A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 668

Chapter 668

“So, which one of you is looking to die today?”

As was his custom, Rem threw every ounce of his intensity into the squad’s drills. To an outsider, the scene would have looked less like military training and more like a systematic beating.

He would pull soldiers out one by one to face him or force them into lopsided skirmishes. One common exercise was a three-on-one bout, where a trio had to hold their ground against three others of equal caliber. For them, that was a mercy compared to facing Rem’s own steel.

Despite his provocative shout, the ranks remained silent. The only thing rising from the men was a thick, lethal intent that signaled anyone who moved would likely get their teeth kicked in. Even the loudest complainers had eventually learned to keep their mouths shut. Experience had taught them—painfully—that talking back only led to a bloody pulp of a face before they were forced to finish their tasks anyway.

Lazy bastards.

Rem pushed the slackers the hardest. His philosophy was simple: if training was a living nightmare, the actual battlefield would feel like a walk in the park. Those who had stared down Rem’s axe and felt the cold breath of death during practice now displayed a chilling composure when fighting real monsters. When these mercenaries were deployed beyond the city walls to cull beast herds, they moved like possessed executioners.

It wasn’t just their combat prowess that had improved, either. None of Rem’s men laid a finger on the local women, nor did they resort to the typical looting and thievery common among their kind. They didn’t even try to swindle extra rations from the kitchens. They might have looked like a pack of wolves, but you wouldn’t find a more disciplined or dependable unit in the entire region.

Consequently, Rem’s reputation climbed with every passing day. Everyone recognized them as Rem’s elite shock troops. Lately, even the haughty nobles of the south had stopped treating Rem like he was some infectious plague—though it wasn’t as if they were lining up to be his best friend.

Rem was in the middle of his usual routine of “instructional abuse” when a sound broke his focus.

*Crunch, crunch.*

The noise of careless footsteps reached his ears. Whoever it was didn’t care about being quiet. The stranger approached with an irritating, heavy presence, radiating an aura that practically begged for a confrontation.

“So, you’re the one they call the noble slayer? That gray hair is a dead giveaway. You’re just as hideous as they say.”

the man announced as he stepped into view. Rem’s training grounds sat at the foot of the Pen-Hanil mountain range. While there was a formal yard available, they preferred the rugged terrain beneath the peaks. Because of this, any monster or beast that slipped past the local outposts usually ended up here. It had been Kraiss’s idea, and Rem had to admit the location was perfect.

“Monsters and beasts showing up for free practice? Count me in.”

And so, this became their home.

The intruder had descended from the Pen-Hanil heights. In his hand, he gripped an unsheathed blade coated in dark, ichorous blood. Rem had picked up on his presence long before he arrived and had already taken a seat on the edge of the wooden platform.

The rough timber creaked as he settled back. He didn’t bother reaching for his axe. Instead, he leaned back with one arm draped lazily over a step, his entire demeanor oozing pure arrogance.

“Which trash heap did this little doll crawl out of?”

“If you’re talking to me, you’re taking your last breath today,” the man shot back instantly. His armor was light but of high quality, and his sword was clearly no standard-issue blade. He bore the look of a nobleman, yet the savage energy around him lacked any hint of aristocratic grace.

“Is this guy suicidal?” one of the soldiers whispered. He was a former mercenary known as Mad Axe, marked by a jagged scar under his eye. People said he’d calmed down recently, but that was only by the standards of this particular madhouse.

“Look, if you want to keep living, just beat it. Shoo,” another veteran said, waving him off. They all knew that poking Rem was a recipe for disaster.

“Do you even know where you’re standing? Is this your preferred spot for a funeral?”

While the others tossed out insults, one of the kinder members of the squad stepped forward. “Just leave. If you keep acting up, you’re going to get killed. Go find the Holy Battalion. They don’t believe in ending lives.”

The Holy Battalion might make you carry boulders until you collapsed, but they wouldn’t execute you. This unit followed different rules. Rem’s men didn’t avoid violence; they embraced it.

Without a word of warning, the stranger lashed out with his bloody sword. Even Rem hadn’t moved until the blade was already in flight. There was no tell, no shift in weight—just immediate violence.

“Get down!”

*Whoosh!*

The air shrieked as Rem’s command barked out. That voice was etched into the very marrow of his soldiers. By pure reflex, the man in the line of fire braced himself. During group drills, Rem would occasionally shout directions, and failing to follow them usually resulted in shattered ribs.

