A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 715

Chapter 715

“What would you say defines a truly great swindler?”
Kraiss had posed the question without warning.
At the conclusion of a day’s travel, the companions would sometimes circle a fire, roasting nuts. It was the sort of aimless talk that naturally arises in those quiet hours.
One might call it nothing more than idle chatter, released as he waited for a hot chestnut to lose its sting after it had scorched his fingertips.
“Isn’t it just having a brain that functions better than everyone else’s?”
Rem replied, gesturing toward his own temple while using the flat of his axe to crush walnut shells.
Crack. Snap.
With flawless precision and force, the shells yielded without spraying fragments everywhere.
Kraiss gave a dramatic roll of his head in disagreement, earning a look of disdain from Rem.
In response, Rem flung the axe straight at him.
Naturally, Kraiss survived—Enkrid, seated at his side, snatched the weapon from the air before it connected.
“I appreciate the rescue, Captain.”
Kraiss spoke with nonchalance, and Enkrid gave a simple nod of acknowledgment.
“That marks the sixteenth time I’ve pulled you out of the fire. Is this how you treat the man who keeps you breathing? Can’t you at least skin a chestnut correctly?”
“Certainly, certainly, right here, sir.”
With nimble fingers, Kraiss flicked a small blade and offered a perfectly shucked, pale nut.
Shinar reclined nearby, wrapping her walnuts in flower petals before eating, while Esther sat in silence, nibbling pine nuts and watching the interaction play out.
Rem reclaimed his weapon and grumbled,
“That idiot has lost all his fear.”
Ragna, lounging close by, provided a bit of dark advice,
“If you actually intend to finish him, you’ll find more success swinging the blade from a shorter distance.”
“…You’re a lunatic. Do you think I don’t realize that?”
Rem barked back, though the tension didn’t lead to actual bloodshed.
Jaxon was positioned to the side, meticulously lining up chestnuts in straight rows, while Audin gave a sermon on how they should offer gratitude to the heavens for such a bountiful harvest.
Enkrid nodded, enjoying the sugary warmth of the nuts, and turned back to Kraiss’s point.
“Brilliant con men? They rely so heavily on their intellect that they eventually trip over their own feet and end up at death’s door. They become victims of their own complexity. That is why the best of them never fully trust their own cleverness.”
Enkrid couldn’t speak through a mouthful of food and water, but he offered a small sign of agreement.
“The greats are simply experts at selecting their prey.”
That was the heart of Kraiss’s philosophy. A truly skilled deceiver doesn’t waste time on difficult marks.
He noted that professional gamblers operated on the same principle.
“The goal isn’t to master the cards. The goal is to get the fool to sit at the table.”
Precisely.
Misleading a sharp mind is a chore; misleading the simple-minded is a breeze. The difficulty lies in locating the right victim.
And in this moment, Enkrid understood that truth perfectly.
“So, was this also part of your vision?”
Panito—the self-appointed lieutenant of Heskal—demanded with a voice like dry wood catching a spark.
His gaze, his frantic motions, the words forced through his teeth—all of it radiated heat.
Yet at the center of that fire was pure resentment.
Enkrid, however, paid the tone no mind. Even if the man had been breathing literal flames, he would have simply stepped aside and remarked, “So, you can exhale fire.” Such was the depth of his apathy.
Panito hoisted his blade high. Through some dark craft, the metal seemed to ripple like ink-black tides.
SKREEEEEE—
The weapon shrieked.
A corrupted blade inhabited by a malevolent ghost.
Was it a living weapon? Perhaps it was more accurately termed a demonic blade.
“Naturally.”
Enkrid gave a nod, and Panito’s eyelid spasmed.
Observing this, Enkrid’s mind continued to race.
If one organizes events and treats every accident as a deliberate step, a pattern emerges. Random beads are transformed into a necklace once the string passes through them.
Who provided him with that cursed iron? What are its properties?
Through layered logic and scrutiny, one can tie theory to physical proof—and uncover the reality of the situation.
“You’ve placed your faith in the blade Drmul provided? The one that suppresses the user’s Will and employs spirits to chain your own physical autonomy?”
The statement was purposefully ambiguous yet specific enough to rattle the man.
A strategic probe to gauge his internal state.
Panito recoiled noticeably. Even his shoulder gave a telltale jerk.
He had displayed the weapon with such arrogance, clearly convinced that a single scratch would secure his victory.
Even Pell had once wielded such a tool. From that encounter, they had mastered the Will of Rejection.
The Idol Slayer used by Pell was ineffective against warriors who understood the application of Will. This suggested Panito’s weapon was either more lethal or more specialized for the current conflict.
‘At best, Panito’s prowess is at the level of a trainee knight, yet he stands here with such confidence.’
He lacked the appropriate fear. All of this was based on flimsy deduction—mere guesswork—yet he had hit the mark.
“How…?”
Panito’s mouth fell open. Rain poured into it, but he was too stunned to close it.
“I told you—everything is moving as I intended.”
