A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 681

Chapter 681

“What are you doing?”
Anne, who was currently splattered with gore, questioned.
Enkrid, gripping a piece of timber that was already ablaze, answered,
“Just messing with some fire.”
With those words, he hurled the flaming branch into a cluster of parched brushwood. The area had seen no rainfall for several days, causing the tangle of dark, prickly shrubs to ignite immediately.
Fwoooosh!
In just a few moments, the wall of heat and light had already climbed to the height of Enkrid’s midsection.
“…I’m sorry?”
Anne pressed for more detail, though the rest of the group had already deduced the logic behind Enkrid’s actions.
The night was pitch black. He intended to illuminate the immediate area and force out any entities that might be lurking in the shadows.
They stood by in silence as the blaze expanded, eventually towering over every person there. One might have imagined a spectral titan composed of embers had descended upon their camp.
Enkrid, his eyes fixed on the roaring heat, sharpened his internal focus even further.
Where are they?
He remained on high alert, shifting his body to shield Anne. That specific scent was still hanging in the air. Ragna, noticing Enkrid’s tactical adjustment, moved in to cover Anne’s rear.
“What’s going on?”
Anne hadn’t picked up on the murderous aura herself. However, it required very little intuition to realize the situation was dire—the two men were clearly forming a defensive perimeter around her.
A predator had been sliced apart right above her head, and its lifeblood had stained her.
“It looks like you’ve got a price on your head. You didn’t happen to vanish after pocketing someone’s krona, did you?”
Enkrid remarked, his tone carrying a trace of dark humor.
Grida shot a look at Anne. If the person requiring protection became paralyzed by fear, it would complicate things. Why would he make such a joke now?
Anne, however, remained composed. If anyone possessed unshakable resolve, it was her. She had navigated journeys alone with merchant groups and had sought out the border guard on her own initiative.
“Not a significant amount.”
Anne wiped the dark stains from her skin.
“So you are in debt?”
“Only a bit. It was a crisis at the time. If they actually show up to collect, you’ll have to help me settle the tab.”
“Uh, sure thing.”
Prior to his enlistment with the border guard, Enkrid had earned his living as a hired blade. For much of that career, he was paraded around by high-born ladies like a decorative doll, but he hadn’t come away from that life without learning a few things.
If the mark was obvious, the placement of the protectors needed to be just as deliberate.
“What exactly is this?”
Ragna felt an instinctively foul sensation in his gut, and Enkrid, relying on his years of experience, identified the source.
“An incantation.”
That single word provided all the clarity needed.
Anne embraced her role perfectly—she remained quiet and didn’t move an inch.
The shadow-play had commenced just before the middle of the night, and they endured the remaining hours in that exact state.
The flames didn’t travel far. The lack of dense vegetation in the immediate vicinity kept the fire contained.
“I assume you don’t intend for us to perish in a forest fire?”
At some point, Grida had skillfully ignited a controlled backfire to manage the spread of the inferno.
They finally saw the first light of morning through a curtain of ashen smoke. Even then, the hidden foe refrained from attacking. When the backfire was roaring and the smoke obscured their sight—the ideal window for a strike—nothing occurred.
No one voiced the thought, but Grida had initiated that controlled burn specifically as a lure. Managing the fire’s perimeter was only half the goal.
Still, the assault never came.
Enkrid became lost in his own reflections.
Are they being careful? Or are they intimidated?
Perhaps it was a combination of both. It was impossible to be certain without laying eyes on the adversary. In truth, he likely wouldn’t have known for sure even if he had seen them.
Every member of their party was capable and far from spent. However, maintaining a state of high vigilance throughout the night was incredibly draining.
It was a night that grated on the psyche—or more accurately, a night that slowly eroded one’s mental fortitude.
“This is getting tedious.”
Odinkar remarked quietly, watching the sun begin its ascent.
Enkrid offered no reply. His mind continued to churn.
Do they view us as targets?
The suffocating aroma that had persisted through the night dissipated as dawn arrived. Perhaps the scent infused into the dried petals had simply faded away. Or, more likely, someone had intentionally retrieved the flowers that had been placed right under their noses.
He was certain it was the latter. The sensation had been identical to standing in a standoff against drawn blades all night.
An opponent whose location was impossible to pinpoint.
What is the nature of this enemy?
He couldn’t find the answer.
Only one fact was undeniable.
While Odinkar might find it tedious, Enkrid did not share that sentiment.
Enkrid never turned his back on a confrontation. This was a facet of his character that even Grida and Magrun failed to fully grasp.
