A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 726

Chapter 726

“Hey, realize this: once life ends, that’s the finish line. Did you not grasp that?”
Within the blurry remnants of a vision, a man with a thick beard reprimanded him with a gravelly voice.
This was Lion, a leader who usually led a small squad of combatants to safeguard traveling merchants and voyagers.
He had given his group the peculiar title of the Comrades’ Association.
While many mercenary outfits chose odd names, nobody pressed him on it; Enkrid eventually discovered that Lion was a veteran officer from the great southern empire who had titled the group such because every soldier under him had previously served in his military unit.
That history made the Comrades’ Association a name that stuck in the mind.
Lion extended his protection to the vulnerable wherever he could reach, and during the days when Enkrid first drifted across the lands, lost and isolated, Lion had provided him with guidance.
“What’s the point of any goal if you’re dead?”
That was the phrase Lion repeated most often.
The members of the Comrades’ Association weren’t all saints—far from it—but Lion himself lived by a strict code of integrity.
“You are granted a single life. Only one.”
When you expire, it’s over. If you value living, stay away from suicidal risks.
That was the core of his philosophy.
Enkrid had absorbed those lessons… yet he continued to walk his own path regardless.
There are pieces of advice a man can accept, and there are core truths he will never yield on.
The fading afterimage felt like the surface of a fog-shrouded lake in the early hours.
Lion’s hazy silhouette warped and dissolved until his features were a mere smudge.
“If you lack status and strength, then just stay out of the path of others.”
Countless people had dismissed him throughout his life, too many to recall by name.
Then the fog split, and the owner of that voice—the one that smelled of night-blooming flowers—stepped forward and yelled:
“How do you intercept magic? Look—deal with this! The Incantation of Spring and the Incantation of Summer!”
Why, then, was she swinging a blade?
Behind Esther, who was hacking away with her sword, Shinar was visible, dancing with palms stretched toward the heavens, clutching greenery and timber.
Suddenly, Rem plummeted from the clouds.
A gargantuan, mountain-like Rem.
It was a fever dream.
Then Audin took to the air, stretched thin like a twig, while Jaxon launched a parlor filled with dozens of ladies.
He attempted to inquire if Kraiss was a business partner, but his lips refused to move.
Lua Gharne was wielding Rophod as if he were a flexible whip, with Pell gripped tightly in her other hand.
Dunbakel had made it back from the eastern lands, having fully shifted into a beastial form, howling with laughter in her shape-changed manticore state.
Teresa was lunging at Dunbakel with her steel, screaming that she was a freak of nature.
The visions brought auditory chaos as well.
“Lose your stride, and you’re a corpse.”
Who uttered that?
Clang—! Clang—!
A sharp, rhythmic hammering struck his ears. Turning his gaze, he spotted Aitri striking a torso inside a blazing forge.
‘That’s me.’
Upon closer inspection, it truly was.
Aitri was shaping Enkrid’s own flesh with a heavy mallet.
The second he grasped the reality, he felt the searing heat radiating from his entire frame.
It felt as though he might exhale embers at any second, even though not even the dragons possessed such a trait.
Perhaps Esther could.
Should he request a demonstration if he ever returned to the Border Guard?
‘As if she’d actually comply.’
If he dared ask, she’d likely look at him with nothing but disgust.
As the internal fire surged through his veins, a blossom appeared.
That flower shifted into a butterfly, which fluttered through the air, burst into a fireball, and slammed into his chest.
“If you perish in this place, it will turn into your cage.”
Another phantom voice.
A fresh wave of hallucinations followed, none of them worth documenting.
The environment spun violently, then plummeted into a deep chill.
An individual was slicing into his stomach, manipulating his internal organs like toys.
The perpetrator was a youth he had failed to save long ago, now a spirit.
The youth giggled with pure joy, dark eyes sparkling.
Playing with innards is a delight.
That was the silent message.
Then, with the rush of a massive tide, the agony dissipated.
When Enkrid pulled his eyes open, he was situated once more on that familiar small boat.
His frame was propped against the siding, and the oarsman remained motionless in his usual spot.
Clutching a lantern, he seemed rooted to the deck like ancient timber.
The oarsman’s form appeared draped in a veil of fine dust, a sign that Enkrid’s physical state was still unstable.
Each time the purple lantern flickered, its radiance skipped across the dark current before being snuffed out.
Observing it, it seemed the river was hungry for the light.
“If you fall here, you will be trapped in an eternal cycle of battling sickness, dying, and reviving.
And in that loop, you will be robbed of your greatest joy—the way of the sword.”
Enkrid shut and opened his eyes five times.
