A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

No compliment could’ve meant more to Aitri. And yet, the hammer-swinging madman simply stood without a hint of a smile.

“True Iron.”

That was all he said.

“Got it,” Enkrid replied just as plainly, nodding.

With that brief exchange, Enkrid stepped out of the forge and hastened his pace—not because anything urgent awaited, but simply because he couldn’t wait to swing his new meteoric iron sword.

Technically, it was a black gold–true silver–meteoric iron sword, but that name was far too long.

I need something catchier—like Odd-Eye.

Something intuitive and punchy would do.

“Tri-Iron Sword”?

If the sword had a soul, it probably would’ve launched itself from the sheath and stormed off in protest. Fortunately, it didn’t.

Still... I like it.

Enkrid grinned inwardly.

Even though the core was meteoric iron, it didn’t feel right to call it a “meteoric sword.” Meteoric iron quality varied, and the batch Aitri had worked with shattered easily when forged into a blade—but when compacted into a core, it developed immense hardness and evenly distributed weight.

No wonder that bastard Black Snake Elela made armor out of it. It was more useful in plate than edge. Aitri had skillfully used it for the blade’s inner spine.

The leftover was set aside for research.

By the time Enkrid exited the forge, lost in these musings, the market had begun to stir. People slowly filtered into the streets—but it wasn’t yet crowded.

Ever since Kraiss reorganized the district layout, crowds rarely reached a point where you couldn’t walk freely. Besides, it was still early.

Enkrid crossed the market street, left foot, then right. Before his left foot touched down again, he rested his hand on the sword’s grip, pivoted on his ankle, and subtly shifted his stance, right foot sliding a half-step behind.

With that swift motion, he scanned his surroundings.

To the upper right: a rolled tarp, and the wooden frame of a new building being constructed, with a carpenter’s hammer and nails nearby.

To the left: a drowsy child sitting blankly on the steps outside their home, awakened too early.

Above, the sunlight filtered between buildings and awnings, casting shadows that people moved through.

And across the market intersection, not hidden, not exposed—stood a swordswoman.

She wore a breastplate patched from steel plates, with leather armor covering her waist and thighs. The outfit screamed overconfidence. Her lips moved.

“Right?”

A question that wasn’t really a question. She already knew the answer. That’s why she acted without waiting for a reply.

With a soft tap, she launched forward, crossing the intersection in an instant.

Ching!

She drew her sword mid-dash, brushing past those in the crossroad. From above, her movement would have traced a smooth curve.

She wove between people like a snake—one whose fangs were a sword aimed straight at Enkrid’s brow.

Ping.

Naturally, it didn’t connect. Enkrid leaned aside and raised Penna upward.

His new sword wasn’t familiar in hand yet. And this opponent wasn’t the type to gamble with.

Shhk.

Penna didn’t strike either. Enkrid had predicted the exact timing, swung with an unavoidably precise arc—but the swordswoman had read that and dodged back. She’d already slipped under the tarp shelter supported by pillars.

Half her body was cloaked in shadow.

The curl of her lips reflected her mood.

She’s smiling.

She looked amused. Then she moved again. Her speed wasn’t inferior to Enkrid’s.

Swords flashed. Movements swayed. Neither pressed the fight nor backed down. Their insight was equal—predicting each other’s next move wasn’t easy.

They read each other like equals.

Swish, flick, thrust, slash.

Almost in harmony, the two danced between the crowd with blades drawn.

Yet not a single person was harmed.

Penna brushed over the head of a boy sitting dazed on the steps. The blade stirred only a breeze above his hair, thanks to Enkrid’s precision and control.

The boy, noticing the presence belatedly, ducked and patted his head—too late. They had already passed.

The swordswoman’s blade grazed over the shoulder of a slow-walking old woman. It didn’t even nick her. She paused, tilting her head, confused.

“Huh?”

Not everyone failed to notice the duel—but no one could quite process what was happening either.

A baker rubbing his eyes early in the morning blinked.

Did something just pass by?

Hard to tell. The two fighters never stopped moving. Their figures flitted into and out of peripheral vision.

It looked less like combat and more like a game of tag—albeit with swords.

“Is it a fight?” someone murmured.

Enkrid realized fighting in the middle of the market wasn’t in his favor.

If the opponent went after civilians, he’d have to protect them.

She moved with calculated intent, turning bystanders into shields. Though he held the advantage in power, this battlefield hindered him.

Bad tactical positioning.

He remembered how he lured the demon one-killer into locking its gaze so it couldn’t look elsewhere. This opponent had superior tactical awareness compared to that one.

Tactics weren’t exclusive to large-scale warfare.

No, they mattered even more in duels. Any effort to gain an advantage through terrain, timing, or spacing was tactical.

She’s better than me at this.

After a few exchanges, Enkrid knew. She used the environment and seized battlefield advantage.

Everyone near her was her shield.

Everyone near Enkrid was someone he had to protect.

