A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 727

Chapter 727

“So, are you expecting me to drop to my knees as well?”
Ragna’s brow twitched as he questioned Enkrid, who was merely watching him with a quiet intensity.
Enkrid gave a simple shake of his head.
Slowly, the group that had been kneeling—the patriarch leading the way—returned to their feet.
The heavy, overcast sky had cleared, allowing the sun to break through.
Under a cloudless expanse, the warmth began to pull the moisture from the sodden dirt.
Yet, the drying earth wouldn’t erase the scars left behind.
Enkrid had thrown himself into the fray with a singular determination: to ensure those standing behind him lived.
That didn’t mean the day was bloodless.
Heskal was gone, along with his loyalists and the many others Enkrid had been forced to cut down.
Word had reached him that the leadership of the Hunter’s Village had shifted as well.
Dead men, after all, are poor representatives.
Kato had apparently hunted down a straggler to finish the job.
Enkrid remained indifferent to the details.
The absence of the deceased left palpable voids.
Grief took hold of some.
Fury burned in others.
A few simply voiced relief at their own survival.
It wasn’t Enkrid’s place to categorize these reactions as right or wrong.
Every person finds their own path to closure.
While Enkrid was back on his feet, he wasn’t yet restored to his full strength.
He was in the middle of a process.
Rest and recovery are often confused, but they are distinct states.
‘I’ve had my fill of rest.’
He needed to pivot toward recovery now.
Rest is a passive state; recovery is an active pursuit.
Slumber and stillness constitute rest.
Nourishment and light activity constitute recovery.
Because Enkrid’s physical form had been forged through intense training into a regenerative type, his healing accelerated with movement.
Consequently, after rising, he spent two full days eating and drinking while avoiding any true combat.
He stayed away from brandishing his blade, opting instead for flexibility exercises and steady runs.
Of course, Enkrid’s definition of a “steady run” would make a civilian think he was trying to kill himself.
He spent half his waking hours jogging at a measured pace.
“You feed like a starving predator.”
Anahera, hailing from the giants, was well-acquainted with massive portions.
Even so, she looked on with a hint of awe as Enkrid ate.
The large dining table was overflowing with dishes.
The centerpiece was tender, steamed pork served alongside a mountain of vegetables.
Enkrid consumed it all with methodical focus.
He wasn’t rushing; he was just relentless.
Because of this, his meals lasted twice as long as anyone else’s.
He was slow, but he never paused.
“Take this. It’ll aid the process.”
Anne, sitting nearby, had finished her own small meal.
Enkrid accepted the tonic she offered and drained it instantly.
It was harsh and bitter.
He didn’t show any childish distaste.
Watching him, Anne remarked:
“Is there a ghost at your heels? Why do you look so driven?”
It seemed that even his steady progress looked like a frantic race to outsiders.
With his mouth full, Enkrid couldn’t reply, so Ragna—who was busy with his own meal—spoke up.
“He’s trying to get back to the starting line. He likely misses his sword.”
“He’s actually itching to train again? Unbelievable.”
Anne sighed in disbelief, but for Enkrid, it was the only logical step.
‘There was so much to take in.’
He had gained fresh insights during the chaos.
He needed to categorize these thoughts—but he couldn’t do that while sitting still.
He needed to physically test his theories to establish new benchmarks.
Concepts like the Wavebreaker Sword and the Blade of Coincidence drifted through his mind.
The theoretical framework was mostly there.
He also felt a burning urge to refine his application of Will.
But all of that was secondary to physical wholeness.
Pushing too hard would only lead to a faulty foundation.
The current priority was a slow, unwavering climb.
“A respectable mindset.”
Anahera had finished her meal earlier but lingered by the table like a sentinel.
“What’s your reason for hanging around?”
Ragna asked, glancing her way.
Anahera was never one for subtlety.
She was direct to a fault.
“I feel a sense of guilt for my attempt on your life.
So, I am at your disposal.
Just name it.
If you wish, I could even share your bed tonight.
Yes, I’m being literal.
An invitation from a stunning giantess isn’t a common occurrence.”
“I’ll pass.”
Enkrid swallowed his bite and gave his answer.
It was as quick as a strike.
“Well, the offer stands.
Call for me if you change your mind.”
Anahera turned and departed.
She wasn’t the only one burdened by such feelings.
Many people were loitering around the grounds, seemingly unable to find the right words.
Some just paced outside the estate for no clear reason.
A young child had approached him in tears to apologize.
Another youth—one who practiced Ail Caraz-style techniques—tried to act tough, claiming he’d do it all again.
