A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Until now, Enkrid had forcibly restrained and conserved his Will through sheer discipline—but that had come at the cost of overworking his mind. His head now felt as though it were clogged with impurities.

Using overflowing Will freely is less taxing than suppressing and controlling it. It’s the difference between moving a large stone by pushing versus lifting—it naturally demands more effort.

Enkrid was now facing the toll of that strain. His body, like his mind, was clouded with residue. He’d been fighting nonstop in the rain while forcefully reigning in his Will. Naturally, he wasn’t in his best state.

But that didn’t matter.

Kyak!

A few monsters tried to block their path, and he shattered their skulls with Penna. Next to him, Ragna swung his greatsword without hesitation.

The blade, delivered without flash or excessive flourish, plunged into the chest of an owlbear—a precise thrust.

Separate from his weighty swordsmanship, Ragna’s natural talent alone would astonish even a master of orthodox forms.

‘He never ceases to amaze.’

Enkrid watched Ragna. He fought on instinct and intuition—and yet those instincts always tilted things in his favor.

True talent.

That owlbear, for instance, had been fully aware of Ragna’s attack. Its movement made it clear. It was one of those rare creatures whose fighting instincts were so sharp, they compensated for a lack of supernatural powers.

‘Just as some humans are exceptional, so are some monsters.’

The owlbear didn’t bother to hide its presence—instead, it fully revealed it ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ in preparation for Ragna’s strike.

When time is short and decisions must be made instantly, people move out of habit. So Ragna had to strike. The owlbear, acting on instinct, had anticipated that—but Ragna didn’t slash. He thrust. And there was no hesitation.

This wasn’t a last-minute change of mind. He had chosen this approach from the start.

That decision had likely driven the monster into a dead-end. Normally, even if it got its body torn, it would’ve tried to claw him—maybe even gouge out an eye if lucky.

Its extended claws were impressive in their desperation. If Ragna had slashed instead of thrust, those claws might’ve reached him.

‘Well, he wouldn’t have gotten hit anyway.’

This outcome was simply the better path.

The owlbear, pierced, was pushed back and fell. Its gut was punctured, and with a follow-up strike, its head was crushed.

“Why did you thrust?”

“Because I felt like it.”

His answer was ridiculous.

‘No wonder Heskal lost.’

He’d always acted like his strength lay in deceptive swordplay, but that wasn’t true. What made Heskal impressive was how he constructed complex feints—layered tactics wrapped in a veil of misdirection.

He used double-layered deception, turning even fake feints into tools. If you got caught in his calculations, you ended up like a butterfly in a spider’s web—struggling, then dying.

But if the opponent was Ragna?

Ragna always pushed his enemies into dead ends. His greatsword came next. That’s what his sword did.

Now that he thought about it, the foundation of the Wavebreaker Sword Style came from Ragna’s technique.

Different in process, same in result. He used calculations to trap opponents. Ragna used talent.

He knew instinctively where the sword should go. As if finding a path that had never been walked.

Heaven-sent talent. A genius.

Unlike Rem’s improvisational instincts, Ragna’s was of a different breed entirely.

“Freak.”

Enkrid muttered, but his steps didn’t stop. Ragna kept his head half-lowered. As long as Will was limited, it was best to avoid Medusa’s gaze.

But upon hearing Enkrid’s comment, Ragna lifted his head.

It was a waste of Will, but he couldn’t help himself.

“I’ll return that insult. Being compared to Rem is just as offensive, Captain.”

He enunciated clearly, then lowered his head again.

“Was that a challenge?”

“I meant it.”

Enkrid smirked and kept his senses open.

Some hunter-village bastard fired a couple of arrows from the side—then fled.

Enkrid caught them midair.

They weren’t powerful. Unless imbued with Will, normal arrows posed no threat to him.

When Leona Lockfried had first arrived in the city, he’d needed to use pinpoint focus just to dodge flying daggers. Now, he could casually snatch arrows from the air.

His visual tracking, motor skills, strength, and reflexes had all evolved since then.

They continued forward, drawing closer to Medusa. The pressure increased with every step.

The Demon Realm housed countless monsters. Among them, only the most powerful earned names.

Like Balrog. Like Medusa.

Sssaaaaarrrgh!

Above them, the curse-snake above Medusa’s head let out the same shriek as the Scalers.

‘Not good.’

They’d fought well so far, but if things dragged out, Zaun would lose. It was simple.

No matter how strong they were, if the remaining monsters charged toward Zaun’s stronghold, no one could stop them all.

‘Even if the clan head and those here survive, if the rest of Zaun dies—does the faction still live?’

A kingdom without citizens is no kingdom.

Therefore, anything influencing the entire battlefield had to be removed first.

Even without tactical instincts, anyone aware of the situation would come to the same conclusion.

Enkrid gauged the distance to Medusa and recalled the demon he’d slain earlier.

‘The One-Killer could kill with a mere scratch.’

But Medusa fought in an entirely different way.

Even as two swordsmen approached, this named monster of the Demon Realm did nothing but spread her petrifying curse.

‘A war of endurance.’

That’s how Medusa fought. The scales covering her body looked tough even at a glance, and her cracked, mossy lips would certainly spew venom.

She had a tail hidden discreetly behind her, too.

‘A sustained-type monster.’

A knight’s natural enemy.

Her pressure weighed down the field. Her stamina was immeasurable. If one tried to win quickly, they could be overwhelmed instead.

A terrible matchup for knights who specialized in short battles.

Of course, Enkrid was capable of fighting differently. He could adapt to her method.

‘If I draw it out, I’ll win.’

A couple days of steady chipping away—he could take her down.

