A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“Give up.”

The Ferryman said.

He didn’t even bother asking whether the method would work.

“Is today too painful for you? Another today is waiting. Just go there and settle. That’s all you need.”

It was persuasion—but even the Ferryman himself wasn’t putting effort into it.

Of course it didn’t work. And the Ferryman knew it wouldn’t, so he didn’t bother pretending to care.

He was just saying it because it had to be said. Going through the motions.

The Ferryman didn’t need to be sincere.

The lunatic in front of him had already tossed aside despair and hopelessness like yesterday’s trash and was staring only forward.

He told him to be trapped in today, but the man only looked to tomorrow.

“Do as you please. What can you even do? I tried to grant a mortal the blessing of escaping death, but you just keep doing the same foolish things. Stop, before pleasure turns to madness. That’s the path you should follow.”

Even so, the Ferryman said what needed to be said. That was his role. And Enkrid was playing his own role.

“Well then, until next time.”

That was a farewell. It was also a way of saying: let me go already.

From within the Ferryman’s refined speech, another part of him stirred for a moment.

He gripped the oar tighter without realizing it. The urge to bash the man’s head in with the lamp, then beat him with the oar, flared up—but the refined Ferryman would never allow such a thing.

“Struggle in pain once more.”

He spoke instead, lips tight with restraint.

“Thanks for the support.”

Enkrid, still poking at the Ferryman’s nerves to the bitter end, stepped into a new today.

Screeeeeee!

The scream of a spider monster tore through sleep. From midnight to dawn—today had begun.

“Beautiful morning.”

Enkrid greeted the day with a fresh tone, tightened his core, sat up in one breath, and climbed off his bed.

He’d cleaned up the reception room and turned it into a barracks-like lodging. Maybe it was because he was so used to military life.

Maybe. Either way, this suited him just fine.

What’s better than having a training field right outside the door?

“What part of this is a beautiful morning, exactly?”

Rem grumbled.

“If your eyes are open, it’s a beautiful morning.”

It was still dark outside, and they’d been woken by a scream, but Enkrid insisted as he strapped on his gear.

As he moved, he went over everything he’d organized in his mind.

Review.

It wasn’t just battles that needed review. Repeating today, organizing what to do—this was no different.

More accurately, he was reviewing everything from his mindset to his task list.

Knight Oara said she would protect the place where she was born. That was her dream. Her goal. Her belief as a knight. Her responsibility and duty. Her vow. Her oath.

Repeating today had also revealed her oath to him.

To never be surprised, and to face even death with a smile.

That was Oara’s vow. That’s why she always smiled.

When she lost her smile, her sword lost its strength. So what must be done to stop that from happening?

To end the repetition, he had to protect the city.

He had to protect her smile. That meant protecting her dream.

“If I’m smiling, I won’t lose.”

Oara never planned to lose to anyone.

If she’s in good condition, maybe she really won’t.

Nothing was certain—but he would try. Just like always, he’d try.

Enkrid had taken in the full scope of the situation. Instinctively, he sorted and set his priorities.

He even missed Kraiss a little—but it didn’t matter.

If he wasn’t here, then he’d manage without him.

“Let’s go.”

Enkrid said, now fully armed.

The resolve to fight and protect surged on its own.

He wanted to become a knight to protect everything behind him—and this was no different.

Just because Oara was a knight, just because she fought better than him, did that mean she wasn’t someone worth protecting?

Of course not.

In this, Enkrid was arrogant and proud.

I’ll protect her.

Because he respected what she wanted—that was reason enough.

“There was a time when she told everyone to run.”

There was a time when Oara bit down on the Balrog fragment’s arm with her mouth just to hold the line.

Even when her smile was broken, her face bloodied, she still fought monsters with her fists and feet.

At the very least, he’d make sure she got to fight without regrets.

Enkrid set a new objective.

“You think that’ll work?”

It felt like the Ferryman was asking. He hadn’t actually said it, but every word of his carried that implication.

It didn’t matter. The question didn’t matter. The persuasion didn’t matter. Empty echoes.

He didn’t need permission.

He never had.

Even consulting the Ferryman had only been a way to speak aloud and sort things out.

And now he was sorted.

He stepped out into the noisy streets, now part of the city’s living scenery.

As he walked, Enkrid spoke.

“Rem.”

“What now?”

“Think you could fight like a knight in a short time?”

Rem looked into the madman’s eyes.

As always, they were completely sincere.

This bastard had a habit of going full-on crazy once in a while.

This was one of those times. Something had changed in him—he’d definitely come up with another insane idea.

