A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 689

Chapter 689

## Unexpected Returns

“Odin? Didn’t he arrive before we did?”
Magrun inquired.
The question stemmed from the exact same line of reasoning Enkrid had been tracing.
Odin was the shorthand for Odinkar. He and Magrun were practically joined at the hip. Magrun’s features shifted into a deeper shade of worry.
“You were traveling with him—so why are you asking me that?”
Was there any subtext to be found in the leader’s expression or his tone?
For instance, the actual reality behind his statement.
It was impossible to tell.
Enkrid didn’t assume the man was some sort of mythical creature incapable of falsehood.
That didn’t automatically mean the words leaving the clan head’s mouth should be taken as gospel, either.
But were they deception?
No.
He simply couldn’t decipher anything. That was the plain truth. Because he was met with a blank slate, he instinctively searched for whatever might be masked behind the speech.
Yet, nothing showed itself. This was a brand-new sensation for him.
Why?
He revisited what his gut had signaled and analyzed it with cold logic. The mental calculation was instantaneous—he had mastered this process long ago.
Zero. Not a single lead.
He couldn’t sense even a whisper of anxiety or distrust. The clan head’s voice was entirely neutral.
“I ordered you to retrieve Ragna, and you return after treating it like a leisurely stroll, I see?”
“Yeah, it was actually pleasant to see the sights. So Odinkar hasn’t shown up. And the clan is functioning normally?”
“It is business as usual. Why would it be otherwise?”
To Enkrid, the experience was like hearing a symphony where every musician played a different piece simultaneously. Pure discord.
Nothing wrong with the clan?
Yet, on the trek here, they had been obstructed by hexes, ambushed by a sorcerer, and even confronted by a bizarre beast of an unknown grade.
They had also noted that the Scalers they encountered were unprecedented in these lands.
“And the travelers moving in and out of the village haven’t faced any trouble?”
The Zaun clan maintained steady ties with three specific settlements: the village of hunters, the village of the retired, and the village of the middlemen. Those residents were in constant motion between the clan’s heart and their own homes.
If a crisis had struck, those hamlets would have felt the impact as well.
“You keep hinting at problems—so I take it you met with resistance on the path? And seeing how Magrun’s face went pale at the news of Odin’s absence, it wasn’t a minor scuffle. If this is a recent development, it might coincide with the visit from the village patriarchs. Heskal was acting as their guard.”
The clan head didn’t seem to acknowledge Ragna, Enkrid, or Ann at all.
Ann found herself unable to speak under the weight of the man’s chilling aura. Enkrid also stayed quiet—he was far too occupied with his scrutiny.
I still can’t pull a single thread from his voice…
However, one fact was undeniable: the clan head possessed incredible perception.
He had synthesized the situation and tailored his responses based on nothing more than a few facial twitches and a couple of inquiries.
And at that precise moment—another individual who disregarded social timing or location made his voice heard.
“I’ve returned to claim the sunrise,” Ragna declared, announcing his homecoming like a wayward son.
The clan head displayed neither shock nor agitation.
“You understand the process of taking it, don’t you?”
“I do. That is why I arrived while Father is still among the living. It seemed pointless to do it any other way.”
To a bystander unfamiliar with their ways, it would have sounded like a total abandonment of morality—a blatant show of disrespect.
But perhaps within the Zaun, such interactions were common. The clan head answered without a second thought.
“Correct. That is the proper way. You did well to return.”
Was that truly the appropriate reaction?
Even if someone disagreed, it wasn’t the place of an outsider to intervene. This was a matter of blood—a matter of the clan.
“You absolute lunatic, so that was your aim? When you mentioned you had to retrieve something?”
Grida was the only one reacting with any sense. Magrun, too, looked blindsided, whispering, “Then where the hell is Odin?” while he stared at Ragna.
It was certainly a claim worth being stunned by.
Enkrid, naturally, remained silent—not because he agreed, but because his attention was still fixed on the clan head.
The man remained positioned at the gate between the enclosures, not moving so much as a finger.
Then, with a suddenness that defied the previous stillness, his hand darted to his hip.
Enkrid nearly missed the brief motion because his focus had drifted for a split second.
The leader shifted his intent, coiled his muscles as if preparing his left hand, and Enkrid’s intuition screamed at him.
