A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 746

Chapter 746

## Determination and the Dream

I am going to take up the mantle of a knight. I will be the shield for those at my back. I will wipe the Abyss from existence.

Tracing the path of those aspirations upward, one could see the true heart of Enkrid’s longing.

“A normal life.”

A simple existence defined by tranquility and shared joy.

He envisioned a fruit seller offering a cheerful greeting, and someone roasting tubers over an open fire, handing a share to a wandering youth. He saw a waitress with nimble movements scolding children with a playful clip to the ear while making sure they were fed. He imagined travelers returning from distant lands with trinkets and tales. There would be sorrow, certainly, but every morning would be met with a grin.

Indeed, this was the specific reality Enkrid craved above all else. The pinnacle of the life he had spent years imagining.

So… could he claim to have reached that pinnacle now?

In a sense, he had.

Would it not be sufficient to simply safeguard the territory he already held? To ensure these quiet cycles continued indefinitely?

It would be enough.

Was there truly a necessity to push beyond these borders?

There was not.

Enkrid looked inward, listening to the soft reply echoing in his soul. It held the weight of truth.

“Indeed. This is the prize you have always sought.”

The Ferryman’s voice was laced with a sense of finality—a clear, unwavering certainty. Furthermore, the Ferryman provided a window of opportunity.

“For the time being, this ‘now’ shall persist. The choice remains yours to make at your leisure.”

Essentially, there was no rush to act. He was invited to simply exist within the moment.

When Enkrid rose the following morning, he moved through the day as he always did. The Ferryman had spoken truly; the peaceful present he desired remained unbroken. His drills were satisfying, and the rush of improving his skills had not faded.

“The labor continues. Do you not find it rewarding?”

The Ferryman appeared under the cover of night to pose the question. Enkrid found that it was.

Not every gain was reset by the repetition of the day. Even after the world reset through death, the muscle memory and the insights Enkrid gained through his trials stayed etched in his being.

Was this another boon granted by the Ferryman?

Was he supposed to find contentment in this loop?

His ultimate ambition was never to spend eternity trekking through dangerous peaks. It was to rest his head in a warm, welcoming home.

—

## Gathering the Storm

“Is the camp busy today?”

On the following day, Enkrid struck up a conversation with Audin as he passed.

“Ragna has been particularly focused lately. Everyone seems to be applying themselves with great fervor.”

Rem was currently occupied with drilling the company. Ragna was tirelessly working his blade, accompanied by ten warriors under his direction.

Pell, who had been lingering in the vicinity, stepped forward.

“Do you need something? Shall I call them together?”

Pell remained Enkrid’s right hand, just as Rophod served Ragna. Despite their elevation to knighthood, their dynamics remained the same.

In Ragna’s case, Rophod was essential for keeping the rank and file in line. As for Pell, he simply preferred to stay in Enkrid’s shadow.

“I wish to see them when evening falls.”

It would not be an exaggeration to name Enkrid the commander of the Mad Order of Knights and the sovereign of Border Guard in all but name.

There were even some ignorant aristocrats who whispered in hushed tones, wondering if he intended to carve out a sovereign state within the Border Guard’s lands.

Enkrid paid no mind to such rumors. Regardless, he was not a man who usually summoned his comrades without cause.

He had never before called for a meeting in a moment of such stillness. Usually, his commands were forged in the fire of active combat.

That had been his way since his time as a minor squad leader.

As Pell absorbed Enkrid’s request, a sudden chill raced down his spine.

“Is something wrong?”

The Captain’s voice was steady. His expression was as stoic as ever. There was no visible reason for the reaction.

Pell glanced over at Audin, who was standing nearby with a smile, lost in devotion.

“O Divine Father, do You require my service? Are You using this man as Your vessel?”

*What on earth is he talking about?*

Pell pushed the thought aside and set off to assemble the group. He decided to notify Rem last.

“As you wish.”

Fighting back an inexplicable sense of dread, Pell departed.

—

## The Weight of the Blade

For several days, Ragna had been dedicated to his swordplay from the first light of dawn until the stars appeared.

He wasn’t practicing some secret, high-level maneuver or a legendary style. He wasn’t even engaging in recreational dueling.

Instead, following the traditional Northern manuals for the longsword, he was drilling the absolute fundamentals—his stance, vertical strikes, lunges, sweeping cuts, single-handed stabs, spinning slashes, and binding techniques.

It mirrored the daily routine Pell followed.

“A sturdy base is the only path to the summit.”

That was the philosophy Enkrid had instilled in them.

