A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 743

Chapter 743

“So. You have finished your slaughter of the monsters and finally escaped the day for which you toiled.”
The rushing water, the violet glow of the lantern, and the presence of the Ferryman confirmed that this was no hallucination.
Enkrid rested at the vessel’s rim, gazing into the distance before shifting his focus.
Regardless of where he peered, the horizon seemed absent. Or, to be more accurate, the end of all things was the only thing visible.
It felt as though every path was obstructed. Even the movement of the river and the trailing ribbons of light gave off that impression. If pressed for a reason, he couldn’t provide one—it was simply an intuition.
“I offer my praise. A creature born to die, yet one who will eventually crave the eternal, human.”
The voice carried a pedantic, academic weight.
The Ferryman seemed struck by a poetic muse today. Or perhaps he was acting the part of a philosopher hunting for hidden truths.
“I never had a desire for eternal life.”
“You will.”
“You think you can decide my future for me?”
After every trial I have already endured?
The challenge remained unspoken but vibrated beneath his words.
A crooked smirk touched the Ferryman’s mouth. He was actually smiling. It was a stark transformation from their initial encounter.
“The moment you find yourself confined within the cell of remorse, you will scream for it. You will beg. You don’t believe me now. You’ll reject the notion. I am aware. Because of that, I shall provide a glimpse.”
The Ferryman lifted his free hand. His dark robes billowed upward, and the interior wasn’t merely shadowed—it appeared as though it had been dyed with the essence of a void.
Enkrid’s gaze was pulled into that darkness. The second he felt his focus waver, his surroundings dissolved. The boat was gone.
On a landscape of charred earth, Enkrid was down on one knee, cradling a figure in his arms.
“Get moving. Do what is required of you. Damn it…”
The hair, soaked and matted with crimson, had lost its characteristic gray luster.
Rem was fading. There was no remedy to be found.
“The threads of time are always shifting, naturally. This is likely a glimpse of a distant tomorrow.”
The Ferryman’s words drifted from every direction at once.
He didn’t sound malicious or spiteful. He sounded composed. He was simply presenting a forecast with a high statistical probability.
That detachment made the vision feel suffocatingly tangible.
Rem’s life slipped away. Enkrid was forced to witness the exact moment the light left his eyes.
“That shall be the very first ‘today’ you manage to seize.”
Deprivation. It signified the act of losing.
The Ferryman’s motive was transparent.
Hold tight to your suffering. Why do you persist in choosing such a painful existence?
Enkrid saw the trap being laid, but he had no desire to step into it.
Furthermore—
‘This hasn’t come to pass.’
Nothing was set in stone. Squandering energy on worry now wouldn’t alter the outcome.
The only path was to rise, clear his head, and execute his duties.
Enkrid snapped out of the vision and blinked his eyes open. The scent of moisture was heavy. A damp mist had rolled in overnight, and a soft rain had started to fall.
“Heave-ho.”
Enkrid stood up from the mattress, appreciating the sturdy support it offered.
The bed was a gift from Shinar. She claimed to have stuffed it with a particular variety of restorative leaves.
Bare-chested and clad only in thin trousers, Enkrid walked out into the morning air.
“You’ve finally woken, brother.”
Audin, built with the massive frame of a bear, greeted him with a grin.
“You’re up quite early.”
“The Week of Prayer is upon us.”
As a cleric devoted to the God of War, Audin maintained his spiritual rituals with unwavering strictness.
Even within the sacred walls of Legion, few could match his level of piety.
Perhaps only that disheveled saint—the man Audin viewed as his mentor.
Rumor had it the saint was making his way toward Legion. He had apparently taken on a mission while traveling. A missive from Lord Overdeer had arrived as well.
‘If he has the endorsement of Lord Overdeer, then his faith must be genuine.’
Aside from him, there was Noah.
Upon his return to Border Guard, Enkrid had discovered a stack of letters from Noah.
Most of the contents were mundane, but the underlying message was clear.
If Enkrid had a need, if Noah could provide assistance—he was ready.
It wasn’t about settling a score; it was simply what a friend would do for another.
‘He worries too much.’
Had the Empire actually managed to seize him, the situation would have turned catastrophic.
Audin spoke up from his side.
“I see you haven’t allowed your skills to dull.”
Enkrid had maintained his regimen even during his time at House Zaun. It was his nature.
“Is that what you think?”
“It’s obvious.”
Under the light drizzle of the morning, the two of them practiced lifting and dropping heavy boulders. Afterward, they lay back with massive iron spheres held between their ankles, hoisting them using only the strength of their cores.
A casual observer would have been terrified by the sight.
If one of those iron weights slipped, it would easily shatter a skull.
Neither of them showed the slightest tremor of concern. They simply worked through the repetitions, unbothered.
“I was actually looking forward to a clash with the Empire. This is a bit of a letdown.”
Pell strolled up and made the comment, while Rophod, standing nearby, gave a dismissive shake of his head.
“I had no desire for a war.”
