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A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Chapter 377 · Oct 14, 2026

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378 Chapter 377 2026-10-14
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A violet lamp swayed above the rippling black river. As the ferry rocked, so too did his body, moving side to side with the motion.

Enkrid sat at the edge of the ferry, lips sealed in silence. The ferryman spoke again.

“There is a very easy way.”

Enkrid did not respond. The ferryman continued.

“Run.”

His lips barely moved, but his voice echoed across the ferry, lingering in the still air.

“Run, and do not face your death. If you do, I will take care of everything.”

Enkrid lowered his gaze at a diagonal, as if his mind was weighed down with endless thoughts.

The ferryman’s lips parted once more. His voice, faint yet persistent, drifted again over the boat.

“If you refuse to flee, then use your tongue. Persuade your opponent. Prepare for what follows. If there are two of you, you may be able to handle it.”

If Aisia and Enkrid joined forces, they could face the one who would come next.

Repeating today meant knowing the future.

Not every repeated day was an exact copy, but the larger framework remained unchanged.

Aisia had already exhausted herself and sustained injuries fighting Enkrid. Enkrid himself was no different.

If they fought together without injuries, if they preserved their stamina, they could handle the next enemy. They might even claim victory.

A battle fought at the cost of their lives—if they stood as one, their chances would be far greater.

Of course, it would not be a guaranteed victory.

“Do you want to know exactly what the wall is?”

The ferryman’s tone, as always, carried no emotion. He spoke only facts, imparting meaning without feeling.

Enkrid listened to the ferryman’s words but gave no reply.

Was he mulling over what had been said?

The ferryman lightly kicked the ferry’s floor with his toe.

The boat swayed violently. Enkrid, still seated, planted his hands on the floor to steady himself. Then, he lifted his head.

A vacant stare. A face lost in thought. Lips slightly parted.

That was what the ferryman saw.

His eyes finally regained focus, and he asked:

“Huh?”

“What did I just say?”

For a rare moment, the ferryman almost betrayed emotion—but he held back and asked again.

Enkrid blinked twice before responding.

“Ah, I didn’t hear you.”

He meant it. He had been too focused to listen. As always, he responded with complete honesty and sincerity.

“...Go.”

The ferryman’s lips moved faster than his thoughts.

His words had not even entered this fool’s head. They hadn’t gone in one ear and out the other, nor had they been rejected in defiance.

They had simply been ignored. Swallowed whole.

Even the ferryman, impassive as he was, might have felt irritation.

“Eh?”

Enkrid’s bewildered look was genuine. The fact made it even more frustrating to witness.

Sometimes, innocence was a weapon—a slow, suffocating weight pressing against the chest of those who encountered it.

“I said, go.”

The ferryman neither raised his voice nor pressed the matter. Sending him off was enough. He had a reason for doing so.

‘I will watch.’

Whatever this fool was thinking, whatever he intended to do—he would see soon enough.

“Ah, alright.”

Enkrid neither hesitated nor looked embarrassed. He simply nodded.

His form blurred and faded from the ferry.

Left alone, the ferryman gazed silently into the darkness.

Surely, he would repeat this day again.

And again, he would arrive at this very moment.

A meeting on the ferry, lost within the void.

Of course, that was inevitable.

The ferryman saw ahead into the repetition of today.

What was meant to happen would happen.

What was determined would unfold as it must.

Sure, Enkrid had surprised him a few times.

But only that much.

No one could surpass a wall in a single day.

The repetition of today was suffering. An endless chain of agony.

That was the nature of this curse.

But to a man consumed by madness, even pain could become euphoria.

‘A madman.’

The ferryman’s gaze shifted—not toward the black waters, but toward Enkrid, bound to his endless cycle.

Through the curse, he could see him.

And so, the ferryman watched.

He repeated the same day.

Waking at dawn, training his body.

Convincing a city official by kicking him square in the gut.

Sending Ragna and Dunbakel to handle the invading force.

Facing the assassins and, with a casual comment about his own stab wound, embarrassing the comrades beside him.

Marching to the palace and cutting down the bitter ties standing in his way.

