A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 799

Chapter 799

He spoke with powerful arms and a grin that put his front teeth on display.
“I have never suffered a defeat. Not a single time.”
Woorgh—!
Even when seated on a horse, one had to strain their neck to look up at the colossus standing across from the golden-haired man.
The bellow from the creature that moved forward made the atmosphere vibrate, causing the skin to crawl with a sudden chill.
Was it a giant? Not quite, though they were similar. These beings possessed skin of yellow or crimson and gripped weapons like spiked bludgeons.
The one responsible for that thunderous roar was encased entirely in steel. It mimicked the heavy plating of a human knight, yet the work was unrefined—a clumsy imitation of the real thing.
Regardless, the pressure radiating from the bulk inside that metal was undeniably authentic.
Just witnessing it was enough to induce vertigo. Yet, the man did not waver. He simply gave a mocking snort and spoke once more.
“Like I said, I do not lose.”
They were outnumbered. They were outclassed in raw strength. That was the reality of the moment. But the man remained unshakable. He had no other choice.
As the one leading the pack, he had to possess a spirit that could not be bent. If your own will shattered first, then all was lost.
“Pay attention.”
He moved forward to engage the warped titan. Enkrid was unaware of it back then, but this was a giant-class beast known as the Jotunn.
They looked like giants, but they were fundamentally distinct from the sapient race of giants.
While some intellectuals argue over whether giants truly qualify as an intelligent species, they should never be confused with giant-class monsters.
The “Beast of Red Blood” was merely a title for the true giants—these things, however, were pure monsters.
The man engaged in a brutal struggle and emerged victorious. His golden hair was saturated with gore and his arm was snapped, yet he forced his blade through the titan’s throat.
“I told you I don’t lose.”
A sense of certainty—or perhaps the desperation masked beneath it—slipped through. He drove his steel into the creature’s heart and threw a scream toward the heavens.
Ahhhhh—!
The shout of triumph rang out across the field of war.
“You pick things up faster than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“That’s because I’m a prodigy.”
The man was gifted with incredible natural ability. To any observer, his path must have seemed like a brilliant trail of light.
At least, that was the image he projected to the world. No matter how daunting the obstacle, he could scale it again and again, living through this day repeatedly.
Where others surrendered, he alone swung his blade to change the course of fate.
He clashed with massive lupine beasts. He battled grotesque heaps of flesh made from swarms of draugr. He kept up the fight and tore a future out of the darkness.
He bore the weight, over and over.
And then, one by one, the people who walked beside him fell away. On the surface, the man appeared unaffected.
There was a specific “today” he kept reliving just to keep someone safe. Some versions of the day he succeeded; in others, he failed.
Enkrid was a witness to it all.
“Fight as if it were the very first time.”
The man muttered these words to himself like a mantra. Every single day, he conditioned his own mind. And then—his beloved passed away.
They shared an intimate morning, and she was gone by the afternoon.
While he was away at the front, the rear encampment was slaughtered. That was when the man finally snapped.
So, he chose to remain in that specific day forever.
He stayed trapped in that cycle, always embracing the woman as if for the first time. Always murmuring his devotion.
“Aren’t you supposed to head to the front lines?”
“No. Nothing matters to me except this moment.”
If you were granted only one day to exist, how would you spend it?
Even if he were shackled to this twenty-four-hour loop for an eternity—if it meant being with her, he would sacrifice everything else.
That was why he attempted to press on despite the heavy burden of his cursed timeline.
He didn’t care about being a savior of the world—he only cared about a life with this woman.
“Elena.”
The man remained confined within that day, staying with his lover. That was the conclusion.
“Move forward as if you have never known failure.”
That was the existence the man had yearned for. His philosophy on living. What he truly wanted to represent.
He felt no remorse about repeating that day with her. However, the version of himself that belonged on the battlefield—that part craved something different.
That lingering desire, that hope, that regret, that heartbreak—all of it was condensed into a single thought.
Enkrid understood then that the voice he heard during his combat wasn’t just a trick of his mind.
“Fight as if it were the very first time.”
The man who had been struggling in the dream was now looking directly at Enkrid.
The entire city faded into a dull gray, and a deep purple light flickered in the man’s blue eyes.
“That is precisely the vision I yearned for.”
He stated.
Then, a dark cloak fell over his frame, enveloping him.
He was a member of the Ferryman.
“It is unlikely we shall cross paths again, but keep going. Enkrid.”