Enkrid spoke while confirming another suspicion—this individual had likely spent his entire life within the confines of Zaun. He had never seen the world, never been swindled, never lost a bet.
Put simply—he was a novice.
“Don’t hold back. Bring out whatever other surprises you have tucked away.”
That statement? An absolute fabrication.
“How… how could you possibly know—?”
Panito was shaken once more.
“It is all according to the plan.”
Enkrid repeated the phrase, achieving a massive psychological advantage.
At that moment, two cloaked figures emerged from behind Panito—warriors who hadn’t even registered in Enkrid’s grey-scale perception.
To be more precise, they possessed the kind of aura-erasure that caused the eyes to skip over them even when looking directly at their position.
They wore heavy hoods—each garment woven with enchantments that blurred their forms.
They were swordsmen, certainly—but their eyes were voids of black. They had human shapes, but lacked human souls.
One was massive, the other slender.
Honestly, it was a slight shock.
But Enkrid had always been a master of misdirection—which was why the Valen-style mercenary sword suited him so well.
“…So, this was also part of the design.”
Because he had resolved to weave even the unexpected and the unlucky into his narrative, Enkrid maintained his composure—and pushed the lie further.
“I can anticipate a thousand moves while standing perfectly still.”
Pure, unadulterated nonsense.
“Ah—so that’s the truth of it!”
Panito’s jaw dropped even lower. One could have fit a closed hand inside.
“I can even see the events of tomorrow.”
Another preposterous claim.
“That… that is impossible.”
His eyes grew twice their original size.
Yet, he appeared to believe every word.
“I see it clearly. The future.”
Panito’s face twitched. Then he clamped his mouth shut and regained his focus.
Despite his gullibility, he remained a dangerous combatant. He would not shatter so easily.
“Regardless… nothing will change the outcome.”
Panito spoke, slashing his arm downward in a command.
That solitary gesture unleashed a storm of projectiles.
More than fifty arrows took flight at once.
A simple movement of the head wouldn’t suffice—they intended to pin him to the earth like an insect.
Simultaneously, invisible telekinetic limbs manifested in the air, pushing through the rain to seize him.
But the instant Panito’s hand fell—Enkrid had already moved.
If words could grant an advantage, one must seize it.
The Lua Gharne-style Tactical Sword utilizes every piece of the surrounding world.
And the Valen-style mercenary sword?
Its primary tenet was: If the deception is strong enough, even the heavens can be misled.
“Panito! Look out!”
Enkrid roared while leaping to the side, his eyes still shut. His voice carried the weight of authority—just as the bolts whistled through the air and the unseen hands reached out.
In the same way Tempest Zaun converted his spirit into a heavy blade, Enkrid molded his aura into physical pressure.
That aura crashed down upon Panito.
An immovable, towering wall of force.
A weight constructed from apparent honesty and stubborn resolve.
To Panito’s perception, Enkrid had just shifted his center of gravity to his back foot—a clear sign of an impending, violent lunge.
Panito’s perception of time sped up—the sensation of death was looming.
The pressure radiating from Enkrid was simply that intense.
In that accelerated state of mind, Panito threw every defense he had into the fray.
Defend.
His plate was enchanted to slide off the force of most blows. It should withstand the initial contact.
Then, with the blade from Drmul, he would deliver a counter—and the spirit within would sow madness in his rival’s heart.
That seed of insanity would cause the foe to see phantoms, hear voices, and lose track of reality.
And that wasn’t the extent of the trap.
The moment the mental defenses crumbled, the two hidden warriors behind him would lunge to end the fight.
In reality, the most lethal threats present weren’t the cursed sword—
It was the two humanoid constructs.
Flash Golems, meticulously crafted by a master of alchemy.
Come then.
He was prepared.
The time for the counter had arrived.
“…This snake.”
Panito hissed as the realization hit.
FFFT-THTHMP!
All fifty projectiles buried themselves in the mud.
The telekinetic grip lost its mark and dissipated into the gale.
The two golems, poised to spring, remained locked in their stance.
And at the exact moment Panito braced for a direct, honorable charge—
BOOM!
Enkrid threw himself backward.
The earth beneath him shattered under the impact. It was a raw, primal explosion of energy—an assault performed in reverse.
The speed of it made it seem as though he had blinked out of existence.
Every observer was deceived.
And Enkrid—who had just masterfully tricked a complete simpleton—darted straight between the two golems standing watch in the rear.
Had they anticipated it, they would have countered.
But this… this was the brand of trickery that, even after witnessing it, left you stunned and cursing.
He had feigned an attack with pressure, vaulted backward, and delivered a full-power swing.
the first blow severed the larger golem’s head entirely.
CRACK!
The sound of the steel biting through the neck was jarring—the construct’s hide had been remarkably dense.
Since Enkrid had committed everything to that swing, one might expect the smaller one to have a window to react.
But no.
That devil Enkrid swung his primary blade while simultaneously launching the one from his off-hand.
The moment the large one’s head hit the ground, the second sword was already buried in the small one’s skull.
