Eternally Regressing Knight

229. Should I fix my broken head first?

“If I get hit one more time, I might really die. Are you going to keep going?”

Although it wasn’t time for bed yet, the sun had set, and the evening was growing dark. Rem, scratching his toes, asked the question.

It was a remarkably indifferent attitude.

Before washing up, Enkrid was cleaning his sword and checking his equipment.

Next to him, Jaxen was cleaning his dagger with linseed oil. His touch wasn’t delicate, but it was skillful.

He was a talented guy, with many skills.

Enkrid casually responded.

“I won’t die.”

To be precise, even if he did die, he would just come back.

He had nearly died facing the hybrid giant.

He had come close to the edge of death in his battle against Jevikal.

Even the swordsmanship of Edin Molson’s guard was no joke. It was a duel with real blades, and of course, it was common to be stabbed somewhere if things went wrong.

From the perspective of an ordinary person, it might seem like he was desperately trying to get himself killed.

A fight where carelessness could lead to death. Normally, this would be something to stop, but his superior was a true lunatic who actually enjoyed this kind of thing.

However, was it right to face that ‘intimidation’ head-on?

If he didn’t have the strength to break free and win right now, it would be like jumping off a cliff with nothing but his bare hands, or like leaping onto a sharp rock.

“Going up against a heavily armored cavalry with only a quill pen is pretty much the same thing.”

Ragna chimed in, dressed in casual clothes with wet hair, as if he had just finished washing.

It was a sign that it was all pointless.

Didn’t Audin and Jaxen think the same?

Both had said similar things while going about their tasks.

“It’s fine.”

But Enkrid thought differently. Was it because there was a way? Or because there was a way to handle it?

No, that wasn’t it.

It was simply because he knew that once something appeared in front of him, retreating would make it impossible to move forward.

The Beast’s Heart, Focus of Concentration, Sensory Blade, the Isolation Technique had granted him talent. However, they didn’t turn him into a genius beyond others.

So, what changed?

Nothing. There was always something to learn, something to practice, something to gain. So why should he avoid it?

Ragna was stimulated by seeing Enkrid not give up.

‘Will.’

Though he didn’t perfectly control his power, it wouldn’t be wrong to say he knew how to use it.

He just couldn’t use the technique of intimidation.

No, even if he could use it, controlling it freely would be a different issue.

In other words, he couldn’t prepare him for it in advance.

A sharp sensation pierced his chest.

And it was the first time he had experienced such a longing. A thirst, something others would call ambition if they knew.

‘Higher.’

Ragna quietly sank into himself.

Everyone was on a break, a resting period. It was also the evening when Esther had turned into her human form.

Now, she had to be in her human form once or twice a month, as she had said.

Esther’s eyes turned toward Enkrid. Actually, she had been looking at him for a while. It was only now that Enkrid noticed her gaze.

Her eyes were captivating. They were like a blue lake, or the deep blue of a moonlit night.

With those eyes, Esther had been staring at Enkrid when she finally spoke.

“How foolish.”

Enkrid was used to hearing this. In some ways, he was quick-witted and perceptive, but when it came to swords and his dream, he was stubborn to the point of being foolish.

Enkrid was well aware of this, so her words weren’t meant as an insult.

“Can you only become human once a month?”

In response to Enkrid’s question, Esther replied that it wasn’t his concern.

To be precise, she could turn into a human as many times as she wanted, but she still preferred being a leopard.

However, Esther also had plenty of tasks to take care of in her human form.

She hadn’t forgotten, but she had put off adjusting the world of her spell and fixing the golem she had obtained earlier.

The world of spells grew dull if it wasn’t regularly tended to, like a blade losing its sharpness.

“Foolish? His head is broken, I told you.”

Rem laughed, tapping his head with the hand that had been scratching his toes.

Enkrid neatly ignored him. It was that kind of evening. Audin was meditating, Ragna had already gone to bed, and just then, Bell arrived.

