A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

There were two eyeballs floating in the pitch-black sky.

There was no other way to describe it.

They weren’ t in a ferryboat—they were simply suspended in midair.

The Ferryman didn’ t even bother to invite him aboard, only stared wordlessly, his gaze steady and unwavering.

In the depth of that absolute darkness, Enkrid felt a presence pressing down on him, overwhelming in its intensity.

Now the Ferryman loomed above, with one of his eyes grown as large as the moon.

Staring down at him, the Ferryman communicated directly into his mind:

”Endless pain. To thrash about in that agony—that’ s what you chose for today. Even if you were bound here for centuries and then finally escaped, would the you of that time truly be the same as you are now? By then, you will already have become like ’ me.’ Whether you give up or not, whether you despair or not, it will be so.”

As the Ferryman spoke, flakes broke off his massive eye like dust, or like the peeling shell of an ancient wooden building—grey shards scattered and fell.

Unlike before, his words carried a resonance that shook Enkrid to his core.

What the Ferryman said was both prophecy and predestined future.

Was this the moment he should tremble like a terrified child?

Or should he demand something—anything—rather than just be sent away like this?

Pain.

Fear.

Uncertainty.

All those feelings—pain, fear, and uncertainty—merged into a single spear that pierced Enkrid’ s heart.

The formless spearhead tore through the throbbing heart muscle and was yanked free.

As it pulled out, thick blood clung to it, forming a long, trailing line between the spearhead and Enkrid, as if the two were now joined by the stream of blood.

The gray hail never reached his head; instead, it scattered and disappeared in the air.

’ Maybe calling it snow would’ ve been more fitting than hail.’

The hallucination ended.

He woke from the dream too.

He instantly became aware of everything—the heavy atmosphere, the lingering pain, the sense of reality he’ d come to accept through countless repetitions.

It all hit him at once.

Enkrid, awakening to reality, slowly raised his hand.

At first, it looked like he might clutch at his heart, but then his hand rose higher and swept back his hair.

And, almost effortlessly, he spoke:

”Alright.”

He acknowledged that this was the third ’ today’ , and completely ignored the Ferryman’ s words.

Even though the Ferryman had spoken as if engraving it on his soul, Enkrid brushed it off without trouble.

Perhaps only Enkrid was capable of this.

His guts weren’ t just strong—they’ d grown so big they might well shove aside his other organs.

But in truth, this was as it should be.

Anyone whose resolve could be broken this easily would have already snapped long ago.

”What a lunatic.”

Beyond the fading illusion, the Ferryman’ s apparition appeared and spoke.

Unlike before, it sounded almost like a casual recitation, completely lacking any weight—but Enkrid didn’ t care.

He was far too busy thinking about what to do next and how.

”A guest has arrived?”

So, all he had to do was get on with today’ s business.

The moment he heard the other’ s words, Enkrid’ s entire body sprang into action.

He erased the lingering traces of the previous ’ today’ with his current movements.

Feigning weakness in his legs, Enkrid threw a Dagger.

His right hand swept past his chest faster than ever before.

With a sharp burst of acceleration, his cloak fluttered with a pararak sound, and the Horn Trumpet Dagger sang through the air.

Bwoo-oo!

The thrown weapon—despised by Jaxen—soared straight for his opponent’ s forehead.

The other recoiled in horror and dodged, but Enkrid, the dagger’ s owner, was already charging forward, having kicked off the ground at the exact moment he threw it.

He kept his body low, the soles of his feet practically glued to the earth as he ran.

It was an all-out charge, blended with Jaxen’ s signature silent movement.

Without pause, Enkrid drew his sword and lunged.

Sshing!

By the time the blade hissed as it scraped past the scabbard, the sword tip was already on the verge of piercing his enemy’ s throat.

His opponent drew a sword from their left sleeve to block the Horn Trumpet Dagger, and with their right hand, they had half-unsheathed the shortsword at their waist.

Enkrid didn’ t give them even a moment to counterattack.

The shortsword arced upward, trying to block Dawnforged’ s path, but failed.

The blade pierced straight through the throat.

Tdididing, tr-dunk.

Sparks flew as the shortsword’ s blade, raised too late, scraped against Dawnforged.

The blade, now chipped, clattered to the floor.

Fwk!

When he pulled the sword out from where it had passed through the neck vertebrae, it left behind a gaping black hole, and Black Mist began to writhe and surge out of it.

He left the first opponent behind and pressed forward again.

Ching, ting.

After sliding Dawnforged back into its scabbard, Enkrid cracked his neck from side to side and looked ahead.

There was something unusual about the darkness within the corridor.

