A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

With a single sword strike, he poured out every ounce of Will he had.

If he were a normal person — though calling someone who became a knight “normal” was absurd — or even if he had the Will comparable to one, this was something no one would dare to do.

Anyone who had once become drunk on omnipotence when they first awakened their Will, who had felt like they could do anything and then burned it all at once, would know the danger of that aftermath — the drain.

They would instinctively know that if they pushed just a little harder, they could die.

This was the cost of wielding a power that defied the limits of one’s species.

That one could die by pouring out too much of the formless force known as Will.

So it was not something one should ever do — but Enkrid was born with Will that never ran dry.

Thanks to that, he had never experienced the drain before.

Until now.

The moment his sword sliced through the walking fire — the instant he saw it scatter —

“Mmh.”

Enkrid immediately sensed something was wrong.

Strength drained from his limbs.

His arms and legs no longer felt like his own.

His breath caught in his throat, and without focus, he could hardly breathe at all.

His vision blurred.

Some muscles began to spasm.

His thighs and arm muscles trembled violently, and even his core seized with pain.

It went beyond muscle aches — it felt like he was losing control of his own body.

All of this was the price of that moment when he had unleashed all the Will stored in his body — the drain.

And the cost of that price was the sight beyond his dim vision — the walking fire crumbling.

The flames broke apart and faded.

Sparks danced through the air, a few forming embers that landed and bounced.

Though those sparks did not fly far, the ones that landed scorched the earth where they fell.

It meant the core of the spell had been severed — but its residual power still lingered.

One of those embers flew toward Enkrid’s face.

“I cannot dodge that.”

He truly had not even the strength to lift a finger.

All he could do was turn his head slightly with what little Will he had left.

Some of the townspeople, who had happened to witness the walking fire — and Enkrid cutting it down — had the same thought.

“He’s going to burn.”

That ember would hit his face.

It would not kill him, but it would scar his skin with a disfiguring burn.

This was the final offensive of the walking fire — its last embers.

One of them was about to touch his face.

Thud.

Enkrid’s blurry vision cleared slightly, and he saw a thick hand blocking his view.

The thin cord crossing the back of that hand was tied to keep things from slipping when gripped.

It was Frokk’s hand.

The scent of burning flesh reached him.

Flames clung to Frokk’s skin.

Frokk — Lua Gharne — shook her hand to scatter the fire, but the ember had already scorched her skin black.

Before that could happen, she had sliced her own skin away.

It hurt less than burning.

Frokk had dull skin sensation, so this level of pain might not have even drawn a frown.

Though there were certainly Frokk who would react otherwise, Lua Gharne did not even twitch her brow.

“It is fine. I regenerate.”

She said.

Enkrid blinked once and nodded.

“I should still thank you.”

His tongue, stiff as stone, rolled smoothly again.

The drain had overtaken his body for a moment, but Enkrid quickly felt his strength returning.

It returned as fast as it had vanished.

“Why?”

Looking inward, he could feel his Will rising again.

The Will That Never Dries — even if he poured it all out in a moment, it would soon be replenished.

And he came to understand something more.

“The more I get used to it, the more Will I can pour out. With repetition, my vessel will grow. Experiencing drain might actually benefit me.”

It was madness — exactly the kind of madness the Ferryman had spoken of when describing Enkrid.

He had just endured that awful drain — and already, he was thinking about using it for training.

“It really was the walking fire.”

Lua Gharne said, missing a hand.

She had chased after the man who suddenly claimed the forbidden spell had to be cut, not blocked — and this was what she found.

Not everything about the situation was clear to her.

Many things were confusing.

But she set aside such minor matters — because something else had seized her attention.

“That slash...”

Lua Gharne had been right behind Enkrid.

Arriving just a step too late, she had only seen the moment of his sword swing.

That slash had cut the spell.

The forbidden spell — a curse of annihilation that would not end until everything was consumed — had been cut.

What should one call such a moment?

Spell suppression?

Spell negation?

Spell execution?

One thing was clear — it was the kind of slash worthy of being called a mage-killer.

“He cut a forbidden spell?”

Even Frokk, with her infinite regeneration, could hardly attempt such a thing.

What kind of knight could do this?

She had witnessed something that was both spectacle and miracle.

How could her heart not race?

How did it happen?

With her sharp insight, Frokk had sensed a principle hidden within.

“He unleashed overflowing Will in a single instant.”

That was what Enkrid had done.

His weakness, originally, was that he could not release much Will in brief moments.

Like a well full of water, but with only a small bucket to draw it out.

That had been his flaw — but no longer.

He had overcome it before her eyes.

He had overwhelmed the spell with his own Will.

What thrilled Frokk more than admiration was curiosity.

How had he overcome that flaw in a single day?

“The unknown.”

That was what made Lua Gharne’s heart pound.

The thrill she felt now was so intense she might have said it aloud — “my heart is racing.”

Enkrid’s sight and speech had returned, but not all the strength in his limbs.

His senses recovered faster than his body.

And with those sharp instincts, he sensed the presence of hostility aimed at him.

It came from a narrow alleyway, then showed itself.

They were not particularly skilled.

“Die!”

Shouting during an ambush was the sure sign of an amateur assassin.

Why would anyone reveal their position like that?

Jaxon would have called it incomprehensible.

So it was not a great threat.

But the hostility was real.

There were three of them.

They hurled daggers and shot poison darts.

Had Enkrid been alone, it might have been a real danger — drain still clung to his body.

But Enkrid was not alone.

Ssssht! Thud-thud-thud.

Everything was blocked by Lua Gharne’s whip.

