A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 730

Chapter 730

Enkrid did not turn down Valphir’s offer. No soul—not even the patriarch of the house—possessed the authority to hold him back. How could they possibly intervene when his gaze burned with such visible fervor at the mere thought? Consequently, the people of Zaun could only provide what support was within their means.

“Ragna has departed to claim the Sunrise. The process will require several days. At the absolute longest, perhaps a fortnight,” Tempest noted, though he quickly sensed that Enkrid was hardly focused on his words. The young man’s attention was already fixed on the horizon of what lay ahead.

‘Ambition and the drive for a challenge.’

If one were to label the shimmering light in those eyes, it would demand multiple definitions. It was a smoldering furnace of a desire to acquire knowledge and evolve. Enkrid gave off the distinct impression that his mental preparations for the journey had been finalized long ago.

“Are you truly set on departing ahead of the rest?” Anne, one of the figures who had aided him, approached. She didn’t appear intent on blocking his path, merely seeking a final affirmation.

“Indeed. Ensure Ragna accompanies you later. If you leave him to travel solo, the two of you will never manage to share a home in this lifetime.”

“I am well aware of that.” The absence of a smile on her face confirmed her genuine apprehension.

From various corners, people stepped forward to offer supplies. Strips of jerky, preserved fruits, and even the specialized alchemical draughts of Milezcia were tucked into his travel pack.

“Take this. It belongs to you now.” The stingy Lynox reluctantly produced one of his treasured relics. It appeared to be a rod only slightly longer than a short blade, but with a sharp flick through the air, it extended with a rhythmic mechanical click to reveal a lethal spearhead.

“It is a portable javelin. It is imbued with a piercing enchantment, capable of punching through almost any defense. Furthermore—” Lynox leaned in to whisper additional details. It was clearly a masterpiece of rare quality. “Employ it with skill.”

Enkrid accepted the gift with his usual stoic grace. He secured it to his belt, hoisted his pack, checked his pair of swords, and turned his back to them. The deep navy cloak resting over his travel coat was impossible to miss, featuring an asymmetrical crest stitched into the fabric.

“Are you certain the two of you can manage this? If the need arises, simply send word. I will come to your aid,” Grida murmured as Enkrid walked past.

“With a puncture in your gut?”

“What, do you think Zaun lacks capable fighters? Besides, who hasn’t dealt with a few holes now and then?” Enkrid dismissed the worry with a casual wave, indicating he was perfectly fine. To an outside observer, the sight of him exchanging jests with companions might have seemed commonplace.

‘But that is an impossibility.’

He was far too striking to ever be considered ordinary. With his raven hair, eyes reminiscent of a crystalline lake, and that distinct navy mantle, he possessed the grace of a portrait. His tall frame and long limbs, combined with a physique honed by discipline and a perfectly poised gait, projected an aura of profound stability.

‘Most ladies of noble birth would be captivated the instant he entered their sight.’

Yet, there was a point of even greater curiosity. Tempest, who usually remained silent and demanding of nothing, attempted to tether Enkrid using only the weight of his voice. “Why do you refrain from requesting a reward?”

He had delivered Zaun from a catastrophic fate. He had uprooted the looming threat.

‘Only two bladesmen and a single girl?’

Those three had not acted in isolation. However, what would the outcome have been had this specific man not intervened? One did not need profound wisdom to see the answer. Events would have unfolded according to Heskal’s schemes—or worse, the Empire would have arrived late to the scene, wearing deceptive smiles while seizing everything they desired. The pact with the Empire was less a formal treaty and more a predatory understanding.

‘The Empire perpetually waits for the right moment to consume Zaun.’

But Zaun had no desire for such a fate. Individuals might pursue personal profit and depart, but the heart of Zaun as a collective resisted it. The role originally intended for an Imperial lapdog had instead been occupied by a man named Enkrid. He possessed every right to demand compensation. He could have laid claim to the military might of Zaun for his own ends. Even if he failed, he had the status to make the attempt.

Yet Enkrid of the Border Guard, the companion and leader of Ragna, asked for nothing. It was true that one occasionally encountered such anomalies—individuals who ignored the present to gaze upon the distant future, people of an entirely different internal caliber. But to the patriarch, Enkrid seemed distinct even from those types. He didn’t even seem interested in collecting a future favor. That was the most baffling part of all.

“What else could I possibly require?” Enkrid asked, tilting his head with genuine sincerity.

Despite his aching limbs and his reliance on a walking stick, Tempest forced his spine straight and squared his shoulders. “Because you were the savior of Zaun.”