Regardless of the conditions of the fight, Enkrid was a combatant who refused to yield. If he didn’t possess this innate stubbornness, he never would have survived the protracted battle that was his life.
He would have walked away the moment he was bested by a child a decade his junior.
Because combat isn’t always the act of clashing steel against steel.
Often, it is the act of defying a world that demands your surrender—or fighting the part of yourself that wants to give up.
And other times, it is about dragging the schemes of cowards out from the shadows.
“We need to find some water. I have to clean up.”
Enkrid announced. Anne was still covered in the blood of the beast. Hygiene was the immediate priority.
The group was in total agreement. Grida stood up and guided them toward a small creek she had identified the night before.
“Follow me. There’s a stream this way.”
She was a peerless scout. Enkrid had experience in that field himself, but even the finest trackers he had encountered couldn’t rival Grida’s natural talent.
She interpreted the land with incredible speed and precision. While Magrun had been the one to start the journey, it was Grida’s expertise that had brought them this far.
Even now, she steered them toward the water without hesitation.
While she had been foraging for wood, she had already mapped the terrain—sampling the dirt, observing the patterns of tree limbs, and noting the vibrancy of the foliage. She hadn’t needed the water then, but she had located it regardless.
That was the mark of a true pathfinder.
Grida had also cataloged the trails where predators might roam, signs of unnatural creatures, and even the waste left by local wildlife.
In reality, by her professional standards—which were elite—the previous night’s ambush was an anomaly.
Statistically, it shouldn’t have happened. Or at the very least, there should have been precursors.
She had mapped out a route specifically designed to bypass such hazards.
It feels as though someone placed a concealed snare.
At times, a gut feeling is just as lethal a tool as a blade. Grida understood this well. And there was something definitely bothering her.
However, she didn’t have the language to describe it yet.
As they progressed, her prediction proved accurate—the stream materialized. It was shallow, barely covering their ankles, and trickled softly beneath them.
Grida turned back to look at the others. From where she stood, she watched the freckled woman who served as their healer. Her name was Anne.
Why would anyone hunt her?
She appeared no older than twenty. Perhaps even younger. She was barely an adult by most standards. She was a gifted medic, certainly.
That was the extent of Grida’s knowledge.
There might be an underlying motive—a past transgression or some other secret. Something Grida wasn’t privy to.
But even taking that into account, the situation felt wrong.
The foe had remained hidden in plain view, even in an area with no cover.
How is that possible?
How could someone evade not just her senses, but the combined intuition of the entire party?
It seemed impossible. And if they possessed that level of skill, why resort to such games?
The logic of the situation refused to align.
At the water’s edge, the party cleaned themselves, replenished their flasks, and allowed the mounts to drink. After a brief period of recovery, they set out once more.
“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Anne remarked, glancing at the sky. She then turned her eyes toward the horizon and added,
“But there’s still quite a distance to cover.”
Beams of light pierced through thin layers of cloud. The day was radiant.
Aside from the small grove they had entered to access the stream, there was nothing to block their line of sight.
This was especially true for the path ahead.
In the distance, several uneven mounds rose from the earth. But for the moment, the terrain was wide and exposed.
The dark earth lined their path as if it had been molded by giant hands.
“I’ve heard this region was once volcanically active. People say a flame spirit summoned by the Sacred Flame Sect used to dwell here.”
Enkrid surveyed the landscape as he spoke. He remembered the legends stating that the great eruption was the work of that entity.
The ground began a slow, upward tilt. If they maintained their heading, they would soon be climbing into the highlands.
Just past the hills in front of them, a soft mountain range came into view. This was a section of the Pen-Hanil Mountains—resembling the spine of a colossal creature stretching across the land.
“We should set up camp here for the night.”
Grida, taking her role as scout, made the call. Enkrid concurred. They had been on high alert for the entire day. It wasn’t what they had planned for.
Therefore, it was logical to rest and ensure they remained in peak fighting condition.
The pathfinder made the decision.
And there was no urgent reason to push the pace.
“The sickness that people call a hex—it doesn’t strike instantly or kill you in your sleep. It takes at least a fortnight to be fatal. Unless the nature of it has shifted.”
She looked toward Odinkar and Magrun to verify her facts. Magrun gave a nod of confirmation.
“That’s right. It’s a slow, painful end. There are specific markers we look for.”
“That’s good to know. It’s a weight off my mind.”
Ragna responded this time. Magrun looked over at him.
Relief? Are you actually concerned for my well-being?
Magrun had never shared a personal bond with Ragna. By the time Ragna had departed, Magrun hadn’t yet made a name for himself.
