts. If you place a ceiling on yourself, that’s as high as you’ll ever go.”
“Oh, I see. I’m okay because my talent is boundless, but you’re bitter because yours isn’t. I get it. I won’t patronize you, but I’ll act like I didn’t hear that. I won’t mention it to the recruits you’re supposed to be leading.”
Pell spoke while making a zipping motion over his lips.
Rophod winced at the remark.
When had this man become so verbose?
His insults had become sophisticated.
He used to be on Rophod’s level, but he had evolved.
“Do you want to die?”
Rophod growled.
“Oh, look at you, are you the only person on earth who actually wants to end it?”
Pell countered effortlessly.
It was undeniable—he had matured.
The cause?
His time spent with Enkrid.
He had gained insight on the return trip.
Recognizing this, Rophod looked at Enkrid with a flash of bitterness—then let it go.
Initially, he’d wondered why Enkrid mentored Pell specifically, but now it didn’t seem so monumental.
He could simply close the gap.
Lua Gharne finished her caterpillars and ate in silence.
Jaxon began whittling a piece of timber he’d scavenged.
As he worked, thin curls of wood fell to the earth.
Observing the scene, Enkrid let out a soft laugh.
And a realization hit him—
He truly loved this spot, this position, and these people.
None of them ridiculed another’s aspirations.
If they felt their abilities were lacking, they practiced.
That was the natural order.
They didn’t succumb to envy or try to sabotage one another.
To them, this was simply the way of things.
Was it really that simple?
How long had he wandered to discover this?
How many people had envied, insulted, or mocked him along the way?
It finally dawned on him—the ideal he had sought in a knightly order was right here in front of him.
So—
“Would you consider the path of a Paladin? You should place your faith in the Almighty.”
—when the question was posed the following day, he was able to decline with a steady heart.
“…And who are you supposed to be?”
“You might say I am your adoptive father, Brother.”
It was a visitor who had arrived at Bodyguard while Enkrid was away in the city of the fey.