A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Enkrid stared at the tip of Aisia’s extended sword.

It was the same as before.

Aisia’s body disappeared, leaving only the blade. Only the very tip remained, obscuring his vision. His sense of distance vanished. Aisia was nowhere to be seen.

Soon, the tip of the sword began to waver.

Was this how it would start?

Why?

‘Because my words provoked her?’

It sounded as if she were telling him to prove it.

Steady breathing, a wall to overcome without killing, the words of the ferryman, the wavering sword tip.

The trembling point split apart. It appeared multiple times.

He imagined striking each one down.

Each version of himself doing so was different.

He became Rem, then Ragna, then Jaxon.

As he faced the sword tip’s aim, the characteristics of those he mimicked became vividly clear. It was natural—this was the process of learning and mastering.

Rem’s method was playing along.

Jaxon would clear the board before it was even set and fight only on his own stage.

Ragna smothered his opponent’s will with his own.

Enkrid followed them one by one.

For over three hundred times today, he had repeated this process again and again.

They seemed different, yet they were the same.

Why could Rem and Ragna do this?

‘It’s instinct.’

It was possible because they possessed refined and precise senses.

Whether it took the form of Jaxon’s five heightened senses or only manifested when gripping a sword like Ragna’s, the conclusion remained the same.

Enkrid honed that precision. After all that, he had come full circle.

“This bastard?”

Aisia spoke. Her voice rang in his ears. The dots in Enkrid’s vision vanished, and everything blurred into nothingness. Naturally.

Because Enkrid had closed his eyes.

Darkness arrived. Soon, through sound, touch, and instinct, he sensed everything and swung his sword.

A diagonal slash, tilting his body, using his left foot as a pivot, channeling his entire body’s elasticity into a rotation, delivering force through his waist. The blade moved as if it were dropping straight down through empty space.

“You think that’ll work?!”

Aisia shouted furiously, pulling back her sword into a defensive stance. It was a simple diagonal slash, but sword-tip aiming wouldn’t be able to block it. To those who did not see, sword-tip aiming was meaningless.

For an instant, a sharp acceleration ran through Enkrid’s blade as if it were stretching forward.

Bang!

To deflect an attack, one had to pinpoint the exact striking position, but a change in speed made that difficult.

Enkrid had introduced that change, yet Aisia instinctively twisted her wrist and flicked the sword away.

If she couldn’t even block this much, then she wouldn’t have been worthy of the title of Semi-Knight, nor of being part of the Red Cloak Order.

Enkrid pulled his deflected sword back with force and slashed downward again.

Whoosh!

Aisia stepped back.

When Enkrid opened his eyes, Aisia once again aimed her sword tip, adjusting her stance.

“Are you refusing to accept that it’s broken?”

Still holding his sword in a downward-slash stance, Enkrid asked.

“Try again.”

Aisia replied.

There was no need to close his eyes this time. Enkrid deliberately blurred his focus. If he left only a hazy image, his concentration would waver. Sword-tip aiming was an illusionary technique that relied on the opponent’s focus.

In other words, this was enough.

Any shortcomings in vision could simply be compensated with other senses.

Bang!

From his downward-slash stance, Enkrid twisted his wrist and swung upward. His sword shot up like lightning. Aisia couldn’t ignore it—she had to block it. She held her sword horizontally and absorbed the brute force by leaping backward.

Blade met blade and separated again. With a clang, sparks burst between them.

Even after deflecting the attack, the force sent shockwaves through her entire body. Aisia knew well that she couldn’t win against him in terms of raw strength.

Enkrid’s half-blurred eyes found focus.

“One more time?”

And then he asked.

“…What the hell are you?”

Aisia couldn’t understand.

One time could be dismissed as a coincidence, but twice?

Truthfully, she had realized it from the first exchange.

Enkrid had broken her sword-tip aiming.

But how was this possible?

During their sparring, he had struggled just to handle it, let alone find a countermeasure.

His technique had been lacking, and he had barely any experience facing this kind of skill.

