A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

When they joined forces.

Enkrid had learned several techniques upon arriving in Zaun, but the most unique among them was the art of handling Will.

Of course, he had seen similar things within the Mad Squad. Rem had done something like it as well.

”Transfer of Will.”

That was the name of Rem’s technique—severing Will and embedding it into a projectile.

It was said that one couldn’t even dream of learning such a thing unless they had reached the level of a knight.

Only upon becoming a junior knight could one begin to use a sliver of Will for single-use applications.

Naturally, this meant it was a realm reserved for true knights, and even more difficult than simply moving the body. Yet ironically, Enkrid found it twice as easy to master compared to controlling the body.

Having an inexhaustible source of Will meant the conditions were perfect for repeated training.

Of course, that didn’t mean he could just doze off and pick it up while half-asleep. Enkrid was the kind of person who gave his all no matter what he set out to learn.

Even the slightest flicker of talent made learning things all the more fun for him.

Controlling Will was certainly difficult—but he enjoyed it. He immersed himself in it.

To be honest, even when practicing restraint and control, he poured his Will out without holding back.

He repeatedly dried up his endless Will supply to the point of exhaustion—again and again—until he felt something akin to a drained fatigue.

And he received quite a bit of help in that process.

“You shouldn’t just use it—you need to be able to shape it at will.”

That’s what Lynox had once said about Will.

Alexandra had demonstrated something similar too.

The two were considered the most accomplished Will-users within Zaun.

Lynox’s method resembled a flawless musical performance—never a single mistake.

He had to execute it perfectly, both when adding power and when withdrawing it.

He would detach only the exact amount of Will needed. In short—restraint.

Enkrid’s own style of restraint was modeled after Lynox’s.

And restraint was hard. One had to remain constantly focused in order to control Will.

It was like carrying a full bowl of water without spilling a single drop.

You could walk carefully and succeed—but lose focus for a second and the water would spill.

And it wasn’t just walking—Enkrid was fighting like that.

Naturally, he spilled a few drops. To be more honest, he spilled enough to soak himself.

Controlling Will was that difficult for him.

On the other hand, Alexandra’s method was entirely different.

When they said “restraint is relatively difficult,” it was in comparison to Alexandra’s use of Will.

Hers was something else.

“Like lighting the tail of a galloping wild horse on fire.”

A wild horse with its tail on fire would charge with terrifying force.

There would be no conserving energy, no time to think ahead—how could one think clearly with flames licking at their back?

It was like sprinting downhill. Faster than on flat ground—but far harder to control.

And Alexandra? She never even tried to control it.

While Lynox molded the shape of Will, Alexandra tampered with speed.

The speed at which she emitted Will determined the speed of her sword.

And when Will was inexhaustible, it was much easier to unleash it than to control it. It was simply too overwhelming in volume.

So of course it was hard to restrain it—but that made restraint all the more fun.

There was something to be said about the joy of endurance.

Enkrid knew how to suppress present desires to achieve greater joy later.

And now, it was time to enjoy that greater joy.

The fire blazing within him didn’t just burn away the residue—it ran rampant through his body.

His hands, feet, and head—all of it burned hot.

“Explosion.”

Enkrid repeated the word. If Lynox stood for restraint, then Alexandra stood for explosion.

“Detonate.”

As Will surged through his entire body, Enkrid took a step. Then he stepped onto Ragna’s shoulder and leapt forward.

He raised his head and faced forward. Against the explosive tide of Will, the petrifying curse from Medusa meant nothing.

Truly—it was meaningless.

Medusa’s curse had no effect. His Will of Rejection surged like a massive shield, bouncing everything away.

His toes caught on a scale. He stepped on it—on the blade-like scales—then bent his knees and jumped upward.

The staircase was rough. But hadn’t he always relished treading such harsh paths?

Besides, this wasn’t even that rough a road.

There wasn’t even room for stray thoughts. His knightly perception—usually slow and meticulous—couldn’t even keep up.

The suffocating air that once felt like a swamp now felt light.

His body felt light. It was almost omnipotent.

