Eternally Regressing Knight

Krais followed Enkrid’s orders.

“Find a way to deal with the Black Blades.”

That was the task.

Krais thought hard, considering various possibilities.

It was a given that the Black Blades would make a move.

So, what would they do?

Before that, how did Krais know they had such intentions?

It was simple. They told him.

And that was why they were being “nice people.”

“Or they could just be idiots.”

Though he leaned toward the latter, it didn’t really matter.

“Think about it,” Krais spoke as he walked toward the sunlit area, pulling his coat tighter to block out the cold morning air.

Enkrid was practicing with his sword, swinging it this way and that.

In Krais’s eyes, Enkrid looked like he was stirring a stew with a ladle, aimlessly waving the sword.

“This time, they’re sending someone who isn’t even part of their group, telling us not to kill. I think these guys are actually pretty harmless, don’t you?”

“Thieves?”

“Or idiots.”

The enemy, in Krais’s eyes, was made up of friendly idiots.

Despite this, Krais continued to entertain grim thoughts, influenced by his upbringing and nature.

‘What if they send a knight?’

Would he be able to handle someone of that level?

He glanced at Enkrid, still swinging his sword, then at the closed door of their barracks.

The stone walls of the courtyard, made with gravel and plaster, stood between them and the dreary brown door.

Inside, there were barbarians wrapped in furs and warming stones, a bear-like clergyman who had pummeled a priest yesterday , a troublesome man who wandered off on his own despite being hopelessly lost, a gangster with a habit of disappearing, a former cultist giant, and a former bandit, all within those walls.

‘Could they deal with a knight?’

A fleeting hope entered Krais’s mind, but he immediately dismissed it.

It was ridiculous. Knights were monsters, disasters waiting to happen.

Krais shook his head.

“So, what’s the plan?”

Enkrid continued to move, making a few more attempts with his sword, trying different stances and footwork.

To Krais, it looked like a dance—a messy dance, like stirring stew.

He watched his commander, lost in thought as his mind kept returning to unsettling possibilities, before he spoke.

“We’ll do everything we can.”

That was the plan.

The enemy had kindly informed them of their likely attack plans.

‘If I were a thief…’

If Krais were the leader of the Black Blades, and if he wanted to kill them, what would he do?

‘The commander is a knight who has mastered Will.’

Moreover, each of his subordinates was a monster.

The dwarf had a sharp sense of insight, comparing people to metals.

The fairy had an acute sensitivity, often likening their foes to animals and plants.

And Krais, for his part, saw his comrades as gold coins.

‘How many pieces?’

It was immeasurable. He couldn’t yet calculate their value in a way that made sense.

They might be a group that seemed to cause more harm than good, but on the other hand…

‘An unparalleled force.’

From an external viewpoint, they were clearly a formidable force to be reckoned with.

Krais’s mind began to calculate the possibilities of what the Black Blades could do—what they might try, or what they were highly likely to attempt next.

“It can be assassination, ambush, poison, and bribery.”

Those were the four possibilities.

Enkrid, though no fool, paused briefly, letting his sword come to a stop. His next move didn’t immediately follow the previous one.

He had tried to mimic a snake step, but it hadn’t worked.

“Most likely, the trouble will start on the way back.”

“And the plan?”

The same question. Krais only had one request.

“Do you think we could request reinforcements from Torres, or now from Colonel Torres? Would he lend us some troops?”

“Probably.”

But there was something they couldn’t lend. The real issue was time. They couldn’t afford to leave the territory for too long.

Enkrid didn’t need to point that out—Krais already knew.

Martaia was short on manpower.

That’s why the mercenaries were being hired and converted into private soldiers. The plan was already in motion.

They were about to take on something big this time.

Krais was determined to pour all his energy into clearing out the monsters and beasts of the grateful forest area.

Enkrid, in the midst of his training and battles with the colonies, pondered on what could be done to ensure the safety of the trade routes.

‘What if we expand the border guard’s territory?’

It was a vague thought at first, and further contemplation was necessary.

“Once we get the weapons from the dwarf, we’ll head back, right?”

“As soon as we get them.”

There were no issues if that was the plan.

“Understood.”

