A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 667

Chapter 667

No praise could have carried more weight for Aitri. Despite this, the hammer-wielding eccentric merely stood there, his face devoid of any grin.
“Genuine Iron.”
That was the extent of his commentary.
“Understood,” Enkrid answered with equal brevity, offering a nod.
With their short dialogue concluded, Enkrid departed from the smithy and quickened his stride—not due to any pressing engagement, but purely because of his restless desire to wield his new celestial iron blade.
Technically, it was a composition of dark gold, sterling silver, and meteoric iron, though such a title was far too cumbersome.
I require a name with more impact—perhaps Odd-Eye.
Something sharp and straightforward would be ideal.
“The Tri-Metal Blade”?
Had the weapon possessed a spirit, it likely would have leapt from its housing and marched away in offense. Luckily, it was inanimate.
Nevertheless… it grows on me.
Enkrid felt a silent surge of amusement.
Even with a heart of celestial metal, calling it a “meteor sword” felt inaccurate. The quality of such iron was inconsistent; the specific hoard Aitri used tended to crumble when shaped into a thin edge—yet when compressed into a structural core, it achieved incredible density and a perfectly balanced weight.
It made sense why that scoundrel Black Snake Elela utilized it for protection. It functioned better as armor than as a cutting surface. Aitri had brilliantly relegated it to the internal spine of the weapon.
The remnants were tucked away for further study.
By the time Enkrid cleared the forge, deep in these reflections, the marketplace had begun to wake. Commoners were trickling into the paths—though the rush hadn’t yet arrived.
Since Kraiss had restructured the neighborhood blueprints, the density of people rarely impeded movement. Furthermore, the hour was still early.
Enkrid traversed the market road, one step following the other. Before his leading foot could land again, he placed his palm on the hilt, spun on his heel, and adjusted his center of gravity, sliding his trailing foot back slightly.
In that fluid transition, he surveyed the area.
To his upper right: a folded cloth cover and the skeletal wooden frame of a building in progress, complete with a builder’s tools nearby.
To his left: a sleepy youngster staring into space on a doorstep, likely roused too soon.
High above, the morning rays pierced the gaps between structures and shades, creating a patchwork of light and dark for the people to move through.
And at the far side of the market junction, neither concealing herself nor making a spectacle—stood a warrior woman.
She was outfitted in a chest plate fashioned from salvaged steel, complemented by leather guards at her hips and legs. Her attire radiated a sense of arrogance. Her mouth twitched.
“Is that it?”
It was an inquiry that required no confirmation. She already possessed the truth. Consequently, she struck without waiting for a word.
With a light push, she propelled herself forward, eating up the distance of the intersection in a heartbeat.
Clink!
She unsheathed her weapon mid-sprint, weaving past the few souls in the crossing. From a bird’s-eye view, her path would have looked like a graceful arc.
She glided through the crowd like a serpent—a serpent whose venomous fang was a blade aimed directly at Enkrid’s forehead.
Ting.
Naturally, the strike missed its mark. Enkrid tilted his body and guided Penna upward.
His fresh blade wasn’t yet an extension of his arm. And this adversary was not someone to take reckless chances against.
Shhk.
Penna failed to find its target as well. Enkrid had anticipated the perfect moment, swinging in an inescapable curve—yet the swordswoman had anticipated his anticipation and leaped away. She had already retreated beneath a covered stall held up by wooden beams.
The shadows swallowed half of her form.
The slight lift of her mouth betrayed her state of mind.
A smile.
She found this entertaining. Then, she surged again. Her velocity was a match for Enkrid’s own.
Steel shimmered. Bodies swayed. Neither side overextended nor retreated. Their perception was matched—foreseeing the other’s next strike was a grueling task.
They observed one another as peers.
A blur of thrusts, parries, and cuts.
In near-perfect synchronicity, the pair performed a deadly choreography through the masses with unsheathed steel.
Despite the chaos, not a single bystander was scratched.
Penna swept just inches above the head of the dazed youth on the steps. The metal only stirred a puff of air above his hair, a testament to Enkrid’s surgical accuracy.
The child, sensing something late, ducked and touched his scalp—but he was too slow. They had already vanished past him.
The woman’s edge skimmed the shoulder of a slow-moving elderly woman. It didn’t even snag her clothes. The woman stopped, cocking her head in bewilderment.
“What was that?”
Not everyone was oblivious to the skirmish—but nobody could quite grasp the reality of the event.
A baker clearing his vision in the early hours squinted.
Did a ghost just flicker by?
It was impossible to say. The combatants never halted. Their silhouettes darted in and out of the corners of people’s eyes.
It appeared less like a lethal struggle and more like a high-stakes game of pursuit—conducted with lethal steel.
“Are they brawling?” a voice whispered.
Enkrid understood that a confrontation in the heart of the commerce district was not in his interest.
If the stranger targeted the civilians, he would be forced into a defensive role.
She acted with deliberate malice, using the crowd as living barricades. Though he held the edge in raw power, the setting shackled him.
Flawed tactical positioning.
He recalled how he had manipulated the demon one-killer into a tunnel-visioned stare so it couldn’t scan the area. This foe possessed a tactical mind far superior to that creature.
Strategy wasn’t reserved for the grand scale of battlefields.
In fact, it was more vital in a duel. Any attempt to secure a lead through the environment, pacing, or distance was a tactical maneuver.
She surpasses me in this arena.
After several clashes, Enkrid saw the truth. She manipulated the surroundings and held the tactical high ground.
Every person near her served as her buckler.
Every person near Enkrid was a life he was obligated to safeguard.
He didn’t view this as a burden, however. If he had, he never would have taken the oath to protect all that lay behind him.