It was a realization born of pure sixth sense.
“Sharp reflexes.”
The clan head remarked as he unsheathed his blade.
The motion lacked any clunkiness. It was as fluid as a strand of hair caught in a breeze.
It was so seamless, in fact, that it tempted the observer to simply stand and watch.
The blade left the scabbard without a sound, lunging straight for the space between Enkrid’s eyes.
A lesser person would have flinched, but Enkrid held his ground.
He only acted when the steel crossed a phantom boundary he had drawn in his mind.
Chring.
The Tri-Iron Sword was pulled and lashed upward like a bolt of light. Simultaneously, Enkrid ran through dozens of potential trajectories the clan head’s weapon might take.
He interpreted and broke down the motion. The strikes that could branch from that single move numbered in the hundreds.
If I try to account for every single one, I’ll collapse from exhaustion first.
He transitioned into the Wavebreaker Sword Style in a heartbeat.
The Tri-Iron Sword lunged out like a lightning strike, cutting through the atmosphere.
Tap.
Before the onlookers could blink, the clan head had already stowed his blade back in its sheath. Enkrid whirled his extended sword through the air and guided it back into its housing as well.
Tring.
Beyond that minor ring of metal, there was no outward difference in their speed.
But I was bested.
Enkrid recognized the defeat.
The leader hadn’t even finished a full extension of his strike. Enkrid had been forced to.
And that was precisely what the older man had intended to provoke.
Would the outcome be different in a true life-or-death struggle?
A surge of combat spirit swelled in his chest. Some people wilted when faced with those more powerful than them.
But Enkrid had fought his way up through a mountain of corpses, battling enemies far superior to him.
Even after attaining the rank of knight, he had never succumbed to the delusion that he was invincible.
He simply found joy in the challenge, kept moving forward, and nurtured his ambition.
So, he didn’t back down.
“A single round?”
Ragna wasn’t the only person who ignored the appropriateness of the moment.
Grida and Magrun, both fully aware of what a “single round” implied, likely wanted to kick these madmen out of the settlement.
The clan head, however, merely pulled his lips into something that could loosely be called a grin.
If asked why it was only loosely a grin, the reason was that it contained no warmth.
“You have brought a fascinating companion, Ragna.”
“He is the leader of the knightly order I serve.”
“You serve an order? And he is your superior?”
Typically, such a question would be laced with astonishment, but the tone remained flat.
Or perhaps it wasn’t just flat—maybe he was truly empty of feeling. Still, can’t we just trade blows?
Enkrid was the type of person who could conduct a deep analysis while harboring rebellious whims all at once.
“Welcome. I won’t decline a match, but looking at your state, you don’t seem to be at your peak. Wouldn’t a rest be more prudent?”
“I am at my best right now.”
Enkrid countered.
“You’re out of your mind. Do it later. Right now, we have to find out what happened to Odin.”
Magrun cut in, and Enkrid was forced to concede the point.
Nonetheless, he didn’t believe anything had befallen Odinkar within the Zaun territory.
The logic was straightforward.
Was it even possible to detain a knight of his caliber without creating a massive uproar?
Secondly, Odinkar had traveled the very same path they had. If he had been waylaid or bested—
Would there really be no evidence of the struggle?
Doubtful.
There was no enchantment or hex that could mend shattered timber and leave no footprints behind.
“Sorcery is a pursuit of change, but it isn’t omnipotent. If it could manifest true miracles, Audin would be far more capable than I am.”
Esther had shared that bit of wisdom with him during a training session.
So, how had Odinkar vanished?
There was only a single plausible conclusion.
He left because he chose to.
Enkrid had arrived at a logical end using very little data.
The others might be overwhelmed by the eerie stillness following the attacks and the quiet within the Zaun, but if they looked at it without bias, the truth was obvious.
“Enter and explain what has happened. Your guest is invited to follow.”
The clan head turned and began walking into the interior.
His steps produced no sound. Despite his larger frame compared to Enkrid, he moved like a shadow.
Jaxon would have been stunned.
That was how silent his gait was.
Even the weapon strapped to his side didn’t rattle.
Regardless of what was beneath his boots, there was barely a creak from the flooring.
Facing him felt like staring at a mountain—but trailing him now felt more like a passing draft.
