A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 691

Chapter 691

“A blade,” he stated.
It was a short, sharp reply.
“An artifact?” Enkrid pressed. Judging by the title alone and the heavy energy vibrating around it, it was clear they weren’t discussing a common weapon.
He had understood that Ragna’s return was specifically to claim this item. That it was held by the patriarch and wouldn’t be relinquished without a struggle.
Reasoning through it, there had to be a prerequisite to obtain a thing called Sunrise—some demonstration of worth.
That much was evident from the current tension.
If Kraiss had been present, would he have begged for a mere glimpse?
This certainly wasn’t the kind of treasure one could view for a few gold pieces.
“It is a relic of the bloodline, inherited through the ages,” Ragna explained.
“…And you intend to take a family heirloom back to the Border Guard?” Enkrid questioned.
“I do.”
Ragna showed no hint of doubt. His voice remained as flat as when he had first identified it as a sword.
Enkrid was well aware that the youth possessed a peculiar character—unyielding and obsessed, certainly. To most, he likely appeared as a social misfit.
But not like this lunatic.
This person was truly out of his mind.
Walking off with a dynastic treasure to serve with the Border Guard? Who in their right mind would permit such a thing?
Without realizing it, Enkrid’s expression hardened. Noting the look, Ragna spoke up.
“That is insulting. Why are you glaring at me the way you glare at Rem?”
As he spoke, a cascade of water splashed down—drenching his hair and shoulders, trailing over his frame. He had stripped down during their talk and was now scooping water to rinse himself as they spoke.
Enkrid mirrored the action, pouring water over his own body. Grimy runoff swirled around his feet. Having gone days without a proper wash, the sensation was a relief.
“Think carefully about what you just claimed.”
Ragna didn’t hesitate.
“I see no issue with it.”
Enkrid shook his head, then stopped halfway, letting out a chuckle of grim amusement.
“A pack of lunatics. It’s no wonder they call us the Mad Order.”
In the past, Ragna might have ignored such a comment out of pure indifference. But the current Ragna was striving to comprehend the legacy he wanted to leave behind. He couldn’t let those words hang in the air.
Even when his existence had felt hollow, certain remarks had always been impossible to ignore. Words that sat heavy in the gut.
Enkrid’s comment was exactly that. So, applying the lessons he’d been taught, Ragna fired back a provocation.
“Isn’t that reputation because you spend your time shattering the hearts of women?”
Enkrid’s eyes shifted toward the Tri-Iron Sword leaning in the corner. A brief bout after bathing seemed like a perfect idea.
Ragna reclined against the rim of the massive wooden vat, tilting his chin up with a show of arrogance.
“At least you managed to leave behind one myth—the Heartbreaker.”
Despite not being the boy’s parent, Enkrid felt a spark of pride at how much the youth had matured.
He’s become much better at baiting people.
However, that didn’t mean his swordsmanship had improved at the same rate.
Could Ragna survive within the swirling vortex of steel? Was this the right moment to challenge the revelations he’d uncovered on the road?
Yes, Enkrid decided.
There was no logical reason. He simply felt the urge.
Logically, it was madness. They were meant to be cleaning up for a meal.
But Enkrid had just encountered Ragna’s father and mother again. He was agitated—simply put, his blood was singing.
*Splash.*
Enkrid lifted his hand from the water. Treating the liquid as a scabbard and his palm as a blade, he straightened his fingers and locked them tight, mimicking the edge of a sword.
Droplets sprayed, vapor clouded the room, and a chill breeze drifted through the steam. Enkrid’s hand sliced through the air, tracing a perfect vertical line.
“You insane bastard.”
“You insane bastard,” Ragna echoed back, voicing a sliver of his own thought as he raised his hand to intercept Enkrid’s strike.
*Smack!*
Water exploded in every direction from the impact.
Ragna locked eyes with those burning blue orbs.
Why the sudden assault? He didn’t care. He didn’t even want an explanation.
This was simply the nature of the man. And that was likely why he couldn’t bring himself to resent him.
It remained true even now.