Step by step, he sprinted up the scales. Then pushed off. His body soared as if forgetting its own weight.

Anyone with a poet’s soul might have likened it to a serpent ascending upstream against the current of the world.

KYAAAAAA!

Medusa lowered her head and opened her mouth.

A wave of green venom exploded out, bouncing off the rain and spreading in a wide arc to block his path.

Enkrid held his breath and tightened his grip on Three Iron.

TRRRRR—SHIIIIING.

It sounded like a muffled roar underwater. As if an intangible barrier was muting the noise.

CRACK.

The scabbard split. Under extreme pressure, Three Iron burst through it.

Enkrid’s sword reached for Medusa’s neck. He was gripping the black-gold edge. Even ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) at his top-speed cognition, the blade was faster than thought.

***

“Crazy bastard.”

Anahera had lost her balance but had just gotten back up when she saw what Enkrid had done.

She had inadvertently advanced past the horde of monsters and ended up with a clear view.

And not just her—everyone could see it.

No one here was so dull as to not notice the Medusa that had been spewing petrification from the front.

He danced atop that beast—how could they not see?

And because Medusa had focused her curse solely on Enkrid instead of spreading it wide, the others had a moment of clarity.

Everyone saw it.

The man who soared up Medusa’s tail, shattered his scabbard, and swung his sword like a lightning bolt.

Even his ascent looked like a lightning strike traveling upward, and the slash that followed resembled it even more.

The lightning took form through a sword—and struck the monster’s neck.

CRACKKKK!

The sound was like a boulder launched by a catapult slamming into a castle wall.

Medusa’s scales rose sharply to block it like a shield—but Enkrid crushed through it by sheer force and shredded her neck.

Black blood poured from the mangled gash.

Rain mixed with black showers. Yet Medusa still endured. Was it because the neck wasn’t fully severed?

Even with a half-sliced neck, she spewed venom from her mouth—and the snakes sprouting from her head weren’t just decoration. They lunged downward.

Anahera almost screamed out Danger!

But she didn’t have time to.

Enkrid’s sword moved like madness, drawing lines in the air. The blade that burst free from its scabbard sliced through all the incoming snakes’ heads—and then finished off Medusa’s half-cut throat.

THWACK!

A chilling sound echoed, and Medusa’s head dropped into the air. A shriek burst from the dying monster’s mouth.

KIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!

THUD!

Her head hit the ground.

SSSSSSS—

The image of the curse-serpent howling in the sky began to fade.

WHOOOOOOSH!

Rain poured down as Medusa’s massive body collapsed with a thunderous crash.

And standing atop that fallen creature, his sword still embedded near her neck—was one man.

“You son of a—”

Anahera couldn’t help it. She screamed, overcome by the chills.

“UOOOOOOOHHH!!”

The cry of a giant throat.

“WAAAAAAAH!!”

And the shout of men.

It was the collective roar of all who had witnessed it.

He had tipped the scales that had been wavering—and pushed them back.

Then—behind the upright Enkrid, a massive black mass came flying.

BOOM!

Flames engulfed his entire body.

No one had expected that. Everyone stood frozen, mouths open.

What was that? Why wasn’t the fire going out in the rain?

Anahera’s mind was flooded with questions.

On the other side, Alexandra was seeing the same thing.

“Odinkar.”

“Yes. I see it too.”

It was Odinkar who had appeared behind her at the last moment. He had come to fight in her place, despite the family head’s orders to hide and await the next opportunity.

“He’s been tainted—by associating with Ragna.”

That’s what he’d said upon arriving on the battlefield.

“A true child of Zaun wouldn’t back down just because someone told them to.”

Alexandra had nodded.

He had sliced through wave after wave, saving her in the process.

And while ensuring her safety and checking their surroundings—Enkrid had slain the Medusa.

Ragna’s earlier presence hadn’t gone unnoticed either.

The curse-serpent’s disappearance had filled them all with hope.

And the one who made it all happen—was now consumed by black flame.

Alexandra’s body was not normal. Releasing Will put strain on the body—shredding nerves and rupturing muscles.

