A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 688

Chapter 688

Enkrid was no stranger to the life of a scout or a mercenary. There was a period in his past when he took on any task available just to scrape together a few coins. However, that history didn’t imply he was sloppy in his work. Analyzing the environment—spotting footprints in the dirt or identifying snapped twigs to find a trail—was an instinctive process for him.

This was particularly true now, as branches had been forced upward to indicate a path, a clear signal left by Grida. Normally, a person pushing through brush causes branches to dip or lean forward; an upward bend was a deliberate signpost. At consistent intervals—roughly thirty paces for a grown man—these markers appeared. It was a quiet gesture of consideration from an expert scout for those trailing behind.

Following them was simple work. The group ahead was bound to move slower than Enkrid, especially with Ragna carrying Anne, which naturally hindered his agility. Despite the ease of the trail, Enkrid couldn’t help but worry about the status of his companions. Had they run into further trouble?

He turned the possibilities over in his mind as he ran. Had the rival spellcaster anticipated their detour? If that were the case, there might be another massive hex waiting for them, perhaps something else designed to warp their sense of direction. Was there a second layer to the barrier? He wouldn’t know until he reached it, so he kept his legs moving while his thoughts raced.

Deep down, he found himself dwelling on a different subject for his own amusement: the art of the blade. He couldn’t shake it. He had recently grasped the idea of “calculated swordsmanship,” which naturally suggested its counterpart—instinctive swordsmanship. The realization sent a pulse of pure excitement through him. This was a fresh frontier, and it felt within his reach. The joy of the discovery was so intense he felt he could burst with it.

*If I died of pure happiness right now and had to restart the loop, what would the Ferryman think?* Enkrid wondered. He could almost hear the entity’s dry, mocking response in his head, asking if he was serious. Perhaps one day he would actually see the Ferryman truly lose his composure.

Applying this new logic of calculation versus instinct, the abilities of his teammates fell into place. Audin and Jaxon were calculators; they weighed every factor and looked several steps ahead. Ragna and Rem, conversely, moved on pure feeling. They didn’t overthink; they just reacted, yet they always came out on top. Then there was Shinar, the outlier. Her style was built on harmony, redirecting a foe’s momentum against them. She was the middle ground, a balanced fighter who used an opponent’s own power to shore up any weaknesses. Her movements were like a cold mountain wind—a perfect fusion of logic and reflex.

Enkrid vividly recalled the way Shinar fought after her village was restored. Back then, he hadn’t fully grasped her technique, but now it was clear: she read a portion of his intent and filled the gaps with pure instinct. She might very well be the most talented among them. Jaxon’s old saying about how perfection doesn’t exist—only sharpness—seemed more relevant than ever. In the end, the sharper blade wins.

Enkrid’s path was set. He had to conquer instinctive swordsmanship next. It wasn’t just about masking his primary skills anymore; it was about forging a whole new weapon. This inward realization provided the answer to the question he had asked himself during his sparring match with Audin before their departure.

—

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” Magrun asked, adjusting his stride. He was thinking of Enkrid, who had stayed behind to hold the line. The darkness was far from over, and Magrun was certain this wasn’t the final confrontation. Whether it was a hex or a physical beast, something would inevitably try to stop them. While he didn’t fear for Enkrid’s life, the mystery of who was orchestrating these strikes weighed heavily on him.

Ragna was the one to respond. “He’s better off back there than I would be. He looked like he was having the time of his life.” Enkrid was the type of warrior who thrived in the heat of a challenge, yet never let his focus on the mission waver. Having spent two months at his side, Magrun had to admit that assessment sounded right. Enkrid had earned that level of confidence in a very short window of time. Still, a shadow of worry remained, though common sense dictated that even the most savage Scalers couldn’t truly threaten a knight of Enkrid’s caliber. Even Magrun could see Enkrid was exceptional.

“It was the smartest move for the situation,” Grida added, her voice carrying a hint of genuine respect. She was continually struck by Enkrid’s ability to make the right call instantly, even when the clock was ticking. It was as if he had navigated these exact dangers a thousand times before.

She wasn’t far from the truth. Through his repeated “todays,” Enkrid had lived these moments over and over, refining his judgment under the most brutal pressure. Grida simply viewed it as incredible natural talent. She realized that if the whole party had stayed to fight, they would have just wasted precious time. By staying alone, Enkrid dictated the terms of the fight. Since the Scalers lacked a leader to coordinate them, they couldn’t pursue both groups effectively.

*I still don’t understand why a mutated specimen appeared,* Grida thought. But she pushed the thought aside. Once they reached Zaun, they would find the answers. Surely the village knew what was happening in the surrounding lands, especially since Odinkar had ridden ahead to alert them.

As Magrun was lost in thought, Enkrid suddenly caught up with the group. He didn’t look tired; he looked energized.

“I need to master instinct now,” Enkrid announced.

“…What?” Grida asked, blinking. She had been ready to praise him for catching up, but his statement caught her off guard.

“I have the basics of the path down. It’s not an impossible hurdle,” Enkrid continued, moving alongside Ragna. Ragna didn’t even flinch at the comment.