The soldier dropped. It wasn’t a tactical move; it was a desperate collapse born of instinct.

*Thud!*

The axe that had whistled through the air collided with the man’s sword exactly where the soldier’s chest had been moments before. A piercing metallic ring echoed through the clearing. It wasn’t Rem’s primary weapon, but a handaxe he’d hurled. Rem was a natural with anything he could throw, turning simple tools into guided missiles. Yet, the stranger had parried it with casual ease.

The sword had been on a path to disembowel the soldier, but the man had tracked the incoming axe mid-swing, altered his trajectory, and swatted it away without losing his footing or his composure.

“Where the hell did a freak like this come from?” Rem asked, stepping off the platform. The gap between them disappeared in an instant.

The man swung again, a silent, sudden strike aimed at Rem’s skull. Rem answered with a brutal upward arc of his own axe. One blade descending, the other rising—the two weapons collided in mid-air.

*Clang! Screeeech!*

G sparks showered as the metal locked. They both tried to overpower the other, but the force sent them rebounding sideways. Rem dug his heels in, absorbing the impact, and immediately whipped his arm forward. His axe blurred through the air like a streak of lightning. It was a blow that rivaled the Will-powered strikes of Enkrid himself.

*Boom!*

The axe seemed to skip through space, buried deep in the man’s head. Or so it appeared. There was no spray of crimson. It was nothing but a lingering shadow.

The swordsman had shifted his weight and ducked at the last possible microsecond. It looked like a stroke of pure luck. Like hell it was.

Rem knew better. The man had evaded with surgical precision, seemingly cutting through the flow of time itself. As he ducked, he lunged with his sword.

*Impressive.*

Rem felt a flicker of genuine respect. The move was flawless. Most fighters would have tried a grand counter-move after such a close call, but this man simply gripped the base of his blade and thrust along the most direct path. A Sword Grip Thrust. It was a fundamental move, but in the hands of a master, it was lethal.

*This isn’t ending quickly.*

Rem drove his left leg forward in a snap-kick. He intended to dodge the blade with a simple tilt of his head, tracking the point the entire way. But the stranger didn’t overcommit. He evaded the kick and leaped backward, resetting into a high, two-handed guard.

Rem rested his axe casually on his shoulder. Their styles were worlds apart.

“Tch. What kind of nuisance are you?” Rem grumbled. The man’s stance was bothering him. It felt hauntingly familiar. Brown hair, brown eyes—calm as a still pond one moment, violent as a storm the next. A bizarre individual.

“Why do you care?” the man replied.

“I didn’t actually give a damn, you prick.”

Rem wasn’t one for pleasantries, especially for an arrogant stranger who rubbed him the wrong way. The swordsman stepped in, adjusting his center of gravity. He was pouring his entire being into a single, decisive blow, his determination manifesting as Will. He wasn’t trying to crush Rem with pressure, but the intensity was undeniable. It was the mark of someone who had reached the pinnacle of heavy sword arts.

Rem’s thought was simple: *So what?*

His axe began to vibrate as he lifted it. He would shatter whatever parlor tricks this man was trying to pull. He timed his move to meet the falling sword. Power surged from his feet through his core, ignited by sorcery. The Heart of Might roared to life, and the momentum of a Giant Cleave followed through.

*CRACK!*

An explosion like a falling star rocked the area, sending out a violent shockwave.

“God, they’re both monsters,” a soldier whispered, though the sentiment was shared by everyone watching.

Rem didn’t kill him. He halted the axe’s edge just as it brushed the man’s hair.

With master-level precision, he had shifted the angle of his blade at the last second, redirecting the lethal force while absorbing the recoil. Simultaneously, he had punched the flat of the sword with his left hand, hooked the man’s leg, and swept him off balance. These were techniques he had perfected while sparring with that bastard Ragna after Enkrid’s departure.

The exchange ended with the axe resting on the stranger’s head. With the strength of a knight behind it, the sheer weight of the weapon was enough to split a skull without even swinging.

The man was down on one knee, blood trickling from a dented shoulder plate.

“I’m going to ask you a question. You better give me the right fucking answer.”

Rem’s voice was cold enough to freeze blood. This wasn’t the “training” persona. This was the killer. If his usual intensity was a flickering candle, this was a forest fire. If the answer didn’t satisfy him, that axe was going all the way through.

“What’s your connection to that aimless idiot?” Rem demanded.

—

While Rem was busy with his duel, Audin had encountered an intruder of his own.