Measured and slow.
Then he parted his lips and carefully articulated his thoughts.
“I believe my ears are failing me.
Could you repeat that?”
“I manifest my intent into words and project them into your consciousness.
This process bypasses your ears entirely.”
Enkrid was aware of that.
He simply hadn’t anticipated such a direct motivational speech from the ferryman.
“Is this merely a phantom of my mind?”
The ferryman offered no direct answer, speaking only his own truth.
“How many times can you outrun the end?
How long will fortune grant you these narrow escapes?”
With that, the conversation ceased.
He opened eyes he hadn’t realized were shut.
This time, it was the waking world.
His eyelids lifted halfway, but they were parched, making his surroundings a blur.
Within his cramped field of vision, he recognized a ceiling pattern both strange and deeply familiar.
The roof of the stone dwelling he had occupied for several days.
A heavy timber support and roughly set stones above him.
“You’ve returned to us?”
Anne was stationed right beside his bed.
Enkrid blinked repeatedly, trying to shake the haze.
Crusty residue fell from his lashes.
His eyes throbbed, but the clearing of the debris allowed him to see.
Anne looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and a thin face.
She had clearly been through an ordeal.
“Mm. I’m still breathing.”
“That’s your first thought after cheating death?”
“Was it Remed Omnia?”
“So you do recall.”
“I had faith you would mend me.”
The ferryman had instructed him to protect Anne.
Drmul had, for reasons of his own, attempted to eliminate her beforehand.
‘She was clearly a danger to his plans.’
It is simple to trace logic backward from the outcome.
Enkrid had witnessed a fraction of Anne’s efforts here.
He had seen enough to place his life in her hands.
Even if she had stumbled and died, he would have just restarted the cycle—but that wasn’t the reason he had trusted her.
Even with the option of a do-over, his decision would have remained identical.
“You’ve been unconscious for three days.”
Enkrid hesitated before responding.
“Three days of missed practice.”
“…You sword-obsessed lunatic.”
He was well aware of his various titles within the Border Guard.
One of the most common was “Sword-crazed bastard.”
“I’m joking.”
Anne’s expression suggested she wasn’t buying the act of normalcy.
“Ah, right.”
He was conscious, but his muscles felt like water.
He wondered if he could even hold his own against Pell or Rophod at this moment.
“You are confined to bed for now.
At least four more days of stillness.
Consume what I provide, and sleep whenever your eyes grow heavy.”
Anne finished her instructions and exited the room.
Next to enter was Ragna, appearing mostly unscathed.
If he was capable of walking, he was undoubtedly in better condition than Enkrid.
“Three days of recovery is plenty.”
“Is that how it is?”
Despite his brush with death and his subsequent return, the downpour outside hadn’t relented.
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
He shut his eyes for a moment and then sat upright.
Ragna had vanished.
Had he drifted off again?
Looking toward the side of the room, another apparition appeared.
Not even someone as skilled as Anne could pull the deceased back to the world of the living.
Enkrid was certain the patriarch had expended the final embers of his vitality into that last strike, pushing past his own Will.
In a diseased state, it had to have been a final, self-sacrificing blow.
So why was the man sitting at the foot of his bed?
“You look as though you’ve seen a specter.”
While the patriarch rarely displayed his own feelings, he was an expert at interpreting the emotions of those around him.
With one limb bound in gauze and a cloth over one eye—Tempest Zaun was there, breathing.
“I have much to tell you, but I won’t overlook the priority.
You have my gratitude, Enkrid of the Border Guard.”
“I was merely passing through with some spare time, so I decided to help out.”
“Is that genuine modesty, or are you so confident in your heroics that you’re being playful?”
True, saying that likely sounded dismissive.
It was a lapse in judgment—his cognitive functions weren’t fully restored.
He decided it was better to remain quiet.
“It seems Milezcia’s death wasn’t in vain.
Anne informed me she had already discovered the cures for every ailment plaguing our people.
She claimed brewing the tonics was simple once the research was done, but I thanked her regardless.
To be brief, Milezcia’s work and Anne’s effort saved our lives.
And I get to endure for a few more years because of them.”
Had he come only to express his relief at surviving?
“I came because I had a message to deliver.
Exclusively for you.
It will remain between us.”
He began to recount the tale of Heskal.
Heskal had lived up to his title of Clever Heskal.
As Enkrid listened, it was as if Heskal’s own voice was being channeled through the vision.
“If I am victorious, Zaun will undergo a rebirth.
Our people will survive to become the pioneers of the Demon Realm.”
Heskal’s goal was the survival of Zaun.