Killing without hesitation. No drawn-out conversation.

“You raped a maid, right? Last time, I didn’t even ask before I cut you down.”

“...What?”

He ignored the shock on the man’s face entirely.

No interest in the past now standing before him.

There should have been lingering resentment, considering he had nearly killed the master of this curse before.

But there was none.

Not because it didn’t exist.

‘He’s simply fixated on something else right now.’

Instead of the man he had accused, Enkrid turned his gaze to the maid.

He asked with his eyes: Is it true?

The trembling maid nodded.

What followed was a swift execution.

And once more, he stood before the wall.

A knight with striking orange hair.

“This is as far as you go.”

She blocked his path.

Enkrid raised his sword.

No questions.

There was no need to ask. This was going to happen anyway.

No, that wasn’t even how he thought about it.

For a fleeting moment, the ferryman glimpsed into Enkrid’s mind.

An emotion brimming with expectation.

‘That bastard...’

He was here because he wanted to fight this wall.

He had charged forward solely to cross blades with that knight.

A repetition of the same day.

Not entirely identical in its details, but still the same day.

Though some things had changed.

Before he reached this point—back in the morning, during his training—there had been a difference.

“Rem, how did you do that?”

It was just as the sun had reached its peak.

Even as the city official ranted, Enkrid continued speaking with Rem.

“You insolent brat! The great me is here, and you’re chatting?!”

“Wait.”

Enkrid dismissed him and asked again.

The official gawked in stunned disbelief.

“The way you aimed the tip of your blade. You blocked with the axe’s edge.”

“It’s called aiming the axe’s edge.”

Rem blinked, then gave a short, blunt reply.

“You just need to aim well.”

There wasn’t much more to explain.

And Enkrid saw no need to press further.

That was the one difference in today’s repetition.

“Y-you bastard!”

The ignored official exploded in rage.

And that was all.

Later, before the wall that was Aisia, he tried something.

And met a similar result.

Cut down. Stabbed. Defeated.

Collapsed on the ground.

Yet there was another difference in this repetition.

One the ferryman already knew.

One Enkrid did not.

His gaze shifted behind Aisia.

The man she had called senior did not appear.

Instead—

“I’ll check the rear.”

Aisia left. And that was the end of it.

Time passed for a moment, then complete darkness followed. Today had ended once again.

The ferryman gazed across the boat.

Grains of dust-like fragments gathered, accumulating until they took shape—gradually forming a human figure.

It was Enkrid.

The ferryman felt his curiosity surge. There was no need to suppress it, so he spoke.

”I have just one question.”

”Eh?”

There he was, that same vacant gaze. Enkrid stood there, as lost in thought as ever.

”Earlier, you weren’t listening to me. What were you thinking about?”

Enkrid opened his mouth without hesitation. There was no reason to hide it.

Nothing to conceal at all—only the question of why the ferryman even cared.

”I was thinking about how to block blade-point targeting.”

The fire burning in his eyes—the sheer heat of his determination—made the ferryman certain.

This man, Enkrid, was utterly absorbed in just one thing.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

That was why he only saw the opponent before him.

It didn’t matter whether they were a wall or an obstacle. He saw only them, recognized only them, and devoted all of his focus to them.

The ferryman spoke words he didn’t have to say but had the authority to offer.

”Do you think of that as a wall?”

He had meant to tell him no. To make him face the real wall.

”I don’t know.”

Those words went unsaid.

‘Why does that matter? That’s not what’s important to me.’

That, too, went unsaid.

‘Do you have anything else to say? If not, could you let me get back to thinking?’

Left unspoken as well.

The ferryman felt something.

A sense of absurdity.

It was baffling. He had crafted his words carefully, intending to toy with this fool’s thoughts—yet he had been utterly defeated.

His words melted into the darkness, swallowed and discarded without purpose.

”Do as you will.”

The ferryman answered, already knowing Enkrid would do just that.

‘Fine. Go ahead and try. What you’re looking at right now isn’t a wall anyway.’

That was what his words left unsaid.

Enkrid vanished once again, his form fading and scattering into nothing.

‘So dull-witted.’

And yet, this was precisely what he had been hoping for.