There was no utility in speaking in riddles. He was not a man of subtle nuances. This traveler understood the significance of his actions; he was sharp-witted and perceptive. And yet—

“I have already gained much,” was his only reply.

Was it a sudden whim? Or a calculated move to ensure Zaun’s longevity? Tempest could not tell. Rather than following a blueprint of schemes, he followed the sudden heat rising in his heart. As the head of the house, he uttered words he had never before voiced to an outsider.

“Should you ever summon us, Zaun will march at your side. Odinkar, see to it that my vow is honored.”

“As you command.” Odinkar, standing nearby, gave a firm nod. Perhaps because he had perceived Enkrid’s nature even before Tempest had, there was no shadow of doubt in him. The words were spoken plainly, the lack of outward flair being a result of the patriarch’s own stoic nature. But the gravity behind them was immense. Enkrid, however, showed no shock.

Truly?

He merely cast a glance of mild interest over his shoulder and nodded once before continuing his walk. “Then, farewell.”

At that moment, the patriarch spoke once more. “To the champion who preserved our lineage.”

There were no boisterous shouts or weeping eyes. They simply unsheathed their steel.

*Chachachachachak.*

Dozens of blades were hoisted toward the heavens, a silent salute to their benefactor. It was the height of summer—the light was brilliant, and the foliage was a vibrant, lush green.

—

It took several moments of blinking for Ragna to recognize that his surroundings were not the physical world.

‘Sunrise.’

He had ventured here to claim the blade—Sunrise, the ancestral heirloom and magical artifact of the Zaun line. The weapon lacked a permanent shape, and even its title of ‘Sunrise’ was subject to change over time. That was the extent of Ragna’s knowledge. The rest had been passed down from his father’s lips.

“The task is straightforward. Overcome the lingering consciousness within the steel, and it will submit to you. If you are found lacking, you will emerge as a mindless shell.”

“Understood.” Ragna displayed neither trepidation nor hesitation. He didn’t even bother to inquire about the criteria for ‘worthiness.’

The weapon was housed in a plain wooden crate, appearing rusted and battered, looking nothing like a legendary blade. That was likely its most effective protection. What brigand would suspect such a relic was a priceless treasure? Furthermore, a sword capable of inducing insanity just by being held could hardly be considered a conventional prize. To be honest, the silver-hilted blade Lynox had once showcased looked twice as valuable.

“I managed two swings. In those days, the weapon answered to the name Sunset.” Recalling his father’s anecdote, Ragna peered forward. Three silhouettes, representing both men and women, materialized before him.

One woman, whose hair was a red so intense it looked like a living flame, gave a radiant smile. “If you treat us as mere shadows of the past, you will perish.”

“I’m on a schedule, so let’s conclude this quickly,” Ragna retorted without missing a beat.

Later, during the heat of the struggle, he discovered they had once been aided by a figure named Acker in the distant past—but the information went in one ear and out the other. Even their grim warning that his physical form would waste away if he lingered too long failed to move him.

“A bold youth.” Only the woman among them spoke. It seemed Acker hadn’t passed down the traditional forms, but Ragna didn’t care for formalities. His only goal was the soul-bound weapon of his family, the blade that shifted its essence to reflect its wielder’s Will.

“You insolent boy, have you no reverence for your forebears?” Even when that cry reached him, he ignored the noise and swung his massive blade.

He had watched someone else shatter their own ceilings and forge ahead. ‘I am capable of the same.’

He was forced to clash with all three spectral figures simultaneously. But this—this was a minor hurdle. Those looking for a way out search for justifications to quit. Those who believe in their own victory search for a path to it. That was Ragna’s essence. He fought with a relentless, stubborn conviction.

While everyone predicted a two-week ordeal, Ragna opened his eyes after a mere three days.

“He has already left?” When informed that Enkrid had departed without waiting, he wasn’t shocked. On the surface, Enkrid appeared to be a man of cold logic and preparation. But Ragna, having stood by him through fire, understood a core part of his spirit. He moved according to his own internal compass. Thus, the departure was expected.

The only people stunned were those who didn’t know Enkrid as well as Ragna did. Ragna stepped out with a colossal greatsword in his grip—showing no signs of mental decay.

“Was the Sunrise not supposed to take the form of a longsword?” Odinkar mused, tilting his head. That was the common consensus.

“If the blade accepts its master, its physical form will adapt,” the patriarch explained. He was so taken aback that his eyes were slightly wider than their usual narrow slits. Only Alexandra, his long-time partner, would have caught such a microscopic shift in his expression.

—

“Ultimately, existence is defined by cycles. Constant cycles.”