And so, Krais disappeared into the morning, leaving Enkrid with time for himself again. This time, it was time for the sword and for himself.

Earlier that morning, Enkrid had practiced the Isolation technique with Audin.

His words stuck with him.

“Why do you train your body? Once you find that answer, the next question is ‘how’—and I believe I’ve already given you that answer.”

Audin was a good teacher.

His advice was simple—think for yourself. He had already provided the foundation.

Enkrid wasn’t foolish, nor was he slow.

The real issue was that his body didn’t always cooperate as he wished.

So, what about now?

‘To move forward.’

He was ready for tomorrow, prepared to face it. His mindset hadn’t changed, but there was one thing different—he was more at ease than before.

Enkrid swung his sword, even if it seemed pointless. It didn’t matter. This was his way of thinking.

This was Enkrid’s meditation method.

He immersed himself in his world. He sank into it, observing and contemplating everything with precision.

He reflected on his past realizations.

‘No one ever told me which swordsmanship to learn.’

Even Ragna, who had taught him two-handed swordsmanship, didn’t care what sword he wielded.

Coincidentally, Ragna was now beside him, swinging a massive, heavy sword he had bought at the blacksmith shop earlier.

There were no fancy moves—just a simple downward strike.

The sunlight seemed to glint off the blunt edge of the sword.

‘Cut and cut again.’

It didn’t matter what tried to block it. It would cut through. That was Ragna’s swordsmanship—two-handed sword style.

Enkrid recalled the techniques he had learned.

The mercenary sword of Valen was the sword of the dawn.

Unknown swordsmanship was the sword of truth.

What he learned from Ragna was two-handed sword style.

Then, he had learned the basics of one-handed swordsmanship from Ragna and practiced it alone, refining his technique.

He had learned to observe, understand, and strike from his experience with the sword.

‘No, I also learned this from Audin.’

Valah-style martial arts.

Martial arts, after all, used hands, feet, and the body as weapons.

It was the shortest weapon a human could wield.

What, then, was the foundation of martial arts?

To flow, to be fast, to be heavy, and to be light.

Everything blended together.

There was no simple division of it into offense and defense.

Valah-style martial arts was a technique that embraced everything. It was the ideal form, perfected.

However, it wasn’t swordsmanship. Still, elements of it could be added to his sword technique.

With full concentration, Enkrid focused on refining his one-handed sword style while swinging his sword.

When physically training, he emphasized flexibility.

Lifting heavy stones or iron might be similar, but the important part was the time spent loosening and stretching each muscle in his body.

It was all for the purpose of increasing flexibility.

Why focus on one-handed swordsmanship?

Because it had opened his senses.

‘One-handed swordsmanship is defensive, a style of defense.’

The most important thing for that was vision.

In other words, it was about perception.

To properly perceive and understand, one had to see and understand the point of contact of strength.

To see, hear, taste, smell, and feel—everything converged into one unified sense.

The sixth sense was no longer just an extension of the five senses—it was a truly new sense.

This wasn’t just a metaphor for opening the third eye.

At some point, Jaxen, sitting on a roughly carved stone chair, noticed him.

The chair was a large stone that had been crudely shaped into a seat, cold enough to be uncomfortable in the winter, but Jaxen seemed unfazed.

Why wouldn’t he be?

His training had been far more brutal and painful than this. Cold like this didn’t even feel like cold to him.

Jaxen’s eyes now turned toward Enkrid.

‘What drives him?’

That lingering question still remained, but now there was a new reason for him to stay here.

‘He’s tangled.’

The leader had become someone who was essential for fulfilling his own goal.

“Ugh, you’re like a damn wild cat. Why do you keep staring so hard?”

The barbarian, Rem, lazily walked out.

It was an idle challenge, but Jaxen ignored him as usual.

Rem’s gaze turned to Enkrid.

“…Look at this?”

The barbarian was surprised, something rare for him.

Ragna and Audin also reacted similarly.

They had all once been absorbed in their worlds while swinging their swords.

That’s why they could see Enkrid’s current state.

He had become absorbed, trapped in his world.

Was it dangerous?

No, it was an opportunity. A rare chance for intense training in his lifetime.

