A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Audin heard Enkrid speak while slicing his sword through the air.

What he said was nothing short of a merciless thrust—if it were swordsmanship, that is.

After finishing his words, Enkrid swung his sword through the air a few more times.

He must be checking his body, since it hadn’t moved properly during the latter half of the previous battle.

It was something Audin himself had taught him.

No matter what, always make sure your body is responding correctly.

He had told him that going into battle without understanding your own physical state was foolish.

That maintaining peak condition at all times was only natural.

To eat well, sleep well, relieve oneself regularly, train with dedication—but above all, to understand your own limits.

Enkrid had done exactly that until now.

‘You are my finest student.’

Audin spoke inwardly as he lifted his head. It was his turn to speak.

To say he would return to the Order and accept punishment, to give his life in exchange.

So Enkrid should stop fighting.

Let the Saintess go. Couldn’t he do that?

He would take responsibility for everything.

‘I will offer the rest of my life.’

Audin muttered silently as he looked up. Before his eyes stood the ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) holy knight, radiating divine light.

A man standing in the position he himself had once aspired to reach.

He understood at a glance—his divine aura shone a clear white. That was not the light of a fallen one.

When the gods turned their gaze away, a fallen priest’s divine aura would inevitably dim.

That was why many priests could no longer use divine power at all.

That was how tattered saints came to be.

There was once a man called by that nickname—a healer who wandered the continent, draped in rags.

A true saint who carried the divine within his heart, even after being cast out by the Order.

Audin had always wanted to meet the tattered saint. He even knew him personally.

He had supposedly become a master of survival, evading pursuit while hiding his identity.

A fleeting thought. Just a passing memory sparked by the moment.

As Audin made his decision, Overdeer asked again.

“Who told you that?”

“I heard someone say you pretend not to know even when you do,” Enkrid replied casually, now twirling one ankle in the air after ceasing his sword swings.

He clearly had no intention of backing down. That much was evident in his stance alone.

“Can you prove that claim?”

Overdeer asked with restrained emotion, his tone formal. It sounded awkward, like he was forcing himself to speak a certain way.

“Hmm, maybe?”

Enkrid tilted his head.

“Are you slandering the Order based on mere speculation?”

Still speaking with that grating tone, Overdeer lifted a finger mid-sentence. Pointing his staff, he turned to Audin and asked:

“Paladin Alma, speak—do you confirm this man is a heretic?”

Alma glanced around nervously and nudged Bert. The inquisitor answered in Alma’s place.

“Prophet Overdeer, the man’s name is Audin Fumray. He’s known to have committed the sin of causing my father’s death and abandoning his duties as an inquisitor. Though once said to be loved by the gods for his talent, he betrayed even the priest who raised him.”

“Why wasn’t he caught before now?”

“Only recently did we track his movements. He appeared in the capital of the Kingdom of Naurillia, and it just so happened there was a priest there who recognized the face of the heretic.”

Bert strung the words together with desperate effort.

Though inquisitors might seem like they only chase and beat people to death, their true task was to craft logic and justification.

No matter how powerful the Order was, it couldn’t completely ignore public scrutiny when labeling someone a heretic.

Naturally, execution or imprisonment could only happen after receiving broad approval.

Of course, that rule didn’t apply to the powerless.

Audin had once been driven to this point by a twisted priest who saw his talent and divinity.

A priest who used his authority to persecute and kill the weak.

Granted, killing a bishop’s child had earned him the archbishop’s hatred as well.

In the end, Audin had left the Order because he could no longer endure it.

That was the truth—but here, no one could question it.

“Is that so?”

That was all. Overdeer raised his staff again. Enkrid also raised his sword.

Despite the conversation, their battle wasn’t over.

Whoosh—the staff extended like a streak of light the moment he moved.

A flash of white light cut through the violet dusk, and a blue blade surged forward to meet it.

Clang, tatatatang!

A duel between knights. The impact at the point where sword met staff sent a shockwave rattling through the air.

Invisible waves of force swept outward, pushing away both wind and light.

Sparks and blood flew between them.

Crack.

Enkrid’s eyes and senses reacted, and he saw it coming with insight—but his arm failed to move as intended.

No, it moved—just slightly too slow. His earlobe tore open from the delayed reaction.

It wasn’t reason enough to retreat, so he ignored the wound and reset his stance.

If strained muscles, ligaments, or tendons slowed his reactions, then he would minimize his movement.

So he did just that.

Using everything he had learned—Acker’s web, Rem, Ragna, Jaxon, Audin—he streamlined his footwork and refined his motions.

