A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 704

Chapter 704

Heskal—there was no denying his cleverness. Before his departure, he had intentionally wounded several individuals, effectively planting the seeds of internal strife.
“One group witnessed Heskal murder their comrade.”
It was only expected that their vision would turn crimson with rage, their bodies shuddering at the weight of the treachery.
“I saw it with my own eyes, Riley.”
The speaker looked prepared to unsheathe his blade and strike at any second.
“If your father hadn’t intervened, you’d have been a corpse last year, you pathetic bastard!”
The opposing group, however, had not personally seen Heskal commit any violence. To them, Heskal had spent his entire existence being a pillar of the Zaun community.
He was a man who rescued the vulnerable, offered care, showed affection, and had even raised a ward.
That ward had grown into a vital figure within one of the two quarreling sides. Despite a permanent limp in one leg, his skill with a blade was said to match the prowess of giants like Anahera. His name was Riley Zaun.
Was it not common knowledge that Heskal himself had developed the unique one-legged combat style?
Enkrid had engaged in several sparring sessions with him. The peculiar cadence of Riley’s movements had made him a fascinating partner to face.
If one had to categorize it—his swordplay focused heavily on delivering a single, decisive blow.
“He was never just an ordinary man.”
And that assessment didn’t stem from his physical disability.
Most residents within Zaun held the potential to ascend to knighthood—assuming fortune favored them. Every soul within those walls lived according to that rigorous benchmark.
The entire social structure was designed for the exceptional. Those gifted with natural talent were given guidance, never allowed their ambition to wane, and pushed themselves forward without pause.
That was the absolute threshold required just to stay in Zaun.
“But what happens to those without talent?”
Enkrid found his own history bleeding into the inquiry—yet he found no resolution. This land provided no sanctuary for the mediocre.
To keep one’s spirit from breaking, a mentor was needed to show the way. But simply pleading for instruction didn’t mean a master would agree to provide it.
Every teacher had their own methods, but no instructor could maintain their fire when a pupil lacked the capacity to follow.
“It isn’t as if they are demanding krona.”
These instructors simply took pleasure in witnessing the brilliance of true genius.
Consequently, those who were merely average—or worse—were never even granted the opportunity to study.
It was a brutal truth, yet perhaps that very ruthlessness was what allowed Zaun to endure.
But was every person truly identical? Was it possible that every soul in Zaun cared only for the way of the sword?
Among the Frokk, there were those who crafted jewelry. One dwarf, born to be a builder, possessed the soul of a tavern keeper. Within the ranks of the Border Guard, there was even a giant who openly dreamed of life as a merchant.
“People are diverse.”
That was the lesson life had etched into him.
In that sense, Heskal’s son was a rarity. No one had ever viewed him as particularly gifted.
It was solely because someone had shown the patience to train and nurture him that Riley had achieved his current status.
To take a broken cripple and forge him into a formidable warrior—it was evidence enough that the man who raised him deserved respect: Heskal.
Kwaaaaaa—!
The downpour, which felt amplified by a knight’s heightened awareness, had finally begun to ease. It was a mercy. Had the deluge continued at its peak, the very land might have been submerged.
The earth of Zaun, situated on the high rim of the basin, was more than just soaked—it was a treacherous, muddy slurry. Dark water kicked up with every step, caking boots and trousers in filth.
The patriarch, Tempest Zaun, had declared that their current goals were scouting and preparation for battle.
“The opposition will show themselves eventually.”
They would strike at a time and place of their own choosing. The initiative to start the conflict belonged to the other side.
The enemy remained shrouded, while the people of Zaun stood in the open. It was the way of things.
The physical violence would arrive in due time.
To Enkrid, the more pressing disaster was the civil fracturing that had broken out.
He watched closely, curious to see how the head of the family would navigate the tension.
Ragna drew near and, after receiving a brief summary from Lynox, spoke up.
“There was an individual wearing the face of Odinkar.”
Someone had deliberately masked their true appearance. The weight of that statement was obvious: even Ragna harbored doubts about whether Heskal was truly the culprit.
Even though his interactions with the man were sparse, Ragna found it difficult to believe Heskal was capable of such a betrayal.
Heskal had cultivated that level of devotion.
“It was Heskal.”
The patriarch shut down any further debate. He grasped everything Ragna was trying to suggest—and because of that, his confirmation was absolute.
Enkrid was unaware, but the family head had already analyzed the ambush on Ragna’s team and traced the logic back to the source.
The event hadn’t happened directly at his gates, but it was close enough.
Could an intruder really have bypassed every single guard post in the region?
