A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 682

Chapter 682

## A Leaner Silhouette

Was his jaw more defined?
The guide of the river appeared thinner than usual today, as if his physical form had diminished. Enkrid decided against mentioning it; there was little point in addressing an entity that never offered a verbal response.
Consequently, he maintained his silence. The quietude settled over the water like a heavy shroud.
Neither of them spoke. They simply observed one another through the shifting gloom.
Enkrid peered through the dark, wispy haze at the cloaked figure, who remained equally still.
There was no ripple in the air, no sign of movement.
Yet, despite Enkrid’s unblinking gaze, he suddenly realized the boatman was standing directly in his path.
A jolt of surprise struck him, but he did not recoil or lose his footing.
Even within this internal realm, Enkrid kept his composure. It was a stoicism that had been etched into his very soul.
The figure extended a hand without a sound. His palm, mapping out lines like parched, broken soil, entered Enkrid’s field of vision.
Something stirred within the dark fissures of that hand. As soon as Enkrid locked his eyes onto the writhing black streak, his surroundings shifted. He was no longer on the vessel upon the dark waters.
A phantom vision.
He didn’t need to analyze the change—he grasped the reality of it instantly.
Deciphering the ferryman’s motives was always a challenge. They had crossed paths numerous times, yet the figure remained a mystery of repetitive enigmas. Nevertheless, Enkrid accepted the vision being forced upon him.
“Ugh.”
The landscape and the sky were indistinguishable. Only blurred silhouettes flickered through the soot and rising heat—yet they were recognizable enough to pierce through the gloom.
Ragna.
Ragna spat a mouthful of crimson, smeared the blood away, and lifted his gaze.
“You claimed you never back down from a struggle. Well, don’t turn your back on this one.”
To whom was he speaking?
Behind Ragna’s translucent form, another figure seemed to be collapsed on the earth—barely a shadow.
It was too indistinct to name. Ragna’s presence evaporated like mist. He seemed close enough to grasp, yet impossibly far away.
It felt like witnessing a memory from a great distance.
The moment Ragna dissipated, a different shape materialized from the vapor.
“…Just accept it. I had the solution for everything. I was the victor.”
“You fool. Death is the ultimate defeat.”
“I am the cure-all, the universal remedy, the remedium omnia.”
What was she babbling about?
The phrases were nonsensical. Enkrid stopped trying to make sense of the logic and looked at the stakes.
Anne had been struck down by someone. She was uttering her final words.
Who was her audience?
The second party remained invisible. The voice was distorted—neither clearly male nor female.
“If you are dead, you have lost. You are a nullity.”
Anne coughed once more and dissolved into the fog.
The smoke swirled and reformed into a new shape—a man of advanced years.
He had heavy brows, sunken cheeks, and a powerful frame.
Enkrid couldn’t feel his spiritual pressure, but his physical presence spoke volumes.
A sharp face, devoid of any softness—this was a man who still honed his body, maintaining his edge despite the passing years.
He is reminiscent of Greyham.
There had been a commander in the border forces who refused to put down his blade despite his age, reaching the threshold of a knight. He was a pillar of human willpower, earned the devotion of every soldier.
“The time is never truly gone. I simply failed to take the step.”
A sentiment Greyham used to voice.
This stranger had clearly adopted and reshaped a philosophy Enkrid once held.
If he instinctively associated this man with Greyham, the two were likely cut from the same cloth. As a warrior schooled in the sensory arts, Enkrid’s gut feelings were rarely wrong.
The unknown man tensed and finally found his voice.
“Are you suggesting the blame lies entirely with me?”
Another swirl of mist brought Ragna back. His chest was painted with dried gore, and his once-clean chin was hidden beneath a crust of dried blood. Gripping his hilt, he challenged,
“Does it not?”
Whether the older man hesitated or not, Enkrid felt the reply came after a heavy pause.
“…I gave it my all.”
“Lies.”
Ragna’s retort was instantaneous, sharp as a blade.
The fog broke apart once more, and Enkrid found himself back at the edge of the vessel. The ferryman stood with his back turned, gripping a dim lantern.
“What is the purpose of these images?”
Enkrid demanded.
The ferryman pivoted his head just slightly. His face, hidden in the shadows of his hood, was a void—lacking features, just as it had been at their first encounter.
Then, in place of a vocal reply, a singular thread of intent struck Enkrid’s brow. It wasn’t a word, but a pure injection of meaning. Enkrid translated it into his own language.
“You will hold onto this, won’t you? See that you do not forget.”
And then the world returned.
A soft, fading light.
The sensations and colors were entirely different—this was the waking world.
“A nightmare?”
A voice reached him. Enkrid peered toward the tent flap and saw Magrun waiting there. The evening was just beginning. Behind him, the heavens had deepened into a rich indigo as the last of the sun vanished. His shadow fell long across the ground, touching Enkrid’s boots.
“It wasn’t a bad dream.”
Enkrid stood up as he spoke. The boatman’s purpose was as opaque as ever.
The previous warning about the nature of fire had clearly been a piece of guidance.
Before that, it had felt like interference.
Advice? Truly, the ferryman never provided the answers Enkrid actually sought. Perhaps that was the mark of a truly effective mentor.
A grim thought, and not one he’d share.
Regardless—what was the meaning of this latest showing?
He had merely been shown people and fragments of a fallout. The ferryman hadn’t uttered a single syllable. Even that parting thought felt out of character.
“Any news?”
“Nothing yet.”
Enkrid inquired, and Magrun shook his head.
The previous assault wasn’t a solitary incident. Magrun was aware of that. Everyone was. Enkrid most of all.