A cloud of disapproval had hung over the group when they learned Enkrid was traveling with Valphir Valmung, the knight of the Empire. However, the trek proved to be remarkably engaging.

“A cycle. An apprentice takes their Will, infuses it with a specific goal, and polishes it into a technique. Once a knight attains mastery, they wield that Will as naturally as breathing. But to achieve true excellence, one must return to that Will and re-infuse it with conscious intent.”

The explanation was ethereal and cryptic—yet Enkrid grasped the meaning immediately, having felt those very sensations within his own body. The sudden burst of Will and its subsequent containment was all about the intuitive flow of intent into raw power.

‘The transformation of the nature of Will.’

That was the hurdle Enkrid had been preparing to face—and he realized he had already cleared it. This was precisely why he had informed Tempest that his rewards were sufficient. Zaun had provided him with the growth he sought, and he was content.

‘I gained a wealth of experience.’ That remained his guiding thought. Saving a people did not give him a license to strip them of their dignity with demands. Furthermore, if Zaun lost its isolationist character, it would cease to be the place he respected.

‘Zaun thrives on its martial devotion precisely because it remains secluded.’ That isolation was the bedrock of its identity. A life of perpetual practice. A community that existed solely for the art of the sword, day and night. Their distance from the world kept them free of political rot. In that framework, the three surrounding villages acted as Zaun’s defensive plating. The villages dealt with the messy outside world; Zaun focused on the blade. It was an elegant system.

‘They are arguably the most potent small-scale military force on the continent.’ In a conflict where specialized elite units dictate the outcome, Zaun’s prowess was a terrifying variable. Valphir was a wellspring of such knowledge and continued to share these insights freely.

They had been trekking at a blistering pace for hours, a light sweat coating their skin. Their agreement was simple: no pauses while the sun remained in the sky. They navigated thin forest trails, scaled steep ridges, and vaulted over rushing water. Both men, possessing physical capabilities far beyond the average human, cleared wide streams with effortless leaps.

Following one such jump onto a gentle slope, Valphir posed a casual question. “Are you aware of the reason Tempest Zaun and Lynox harbor such disdain for me?”

“I am not.”

“It is simple. I am willing to do anything to secure a victory.”

The tactics and philosophies varied by the man. For instance, Enkrid’s habit of using the terrain or psychological manipulation could also be seen as using any means necessary. But Zaun would never condemn a man for tactical pragmatism. They were scholars of war who lived for the thrill of the fight. Therefore, what Valphir hinted at had to be something far more ruthless.

“I see no flaw in targeting a foe’s vulnerabilities,” Enkrid remarked. His own perspective was expansive. He had no grounds to judge Valphir. Even if the knight’s tactics were abrasive or grim—they were still valid within the scope of survival.

They pushed through dense brush, navigated treacherous muddy landslides, and eventually hit level ground. They encountered a handful of beasts along the path, but nothing foolish enough to provoke the pair could slow them down. In every skirmish, Enkrid watched Valphir’s movements with an eagle eye. The knight didn’t even bother drawing steel; he simply pulverized monsters with the heavy iron guards on his forearms.

A tusked beast larger than an ox charged them on all fours—Valphir simply pivoted and shattered its cranium with the back of his hand. The creature stumbled blindly for several paces before hitting the dirt. Later, they neutralized a pack of water-logged corpses unearthed by the storms—again, without unsheathing their swords. Not out of a sense of rivalry, but because Enkrid had been experimenting with his own martial theories, he also dispatched several using only his fists.

“I heard the monsters were utilizing organized formations?” Valphir asked after clearing a few more.

“It certainly made one wonder who provided their instruction.”

“That isn’t as rare as you might think. Near the boundaries of the Demon Realm, it’s a common sight. It has been occurring with increasing frequency in recent years.”

The mention of the Demon Realm caught Enkrid’s interest. Seeing this, Valphir went on. “Just as mankind adapts monster techniques for our own use, the monsters are now integrating human systems. It was inevitable, wasn’t it?”

There were several reasons Enkrid was finding this trek so fulfilling. One was the underlying current of tension that came from traveling as a pair. The second was the caliber of the information Valphir possessed—stories that were hard to come by in the borderlands. Enkrid had always been the sort of man who would spend his last coin on a traveler’s tale. He had a profound appreciation for a good narrative.

“What exactly are they picking up?”

“You were unaware? The concepts of Pressure and Intimidation were originally the domain of monsters. In fact, the entire framework of using Will? Humanity learned that by observing them.”

To Enkrid, Valphir Valmung was more than just a knight of the Empire; he was a captivating chronicler. Even now, he was weaving a history that kept Enkrid’s focus entirely gripped.