A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 782

Chapter 782

The flash of agonizing torment is brief, yet it feels as though it lasts forever. He forces his lids open, the burning remnants of his suffering still pulsing through his veins. Within a couple of breaths, his labored respiration begins to level out. He knows that if he dwells on the torture, it will only swell into something maddening and impossible to endure. No matter his efforts, as always, the sensation never fully evaporated in a heartbeat.
“It’s painful.”
The agony that accompanies the end of life, or the moments just preceding it, was a sensation one simply never grew accustomed to.
But in the end, did that truly matter?
A sequence of reflections drifted through his mind as he bore the lingering trauma etched into his physical form.
Enkrid shifted his focus forward, steadying his sight against the rhythmic tremors that rolled like tides. He observed the ferryman, motionless upon the small vessel. The lantern clutched in the figure’s hand was perfectly still, resembling a frozen image in a portrait, entirely unaffected by the rocking of the waves.
“So this represents ‘the conclusion’ you mentioned?” Enkrid remarked. “Perishing in the heat of battle, only to return and fall once more? This cycle of pain is going to break my mind.”
The ferryman offered no verbal response. He merely made a dismissive gesture with his free hand. At that movement, Enkrid felt a sudden force jerk his body backward. He couldn’t even manage to utter a protest. The motion seemed almost irritable—though perhaps that was merely his own perception.
When his eyes snapped open again, he found himself standing tall. The dark river and the boat had vanished.
This wasn’t a hallucination. This was the waking world.
He had relived this specific day so many times he felt a deep sense of revulsion. Enkrid surveyed his environment and inspected his physical state to determine exactly where in the timeline he had landed.
“Is this the dawn of today?”
The concept of when a day truly started had become warped ever since Balrog utilized his Authority to distort the fabric of the labyrinth. Regardless, every conclusion required a beginning.
It seemed the ferryman had opted to place him at the moment right before Enkrid entered the labyrinth to meet his initial challenger.
Essentially, the breath before the first strike.
“Oh, do I have a visitor?” the adversary had remarked.
Enkrid gave him a detached look, though his thoughts were miles away.
Had the ferryman granted him even a few more seconds, he might have been able to settle his mind. But the man had unceremoniously shoved him back into the world.
Consequently, a lingering sense of displacement remained. Was it not just seconds ago that he was gritting his teeth in a desperate struggle against Balrog?
The sensation of hurt had yet to dissolve. The acrid scent of his own charred internal organs still seemed to haunt his senses.
“Still… this is manageable.”
Enkrid had endured this cycle more times than he could count. He understood precisely where to direct his focus during such transitions.
The blade, the transition of energy, the shifts in Will, the fruits of his labor, the mechanics of his limbs, the rhythm of the duel.
He centered himself.
He channeled his thoughts into a singular path. This was his chosen tactic for shedding the ghosts of past pain. He fixated on the elements that sparked a sense of thrill within him.
“The blade of dark embers consumes with the slightest contact.”
The whip of fire acted of its own accord. It moved as if possessed by a private consciousness.
And—
“The ferryman’s gift remains in effect.”
The ferryman might find it ironic to call this a blessing.
He had stood before the Authority of a demon, yet Enkrid’s core remained unshaken. Whether it was the version of himself that died from a single lunge at the start, or the man he was now—there was no fundamental change.
Back then, the power he gripped while climbing his way up was the Beast’s Heart. Now, he held onto something that hadn’t yet taken a definite shape.
“What, are you unable to speak?”
The challenger drew closer and questioned him. He was the type to conceal a multitude of blades within the flowing fabric of his sleeves.
He reached toward the pair of swords fastened at his waist but hesitated, letting his hands drop. He calculated that approaching without a weapon drawn would make his target more likely to drop his guard than if he came brandishing steel.
Enkrid appeared to be looking at him, but upon closer inspection, his eyes were hollow. He wasn’t perceiving the man standing there; instead, he was focused on something far beyond the immediate horizon. It was obvious to any observer that he was lost in deep contemplation.
Anyone possessing the intuition of a knight would have seized such a blatant opening. His foe sensed it as well. Despite this, Enkrid carried on with his internal adjustments.
“The art of the sword is merely a tool.”
So, what is the result when those tools are integrated?
“When I climbed from the rank of pre-knight to knight, the use of Will became second nature. At the level of a knight, I started to condense and direct that Will with specific purpose.”
He had even fashioned weapons out of pure Will. Balrog possessed that capability as well.
Enkrid’s introspection went deeper. There were countless lessons yet to be mastered and truths to be uncovered, both within himself and in the world outside.
