A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 716

Chapter 716

Ragna had anticipated that Enkrid would provide him with a specific objective. It was a silent reliance—yet Enkrid offered no instructions.

Why was that?

Taking in the broader scope of the conflict, his parents and Lynox were maintaining the vanguard, while he occupied a position slightly further back. Up to this point, he had fulfilled his duty by thinning the ranks of the monsters, but he had not yet committed to the front lines.

Should he move to assist his father? Scanning the horizon, he noted a formidable foe closing the distance. Near his mother, a Death Knight was clawing its way out of the earth, lunging directly at her.

Where was his place in this?

Why was the commander remaining silent?

From that vague position, merely watching the tide of war, a faint realization began to dawn. Why had the commander held his tongue?

Was this Enkrid’s battle? No. He was merely a facilitator.

The source of my fury is that this place is my home.

His future lay with the Mad Knights after his tenure with the Border Guard concluded. That choice had been solidified long ago and remained unshaken.

However, Zaun… Zaun was the soil that raised him.

What he would leave behind… the clarity arrived. He would leave behind Anne. He would leave behind Enkrid. Broadly speaking, he would leave behind people. And ideally, that would include his parents as well.

Ragna took a stride forward. He finally understood his destination. The catalyst for the rage burning within him wasn’t present here—it lay somewhere beyond the immediate clash.

The danger surrounding his mother and father—they would handle that themselves.

A fierce gale battered his equilibrium.

Shhhhhh.

The screeching of the Scalers clouded his perception. The profane serpent looming above weighed on his frame, distorting his senses. Further off, the creature capable of ascending as a true Sovereign of the Abyss—Medusa—made it nearly impossible to even keep his eyes open to peer ahead.

Despite the interference, Ragna felt the radiance of his own gift.

I can see the way. No amount of sensory distortion could obstruct a path illuminated by natural genius.

Ragna began his march.

This was not a move Enkrid had foreseen. To be candid, Enkrid had preferred for Ragna to remain in reserve, intervening only when the situation became dire.

But reality rarely aligns with strategy. That is the essence of conflict. That is the essence of existence.

It is uncertainty itself that causes people to laugh one moment and weep the next. In this instance, fortunately, it was a reason to find humor.

“Where do you think you’ve been drifting off to?”

After navigating through the monsters using them as markers, a voice reached him. It was a tone he knew well.

Shhhhhhh.

Drenched by the torrential downpour, a middle-aged man stood his ground, his hair plastered against his forehead and cheeks. He brushed away the wet locks and waited for Ragna to speak.

“I was heading out to locate the coward who orchestrated this mess,” Ragna answered.

“Did you get turned around?”

“No. I’m exactly where I need to be. Navigating is something of a talent of mine.”

Heskal was a man of immense composure—so steady that he might not show true emotion even once in a calendar year. Even during his verbal sparring matches with Lynox, he never shouted or turned red with fury. Even when debating the patriarch, his delivery remained level-headed.

Hardly anyone had witnessed Heskal in a state of genuine wrath. And yet, there was a sharp edge to his voice now, a hint of frustration.

“Why did you wander out instead of holding your position?”

“I perceived the route, so I took it.”

Ragna’s flat response held the quiet certainty of a man who trusted his instincts. That was precisely what grated on Heskal’s nerves. Had Ragna stayed put, he would have been located instantly. But the youth had insisted on straying far from the primary engagement.

Heskal had been forced to take a long detour to intercept him. Why on earth would someone stroll alone into the thick of the enemy’s reserve forces?

The boy possessed no tactical awareness. Yet he maintained that this was the correct course.

If I hadn’t tracked you down, you would have stayed lost and only showed up when the dust had settled.

For Zaun, this bit of fortune was exactly that—luck. Without Heskal’s intervention, Ragna would still be roaming aimlessly.

Had Enkrid been there to observe the trajectory Ragna had chosen, he might have grasped the boy’s logic. But to Heskal, it was sheer lunacy.

Everyone else was fighting for their lives—so why was this one just taking a solitary walk?

From a tactical standpoint, it was a disaster. On a personal level, it was simply callous. His own parents were in jeopardy—so why was he out here instead?

“If I were Tempest, I wouldn’t have let you wander off.”

“You’ve always been more narrow-minded than my father.”

Ragna answered dismissively. After spending time with Enkrid, discussions about someone’s “inner capacity” seemed trivial.

As he spoke, Ragna contemplated the journey he had just taken.

I have gained much.

He truly had. When a blade was in his hand, the direction was always evident. But until one actually walked the path, the true shape of it remained a mystery.

The ground he had covered had its variations. There were inclines and declines. Treacherous stretches and smooth passages.

By physically traversing it, the essence of the journey had transformed.

There was no such thing as a fixed destiny. Everything shifted as the process unfolded.

Who is it that establishes boundaries?

Unless you are a simpleton who allows the words of others to cage you, your boundaries are set only by yourself.

If you declare, “this is my stopping point,” then that is where it ends.

Enkrid had stood before his own limitations and refused to bow. Ragna had picked up that same defiance.

To transcend one’s own ceiling—

It is exhilarating.

The rush he felt the very first time he gripped a hilt vibrated through his entire being.

Was there any sensation that could rival the pleasure of stepping into a wider world?

Heskal’s gaze shifted to Ragna’s massive sword. The steel was smeared with grime and mud.

“Missing your Dawnblade, I see.”

Dawnblade was a longsword. Ragna clearly didn’t have it hidden on his person.

“I’ll retrieve it later.”

“Are you sure it’s not because you’re terrified of failing the family head?”

To carry Dawnblade, one required the patriarch’s approval. Tempest Zaun was not the type to entrust a family relic to anyone he viewed as a failure—offspring or otherwise.