Even though there were torch stands, each patch of light only illuminated a certain area.

It was as if the light itself couldn’ t extend beyond its own distinct zone.

Observation had become a habit—a habit learned from Jaxen and perfected through Luagarne.

Enkrid registered everything he saw, heard, and sensed as he went by.

For now, he didn’ t even know if what he was seeing mattered.

This place was hostile to him by nature.

That ignorance bred wariness, and as it was a place crafted by the enemy, that fact doubled it.

So, would knowing even a little bit be any help at all?

Maybe it would help.

Just as Jaxen had sensed, Enkrid had already realized that this place was similar to a Demonic Domain.

Whatever the case, the need to keep fighting again and again hadn’ t changed, so Enkrid kept doing his job.

He pressed onward through the corridor and faced his next opponent.

”Hello, Donafa.”

This time, he made sure to say his opponent’ s name correctly.

”You know me?”

For Enkrid as he was now, facing an off-guard enemy was almost too easy.

As soon as he called the name, his opponent’ s reaction faltered, and in that opening, he closed the distance and swung his sword.

Dawnforged’ s sky-blue light drew a chilling arc—a diagonal slash that stretched out in a long, unbroken line.

This time, Enkrid incorporated techniques he’ d learned observing the swordworks of Vortex and Oara.

Zzzzzzt!

Steam burst from the specially made soles of his boots.

The sudden rush was from moving at high speed, dragging his feet slightly as he planted them.

Thunk!

He slashed through chest, neck, the Cavalier’ s head, and even the head at the opponent’ s side all at once.

His foe tried to counter with a massive axe but failed.

It was only natural.

This was an opponent he had defeated effortlessly before without even needing to repeat the day, and now it was the third time.

Enkrid could see his opponent’ s weaknesses, and he relentlessly exploited them.

”Don’ t give them any openings—create a speed and trajectory they can’ t defend against.”

Whether it was the first opponent or Donafa twisted into a Dullahan, the strategy was the same for both.

He added the speed-shifting techniques he’ d learned from Yohan to his swordplay in a flash.

”Explosion of the line.”

As a result, Dawnforged never even touched the axe.

In fact, the opponent didn’ t even bother to swing at the weapon.

The moment he realized he couldn’ t block, he targeted not the blade, but the swordsman wielding it.

Whoosh.

The axe, swung just before death, came crashing down vertically onto the spot where Enkrid had just stood.

Boom!

It was a wild miss, since he’ d already blown past while swinging his sword.

The axe, swung as Donafa half-slid off his Ghost Steed and tilted his body, dug into the earth.

The ground split open with a sharp crack along the blade’ s path.

”If I’ d blocked that head-on, it would’ ve been pretty heavy.”

He’ d struck while being hit himself, yet the force behind that axe blow was formidable.

And that wasn’ t even the full strength the opponent could muster.

Either way, this had been their third encounter.

Enkrid walked past the darkness toward the light of the torch stands.

The corridor was a single, narrow path.

At the end of the corridor stood Beelrog.

So, is this a path leading to death?

”That’ s right.”

The Ferryman’ s vision agrees.

It’ s nothing more than an apparition.

He can’ t reveal his true form and speak to me.

Anyway, pressing on, he faced the opponent with the Single-edged Sword, who tilted his head to the side, puzzled.

”What’ s this now?”

Once again, there was no exchange of words before the attack began.

The outcome was decided quickly.

The tactics were the same: give the enemy no opening and exploit any area where he held an advantage.

In both skill and tactics, Enkrid was superior.

”You sneaky bastard.”

Praised by the man whose upper and lower bodies were now separated, Enkrid soon ran into Oara once more.

”Oh, you’ re here.”

Even as Oara greeted him, dozens of lines and circles spun furiously through Enkrid’ s mind.

’ Can I overwhelm him with calculations alone?’

After two fights, he seemed to have found the weak point Beelrog had, and he planned to test it out.

”...It’ s been a while since we last met—I’ d like to at least have a chat, you know?”

Oara said a few words, and he replied.

”Ah, yes.”

Enkrid was indifferent.

He was already lost in his own thoughts, running calculations in every direction.

”Hey, you, just... be careful, okay?”

It wasn’ t that Enkrid had nothing to say.

He told her everything he knew, including what he’ d heard from Roman.

He just couldn’ t bring himself to laugh along with Oara as she reminisced and joked.

”Yeah. Let’ s talk again after we crush Beelrog.”

No matter what was said, his resolve never wavered.

Once again, Oara’ s shadow shifted and Beelrog manifested before him.

With flames trailing behind, those swirling pupils looked at Enkrid with a hint of curiosity.

-Have we met before?

