A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 669

Chapter 669

Every commencement eventually meets its conclusion.
Whether one is savoring a decadent meal, immersing themselves in the cadence of a melody, or two individuals are entwined in physical intimacy—all things must finish.
Enkrid wiped away a thin trail of blood from his nose with his sleeve. The rush of the fight began to ebb. It wasn’t the triumph itself that provided him satisfaction, but rather the engagement of the struggle. Now, his mind returned to a state of stillness.
He had estimated correctly from the beginning—Penna had been sufficient for the task.
“I honestly expected you to give up halfway through.”
The female warrior remarked. She was resting on one knee, gazing up at him.
The onlookers who had been lingering in the periphery, watching from the darkness, realized the intensity had cooled and stepped into the open to watch.
A youngster with wide, gleaming eyes spoke up, asking,
“Who won?”
The woman with the sword provided the reply.
“I did. I lost.”
There had been no genuine malice or desire to kill between them. This wasn’t a struggle for survival; it was an evaluation, a trial.
It was, essentially, a blunt exchange of skill.
Enkrid hadn’t fully committed his entire spirit to his blade either.
Success in combat isn’t determined solely by technical prowess.
The realization hit him once more. Judging by the exchange between himself and the woman, he possessed the superior level of pure talent.
But what would have occurred in a lethal confrontation?
She hadn’t revealed her full potential.
Naturally, Enkrid had held back as well.
“How do you stay so relentless?”
The warrior inquired. Enkrid studied her features again, searching his memories for a connection.
“Now I remember where I recognize you from.”
“Pardon? You’ve seen me before?”
They had crossed paths in the past, though only for a moment. He hadn’t placed her immediately because the interaction had been so brief. However, seeing her up close triggered something buried in his mind.
Despite the passage of years, her appearance remained remarkably consistent, which allowed the old memory to resurface.
It was the day Ger and Pete lost their lives, during his tenure as a mercenary. That was the period when he was first burdened with the reputation of The One Who Gets His Comrades Killed.
She was the individual who had dispatched the outlaws.
She had intervened when he was at his breaking point, right after Ger and Pete had given their lives for him.
Looking back, that title had haunted him for years. It was the reason he had transitioned from the life of a mercenary to that of a wilderness guide.
“At the time, I mistook you for a man in disguise,”
Enkrid remarked. It was likely due to her cropped hair. Her chest had been shielded by a breastplate, and with only her facial features exposed, her gender hadn’t been obvious.
Currently, her hair was significantly longer than it had been in those days.
A chance meeting from his mercenary past had come full circle here in the present.
“Hmm, this feels like a first meeting to me,”
the swordswoman stated.
Enkrid had encountered countless people throughout his travels, but it had been ages since anyone had looked at him with such genuine, unclouded eyes.
She seemed purely interested in his martial skill—his physical appearance didn’t seem to hold any weight for her.
“Our paths crossed once, very briefly,”
Enkrid said as he returned his blade to its scabbard.
She harbored no ill will, and she had saved his life once—even if she hadn’t intended to specifically rescue him.
“Really? I doubt that. I have a very strong memory for faces.”
There was something in the way she carried herself—Enkrid couldn’t quite pinpoint it—but she reminded him intensely of Ragna.
“What made you attack me?”
He questioned. Since it had happened so long ago, he didn’t expect her to recall the event, and their recent bout hadn’t been fueled by lethal intent.
“Just looking at you… it made my blood start to race.”
She smirked, showing her genuine emotions without any pretense. It was a smile of complete honesty.
To anyone else, it might have sounded like the words of a lunatic.
*That’s the reason? Just because your blood was boiling?* would have been the standard reaction.
But Enkrid grasped the meaning instantly.
There are times when the blood simply demands it, and that is justification enough.
“Madness.”
Venzance, who had arrived unnoticed, shook his head in disapproval. To him, such a reason sounded entirely insane.