Its legs kicked uselessly and its frame was tossed through the air, rolling through the grime.
Thunk. Splash.
Heskal was familiar with Lynox. He understood his moves, his temper, and his patterns.
The skills of Lynox might be unorthodox, but in a life-or-death struggle, he never relied on fraud.
That was the nature of the man.
But Enkrid was different.
Lie.
Enkrid had fully internalized the spirit of the Valen-style mercenary sword—and he applied it flawlessly.
He scanned the battlefield with Lua Gharne-style Tactical Sword and turned the terrain to his advantage.
And with Valen-style techniques, he used his refined skill to lead his enemies into ruin.
“You absolute swindler!”
Panito screamed.
Enkrid had just neutralized the two guardians and now feigned a moment of exhaustion—taking a breath.
Anyone looking on would have assumed he needed a brief respite.
And so, naturally… it was another lightning-fast assault.
There were still over ten scalers with potent magical talents remaining.
‘They cannot exert their will without a clear line of sight.’
He had observed this limitation several times already.
“You’ve seen them move this much—haven’t you deduced their flaw yet?”
If Frokk of the Mad Platoon were present, he would likely have made a comment like that.
The pillar of Lua Gharne-style Tactical Sword was perception.
Not just a peek into the next moment—but a constant, sharp clarity regarding every factor on the field.
‘And applying that clarity at the precise moment it counts.’
It was a game of deception, using the wind and the timing.
Up until this point, Enkrid had not once targeted the scalers’ vulnerability.
He had hoarded that knowledge for this specific strike.
With a sudden burst of deceleration followed by a lunge, he slipped from the scalers’ vision.
Even if a creature has superior reflexes, a biological eye is vulnerable to sudden shifts in velocity.
Enkrid knew this well—he had been on the receiving end of that very maneuver from Alexandra.
Using that change in inertia, Enkrid closed the distance—appearing directly in front of Panito.
“You maniac!”
Panito fell into a panic and swung his blade upward in a desperate arc.
Enkrid was the taller of the two. The perception of an incoming overhead strike triggered a reactive block.
Enkrid knew the weapon.
A blade haunted by a dark ghost.
He couldn’t permit even a minor wound.
But hadn’t he faced scores of these things before?
He had already survived Onekiller, a literal demon.
This was a poor imitation in comparison.
His gut told him: You won’t fall, even if it touches you.
And his cold, analytical mind added:
‘Nevertheless, there’s no reason to let it land.’
From on high, the falling Three-Iron Sword slammed into the ascending dark metal.
It was a purely tactical decision.
He possessed the physical edge—and the better position.
BOOM!
The collision produced a thunderous roar.
Like a mountain of stone collapsing into a valley.
The shockwave cleared the air of rain and pushed back the howling winds.
But the struggle didn’t break.
The steel remained locked.
Bind.
Enkrid’s subsequent action was effortless.
He put his weight into the blade, driving it down.
Certainly, Panito possessed high-quality mail and a legendary weapon.
But what of his physical power?
In terms of sheer muscle, even Rem would concede that Enkrid was the superior.
And now, Will surged alongside that muscle.
That was what turned knights who had mastered Will into unstoppable forces—
their strength and speed were pushed far beyond the natural ceiling.
Panito had the equipment, but lacked the foundation.
“Grrgh!”
Panito gritted his teeth against the weight.
But Enkrid’s steel slid across the surface of his helm.
The blade he had hoisted to protect himself became the very instrument of his execution.
Enkrid leaned in and forced the metal through.
CLANG! CRACK! SHHHKT!
The demonic sword bit into its owner’s own helmet.
Despite the downpour, the friction created a brilliant shower of sparks.
The blade carved through the metal and sheared off the top of Panito’s skull.
His arm buckled, and from a gap in the armor, a white fragment of bone tore through the skin.
“You… you…”
The unfortunate, gullible Panito clung to a thread of life—even with his head split open.
But his vitality was gone.
He could do nothing but stare—his eyes burning with a sense of profound unfairness.
The look alone said everything.
Even without words, the streaks of blood falling from his eyes told the tale.
“The people Heskal targeted likely felt the same way.”
Enkrid’s tone was icy.
One of those lives Heskal had snuffed out had spent a few happy days in Enkrid’s company.
Only a few days—and yet the memory still sparked a deep rage.
If he felt this way, what was the scale of the pain for others?
Some were likely even more furious—yet lacked the words to express it.
SKREEEEEE—!
The ghost within the metal shrieked and flew upward.
It took shape for a fleeting moment before vanishing—racing back toward the enemy encampment.
Panito’s eyes clouded over, and the rain began to pool in them.
He struggled for air, choking on his final breath, and managed to whisper:
“Was… this… truly… the… plan…?”
To whom the question was directed—none could say.
But with those words, Panito expired.
All that remained was a pack of beasts.
“Don’t try to flee. I have a distaste for hunting things down.”
Enkrid’s eyes stayed closed—yet his honed perception caught the ripple of telekinesis.
Which meant…
Fights against things like these were almost trivial.