Of course, it could be controlled with care—but he hadn’t had that luxury.

“Hold this ground, Odin.”

The family head, Tempest Zaun, had spoken.

He had just slain four monsters.

Each one strong enough to kill a knight—but he endured.

Lynox had been seriously wounded, and Tempest’s own face was pale—but he still walked.

“I’ll go with you.”

They wouldn’t listen if told to rest. Odinkar wanted to stop them—but knew he couldn’t.

“It makes more sense for me to go.”

But the reply:

“That’s an order. Hold this ground. I’m going to see the face of the bastard who tormented my family for twenty years. I won’t yield.”

The family head turned and walked. Enkrid was still wrapped in black flame.

***

Even if learning to handle Will came relatively easy—it wasn’t something mastered instantly.

Restraint, explosion—both were the same.

They were skills that needed more study and training. But Enkrid had forced them out.

“It hurts.”

The pain had started the moment Medusa’s neck wasn’t fully severed in one strike.

“Not yet.”

He could still endure. The rampaging Will inside him still howled like wild horses yearning for freedom.

Enkrid set them free.

He spent more Will to swing his sword again—balancing midair, severing the incoming snake heads, and finishing the job with his silver blade.

Then—for just a moment—he blacked out.

A brief moment—but long enough for the ferryman to appear.

Before he could even sense the river’s current, the ferryman spoke:

“If you did this one more time—do you really think you’d do it better? Think fortune would smile twice in a row?”

It wasn’t a hostile or kind tone—just the cold truth.

A warning that reliving today wouldn’t mean repeating today’s success.

Before Enkrid could respond, he snapped back to reality.

The ferryman’s image vanished in the blink of an eye.

Standing atop Medusa’s corpse, sword buried near her neck—he couldn’t move.

He needed at least a few moments to catch his breath.

And just then—a pungent scent hit his nose.

“A spell.”

He realized—but his body was too slow to react. A black mass crashed into him and exploded.

FWOOSH.

Flames spread over his body. It should have been excruciating—but it wasn’t.

A soft green light enveloped him. It smelled like Shinar.

Like wild grass in a dense forest—like morning dew at dawn.

CRACKLE.

Enkrid felt the fairy underclothes he wore crumble.

Dried like fallen leaves, his clothes disintegrated—leaving a scratchy sensation on his skin.

But he escaped the black fire.

He let himself fall back, rolled, and regained balance.

Every joint screamed as he hit the ground. Blood poured from his hand that held Three Iron.

Slight mistakes in restraint spilled a little Will—but failing to halt an explosion tore at the muscles like a blade.

Lucky the bones didn’t break.

God, this hurts.

A deep fatigue set in.

Without moderation, this was practically a suicidal technique.

Let yourself indulge in that godlike power—and you’d die, bleeding from every hole in your body.

Even without insight, it was a fate anyone could foresee.

“Is that a fairy-made item?”

It was an old man with an eye in his forehead.

Beside him stood a young woman with a horn. Behind her—a grotesque creature, like a skull barely held together with patches of flesh under a tattered robe.

Yes—a monster. To call that “human” would insult sentient life.

“So, you really managed to bring down the Medusa. And Heskal was so confident—look how that turned out.”

Only the old man spoke. The creature’s bulging eye merely flicked between Enkrid and Ragna.

Even without words—Enkrid knew who it was.

“Pleasure to meet you, Drmul.”

Enkrid spoke—not to the old man—but directly to the monster behind him.

The corpse rose—its diseased soul speaking through decayed flesh.

“Yes.”

Even his voice reeked of rot.

“I suppose I should introduce myself.”

Enkrid coughed—KURK!—and blood rattled in his gut. His body was wrecked. But these words had to be said.

“I’m Swordsman One.”

And beside him, a man influenced by Enkrid played along:

“I’m Swordsman Two.”

Enkrid stifled another cough to deliver the final jab:

“Together, we make just two swordsmen.”

The chance to mock the enemy had come—how could he not use his tongue?

“...You’re insane.”

Even Drmul couldn’t hide his disbelief. For a moment—his voice almost sounded human.