A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

”I’m just a rock, huh? So you think if you swing down, I’ll just stand there and take it?”

That was Rem’s go-to line during their sparring sessions. It encapsulated her philosophy.

The Walking Fire hadn’t used techniques, nor had it moved quickly. Cutting it down had been easy. People, though, weren’t like that.

Even if you poured all your Will into a single blow, it meant nothing if you didn’t hit.

Sure, you could throw all your strength into a strike. But what if your opponent dodged or deflected it?

”Too slow!”

Rem was the harshest when pushing Enkrid.

Rapid judgment through accelerated thought. The injection of Will into a fleeting moment. Rem said all of that was necessary—and she didn’t just say it, she showed it in action.

Though, to be fair, she did talk a lot first. But her explanations were so crude they were better shown than said.

”Listen, if you throw a rock and your opponent dodges, what happens? ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) You don’t get the strength back, and you’ve lost the rock too. It’s all gone. So sure, it’s great you cut down the Walking Fire or Crawling Fire or whatever—but that alone isn’t enough.”

And Enkrid, ever the attentive listener, got the gist. Still, he felt it didn’t need to be put into words.

”Fine. Let’s spar. You can stop explaining.”

”What? How could I explain it any simpler than that?”

Of course, there were a hundred ways to explain it more simply—but it wasn’t worth debating. So the sparring continued. For days, Enkrid repeated this, and each session was so exhilarating it made his skin tingle.

Rem’s axe constantly knocked his sword off-balance, and her shifting footwork prevented him from executing that single, decisive strike he wanted.

”You’ve got to at least fake that ‘one strike’ from any stance before I’ll admit you’re getting there. Sure, maybe some idiot who doesn’t know any better might let you hit them—but knights? They’ll see that telegraphed move a mile away.”

According to Rem, channeling Will into a swing was, if you were to visualize it as sound, the same as screaming at the top of your lungs.

When you scream like that, even if someone doesn’t want to listen, they’ll still hear it. Even if they don’t want to look, their eyes will turn.

So her point was valid.

”Split your Will. Pour it. Decide in the moment.”

It was a deeper version of what they’d practiced during the battle with the Grey Ghouls. Striking with presence relied on accelerated thought. And Rem insisted that should be possible even in duels against knights.

From the outside, the savage teaching and the learning knight both looked oddly delighted—like two half-mad bastards clashing nonstop.

At one point, the Ferryman appeared to Enkrid in a dream.

“Having fun?”

Rather than answering the obvious, Enkrid tried to gauge the Ferryman’s intent.

“Is the wall coming?”

The Ferryman, without receiving an answer of his own, replied calmly.

“Why would I tell you that?”

Hadn’t he always given such hints before?

Enkrid didn’t argue. Hearing about an impending wall or not didn’t change anything.

His resolve was always firm, always unyielding.

“You didn’t answer my question,” the Ferryman said.

“It’s as you see.”

The reply implied, Isn’t it obvious? I’m doing it because it’s fun.

The Ferryman vanished, and Enkrid returned to himself. Though... something about this Ferryman felt entirely different from the one he’d met before.

The same on the outside—but the inside had changed. It was just a feeling. Nothing he could question, and nothing that would change even if he did.

So he just kept doing what he always did.

He sparred with Rem on moment-to-moment judgment. With Ragna, he practiced splitting Will into precise strikes. With Audin, he tortured his body in brutal training. With Jaxon, he trained to visualize sensation.

There wasn’t a moment to breathe.

”Don’t you want to feel the spring breeze?”

It was early afternoon on a winter day still heavy with chill. Sunlight peeked through clouded skies, falling in long streaks across the ground.

Shinar had come to find him.

“It’s the middle of winter,” Enkrid replied.

“I know.”

But Enkrid understood she wasn’t talking about literal spring. He remembered she’d used that phrase before, and so he asked,

”You mentioned that before. What does it mean?”

“It’s hard to explain with words,” Shinar replied, drawing her sword, Naydil.

Shhhh.

The sound of the blade slipping from its sheath was clearer than ever, as if it were infused with Will saying, Look at me.

The drawn sword shimmered faintly with green light. Not blinding, but undeniably alive.

Vitality. Energy. Life itself seemed to ripple from the blade.

Perhaps it was thanks to his training with Jaxon, or maybe it was simply Shinar’s skill—but Enkrid could feel it. That glow of living energy in the sword.

A manifestation of life itself.

“If you gather Essence, this becomes possible,” Shinar said.

The sword she held truly resembled a leaf budding in spring.

“So that’s why it’s called Leafblade,” Enkrid thought as he raised his own weapon.

He wielded the Jin longsword made by Aitri. A shortsword hung diagonally behind his waist, and Emberfall dangled on his right hip.

He wore no armor. His cloth gauntlets were set aside.

His body was sore from constant sparring, bruises dotting his limbs, but he had no intention of refusing this duel.

A faint smile appeared on his lips.

The ”spring breeze” was a sword style, he was sure of it. And Shinar was going to show it to him.

The mere thought made his chest flutter with excitement.

Fairy swordsmanship—how could he not be thrilled?

Shinar’s expression was the same as ever—blank, unreadable.

The fact that this expression could occasionally curl into a smile was, in itself, oddly miraculous.

“You guys are up to something fun.”

That voice came from Rem, yawning with her mouth wide open in front of their lodging. She’d returned late after two days spent outside training her troops.

Between duels with Enkrid, squad drills, and personal training to avoid falling behind Audin the bear, Rem had been busier than during actual battles.

But did she resent it? Not really.

This morning, she’d tried striking Enkrid’s thigh, only to take a counter to the forehead—and now rubbed the bump that had formed there.

She might be the one pressing him every day, but Enkrid’s skill was no longer something to take lightly.

