A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 751

Chapter 751

“So your claim is that you’ve developed five distinct fencing methodologies, and every single one provides a gateway to achieving knighthood?”

Rem provided a recap of the explanations Enkrid had been delivering relentlessly over the last few days. Upon hearing this, Enkrid’s gaze sharpened. His wide eyes radiated a sense of astonishment—perhaps not total shock, but a state very close to it.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Rem inquired, sounding annoyed.

“Your ability to grasp my explanations is usually bottom-tier, yet your knack for summarizing is strangely excellent,” Enkrid noted, his eyes remaining wide. At this point, Rem was convinced he was being mocked. He scowled.

“What do you mean bottom-tier? If the message doesn’t get across, that’s the fault of the speaker, not the listener. Got it? And quit it with the wide-eyed look.”

“I’m genuinely just that impressed.”

Rem, whose face had been twisted in a scowl, let one side of his mouth curl upward. It was a predatory, wild smirk. In that same instant, he let his axe fly.

The draw was so rapid it was practically invisible to the eye. His footwork was syncopated, turning the strike into something entirely erratic. It wasn’t a standard cadence—it was a rhythm specifically designed to be jarring.

Enkrid responded without a hint of struggle. At some point during the motion, his blade was already out and in flight. He delivered a diagonal upward slash, meeting the axe’s trajectory head-on.

*Clang!*

Steel slammed into steel, driven by human strength, and the collision sent a violent gust of wind surging outward.

*Flap—!*

The dark green mantle Enkrid wore snapped in the wind behind him. This wasn’t a lethal engagement, merely a demonstration of skill. Following the lone collision, Rem spoke in a measured tone.

“That’s exactly what I was getting at, wasn’t it?”

Deep down, he felt a flicker of respect. That impulsive axe strike had been parried with absolute precision. He could no longer view this man as an inferior.

The figure standing before him had neutralized his axe with effortless grace. Had he merely evaded, Rem would have found it understandable. But he didn’t. He had initiated his swing later yet still managed to equalize the speed of the axe.

Even though this wasn’t a pre-arranged sparring match, their power and velocity were perfectly matched. That implied he was capable of reaching even greater heights. Naturally, Rem could deliver faster and more crushing blows if he chose, but the point was how much Enkrid had evolved—he was unrecognizable from his former self.

Pushing the thought aside, Rem gave a short snort.

“Correct.”

Enkrid offered a brief confirmation.

In that solitary exchange, Rem had discarded all distractions and funneled his entire being into one strike. And Enkrid had deciphered the intent behind the motion. It was a move executed at a speed that bypassed logic. It wasn’t just a broken rhythm—it was as if the very idea of rhythm had been discarded. It was an instinctive mental optimization. Witnessing it made the concept of “natural talent” feel borderline insulting.

“Brother, show us the heavy sword technique,” Audin cut in.

The days of lecturing had reached their end. Everything had commenced with the statement, “Wavebreaker is rooted in the foundations of classic swordsmanship.”

Lua Gharne had spent the duration of the talk gasping in wonder, her cheeks puffed out with excitement.

“Let me see it. What comes after that? So that’s the logic behind the tactical form. I had my suspicions, but seeing it confirmed is still breathtaking.”

She had repeated sentiments like that throughout their journey.

These five martial paths—righteous, heavy, deceitful, swift, and soft—each catered to a specific type of warrior. The Wavebreaker style, the orthodox methods, the Flash Blade, and the Sword of Chance had all been put on display, leaving only the heavy strike.

The heavy technique wasn’t something that could be shown through mere shadows. One couldn’t demonstrate its true nature within a mindscape, as only foreseeable movements could be simulated there. An unrevealed, devastating technique was outside the realm of simulation.

Understandably, Audin was curious about how Enkrid would focus his power into a solitary impact. He had been told that Enkrid had synthesized the martial traditions of Balafian with the Zaun heavy sword methodology.

Pell and Rophod looked on, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. The traveling party had somehow expanded to nine members.

“I intended to demonstrate it regardless,” Enkrid remarked, shifting his gaze toward the approaching monstrosity.

A Cyclops—a titan with a single eye. Though it lacked weapons, it was capable of shredding steel as if it were soft dough. Had such a beast surfaced near a civilization, emergency bells would be ringing without pause.

As they drew nearer to the southern demon territory, encounters with such formidable creatures were becoming a certainty. Perhaps they had already cleared out the lesser ghouls and predators, leaving only this titan behind. Or perhaps it was just luck.

None of that mattered to Enkrid. He had planned to track down such monsters anyway; this one simply saved him the hunt. It was an ideal subject for testing his methods.

As the Cyclops lumbered forward, the talking ceased. Enkrid walked out to meet the creature.

“Observe.”

