A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 664

Chapter 664

“A present, you said?”
Rem questioned under her breath.
She only voiced the thought because Shinar had gripped the training blades, her posture radiating an immediate intent to strike.
As if reacting to Rem’s skepticism, Shinar gave her answer.
“When providing a gift for a lunatic, a challenge is the only logical choice, is it not?”
Well, that made sense. It was fitting.
The way Shinar spoke was so melodic it could have been set to music. Her voice possessed a crystalline beauty, reminiscent of a single drop of water splashing into a silent pond.
Because it had been leveled in a previous incident, the living quarters had been reconstructed a significant distance from the dueling grounds. While it could be rebuilt indefinitely, Kraiss wasn’t the type to watch the kingdom’s krona vanish into thin air.
Thus, positioned away from the barracks—appearing nestled in a corner of the garrison from an aerial view—sat the training ring. Sunlight filtered into the arena, appearing as though it were bleeding through fine silk.
“You’ll find yourself in trouble if you take her lightly, Sister.”
Audin cautioned.
The afternoon was waning, bathed in a comfortable warmth. Tiny particles of pollen from the perimeter’s flora drifted through the air, and a light wind pulled the fragrance of grass and flowers along with it.
It was the sort of day where reclining on the ground would lead to instant sleep, and a simple stroll was enough to brighten one’s spirit.
Both figures within the ring were clearly in high spirits. Enkrid felt a surge of excitement at the mention of a “gift,” while Shinar was visibly happy to have finally returned.
Occupying the center of the arena, Shinar put her transformation on full display for the onlookers.
The primary change was her expression. Her mouth was curved into a gentle, subtle grin.
That look alone was powerful enough to inspire men to form a private militia just to safeguard her existence.
Luckily, no one present was foolish enough to lose their mind over a mere smile.
“She’s actually smiling?”
“Did she just grin?”
Rem and Ragna both whispered, their faces blank with shock.
“You’ve finally picked up the habit of smiling, Sister.”
Audin met her expression with one of his own.
“It suits you well.”
Teresa remarked, her voice tinged with astonishment.
“Wait, what?”
Rophod felt his mind go foggy for a second before he forced himself back to reality.
“Has a ghost taken over her body?”
Pell grumbled, fighting off the hypnotic charm that threatened to cloud his judgment. Even without the aid of mana, a smile of that caliber could be classified as a form of enchantment.
How many myths regarding such beauty existed across the lands?
The most renowned tale involved Pello the artist and Zello the creator of elixirs. The two siblings had both become obsessed with a local girl whose loveliness was so profound that any monarch who saw her would instantly name her his queen.
The artist and the alchemist were well aware of this danger.
Eventually, the heir to the throne caught sight of her, followed by the King, and then a high-ranking lord—all of them plunging into conflict to possess her.
The monarch went so far as to execute his own attractive son. The nobleman waged war against the throne to claim her for himself.
The realm nearly collapsed under the weight of the internal strife. In a fit of desperation, Zello committed a taboo: he concocted a charm oil and administered it to her.
The potion claimed her life.
Consumed by sorrow, Pello abandoned food, water, and rest, spending a fortnight painting her image until he too passed away.
That work became the legendary Dorothea Portrait. It was a mythical piece of art said to spark a violent possessive urge in anyone who looked upon it.
“I, the Golden Witch, have yet to admit defeat.”
The fairy remarked, sounding as though Zello or Pello had been reincarnated just to pine for her once more.
Judging by Shinar’s comments, she had clearly caught wind of the local gossip despite having just arrived.
Then again, it wasn’t surprising. The displaced fairy tribe had remained quiet but observant. Because of that, they were aware of everything.
They were particularly interested in the stories regarding the hero who had rescued their kin.
Whenever Enkrid visited the village, several fairies would sneak out just to get a look at him.
They had been intercepted by Jaxon on more than one occasion.
A few had even attempted to take up residence in his home before their leader arrived, but they were thwarted every time.
Even approaching Enkrid’s quarters was a struggle, and bypassing Jaxon’s intuition and the magical wards set by Esther was a flat impossibility.
With no way to intervene directly, the fairies simply kept their ears sharp, absorbing every bit of hearsay that blew their way.
“The talk says the Black Flower claimed victory.”
Shinar remarked upon her arrival, making her subsequent rush forward inevitable.
Regardless, Enkrid focused on the training blade and settled his racing pulse.
He recalled the Shinar of the past. The woman who had handed him the Sword of Seasons, the one who had been controlled by the malevolent entity.
Shinar raised the wooden sword and gave it a quick flick above her head. The wind surged around the wood, displacing the scent of the blossoms.
She lunged.
The movement of a fairy was always ethereal.
To Enkrid’s eyes, her frame seemed to expand suddenly, and he immediately entered a state of accelerated perception to meet her strike.
Shinar’s wood connected above Enkrid’s skull.
He pivoted his hips and ducked his head simultaneously. The dodging motion was purely instinctive.
With his feet firmly set, he lunged away using a level of power that transcended human capability.
His frame glided horizontally in a fluid transition.
Any spectator would have been stunned. And yet, he didn’t manage to evade the wood entirely.
It wasn’t a killing blow. But even in the context of a practice match, Enkrid felt a heavy thud resonate through his shoulder.
How was that possible?
There had been a hidden strike within the strike. The attack combined the crushing weight of Ragna’s style with the anonymous precision of Jaxon’s thrusts.
“A cold wind from the peaks.”
Shinar noted, coming to a halt.
Enkrid observed her. She met his gaze.
He could sense a slight warmth radiating from her entire being.
She must have pushed herself through grueling, tooth-gritting sessions to craft this offering. She wouldn’t have appeared before him with mediocre talent.