By watching him, Pell had absorbed a great deal without even realizing it. In fact, the entire group had.

“Knighthood has distinct tiers?”

Injecting your Will into a strike—that marked the novice. Infusing that technique with your unique essence—that was the middle path. Breaking free from the constraints of the form itself—that was the mark of a master.

“Is there a level beyond that?”

What could it be?

To become fluid?

To act as a shield one heartbeat and a spear the next? To shift between forms with total spontaneity?

Pell had once felt a flash of total mastery.

It was an overwhelming sensation—the belief that everything was within your grasp, a feeling that saturated your very soul.

As if you could reach out and seize the sun itself. As if a single movement of your steel could cleave the horizon.

Intoxicated by that power, you expend every ounce of your Will until you collapse from the strain.

Pell had known that feeling. However, in his mind, the mountain wasn’t Pen-Hanil, and the sun didn’t hang in the heavens.

“Commander.”

To Pell, the sun, the peak, and Enkrid were one and the same.

That was why Pell had challenged Enkrid—and why he had been utterly defeated.

A lesser man might have shattered in that moment, wallowing in the bitterness of a lost cause. Some might have laughed at the notion of ranking knighthood like children’s lessons.

“I finally earned my spurs, and now I’m told there are more mountains to climb?”

The soft “Greenhouse Knights” of the capital might have grumbled such things.

Pell did not.

In truth, none of the Mad Order of Knights felt that way.

“There is still room to grow.”

The knowledge that a higher ceiling existed only fueled their fire. If they had already reached the top, the journey would have felt hollow.

Now, Pell realized why his mind had been wandering.

Ragna’s solitary training emitted a pressure so thick it felt like a physical barrier.

“Why does the air feel so heavy with intent?”

It felt like coming across the path of a massive pack of lycanthropes that had just finished a slaughter.

The conflict hadn’t begun—but the atmosphere was pregnant with it. The season for sharpening steel was returning.

“Ah.”

The realization finally struck Pell.

Everyone was bracing for something.

*Fwoosh!*

A localized gale followed the arc of Ragna’s sword. Could a simple swing eventually take on a physical form if pushed far enough? It seemed impossible—but Ragna seemed like the type of man who could bend reality to his will.

“What are you loitering for?”

Rophod, who had been practicing nearby, stepped into view.

“I have news.”

Pell could feel the lethal intent radiating from Ragna. This wasn’t a man killing time. He was honing his edge to a razor-thin point.

The reason was obvious.

There was only one individual in all of Border Guard or the Mad Order who dictated the rhythm of their lives.

“A gathering tonight.”

“Understood.”

Rophod caught the meaning instantly. He didn’t need to ask for the source. Only the Captain could command Ragna’s presence.

—

## Shadows and Secrets

Next, Pell sought out Jaxon, heading toward a local establishment known for its sweets and tea.

A striking blonde woman met him at the entrance.

“I always feel a strange tension when I walk in here.”

What had once been a subtle intuition was now a sharp awareness.

“Two observers on the roof.”

One tucked away beneath the counter. Hidden eyes were everywhere.

“There are more than you’ve spotted. Don’t do anything reckless.”

Jaxon materialized before Pell even saw him. He hadn’t detected any movement—but Jaxon was suddenly standing right behind him.

Pell turned his head and saw Jaxon with eyes narrowed. In that moment, meeting those cold, detached eyes, Pell felt the weight of a dozen different gazes locking onto him.

“If a fight broke out here, I’d be finished.”

Naturally, there would be no brawl. But it felt as though he had walked directly into a predator’s web.

“I pushed myself too hard recently, and now I’m having trouble masking my presence. What’s the word?”

Jaxon’s casual tone broke the tension.

What was that sensation? It felt like killing intent, but the quality was different.

He had wrapped his senses in his Will, casting them out like a net. It was a skill that went beyond physical senses—a form of pure, willful detection.

That was what had triggered Pell’s memory.

Jaxon had utilized that very technique on the fields of Azpen to track and eliminate his marks through sheer perception of will. Now, he had evolved the skill even further.

“We are to meet this evening.”

Jaxon gave a short nod. The unsettling atmosphere surrounding him vanished instantly. Everything returned to a mundane state.

As Pell prepared to depart, the blonde woman called out from behind the counter.

“Be careful out there, little shepherd~”

Pell offered a distracted nod and walked out, but he froze after only a few paces.

“I’ve never met her before.”

How could she have known his past as a shepherd? He hadn’t said a word about it.

