A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 747

Chapter 747

Enkrid understood that the Ferryman’s maneuver carried a unique sensation.
Yet… was it not similar to being shoved forward while being cautioned not to overlook the beauty of the present?
Or perhaps it was a hint to gather power through stillness?
“Or am I being prompted to settle my outstanding debts?”
The Ferryman’s advice held weight—yet Enkrid processed it through his own lens. A resolution formed.
“I’m going to hunt Balrog.”
The aspiration of the city of Oara remained vivid, etched into his very spirit.
Then, as if springing from his subconscious, a phantom of the Ferryman’s voice resonated—not an actual sound, but a manifestation of his thoughts.
“You absolute lunatic. I instructed you to remain in the moment, not to dive headfirst into a slaughter.”
Naturally, the genuine Ferryman likely would have offered a similar critique.
Enkrid had displayed his commitment by the warmth of the flames. He wasn’t departing this very second—but the time was near.
Snap, pop.
Above the flickering embers, his resolve blazed with intensity.
Just as he had once proclaimed his intent to become a knight, he now declared his mission to slay Balrog.
It didn’t feel like a pipe dream. Ultimately, every stride he had taken until this point served as evidence of his identity.
Under the vast, starry expanse, amidst the heat of the fire and the rhythmic song of crickets, moths and other winged creatures danced into the warmth of the summer evening.
Lua Gharne’s tongue lashed out, snatching an insect from the air.
“Uncooked prey has its own particular charm.”
While fairies subsisted on vegetation and fruit, Frokk thrived on the protein of insects.
“Lua Gharne mentions it so often it just enters my thoughts instinctively.”
The companions sat circled around the fire under the glow of the stars and moon. They were spread out—each person claiming their own patch of ground.
Rem reclined, nonchalantly twirling his axe with a pair of fingers. Ragna clutched Sunrise, still in its sheath, against his chest.
They were brothers-in-arms, neither particularly interested in succumbing to the tranquility of the summer night.
The Mad Order’s encampment at the edge of the training fields was as peaceful as ever.
The usual chatterboxes had fallen quiet, allowing a rhythmic stillness to take hold.
Rem gave a soft laugh as he continued to rotate his weapon. Ragna, sword still in hand, let out a massive yawn.
Perhaps he intended to return to his lazy habits now that their departure wasn’t immediate.
Audin pulled his thoughts inward as if entering a state of holy meditation, and Teresa hummed a soft melody.
Rophod and Pell locked eyes and shared a subtle, knowing nod.
In their midst, Shinar wore a grin. The sun had long since vanished—moonlight rested gently across her features.
That ethereal grace shifted the very atmosphere with a mere expression.
Noticing Enkrid’s attention, Shinar spoke softly, her voice a blend of verse and melody:
“If you abandon me once more, the fairy city itself will pursue you—a spectacle few ever witness.”
Through the balmy, still air, a shard of ice seemed to fly. It sent a shiver racing down his back.
Even when that famed alchemist from Zaun had woven multiple layers of sound into his spells, Enkrid hadn’t sensed this level of peril.
“This is…”
A warning.
And fairies—they may distort the truth, but they do not speak falsehoods.
The delivery was beautiful, but the underlying threat was undeniable.
Rophod blinked twice, visibly perplexed by the dissonance between her tone and her message. However, he quickly recovered and addressed the main point.
“…The city?”
“Due to our history of relocation, City Kirheis has developed the ability to detach and transport segments of itself.”
Shinar explained it casually, though a faint trace of arrogance touched her voice. Enkrid, as he usually did, attempted to decipher her tangled feelings—while also questioning why such a feat was a point of pride.
In any case, if he bypassed her now, the forest city—under the guidance of Woodguard—would literally tear off a piece of itself to trail him.
“Join me,” Enkrid stated.
Shinar gave a nod.
Then, the leopard Ester performed a fluid flip in the air and shifted into her human shape.
Even witnessing it firsthand, it was difficult to grasp. Her coat transformed into a garment, her fair skin flickered into view for a moment, and then she was clothed once more.
Only Enkrid, standing right in front of her, had caught the entire transition. To anyone else, it would have looked like fur merely turning into a robe across her shoulders.
“Forgive me. I have duties—I cannot participate,” Kraiss remarked.
“Understood,” Enkrid replied.
Kraiss had previously grumbled that if a plan was in motion, notice should be given.
That was the reason Enkrid had assembled everyone—though he never truly planned to travel with a massive entourage.
He wished to display his intent to the whole group. And partly… he was just following a sudden impulse.
“Three others, at the most?”
He was capable of navigating the path himself, so the required headcount for the Balrog expedition was small.