Time for a shift in logic.
The Wavebreaker Sword wasn’t merely a defensive style—it was a method of sharpening the intellect.
Since his return to the Border Guard, Enkrid had drilled with his unit. He had absorbed much, even if his growth felt sluggish to him.
Rem had described his ability as an oddly aggravating gift. But Enkrid persisted, and the fruits of his labor were manifesting.
He broadened the reach of the Wavebreaker. He integrated techniques borrowed from Jaxon.
“Stretch your awareness. Establish a perimeter of perception.”
Adhering to Jaxon’s advice, Enkrid executed the command.
He pulled in everything—the sights, the echoes, the scents, the lingering tastes, the tactile feedback—and refined it into pure instinct. He swallowed the data and processed the math.
The needle pierces the ring.
He merged this byproduct of Wavebreaker training with its fundamental tenet—logic and calculation.
Accelerated cognition allows one to glimpse the coming moments.
His vision seared. A thin trail of crimson escaped his nostril and crossed his lip.
This level of execution required two specific factors.
First, the terrain had to be intimate—otherwise, the sheer number of unknowns would crash the mind.
Second, he had to be intimately aware of his own breaking point.
Push too hard, and the lights go out.
The human psyche can catch fire. He knew this through experience.
Currently, he met both criteria.
He didn’t frequent the market daily, but the path was ingrained in his memory.
And managing his limits? He had mastered that over years of struggle.
The key was regulation—and regarding Willpower, Enkrid’s discipline was without rival.
Thump.
He struck the pavement heavily on purpose.
The eyes of the crowd turned toward him. Calculations were based on likelihood. He had mapped several paths. Not the ones where he evaded for a small gain—but the ones where he forced a collision, stripping away her choices.
He dragged the future he envisioned into the concrete present.
Feeling the collective gaze upon him, he shifted his weight again—this time with a heavy, deliberate slowness.
His foe misread the change in rhythm as a lapse and lunged.
From the rear—the left flank.
Enkrid twisted his torso and pulled his blade with minimal wasted effort.
A moment to evaluate the new weapon.
With his left hand, he drew the new sword halfway—just far enough to utilize the sheath as a solid parrying surface.
If she retreated now, he would shadow her with a complete draw. She realized this. That was why she couldn’t pull back or pivot her strategy.
CLANG!
The metal collided with a deafening ring.
Finally, a voice cried out:
“Violence! There’s a fight!”
Kraiss, during a previous period of unrest, had mandated evacuation rehearsals for the Border Guard residents.
He had been mocked for it then—but now, the second the clash rang out, the citizens vanished into doorways and alleys like mist.
“Call the Guard!”
Another voice rose.
“Our window is closing, isn’t it?” the warrior remarked, noting the shift in the air. Yet, she seemed unbothered that her human obstacles were vanishing.
She hadn’t seized any innocents to use as shields, either.
An elite warrior—or someone of equal caliber.
Enkrid gave no verbal reply. Instead, he slid the partially drawn blade back home.
Chak.
Fluid out, fluid in. A masterpiece of a sword. Even the scabbard felt like a natural extension of the arm.
If he sensed defeat, he would have committed to the new sword regardless of his lack of familiarity.
However…
Penna is sufficient.
He didn’t believe he would lose.
What nagged at him was… her features. They seemed familiar, like a half-remembered dream.
But where had he encountered her?
Even with his sharp recollection, it was impossible to memorize every face he had ever passed.
“Your strategic mind is formidable. You recognized the environmental disadvantage and cleared the board.”
She spoke once more, and Enkrid gave a slight nod.
The fact that she didn’t harm the fleeing civilians earned her the courtesy of a response.
“And you’re certain you can best me? That half-pulled sword—freshly forged, I assume? And the other one, you’ve recently swapped as well? Based on the dimensions and the edge, it’s crafted for the slice.”
Her inquiries were self-contained. She wasn’t seeking his input. She lowered her weapon slightly. Its surface shimmered with a ghostly white light.
Even after one impact, he could tell—this was no common steel.
“I wonder what my companions are up to this very second.”
Then she threw out a random question:
“Do you honestly think I arrived here by myself?”
Was it a tic, this habit of phrasing everything as a query?
“I didn’t, obviously.”
Even when speculating, she spoke with the certainty of a fact wrapped in a veil of curiosity.
“Who are you?” Enkrid demanded.
If she had allies, it meant an organized strike.
Not a hunt for him, but an assault on the Border Guard itself.
Her origin was a mystery. There was a lack of data.
He would have to extract the truth through force.
“Try to figure it out,” she countered, and then she vanished into motion.
As if her previous use of bystanders had been a restraint, she now moved with a terrifying, fluid speed.
Her steel cut the air like a beam of pure radiance.
Enkrid didn’t cease his mental modeling. He strained his mind even further to stay ahead of her.
He weighed the probabilities and chose the most logical trajectory.
Perhaps that was the secret to ensuring every movement was the absolute answer.
His straining brain hunted for the path to victory. He deciphered her intent within the arcs of her steel. His conditioned physique acted as the vessel for his high-speed thought process.
CLANG!
The blades bit into each other and rebounded.
The shock of the impact left Enkrid’s palm vibrating. She possessed immense power, without question.
“You are formidable,” she noted, her tone lingering on the words.
But even as the praise left her lips, she launched herself forward with renewed, explosive energy.
Between the strobing flashes of their weapons, Enkrid ran the numbers.
Even as the blood continued to seep from his nose, a smile spread across his face.
Honestly? This was exhilarating. His mind felt as though it were dissolving in a state of pure, intellectual ecstasy.