Eternally Regressing Knight

When I decided to take what I had learned and bring it out, I moved accordingly.

The moment I made up my mind, my body moved on its own.

Everything was visible, and I could react to it.

The countless days spent training with the technique of isolation supported me.

‘It works.’

My body moves as I intended. I only focused on one style of swordsmanship.

Northern-style Greatsword Fighting.

The foundation of swordsmanship, divided into “Jeong,” “Jung,” and “Kwe-yu,” was developed across the continent through five basic forms.

For example, Michi Hyurio used a style that combined “Jeong,” “Yu,” and “Jung” in his swordsmanship, while Ragnar focused on “Jung” and slightly added “Kwe,” teaching a sword style with that emphasis.

That was the Northern-style greatsword fighting.

Of course, I only learned the basics. It was simple technique, but that was enough.

Building on that foundation, I refined it.

‘I see.’

I could see the form of the enemy’s attack with my eyes and hear it with my ears. My senses intertwined, opening the door to my sixth sense, and everything kept coming into view. The blades pouring down, the order in which they approached, I could classify and distinguish them. I could perceive every one of them.

The speed at which I reacted afterward was like a flash of light.

‘Here, left.’

It was natural to have time to think.

Right now, I was faster than the monsters and beasts surrounding me, and I had seen it coming, with my body following my mind.

I moved more. I advanced one step ahead of my opponents and swung my sword once more.

‘The strength.’

The heart of the beast needs to be activated quickly, or my body will break down. So, I kept it short and instantaneous.

The repeated process from today was not just about refining coordination but also a natural result of training gained through the act of avoiding attacks.

My heart pounded, and strength surged into my muscles.

‘Four times?’ No, ‘I can swing it four times.’

With every heartbeat, my strength was embedded into my sword strikes.

Clash!

Each swing felt resistance in my hands.

Four of the gnolls heads were cleaved—more precisely, each was bisected exactly at the crown.

My body moved as I wished.

My sword advanced as I intended.

The coordination of my body amplified all my reflexes, and I could fully unleash everything I had learned.

At that moment, Rem came to mind. How did he charge through the battlefield alone without getting hurt?

How was that possible?

With this level of skill, I could do it now, too.

I slashed, cut, and tore apart again.

I walked through time, intoxicated, feeling as if I had entered another realm.

‘Ah.’

Then, I recalled the knight in training I had seen. How he had advanced alone and shown his strength. How could he do that?

He said that ‘Will’ was necessary. But for me, it was something distant.

So, does that mean I should give up?

That’s nonsense.

What I can do now, I would do. I’m too busy to be discouraged.

I had no time to falter.

That’s why I did it.

I did everything I could. Mimicking the charging technique of a semi-knight with the help of the heart of the beast and the isolation technique.

I kept charging and charging until my limbs trembled, and a sharp pain shot through my insides, then I took a step back.

“Ahhh!”

Behind him, Luagarne let out a strange sound.

Enkrid’s energy drained from his body.

He asked for help, and Luagarne wrapped her whip around his wrist and pulled him towards her. He collapsed into her arms and fainted.

It was only natural, as he had displayed strength comparable to a semi-knight, even without “Will.”

However, the onlookers had their own reactions.

Those on top of the wall.

Luagarne, Finn, Krais, and Esther.

A mysterious flame burned in their chests, goosebumps formed on their skin, and their entire bodies trembled.

‘What kind of person could do that?’

Even though they were no bards, they felt the urge to compose a song in his honor.

“Damn, the name of the wall is a loss,”

A wall builder, who had just hit his head while carrying stones, remarked, blood oozing from his injury.

Except for the lunatics, they would just call it the Enkrid Wall.

“Damn, why are my eyes tearing up?”

Some of the members of the citizen militia were even crying.

They were not filled with joy of survival, but with an inexplicable sense of emotion as they watched the man running wild ahead.

It is often said that something impressive leaves a mark on one’s heart. The feeling, the inspiration, that is what imprints on the soul.

Right now, in this moment, Enkrid had carved himself into their hearts.

“Ahhhhh!”

Amidst the cheers and chants.

The monsters hadn’t retreated yet, but at that moment, they did.

“Enkrid!”

Someone shouted his name as they shot arrows and threw stones.

The monstrous horde finally stepped back.

“Who is that?”

Having seen him fall and return, they all asked in unison. “I hope he’s okay. I hope he hasn’t been hurt. I hope he walks out of this and smiles.”