Surviving the hail of arrows and the edge of blades on various battlefields had taught him that longevity was mostly a matter of fortune—being struck by a stray blade or a random projectile was just an occupational hazard.
There was that one time Enkrid had saved me.
When he had been collapsed, filled with bitterness, beneath a tent engulfed in flames—Enkrid had hoisted him onto his back and carried him to safety.
Enkrid caught Venzance’s eye and gave a small nod of recognition.
The Guard Captain had appeared after receiving reports of the commotion. He must have hurried to the scene the moment he heard the news.
Venzance signaled to several marksmen. The troops who had been encircling the area with their crossbows began to stand down.
Enkrid and the woman had both been aware of the soldiers gathering and boxing them in—but they had simply paid it no mind.
The guards and Venzance were aware they couldn’t truly restrain them. However, they couldn’t simply do nothing. This was the only logical course of action.
The Border Guard’s Peacekeepers weren’t tasked with defeating knights—they were there to buy a few precious moments.
This entire display was a stark reminder of exactly how hazardous knights were across the lands.
A roaming disaster.
That was Venzance’s assessment of knights. If one of them lost their composure and started swinging, dozens—or even hundreds—could perish in an instant.
Of course, following such an event, the woman would likely have been executed by Enkrid’s own hand.
But no authority would ever waste a knight on a mere slaughter.
They were far too scarce and precious for such tasks.
Furthermore, they were still mortal—if you launched hundreds of arrows, eventually one would find its mark. Even in full plate armor, a ballista bolt would prove fatal.
Perhaps someone of Audin’s caliber could withstand it, but a standard knight could not.
They could evade once or twice—but eventually, they would be hit and die. That is why such confrontations were rare. Almost unheard of.
Therefore, what the woman had claimed was likely the truth. She had traveled here for a different purpose, but upon encountering Enkrid, her instincts took over and she struck.
Enkrid, meanwhile, was reflecting on why he had felt such a sense of joy during their exchange.
She wasn’t unrefined. She wasn’t a fraud.
He knew the difference from experience.
If someone follows the path of knighthood with a rigid objective and a stifling system, the result is merely a hollow imitation. The Holy Nation was notorious for churning out such replicas.
If you force a person down a track with a set conclusion, you end up with empty faith and artificial resolve. That isn’t what defines a knight.
From Enkrid’s perspective, that was insufficient.
But what about the woman standing before him?
She had carved her own trail and reached this level through her own strength.
He could sense it in the way she handled her weapon.
“If she’s been dealt with, then escort her away, Commander.”
Venzance spoke up. He clearly wasn’t pleased with the turn of events—but he remained focused on his responsibilities.
*Is there no way to stop knights from wandering into cities at will?* *Or some way to immediately neutralize them if they start causing trouble?* Hearing Venzance’s words, Enkrid remembered that the woman had mentioned looking for someone.
“Did you locate the person you were seeking?”
“I believe so. There can’t be more than two people with that level of skill.”
The Mad Knights of the Border Guard had earned quite a reputation.
It wasn’t like their previous standing—this was a new kind of notoriety. The woman had pursued the whispers and finally asked:
“You’re Enkrid the Heartbreaker, correct?”
*Damn you, Pell.* Enkrid suspected that at least half the responsibility for that name spreading rested on Pell’s big mouth.
The other half, naturally, belonged to Shinar.
“That’s him.”
Venzance answered on his behalf. Enkrid shot him a look—was that supposed to be a joke?
“It’s not entirely inaccurate,”
he grumbled.
“And then there’s the bear beastkin who dismembers people.”
There were tall tales that the bearkin had slaughtered both manticores and soldiers alike.
“True. Although he isn’t actually a beastkin,”
Venzance replied once more. He remained cautious, but he wasn’t refusing to cooperate.
He had enough intuition to realize this woman hadn’t come for a bloodbath.
“And there’s the savage who starts salivating and crushing the skulls of nobles the moment he sees them.”
That one felt particularly pointed. But rumors always expand like a sickness.