“What the hell are you talking about, you crazy bastard?” Grida hissed. She was so distracted she nearly tripped over a thick root, but she simply crushed it under her boot and kept going with the raw strength of a knight. The wood splintered loudly under her weight.

“Is he suffering from some kind of toxin?” Magrun asked, slowing down to check on him.

“No, he’s always like this,” Ragna replied. Even after two months together, this particular brand of intensity was a lot to handle.

“I’m moving to instinctive strikes now. No more processing, just reacting,” Enkrid muttered. He wasn’t ignoring his friends, but he was clearly deep in his own world. Then, he shifted back to reality. “By the way, I took care of all the Scalers.”

“Now you tell us?” Grida sighed.

“There were four of the black variety. Is that common here?”

“You’re asking that *now*?” Grida retorted. If those creatures were local, it meant a monster den was dangerously close to the Border Guard and Martai—barely a ten-day ride away. These weren’t normal beasts either; they used psychokinesis and had reinforced, iron-like scales. After their encounter with Jericks the Ghoul in Oara, they knew monsters were capable of evolving and training, which made this a major threat.

“No, I’ve never encountered anything like them,” Magrun said, his expression turning grim. He was clearly anxious about what they would find at Zaun and worried about his own health.

“It’s strange. I expect more ambushes,” Enkrid noted. To most, “strange” would be an understatement, but Enkrid had seen too much to be rattled. If they couldn’t change the situation, they just had to deal with it. The others agreed, and they pressed on. The only thing that mattered was preparing for the next strike.

“We’re ready for it,” Grida said firmly.

“At this pace, we still have ten days to go,” Magrun calculated.

“We’ll get the full story at Zaun. Odinkar is already there,” Grida reminded them.

Magrun increased his speed. They kept their senses dialed to the maximum, though they didn’t run at a full sprint to avoid missing a trap. Conversation died down as they focused on the terrain. They ran through the entire night, but to their surprise, no one attacked.

At daybreak, Magrun paused, and Grida suggested, “Should we push until this evening? The little one will probably sleep better if we keep moving.”

Enkrid agreed. They continued their trek, sweating as they crested one ridge after another. There was no time for hygiene or comfort. They stopped only briefly at streams to refill their canteens and hunt for food. The Pen-Hanil Mountains were home to both normal wildlife and the beast-creatures—animals warped by monster influence. Deeper in the woods lay the true monsters, but they were staying clear of those heartlands for now. They caught a few animals, charred them over a fire, and ate the unseasoned meat just to keep their strength up.

Even Anne managed to eat when she was conscious. “I can’t take any more sedatives; it’ll wreck my system,” she told them. She spent her waking hours gripping Ragna’s back as they moved. “This is literal torture,” she groaned. Moving through rugged mountain terrain on someone’s back was a jarring, exhausting experience.

Enkrid found himself impressed by their progress. This wasn’t a flat road; they were leaping over boulders and navigating steep slopes, covered in a constant layer of trail dust. Everything they touched was coated in black grime.

Three days passed. Enkrid, Ragna, and Anne were all braced for a fight, but the forest remained silent. No smells, no sounds, no movement. They waded through a waist-deep river, stripping down to their trousers to keep their heavy gear dry, fully expecting an ambush while they were vulnerable in the water. Still, nothing happened.

Finally, they reached a landmark. “This is Lapata Gorge. I’d tell you the history, but we don’t have the time,” Magrun said, pointing toward the narrow path between high dirt walls. His voice was blunt, but Enkrid could tell he was actually disappointed he couldn’t play the host properly. It was as if Magrun wanted to show off the beauty of his home region, but the circumstances had robbed him of the chance.

The gorge felt ominous, but the detour would take too long. They moved through quickly.

“Why has it been so quiet?” Grida whispered.

“No idea,” Ragna replied.

It was bizarre. Even as they neared the outskirts of Zaun, there was no sign of the enemy. Enkrid’s confusion only grew until they finally arrived. Zaun was tucked into a high mountain basin, looking like a quiet, sturdy village. Aside from a few prominent buildings and the fact that every resident was armed, it looked peaceful.

Standing at the entrance was a man Enkrid recognized immediately—not from life, but from his own intuition. The man stood by a gate of massive sharpened logs. Just looking at him, Enkrid felt like he was staring at an unbreakable shield or a blade that could never be blunted. The man had a staggering presence; he was as immovable as a mountain, yet Enkrid knew that if he moved, he would be as destructive as a gale.

In his mind’s eye, Enkrid had pictured the thick brows and the lean, powerful frame before, but the sheer weight of the man’s aura was something else entirely.

“That’s the master of the house,” Magrun whispered. Enkrid didn’t need to be told. This was the head of Zaun, the patriarch of the warrior clan.

“You’ve brought visitors,” the master said.

As the man’s gaze fell upon them, Enkrid instinctively flared his own Will to counter the pressure. At the same time, a cold realization struck him. The master’s tone was neutral—as if he didn’t know who they were. If Odinkar had truly made it here first, how was that possible?