“The leader is powerful, isn’t he?”
Enkrid asked as they proceeded.
Grida rubbed his head in visible annoyance.
“One person arrives talking about the sunrise, another blabs about a ’round.’ Are you all touched in the head? And you’re asking if the clan head is strong? Of course he is, you idiot. Even if there were three of me, I’d be on the ground.”
Enkrid gave a brief nod.
If he faced three Gridas, he’d have to fight with lethal intent to survive. That’s what it would take.
A mere spar would never settle such a thing—and that was only because Grida didn’t have a fixation on winning.
Magrun, conversely, loathed losing. But if someone asked Enkrid to wager gold on a fight between Magrun and Grida—
He would put his money on Grida.
He had witnessed the gap firsthand.
That might be why Magrun lived through his encounter with Rem.
If Rem had genuinely felt his life was in danger, his weapon would have split Magrun’s head open.
“An outsider, is it?”
“It’s been quite a while.”
“Have you spotted Heskal? He promised to critique my forms today, but he’s off on some errand again. What a bore!”
As they scanned their surroundings, they saw the speakers.
The clan grounds were laid out like a hollow. It wasn’t crowded.
About twenty individuals were visible along the path they took.
One woman, in particular, caught the eye.
She was clad in heavy iron plating that shielded her arms, legs, stomach, and chest.
Larger than Teresa, Enkrid noted.
When their gazes locked, the woman cocked her head and offered a mischievous smirk.
Giants and humans shared a similar form aside from scale, but if one looked closely, the distinctions were stark.
Giants possessed larger features and an aura that humans couldn’t replicate.
Just as a human could step on an ant with overwhelming force, giants could do the same to mankind.
“Wow.”
The woman breathed out.
Grida, noticing her attention, waved and looked back at Enkrid.
“That’s Anahera. For her race, she’s considered the peak of beauty in our clan.”
Enkrid wasn’t one to judge people by their looks, but even he knew that sharp cheekbones and prominent tusks weren’t the standard definition of beauty.
The flattened shape of her ears, however, did give her a distinct look.
“A giant, then.”
Enkrid remarked, considering Grida’s words alongside his own observations.
“You’re too quick on the uptake. Makes it no fun to mess with you.”
Grida seemed to have shed some of his tension after the meeting with the leader.
It was likely the comfort of knowing that whatever happened, the clan head would deal with it.
Though it was called a clan estate, the structures were spread out, each possessing a wide yard. A massive spire rose in the center like a fortress tower.
It wasn’t a literal castle—more like a sprawling, grand estate.
The leader guided them toward that central building.
After taking in the report from Grida and Magrun, he didn’t hesitate before saying:
“I suspect he departed of his own volition.”
It might have been plain to a detached observer, but when you were involved, it was always difficult to remain clinical.
The clan head, however, had no such difficulty.
“But why would Odinkar do such a thing?”
Magrun asked, trying to keep up with the leader’s pace.
“That, I cannot say.”
The clan head gave a blunt answer.
“Your companion seems to have pieced it together already. Why don’t you share?”
“I was planning to mention it once we were settled. Or, you know, if someone actually bothered to ask.”
The leader glanced at Enkrid for a moment, but Enkrid still couldn’t see a single emotion in those eyes.
A perfect mask for keeping secrets, Enkrid thought, as he continued the walk.
“Who have we here?”
As they drew near the manor, a woman with golden hair stepped out and asked.
She was wearing an apron, but with his sharp senses, Enkrid could tell she had a pair of daggers tucked away under her skirt.
And she was clearly dangerous.
One could tell just from the way she held herself and the muscle tone in her arms.
“A visitor. And my son.”
“Well, he’s my son as well, so I obviously know who he is. You actually managed to find your way home? I assumed you’d spend your entire life wandering around in a daze.”
She greeted her absent son with words of sorrow—supposedly.
In reality, there wasn’t a hint of a tear. The woman—clearly Ragna’s mother—only wore a slight, knowing grin.
“Navigating is what I do best.”
Ragna replied.
“I’m sure it is.”
His mother lifted a hand as if to offer a greeting—
Ching.
—and unsheathed a sword. More accurately, she pulled two blades, one for each hand.
Perhaps this was their version of a two-handed welcome.