“You have that particular expression—like you’ve just been lectured by a ‘thoughtful academic.’”
Magrun remarked, seeing the gravity in Enkrid’s eyes.
“Pardon?”
“It’s a bit of Imperial dark humor.”
“How does it go?”
While Enkrid stretched his limbs to work out the stiffness, Magrun leaned against the tent, propping his chin on his palm.
He paused, weighing whether it was even worth the effort of an explanation.
Whatever. Let him make of it what he will.
“You know the type. It’s a joke that dies when you explain it. Academics always assume they’re the smartest in the room. They love the sound of their own voices and couldn’t care less if they’re understood. But the ‘thoughtful’ ones try to break the ice with a joke before dropping some heavy wisdom—which only serves to baffle everyone further. That’s the punchline. They’re considerate because they try to be friendly, but the stuff they talk about is still complete nonsense. Describing it just makes it worse.”
“Yes, it sounds worse.”
“Precisely. It’s an Empire thing. Don’t blame the messenger.”
“I didn’t.”
Enkrid stepped out into the open air. Ragna was staring vacantly at the horizon. Odinkar was positioned by the mounts, tracing the lines of a horse’s mane.
Anne was near Ragna, while Grida was looking upward, navigating by the first appearance of the stars.
“Clear skies tonight.”
Grida noted, acknowledging Enkrid’s presence. He gave a short nod and looked toward Anne.
“Did you find any rest?”
“I didn’t.”
He didn’t press her.
She had been covered in the blood of beasts, stayed awake through a harrowing night, and discovered she was the target of a predator.
Very few would find easy sleep under those conditions—unless they belonged to the Mad Platoon.
“Try to sleep tonight. Our pace will not slacken.”
“I understand.”
It would be a trial, but Anne was smart enough not to protest given the circumstances.
“We stay for one more sun.”
Grida’s comment indicated they would move tomorrow, not during the night. She had calculated this when they picked the camp.
She sparked a small flame. Enkrid retrieved their preserved food. He filled a container with water and began preparing a thick broth of dried meat and greens.
He gnawed on some travel rations as well. Kraiss claimed to have made them more palatable, but they remained the food of necessity.
He also added a portion of what warriors called “march-mix”—a powder of dehydrated meat, fish, and berries. When rehydrated, it provided far more energy than standard rations.
The flavor was irrelevant. It was fuel for a campaign.
If they hadn’t been expecting a fight, they might have scouted for fresh game. But that was a luxury they couldn’t afford.
A soldier’s morale is tied to their stomach. Knights were no different.
As he ate, Enkrid weighed their paths.
Option one: retreat to the walls of the city.
We haven’t traveled that far yet.
They had the horses. They could make a quick return.
Option two: escort Anne back and then return to this point.
If she is the target, the fortress is more secure.
Esther was stationed there. A mediocre sorcerer would find no purchase against her.
There was a greater density of soldiers as well.
However, Anne would likely refuse to be sent away.
Option three: request more men. It was a slower path, but more certain.
If Jaxon had been present the previous night, the intruder wouldn’t have slipped away so easily. His ability to track and detect was nearly peerless.
Option four: proceed with the current group.
The first three choices all involved a loss of time. And a delay might be exactly what their opponent desired.
Perhaps the raid wasn’t truly about Anne—perhaps it was a gambit to slow them down.
Should they increase their speed?
That was difficult.
Even if Ragna took Anne along, she lacked the constitution of a knight. Even if she survived the pace, it would break her.
Ragna also had his limits for a sustained sprint.
A true military march wasn’t about a single burst of speed. It was about sustaining a high pace while remaining ready for an engagement at any moment.
Carrying a passenger? Running? That would burn through their reserves.
Even if she endured, other complications would manifest.
“Do you find these sorts of conflicts tedious?”
Ragna asked from his side.
Enkrid answered without filter—his true perspective, delivered simply.
It was the way he always communicated with the Mad Platoon: Rem, Ragna, Audin, Jaxon, and Kraiss.
No deception, no masks. It was the reason they had never treated him with unearned spite.
So he replied naturally:
“I never back down from a struggle.”
The instant the words left his lips, Enkrid went still, staring at the embers with a sudden coldness in his marrow.
He slowly lifted his eyes to the surrounding ink-black forest.
That chill was a direct echo of the vision the ferryman had provided.
“Neither do I,” Ragna said with total sincerity.
And Enkrid realized—
The future?
Perhaps what the boatman had revealed wasn’t a shadow of the past or the present—but a glimpse of what was to come.
Or perhaps it was the “now” he was destined to be imprisoned in.
Just like before. The guide often offered broken shards of events that might unfold.
They didn’t always manifest exactly, but the reality was usually a close neighbor to the vision.
This time, he had delivered the images without a single hint.
For what reason?
It was a mystery.
Enkrid knew better than to spiral into speculation.
So—how to proceed?
Whittle down the options. Begin with the most practical.
What could be handled right this second?
He turned his gaze toward Odinkar.
Stress and unease were written all over the man’s features, even as he forced down his meal.
In that moment, a fifth path appeared.
Divide the party.
Odinkar possessed great strength—there was no certainty Enkrid would win a duel to the death against him. He knew the path back to Zaun, and his heart clearly pulled him toward a retreat.
“We should send Odinkar on ahead.”
Enkrid proposed.
Grida and Magrun looked up in unison.
“Is that not viable?”
He asked. They traded a meaningful look.
Odinkar blinked, then struck his palms together and said,
“Well, of course. That is a possibility. You always come up with the move no one expects. Fine. I will lead the way.”