Then, his gaze met that of Kraiss.
“…You aren’t considering dragging me along, are you?”
You aren’t that far gone, right?
Kraiss’s eyes pleaded for a negative answer.
Enkrid, feeling irritable, tossed a scrap of dried meat from his hand.
It was merely jerky—but it was launched by the hand of a knight.
The flying meat struck Kraiss squarely on the brow.
“Ow!”
While Kraiss checked to see if he had a puncture wound in his head, Rem flipped his axe into the sky and announced:
“Count me in.”
Lately, the best way to describe Rem was: restless.
If Rem’s specialized unit were here, they would be bowing before Enkrid, pleading with everything they had:
“Please, take us with you.”
“Sunrise causes pain to its master if it isn’t utilized regularly,” Ragna added.
He wasn’t a fairy, so this was a blatant fabrication.
“If you possessed even half the sincerity of your father,” Enkrid whispered.
But Ragna ignored the jab. Regardless of the justification, he was going to find a way to follow.
“Is this to be my first mission since reaching knighthood?” Pell joined the conversation.
“Indeed. It’s thrilling. And the target is Balrog, no less,” Rophod agreed.
“My station is always at the side of the Lord,” Audin stated, his voice carrying the weight of a sermon.
“And if the Lord watches over you, my brother, who else belongs there but me?”
Teresa ceased her humming and added, “I’m coming as well.”
Lua Gharne puffed out her cheeks and grinned at the collective enthusiasm. There was no need for words—Frokk was certainly going to be part of the group.
Previously, she had stayed behind to evaluate her abilities and support Teresa.
And afterward, she had remarked that it was both a source of regret and a source of fascination.
“Coming back much later to see how things have evolved is incredible. But the greatest joy is still witnessing that growth from a front-row seat.”
Frokk exist in a state of being driven by their yearnings. To ignore those desires would be to cease being a Frokk.
Of course, every Frokk has different cravings.
For instance, Meelun—now a vital member of the Gilpin Guild—trained consistently but had no appetite for the brutal, bone-snapping variety of labor.
Balanced training.
Balanced duels.
Balanced contentment.
That was the essence of Meelun. And Enkrid gave that lifestyle his respect.
But Lua Gharne was a different case. She endured and conquered agonizing training solely because she wished to observe Enkrid from a close distance.
She never flinched from exhausting drills or agonizing practice. And from their previous sessions, Enkrid was aware—her prowess had surged.
“Frokk lack the traditional concept of a knightly path.”
Even so, they are widely regarded as a race born for war.
This is because Frokk possess no ceiling. This was a concept Lua Gharne had recently explored.
Supposedly, if a typical Frokk could just strip away one thin layer of what they believed to be their maximum, an entirely new realm of potential would be revealed.
Casting off old beliefs, entering a new horizon—
“That might be the line between myself and those who displayed incredible talent,”
she had once remarked, her face pale and focused.
In any case, she was definitely coming. Surveying the group, it was obvious—everyone present intended to make the trip.
That had not been the original intent.
“The garrison at Border Guard is formidable. Even without the knightly order, it won’t collapse easily. There is no looming danger at the moment. Even if the Empire tries something, Zaun is essentially our ally now. So I am confident we can repel any imperial encroachment.”
As was his habit, Abnaier spoke with a structured, logical flow.
“Yet, one can never be certain. What if a rogue cultist suddenly surfaces with fighters on par with knights?” Kraiss questioned.
“If we are debating mere possibilities, then anything is on the table. But recall all the groundwork we’ve laid, Kraiss. We have established a robust intelligence network centered on Border Guard.”
That meant they intercepted every bit of gossip and every whisper that crossed those paths.
In reality, the Gilpin Guild had transformed into a complete information exchange just outside Border Guard.
From minor rumors echoing through the streets to long-buried scandals emerging in Naurillia—those two missed nothing. Only after several more rebuttals did Kraiss and Abnaier conclude that it was acceptable for Enkrid and the others to depart. If Kraiss was the sort to be led by worry, Abnaier was the one to fall into the trap of overconfidence. Having them work together ensured there were no blind spots.
Enkrid gave a nod of approval.
“Why don’t we all head out together, then?”
And once the roster was set, his mind drifted back to the monstrosity he had once encountered in Oara.
A creature birthed to swing a blade of fire and a whip in the heat of battle. The mere recollection sent a faint tremor from his feet to his head.
Knight Oara had traded her life to destroy just a small portion of that entity. And yet Enkrid desired to confront the true form, not just a shadow.
To claim he wasn’t thrilled would be a lie.
Rem glanced toward Enkrid and remarked,
“He’s wearing that peculiar grin again.”