Even he couldn’t have pulled that off. Therefore, he reached a singular conclusion: there was an insider helping.
But what was the scope of that help? And what was the motivation?
He had no clarity on those points.
“So, what is my move?”
He posed the question and provided his own answer. When a practitioner lost their path during blade training, what was the protocol?
“You pause until the way forward reveals itself.”
Whether dealing with steel or the complexities of life—the rule remained the same.
Even as his sickness grew more severe with each passing year, he stood firm.
Tempest was a man of muted passions. He did not easily connect with the feelings of others. That was why “volatile” was a word no one would ever use to describe him. Throughout the realm, his capacity for patience was the stuff of myth. It was a singular trait, born from his emotional distance.
Whenever he did express emotion, it was strictly through the language of clashing blades.
He bypassed his internal void through the sword. He was a warrior who lived the very philosophy of Zaun.
He waited. While the so-called family curse was nothing more than a localized plague, and even as the body count rose with no cure in sight, he held his ground.
Then, the situation shifted.
The ailment began to accelerate beyond his predictions, placing an immense burden on his constitution.
For over half the day, he lacked even the strength to stand. His chest tightened—his breaths became ragged. He would suffer through tremors that looked like seizures.
A knight was still fundamentally human. Most ordinary sicknesses could be brushed off—but this was no ordinary toxin. This was a blight cultivated and intensified over years by a calculating hand. It was consuming him from within.
Still, he bore it. And while he did, he took action where possible.
“Odinkar. Set out and recover Grida and Ragna.”
By giving Odinkar this task, he was both shielding him and removing him from the list of suspects. Despite his reluctance, Odinkar followed the command.
“There is a monstrosity within the Border Guard.”
Caked in grime, Odinkar’s report made it clear that his mission had been far from peaceful.
The patriarch dismissed his wandering thoughts and stepped into the center of the bickering crowd.
“I refuse to believe it,” Riley Zaun declared—the very youth Heskal had mentored. Though no blood relation existed, the world saw them as father and son.
This was exactly why Heskal’s decision to leave Riley behind made things so complicated.
Suspicion would naturally fall on the boy.
If the man were truly Heskal, he would have surely taken Riley with him. That was the logic the onlookers followed.
The patriarch shifted his gaze toward the faction opposing Riley—the ones with eyes full of bloodlust.
“I just finished helping Grida with her wounds. She’s clinging to life by a thread,” one man spat. It was clear he had been an eyewitness to the assault.
“It was Heskal. Who else could pull that off? The technique, the stance—it was a perfect match.”
His tone was controlled, but there was a furnace of rage behind it. A fire that the rain couldn’t touch.
The patriarch surveyed the scene.
Every person present was drenched.
Riley’s eyes were darting around in a panic. As he watched the silent family head, he looked as though his spirit might snap.
“Was I… discarded?” That thought—sharp as a blade—must have been carving through his mind.
He had always battled a sense of isolation, always desperate for validation. That was Riley’s nature.
And now, he too carried the burden of the “Zaun” name.
“Riley.”
“…Sir.”
“Go find him. When you face Heskal, ask him the very question that is destroying you. Until that moment—hold yourself together.”
He didn’t wait for an acknowledgment. Riley had already stopped trying to justify Heskal’s actions. The patriarch didn’t command him to attack. He told him to seek an answer. That meant the final confrontation was still over the horizon.
The crowd had fractured in two, but Riley’s group was clearly the weaker of the two. If a fight had broken out, and if nature hadn’t intervened with lightning to scatter the opposition, Riley’s people would have been slaughtered.
“We are going to fight. Until then, save your energy. That is a direct order.”
The patriarch’s commands were final. Unless the very existence of Zaun was at stake, he rarely issued formal decrees. Everyone understood the gravity.
They weren’t a standing army, so there were no shouted affirmations.
Swoooooooosh.
A flash of lightning painted the gray world white as the rain began to taper.
KWA-BOOOOM!
It felt as if a deity had reached down to strike a human—only to miss. The bolt tore into the ground just outside the basin’s perimeter.
Had it landed within the camp, it would have vaporized several people instantly.
Despite the massive lightning rod standing on the basin’s edge, the strike had missed its mark.
“The only thing we can rely on is the steel in our grip. Conduct yourselves accordingly.”
The patriarch turned his back and walked away.
Enkrid observed the scene and gave a subtle nod.
“There’s no point in trying to fix the internal rift.”
There was also no requirement to trust everyone standing at his back.
The only reliable constant was the weapon in his own hand.
Well—Lynox had six weapons, but the sentiment remained the same.