Even if Enkrid overcame this wall, it would leave a deep scar upon him.

Heh.

The ferryman chuckled.

Watching him struggle through that pain—nothing would be more delightful than that.

If he crossed this wall, then that alone would become its own kind of curse upon him.

***

”I’ve realized one thing.”

That mimicking Rem’s method would be worthwhile.

Not just Rem’s—he would try everyone’s.

Imitation, after all, was one of the fastest ways to understand the techniques of others.

”My own method comes after that.”

If a path was visible, he would walk it. That was just how Enkrid was.

Where was the wall? What was it?

If he had asked the ferryman, he probably would have received an answer.

Today’s ferryman had seemed like the type to offer one.

But that wasn’t important. There was no need to know.

So he didn’t ask.

Instead, he pondered.

”What are you thinking about so early in the morning?”

It was the third today.

During his dawn training, he had paused, lost in thought.

Rem, who had woken up late, looked at him and asked.

Enkrid, earlier than on the second today, threw out the key question.

”How did you aim the axe’s edge?”

Even though the question came out of nowhere, Rem wasn’t surprised.

Enkrid doing things like this was nothing new.

So the answer came just as quickly.

”Aisia’s sword was pointed at me, wasn’t it? So I was aiming at the tip of my opponent’s blade. With my axe.”

His explanation was a mess, like a stage where wild dogs had torn everything apart.

Disordered. Hard to follow.

But if he were the type to give up because of that, he wouldn’t have picked up a sword in the first place.

Besides, even Rem himself knew that his explanation was lacking.

”Try aiming with Sparks.”

Rem lifted his long-handled axe as he spoke.

Though he held it with ease, the weapon’s balance was uniquely weighted.

It was far heavier than it appeared.

But just by holding it, he shifted the gravity of the space.

Enkrid drew Sparks.

Ting.

He pulled it free, the slender blade aligning straight ahead.

As he stood there, he wondered—

Wasn’t the first step of imitation just pointing the blade’s tip?

‘Mix in pressure and killing intent.’

In a way, it was the exact opposite of Jaxon’s Lethal Thrust.

One deceived by erasing its presence.

The other deceived by amplifying it.

Enkrid couldn’t replicate it perfectly just yet.

So, for now, he simply pointed his blade.

Thunk.

Rem struck the tip of Enkrid’s sword with his axe’s edge.

To be precise, he hit the very point of the blade.

”Got it?”

Enkrid didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he thought.

He replayed what Rem had just done.

A physical demonstration was far more effective than words.

And so, he mulled it over.

He understood.

Rem had struck the very tip of Sparks with the sharpest line of his axe’s edge.

Blade and point had met perfectly.

It was beyond skill—bordering on miraculous precision.

This act contained a question:

Could you meet the tip of a blade with another at full speed?

”Ah.”

A sound of realization escaped him.

”Try it. You’ll understand when you do.”

Rem stepped back.

Enkrid slowly took both swords in hand.

Sparks and the gladius.

Clashing swords together was easy.

But tip to tip?

Edge to tip?

It was possible if done slowly.

Difficult—but not impossible.

His muscles tensed on their own.

Too much force.

It made the movement unnatural.

How could he make it natural?

What skill did he need to achieve it?

”Exactly. If you can do that, then you’ve got it.”

Rem strapped his long axe onto his waist as he spoke.

He had said all he needed to say.

Enkrid didn’t even nod.

He had already fallen into his own world.

Total immersion.

Rem watched, finding the sight strange—then spotted Andrew and held up a finger to his lips.

A silent “Shh.”

Andrew, who had been about to speak, closed his mouth.

After stepping back three paces, he asked in a hushed voice:

”What’s going on?”

”Today, I’ll personally train you.”

”…I’m fine. I can train alone.”

”No, that won’t do. I will carry on the captain’s will.”

”Enkrid isn’t dead, you know.”

”My Western tongue is still lacking.”

Andrew’s expression said, Since when have you ever spoken Western?

But his silent protest was ignored.

Meanwhile, Enkrid, ears open but mind deep in thought, plunged further into his own contemplation.

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