A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Heskal’s gaze shifted to meet Ragna’s eyes. Her eyes, which had been cast downward, rose like the sun on the horizon and met Heskal’s directly. The light flowing through her crimson pupils seemed to scatter the darkness.

Blonde hair and red eyes—her appearance brought to mind a woman born and raised in the Zaun family who once stood at the pinnacle of swordsmanship.

“You...”

Heskal couldn’t find the words, but Ragna spoke with a calmness so natural it cut through the moment.

“When I hold a sword, I see a path. And you said it yourself—it’s easy to walk that path once you see it.”

It was something Ragna had said as a child. Heskal recalled it now—words she’d spoken when he first helped her establish the basics of formal swordsmanship. She’d learned for just one day before refusing to be taught by him again.

After that, Heskal concluded that Ragna lacked something essential. Someone without ambition could never survive in the Zaun family.

Ragna Zaun had perfectly fit that principle. In the end, she left Zaun. She was a flower that bloomed briefly among the mediocre, unable to even reach her full potential before withering.

But what if that flower now lived fiercely, even at the risk of danger?

The answer was now in front of him.

Ragna saw a path every time she held a sword. Driving an opponent into a dead end came easily to her. And now, Heskal was the one cornered.

Distance, positioning, stance—everything had become a wall, and that wall had shaped the path. Heskal walked it without hesitation, thinking it was one he himself had carved, only to find he’d trapped himself in a labyrinth.

Now the choice no longer belonged to Heskal. It belonged to Ragna. He might as well have been caught in a spider’s web, unable to move recklessly.

It wasn’t that he lacked physical ability, or that he’d been thrown off psychologically. He wasn’t inexperienced either—he clearly understood risk and how to gamble with his life.

Ragna’s sword was already primed to strike.

‘Was I wrong about her?’

She had him fully cornered. At this point, there was no choice but to bring his sword down directly. Trickery was off the table.

‘Wherever I move, I’ll be cut.’

Dodging would be the worst choice.

Not that his current option was any better.

If he tried to counter directly, the hidden blade of Camouflage would tear through the air. But he didn’t have time for such tricks either.

All that remained for Heskal was to overpower her through sheer force. So instead of illusion, he would pour his strength into the fundamentals.

Ragna shifted the direction of her toes ever so slightly. With that, even the slightest pause for breath or conversation vanished.

The sequence of thought following her comment about him being clumsy might seem long, but in reality, it happened in an instant.

By the time Ragna said “clumsy” and Heskal responded with a few words, her foot had already turned and her greatsword scraped against the ground. It launched in the trajectory she desired. The rain-soaked earth parted without a scream.

A wide, open path. No gravel, firm underfoot—perfect terrain. That’s the path Ragna saw.

Zzzzzkk—

The moment the air tore apart, Ragna’s sword was already at Heskal’s nose.

Heskal reacted. He gave it everything he had and brought his sword down. In that final moment, he chose his best option: channeling all his Will into Camouflage to attempt a weapon-cleaving strike.

His sword was an engraved weapon. Ragna’s wasn’t. He’d use that edge to break her blade and cleave from jaw to brow. The best choice he could make.

And then—Heskal saw it. Ragna’s ★ ★ blade shimmered with a faint milky-white light. And in the same breath, he felt the end.

‘Ah.’

A knight’s insight lets them know when death comes. More precisely, high-speed cognition allowed him to perceive his own demise.

In that instant, what remained was the final choice. And sometimes, that final choice defined the knight’s entire life.

If they wished to survive, they’d struggle to escape death. If they were locked in battle with an enemy who must be killed, they’d strike for mutual destruction.

And rarely, some made unusual choices—driven by will or conviction.

When Ragna’s greatsword struck Heskal’s, his arm was pushed back. Her sword pressed on, slicing through his left thigh and grazing through his insides. At the moment of death, Heskal twisted his body with the last of his strength.

In terms of timing, he reacted just as her sword struck.

He gathered the energy he’d reserved for a final counterattack and poured it into that evasive twist.

In other words, he reacted just before his body was split.

‘Not the heart...’

CRUNCH—

BOOOOOM.

He swung so fast that the sound came late, slamming into the air where her sword had passed.

Flesh tore, blood sprayed.

Though he didn’t let go of his sword, Heskal’s arm lifted, and he collapsed backward. His posture looked almost as if he were still holding firm with his blade.

Ragna’s voice slipped out—a single-word question.

“Why?”

She’d cut him from the left thigh up to the shoulder. There was no surviving it. Her question was not about his death—it was about his last movement.

There had been a chance—just one instant where he could’ve delivered a final blow. And instead, he twisted away.

“Khuk!”

He coughed, spraying blood from his mouth—less than the amount pouring from his body. So much blood flowed from his wounds that even the rain couldn’t wash it away fast enough. His intestines had seen the light of day for the first time.

“Get away from me.”

With his last Will, he filled his lungs and forced out those words. Ragna instinctively obeyed.

They were standing next to the reserve unit of magical beasts.

Whether they’d been spectating or waiting for a chance to strike, hundreds of them had gathered. Ragna yanked her sword back and leapt away.

Over twenty steps—enough to open clear distance.

Moments later, Ragna turned back just in time to see Heskal’s body explode.

Pop—

It wasn’t even that loud.

But the result was devastating. The creatures nearby were affected immediately.

SKREEEEEEE!

A shriek erupted from the swarm of Scalers.

As Heskal died, his body sprayed blood in all directions—and every creature it touched died with eyes rolled back.

He must’ve harbored poison in his body, releasing it upon death.

Why he gave Ragna the chance to avoid it remained a mystery.