Enkrid told the boy that if he was truly sorry, he should put his forehead to the dirt.
The boy did so without a second thought.
So earnest.
That was the core of Zaun.
Enkrid found himself reflecting on a thought that had crossed his mind during the heat of battle.
“Shouldn’t you value your own life before throwing it away? Why did you take that risk?”
Ragna’s tone was a mix of frustration and hidden gratitude.
It had been two days since Enkrid’s recovery began.
Ragna was terrible at masking his heart.
He should have just said thank you.
Enkrid thought about demanding a bow of gratitude, but decided against it.
Ragna was genuinely perplexed.
Resting his arm on the table, Enkrid looked at him.
“I’d repeat those actions without hesitation.”
“But why?”
Should he talk about his principles?
His oath?
The fact that he had the strength to impose his desire?
All were valid, but there was a deeper layer.
Even in that crisis, he had been running Lua Gharne-style tactical simulations.
He had weighed the variables and envisioned every outcome.
His conclusion was simple:
“I had faith in Anne.”
He stated it as a plain fact.
Anne’s gaze snapped to him.
Ragna’s expression shifted, then settled.
Was Enkrid thinking on a plane far above them?
Not necessarily.
He just viewed the world through a specific lens.
His logic flowed naturally from that perspective.
If he intervened, Zaun would remain whole.
Ragna wouldn’t be forced to strike down his own kin.
‘If I could just survive the initial impact, Zaun would move heaven and earth to fix me.’
He had seen the proof.
The healer Milezcia possessed incredible talent.
She surely had a stockpile of potent remedies.
Zaun was a place of legend.
They had to have resources.
Lynox had likely gathered plenty of artifacts during his travels across the land.
There would be medicine and magical items.
By preventing the fall of Zaun, he gained access to those very assets.
With Anne present, she would know exactly which ones to use.
“Drmul viewed it as a sickness. If it was a disease, Anne was the cure.”
It was a statement of absolute, mathematical trust.
No hidden agendas.
Anne’s face flushed.
The students of Raban had always lived in a state of mutual suspicion.
Raban himself was never one for compliments.
Had he survived, he likely would have tried to eliminate Anne.
Because of that, her talents had rarely been praised.
But now, a core member of the Mad Platoon and a master of the Border Guard Region had bet his life on her skill.
She felt a genuine surge of emotion.
“How bold of you.
But no, thanks.
I’ve already committed to Ragna.”
“…What are you talking about?”
Anne cleared her throat and looked away—toward her partner.
“How do you feel?”
“The coughing stopped. No more blood.”
“Why did you wait so long to tell me, you idiot?”
By the time Enkrid had overcome the final stages of Drmul’s affliction, Ragna had finally confessed his own symptoms to Anne.
Her reaction was purely professional.
“Before you started coughing, what happened? Any strange food?”
She wasn’t panicked.
She was like a commander on a field she understood perfectly.
She knew the Mad Platoon. She knew Ragna.
She had monitored him constantly on the way to Zaun.
There were no indicators of a fatal malady.
While she didn’t know every obscure plague, people didn’t usually just wither away without precursors.
And Ragna had been spitting blood.
Anne grilled him for details.
Ragna confessed he’d lost consciousness a few times while trying to force his Will to change.
“Chills? A fever?”
“My head was burning for a couple of days.”
Was he just thick-skinned or completely insane?
Anne was baffled, but she understood the cause.
“This change in your Will—did it put a burden on your frame?”
“It was quite taxing, yes.”
“Did your throat feel irritated?”
“It did.”
What is wrong with this man?
Anne stared at him.
Ragna contemplated his actions.
Perhaps he’d been too eager because Enkrid was evolving at such an alarming rate.
That was it.
He had rushed his training, despite the danger of shifting one’s Will.
“Eat. Then sleep for twenty-four hours. No speaking.”
Ragna was never a talkative man anyway.
He complied, and although the coughing returned briefly, the intensity had faded.
The blood was gone.
He seemed to be back to normal.
Thinking back—during that final clash, when he pushed his Will to the limit to slay the three-eyed elder, blood had erupted from his throat.
“Next time you’re unwell, you come to me.
I am Remed Omnia, a living miracle.”
“Understood.”
With a flat tone, Ragna patted her head and whispered:
“I want to stay with you.
And I will.”
And so it went.
Enkrid watched the strange tension between the two with a quiet gaze.
It wasn’t his concern.
Whatever was happening between them, his focus remained on his own mending.