But now…

It was as if he had trained separately, hundreds of times, purely against her technique.

His attacks were landing with such precision that it felt intentional. That thought carved a crack in Aisia’s heart.

‘My focus is wavering.’

The moment she realized it, she steadied herself. She regulated her breathing.

If one’s mind wavered, they would lose in spirit first. So Aisia ignored it—or rather, she expanded her understanding beyond confusion.

“Fine. This must be that ridiculous talent Lua Gharne mentioned.”

“I got lucky.”

A common excuse. But to Aisia, it sounded like a provocation. The corner of her mouth curled upward.

“People must tell you that you’re an insufferable bastard all the time.”

“Sometimes?”

“Yeah. You’re insufferable.”

“Thanks for the compliment.”

Words wouldn’t work against Enkrid. Even within the Order, knights who could wag their tongues like this were rare.

Aisia decided to speak with her sword instead.

After all, sword-tip aiming wasn’t her only technique.

‘Even if my technique is broken, his skill won’t instantly become perfect.’

That was the truth. But before ten exchanges had passed, Aisia’s common sense was shaken.

Because Enkrid’s technique, which had previously lacked refinement, now showed signs of completion.

His swordplay, once imprecise, had grown more precise.

For example, the gap between parrying and countering had shrunk. Before, he would twist his wrist too much, giving his opponent time to react, but now that was no longer the case.

From the angle of his wrist’s twist to the force exerted when redirecting an attack—everything was measured. There was precision.

‘This is absurd.’

It was talent so astounding that she couldn’t help but click her tongue.

At this level, he had already surpassed even the veterans whom the knights called their seniors.

Aisia dodged, moving her feet quickly as she watched Enkrid’s blade, which curved like a snake while parrying her thrust.

His reactions had quickened. His ability to grasp timing had improved.

Breaking her sword-tip aiming wasn’t the only thing he had achieved.

‘How?’

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Did he train endlessly under some master for months on end?

Though she was continuously shocked, Aisia steadied herself once more.

“What is Will?”

It was the mind, the conviction, and the will.

How could someone who crumbled in spirit ever hope to win in reality?

She used her mentor’s teachings as a foundation to regain her composure. Aisia solidified her resolve in that way.

And that was exactly what Enkrid had done as well.

By declaring that he did not wish to kill Aisia, he had reaffirmed his own will.

Aisia was witnessing it unfold in real time.

As expected, the mindset of a Semi-Knight was different.

“Hah!”

With a sharp cry, she expelled all distractions from her mind. Pivoting on her right foot, she gathered momentum and thrust her sword forward.

This was the third Will technique, following Intimidation and Phantom Blade.

High-speed thrust.

Enkrid’s technique was similar to the Momentary Will.

It was one of the fundamentals of the Knight Order.

Speed was always the ultimate truth.

Bang!

Enkrid blocked the thrust with the flat of his gladius.

He had used Momentary Will to achieve it in the same way.

‘This too.’

During their previous sparring, even when he used Will, he had only ever executed it in distinct, individual bursts.

There had been clear segmentation. Using Momentary Will required prior preparation, and it showed.

But now, that wasn’t the case.

“You blocked that?”

“If you think it was a fluke, try again.”

At some point, they were both smiling. As Enkrid spoke, he slashed downward, and Aisia, pretending to block horizontally, swiftly evaded instead.

As his sword lost its target and cleaved downward, she executed another high-speed thrust.

Enkrid twisted his body. The tip of the blade barely grazed his cheek.

A faint tear opened in his skin, and a droplet of blood scattered.

And so, their swords clashed again, swinging and colliding.

Enkrid had surpassed sword-tip aiming, but he had failed to completely overpower her.

To be precise, they had ended in a draw.

If either of them had truly intended to kill, one of them might have died. But neither had that intent.

So they finished the match exhausted and wounded.

Enkrid’s upper left arm had been stabbed, rendering it immobile, while Aisia had suffered a deep slash to her calf, hindering her mobility.

As they took a few steps back and briefly paused their swords, Aisia asked,

“What the hell are you, really?”