She could regenerate her hair and some body parts, but not indefinitely.

He could endure the petrification curse and avoid her tail and claws.

Then, when the opening came—cut, stab, wear her down until she died.

He didn’t even need to fight her to know. Insight showed him that future.

Three days at most.

But no one else could fight like that. Such a battle required bottomless Will, stamina, and mental fortitude.

Yet fighting that way would still mean losing.

During that time, Riley’s strength would fade. Anahera and Kato would die.

The side gate protecting Zaun would fall. Even if the walls held, if the rear was breached, it’d all be meaningless.

Winning without protecting Zaun wasn’t winning.

“Ragna.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll end this in one strike.”

No need to explain the plan. They’d adapt as they went.

But their roles were clear.

“You open the path.”

He couldn’t rely on Ragna for the finishing blow—not with a hole in his shoulder.

Ragna didn’t respond. He raised his greatsword. The tip pointed to the sky.

BOOOM!

A lightning bolt struck. White light streaked overhead.

Zaun sat atop a basin—an unlucky place to be struck by lightning, but perfect for raising morale.

Enkrid watched and breathed steadily, sheathing the Tri-Iron Sword. He couldn’t hold it in.

“Advance: just two swordsmen.”

Ragna echoed his call.

“Advance: just two swordsmen.”

They would cut down the monster of the Demon Realm in one blow. Unlike the One-Killer fight, failure would mean death.

Was it a gamble? Maybe.

But if they didn’t, many more would die.

This fight was no joke. Dangerous. A true gamble.

Which is why...

‘How fun.’

Joy surged from deep within Enkrid.

It burned away the impurities weighing down his limbs and clouding his thoughts.

A fire ignited inside him—hot enough to vaporize even the falling rain.

The flame replaced the residue with blazing power.

He was ready.

Ragna stepped forward, shielding Enkrid, and ran.

***

With every step, Ragna could feel the pressure of the monster from the Demon Realm. Like sinking into a swamp. And Medusa wasn’t alone.

The moment he moved, two Scalers flanked him like the wind.

Ragna swung in an arc—cutting them both clean through the torso.

Splatter!

Black blood sprayed as he accelerated.

TONK!

He launched himself forward. Enkrid followed.

He was still baffled that the captain had called him a monster.

Who was he to talk?

‘Neither my mother nor father truly knew.’

He remembered the time Enkrid had accidentally cut his hair in the bath. That spar had a clear winner and loser.

It had been half-serious. But no one else in Zaun had ever fought Enkrid that earnestly.

There’s a difference between a sparring Enkrid and a battlefield Enkrid.

Ragna understood that.

‘When he’s serious...’

He would surpass him. Back in the Fairy Forest, he’d pushed himself to seem his equal, but in a real fight, he’d lose now.

And he loved it.

Lightning? Rain? Medusa? None of it mattered. The thrill coursed through him.

Desire stirred. Will surged. He wanted to see it.

What would he show him?

The former whining squad leader had now surpassed him.

Genius? Talent? Laughable.

Here was a man who’d gone beyond all of that.

And he never stopped seeking more.

“Have you gone one step further?”

He asked inwardly. No answer was needed. If it was Enkrid, then of course.

He was an artisan—molding clay from yesterday, firing it in today’s flame, crafting a vessel for tomorrow.

What kind of vessel would it be?

He was dying to find out.

Ragna’s blade was calm. It cut down what approached, as if it always knew the answer.

WHUANG!

At a certain distance, Medusa’s tail swept across the ground and lunged.

CRACKKKK!

The earth shook. Her scaly tail, sharp like a blade, soared at him.

I can’t dodge.

It wasn’t a calculated decision. It was instinct.

Jump, and the tail follows. He couldn’t evade—he had to block.

If he blocked once, he’d be forced into a defensive position. But there was no time to think.

His instincts told him to stand his ground.

He plunged his sword into the earth.

BAM!

It felt like a palace column had crashed down on him. And it wasn’t over.

The scale-covered edge nicked his hand through his gauntlet.

Rrrip—

Leather tore. His hand bled—but his wrist remained intact.

Medusa’s tail curled up, rising. At its tip, a sharp, needle-like stinger revealed itself—like a bashful bride meeting her groom after three years.

If he pulled his sword now, the tail would strike, launching him back. He’d waste more Will and stamina trying to close the distance again.

That was what Medusa wanted.

But stay put—and he’d be impaled.

The stinger looked ready to punch a hole through his skull.

If he dodged, he’d die. If he stood still, he’d die.

Where was the answer?

What path should he take?

Ragna’s instincts answered first—again.

He reached behind him. His hand found the captain’s secondary weapon—Penna.

He gripped it and swung.

A simple motion—but one loaded with condensed Will.

Just like he had when he cut down Heskal.

Will Conversion.

He succeeded again. Only six out of ten attempts worked during training.

Now, Penna burst with blue-white light.

CRRRAKKKK!

As he slashed, Medusa’s tail tip was severed—flung into the air, twitching as if still alive.

The blushing bride had been rejected.

And then—

Now.

Medusa’s head was far above—tall enough that three grown men would have to stand on each other’s shoulders to reach her gaze.

But with her tail recoiling, a staircase had formed.

Ragna saw the path. So the captain would, too.

He didn’t need to say anything—just like when he passed Penna to him a moment ago.

He bent his knees slightly.

Enkrid stepped onto his shoulder and leapt.

A light step—no force.

And yet, he soared faster than an arrow, scaling Medusa’s body.

BOOOOM!

A clueless bolt of lightning struck beside him.

A deafening roar blanketed the battlefield.