“You think that’s possible?”

He asked, knowing full well it wasn’t. But the eyes—they were dead serious. Two blue flames flickered, bright and steady.

“The concept of knights here is…”

“It’s a Wave.”

A passing officer from another unit cut in before Rem could finish. Enkrid gave a vague nod, signaling he got the point.

He moved with clear direction. His pace was fast—not a run, but a brisk stride.

Faster than the unit that had mentioned the Wave.

Rem matched his speed and continued.

“You mean using Will. I know how to use that too.”

Will was force of will. Rem knew that. But he was of a different path.

“But I’m built different. Even if I went that way—long story short, if it can’t be done, it can’t be done.”

In other words, no. There was no shortcut to mimicking knight-level strength in such a short time.

Enkrid’s eyes turned to the side. His next target was Frokk.

“Lua.”

“No.”

Lua Gharne’s answer was even shorter. From her perspective, Enkrid wasn’t in a rush at all.

“Why are you asking, then?”

“Just because.”

Enkrid’s reply was simple. He had nothing more to ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) say.

Did he have a plan because he knew what was coming?

Was he trying to make sure Oara could fight properly—and was this one of the things he had to do for that?

Like somehow fighting at a knight’s level in a matter of days?

Yeah, right.

Like anyone would believe that.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Knights were handpicked from the talented, then picked again, and again—until only a rare few remained.

That’s what knights were.

There were no shortcuts. Obviously not.

But… what if it was just one swing?

Could a single strike change the tide?

“Let’s run.”

Enkrid said, and moved.

Naturally, he’d picked up plenty from repeating today.

“Roman!”

He arrived at the gate, searching for the junior knight with the club-like greatsword.

“…What?”

Roman had just crushed a spider monster’s head with his pommel and kicked it away when he turned around.

The black fluids of the monster soaked the ground in front of him.

His face was splattered. So were his clothes. He looked terrifying.

He even looked like he could be Rem’s brother—but Enkrid saw hope in him.

“That strike you did back then. How do you do it?”

Roman blinked a few times.

What the hell was this guy talking about?

Then he got it—and opened his mouth.

“You seriously asking me that right now?”

Roman asked with his voice—and again with his eyes.

Are you seriously insane?

Enkrid nodded.

“Yeah. I want to know.”

“Master, I think this guy’s nuts.”

Roman raised his voice.

Oara, up on the wall, burst out laughing.

“Just tell him! What’s the big deal?”

“Why the hell would I give away my best move?!”

While they were arguing, a spider monster rushed in—and Enkrid stabbed it with Ember.

His left foot slid forward and his blade flashed out—it was no exaggeration to call it a flash of light.

In that blinding instant, Ember pierced the spider’s head and came back out.

By now, he’d memorized the monster’s patterns through constant fighting.

They liked surrounding a smaller group with many.

But before that could happen, there were always a few key monsters leading them.

Enkrid drove a hole through one monster’s head, then threw all three of his Whistle Daggers.

Repeating today had brought mastery of techniques.

This time was no different.

Enkrid wasted no time.

Planning was planning. Training was still training.

He trained by killing monsters in real combat.

His knives flew sharper than before—piercing a spider’s head clean through.

Then he threw a spear. The incoming monsters’ formation began to falter.

Those that usually moved subtly started charging in a straight line.

“Hmph!”

The short-haired blonde began stabbing with a relatively thin, long spear.

The shaft bent and swayed, and the blade split into dozens of points at once, piercing straight through the spiders’ bodies and heads without hesitation.

A silent scream echoed. From its mouth—six jagged iron shards split open to either side—black blood poured.

It was the effect of the poison on the spearhead.

Enkrid’s eyes followed her spear—watched her technique.

A technique threatening to groups.

And wielded by a junior knight who could demonstrate overwhelming force against the weak.

He already knew this. His eyes merely swept over it.

“Looks like we’ve got some time now.”

Enkrid spoke after wiping out another wave of spiders.

“You just want me to spill all my secrets, huh?”

“Don’t want to?”

“You’re seriously insane, aren’t you?”

Roman shook his head in disbelief.

“Tell me.”

Enkrid didn’t let up. If he’d had more time, he might’ve asked slowly, once or twice a day.

But now was different.

It wasn’t just the desire to learn or train—he saw a way to help Oara fight. That’s what this looked like.

There was no better option.

So he insisted.

“Teach me.”

He asked again, killing another spider.

“Get this lunatic away from me.”

Roman snapped.

“He’s not the kind to back off just because you say so.”