He didn’t see that as a burden, though. If he did, he wouldn’t have sworn to protect everything behind him.

Time to calculate.

The Wavebreaker Sword wasn’t just about blocking—it was about sharpening the mind.

Since returning to the Border Guard, Enkrid had trained with the squad. He’d learned plenty, even if he was slow.

Rem had called it a weirdly frustrating talent. But Enkrid kept moving forward, and he gained results.

He expanded the Wavebreaker’s domain. Borrowed some tricks from Jaxon.

“Extend your senses. Create a domain of awareness.”

Following Jaxon’s words, Enkrid did just that.

He gathered everything—sights, sounds, smells, tastes, sensations—then distilled it into intuition. He absorbed all the information and calculated.

The awl strikes the circle.

He blended this side effect of Wavebreaker training with its core principle—calculation.

High-speed cognition lets you see farther ahead.

His vision burned. Blood trickled from his nose and smeared across his upper lip.

This kind of maneuver required two prerequisites.

First, it had to be a familiar location—otherwise, too many variables would overload the brain.

Second, he had to understand his own limits.

Too far, and you faint.

The human brain overheats. He knew that firsthand.

Now, he fulfilled both conditions.

He wasn’t in the market often, but it was a familiar path.

And regulating his limits? He’d done that for years.

What mattered was control—and when it came to Willpower, Enkrid’s control was peerless.

Thud.

He stomped the ground on purpose.

People’s attention shifted toward him. Calculations were probability. He’d drawn several lines. Not the ones where he dodged for minor gains—but ones where he forced contact, narrowed her options.

He pulled the future he foresaw into the present.

Sensing the eyes on him, he shifted his foot again—this time slower, far more deliberate.

His opponent mistook the variation in pace as an ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) opportunity and struck.

From behind—left.

Enkrid rotated his waist and drew his sword with minimal movement.

Time to test the new one.

With his left hand, he half-drew the new blade—just enough to use the scabbard as a shield.

If she retreated now, he’d pursue her with a full draw. She knew that. That’s why she couldn’t back off or change her plan.

CLANG!

The swords met with explosive volume.

At last, someone shouted:

“It’s a fight!”

Kraiss, during a time of heightened tension, had once implemented evacuation drills for the Border Guard citizens.

He’d been criticized then—but now, the moment they heard the noise, civilians slipped into homes and shops like ghosts.

“Guards!”

Another shouted.

“Our time’s probably short, huh?” the swordswoman said, realizing the tide was turning. But she didn’t seem to mind that her living shields were disappearing.

She hadn’t grabbed any civilians to use as meat shields either.

A knight—or someone just as skilled.

Enkrid didn’t respond. Instead, he sheathed the half-drawn blade.

Chak.

Smooth out, smooth in. A fine sword. Even the scabbard felt like part of the weapon.

If he thought he couldn’t win, he’d use the new sword regardless of how unfamiliar it was.

But...

Penna is enough.

He didn’t think he’d lose.

What struck him as odd was... her face. It looked vaguely familiar.

But where had he seen her?

Even with his memory, there was no way to recall everyone he’d ever crossed paths with.

“Your tactical thinking is solid. You judged this battlefield disadvantageous and neutralized it.”

She spoke again, and Enkrid nodded.

The fact that she didn’t attack fleeing civilians was enough to warrant a response.

“And you’re confident you can take me, huh? That half-drawn blade—just received it, right? The other one, you also changed weapons recently? Judging by the length and edge, it’s made for slashing.”

Her questions contained their own answers. She didn’t expect replies. She lowered her sword slightly. Its blade gleamed an unnatural white.

Even with just one clash, he could tell—it wasn’t an ordinary weapon.

“I wonder what the others are doing right now.”

Then she asked, out of nowhere:

“Do you think I came here alone?”

Was it a habit, always speaking in questions?

“I didn’t, right?”

Even when she guessed, she stated it like a fact cloaked in curiosity.

“Who the hell are you?” Enkrid asked.

If she wasn’t alone, that meant someone else was attacking too.

Not targeting him, but Border Guard itself.

Her identity was hard to guess. Too little information.

Time to beat it out of her.

“Guess who?” she said, then moved again.

As if her earlier human shields were just dead weight, she now moved faster—smoother.

Her blade sliced the air like a streak of light.

Enkrid didn’t stop calculating. He pushed his brain even harder to outpace her.

He calculated probabilities and chose the most rational path.

Maybe that was the way to make every swing a correct answer.

His overheated brain searched for solutions. He read her intentions between the arcs of her blade. His trained body supported the high-speed cognition.

CLANG!

Blades collided again, then broke apart.

The impact numbed Enkrid’s palm. She had strength, no doubt.

“You’re strong,” she said, her voice drawn out.

But even as she spoke, she darted forward again with explosive force.

Between the flashes of blades, Enkrid calculated probabilities.

Even as blood dripped from his nose, he grinned.

Truthfully? This was too fun. His brain felt like it was melting in bliss.