Even with the giant looming over him, he remained composed. The Cyclops possessed arms so elongated they trailed near the dirt, and its thighs were broader than a grown man’s torso. When it dipped its frame, the backs of its hands scraped against the soil.

*Scratch… scrape…*

Deep furrows appeared in the packed earth as its fingers brushed the surface, effortlessly carving through the ground. Its hide was clearly dense and incredibly resilient.

“This should be interesting,” Lua Gharne remarked, tossing a dried larva into her mouth as she sat down to watch the spectacle. Pell and Rophod, having recently achieved their knighthood and burning with newfound drive, moved to Enkrid’s flanks to observe with intense scrutiny.

Both young men gripped their weapons, their focus sharpening into a visible intensity. Their fixed gazes were a testament to their dedication.

The Cyclops kept its singular eye locked onto Enkrid. It didn’t bother with a roar; it preferred the tactile sensation of crushing its prey. Not every monster shared the same combat habits.

Enkrid walked forward to bridge the gap. There was no hesitation, no hint of dread. To the beast, it likely looked like a death wish—a small creature walking right into its grasp to be broken.

*Boom!* The Cyclops dug its heels into the earth. Its center of gravity dropped, and its back muscles coiled like springs. Then, its limbs lunged forward with a speed that defied its massive size. Two hooked arms swept in—one targeting his midsection, the other his legs.

It was a calculated move.

Enkrid analyzed the monster’s behavior with a serene mind. It wasn’t swinging wildly at his head or neck; it had gained wisdom through previous battles. That was why veteran monsters were far more lethal. They possessed the capacity to learn and pivot. This was a truth validated by the Imperial Knight Valphir Valmung—not mere conjecture, but a hard fact.

Enkrid bypassed the hooked strike by lunging forward—moving even faster than the incoming blow. He channeled his Will throughout his frame and dived straight into the monster’s personal space. He stood within the reach of a titan thrice his height.

The Cyclops unhinged its jaws. Its jagged, misshapen teeth—each as large as a fist—looked like a crumbling stone wall. It intended to decapitate him with a single bite.

*Hwaak—!* The monster’s uneven teeth snapped shut just before the stench of its breath could reach him.

In that exact moment, Enkrid’s entire body began to rotate.

Using his left foot as a pivot point, he spun like a localized storm. His mantle tightened against his torso. From the perspective of the Cyclops, his dark hair became a swirling blur. Enkrid concentrated his entire mental essence—starting at a single point, expanding it outward, and then crushing it back down into a singular focus.

*Spin.*

Muscle fibers alone have a ceiling. To achieve a higher level of devastation, a more profound impact—what is the solution? If a single strike cannot shatter a mountain, one must look beyond physical limits.

He synthesized every memory, every lesson, every hour of training, and every creation. The process of forging new martial paths had granted him a fresh outlook.

*One blow is all I require.*

With his left foot serving as his axis, he uncoiled like a dragon. He engaged and then released every muscle group in sequence, adding a concentrated burst from his core.

*Only what my physical vessel can endure.*

With his near-limitless supply of Will, applying too much pressure would cause his muscles to rupture. Experience had taught him that boundary. The rotation originated in his toes, surged through his calf, twisted his torso, converted into raw energy, and finally erupted through his blade.

The metal sank deep into the monster’s flesh.

“A clean bisection.”

He could feel the sensation vividly, even amidst his rapid-fire thoughts. Though his weapon, Dawnforge, lacked the ethereal sharpness of Penna, when put into motion, it carved through the monster as if it were a cooked vegetable. He felt almost zero friction. The Cyclops should have possessed skin and bone as hard as granite, yet this sword cut through it with more ease than Aitri’s hallowed silver blade.

Having channeled the rotational energy into the cut, Enkrid stepped away to the side.

To those watching, it seemed as if the sword had simply exploded out of the giant’s torso the moment its arms had crossed. Dark ichor, internal organs, and brain matter erupted from the path the blade had traveled.

In a heartbeat, a monster that could easily be termed a nightmare was silenced.

In the southern lands, this specific Cyclops was known by the moniker “The Wandering Demon.” Why label it a demon if it lacked the true lineage? It was partly due to its raw power, but mostly because of the mountain of corpses it had left behind. Unlike monsters tied to a specific lair, those that roamed were significantly harder to track and eliminate. It had likely survived this long against the knights through sheer fortune.

Enkrid completed the vertical bisection and stepped clear. A few splatters of dark blood hit his mantle, but they were consumed by the fabric instantly, leaving the surface pristine.

A sentient cloak. A sentient sword. Enkrid could feel the connection clearly.

*You answered my intent, didn’t you?*

He spoke silently to the weapon. He had spent much time maintenance-oiling and touching the blade, and while it had felt unresponsive then, it now resonated with him in perfect synchronicity. It felt as if he were in battle with a companion who knew his mind perfectly.