“So that implies… we still have a window of time to handle any unfinished business, right?”
Ragna continued.
Magrun, lacking any prior context for Ragna’s personality, assumed this was his natural state.
But could a man this motivated and intense really have walked away from Zaun just because he found his drills tedious?
Is there a piece of the puzzle I’m missing?
Magrun pondered. But he realized it was a pointless line of questioning.
“…Yeah. I suppose.”
Magrun answered Ragna, and the party organized two-man rotations for the night watch. Enkrid and Ragna would take turns resting.
“I absolutely loathe this sort of thing.”
Odinkar grumbled as he inspected his kit. In a fair, one-on-one duel, he was among the elite of the Zaun family. But he detested the process of hunting or being hunted by invisible foes.
If an opponent wasn’t going to face him with a blade in the open, why even bother?
That didn’t mean he was negligent. He had been trained in the arts of tracking by the Zaun, even if he had only put in the minimum effort required.
Enkrid took the opening watch alongside Odinkar. They utilized their packs to create simple shelters, leaving them open to the air.
The two of them sat by the entrance, yawning as the minutes ticked by.
Even Enkrid knew better than to propose a training session here.
“We’re not going to spar, are we?”
Odinkar asked.
Enkrid was tempted to berate him.
“Are you being serious? Or are you trying to use your sword while leaving your common sense behind?”
True sparring was impossible when your situational awareness had to be at its maximum.
If you focused on a duel, your defensive guard would inevitably slip. It was a dangerous trade-off.
“I’m aware of that.”
“You have a habit of asking things you already have the answer to. It’s an annoying trait. You should stop.”
Odinkar tended to weigh his words carefully, not out of fear of making a mistake, but because he found repeating himself to be a chore.
However, Enkrid always seemed to grasp his meaning, even sensing the intent beneath the words.
Because of this, Odinkar found it far simpler to be direct with him.
“You have a very grating way of speaking.”
“That’s probably true. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”
He possessed a talent for cutting through the noise, which made it easier for others to stop dancing around the point.
To understand that Odinkar was feeling conflicted, even without him saying it—that required a very sharp perception.
Odinkar let out a long breath and finally opened up.
“Unlike the successor locked away back home, Zaun represents my entire world.”
This was no secret. Odinkar had always been prepared to go back, and he never hid his loyalty or his pride in his bloodline.
“And?”
Enkrid prompted him to continue. Odinkar exhaled sharply through his nose.
“I have a terrible intuition about this.”
“A bad feeling? Elaborate.”
“It’s just a premonition. Like something has gone wrong with the family. I realize—as Magrun mentioned—we haven’t even reached family lands yet. We haven’t even crossed the Imperial border. We likely won’t until we cross those hills and that mountain range. And even then, it’s not truly part of the Empire.”
He gestured toward the distant peaks with his finger. It was still light enough for the view to be unobstructed.
Very little was public knowledge regarding the Empire’s internal layout. Even someone who grew up within the Zaun like Odinkar was in the dark about the specifics.
But that wasn’t his real concern.
“I just… I feel like I belong there, protecting them.”
It was a clash between his sense of duty and his current anxiety.
Enkrid didn’t try to offer empty comfort.
“It feels like I should be where I’m supposed to be, you know?”
Judging by his tone, Odinkar had likely never wanted any part of this particular task.
“Ragna Zaun—sure, I recognize the name. But couldn’t they have sent someone else to bring him back?”
“Then why did you agree to come?”
Enkrid asked, tracing patterns in the soil with a twig. The tip carved several lines—the geometry of sword forms.
“They told me no one else was up to the task.”
“Is that all?”
There was clearly more to the story. He went quiet.
Enkrid was well aware that Odinkar saved the most critical information for the end. It didn’t take a genius to notice the pattern. You just had to actually listen—it was quite transparent.
“The Patriarch personally told me to go.”
A direct order, then.
Enkrid understood perfectly.
Following their brief exchange, both men retreated into their own quiet thoughts.
Several hours passed, their watch concluded, and Ragna and Magrun took their places.
“Go get some sleep. The path ahead is long.”
Magrun said during the transition.
Even if they paused to catch their breath, the mission remained unchanged. Enkrid was fully aware of that reality.
He rested his head against his gear inside the small shelter and let his eyes drift shut—
And he knew at once that he was back on the vessel.
The familiar boatman stood before him once more. At the rocking edge of the craft, a violet-hued lantern cast its flickering light.
Beyond the pulsating purple glow, a pale face and a sharp, narrow jawline emerged from the darkness.