They all felt the same.

They wanted to cheer for him. They would give anything for him.

That was how they felt.

And their expectations were met.

“Is the horde gone?”

Enkrid stood up and walked, then asked.

Doichi Pulman, the commander, stepped down from the battlements. He glanced at the glaive in his hand a few times, then, dissatisfied, tossed it aside.

His subordinates would have been surprised. As a mercenary, he treated his weapons like his life.

Doichi, stepping forward, knelt on one knee, lowered his head, and spoke.

“Thank you.”

In those short yet heavy words, everything was conveyed.

“… It’s not over yet.”

Enkrid simply acknowledged the words without any smile. Doichi didn’t expect his smile, his thanks, or his praise.

He merely showed respect for the man who had stirred him.

Seeing that, everyone knelt. Those standing on the wall and those below.

Enkrid only shrugged.

However, those who had observed him for a long time knew. He was quite satisfied with this situation.

After the battle, his knees had been strained, and his muscles sore, but once he had bathed and returned to his hut, Enkrid began assessing his condition.

He had overexerted himself.

His muscles were stiff, and his heart had tightened slightly.

‘This much is manageable.’

He adjusted his body. It would take a day to recover—sufficient for now.

Should he thank Audin once again?

“Audin had always emphasized that the technique of isolation also leads to the creation of a ‘Regenerative Body.’ It’s a term from the East and the North, meaning a body that, no matter how broken, always recovers. This technique is more than just a reconstruction of the bones,” Aoudin had often said.

The benefits of this were now clear.

‘I’m fine.’

He clenched and relaxed his hand, feeling the relief as the tightness in his muscles began to ease.

“Whew, I’m still shocked,”

Krais spoke up from beside him.

Everyone had been watching him. After all that, he hadn’t fainted for half a day—he’d merely closed his eyes for a moment and then stood up, walking away as though nothing had happened.

“I’m seriously impressed,”

Finn added.

Esther, on the other hand, merely stared at him silently. There was something unreadable in her gaze.

Luagarne, in her usual detached manner, said what needed to be said.

“Once this is over, I’ll be going back.”

It was simply time for her to return. As a Frog, she was bound by a pact. She was not entirely free.

Enkrid nodded, responding indifferently.

“Don’t raise your voice. Don’t use honorifics.”

Then, he added something with forceful insistence. Enkrid was more concerned with preparing for tomorrow than anything else.

His Whistle daggers had been used up.

And as for the enemy—the Cultist—he was no fool. If they were retreating now, it was likely to preserve their forces and return.

‘The ladders can be rebuilt.’

Seeing his own limits, Enkrid was certain that another assault might be on the horizon.

‘Should I lure them in?’

Given the display of his abilities, it seemed like it would work.

“Shouldn’t we catch the Cultist?” he asked Luagarne. It was crucial to deal with them now, before they could slip away.

“Of course,” she replied matter-of-factly.

Krais stepped forward, whispering.

“I think they’ll come back tomorrow.”

Krais had an excellent mind for these things. He was quick-witted and perceptive.

“Should we try to bait them?”

“Ah, sounds good.”

In just a few words, Krais immediately began to devise a plan.

It was a plan that seemed likely to succeed. Krais’ mind worked quickly, reading the enemy’s psychological state and crafting a direction for the next move.

Enkrid took a full day of rest. No one dared disturb him.

Although some of the monster horde remained within range, he couldn’t afford to be completely at ease.

But what had changed from the previous day was this:

“Are we just going to let the monsters take our village?!”

There was now a fierce energy radiating from the defenders.

What Enkrid had shown them—the way he fought, the resilience—had ignited a flame in their hearts.

Before that fire could die down, the morning sun rose, and the monsters were at it again.

This time, they brought with them what appeared to be a makeshift ladder, with hooks attached to the ends.

It was crafted from woven branches, and while not many, it seemed like a potent weapon.

“Bastards.”

Doich, gritting his teeth in frustration, muttered under his breath.

Enkrid opened the gate once more, and once again, he stepped out to face the horde.

His body had healed, aided by the Regenerative Body technique, which helped him recover his strength.

The battle continued as before, with his body carrying him forward.

Two swords in hand, he fought like a monster-slayer. The rumors would soon spread—he had become known for his ruthless combat style. Even if the fight had been quick and intense, the results were clear: Enkrid was pushing his limits.