Conflict only sows misery. Rophod understood that truth. Pell understood it as well—he just believed that when the time came, one had to embrace the violence.
Enkrid studied the pair. They were distinct individuals, yet they shared a similar core.
Both were prepared to fight when the situation demanded it, though their motivations differed. Consequently, their internal logic differed as well.
A thought that had haunted him before resurfaced.
‘Can the path of a knight be manufactured through a rigid process?’
These two had been pushed to their breaking points for exactly that reason. Audin had mentioned it the previous day.
“I put them through hell. They’re both showing real progress now.”
Enkrid could see the evidence of that labor.
‘Their Will is reacting.’
Just by looking at them, he could see their bodies instinctively shifting into combat-ready stances.
It wasn’t because they expected an attack. it was a conditioned reflex.
‘Behaviors etched into the soul through relentless repetition.’
The framework that brought them to this point was something Enkrid himself had established.
Can a system create a knight? What was the verdict?
‘A mediocre system won’t suffice.’
Certainly, if you punish a body enough, even a candidate could trigger their Will with incredible speed.
But that alone didn’t grant the title of knight.
‘To employ Will without conscious thought.’
That was the threshold they needed to cross.
This wasn’t a calculated move.
He simply watched them. He saw the way they steeled themselves, and he felt inspired.
He had visited Zaun. He had stayed in tiny hamlets.
By returning to Border Guard, Enkrid had gained fresh perspectives, particularly through the act of instructing others.
His dialogue with Valphir Valmung had also been enlightening.
‘A knight has to wake up and stand.’
It wasn’t merely a matter of physical power.
‘All elements must operate as one.’
Might, reaction time, and situational awareness had to fuse. Will was the conductor of that orchestra.
Rophod and Pell were unique. Each required a specialized approach.
Some might call it luck. Half of it was happenstance—the other half was Enkrid’s own strange method of evolution.
Enkrid instinctively realized a way to shove them toward their awakening.
The moment the concept crystallized, his body followed suit. It was his way of doing things.
He discarded the iron sphere and gripped Three Iron.
“Pell.”
Then he lunged.
He drew Three Iron in a vertical arc and brought it crashing down. Between the sudden step and the descent of his arm, a crushing weight of pressure bore down on Pell.
To an outsider, the strike didn’t even seem particularly fast.
‘It can’t be stopped.’
Rophod recognized the truth immediately. His perception was exceptional.
Glimpsing a moment into the future, he smelled the scent of the grave.
It wasn’t his own end he saw—it was Pell’s.
Lua Gharne, who had wandered out to observe, widened her eyes. The capillaries in her eyes surged with blood. She was tapping into every ounce of the primal energy her Frokk biology could offer.
‘If that connects, he’s split in two. Even a partial dodge will cost him a limb.’
The crushing weight. The blade.
There was no telegraphing. No warning signs.
Pell’s survival instincts screamed for the Idol Slayer.
Before Enkrid even shouted, Pell had detected the lethal threat on a molecular level.
Like a wild animal sensing a predator near a watering hole, Pell’s focus sharpened the instant he locked eyes with Enkrid.
He felt the shift in Enkrid’s presence and moved.
The Idol Slayer left its sheath.
*Ching—*
Deflect the blow or perish.
He needed to summon his Will, but there was zero time for contemplation.
That was why it flowed out naturally.
The drive to live is the most deep-seated instinct in any human being.
And Pell? He was a product of the wilderness.
Such people do whatever is necessary to keep breathing.
That had been his reality since he was a boy.
Before a single thought could form in his mind, he reached for his Will.
*Zing—*
The Idol Slayer hummed as it accepted the Will. His musculature, his nerves, and his perceptions aligned perfectly—and he swung to intercept Enkrid’s blade.
*Fwoosh.*
There was no crash of steel on steel.
Three Iron halted in mid-air and diverted its path. The Idol Slayer merely cut through the humidity.
Pell looked toward Enkrid—but his vision was unfocused. He was staring at a horizon far beyond their current location.
*Thud.*
The sword that had met only air slipped from his grasp and hit the dirt.
Pell stood there, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides, completely still.
The group watched in silence, trying to process the exchange.
“Quiet.”
Enkrid held a finger to his mouth.
Pell had retreated into his own mind.
His physical form and his spirit, forged by the brutal methods of Audin and the Mad Knights, were now a mere hair’s breadth from true knighthood.
Enkrid had provided the final shove.
‘The knight-training doctrine of the Empire.’
It likely resembled this.
‘The bond of apprenticeship.’
The concept felt right. A teacher and a pupil—a method of passing down the flame.
If that were the case, it offered a sustainable way to maintain a knightly class.
That was the subtext of Valmung’s words.
Rem stepped out a bit later, rubbing the sleep from his eyes—then he started to chuckle.
Well, would you look at that?
Enkrid had achieved in a heartbeat what none of the Mad Knights could manage.
That specific strike he had unleashed—it was precisely the catalyst required.