“My weapon is an inscribed blade,” Heskal remarked.

Yours is not.

The implication was sharp. Ragna disregarded it, tightening his grip on the greatsword with both hands. The tip remained near the soil. He didn’t point it toward the heavens; he let it hang low behind his hip.

“Scared of the lightning, so you keep your steel toward the ground?”

Heskal was attempting to dissect him with a few sentences. Trying to grasp his state of mind.

He plays it safe.

Patterns are difficult to break. Ragna had always possessed a habit of clinging to established routes. Heskal remembered this well.

If it’s a foe he can outlast over time, he won’t gamble on a quick victory today.

Ragna lacked a sense of desperation. Because of his natural talent, everything came to him without struggle—so he never felt the urge to roll the dice.

A few skirmishes across the lands wouldn’t fix that trait. To shatter it, someone would need to force a sense of mortal peril upon this prodigy.

But who could truly challenge his skill?

Even within the halls of Zaun, no one came to mind immediately.

Has he ever encountered someone that forced him to put his life on the line?

Unlikely. One of the perks of Zaun was fostering geniuses alongside one another—but Ragna had missed out on that community.

Resentment toward his talent had left him in solitude.

“Have you finally discovered what it means to give everything you have?”

Heskal questioned him. Ragna offered no verbal reply.

His crimson eyes shimmered in the gloom. It was a physical manifestation of his Will beginning to surge.

I’ll have to rate his prowess higher than I initially thought, Heskal considered.

He always overcompensated for his enemies’ strength, just to be safe. That was why he never committed fully from the start—he always waited for a lapse in concentration. Overpowering someone with raw force or sheer Will wasn’t how he operated.

Ensnare them with a physical blade. Finish them with a phantom strike. That was his philosophy.

It sounded basic—but for the one facing it, it was anything but.

One Point Focus. A style native to the Zaun lineage. This meant both combatants were intimately familiar with its mechanics.

As they traded words, both entered a state of rapid mental acceleration.

I’ll end your life and present your head to the patriarch, Heskal decided.

Ragna’s mind was empty of such thoughts. There was only the weight of the greatsword in his palms.

And then, even that sensation faded.

Heskal initiated the engagement.

He pushed off—moving at a pace that was surprisingly deliberate for a knight of his caliber. He extended his sword with his profile turned, his left hand tucked away.

His silhouette formed a straight line. His blade narrowed into a single point aimed at Ragna’s brow.

Ragna shifted to the side, maintaining his hold on the heavy weapon.

Drkkk. Ting.

The steel ground against a rock in the dirt, throwing off fragments.

They evaded the collision and reset their feet.

Heskal kept his left hand concealed. Whatever he was holding back—it was significant.

His inscribed weapon lashed out again. Everyone acquainted with him, including his ward Riley, knew the sword’s moniker:

Routine.

Its movements were so rhythmic and exact that they remained incredibly difficult to intercept.

“Even as we speak, Ragna, your father’s life is fading.”

Heskal’s tone remained as mild as ever. He sounded as though he were kindly suggesting Ragna go assist him. But it was a lure, intended to destabilize him.

“Do you actually believe that nonsense?”

“Your father has been failing for years. His strength is gone. You’ve seen it with your own eyes.”

Ragna had indeed seen it. But that was only a fraction of the truth.

“I’m certain Alex is dealing with the Death Knight this very moment.”

No cry for assistance came. Just more nagging dialogue—but Ragna remained unfazed.

In his past life—before the barbarian, the clever feline, and the zealot—he might have been shaken.

But not today.

Enkrid’s insults were more piercing. The barbarian’s tactics were far filthier.

“Heskal.”

“What is it?”

“You’re losing your hair. The rain makes it very obvious.”

Ragna tossed the insult back without a second thought.

Heskal wasn’t easily rattled—but the comment caught him off guard.

“Your mouth has developed quite a bite.”

“So has my blade.”

“That remains to be seen. But truly, do you intend to fight me without an inscribed weapon? I’ll grant you a reprieve. Flee. Desert Zaun again as you did before. No one will hold it against you.”

Impressive. When it came to psychological warfare, he was nearly on Enkrid’s level.

A joke about his hairline wasn’t going to be enough.

“I never walked away from it.”

“Oh? Then was it the family that walked away from you?”

Engaging in a war of words was a dead end. Ragna had no desire to play this game—but he channeled Rem’s personality for a split second.

“Shut your mouth, you bald prick. Are you just flapping your lips for the exercise? Your breath is foul.”

He felt a pang of regret immediately. But it seemed to land.

Heskal’s brow twitched for a moment before smoothing out.

“Your language is embarrassingly crude. You sound like a common woodsman.”

“You’ve spent too long in this bubble. You should see the rest of the world. In the west, there are men whose breath could actually melt armor.”

Especially that idiot Rem.

Heskal looked as if he intended to retort, then suddenly lunged forward once more.

This time his velocity doubled. Ragna evaded—but the edge clipped his shoulder, slicing through a portion of his leather armor.

Steel rang against steel in the brief intervals, and Ragna finally unleashed a swing with his greatsword. A rising blow.

BOOM!

With a concussive shockwave, Heskal was forced back.

In his prime, Heskal had been one of the three greatest talents Zaun had ever produced.

The force of the swing even cleared the rain for a moment.

Heskal regained his footing and thrust again. Ragna moved to the side—

And then the blade grew longer.

It was entirely unforeseen.

Heskal had never disclosed the true title of his weapon to anyone.

It wasn’t Routine.

It was Camouflage.

A deception tucked inside the physical steel—perfectly suited for his style of combat.

The sword dropped its mask—its teeth bit deep into Ragna’s shoulder.

Thwuck!

The sound of a heavy impact.

The noise of metal piercing through leather and sinking into muscle.