A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

"This crazy bastard."

Watching Enkrid grin, Aisia nearly lost her composure but steadied herself.

If she wasn’t going to kill him, she had to stop him here.

Her younger brother was being held hostage.

There was someone behind her she hadn’t expected.

Layers of complicated thoughts piled up, then vanished.

With that lunatic smiling in front of her, there was nothing left to say.

"You must have a reason to break through. I have a reason to stop you."

The words came out instinctively.

Why?

Why was she saying this to Enkrid?

She didn't know. The atmosphere simply compelled her.

So she hardened her expression, hiding it behind her blade. She would speak through her sword instead.

Aisia's specialty wasn't just her aimed blade.

She would never lose when it came to skill. A gap existed between them, one that couldn't be closed in a short time.

She acknowledged that he had the advantage in strength, but the gap in technique couldn’t be bridged so easily.

Enkrid excelled in both strength and mind games.

But no matter how good he was at outthinking his opponent, if he repeatedly lost in technique, there was no winning.

Enkrid closed his eyes again.

"You'll die like that."

She had no intention of killing him, but she couldn't afford to be careless.

"Then do it if you can."

Enkrid did not back down. And for a moment, that frustrated her.

"If not now, you can fight later without taking such risks."

Even as she spoke, she already knew the answer.

She hadn't seen him for a few days, but she knew exactly what kind of person Enkrid was.

"If not today, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then the next day."

Enkrid, eyes closed, aimed his sword.

"If I had ever thought about next time, I wouldn’t be standing in front of you now."

Aisia clenched her teeth.

They clashed again.

By the end of it, Aisia had left two deep wounds in Enkrid's forearm.

On his thigh, she carved a wound deep enough for a fingertip to sink into.

Enkrid, in turn, lost Silver, but in exchange, he left a long cut across Aisia’s cheek with Spark.

"If I wanted to kill you, this would have been much easier."

Aisia steadied her breath.

The sun had begun to tilt to one side.

The rebellion that had erupted in broad daylight had by now engulfed the entire palace.

As expected—

"That's enough."

A voice came from the darkness behind Aisia.

"Put that away."

Another command followed.

Enkrid, collapsed on the ground, shifted his gaze past Aisia. There was no light. He couldn't see the figure properly—only a dark silhouette.

Even standing in the shadows, the man’s presence felt solid, oppressive.

Who the hell is that?

Judging from the sheer force he exuded and Aisia’s reaction, Enkrid understood—this man stood above her.

The darkness was born from unlit candelabras. And from that void, a man emerged.

As he stepped forward, the shadows receded, adding color to his form. Watching him approach felt like staring at an unstoppable boulder rolling toward him.

"Not a knight."

Instinct and experience told him that.

He had already fought knights before—he knew the difference.

One clash of blades had been enough to teach him.

This man wasn’t a knight.

Dull-colored hair, a longsword strapped to his waist, and a dagger in his bloodstained hand.

Aisia turned around.

Even knowing she had the strength to land another blow on Enkrid, she didn't hesitate to shift her focus.

She raised her sword toward the man.

"Senior, let’s stop here."

From Enkrid's vantage point, he could now see Aisia’s back—and the overwhelming presence of the man in front of her.

The man cocked his head, his dark brown, wavy hair shifting with the motion.

"Aisia?"

"This is enough. What do you think will happen when the Master returns?"

Enkrid thought there was no weight behind her words.

Even Aisia herself didn’t seem to believe what she was saying.

"If you won’t do it, I will."

The man spoke, striding forward.

Aisia once again unleashed her pressure.

A wall.

The same impenetrable wall that had blocked Enkrid earlier had now turned to shield him instead.

"You’d best reconsider."

Enkrid muttered.

He couldn’t gauge the man’s strength.

Was it due to a lack of insight?

He didn't know.

It felt like facing Ragna or Rem.

"Not all semi-knights are the same."

Suddenly, Aisia’s words from their sparring session resurfaced.

Had she been referring to this man?

Maybe.