After a bloody clash, Enkrid coughed up blood.

“Ugh!”

Two days of fighting had taken their toll on him. His body was clearly breaking down.

Meanwhile, Luagarne deliberately left herself open to an attack, and her left arm was severed.

She bit her severed forearm, lifting it up as if to mock the very idea of defeat.

The monsters and their ilk retreated once again, but Enkrid was bleeding, and Lua Garne had lost an arm.

On the third day, the monsters returned.

“Aren’t you tired of this?!”

The shout of a mercenary on the wall echoed as Enkrid once more took to the field.

Having already coughed up blood from the previous battles, Enkrid lasted a shorter time in this skirmish than before. Dark, deep shadows began to form under his eyes.

However, the number of monsters had been halved.

The Beasts had been reduced by nearly half—around five hundred less.

This meant that nearly five hundred of those monsters had been slashed, stabbed, and killed by Enkrid’s blades.

It was a victory after three days of relentless fighting, but it had come at a cost. Enkrid finally collapsed and was carried back by the Vigilante Corps.

By this time, even the number of arrows flying at them had decreased. The wooden wall held strong again.

“Just two or three more days…”

It seemed they only needed to hold out for a little longer.

On the following day, with dark circles beneath his eyes and a pale complexion, Enkrid went out once more.

His fatigue was palpable, but like a candle burning brightly at the end of its life, he once again set the field ablaze with his ghostly prowess.

“Uuuugh! Monster Slayer!”

A deep-voiced mercenary shouted.

Inspired by Enkrid, twenty members of the Vigilante Corps charged outside to fight in close combat.

This was a defensive battle, preparing for a retreat if necessary.

Thanks to this, no one died that day.

Though it had been a close call. The damage to the wall had worsened, and even without the ladders, it seemed that they would be in serious danger if the monsters attacked again.

On the fourth day, Enkrid truly seemed like a monster-slayer.

He had managed to reduce the number of Beasts by a hundred, bringing the remaining count below three hundred. The ghouls were all gone, and the number of Beasts had plummeted.

The remaining Hyena Beasts numbered under a hundred.

Thus, the morning of the fourth day arrived.

The Cultist was starting to realize the gravity of the situation.

The Cultist was used to people being killed with little effort, but now he had seen Enkrid’s power, and his thoughts were filled with doubt.

“He’s a knight! At least a Junior Knight!”

A knight was a force of unimaginable power, someone you couldn’t just face head-on, and the Cultist knew retreat was the best option.

But then doubt lingered. There was something off about this warrior. He had power, but he wasn’t quite like the knights Cultist had known.

“A knight should be able to strike from fifty paces or more…”

The Cultist had heard stories of knights who could kill from a distance with ease, throwing arrows that could kill with precision. But the man they faced wasn’t acting like one. Enkrid had shown extraordinary power but didn’t fit the expectations.

This was a borderland. Knights weren’t supposed to be here.

“What knight would come to a place like this? They wouldn’t waste their time…”

The Cultist had come to a terrifying realization: their enemy was not a knight or even a Junior Knight. Enkrid had incredible strength, but his true identity remained shrouded in mystery.

He had performed unbelievable feats, yet he kept retreating, almost like a man possessed, with no regard for his own safety.

“How is he still standing?”

The Cultist wondered as Enkrid continued to push forward, fighting relentlessly despite his obvious wounds.

The cultists led their monsters to press against the walls, hoping for the final push. They had learned from their mistakes and would not be deterred.

“Come out, you bastard.”

While pounding on the walls, the Cultist murmured under his breath, thinking about the insane man who had been a constant thorn in his side. He knew Enkrid would be there again, but he didn’t know how much longer the man could last.

Just then, a voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Krais was right.”

It was a familiar voice from behind.

“So, it is.”

The voice made the Cultist’s fur bristle. He turned, startled, to see Enkrid, with his darkened eyes and pale complexion, standing behind him with the Frog.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen your face,” Enkrid said, his voice thin but clear.

He wiped at his eyes with a finger, clearing the dark smears from under them.

The Cultist’s mind raced—this was the man who should be lying in the dirt, bloodied and broken. Yet Enkrid’s face was clear, his skin remarkably healthy, his body seemingly untouched by the carnage.

“How… how is he standing?”

Enkrid had been on the brink of death, yet he was alive, looking better than ever.

The Cultist couldn’t help but wonder if he was witnessing something unnatural, something impossible.