The entity of the Ferryman offered Enkrid his support. Even within the confines of a dream, his emotions felt agonizingly tangible.
Even though that day had concluded and the moth was caught on the barge, it still yearned to find the fire and be consumed by it once more.
He, too, wished to fade from existence, just as Elena had. Without her, his only desire was an end.
Yet even now, the entirety of his being stayed moored to that boat.
“Regardless, let us meet again.”
With those final words, a deluge of water rose from every side, drowning the world in the black fluid of the river. Before he realized it, a small boat had formed beneath him, buoying him up.
Standing on that vessel was the Ferryman, holding a lantern in a heavy silence. Pitiless black voids served as eyes, and the skin of his hand peeking from the sleeve looked like a barren, gray wasteland.
Enkrid locked eyes with the Ferryman.
Silence followed.
But he grasped the truth now: the Ferryman was not a single entity. He had entertained the thought before.
If the Ferryman was a collective, then he was comprised of those who had finally surrendered to their “today”—acting as both the captive and the jailer.
Enkrid snapped awake from the vision. He immediately fell into a state of heavy reflection.
“Did you have a bad dream or something?”
Rem inquired, having already woken up. Enkrid offered no immediate reply. He seemed entirely lost in his own thoughts.
“Was it just some garbage dream?”
“Not exactly.”
He finally spoke.
Had the tale of the golden knight and his partner moved him?
Was it merely the lingering sadness one feels after a tragic dream?
It wasn’t that.
‘That sword style.’
Enkrid was consumed by the martial art displayed by the golden-haired man in the vision.
He had frequently battled foes much larger than himself. If a scholar of history had seen it, they might have labeled it the Era of Behemoths, but Enkrid was no scholar, so the name meant nothing to him.
He recognized only one reality.
‘A method of the blade perfected by fighting enemies many times the size of a normal man.’
He concentrated on the mechanics—the prowess the man had shown. He played back every motion in his mind, step by step.
Aside from his natural physical coordination, his capacity for memory had always been top-tier. And now, having reached the status of a knight and even designing his own combat forms, that talent had evolved.
To Enkrid’s perception, the core principles and the execution of the golden man’s techniques were instantly transparent.
If he visualized the memory enough, he could forge it into a functional style of combat.
If the Ferryman were able to observe his thoughts in detail—especially the golden Ferryman—it surely would have evoked a bizarre reaction.
“Instead of the tragedy of me and Elena… you’re thinking about the sword moves? Even then—the blade? Seriously? What a absolute lunatic.”
Something like that, perhaps.
“No training. Stop it. Just stop—don’t even think about it.”
Rem was chirping away at his side.
Even for a man driven by training, with his physical state so degraded, recovery had to come first. In truth, Enkrid hadn’t actually planned to go out and practice.
But his intense focus must have made it look like he was weighing the option, at least from Rem’s perspective. And the way Rem kept trying to block him felt a bit irritating.
“Do I look like an animal to you?”
“A dog in heat or a captain obsessed with drills—they’re pretty much the same.”
Enkrid considered that it wouldn’t be very difficult to kick Rem in the head using just his foot. But he held back.
After all, he really wasn’t in any condition to push his limits. Rem, too, was spitting up blood from the minor jars to his system.
When Enkrid had asked what he’d done to end up in such a state, Rem had provided a very strange explanation.
“I was trying to execute that horned freak with the wandering problem. That’s all.”
He said it with a smirk, but it was the kind of expression that tried to mask something deeper. Enkrid, for reasons he couldn’t explain, thought of the man and Elena from his dream and said,
“Don’t do anything that would make Owl grieve.”
“Tch. Stay out of other people’s private business.”
Following that, the group slept for hours and rotated through cycles of resting and eating. Two full days after the conflict ended, on the morning of the third day, a contingent of armored troops appeared on the horizon.
If they had been hostile, the situation would have been disastrous.
Enkrid was still unable to use his arm. Audin was unable to properly channel his holy strength. Lua Gharne was down to just her right arm while the rest healed—meaning she was totally out of the fight. Roman had also taken heavy damage during the clash.
His leg had been sliced deep, and while he was being cared for, any complication could leave him with a permanent limp.
“It’s not like you lose your knighthood just because you walk with a limp.”
Roman remarked, sounding as if he had finally reached a state of peace with the idea.
It was a logical point, so Enkrid just gave a small nod of agreement.