That was his current endeavor.
By the time the ghostly echoes of the previous day’s agony had diminished, the adversary blinked and hissed under his breath.
“This is a total disaster. If you’ve wandered onto the wrong path, you should just turn around and leave quietly.”
His voice sounded disappointed. However, his movements suggested otherwise.
Squinting, he shifted his weight as if preparing to step back—then he lunged forward with explosive speed.
The movement left a blurry trail in the air. Enkrid’s eyes locked onto him immediately. It wasn’t even a challenge. The man was quick, certainly—but not fast enough to vanish from Enkrid’s sight.
The feeling of actual threat was minimal.
The man was clearly the lesser warrior, and Enkrid had just come from a desperate life-and-death struggle to land a solitary blow on Balrog. The resonance of that high-level combat still lingered, even if the physical pain had subsided.
Enkrid acted without a moment’s delay.
However, it wasn’t a standard parry or counter.
He met the attack by utilizing the opponent’s own specialty. Just as he had the very first time.
A perfect mirror.
“Deception.”
He possessed great confidence in that field as well.
Enkrid maintained a vacant, bewildered expression—then he widened his eyes in a faked surge of panic, pretending he had only just noticed the incoming strike.
The adversary was certain his blow was about to connect.
Enkrid performed the role perfectly, keeping the facade of terror in his gaze, while his body moved with a precision and velocity that contradicted his face.
He shot out his left hand, seizing the attacker’s wrist—then he wrenched and yanked.
Long before he ever met Audin, he had been diligent with his physical conditioning, making him more powerful than the average sellsword.
Now that Audin’s Isolation Technique was part of his repertoire—enhanced by the application of Will—Enkrid could achieve his aim with a simple snap of his arm.
Snap!
The wrist holding the blade broke like a brittle twig. Simultaneously, Enkrid pulled with such force that the man lost his balance and fell right toward him.
Even so, the specialist in trickery managed to snap his other wrist to produce a backup dagger—but he never found the opportunity to swing it.
Enkrid lunged forward as he reeled the man in, erasing the gap between them. He pivoted on a single leg, arched back, and then whipped forward.
No matter how agile your hands might be, they couldn’t outpace a skull colliding at point-blank range.
He drove his forehead squarely into the man’s philtrum, the sensitive area between the nose and the lip.
Crack!
The impact sounded like two boulders colliding.
“Guh.”
Rather than red blood, a dark vapor sprayed from the man’s face, and several teeth were knocked loose, clattering to the floor.
Enkrid’s own brow was split open by the man’s teeth—but he had allowed that to happen on purpose.
The blood spraying from his forehead was flung backward by his momentum. He didn’t stop to let the fluid cloud his vision, moving immediately after the strike.
He had already unsheathed his blade and was swinging it with the hand not occupied with the man’s wrist.
Every movement locked into a perfect sequence. It was a level of tactical foresight that surpassed even the intricacies of Acker’s web.
It was a marriage of trickery and honorable swordsmanship. The one who had intended to mislead was cut down before he could regain his composure.
“……!”
There wasn’t even enough time for the man to gasp in disbelief. His eyes bulged and his mouth fell open. From that gap, black vapor erupted like a geyser—but before a drop could touch the earth, Dawn Tempering tore through his throat.
Enkrid studied the look on the falling head. Compared to the false shock he had displayed moments ago, this expression of pure horror was far more authentic.
Naturally. Enkrid had only been acting, but the man killed by his steel had been genuinely blindsided.
“There is much to be gained here.”
He wasn’t merely talking about the expression on the corpse. The realization hit him as he lowered his sword.
Even with that one effortless swing, his weapon had naturally surged like a beam of light, blended with an element of unpredictability, and carried out through the laws of Vortex.
“Most importantly, I was several steps ahead in the mental game.”
Even if he couldn’t fully read an enemy’s heart, he could respond with a strike born of intuition and refine his movements through total mental immersion.
“I wonder what other styles I can weave together?”
The concept was still forming, but it didn’t feel as impossible as it once had. The Enkrid of this moment was no longer the novice who fell to the first blade. He could now extract a lesson from every single encounter.
The same principle had applied to his clash with Balrog.
“…I’m enjoying this,” Enkrid whispered to himself.
It wasn’t a sentiment he voiced often. Only when he felt truly alive.
This meant Balrog wasn’t the only one capable of making him feel this surge of excitement, thrill, or satisfaction.
Within the confines of his consciousness, the ferryman merely clicked his tongue and grumbled, “You’re a madman.”