Now what is this?

Is he sensing something off in this endlessly repeating day?

It wasn’ t that.

He only learned the truth after living through this same day five more times: Beelrog said that after meeting Enkrid’ s gaze.

What was reflected in those calm eyes was a will as sharp as a forged blade.

Very few mortals can look him in the eye like that and remain so composed.

Encountering two such mortals in such a short span is even rarer.

That meant that recently, besides Enkrid, Beelrog had seen another person with the same composure.

He had lived so long that even counting the days no longer held any meaning for him.

In these endless, meaningless days, coming across mortals like that truly sparked a different kind of interest.

That intrigue stirred something within Beelrog.

***

Like a frenzied horse-pulled chariot running wild, Enkrid blitzed past the three people and—just as on any other day—exchanged words with Oara.

-Behold.

This was the eighteenth iteration of today.

To Enkrid, it seemed completely random.

Flutter.

Balrog spread the wings on his back and touched the three crystals embedded side by side in his chest.

Three mysterious stones, black and polished, shone against his dark red skin.

”Hm?”

Enkrid tilted his head slightly, and Balrog considered that reaction unusual as well.

-These are my cores. If you manage to shatter all three at once, you win.

Should he ask why Beelrog was even telling him this?

He didn’ t have the luxury of time for such questions now.

”Ah.”

So all he could do was let out a short sound and nod.

The corners of Beelrog’ s mouth curled upward.

Whether he used his powers or not, he existed in this world with hands and feet, arms and legs, body and internal organs.

That meant he could smile.

Some demons express emotions in ways completely unlike mortals, but he wasn’ t one of them.

-Interesting.

He spoke sincerely as he introduced Salamandra and Surtr.

A whip like a red serpent and a blade of black flame roared with fire, as if greeting him.

Whoosh.

At the same time, Beelrog spread his wings wide.

Is that really how gods take flight?

Maybe so.

It wasn’ t so different from the way the frog puffs her cheeks out.

Enkrid’ s composure didn’ t waver, even in the face of a demon’ s display.

He wondered, just for a moment, if he should return the greeting in kind.

But his cloak responded first.

Parararac.

The cloak, a gift from the fairy, suddenly unfurled in a windless place, billowing out behind him until it was as large as Beelrog’ s wings.

Jiiiing.

At the same moment, the Dawnforged sword in its scabbard began to vibrate with a cry.

It looked as if the cloak and sword had acted on their own, but in reality, it was Enkrid’ s will that had moved them.

He gripped the sword’ s hilt with his right hand.

He felt as if his sword and arm were one, filling him with confidence.

Just gripping the hilt made it seem as though anything was possible.

A sense of omnipotence flooded his whole body.

But he had to be careful.

This was not an enemy you could defeat if you lost yourself in that intoxication.

If he couldn’ t control his emotions, his head would be burned clean off by Beelrog’ s black flame sword.

He already knew this from experience.

Chiriririring.

Still gripping the hilt, he drew his sword.

The sky-blue light of the Dawnforged blazed as if pushing back the darkness that filled the corridor.

Behind the blade, his blue eyes burned with determination—and then quickly faded.

But the flame wasn’ t gone.

Like embers that smolder on long after the fire, the blue flames in his calm gaze continued to assert their presence.

In Beelrog’ s eyes, Enkrid’ s eyes looked like two blue moons pushing away the Red Moon.

And these, too, were moons filled with fire.

Enkrid started each day a little differently, counting the number of times today had repeated.

’ Eighteen times.’

It meant he had attempted and refined the method he discovered on the third ”today” more than ten times already.

Ordinarily, it might have taken hundreds of todays.

If he were the same Enkrid as in the beginning, even that wouldn’ t have been enough.

No matter how many hundreds or thousands of times he tried, he wouldn’ t have been able to think like this before.

His body wouldn’ t have been able to keep up.

But now, he was different from the man he used to be.

Let’ s give it a try.

He pushed off the ground and kicked a stone away.

He would do anything it took to win.

That principle hadn’ t changed.

He drew hundreds of lines between himself and the Demon.

Lines of attack tangled together and crossed into each other’ s territories.

A countless number of near-futures raced through Enkrid’ s mind, driving his brain to its limits.

His thoughts stretched out, and his insight sharpened to the extreme.

Beelrog swung his sword along a trajectory that never strayed from the expected—the blade, wreathed in black flame, came slicing straight down.

It was the kind of strike that looked sudden and random, as if it didn’ t belong to a sequence of movements.

Enkrid blocked it with Dawnforged in a forceful, sweeping motion.

Bang!

He met the attack and fought back once more.

And then, Enkrid died again.