Regardless, Enkrid corrected the record.
“I don’t salivate.”
“Oh, is that so? And the bloodthirsty youngest one, right? The one who enjoys stabbing people when they aren’t looking? I also heard there’s a fairy here with the blood of demons.”
In reality, a fairy who despised demon blood.
“A witch in disguise.”
That was also partially true—but not quite.
Esther had even established her own magical unit under his command. She wasn’t concealing her nature. Still, she was referred to by the moniker Black Flower.
“And there’s even a maniac who cuts down anyone who catches his eye. A blond man with crimson eyes, isn’t he?”
That was correct. Ragna Zaun. And considering the name…
“My name is Grida Zaun. That blond lunatic is my brother.”
The woman announced.
Enkrid wasn’t particularly shocked.
He recalled Ragna mentioning once that he had walked away from his family.
He hadn’t provided any specifics. Ragna wasn’t the sort to give detailed explanations.
But he had stated his surname was Zaun.
Their mastery of the blade alone was enough to make them famous.
“Enkrid of the Border Guard,”
Enkrid said, offering his hand.
Grida grasped it and pulled herself to her feet.
“You’re quite skilled. What do you think of me?”
“…In what regard are you—No. Don’t finish that sentence.”
Right next to them, Venzance was listening intently, and among the gathering was a cloaked figure—likely a fairy—observing from the shadows.
“I mean, what do you think of me as a woman?”
Ah.
“Exactly what I thought—”
someone whispered.
For the first time in quite a while, his old titles rang out through the Border Guard:
The Irresistible Commander.
The Charmer Knight.
The Seducer of Souls.
The Collector of Hearts.
At least half the people yelling were just looking for a reason to cause trouble.
Enkrid knew that giving them a reaction only fueled the gossip. And showing any frustration only encouraged the idiots.
So he simply committed a few of their faces to memory.
*Clink.* In the crowd, a fairy let a bottle slip from her grasp.
She looked completely stunned—and she didn’t even bother to retrieve it before vanishing into the throng of people.
Enkrid watched her depart, then finally turned back to the woman.
“Ragna should be over at the quarters.”
“Got it. But seriously, you’re really not interested?”
“No.”
“Oh, did you have some kind of accident? Is it missing?”
“Is what missing?”
“That.”
Grida was, in many ways, an exact mirror of Ragna. She was completely indifferent to social norms. She lifted a fist and gave it a suggestive shake.
“I still have it,”
Enkrid shot back instantly.
“Ah, so your taste is…?”
“No, it isn’t.”
“You just don’t find me appealing, then?”
Grida nodded with an odd sense of certainty. She didn’t look offended—it simply didn’t seem to matter to her.
Then she spoke again.
“So, when did we actually meet?”
They had just been clashing with steel moments ago, but now they were having a perfectly normal conversation.
Enkrid far preferred this type of dialogue over people speculating on the status of his anatomy.
“It was when a camp got hit and several bandits were killed. You probably don’t recall—it was over in a flash.”
“Things like that happened all the time.”
“Did you get turned around on your way here?”
It wouldn’t be shocking, considering she was related to Ragna.
“No, not exactly. Truthfully, I was just drifting around. Hunting for Ragna was entertaining for a while, but I found other things to do. I made a show of looking, but then the family sent reinforcements.”
“So you aren’t here by yourself?”
“Correct. They should be scouting the area right now. If someone ended up injured, try to take it easy on them. They’re all the type who can’t wait to show off their own skills.”
He would have to check and see who had been hurt.
“Story of my life,”
he remarked flatly, ignoring the “heartbreaker” comments following him as he walked away.
Venzance began clearing the area, and Enkrid increased his pace.
When he stepped into the barracks, the interior was full of noise.
“You finally showed up?”
Rem was the first person he encountered. Beside him sat a grim-faced male warrior. A crust of dried blood had formed over a wound on his forehead.
“Did you lose?”
Grida asked the man.