Rather than a grand oration, the family head had provided a hard truth. As the crowd dispersed, Ragna approached Enkrid to fill him in on the events that had occurred inside. After listening to the full account, Enkrid nodded.
“Understood.”
“They are hunting for Anne.”
“Then we’ll ensure they never get close to her.”
The conversation was brief, but their determination was absolute. If they encountered the villain responsible for this mess, there would be no mercy.
The rain had eased, yet the storm showed no sign of truly ending. A violent wind howled, strong enough to sweep a person off their feet if they lost their balance.
“This is bad. Very bad. My own condition is acting up as well.”
Lynox walked over, his face twisted in a scowl.
“What kind of condition?”
“My hands. Sometimes they just refuse to hold anything. I’ve been managing it with the tonics Milezcia provided.”
“That isn’t just a condition!”
It was Anne’s voice.
A gust of wind powerful enough to uproot crops blew her straight into Ragna’s chest, and she yelled out, her voice sharp with anger.
“That isn’t some random ailment—it’s a disease that was intentionally released!”
Lynox realized just how grim the situation had become. It explained why he hadn’t been shocked by Heskal’s turn.
He wasn’t the only one feeling his health fail.
If the enemy struck at this moment? It would be a catastrophe.
Processing this, Lynox asked, “What are you saying?”
“Everyone—get inside! I’m not explaining this out in the rain!”
The conditions were miserable. Another few minutes in the downpour, and Anne felt as if she might fall apart.
Ragna pulled his cloak over her head and lifted her up.
They retreated indoors. The most stable building remaining was the patriarch’s home.
“Family Head!”
Lynox tried to get his attention but saw the man was already occupied. He passed Anne’s warning along immediately.
“Follow the girl’s lead.”
The patriarch made the call, and the group followed Anne into the shelter.
Anne, entering first, snatched up a cloth to dry her hair and skin. She then took a position on the staircase.
The ground floor was submerged—it was no place for a meeting.
“Where is Grida?” she asked, wringing out her hair.
“Bring her here.”
The patriarch gave the command, and Anahera, along with a few others, moved to comply. Anahera had always viewed Grida as her closest companion.
Even the giants understood the bonds of friendship.
And yet, a man who had pledged his soul to Zaun, who claimed to cherish it, who had taken the sacred knight’s oath—had driven a knife into its heart.
It wasn’t a minor slight. It was a massive, devastating betrayal that had thrown Zaun into total disarray.
Anne stood above the assembly like a magistrate on a bench.
She had spent her time traveling through Zaun, collecting data on everyone’s symptoms.
Her mind was a library of hundreds of medicinal recipes, some from a cruel mentor, some she had puzzled out herself, and others she had bartered from Kraiss and the Border Guard for a steep price in krona.
“I need everyone to describe their symptoms again and then go get the plants I tell you. Can you handle that?”
“I can.”
The patriarch was the first to answer.
Enkrid knew the man was emotionally hollow—and thus, he could almost sense the pressure the man was under.
“Impatience.”
The patriarch couldn’t verbalize it, so he demonstrated it through his presence.
“And maybe… a hint of anticipation?”
Though his face remained a mask.
“Then let’s begin.”
Ragna moved forward, raising his voice to organize the crowd.
“Form a line!”
Structure would help speed things up. As soon as Ragna spoke, the family head took the lead position.
“Now,” he prompted.
He was likely looking for a way to override his earlier passive stance.
Anne stared at him with a flat expression.
“This isn’t an instant fix. I can’t cure you this second.”
“…Then give me something to suppress the effects. A combat tonic that works immediately.”
“You have very specific requirements.”
“Is there an issue?”
Anne didn’t flinch. She didn’t even hesitate to think it over.
She gave her answer instantly.
“I can do that.”
There was an immense amount of work ahead. Rumors of an approaching army were growing—but her responsibility was to ensure that those inside were capable of holding a sword.
She had to get to work—and her brain was already miles ahead of her hands.
She didn’t have the luxury of being intimidated.
“Do you have any centella?”
“…What is that?”
Lynox, standing right behind the patriarch, looked to the person behind him. Anne had asked him—and he was simply passing the question down the line.
“It’s green, shaped like this. Go find some.”
She tried to mimic the leaf’s shape with her fingers, but it was hard to convey.
“Go to Milezcia’s workshop. Grab every plant that looks medicinal. Keep them out of the water.”
The patriarch issued the order immediately. He was just as focused as she was.
Trying to retrieve dry herbs in the middle of a gale was a massive task—but those who were still strong enough set out into the storm.