She had witnessed him go up against a one-killer. She must have labored like a demon to prepare for this encounter.
I was negligent.
He hadn’t become prideful. He wasn’t stuck on himself. He had simply failed to appreciate her potential.
If I can evolve, so can the people around me.
He had already seen this truth in Rem. Why had he let it slip his mind?
Yes, he had been careless.
And in that moment, Enkrid finally understood—
The fairy standing across from him was also one of the most gifted individuals ever produced by her bloodline.
In a very literal sense, Shinar had gathered the genius of both her parents.
Only the naturally sluggish perception of time inherent to fairies had kept her back.
Fairies endure for ages. The trade-off is a lack of intensity. They only flare up for a brief moment in their existence. Like an igniculus.
Therefore, her change was bound to happen. Her internal fire was still roaring.
“How did you manage that?”
The one who had provided that spark asked her.
“Where is the joy in revealing all my secrets?”
Shinar replied with a playful air. Yet, her grace was such that the teasing seemed sophisticated rather than mocking.
Enkrid mentally replayed the exchange and found his answer.
A lethal, absolute, perfectionist methodology—that was Shinar’s combat style. It was something she had refined and something she was destined for.
She had analyzed his wave-negating sword and developed a specific counter for it.
Her tardy arrival was likely due to that preparation.
“Any later and you would have been a fallen petal from a dead flower.”
Was she still referring to the duel? Enkrid asked with genuine interest.
“What are you trying to say?”
“It’s like becoming fruit that never ripens.”
Enkrid tilted his head in confusion. Was there a metaphor he was missing?
Shinar looked at him and spoke with blunt honesty.
“I’m saying I nearly ended up a widow before I even reached the altar.”
A classic, old-fashioned fairy quip—the kind rarely heard in the modern age.
“You’re back, you lunatic fairy.”
Rem said with a mix of awe and exasperation. She’d only just arrived and was already making statements like that.
“Again.”
Enkrid, following his usual pattern, brushed off the comment and responded with clinical focus.
“If I win, are we getting hitched?”
Shinar was relentless. Especially when it came to her jests, she was indifferent to how they were received.
“Are you being serious?”
“No, I wouldn’t force the issue. That would ruin the fun of the wedding night.”
She had certainly become more courageous and spirited than she had been prior to the demon’s defeat. Regardless of her personality, her prowess was undeniable.
Her revamped technique and her movements seemed to be sending Enkrid a message: Perfect your existing foundations first.
His self-satisfaction shattered. His perspective transitioned. Was it annoying? Not at all. It was thrilling.
The moments of exertion, the steady march of progress, the deep conversations shared with companions like these—every aspect of it brought him immense satisfaction.
On that day, Shinar executed that specific move three more times before shaking her head.
“One more and I’m going to pass out, you adorable little brat.”
“And where did that name come from?”
Enkrid’s jaw dropped in shock.
“It’s an acknowledgement of my seniority. And besides, I’m the one on the verge of collapse, not you. Although, if I do fall, will you catch me again? Your embrace was actually quite pleasant.”
Shinar was in high spirits, though her wit was sharper than her training sword.
Enkrid chose not to duel with her silver tongue.
A skilled strategist understands which battles to engage in—and which to avoid.
In a physical fight, sometimes you just have to scrap.
But in the realm of verbal sparring, Enkrid was a seasoned veteran of countless skirmishes.
So, choosing a strategic withdrawal, he remained silent.
That night, the whole group congregated, and since everyone was present, they prepared a whole roasted hog.
Kraiss had managed the arrangements for the feast.
“It feels like a professional gathering. Roasting a whole animal seems appropriate.”
Knights do not possess the appetites of common citizens. A single hog wouldn’t go far with this crowd.
Even Jaxon, who seemed like the sort to eat sparingly, was putting away significant portions.
It was a matter of basic energy requirements.
Enkrid, sitting at the long stone surface outside the recently finished barracks, could sense Kraiss’s meticulous planning.
So if we’re exhausted from training, we can eat right here.
They had constructed a mess hall, but they had also installed stone seating outdoors. That was the table currently before him.
It was unpolished and rugged, designed for utility rather than aesthetics. It was a perfect reflection of Kraiss—who likely anticipated the furniture being smashed and planned accordingly.
“If I requested that you stop clashing blades during dinner, would any of you listen? No. So please take your meals away from the regular troops from now on.”
No one spoke the words, but Kraiss’s intent was as clear as if he had shouted it.
He was incredibly occupied these days as well.
Apparently, he had commissioned a fairy to excavate an additional well.
He was negotiating trade agreements with the mercantile hub and even engaging in diplomacy with the Holy Nation.
Enkrid was aware of the strategy and understood Kraiss’s goals—but it was a chore.
He had authorized several papers, certainly, but he had made it evident he had no passion for administrative duties.
Recently, he had even toyed with the idea of handing all his power over to the castellan.
Though Lord Greyham likely had zero interest in accepting it.
Still, there had to be someone competent out there. If not, Kraiss would be the one to suffer. So a replacement would be found, one way or another.
As the group ate and drank, the conversation naturally drifted toward martial arts and combat styles.
The most prominent topic was the new knightly training framework Enkrid had recently established.
It was logical. They rarely met in a setting like this.
While they had all consulted with Enkrid individually, this marked the first time they were analyzing the system as a collective.
The discussion eventually moved from specific moves to the concept of swinging a weapon “naturally.”
“What do you mean by naturally? In what way?”
Rem began the inquiry.
“Like I explained earlier—you just swing it. Just like that.”
Enkrid observed their debate and, through their words, began to truly grasp the distinct characteristics each individual brought to the table.