Enkrid lived every moment as if it were his last. That outlook—perceiving existence through that sharp lens—was the greatest lesson Ragna had taken from him.
A day never squandered, regardless of the odds.
That was the path Ragna was now pursuing.
*What is it that I desire?*
He wasn’t sure. Perhaps he would never be sure. But did a lack of certainty mean one had to halt?
“Then trip forward into the unknown. Execute what is possible now.”
That was Enkrid’s constant refrain. Not through speech, but through his deeds. Through his posture.
Accepting that silent message, Ragna spoke.
“Let’s turn the bathwater red.”
Enkrid countered.
“With your blood, I assume?”
With a blank face, Ragna denied him.
“No.”

—

The chaotic, loud bathing session eventually concluded.
When they stepped out, shaking the grime from their old attire and setting it aside, clean garments had been provided by the staff.
“What on earth were you two doing in there? I told you to wash, not…”
Grida grumbled while wringing water from her damp hair.
From her perspective, it was a valid grievance.
Ragna’s hair looked like it had been shredded by blades. Enkrid had a purple welt forming on his cheek from a heavy blow.
“Conversing.”
“Playing in the water.”
Their explanations were at odds, but there was no point in digging deeper.
Enkrid gave a distracted reply as he examined his new clothes. Gray trousers made of a sturdy outer weave with a gentle inner lining, and a beige tunic of rough fabric.
His bracers and padded gambeson were stowed separately—green undergarments produced by a master druid of the Fairyfolk. His weapon belt and equipment remained fastened to his person.
Nobody made a comment. In the Zaun residence, being armed at all times was the norm.
Even in the kitchens, many carried twin blades. If you were a visitor, wearing a sword was the expectation.
Anne had also transitioned into a flowing, gown-like outfit and kept a pouch at her hip.
Since her hair was still wet, she couldn’t bind it, so she ruffled it out, letting it drape over her shoulders. Running her fingers through it a few times, she took a long, steadying breath.
She was here for a reason. She intended to raise the subject during the meal, which naturally made her feel on edge.
“Move out,” Grida commanded, guiding the party once more.
The aroma that greeted them in the dining hall was heavy and sharp.
They hadn’t enjoyed a proper feast in a long time—their expectations were high. Once inside, Enkrid tilted his head in thought.
Among those seated at the expansive oval table, one individual looked familiar.
Too much time had passed to pull the name to the surface immediately, but he was certain they had crossed paths.
Enkrid delved into his memories.
“Ray?”
The man noticed Enkrid as well. His eyes flared with shock, followed by a deep frown.
“…I never gave you my name. Enkrid of the Border Guard.”
His initial jolt turned into disbelief, and the words tumbled out before he could stop them.
Brown eyes. Common features. He had once visited the Border Guard with a thin rapier at his side. He had urged Enkrid to join him.
That piercing gaze was hard to forget. Despite the intensity of his eyes, his overall aura felt strangely mild.
As the memory solidified, Enkrid remembered the man’s long reach and speed.
“Hello there,” Enkrid said casually, lifting his right hand.
“I don’t remember us being friends.”
Given how many years had slipped by, the fact that he remembered the man at all was notable.
“Is that so? My memory is a bit thin.”
He spoke truthfully. The man’s mouth worked for a moment before he answered.
“I suppose that’s fair. It is the sort of thing one might lose track of.”
He had already been briefed on Enkrid’s recent exploits. He was startled to find him here, but he wasn’t entirely in the dark.
*What the hell are you doing here?*
The thought persisted, but he knew the path Enkrid had taken since earning his knighthood.
*I assumed the tales were embellished…*
Yet nothing about Enkrid seemed puffed up. That in itself was a revelation. Still, there was no ground to discuss it.
Not everything in life follows the script.
He prided himself on his foresight, but he was no seer.
*Still, it is remarkable.*
Enkrid wasn’t merely a knight. His standing seemed quite high. Then again, he didn’t trust his own perception enough to be certain.
“Well, the group is gathered. Let us dine,” the patriarch announced.
