A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 665

Chapter 665

“It simply began to function because I persisted with it.”
Following Rem’s input, Ragna—who was rarely inclined toward long-winded explanations—picked up the conversation. His time spent here had been a period of significant learning, reception, and internal realization.
He had developed a brand of practical logic that moved beyond the simple, brute-force swinging favored by a certain acquaintance. Perhaps it was a newfound sense of empathy or spatial consideration.
“Believing in yourself is the primary requirement. If you select a path and maintain faith in its validity, you should disregard those who vocally insist you are mistaken. If you discover your trajectory is slightly skewed along the way, you simply recalibrate until it is accurate again. For instance, if your destination is Martai but you mistakenly head in one direction instead of the necessary one, you just pivot once you realize the error and continue moving. Eventually, you arrive at Martai. That is the logic behind it. It’s the reason why the route I travel inevitably becomes the correct one.”
As Ragna spoke the words “this way,” he gestured toward the north.
When he described going “that way instead,” his finger shifted toward the west.
Finally, as he mentioned the act of turning, his hand settled on the south.
In reality, Martai lay to the east—meaning he had successfully indicated every cardinal direction except the one that mattered. It was a remarkable, almost supernatural talent for disorientation.
“That man is truly a phenomenon. How does he even manage to reach Aitri? Honestly, forget the city—how does he find his way to the latrine? I’m stunned he doesn’t vanish into the wilderness during the walk.”
The bathroom was situated less than fifty paces from the living quarters. A deliberate path of flat stones had even been constructed to lead the way—a sign of meticulous planning.
Enkrid found himself wondering,
Who took the time to lay those stones?
The answer wasn’t difficult to find.
It was Kraiss, naturally.
They served as Ragna’s personal navigational beacons.
Despite the logistical support for his basic needs, Ragna still occasionally ventured into the city on his own.
“How do I manage it? Do you have any idea how many troops I encounter on the path? Kraiss has issued standing orders to attach a chaperone to me every time I attempt to leave the grounds.”
Kraiss offered this clarification while tending to a grill of sausages. Beads of juice bubbled on the meat like perspiration, releasing a scent that stimulated the appetite.
Ah, that made sense. Kraiss was always the stabilizing force.
Rem gave a small nod of understanding. That man was the type to prepare for a falling star hitting his roof without losing his composure.
“There isn’t a single normal person in this vicinity. Not one.”
Rem let out a weary sigh.
“Stop assigning guards to follow me. It’s irritating,” Ragna complained.
“Get used to it,” Kraiss countered.
Ragna continued to mutter his grievances, but Kraiss remained immovable. He had grown accustomed to their eccentricities by this point.
He was far too occupied to cater to every volatile temperament—trying to do so would turn his daily existence into a battlefield.
Regardless of whether they were called knights or by some other title, these unstable individuals generally cooperated as long as their private boundaries were respected.
Kraiss was acutely aware that if left to his own devices, Ragna would likely wander across the border and into the Empire.
And he would undoubtedly return dragging a war behind him, having cut down anyone who crossed his path.
Rem and Audin weren’t exactly models of stability either. If ignored, Rem would likely assault any nobleman who happened to arrive at Border Guard. Audin was equally concerning in his own way.
Conditioning the body is a virtue, but why must you be so relentless about it, Brother Bear?
Kraiss whispered the thought to himself, devoid of real emotion.
Audin possessed a relentless habit of seizing anyone in his proximity and dragging them into a workout. Once he claimed you, there was no path of retreat.
Behind that massive frame and his friendly habit of calling everyone “Brother” or “Sister,” a clear madness flickered.
Because of this, the Holy Unit under Audin’s command had become the most physically grueling division in the military.
They spent their days in tears while hoisting heavy boulders. Even during their moments of prayer, they would maintain isometric wall-sits in search of the divine. At times, Kraiss felt like weeping just witnessing their suffering.
Those poor men.
And yet, he didn’t harbor any true resentment.
The advantages of having Audin, Rem, and Ragna on his side far outweighed the logistical headaches they caused.
Kraiss was the sort of individual who found contentment as long as the profit margin exceeded the cost of the trouble.
Jaxon was present as well.
While he didn’t look like someone prepared to offer sage wisdom, the attention of the group shifted toward him regardless.
He idly rotated a dagger in his palm. The firelight from both ends of the long table glinted off the spinning steel.
Without stopping the motion of the blade, Jaxon finally broke his silence.
“Flawless individuals do not exist in this reality. The only variable is who possesses the sharper edge.”
It was a brief statement, but it carried significant weight.
Enkrid felt those words strike at the very foundation of the knightly system he was currently constructing.
What is capable of shattering a perfect circle?
Is the pinnacle of growth simply becoming well-rounded and balanced?