The man ignored Aisia’s intimidation. His pace remained steady.

"Aisia."

Enkrid, still sitting, called her name again.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she lifted her sword.

The aimed blade.

And then, for the fourth time, Enkrid witnessed the answer to countering it.

First, there was Rem.

Then Ragna.

Then Jaxon.

Now, a fourth.

The moment Aisia took her stance, the man stepped forward in a single bound and struck her blade with his dagger.

She had aimed—but it was meaningless.

Enkrid immediately understood what had happened.

It was the fourth time he had seen the answer, and realization naturally followed.

"Just because you aim doesn’t mean the blade itself moves."

The sword was still in the same place.

If you had enough strength, you could simply knock the blade aside.

If Aisia swung or blocked, the technique would break on its own.

So if one stepped in and struck the sword, she would have no choice but to deflect or counter.

But to execute it properly, one had to strike in a way that prevented her from evading, while also cutting off her chance to counterattack.

There were too many conditions.

Yet, this man had done it effortlessly.

"Normally, she would deflect and return the strike."

But the flow had been severed.

For him to pull off such a move with just a dagger—it meant his level of skill was on an entirely different scale.

"Not all semi-knights are the same."

Those words now struck deep.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Enkrid pushed himself up, using his sword as a crutch. He still had one or two swings left in him.

If he just stood back and watched Aisia die, it wouldn’t just be a bad dream haunting him later.

From the moment he rose, he no longer cared whether his sword would work or not.

He simply did what he could.

"Don’t be stupid."

The man spoke again.

His gaze never once strayed toward Enkrid.

It remained solely on Aisia.

Aisia retrieved her deflected sword and lunged forward with a three-pronged thrust.

A trident strike.

Enkrid recalled hearing that she had learned it from observing fishermen in coastal villages.

The man twirled his dagger up and down.

It was like watching a ladle stirring a pot of stew.

At least, that’s how it looked to Enkrid’s eyes.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Three rapid clashes rang out.

"Are you really going through with this?"

A man spoke once more.

Instead of answering, Aisia raised her sword. She shifted her stance.

Her specialty wasn’t just pointing the tip of her blade at her opponent.

Enkrid knew that well.

She planted strength into the tips of her toes, shifting her center of gravity. Though she never neglected strength training, there were plenty out there who were far stronger than her.

If she hadn’t thought of a way to overcome that, she would never have even become a junior knight.

“Do you really have a death wish?”

The man’s voice carried no inflection, no rhythm. It was closer to a mere recitation of facts.

Aisia’s sword struck again.

It bent, stabbed, flew, and soared. It was the very technique that had once pierced Enkrid’s arm when he had failed to block it.

Delicate, yet razor-sharp. Even in terms of sheer speed, it could rival his own Moment’s Will.

It was, without a doubt, a decisive blow.

Yet the man deflected every blade with nothing more than a flick of his dagger.

In the end, her blade only managed to graze his cheek. Naturally, it wasn’t a fatal wound.

Pic—! A thin line of blood spattered into the air.

The man let go of his dagger. The short blade tumbled to the ground. In that moment, his hand wrapped around the hilt of the longsword at his waist.

Enkrid caught sight of the pommel. A wolf’s head.

He drew the blade. No flash of light, no overwhelming power behind it.

It simply left its sheath—and moved forward.

Yet, as he swung, the sword surged upward at an unnatural angle, severing the momentum of Aisia’s thrust.

A mid-air deflection.

Tang! Aisia’s sword was flung back with a sharp ringing sound.

‘How is that even possible?’

She had no answer. None at all. Just watching wouldn’t tell her anything.

Aisia pulled her sword back to her chest. The flow had been severed. With her momentum broken, there was no way her opponent would falter under her next strike.

Her footing wavered. With her steps disrupted, her breathing stumbled as well.

It hitched—blocked—suffocating.

Aisia stopped breathing entirely.

Ignoring all proper flow, she abandoned her thrust and chose to cut instead.

She swung downward from above.

It wasn’t a thunderous strike, but like a streak of light, it was fast.