The wandering son returns with companions…
The man at the table studied Ragna.
*So this is the Zaun heir?*
Even years ago, his potential had been obvious.
*Returned home following his son, I see.*
He could infer the sequence of events, if not the ultimate goal.
Life was truly erratic.
He had once believed this idealistic dreamer would sink into gloom. He never pictured them reuniting here.
“It seems you two are acquainted?”
Ragna’s mother stood to welcome the guest.
“He traveled to the city a long time ago and tried to talk me into leaving with him,” Enkrid explained simply, recalling the event.
“He has a habit of doing that,” Alexandra remarked with a shrug, pointing toward a chair. The patriarch took his seat first.
Then the sharp-eyed man. Ragna sat across from his father, Anne beside him, and then Enkrid. Grida took a spot next to Alexandra. Magrun was nowhere to be seen.
As Enkrid settled in, he inquired,
“That sort of thing?”
The man made no effort to mask his role.
“I am a talent scout for the Empire.”
“A recruiter?”
“I travel across the lands, presenting unique opportunities to those with skill.”
Enkrid thought back to the invitation he had received.
To prevent any confusion, the recruiter added:
“What I proposed to you wasn’t based on your fighting ability—I recognized your intellect and your way with people. I wanted you to take my place.”
He had a talent for saying exactly what was needed. That was why the Empire used him for such tasks.
He provided the answers Enkrid might seek, ensuring there were no false pretenses.
Enkrid didn’t take offense. He had never considered himself a prodigy.
He had known that since the day he was run through by a gifted child, only a few days after he’d first touched a hilt.
“A strange twist of luck. Let’s eat.”
The patriarch gave the signal. No one waited for further formalities.
Enkrid tore into a charred turkey leg. Beside him, Grida dusted spice powder over her meat.
Sampling the succulent, flavorful poultry, Enkrid followed her lead.
It might have been a Northern custom or a specific Zaun tradition—they applied spice blends to their lamb.
It was a combination of heat, sweetness, and acidity.
Not bad at all.
The helpings were massive and focused on meat. Just as he expected.
The people here spent their entire day training with steel.
He had observed it on the way in—stone structures, private courtyards, and a massive field in front of the estate.
People likely gathered there frequently.
Some even strolled around carrying dull training blades.
Naturally, their diet favored protein. But the spread wasn’t one-sided—there were egg salads, leafy greens tossed in oil and vinegar, various cheeses, and more.
“It isn’t alcohol, but it will wake you up,” Ragna said, handing over a yellow-tinted beverage.
Enkrid took a gulp from the copper vessel. A sharp aroma hit his nose, clear and stinging, and the taste of wild berries from the cliffs filled his mouth.
“It’s a vinegar infusion made from yellow raspberries. They only grow on the nearby precipices.”
“This was intended to be a confidential talk, yet you have brought guests,” the recruiter noted, barely touching his plate.
“They are allowed to hear it,” the patriarch replied instantly, dabbing his mouth with a cloth.
“Are you certain?”
“Quite.”
After a brief silence, the recruiter spoke.
“From this moment on, what I present is an offer from His Imperial Majesty, the Great Emperor. Accept the title of Shield Duke, Tempest Zaun.”
Enkrid listened without speaking. He lacked the full context, but even the mention of the “Emperor of the Empire” didn’t startle him.
He had figured out the man’s background long before he admitted to being a scout.
Either the southern realm or the northern one—otherwise, he wouldn’t have been making such offers.
They must have spent years combing the central lands from both directions.
They had likely snatched up more than a few talents already.
So this was expected. Anyone who understood the continent’s power balance could have seen this coming.
What did catch him off guard, however, was a faint trace he now detected coming from the man.
A peculiar scent.
the aura of a mage.
It wasn’t powerful or sweet, but it was there. And every ambush they had endured lately had involved magic.
He hadn’t even found the time to inform the patriarch yet—but it was a fact.
And the patriarch gave his answer:
“I decline.”
It was curt and final. So devoid of feeling that it almost felt like a lie.