—

Chronologically, Enkrid’s cycle began at the exact moment the duels involving Rem and the others reached their conclusion.
That meant—as Enkrid began his march toward Balrog once more—the Mad Order of Knights had a small window to catch their breath.
Nonetheless, they were fully aware of the shadows gathering on the far side.
It was plain to see: a massive horde was congregating in the distance. The numbers were too great to count accurately.
Not every foe was as formidable as the one Rem had fought or the one Audin had shattered. The majority were souls long since consumed by the labyrinth, stripped of all reason. Their eyes were voids of darkness, and their only purpose was to swing their steel.
Yet, even a mindless blade could be fatal—so they weren’t to be dismissed.
“There’s quite a crowd. Is that brother of yours still taking a nap?”
Audin flexed his hand as he spoke. Teresa stood nearby, her shield raised and her sword ready, peeking over her shoulder. Her eyes followed the direction of the question.
Rem had just finished crushing the skull of a charging beast and, upon joining the group, dropped the weight from his shoulder with a heavy thud.
Roman was the one who caught the person.
Caught off guard, he ended up laying the man down behind him. Now, that individual was snoring softly and peacefully behind Roman’s position.
A handful of villagers huddled together nearby, looking around with wide, anxious eyes. Rophod and Pell traded brief observations like “They’re still coming?” and “Seems so,” while keeping their focus on the front.
“Even in a crisis like this, that idiot finds a way to slack. That’s exactly why he isn’t the vice-captain,” Rem grumbled, his muscles still throbbing from exertion.
“Heh.”
Audin gave a small laugh, while Lua Gharne—balancing on her remaining leg—remained focused on calculating the odds.
“Balrog, is it?”
She spoke, but no one offered an answer. Everyone felt the same silent consensus. Was this the turning point where the pressure would become overwhelming?
Roman certainly felt that way.
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t terrified. The sheer volume of spectral knights and monsters ahead made him swallow hard.
But the rest of the group seemed entirely unbothered. It was as if they had no concept of what fear was. To Roman, that was how it appeared.
“I don’t see my betrothed anywhere.”
Shinar spoke with a flat, calm voice, her eyes searching the far distance.
If a battle of this scale was occurring, he should have come barreling out even if he were half-asleep. This meant, quite clearly, he was engaged in a fight elsewhere.
She made her observation, then continued to speak as if none of this was a cause for concern.
The fairy, with her ethereal, non-human beauty, also spoke in a manner that was hard for humans to grasp.
“Then the rest of you stay here and hold this line. I will go where my presence is required.”
Essentially, she was saying: “You guys deal with this—I have my own priorities.”
Her statement caused everyone but Roman to scowl.
Roman, after all, was busy guarding Ragna’s back.
He was a wounded man with one leg—and easily the least capable fighter in the group. But this was the most he could offer at the moment.
It would have been foolish to charge into a fight where he was certain to die just to prove his spirit hadn’t broken. That was why he stayed to hold the rear instead.
The foes ahead—be they wraiths or other twisted abominations—all possessed the strength of knights.
Of course, they weren’t true knights. He could see that by observing how his companions fought.
If he really pushed himself, he could likely take down one or two on his own.
‘Though the difference in power is definitely massive.’
Among the horde, there were a few who were clearly devastating in their prowess.
One had already been dispatched by the bear-like Audin. Another had fallen to the brute strength of Rem.
While Roman’s thoughts drifted, a response came to the fairy’s plan.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
Rem rubbed his ear.
“Big sister, are you planning to run off on your own again?”
Audin pressed his palms together as if in prayer.
“Big sister?”
Shinar, despite being a fairy, was still learning how to process human emotion.
She repeated the bear beastman’s words, which had clearly struck a nerve.
“Who are you calling ‘big sister’?”
Audin maintained his grin, while Shinar’s emerald eyes grew icy.
Then Rem cut in with a shrug,
“The lazy one is out cold, so you two can stand here and flirt while watching those monsters. This vice-captain is taking the stray cat and moving out first.”
This time, both Audin and Shinar turned their sharp gazes toward Rem.
“Just because you’re using words doesn’t mean you’re making sense.”
“I’ve said it before—your partner should be the one keeping an eye on you.”
As the bickering persisted, the army of ghost knights drew nearer.
Within the ranks were those who had fully turned into death knights. There were even several dullahans on horseback, holding their severed heads tucked under their arms. Enkrid’s defeated minotaur was present among them as well.
Roman blinked.
So many worries were racing through his mind, and yet—looking at these people, his terror seemed to evaporate.
It was as if not a single person there understood what it meant to feel in danger.