No. Even a perfect sphere will burst if it is pricked by a needle.
He had lived through that reality today. In a standard sparring match, he could overcome Shinar eight times out of ten.
However, when focusing strictly on the wave-blocking sword, her edge had managed to graze his skin.
That was the needle.
The wave-blocking sword wasn’t merely a set of movements. It was a process of reaction, dictated by mental clarity.
And Shinar had found the microscopic flaw in that reaction time.
A sharpened blade.
She had concealed a killing edge within a visible form. It was a strike that landed with the subtle chill of a winter gust.
A winter wind is never a gentle breeze. If it feels like one, something is deeply wrong.
“Brother, can every variable be predicted? I find that unlikely. But if your thoughts are moving faster than your foe’s, is there truly a requirement to react in a ‘natural’ way or find the perfect spontaneous solution? Does your skill have to be a pure reflex?”
Audin posed this question in response.
Is total calculation possible?
Certainly not. Therefore, the goal is simply to be superior to the person standing before you.
That implied the ability to draw forth whatever tool was required at the exact moment it was needed.
Sometimes fluid, sometimes savage.
Weighty, deceptive, rapid, or refined.
Enkrid now grasped why Leonecis Oniac, the legendary prodigy of his time, had categorized swordsmanship into five distinct archetypes.
Master the fundamentals, and all other applications will manifest.
There was a profound gulf between the Enkrid who existed before and after he mastered the wave-blocking sword.
Similarly, there was a transformation between his life before and after achieving knighthood.
Core parts of a person remain static, but other aspects evolve.
Through Audin’s inquiry, Enkrid secured a piece of the puzzle.
“So, when everything is stripped away, it’s just about the art of the blade, isn’t it?”
When boiled down to its essence, that was the truth.
“What are you implying by that?”
Teresa asked, having observed the conversation in silence until now.
Audin provided the clarification.
“Ultimately, you strike with a fist, slash with steel, or thrust with a spear. That is the reality, Sister. Therefore, the only thing that truly matters is the refinement of the basics.”
Adhere to the foundation. Exercise every day. Seek your solutions through physical repetition rather than mental theorizing. Audin reiterated his philosophy.
Every person held their own set of principles and certainties. Enkrid took in their perspectives like a parched sponge drawing in moisture.
The idea of calculating everything—that was essentially Rem’s methodology.
Rem possessed an instinctive grasp of variables, allowing her to deliver the most logical and devastating response.
It was like observing an opponent change their hand during a game of rock-paper-scissors and predicting the new outcome instantly.
That was the level of her precision and reactivity.
It was reminiscent of a beastkin.
If a beastkin possessed a human intellect, they would fight exactly like Rem. Their inherent physical mastery was unparalleled.
Rem simply used her raw genius as a substitute for that biological advantage.
Ragna’s explanation had been disorganized, but the central point was unmistakable:
Taking a long, winding path is acceptable—provided you don’t waste time regretting the distance traveled.
If you have committed to a strike, have the resolve to force a mistaken path to become the right one.
Conviction.
A knight empowered by the divine could lose everything if they surrendered to doubt. If they violated their sacred vows, the resulting self-distrust would destroy them.
A will without certain faith is merely an incomplete effort.
Ragna was a natural-born genius. That was the only reason he could speak so casually about such things.
Yet, it wasn’t useless to Enkrid.
He processed it, weighed it, and integrated it into his own being.
Jaxon’s contribution was a warning against overestimating the opposition.
Audin emphasized that relentless labor was the secret.
Though their words differed, the underlying message was consistent. And these insights weren’t just for Enkrid—they were equally valuable for Lua Gharne, Rophod, Pell, and Teresa.
“The act of carving out your own destiny—that is a hallmark of the higher knightly ranks.”
Lua Gharne contributed, speaking from her perspective as a scholar.
“True.”
Enkrid gave a casual affirmative and bit into a piece of food. It was a skewer of pork belly, its rendering fat crackling as it dripped into the embers below.
He gave it a quick blow to cool it before eating. The meat was incredibly tender.
The balance of salt and seasonings cut through the richness of the fat, creating a burst of savory flavor. The slow-cooked meat fell apart easily, coating his palate in savory warmth.
It was delicious. Truly impressive.
Shinar was quietly consuming a few pieces of ripened fruit. Even such a simple act made her look like a being of divine beauty.
“If our current plans fail, we should establish the Shinar Knight Order. Finding recruits wouldn’t be an issue. But beyond that, Shinar—are you familiar with the concept of a salon? I’ve been considering that fairies might benefit from working in such establishments to gain experience across the lands. Eventually, we could launch a venture run exclusively by your kind.”
Kraiss spoke with eyes that seemed to glow more intensely than the campfire.