Kraiss tilted his head in thought.
“The title ‘God of Combat’ belongs to Balrog? That feels like a mistake. It seems far more appropriate for the captain.”
Shinar, smiling as she always did, offered her own thought:
“If not for everyone tagging along, this could have been a lovely little escape for just the two of us.”
The night concluded in that manner. Enkrid intended to set out within two days at most—or so he believed.
That changed when Aitri called for him the following day. When Enkrid arrived at the smithy, the hammer-swinging fanatic’s eyes glowed as he exclaimed,
“I have acquired superior iron.”
That was his opening statement—no hello, no formalities.
“…True iron?”
“I already attempted to use that. It was a failure. What I have now is a unique metal I’ve never encountered before.”
From where did it originate?
“The Lockfried caravan delivered it.”
The prepared bar of metal looked ordinary to the naked eye, but Enkrid could feel it. It was the same substance as the metal he had been given once before.
However, this time, it lacked that sharp, clean vibration. Instead—
“It has been synthesized.”
He recognized it by pure gut feeling. In a negative sense, it had been corrupted. In a positive sense, it had been augmented.
“No matter how I tried, no vision came to me—but the second I laid eyes on this, I labored at the anvil for three straight days. I could feel it.”
He had the look of a young man experiencing his first romance—or a toddler tasting sweet fruit for the first time. His grin told the story.
In his excitement, Aitri muttered technical details Enkrid couldn’t track. Then, clutching his hammer, he sat down and looked Enkrid straight in the eye.
Enkrid perceived in that gaze a determination every bit as solid as a knight’s.
Aitri commanded:
“Project your Will into it.”
An engraved blade was one that carried the soul of a knight.
That is why it is referred to as “engraving.”
“I am going to forge your weapon.”
At those words, Enkrid gave his assent and took a seat opposite him.
“You honored your word.”
Aitri replied without emotion,
“Then we shall begin.”
He hadn’t even realized he’d been smiling, but now he smoothed his expression and took hold of his hammer. He worked the bellows and ignited the forge—a wave of intense heat saturated the entire workshop.
The apprentice gathered the necessary gear and exited. Even the Frokk artisan who crafted jewelry cleared the area.
“Four hours each day will suffice.”
That was the duration Enkrid had to remain in the forge, constantly feeding his Will into the metal.
A blade isn’t born in a single night. That was why Enkrid postponed his departure.
He quickly deduced the origin of the metal. He had instructed them to provide sustenance to the hidden village, and they had returned with an extraordinary token of gratitude.
He hadn’t anticipated any payment for rescuing them—so the way the cycle had closed felt almost surreal.
Four hours a day. While the hammer rang against the metal over the heat, Enkrid sat and observed—and fragments of his former life began to drift to the surface.
When had it all truly begun?
“Enkrid, you are a natural.”
A bottom-tier soldier of fortune had made that claim. That was the start of the journey.
“What drives you to want to be a knight?”
It was a query he had faced a thousand times.
“Just walk away from it.”
“Let it go.”
There were countless moments when people begged him to stop.
“Do you honestly believe your presence will change the outcome?”
He had once been consumed by fury, desperate to protect someone.
“Curse it all.”
He had screamed at the sky when he fell short.
Even when he projected a cold exterior, his soul would frequently seethe with internal rage.
Clang—
The rhythm of the hammering resonated through his thoughts. The cadence of the strikes wove together, shifted, and then dispersed his memories.
Enkrid could direct Will at his command. Compared to certain knights who lacked rigorous discipline, his mastery was on an entirely different level.
During his time in Zaun, he had mastered both the art of suppression and the art of the sudden burst. He manipulated Will with ease.
Even so, he could manage Will in its rawest form.
“I am still falling short, so I will require you to perform it again and again.”
Aitri requested it as if it were a basic requirement. And Enkrid followed through.
Four hours daily with Aitri. And in the aftermath, Enkrid found himself preoccupied with what might happen during his absence—that concern drew him toward the training fields.
He suddenly had gaps in his schedule, and he felt the urge to get involved with the drills.
Naturally, Rem looked at him and said,
“Are you just looking for someone to torment, Captain?”
Clemence, who had just hit the dirt, offered a greeting. Formally, she was the sole apprentice within the Mad Order of Knights.
There were others performing at that level, but none had been given the official title.
“I just stopped by to observe for a moment.”
Enkrid said as he assessed Clemence. Her stance was decent—likely a product of the regular army’s fundamental training.
Furthermore, Clemence served as the unofficial instructor for the high-ranking guards.
Nevertheless, there were gaps in her technique. Enkrid’s perception could identify exactly what she was missing at this moment.