Then, as if unable to suppress her disbelief, she spoke again.

“No, seriously—why the fuck are you smiling?”

Through her vision, she saw Enkrid with a wide grin on his face.

And that was what utterly baffled her.

There had to be a limit to enjoying a fight. The mere fact that he could smile in this situation meant something was broken in his brain.

The sun was already setting. The last remnants of sunlight were fading beyond the window, and twilight was creeping in.

Aisia furrowed her brows. Even now, Enkrid was still smiling.

‘Did he go mad while fighting?’

Maybe.

As she looked at him, Enkrid finally spoke.

“I feel like I might die from excitement.”

“What?”

What the hell was he talking about?

Enkrid’s eyes seemed to reflect the vanished sunlight. A light shone in them, one born of passion and sheer determination.

Then, he finished his sentence.

“I’m so thrilled that there’s still a way forward, I could go insane.”

It was the truth. A pure joy, untainted by anything else.

Enkrid had honed not just his sense of evasion and attack but had refined his very instincts.

Even as the techniques he had mastered improved step by step, he had still been unable to completely defeat Aisia.

That was why.

Because there was still a way forward. Because there was still more to refine, more to train, more heights to reach—because he could see that path, and his fingertips could touch it.

And that made him indescribably happy.

“You crazy bastard.”

Aisia gave him a sincere evaluation.

It was something he had heard often.

***

”That is not a wall.”

The Ferryman appeared in his dream.

Lately, he seemed more idle than before.

Enkrid couldn’t respond. It was a dream, after all—just a fleeting vision passing by.

But it was a vision that remained vividly in his memory.

It felt like something he had to obey, no matter what.

”Kill her.”

Someone ordered it, and it felt as though he was meant to follow.

Enkrid, however, brushed it off completely.

“What a ridiculously fine morning.”

Before the sun had even risen, Enkrid muttered to himself and stepped outside.

Rem, half-awake, cracked open one eye and tilted his head as he watched his commander walk off.

“Why the hell are you acting crazy first thing in the morning?”

The air had been filled with an ominous tension since last night, so what was there to be so happy about?

That was the meaning behind Rem’s words, but Enkrid paid him no mind.

He began training his body using the Isolation Technique. As his thoughts organized themselves naturally, he came to a conclusion.

Thoughts about walls.

Walls were conditions.

If the condition was to kill that thrusting freak—

If the condition was simply to survive—

If the condition was to block a knight’s sword just once—

Had there ever been only one path in all these trials?

No.

So this time was no different.

No matter what the Ferryman said, Enkrid would do as he always did.

Which meant—he would do whatever he wanted.

A short while later, Esther transformed into her human form and said she was heading out. Watching her, Enkrid spoke.

“Bring back a melon.”

Melons were rare fruits from the south, difficult to find on this continent.

“You’re getting worse by the day.”

Esther replied flatly and left, deciding that understanding this man was beyond her capabilities.

“Why the hell are you so excited? Do you feel like flying?”

It wasn’t as if they had just met yesterday. Rem could clearly see that his commander was in an unusually high-spirited mood.

Jaxon noticed it too and watched him with a curious look. Dunbakel seemed to be spacing out, lost in her own thoughts, while Ragna—well, he had never cared about such things in the first place.

It made sense for Enkrid to be excited. It was natural.

A heavy weight had been tied to his heart, but now it was gone.

It was like taking off sandbags—his body felt lighter.

And beyond that, he could see the path forward. Walking that path thrilled him beyond words.

“Ah, just thinking about knocking someone down is making my heart race.”

Enkrid said.

Rem, of course, had no idea what he meant, but he didn’t bother asking.

Instead, as they watched a sheriff approach, Enkrid suddenly struck him across the head, knocking him out cold.

Only then did Rem finally ask.

“…Was that the guy you meant?”

Had he somehow known the sheriff was coming?

That was the meaning behind Rem’s question.

Enkrid grinned.

“No.”

Because the person he intended to knock down—

Was a certain orange-haired female knight.