All the while, he kept activating the Will of Rejection, expelling the divine energy invading his body.

It just didn’t happen instantly, that was all.

During that time, Overdeer’s staff never stopped—striking, thrusting, sweeping.

Enkrid saw countless visions.

Visions of what was about to happen.

Overdeer’s specialty. He used divine-infused Will to implant images directly into his opponent’s mind.

Letting one person alone glimpse his intent.

What made it terrifying was that the opponent’s own insight ended up assisting Overdeer’s technique.

And Enkrid—had good eyes.

The insight he had gained from Acker’s web now felt like a shackle.

He could already see the future.

His sword clashing with Overdeer’s staff—then, in the gap, a blow striking his thigh.

That scene became reality.

Thud! Wham!

Overdeer deflected the sword and kicked Enkrid in the thigh. His foot didn’t carry much weight, but it was fast and well-aligned.

Enkrid couldn’t dodge—it landed clean.

Most people would fall into despair when that sort of thing kept happening.

It would feel like every step of the fight was being dictated by Overdeer’s will alone.

That’s why they called him a prophet.

But not Enkrid.

If he were the type to despair or give up over this, he would’ve gladly remained trapped in that one day—singing songs with the ferryman and enjoying eternity.

An eternity where only one day existed.

“Hmm.”

A sharp pain surged from the impact site.

There wasn’t much weight, but the divine force penetrated.

Still, Enkrid didn’t retreat.

“Hah!”

Instead, he let out a battle cry. Condensing his Will, he brought his sword down hard.

Twisting his ankle to accelerate the blade—its speed increasing halfway through the swing. A double acceleration.

A technique modeled after one of Ragna’s specialties.

Clang! Crack!

Overdeer received it with brute force.

The Valerisian steel blade cracked in the middle. It wasn’t broken yet.

That sword had been tuned once by Aitri.

It wasn’t an engraved weapon, but the Will it held was vivid. It wouldn’t break easily.

And because Enkrid believed that, his Will was naturally imbued within the sword. He swung again.

Overdeer knew his opponent wouldn’t back down.

That left him with no choice.

He had said he wouldn’t kill him—and he would keep that promise.

A knight’s word had to carry weight.

So instead—

He would have to break an arm or leg.

“Let’s see how long you can hold out.”

“There’s no need to hold out.”

Overdeer said, and over his voice came the echo of the ferryman’s song.

He knew—there was no need to endure.

But merely doing what was needed would never achieve one’s goals.

To obtain what one truly wished for, for that alone—

Enkrid had chosen a meaningless struggle.

He had wandered the continent, met many people, lived through many experiences—and realized something.

‘Just becoming a knight isn’t enough.’

A knight should never be the end.

So he decided.

Being a knight wouldn’t be his end—it would be his beginning.

“A knight? That’s fucking laughable.”

In the midst of those who scoffed at him, he couldn’t even say those words aloud.

And yet—he rose above them all.

So he would live by what he believed.

“You fool.”

Overdeer’s staff struck his shoulder over the hallucinated voice of the ferryman.

Enkrid twisted his body using the techniques Audin had taught him on how to take a hit.

Tensing his abdominal muscles, rotating his waist, and changing his shoulder angle—letting the impact glance off and scatter.

Crack!

It made a sound that suggested bone trouble—but it wasn’t broken.

He swung again, bearing the pain with the heat that rose from enduring blow after blow.

Enkrid repeated this cycle.

Overdeer’s staff struck his body again and again.

Enkrid endured again and again with nothing but a single Valerisian steel blade, then at the perfect moment twisted and struck—an unexpected thrust with his hidden left hand.

“Nice!”

Shinar exclaimed as he saw Enkrid’s movement.

But before the words finished, Overdeer deflected the spark with his staff. The blade scraped along the tilted staff, sending sparks flying through the air with a metallic screech.

They clashed again, and again.

Enkrid’s blade grazed Overdeer’s cheek and arm—blood splattered.

That meant his sword had cut through divine armor.

It also meant Overdeer’s defense had weakened.

Overdeer stared into the eyes of the opponent now wreathed in blue flames.

He had no idea what his opponent was thinking—but he knew this was not someone to be ignored.

The divine energy coating his engraved staff thickened even more.

Their powers collided, and it felt as if storms erupted around them.

As their weapons crossed again and again, Audin watched, his heart feeling as if it were being split apart.

‘Why? Why does he keep enduring?’

Why? For what?