He knew she was Jaxon’s companion. Did Jaxon act like a stone wall in public only to chatter away in private? That didn’t seem like the Jaxon he knew.

Of course, the explanation was simpler. Geor Dagger wasn’t merely a collective of killers—it was a premier intelligence network. It would be a failure of their profession if they didn’t know every detail about the elite soldiers in their own backyard.

Even without that, the fame of the Mad Order of Knights was widespread. They had been at the center of every major crisis.

Stopping the civil war and earning the title of Demon Slayer was more than enough to make them legends. In Naurillia, people whispered that if the Mad Order marched to the stalling southern front, the war would be over in a week.

Of course, that was just idle talk from people who didn’t understand the reality of the front lines.

—

## The Call to the Hunt

At that moment, Rem was deep in the rugged terrain of the mountains, hunting down beasts.

When Pell finally tracked him down, the man was facing off against five trolls.

“They’ve got him boxed in.”

The trolls had formed a deliberate circle around him. They were using a tactic.

Monsters could be remarkably bright when they wanted to be. Trolls were a prime example. They leveraged their incredible healing factors to wear down opponents. They might lack the strategic mind of someone like Frokk, but they understood how to trap a lone fighter.

All five monsters gripped massive wooden bludgeons. Where they acquired them was anyone’s guess, but it didn’t matter.

In the center of the ring, Rem’s lips curled into a grimace of a smile. Pell caught a glimpse of that expression through the ribs of one of the trolls.

Then, the axe fell.

Rem’s weapon never once collided with the heavy clubs. It slipped through their defenses like a fish darting through a stream.

A few flashes of steel later, and the trolls’ heads were rolling in the dirt. No creature survives a decapitation—not even a troll.

Walking out from the circle of corpses leaking dark ichor, Rem spat on the ground.

“There’s no such thing as being trapped. There’s always a way out. You’re as good as dead the moment you believe otherwise, you idiots.”

His training philosophy was notorious. Even those who considered themselves hardened warriors admitted his methods were borderline sociopathic.

“Hah!”

The soldiers’ only response was a collective roar of defiance.

“My apologies for staining you with this filth.”

Rem whispered to his weapon before looking toward Pell.

“There is a council tonight.”

Pell didn’t have to specify the source. Everyone knew.

“You should have led with that.”

Rem showed his teeth in a predatory grin. Pell felt a wave of discomfort. Rem’s presence was expanding, his aura blanketing the mountain clearing.

“We’re all going to perish at this rate, Captain!” one of the men yelled.

Rem’s grin didn’t waver.

“Just hold on. No one dies from a little pressure like this.”

If even Pell felt the weight of it, he couldn’t imagine how the ordinary soldiers were coping. But it wasn’t his problem. He didn’t oversee the training of other squads.

Even Enkrid’s personal retinue was likely undergoing their own grueling trials at this very hour.

“I’ll be going then.”

Pell offered a respectful nod and took his leave.

—

## The Evening Fire

It was the height of summer, and the twilight lingered long in the sky. As the sun finally dipped below the horizon, they sparked a bonfire.

The wood popped and hissed.

They prepared meat over the flames, setting out dried fruit and salted strips of beef. Kraiss had provided the supplies. Abnaier was present as well. Even the fairy and the witch had arrived, despite Pell not being sent to invite them.

Enkrid looked over the group, his voice carrying its usual calm weight.

“We are going to hunt the Balrog.”

The statement was monumental, yet no one tried to talk him out of it. Not a single person looked shocked.

Frokk was the first to give a nod of approval.

“I have been waiting for this.”

Pell felt the same stirrings in his chest. He had gained power, and it would be a lie to say he wasn’t itching to use it. He wanted to see how far he could go. If Pell felt that way, surely the rest did too.

“I’m ready,” Rem said, his grin returning.

Ragna stood up and checked his blades.

“Where are you going, brother?” Audin asked, watching him.

Ragna looked toward Enkrid with a steady gaze.

“To find the Balrog. Are we not leaving immediately?”

The stars were barely out, and they had no lead on the creature’s location. How did he expect to set out?

“I will take point,” Ragna stated with absolute confidence.

“You actually know its lair?” Rem asked, skeptical.

“We will find it as we travel.”

Ragna’s conviction was unshakeable.

Enkrid raised a hand to settle them.

“Not this moment.”

His intent to slay the Balrog was genuine. But they weren’t rushing into the night.

It was a vow—a statement that he refused to stay sheltered in the comfort of this endless “today” forever.