Rem chuckled, as if it had been a while since he’d seen Enkrid go fully off the rails.

Jaxon, once—specifically on the second repeat Enkrid spent in the infirmary—had taught him a sensory technique without hesitation.

Because Jaxon knew Enkrid wouldn’t give up.

This guy was persistent, obsessive, and crazy.

“Will you piss off already?”

Roman snapped again.

At this rate, it looked like he’d swing at Enkrid instead of the monsters.

But Enkrid didn’t flinch. He was like solid rock. Or steel. Or obsidian—unyielding to the drops of water falling in the same spot, over and over.

It was the moment where will turned into sheer stubbornness.

“Puhahaha.”

Oara doubled over laughing, and Rem giggled as he crushed another spider’s head.

Even Dunbakel felt the ominous tension around them loosen a little.

This lunatic was throwing himself into a monster wave just to learn a single technique.

A true madman.

Roman resisted twelve and a half times before admitting defeat.

“You crazy bastard, do you even think you’ll understand if I tell you?”

“Probably not.”

Goddamn it—why is he admitting it?!

By this point, Oara had rolled off the top of the wall. She was laughing so hard she was crying.

Rem was satisfied.

Everyone nearby—soldiers watching, the archers on the walls—

They all understood now.

This man was in a different class of madness.

“You really want me to tell you?”

“Just let me hear it first.”

“You think I owe you or something?”

“No.”

“Don’t just agree immediately, damn it!”

Roman exploded in frustration—and finally started explaining.

“Look. A knight’s strike always carries Will.”

Enkrid knew that much.

Roman took it further.

Why couldn’t he block Oara’s sword?

So he asked. And Oara told him—

“She swirled her Will.”

It was an abstract answer, but whether by luck or through deep reflection, Roman eventually found clarity.

He chose a direction—and walked it.

“I channeled Will from my fingertips to my toes. When I swung, I made sure my entire body was filled with it.”

It wasn’t easy to explain.

“Don’t we already do that?”

Enkrid asked. He too used Will like that. When thrusting with full strength, when accelerating in a flash.

He had done that with his White Lightning. Same for that slash he called “the giant’s last ounce of strength.”

As Roman spoke, another spider approached—he smashed its head in with a single punch.

A spider skull, shattered in one blow.

No wonder he was a junior knight.

That was when the monsters prepared inside the Demon Realm began to emerge.

Five trolls. A bipedal spider. Two owlbears.

This time, there was one more owlbear. And trolls too.

But there was far less of that deadly tension they’d once felt.

Ironically, watching Enkrid trying to learn something had boosted the morale of the group.

It wasn’t planned.

As a result, even the monster arrows came later than usual.

Oara wiped her eyes as she climbed down from the wall.

“Haah… I almost died laughing.”

Not exactly what a knight nicknamed "The Smiling Oara" was supposed to say.

“So, got anything else to add?”

Even as the air shifted, Enkrid didn’t stop asking, and Roman clicked his tongue.

“Do you use Will when you grab a fork? When you draw your sword? When you take your stance?”

Roman’s point was simple:

Control every movement—down to the tiniest muscle.

For what purpose?

All for that single strike.

Only then did Enkrid fully understand Roman’s point.

Until the next new today, Enkrid repeated what Roman had said—but of course, it wasn’t easy.

It felt hopeless.

He’d heard it, but he couldn’t do it.

Was Will something that moved just because you wanted it to?

That was the start.

When someone meets even the faintest light in the pitch dark, they begin to talk of hope.

But Enkrid had never let go of the rope. He’d never once given up.

So he didn’t talk of hope.

But what he’d gotten from Roman burned in his chest.

What was he doing now?

Imitating.

Just like how he imitated Ragna’s sword.

But could he perfectly copy a knight’s strike?

The answer was simple: no.

Why?

Because every knight walks a different path.

Each of their blades was unique.

That was something he’d learned from experience.

The knight from Azpen, Ragna, the Mercenary King, Shinar—they’d all shown him that.

So he couldn’t just mimic—he had to find his own path.

This was the beginning.

Enkrid began studying what made a strike worthy of a knight.

To do that, he had to go through 162 more todays.

Only then did he reach the realm of understanding.

No—it wasn’t in his head. It was in the place where the body reacts before the mind.

“To hold Will from the tip of your toe to the tip of your finger in every movement—that’s it, right?”

On the next newly repeated today, when he asked again with understanding in his voice, Roman’s eyes went wide.

“You fucking prodigies…”

And with that, Roman misunderstood.

Enkrid didn’t bother correcting him.

Now, it was time to start what he’d planned.