To achieve that, he sought to become a Divine Usurper.
Even a drop of divinity would provide the shield necessary for a new Zaun.
The vision continued:
“If I am defeated, then Tempest is the winner, isn’t he?
In that scenario, Zaun survives regardless, even if it carries some scars.”
The mental image of Heskal grinned broadly.
Unburdened by duty, it was the most genuine smile Enkrid could imagine.
Success meant Zaun’s rebirth.
Failure also meant Zaun’s rebirth.
And during the process, he intended to purge the rot.
‘Locales like the Hunters’, Brokers’, and Retirees’ sectors likely had treacherous elements waiting.’
After living in hiding for so long, some had grown impatient.
Others, bitter from the years, wanted to tear down the foundations of Zaun.
Too entrenched to depart, too dangerous to ignore—they would have tried to hijack the clan.
Heskal had rounded up those elements and formed them into a single faction.
“Specific flora and fruits grow in these parts.
They are toxic.
Handling them without care triggers all manner of sickness.
When the situation spiraled, Heskal took it upon himself to find a resolution.”
The patriarch went on.
Heskal had unearthed Drmul’s presence and observed his preparations.
Then, Heskal faced a crossroad.
Return to the clan and play a futile game of hide-and-seek until the end?
Or become the villainous puppet master who would force the true threat into the light?
He chose the path of the shadow.
Though he fell to Ragna’s sword, he must have died content.
He had watched the balance shift and orchestrated the finale of the hunt.
He never breathed a word of this to the patriarch.
This was all logical deduction.
But the head of the house believed Heskal had performed his final duty as a Guardian.
Enkrid found himself agreeing.
Guardian.
Shield of Zaun.
Heskal had done his job.
“Why reveal this to me?”
“I simply wanted someone to know the truth.”
With those words, the patriarch departed.
A short time later, Alexandra arrived and spoke in a similar vein.
“Milezcia studied our sickness until her heart stopped.
And Heskal… I can only imagine the burden of crafting this entire play.”
Her expression was a mix of sorrow and relief.
Then Schmidt walked in and inquired:
“Have you reconsidered joining the Empire yet?”
“Do I look like the type?”
“No.”
“Then why keep asking?”
“I wanted to be the first to know if you ever changed your stance.”
Four more days passed by.
Word was that Anne had collapsed into a deep sleep.
Enkrid pulled himself from the bed.
The rain had finally ceased at daybreak, following several days of intermittent storms.
The crisp, damp morning air filled his lungs.
Enkrid walked outside and grasped Three Iron.
‘I’ve gained much.’
Perhaps too much.
But now wasn’t the moment to process the information.
Or maybe just one thing—he tried to contemplate, but he realized too many people were watching.
“You’re on your feet?”
As though they had been holding their breath for him, the residents of Zaun emerged—Grida, Anahera, and the rest.
Magrun was present as well.
“I owe you my life.”
Upon his return, his condition had been so critical that Milezcia had provided clandestine treatment.
Anne had likely handled the final recovery.
Then Lynox, standing prominently with his single arm, spoke with gravity.
“If you wish to hold me accountable for what transpired, take my life.
But I ask for clemency for the rest of Zaun.”
Drmul’s final treachery had left them all feeling disgraced.
They had attempted to use outsiders as offerings.
He recognized that weight of shame.
He knew it intimately and wished to help them set it down.
“Then step forward.”
Enkrid signaled the ground in front of him with Three Iron.
His sheath had shattered, so the blade was merely secured to his person—there was no need to unsheathe it.
“Get on your knees and bare your neck.”
Lynox recoiled slightly.
He didn’t move immediately, glancing between the mud, the blade, and Enkrid’s eyes.
“…Are you being serious?”
Enkrid grinned.
“No.”
“…Hmph. You actually had me there.”
Had Enkrid been earnest, Lynox would have truly submitted.
That was the nature of these people.
People who followed through on their principles.
Which is why—
Thud.
Starting with Lynox, one after another, every person there dropped to their knees.
On the muddy, battered earth left by the storm’s passing, every head was lowered.
He hadn’t sought this out for the sake of ego, but no man dislikes being honored for his courage.
“We offer our thanks for the gift of our lives,” the patriarch declared, speaking for the assembly.
He was joined by Alexandra, Odinkar, Grida, Magrun—all of them.
Some were visibly moved to tears.
Riley remained as stoic as ever.
And then, there was the one who remained standing.
“What? I was the one who tried to talk them out of it.”
The lone figure—Ragna—remarked.
Enkrid simply gave a small shrug, dismissively.
Ragna would likely never grasp the weight of such a moment for as long as he lived.