It was a chance to realize his limits and take a few steps forward—something that would be achievable in no time.

“Hey, cat, we need to control the area. You, too, lost one. Hey, bear?”

“I understand, brother. Sister Teresa and Sister Dunbakel should also join us.”

Audin spoke, and they moved quietly.

From an unexpected winter morning, Enkrid’s group began to form a circle around their quarters.

What they did was simple.

“Don’t come closer. Don’t make a sound.”

It was control. They were pushing away anyone who approached.

“Hey, I heard you beat up a priest. I came here to talk about it.”

Even though the territory lord had come to visit,

“That person was hardly worthy of being called a priest. Brother Lord. Anyway, it’s not the time for that.”

Some couldn’t understand.

Some of the soldiers frowned at the behavior.

Those who knew Enkrid’s state simply retreated quietly.

Martai’s camp was made up mostly of Easterners.

And Easterners were tough, sturdy, and loud,

“Yell and I’ll split your head?”

“Silence is golden. The Lord said, go to the battlefield and shout, but when you come back, speak softly. So, please, sew your mouth shut and stay quiet.”

“Quiet. I’ll split you.”

“Don’t cross this line.”

The four acted as usual.

Dunbakel quietly watched Enkrid and began to move as well.

Impatience gnawed at her.

Thus, it was necessary to train like this.

Teresa, in turn, found the man intriguing.

‘I’m wandering Teresa.’

After gathering her thoughts, she looked up, swinging her sword alone with a madman’s grin.

‘Is training just as enjoyable as combat?’

Born and raised in the world of society, Teresa was unaware of many things.

Her world was narrow, and even now, she didn’t fully know whether her choices were right or wrong.

But there was one thing she knew.

‘I want to fight.’

She wanted to swing her sword at the man occupying the small training area in front of the quarters.

She wanted to strike his skull with enough force to crack it.

She also wanted to charge at his torso with her shield.

She wanted to punch, kick, anything.

She wanted to fight.

A desire so intense it made her skin crawl. In this moment, right or wrong didn’t matter.

“Calm yourself, sister.”

It was Audin’s ever-present voice. Teresa adjusted her mask and replied.

“I’m wandering Teresa. I’m good at enduring.”

Patience was a virtue.

Although born without it, now she was learning to keep and value it.

Because only by doing so could she face the thrill of fighting that man.

Enkrid wandered in his world, sometimes lost, sometimes running, sometimes crawling.

It didn’t matter what he did.

He thought about his swordsmanship.

In the middle of it, a vision, like a mirage, appeared— a ferryman speaking.

Now that the face was visible, it seemed there was meaning to it.

Seeing it often made it that way.

“Crazy fool, this is not a wall I made.”

What was he saying?

It was an illusion, a hallucination.

So he ignored it. What mattered now wasn’t the ferryman or today’s endless repetition.

The swordsmanship.

Of the five types of swordsmanship, Enkrid had mastered the righteous and the middle.

Yet, even with that mastery, something felt off. He had never experienced the perfect feeling of alignment. Why?

‘It doesn’t fit my body.’

Talent, talent-based, and talent-built swordsmanship.

It wasn’t the path of the clumsy.

He didn’t realize this all at once.

But in the realm of his instincts and intuition, he felt the way forward.

Still, he kept walking, crawling, and running.

It was simple.

‘Where is my path?’

Through the brief question, he found his direction.

Thus, Enkrid moved beyond the foundation of one-handed swordsmanship, seeking a new path.

It was the process of creating a new sword style.

Not everything happens at once. When Enkrid emerged from his immersion, he realized what he had done.

Moreover, he understood that there was still more to refine and develop the work he had achieved today, turning it into something even greater.

‘My own Swordsmanship.’

To become a knight, to create a new sword style? It would sound like a senseless tale to others, one with no practical gain.

But so what?

When had someone’s judgment ever mattered to him?

Awakened from his immersion, he realized the sun was still high in the sky.

‘It was just a moment.’

Enkrid thought this as he looked up, only to find a dwarf girl pouting in front of him.

“Hey, I’m busy too.”

And the dwarf spoke.

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TL here! Thank you for reading!

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