Well, that was something to think about later.

Ragna turned away. Heskal was dead.

Mission complete?

No. She had never lost her way. It was Heskal who had been mistaken.

With her target still clearly in sight from the beginning, how could she have been lost?

Her goal had always been the monster woman adorned with serpentine hair.

Heskal’s interruption had changed nothing. Ragna resumed her path.

***

Shhhh—

The wind weakened, but the rain continued.

The downpour washed the guts and brain matter of the slain beasts from Enkrid’s sword, diluting the black blood and soaking it into the earth.

Right after Panito died, several Scalers with psychic abilities tried something bold—extending their arms with telekinetic force and shooting their nails like arrows.

Their nails, black as if dipped in ink, were clearly laced with deadly venom. Each one had fired four to six of them.

Propelled by telekinesis, the nails twisted like snakes through the wind and rain, curving at will toward Enkrid.

He didn’t see them—he heard them. And that was enough.

He dodged at the last second and shattered the trailing nails with his Tri-Iron Sword.

One surviving nail curved back toward the back of his head. Enkrid charged forward during its reversal, vertically splitting three monsters’ skulls in a row.

The nails lost power and dropped.

More strange creatures appeared—each seemingly chosen for their specialization. One shot nails, another burst its own skin to scatter toxic blood.

He beheaded them all.

Arrows could be dodged or broken. Blood splashes avoided before impact. His sturdy legs and hardened joints added speed, and his trained body allowed movement in any direction.

If he moved fast enough to disrupt even a Scaler’s dynamic vision, telekinesis became a non-factor.

As he continued cutting them down, his thoughts wandered.

‘Are they tricky? Sure. But they’re not truly threatening.’

He thought of the ghoul, Jericks—or was it Jeris?

The one from Oara—an exceptional creature, named and remembered for its uniqueness.

Compared to Jericks, these things were much easier.

‘Solve the psychic ability, and it’s over.’

Even if he got caught in it, he could muscle through. Just avoid the poison-coated nails.

He was beginning to suspect the truth behind this swarm. Not their identity—but their purpose.

‘Chimeras. Designed to wear me down.’

Not unique monsters—man-made through experimentation.

After reviewing the corpses, Enkrid rolled his shoulders.

They say a knight can slay a thousand.

But that requires certain conditions—time, for one. And gear that prevents waste of Will and stamina.

No one dies just because you swing a sword.

A knight’s superhuman power has a time limit. Sure, someone good at regulating stamina and Will can fight longer, but—

‘Each knight has their own style.’

Some sweep through enemies and rest. Others steadily wear down their foes.

Enkrid wasn’t in perfect shape. His muscles felt slightly impure, soaked down to his underwear in the rain. But the battle continued. He had done plenty.

So being in this condition made sense.

Sensing presence behind him, Enkrid opened his eyes. For a moment, the rain lightened. Alexandra had once called this cloud the Black Egg. Since it hadn’t moved, it must have been a temporary clearing.

Opening his eyes triggered the Medusa’s curse, draining his Will—but this greeting deserved acknowledgment.

He saw the approaching figure and spoke.

“You’re late, Ragna.”

“You expected me?”

“I hoped.”

Honestly, he’d figured either he would head to her after the clan head fight, or she would come to him.

There were still too many enemies left to be satisfied fighting whoever came close.

Besides, Ragna was the kind to walk off just to find someone to vent her anger on.

She spoke again.

“Heskal blocked me.”

“Blocked?”

“I cut him down.”

“That so?”

Including the clan head, Alexandra, Lynox, and Heskal—none of them had likely understood Ragna’s true skill.

But Enkrid had a general idea.

Neither Heskal nor a few monsters could stop her.

“Heskal wasn’t weak though, was he?”

“He left a hole in my shoulder.”

“What about the medicine Anne gave?”

“There was no poison.”

Despite the topic, their tone was so casual, it sounded like an everyday conversation.

Around them, a few monsters cautiously circled, forming up.

Enkrid felt more presences approaching—people skilled in hiding their movements.

He’d heard that the Hunter’s Village was full of such people.

That village had been formed by those clinging to Zaun’s legends—leftovers who couldn’t quite give up.

Bounty hunters, mercenaries—people who lived by the sword.

Outsiders who never fully belonged to Zaun.

So betrayal was always on the table.

Ching.

Enkrid sheathed the Tri-Iron Sword.

‘Let’s keep pushing, Samcheol.’

He suspected Aitri may have lied when he said it wasn’t engraved.

Its True Silver edge could cut anything. Its Black Gold core could smash anything.

The way it seemed to speak when held wasn’t just his madness.

“Let’s go.”

Enkrid’s tone was light.

It’d be nice if the rain stopped and light broke through—but of course, that wouldn’t happen.

The storm wouldn’t end for at least three more days.

There might be lulls or brief calms—but this storm was far from over.

Ragna knew what her captain was seeing. She felt compelled to speak.

“You saw the same thing as me? You really have the gift of a guide, Captain. I guarantee it.”

“...Hearing that is as unpleasant as being compared to Rem.”

“...Pardon?”

Ragna tilted her head, confused.

“Shut up and follow me. Time to show them what two mere sword-wielders can do.”

Someone overhearing might call it petty.

“What difference can two mere swordsmen and one little girl make?”

Words spoken by Drmul, the false god’s prophet—clearly still lingering in Enkrid’s mind.

But Ragna didn’t think him petty. This much was only natural.

She hadn’t forgotten those words either.

“Let’s do it.”

Ragna and Enkrid walked side by side.

Their target: the stunning beauty from the Demon Realm with snakes for hair, standing firm in the distance.