“There is a specific clan that has expressed interest in those types of enterprises. They belong to the Ermen family. I believe you have already made their acquaintance.”
Shinar answered, referring to the fairy who handled the clan’s commercial interests.
Kraiss had indeed met them. For once, he allowed a look of genuine irritation to cross his face.
So that was the source of his frustration.
“That particular fairy is far too talkative.”
Ah, a bit of internal fairy friction, Enkrid noted.
The others reached the same conclusion.
“I do not act as a mouthpiece for the clan. I am their guardian. Therefore, everyone should act according to their own desires.”
Shinar shifted her attention toward Enkrid as she spoke.
In the silence that followed, Rophod whispered to himself.
“A natural blade—one that functions without conscious thought—is always the correct one.”
“That is the defining characteristic of a higher knight,” Pell added, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.
“How is such a thing even possible?”
Despite possessing a spark of that very talent, he found it difficult to wrap his head around. How could every single action be inherently right?
The act of combat involved a massive amount of probability. That meant luck played a role.
Could someone truly have luck on their side at all times? What about the unpredictable variables?
Force every path to be the right one?
Was that a realistic goal? Or was it simply a matter of innate genius? Pell’s mind was a whirlwind of questions.
He couldn’t grasp the solution in this moment.
Then, Shinar provided an answer.
“How does it work? It works through the power of love.”
Enkrid began to seriously question if the fairy had consumed something illicit or perhaps had too much to drink.
Yet, she appeared as composed as ever. She had just finished overseeing the final relocation of her people—she was likely just drained of energy.
So what was causing this behavior?
“She is simply in a state of high spirits,” Lua Gharne remarked, utilizing her intuition. She was correct.
Shinar had been tethered to her city of Kirheis by her obligations for a long time.
Consequently, she had moved the entire city with her. Had she not, she would have insisted on renaming the settlement Ermen.
The vow she took to safeguard her kin had kept her away from Border Guard for far too long.
She had finally escaped the influence of the demons, and the man responsible for her freedom was right here—yet she had been unable to stay with him.
She wasn’t resentful, but she had been restless.
Restless enough to lose her typical patience.
The story had already spread among the fairies. It explained why an increasing number of them had been caught scaling the walls at night just to catch a glimpse of Enkrid over the past month.
They assumed their chances were better before Shinar officially arrived.
But even without her presence, they found it difficult to approach him.
The shadow of the “Black Flower” witch only added to the tension.
Among the fairy elders, there was a deep-seated prejudice that witches were lackeys of the demonic realm.
That bias was rooted in history, back when certain sorcerers had indeed allied with the demons.
To a society raised in isolation, a witch represented a dangerous wildcard.
In reality, Esther had no interest in dismantling their bodies for some macabre collection.
Even if she were to kill a fairy, she wouldn’t waste her energy on such a pointless display.
Nevertheless, as Shinar sat across from Enkrid, her joy was palpable.
It had been a long time since she had the opportunity to provoke him. Her mood was exuberant.
So no, she wasn’t intoxicated or under the influence of any substance.
She was merely happy.
Though to any outside observer, it would be easy to assume she was under the influence of something strong.
“If you truly wish to understand, you are welcome in my quarters tonight. I shall explain everything. Every detail. Through the power of love.”
Making such a bold claim with a perfectly serene expression was unsettling.
She possessed the face of a celestial being—and yet, here she was.
Enkrid felt a chill run down his spine—not one of excitement, but of pure wariness.
“Would it be best if I just knocked her unconscious?”
He asked with total sincerity. It seemed like the only practical way to quiet her.
“Is that really the necessary path?” Rem added.
Ragna wouldn’t let the opportunity pass.
“Go find some fresh air. Try your best not to lose your way,” he remarked to Shinar.
“May your deity watch over you, Sister,” Audin contributed.
Jaxon, while continuing to spin his knife, suddenly looked up.
“Are you seriously planning to keep using that hideous excuse for a weapon?”
A critique like that only surfaced when he was truly bothered by something.
“It’s a horn-trumpet dagger, not an eyesore. I feel more comfortable throwing this than keeping my mouth shut,” Enkrid shot back coolly. Jaxon chose to ignore the response. He clearly didn’t approve, but he wouldn’t press the matter.
“Magic is driven by intent. A spell devoid of intent is worthless. However, as proficiency grows, you find yourself casting with a mere movement. The intent follows the action, rather than preceding it. That which erupts from pure instinct—that is what we call a Glint.”
Esther added her voice to the mix.
A Glint—a sudden burst of radiance.
Tonight, Esther had taken her human form, showcasing her midnight-black hair.
She was responding to a question Enkrid had posed earlier.
But why were her cheeks flushed so brightly?