The man had blond hair, blue eyes, a sturdy jaw, and a massive frame—though he still wasn’t quite as large as Audin.

“I’m searching for someone,” the blond stranger stated.

Audin considered asking how he’d bypassed security, but decided it didn’t matter. Whether he’d snuck in or walked through the front gate, the ordinary guards wouldn’t have been able to stop a man like this.

Lua Gharne stood at Audin’s side, her large, amphibian-like eyes darting as she scrutinized the newcomer.

“Where did this one crawl out from?”

Her unique vision allowed her to measure the depths of a person’s potential. *I can’t see the bottom.* She had watched Enkrid grow for years and knew his boundaries well. But with certain people—specifically those at the level of a knight—her eyes hit a wall. She used that lack of clarity as a gauge for how dangerous someone was. This man was definitely knight-caliber.

“I was told he might be in this area, but I’m beginning to wonder if that was accurate.” The man was incredibly deliberate with his speech, often leaving his sentences hanging.

Audin offered a polite, practiced smile. “I believe it would be proper for you to introduce yourself first, brother.”

The blond man didn’t respond. He hadn’t made a move yet, but Audin’s gut told him a sword could be drawn at any second. He instinctively shifted into a combat stance, feet wide, arms loose—ready to seize and crush anything that came near.

“What I really need is to confirm a name. Are you Enkrid?” the man asked abruptly.

Rophod and Pell, watching from the sidelines, both had the same thought: *Is this guy for real?*

In these parts, Enkrid was a legend—the Demon Slayer, the Hero of the Border, the man who brought the civil war to a close. The stories were always the same: black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a face that could make any woman lose her mind.

“Does he look like a heartbreaker to you? Seriously, look at his face. No chance,” Pell muttered. Whether the term was “heartbreaker” or “lady-killer,” it certainly didn’t fit Audin.

Audin, who was usually quite content with his appearance, could only feel a bit insulted by the commentary.

“…Shepherd brother?”

“If it’s not the truth, it’s not the truth,” Pell said, looking away.

“It definitely isn’t him,” Teresa added immediately. She was standing nearby and made sure to emphasize the point to avoid any possible confusion.

“Sister Teresa?”

“I’m just making sure there’s no misunderstanding, Audin.”

*Is this what you call helping?* Audin’s expression asked.

“What kind of moron doesn’t recognize our leader? He might not melt hearts with his looks, but he’ll gladly rip a man in half for a laugh. Watch yourself. You just offended Sir Audin,” Rophod chimed in.

“So now I rip people apart for fun?” Audin asked.

“Well, didn’t you? Back in the Holy Infantry, we were told we’d be torn in two if we messed up the drills.”

Audin wondered if his training methods were the problem. Maybe he’d been too easy on them. After all, a truly rigorous schedule shouldn’t leave men with enough breath to gossip.

The blond stranger blinked. He hadn’t heard those specific descriptions before, but one thing was obvious: the massive man in front of him was a force to be reckoned with.

“That’s irrelevant,” the man said. A new spark of excitement and joy replaced his casual look. “Let’s test your strength.”

Before the sentence was even finished, Audin knew the attack was coming. The pressure hit him first.

As the sword sliced through the air, golden light coalesced in Audin’s hands. A suit of armor forged from concentrated holy energy rose to meet the blade.

*Clang!*

The divine power in Audin’s gauntlets collided with the Will coating the stranger’s sword. Audin reflexively used Divine Penetration, forcing the man to break contact immediately to bleed off the energy.

The attacker used a traditional one-handed sword, colored in shades of white and pale blue. It was a high-quality weapon, clearly built for serious combat. This was a man who had seen many battles.

Audin analyzed his opponent’s style. He was fast, precise, and experienced. The stranger, meanwhile, was assessing Audin. That rumor about ripping men in half might not have been an exaggeration. The sheer power and technique were terrifying; Audin had nearly caught his blade to snap it.

“This is getting interesting,” the man noted.

Audin picked up a familiar vibe from him. It was as if someone had taken the best traits of Enkrid and Ragna and mixed them into one person.

“I am Odinkar Zaun.”

“And I am Audin Fumrey. I command the holy light.”

“Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Zaun—the same name as Ragna. The man calling himself Odinkar raised his sword, a soft glow shimmering along the steel. It was Will, perfectly controlled and vibrant. He had clearly breached the wall that separated masters from common soldiers. He was a true prodigy.