Her beatdowns no longer translated to fast progress—but even so, he was improving faster than before.

He was now someone who couldn’t be ignored.

Shinar was formidable too, but... how would they compare?

The thought sparked curiosity and amusement in equal measure.

“Bored?”

Not just Rem—Ragna was there as well. He’d stayed behind specifically to teach Enkrid how to allocate Will into every cut, stab, and swing.

How do you strike with condensed Will in any situation?

For Ragna, it came naturally. He just did it.

But for Enkrid, it was different.

“He’ll need repeated mastery,” Ragna thought.

He’d been teaching Enkrid for some time now. He’d adapted. He’d grown familiar with the knight’s methods.

He was now teaching through relentless repetition—the true essence of swordsmanship.

And while teaching, Ragna’s own techniques had advanced beyond refinement into full crystallization.

They say you learn while teaching—and for Ragna, it was true. His skill had improved significantly through this process.

He wasn’t called a genius for nothing.

He used to skip steps and focus only on results. Now, he dug back into the steps he’d once skipped.

You can’t teach what you don’t fully understand—so this was only natural.

His gaze turned to Shinar and Enkrid.

At first, he’d wondered if this was just boredom—but no, this duel would benefit Enkrid.

”Face a variety of opponents.”

That was what Anu, the Mercenary King, had once said to Enkrid.

Had he known what Enkrid needed all along? Or was it coincidence?

Either way, Ragna agreed—Enkrid needed more quality experience.

He’d already had his share, but more would only help.

“Is that the fairy race’s native swordsmanship?” Lua Gharne asked from her seat. She, too, was helping Enkrid refine his techniques.

Her strength couldn’t match his—but her insight and long years of experience were nothing to scoff at.

Shinar swung her blade, unconcerned with who watched.

Enkrid absorbed every detail—her steps, breath, the angle of her arms.

He watched and understood.

Float.

That was the feeling. The blade clearly cut through the air, yet it seemed to drift on the breeze.

Enkrid didn’t ignore that feeling.

To master the intangible, he had to perceive and embrace it.

Rem, Ragna, and Lua Gharne already knew that Enkrid’s skills had surged lately. So when they saw what happened next, they weren’t surprised.

CLACK.

Shinar’s blade was meant to descend like a leaf, but before it could fall as intended, its movement was restrained.

Enkrid had caught the blade with his own, angling it upward to bind it in place.

No movement, no technique. No technique, no threat.

He’d stopped it before it even began.

Like stuffing someone’s mouth before they could sing a note.

Just standing there and watching someone’s technique was the mark of a fool—a friend of ghouls, as Rem would say.

So this wasn’t cheap.

To truly see the power of fairy swordsmanship, you had to challenge it fully.

If this was all it took to stop it, then so be it.

“Well done,” Shinar said, expressionless as ever, pulling her blade back to her chest.

Cling-cling.

Their blades scraped and separated. Enkrid had tried to keep hers bound, but Shinar expertly adjusted her pressure and pulled it free.

The control she displayed couldn’t be easily imitated—even by Rem, Ragna, or Audin.

Leafblade withdrew.

And then, as she promised, the spring breeze arrived.

A soft wind.

A cut that didn’t suit the winter sunlight drifted downward, wrapped in Essence.

Enkrid felt the presence land gently on his shoulder, just ahead of the actual blade.

“Fascinating.”

Fairy swordsmanship—Spring Breeze—was a technique that mixed invisible strikes within graceful arcs.

Those unseen strikes were, of course, blades of Essence.

Leaf-like slashes spread wide to block the front.

Should he force through with strength? Or deflect and aim for her sides?

Both were valid. Enkrid tried each in turn.

He summoned Will and met her strikes head-on.

Shinar, as expected of a fairy knight, was no pushover.

And there was no need to rush the fight.

They didn’t clash to overpower. They showed each other their techniques.

Push through? A leaf blocked him.

Aim for the side? The leaves moved to wrap around his whole body.

He dodged with footwork and deflected with focused, weighted cuts.

“That’s enough for today. See you tomorrow.”

After a vigorous exchange, Shinar turned and left. No jokes, no teasing.

“Not bad,” Rem said.

“A defensive sword form to suppress fast and powerful blades,” added Ragna.

Enkrid simply nodded.

The next day, Shinar returned. It was late in the afternoon.

“I’ll show you the Summer Downpour.”

“Looking forward to it.”

No reason to refuse. They began again.

Then Enkrid’s eyes widened.

“Your sword... changes?”

He watched as Leafblade stretched like a whip.

Chiriririring.

As she invoked the Downpour, Naydil wavered and extended.

“Magic sword,” Lua Gharne murmured.

The blade thinned and elongated—becoming a long, whip-like blade. It shimmered and scattered light, then rained down like a storm from above.

A downpour of sword strikes.

Enkrid chose to receive rather than evade. His instincts told him that if he dodged, the rain would only pursue him—and evasion would drain the strength needed for counterattacks.

His time with Rem hadn’t been wasted.

TATATATATATAK!

If Jin hadn’t been so light, he wouldn’t have blocked them all.

Amid the rain, blue Essence lanced through.

Yesterday it had been green—today it was blue.

Swift, sharp sword strikes danced within accelerated thoughts.

“If I can block waves, I can block rain.”

Enkrid hadn’t yet perfected the technique, but he invoked his unfinished sword art—Wave Block.

It barely held.

But the blade twisted this way and that—seeking his ankles, his wrists.

“If it coils around me, it’ll cut.”

Just like rain that bends with the wind—this sword could flow too.

And so the day ended with a duel.

“Tomorrow—Autumn Leaves,” Shinar said as she disengaged mid-attack.

“I’ll be waiting,” Enkrid replied.

By this point, their audience was growing.