Woven from monster hide, the black-brown whip darted out like a serpent, striking the ambushers in the knees, hips, and shoulders.

There was a round weight tied to the end of the whip, making it usable as a blunt weapon.

Their bones broke, their skin split.

It was a harmony of Frokk’s monstrous strength and whip technique.

All three dropped quickly.

Cries like “Gah!” “Ugh!” and “Kkack!” echoed in pain.

Even as they fell, the men screamed with fanatical eyes,

“A world ruled by black blood will come!”

“Demon God, descend upon this land!”

Cultists.

Was this who he had swung his sword to protect?

The question might have crossed anyone’s mind.

But Enkrid’s gaze showed no hesitation as he looked at the three beaten cultists.

Just moments ago, he had slashed through the walking fire and saved the city’s tomorrow.

If the Ferryman were watching, he might ask now:

“So, is that the ‘tomorrow’ you wanted to protect?”

If asked that — Enkrid would answer proudly,

“No.”

Because no means no.

Would the Ferryman be dumbfounded by that answer?

Despite their blackened hearts and their attempt to kill him, Enkrid had no intention of saving everyone equally.

He had no saintly desire to give every person the same chance.

“Kill them.”

Enkrid said.

“Of course.”

Lua Gharne nodded.

Whether their cultish behavior and demon-worship were the result of brainwashing did not matter to Enkrid.

He had never intended to save everyone in sight.

He would protect the tomorrow behind him — but those who crossed the line, he would still kill.

Otherwise, he would not have picked up a sword at all.

A sword was a tool made to harm.

“Hoo.”

Enkrid exhaled and clenched, then opened his hand — checking his condition.

“Are you alright?”

Lua Gharne asked, having crushed the skulls of the three with kicks, snapping their necks.

Someone in the crowd had even shouted, “Serves them right.”

Later, he heard those three had been especially unhinged criminals, even in this lawless city.

Not that they were the only ones like that.

“Yeah.”

Enkrid replied, standing.

The strength lost to drain had returned.

Compared to before cutting the walking fire — nothing had changed.

“No — I feel even stronger.”

Anyone who knew about a knight’s Will would be horrified to hear that — but to Enkrid, it made sense.

His Will, born of resolve, had always been full.

Enkrid checked the blade of the Black Iron longsword.

There was a clear crack running through the center.

“I’ll have to ask Aitri again.”

When he returned, Kraiss would probably have something to say.

Like, “Do you always break your gear the moment you step outside?”

But still — things had ended well.

Even now, there were cold stares watching Enkrid from inside the city.

But there were others too.

Some eyes held goodwill — others looked up to him, having gone beyond fear.

The stablehand, who had been frozen with his pitchfork, had gone from shock to respect — even admiration.

“Th-thank you.”

The old man’s voice was full of genuine warmth.

He had seen it up close and instinctively understood how dangerous the walking fire was.

Had Enkrid not cut it down, people would have died.

What would the stablehand’s tomorrow have looked like in all those other “todays,” where he died?

No one would ever know.

Only that now he was alive — and bowing.

That was the only change.

The entire Cross Guard did not chant Enkrid’s name.

No one called him a hero.

But such things were not necessary.

“What happened?”

The castellan finally arrived.

Soon after came Delma, and the innkeeper.

They learned about the walking fire.

They came to understand — at least roughly — the scale of danger that had entered, and then disappeared from, the city.

Lua Gharne added commentary here and there.

She looked like someone barely holding back her urge to brag about what Enkrid had done.

“Can you cut spells? From now on, we must call him not just a hero, but a spell-killer. If that annihilation spell had run rampant, who here would have survived? Well, I would have.”

She claimed that if she had not died, Enkrid would not have either.

She would not allow him to die before her — that was what she meant.

And throughout all those repeated days — that was exactly what she had done.

If she burned first, he burned second.

If she burned late, he burned early.

It was loyalty, through and through.

As the castellan went from confusion to understanding and offered his gratitude, Enkrid reflected on the today that would never return.

When he had started this “today,” he had looked into the mirror and told Esther he would cut the walking fire.

Why had he said it?

To steel his resolve, perhaps.

“Gotta pick up some armor...”

The matter settled, Lua Gharne asked him,

“Why did you do it?”

“What?”

“Why did you step up? You have no duty to protect this city.”

Cutting the walking fire had been a gamble.

To her, that was what it was.

And Enkrid — who had repeated day after day, burning again and again — had thought about that.

When the Ferryman had asked him, he had said it was to protect tomorrow.

And now, this was the right answer:

“Because I could.”

Yes.

That was all.

It was something he could do.

Something he did not have to avoid.

Within this repeating today — he had found a new tomorrow.

And so, he did it.

He had protected the boy who wanted to be an innkeeper — and that was good.

He had protected those who were building their boat with newfound resolve — and that was good.

He had even protected the castellan, who thanked him without even understanding what had happened — and that too was good.

The sun set over the city, filled with people who did not even realize how close they had come to death.

And when he awoke, a sun both the same and different from yesterday had risen.

He had not stayed long.

Only a day had passed.

But Cross Guard’s today had changed — just a little.

That was the feeling.

There was more energy.

There was a seed of hope planted — like someone had started growing an apple tree that would one day bloom.

There had been embers of despair and agony — but there was also a slash of hope that protected life.

That was what had happened yesterday in this city.

And so, moving past today, at the break of tomorrow’s dawn — as he rose to begin training as usual —

“Hold me. I am cold.”

Someone completely unexpected appeared.

“Esther?”

She had arrived, pale and trembling, still wearing only a thin robe, slightly translucent in the light.