Audin was in agony. It was as if the Lord himself were rebuking him.

He would’ve preferred to be punished directly.

But this was different. It was unbearable to simply watch with open eyes.

His head spun. His insides churned.

And yet he kept watching.

What is it that keeps that man from backing down?

The question surged in his mind—and in that moment, Audin realized.

He already knew the answer.

That’s why he had stepped forward to begin with.

So why was he just standing here now, hesitating, watching?

“Stop.”

Audin murmured.

But neither of them heard. Or rather, they couldn’t hear.

Enkrid, having failed to block in time, took a direct blow to the chest. A dull thud echoed.

Even so, Overdeer’s staff didn’t stop.

And neither did Enkrid.

Boom!

Divine power and Will collided with a roar, and Enkrid’s body tumbled backward.

His tattered cloak, shredded clothes, and inner armor were exposed.

The sword in his hand—somehow—was still unbroken.

Audin felt more than emotional pain—he felt it physically.

His mental anguish had become bodily pain, shaped by his own thoughts.

If Enkrid hadn’t been as disciplined as he was, that last blow might have ruptured his heart. Or left him crippled.

“Did you endure it?”

Overdeer’s voice again.

Enkrid, who had been rolling, had already risen. Using the momentum, he landed on his feet.

Blood streamed from a tear on his forehead.

Overdeer spoke again.

“I’ll say it again. I won’t kill you. But I will have to take a leg.”

The subtle awkwardness in Prophet Overdeer’s voice no longer mattered. There was no room left to care.

Even without deep insight, Audin knew Enkrid was going to lose. He wouldn’t die—but he would lose a leg, maybe an arm.

“Shinar, that way.”

Enkrid spoke. Had he been watching this way?

Behind Audin, Alma was creeping closer.

The man with the hammer had murder in his eyes.

A savage bloodlust aimed at Audin. The gaze of a fallen one.

Shinar stepped in front and raised the Leaf Blade. A warning—come any closer, and he would cut.

Audin scowled for the first time since that day Enkrid had come to the camp as a platoon leader.

Even when he’d decided to leave the Order, he hadn’t shown such emotion.

But now, he couldn’t hold it back.

“Do nothing. Let him die. Just like you did to me.”

Pildin’s voice—an illusion—spoke.

Audin watched the battle with bleary eyes.

Enkrid continued to take hit after hit.

Crack, wham, slam!

Sometimes he blocked. Then got hit again.

But never once did he step back.

Why? How?

If he stepped back, Overdeer wouldn’t pursue.

“Stop. Just leave me. Commander Brother.”

Audin said—but no one heard. Or perhaps Enkrid did.

He wiped the blood from his eyes.

Overdeer, seemingly catching his breath, paused his staff swings.

He too looked somewhat tired.

Enkrid spoke quietly—but loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I do not accept a future written by others. And if something forced by someone else is wrong, I will not turn away from it just because I lack the strength.”

As a knight, declaring his belief out loud meant his Will would falter if he didn’t act on it.

Now Enkrid had declared not just with actions—but with words.

There would be no retreat.

‘Ah.’

Audin understood fully the weight of what Enkrid had just said.

Overdeer spoke with force:

Stay out of the Order’s affairs.

Never interfere again.

But there was no way Enkrid would accept that.

His sword and actions—now joined by his words—struck Audin’s heart.

Utterly selfish, yet shining like the sun.

It felt like the divine light itself illuminated him through the violet twilight—an illusion only Audin could see.

“Stop.”

Pildin spoke. The vision’s face was clearer than ever. The voice of the nightmare’s master was undeniable.

Audin turned away from the pitiful child he couldn’t save.

And looked at the back of one man.

The back of someone who lived by his own will.

For Audin, this moment was salvation and punishment intertwined, like living and dying on repeat.

Dying and returning.

As if he too were reliving the same day.

If Overdeer was punishment, then Enkrid was salvation.

Audin’s hands trembled. Then the shaking stopped.

What Enkrid was doing now was interfering with the Order’s ritual.

If they silenced everyone here, perhaps they could cover it up—but ultimately, it would mark Enkrid as an enemy of the Order.

Refusing to retreat from Overdeer’s will—that was what it meant.

Audin looked at the blood-spattered ground and finally spoke.

It was not the same tone as before—this time, it was a heavy, deep voice.

“You’ll be hunted for life.”

To be an enemy of the Order—meant exactly that.

And from Enkrid came the reply.

Clang. Thud.

That was his answer.

So what? That’s what it seemed to say.