So this was the reality of an engraved weapon. To etch a fragment of one’s own soul into the steel.

“Brother, you referred to that as Vortex, didn’t you?” Audin asked.

Those with seasoned eyes could see the hidden genius behind that solitary blow. It was a strike wrung from his entire existence, much like a tensed branch snapping back with lethal force. Or perhaps like sprinting at full tilt with a bow drawn, only to release the arrow from three paces away. At that range, the entirety of the momentum is transferred.

Audin’s eyes were bright. The move shared the core philosophy of Balafian arts but represented an evolution into something greater.

“That was a profound demonstration,” Audin remarked. He went as far as to examine the giant’s remains. The wake of the vortex was easy to spot. The cavity was significantly wider than the blade itself—the flesh had been shredded and torn apart. It wasn’t merely the steel that did the work; it was the Will.

Could he replicate such a thing with divine energy? To move beyond a mere copy and achieve that level of raw power—what would be the cost? It was a question worth investigating.

And Audin wasn’t alone. Ragna, guided by instinct and natural gift, was already deconstructing the physics of the move in his mind. Rem was doing the same. Everyone was focused on that single point of data.

Back at the Border Guard, they might have studied such things, but their change in scenery had triggered a change in their mental state. Consequently, their understanding and perception had sharpened. This was an era for them to plunge deeper than ever before into the study of warcraft, fencing, and self-improvement.

Enkrid disseminated what he had mastered, and everyone—Rem included—did not hesitate to learn from him once more. Watching the group absorb the lessons, Enkrid found himself learning from their interpretations in return. It was a peculiar and beautiful sight. A collective of warriors sharing and growing together.

“I believe the location was around here,” Rophod noted as they continued their trek.

The group looked toward him. Roughly four days into their southern journey, Rophod had managed to piece together various rumors. They had located a demon zone that had long been the subject of local whispers. It was similar to the Gray Forest near Oara. It wasn’t a common phenomenon, yet it wasn’t entirely unique given their proximity to the greater demon zone.

A scholar once remarked: Approaching the heart of the southern demon zone is akin to navigating a hundred islands. Enkrid had seen the ocean before and had even traveled along the coastline, yet the “hundred islands” comparison hadn’t quite clicked until now. The underlying message, however, was obvious: Surrounding a massive demon zone were countless smaller ones.

“If there really are a hundred of them, how many do you intend to purge?” Rem asked.

Enkrid responded with a tone of unwavering conviction.

“Every single one.”

It wasn’t a hollow vow, but a clear statement of purpose. Rem gave a nod. That was the essence of their leader. If the Cyclops hadn’t crossed their path today, Enkrid would have hunted it down regardless. There was no chance he would simply ignore a creature with the reputation of a “demon.” He was too inquisitive to let it pass.

“Over there,” Jaxon said, gesturing forward. Shinar nodded in agreement.

She possessed the most refined senses of the unit—and a strange intuition that allowed her to categorize threats before they were seen.

Before them stood a woodland dense with deep, rust-colored foliage. It wasn’t a gray forest, but a brown one. Nevertheless, the hue felt sickening.

“It’s packed with things that aren’t fit for eating,” Lua Gharne said, her cheeks puffing out.

They hadn’t even crossed the threshold, but Enkrid could already perceive the ground inside crawling with life. Some resembled maggots, while others were more bulbous. It was a twisted, corrupted ecosystem birthed by the demon zone. Even the smallest insects had been altered. A draft carried the scent of the woods toward them—the heavy, cloying smell of rot.

“I’ve heard this place is infested with a parasitic species. If a warrior is careless, even a quasi-knight could be overwhelmed…”

As Rophod was speaking, a figure wielding a blade emerged from the trees. One side of the stranger’s face was spider-webbed with brown veins, and his eyes had rolled back to reveal only the whites.

Rophod amended his statement:

“Well, it looks like someone has already been overwhelmed.”

The man was clearly no longer human. Rem didn’t pause for a second. At the first sign of a threat, he hurled his handaxe through the air.

*Whoosh!* The weapon whistled through the gap, targeted directly at the figure’s skull.

*Clang!*

The man swung a massive greatsword, parrying the axe at an angle. Enkrid, observing the movement, spoke up.

“Don’t finish him.”

“And why not?” Rem asked, looking back. To him, whatever that creature was, it wasn’t worth the effort of mercy.

“I recognize that man,” Enkrid replied.

It was the truth. The man was named Roman, a quasi-knight. He was supposed to be stationed back in the city of Oara, yet here he was, possessed and mindless.

“Do you want me to just take his legs then?” Rem suggested.

“No, just pin him down.”

To any ordinary soldier, that would be a monumental task. Roman, despite his state, swung the heavy greatsword—and the force of the blow compressed the air, resulting in a thunderous boom that echoed through the clearing.