‘Just the right speed.’
Fast enough to be a death sentence, but controlled enough to spare him.
Fast enough to strip away the luxury of thought.
It was a feat far harder than it appeared.
Enkrid looked at Rem and silently mouthed a message.
*Later.*
He had felt his own Will vibrating and bleeding through his presence—and he was acknowledging it.
Jaxon emerged from his quarters as well—and he felt it too.
Enkrid’s awareness had reached a level far beyond his previous state.
Thinking back, he had known Jaxon was there the moment they were in proximity.
Jaxon’s eyes sparkled with interest.
Their games of tag were about to become much more difficult. Ambushes weren’t going to work as easily as they once had.
Everyone except Ragna began to move toward the training field.
Ragna was still dead to the world.
Only after Pell had been left in his trance did Rophod speak up.
“Why only Pell?”
What if Pell reaches that peak before I do?
Enkrid turned to him and gave his instruction:
“Wield your blade for three days straight without stopping. No water. Treat every block as if your life depends on it.”
Pell required a sharp, violent jolt; Rophod needed the time to internalize and solidify his foundation.
Rophod was silent for a beat, then gave a firm nod.
“I will be absent for a time.”
He had handed over the training of the new recruits to Squire Clemence—he was free of burdens.
Without another word, Rophod disappeared.
He would come back a different man before Pell even woke up. The resolve was visible in the set of his shoulders.
“You brought back some interesting new skills, didn’t you?”
Rem remarked.
Ragna had witnessed Enkrid’s transformation already, but the others were just seeing it.
“I picked up a few things.”
“Is that so?”
Clearly eager for a duel—but Enkrid watched the sunlight breaking through the clouds and shook his head.
“Not now. I have matters to attend to.”
“…You’re turning down a fight?”
Rem looked stunned. Enkrid gave a flat reply.
“My handle on Three Iron is slipping. If we’re going to fight, I want to be at my best.”
“I’ll be waiting, brother.”
Audin was the one who answered.
“And Teresa—she’s already crossed over, hasn’t she?”
To Enkrid’s inquiry, Audin nodded with a smirk.
She had reached that state faster than Rophod or Pell, though her journey had been unique.
It had taken place while Enkrid was away. Audin had assisted her, provided direction, and showed her a different door.
“I suggested she might join the Paladin Order.”
He had extended the invitation himself.
“This is the place I want to stay. This is my home.”
Teresa had declined the offer without a second thought.
Why did everyone view this place as their sanctuary?
It was because of the man who now nodded and reached for his waterproof cloak.
“I’m going out for a while.”
Aitri was expecting him. It had been three days since his return.
The first evening, it was already too late.
The following day, he had recounted his journey to the group.
“A story sounds different when it comes from the Captain.”
That had been Rem’s take. Even though Ragna had already told the tale, that man was notorious for leaving out the details.
Anne had been present too, but she wasn’t much for conversation.
Enkrid had spent enough time in his past paying for tales that he had learned the nuances of the craft.
If you listen to enough quality narration, you eventually learn how to do it yourself.
Jaxon concurred.
“It makes me want to ask for the next part of the story right now.”
His expression was stony, but his words were sincere.
Aitri took back Three Iron and told him to return in four days.
“I’ll recalibrate it and hand it back. I have the True Steel ready, but the finished engraved blade will require more time.”
The actual specialized weapon wasn’t finished. Even so, Three Iron already felt like it was halfway there.
“Understood.”
Enkrid stood. There was no need for further questions. That was Aitri’s domain.
Frokk, the smith, gave him a brief look of recognition, and Enkrid offered a vague nod in return.
The rain had mostly stopped, and the sun was venturing out from behind the clouds.
Back at the camp, Rem was juggling three hand axes.
He threw them in a rhythmic pattern, catching them with alternating hands.
It looked like a street performer’s trick, but not when Rem did it.
“What’s the point of that?”
“Can’t you tell?”
Regardless of the topic, Rem always had a bit of a bite. Perhaps it was his upbringing.
Watching him, Enkrid realized he hadn’t fully shaken the weight of his dream.
Nothing had fundamentally changed, but like dust settling in an uncleaned room, the fragments of the vision lingered in his mind.
So he spoke—
“Don’t go dying on me. Rem.”
*Clack.*
Rem caught a spinning blade mid-air. A spark flickered in his gray eyes—likely the strange energy he called sorcery coursing through him.
“You want to go at it right now?”
Always twisting words into a challenge—that was Rem’s way.
A warrior who viewed an expression of concern as a call to arms.
“Hold on.”
Enkrid held up a hand.
He was developing something. A technique he wanted to perfect before showing the group.
Until that was ready, the sparring would have to wait.
“What am I, a pet?”
Rem growled at the dismissive motion, but it was just another typical exchange.
And when night fell.
“Well. What are your thoughts on this?”
The Ferryman had constructed a new vision.
The same bleak setting—but a different victim.
This time, the person dying in Enkrid’s arms…
Was Jaxon.