It was reminiscent of the unpredictable variations Enkrid sometimes glimpsed as Sparks.

The moment her blade descended, the man placed his sword against it and pushed.

Tdddddiiing!

The clash sent sparks flying.

A brief deadlock. Their swords pressed against each other in a fleeting contest of force.

At that precise moment, Enkrid launched himself forward.

He couldn’t muster the same explosive charge he had when facing Aisia.

But a single strike—one true strike—he could still deliver.

Carrying the acceleration of the Moment.

Denying the overwhelming force emanating from his opponent.

Unleashing the Heart of Might as it ignited within him.

Holding onto One Point Focus.

With his left hand, he thrust Sparks straight ahead. A blade that mimicked sunlight.

The sun—when you feel its warmth, it has already reached you. There is no escape.

This thrust carried that same inevitability.

For the first time, everything aligned perfectly.

Breath, footwork, timing, the elasticity of his muscles, the exact pressure in his grip.

Everything.

No joy, no emotions—just the sheer sensation of absolute accuracy.

And yet—his opponent’s blade slipped through.

How does one avoid sunlight?

Stand in the shade.

His flow was severed.

The enemy’s sword intercepted his strike precisely at its midpoint, before the thrust could fully manifest.

No overwhelming force—just a simple, precise tap.

But with that, the entire motion was thrown off.

The energy coiled from foot to fingertips fractured, his breath faltered, his balance crumbled.

Enkrid knew in that instant—his strike had failed.

And the result—

The man’s sword had already torn through Aisia’s heart.

“Khhk—.”

Aisia coughed up blood. Even as she lost her life, she swung her rapier one last time.

But the man didn’t even bother to accept it.

He deflected the falling blade with his shoulder guard, letting it slide away.

At the same time, he extended his left hand.

A short sword had somehow found its way into his grip, its tip buried in Enkrid’s chest.

His bandaged armor managed to withstand the blade just enough that it didn’t pierce his heart.

But it still slipped deep into his side, tearing through his inner organs.

The man’s gaze wandered over Enkrid’s insides. Yet, he still didn’t speak.

His expression was the same as if he were looking at a pebble on the road.

Not because of the gap in skill. No, it wasn’t that.

It was the look of someone gazing upon something utterly irrelevant to them.

“There was no way to subdue you without killing you.”

He spoke solely to Aisia.

“...Senior.”

Aisia’s bloodstained lips parted.

With the last of her strength, she spoke once more.

“My brother...”

“Don’t worry.”

The light in Aisia’s eyes faded.

Enkrid didn’t lose himself to the searing pain in his gut.

Because today’s repetition was a curse. There was no “blessing” of growing numb to agony.

So the pain was the same—whether it was the first loop or the thousandth.

Even so, he couldn’t take his eyes off Aisia.

Stopping him was one thing.

But why had she turned back?

Why had she blocked his path?

The answer was clear just from the atmosphere.

She could have looked away.

She could have turned aside.

Then, she wouldn’t have had to risk her life.

But she hadn’t.

Even without asking, he understood.

Just as he never postponed today’s fight until tomorrow—

Aisia, too, had something she could never yield.

What she refused to turn away from—

Not ignoring her heart.

Why had she stood here in the first place?

To kill him?

No, she hadn’t. If she had wanted to, she could have.

The squad had said it themselves.

“In a fight to the death, the outcome will be decided one way or another. But the truth that we can’t win right now won’t change.”

Rem had spoken.

“If we fight, we lose. We lose most of the time.”

Ragna had agreed.

As these thoughts settled, the man stepped closer.

His boots entered Enkrid’s vision.

When Enkrid lifted his gaze, the man finally spoke.

“She died because of you.”

There wasn’t a shred of emotion in his voice.

Then, the man’s blade sliced through Enkrid’s neck.

Pain flared from the nape of his neck to his skull.

Searing, tearing flesh—darkness, as it consumed everything.

And when the void passed—

A river rippled before him.

“Would you like to know the easy way?”

The ferryman asked.