In the end, the only ones capable of putting up a fight were Rophod, Pell, Teresa, and Enkrid.
Realistically, Enkrid shouldn’t have been on that list either—but he maintained he’d be fine just using his footwork.
The arriving party wasn’t a single group. There was a subtle gap between the two distinct factions. The sun was climbing high on a run of bright days, and the light cut right through that gap, as if splitting the two sides.
They approached with the sun behind them. Two horsemen detached from the main bodies and rode toward them.
The inhabitants of the Demon Realm were still on edge, but by this point, they simply chose to put their faith in the Mad Order of Knights.
The two riders drew close, silhouettes against the morning light, and spoke simultaneously.
“Commander?”
“Brother?”
They were both people he knew well.
One was a former subordinate of Enkrid who had since rebuilt a fallen house and gained a title of nobility—Andrew Gardner.
The other was someone he had encountered briefly—a high-ranking cleric of the Holy Nation, the leader of the Heretical Purge Inquisition.
“If Crang sent you here to jump me, then he’s truly lost his mind—so it’s not that. And I assume Noah didn’t send you with orders to attack either?”
Enkrid questioned.
The two men got off their horses and gave a simple nod.
“The King commanded us to provide aid. He told us to see if there is anything you require.”
“Legion will always stand at your side. My presence is half due to the Pope’s command and half my own choice.”
The cleric stated with a peaceful expression. Neither of them represented a threat.
Actually, Enkrid had been worrying about the prospect of leaving the people of the Demon Realm behind.
After causing such a stir to rescue and shield them, they couldn’t just clear the area once and then vanish.
In time, it was certain that monsters and demons would migrate back to the territory.
Unless the Demon Realm itself ceased to exist, that cycle would continue.
Leaving Roman here had also been part of a strategy to help with his growth and to assist in the defense of this settlement.
Enkrid slowly repeated the plan he’d previously discussed—to Andrew.
They could move a portion of the Oara military here, and the territory would be classified as part of the Border Guard zone.
“It’s too far from the Border Guard. I don’t think your goal is just land. For their safety, the King suggested this region be annexed into the Naurillia territory.”
‘My land, my subjects.’
Those were words Crang had once used in a speech Enkrid remembered.
If they were incorporating this place into Naurillia, it meant they were officially recognizing these people—regardless of how they looked—as citizens of the crown.
This was all happening because Enkrid had desired it.
Of course, Crang had his own strategic motives. Taking a piece of the Demon Realm would allow them to exert influence over the southern borders—a vital position.
That was his interest in this town.
Therefore, the request to move part of the Oara army? It was granted.
“We will help.”
And through that coordination, Legion became a part of it.
Andrew demonstrated his growth as a noble by handling the… diplomatic side.
“Very well.”
By keeping a positive connection with the Heretical Purge Inquisition, they had managed to form a loose partnership with Legion.
Crang and Noah had both been cautiously testing the waters with one another.
They couldn’t just announce a grand friendship when there were still political hurdles to clear.
But in truth, both sides had begun to feel a sense of camaraderie—largely due to the common link of Enkrid.
This tiny hamlet would be the starting point of that new bond.
Andrew was now, in every sense, a true aristocrat.
“He asked if he could visit on his way through.”
“Crang?”
“Yes.”
At Andrew’s confirmation, Enkrid gave a soft nod.
Neither side brought up the topic of Balrog—whether he had been defeated or not. Consequently, the rest of the world remained unaware that Balrog was dead.
But for the demons still dwelling in the Demon Realm, it was a different story entirely.
Balrog had, intentionally or not, maintained a certain balance in the southern part of the continent—and that influence was now gone.
Regardless, Enkrid didn’t bother himself with those details. That was a problem for another time. There were plenty of more intelligent people to manage the fallout.
And so, with Andrew and the High Priest joining their ranks—
“How was it?”
Roman asked during a quiet afternoon of recuperation.
“Still wearing that smile.”
Enkrid gave a final account of Oara’s state.
The perpetually smiling Oara. Her final squire, Roman, fell into a short silence before nodding his head.
The determination etched into his features would not be easily shaken now.
And if it ever was, well—he could always be beaten back into the right mindset.
Enkrid and the rest of the party remained for another fifteen days.
Just as they were preparing to depart, the village elder Zoraslav came forward with a package wrapped in a clean bit of fabric.
“Please take this…”
Lowering his head in a show of deep respect, he presented the bundled object.