That didn’t mean he wanted a front-row seat to their romance.
“Get out.
Go be together somewhere else.”
Anne went silent.
Ragna answered easily:
“I’ll go watch the sun come up.”
Enkrid gave a dismissive nod.
Odinkar made a habit of visiting daily.
His conversations were always a bit eccentric.
“It looks like I’m next in line for the leadership of Zaun.
So, when are we going to fight?”
He would just drop comments like that out of nowhere.
Grida, meanwhile, seemed to have found some meaning in what Heskal had done.
“Being a protector is a thankless job, isn’t it?”
She had likely been pestering the patriarch with questions.
“Why tell me?”
“Just felt like saying it.”
Anne was busy these days.
She was apparently mentoring the successor that Milezcia had been raising in the shadows.
Ragna had returned to his usual self.
“You’re no longer interested in what was left behind?”
Enkrid inquired.
Ragna just offered a faint smirk.
He looked like someone who had achieved a state of inner peace—untouched by any provocation.
It was annoying.
Enkrid tried again:
“So, should I go tell Rem… or Rem… or maybe the other Rem… that you actually thought you were dying of a mystery plague?”
“Do you have a death wish?”
Ragna asked with total sincerity.
Enkrid shook his head.
It was still too soon for a real match.
Maybe in a couple of days.
In the meantime, he kept refining his techniques and setting his goals.
“Riley.”
That was one of his goals.
Enkrid sought him out as evening fell, as the last of the sunlight faded and the celestial lights began to emerge.
Riley was sitting motionless in front of a pile of dirt.
His expression was hollow, his hands stained dark from days of manual labor.
“Have you come to list my transgressions?”
Why would Enkrid only hold Riley accountable for things no one else was being punished for?
“Is this because of my father’s choices?”
Before he spoke, he looked like a shell of a person.
But when he found his voice, it carried a surprising weight.
Riley spent most of his time here.
In front of him was a simple, unadorned grave.
A branch served as a marker, with words carved into it by a blade:
Here lies Heskal.
Riley found it impossible to summon hatred for the man.
Enkrid felt that Riley needed the truth.
Riley was Heskal’s flesh and blood.
If the patriarch had tried to explain, the weight of their history would have distorted the message.
It might not have been Enkrid’s responsibility—but he felt he owed it to the boy.
So he spoke.
Carefully, he laid out the patriarch’s theories and his own observations.
Riley listened without interrupting.
When the story ended, his face remained still—but tears began to track through the dirt on his cheeks.
“He knew that if he left you out of it, the head of the family would protect you.
If his goal was truly the end of Zaun, he would have taken you with him.
You haven’t fought, but you know the basics of strategy, right?”
Enkrid asked.
Riley didn’t answer.
He knew it was the truth.
His father had personally tutored him.
Heskal was a man of cold logic—but he couldn’t kill his own son.
Enkrid left him there to his quiet mourning.

—

By the time the sun had finished drying the landscape, Enkrid was out at his usual early hour, waking up his muscles.
Today was the day he would finally draw his steel again.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
Using a sword in its sheath like a crutch, a limping figure approached.
His face was set in a grim mask.
His jaw was tight.
His eyes burned with intent.
He dropped to the dry ground, struggling to fold his injured leg.
“I will be your servant.”
This was how Riley intended to settle the debt.
Enkrid had preserved Zaun.
Riley had accepted the reality of his father’s end.
Now, he needed a purpose.
If Enkrid felt any lingering bitterness, Riley would be the one to absorb it.
He would offer himself as a slave so that Enkrid wouldn’t hold a grudge against the village.
That was his reasoning.
But for a sacrifice to work, the other person has to actually want it.
“I have no use for a servant.”
Enkrid was as steady as he always was.
He hadn’t lost his cool since arriving in Zaun.
He wasn’t about to start now.
“Let’s have a match.”
His voice was casual.
That was just who Enkrid was.
Riley’s resolve flickered.
“What’s this about a slave?
Get to the back of the line, kid.
You’re not the first one here.”
Riley wasn’t the only one waiting.
Lynox was there, smirking at him.
Odinkar, Grida, Magrun, and Alexandra were all gathered.
This was the moment Enkrid had been waiting for.
To him, this was the ultimate recreation.
This was true pleasure.
Enkrid’s lips curled into a sharp grin.
“All of you, come at me together.”
At that bold challenge, the expressions of the Zaun warriors hardened.
“If he hadn’t just saved our lives, I swear…”
Odinkar grumbled.
The sentiment was shared by everyone present.