“Someone came to challenge you. What do we do?”

Bell coming to fetch him in the middle of the night meant that the challenger was quite skilled.

“Anyone who comes at night always has something shady going on.”

Krais muttered from behind, rummaging through his belongings. He had finished cleaning his dagger and seemed to be looking for something.

“I’ll just check it out.”

Shady or not, a breakthrough was needed at this point.

A duel with a new opponent—that was Enkrid’s breakthrough.

Although the rapier swordsman didn’t acknowledge it, Enkrid felt that his skill had improved through fighting the giant, Jevikal, Molson’s guard, and the rapier swordsman.

To others, it might seem small and insignificant, but he had definitely grown.

Training and reflecting on his sword, they had helped him.

He believed this duel would be the same—something that would help.

Bell asked if he was going alone, and Enkrid casually nodded.

There wouldn’t be any immediate danger.

The others, including Rem, weren’t that concerned.

That was understandable. Many had asked for duels in the middle of the night before.

Some of them were afraid their reputation would drop if they lost in front of spectators, so they came secretly.

Others claimed they couldn’t showcase their techniques publicly.

Both were valid reasons.

Enkrid generally respected his opponents.

After all, just the fact that someone came to challenge him was a pleasant thing.

But that didn’t mean he would accept anyone.

It was natural to only accept opponents whose skills had been proven. And Bell was the gauge for that.

So, if Bell called him, the opponent was worthy of fighting.

“What happened? How did you lose?”

“I tried to use my sword, but he only used his fists and slapped me with his palm. It hurt.”

Bell mimicked the technique of the opponent. It seemed awkward and hard to gauge.

They then left for the city gate.

Under the light of the torches, a man with reddish-brown hair appeared. His face was youthful, and his arms were long.

Using the skills he had learned from the Isolation Technique, Enkrid assessed his opponent’s abilities.

‘Long arms, good balance.’

The well-balanced body and long arms were excellent conditions for wielding a sword.

“I’m the soldier who ended the war”

Enkrid stepped forward and spoke.

The wind that blew from behind caused the torch’s flame to flicker to one side.

Thanks to that, the shadows between the two tangled and then fell apart.

“Ah, it’s you?”

The opponent’s eyes widened. They weren’t particularly bright or clear, but there was no malice or intent to kill in them.

This was someone who had probably killed people before, but seemed to have a clear standard, a belief or something similar. Someone who appeared to have their own principles.

Of course, it was just a guess.

You couldn’t know a person just by their appearance.

A playful look could also be seen across his face. While Rem’s youthful face carried the mischievous cunning of a seasoned devil, this one had the pure, innocent feel of a child.

“I’m sorry for coming so late.”

The opponent apologized first, bowing his head slightly.

He then observed Enkrid with his eyes. His posture was good.

“It’s fine.”

The man’s gaze scanned Enkrid’s entire body. From his chest to his toes, and then back up again.

He spoke without hiding his stare.

“You’ve got a well-trained body.”

The emotion in the voice when he spoke was noticeable—was that an exaggeration?

It didn’t seem like it.

“Where are you from?”

Enkrid asked, hiding his anticipation.

“A shepherd from the wilderness.”

It wasn’t a long conversation. To be honest, it was rather trivial.

Enkrid had gotten used to the somewhat embarrassing title of the soldier who ended the war.

It meant that many had come to challenge him.

But he hadn’t expected someone like this to show up.

A shepherd from the wilderness. Literally, a group with absurd combat strength that lived in the wilderness, herding sheep.

Their history and traditions were said to date back even before the Empire’s rise.

Well, that didn’t change anything. If anything, it only increased his anticipation.

The wilderness was a land teeming with monsters and beasts.

And to herd sheep there? Clearly, these people were no ordinary folks.

“Let’s go.”

At Enkrid’s words, the shepherd moved.

The speed of their feet was startling.

Before the opponent’s sword could even be drawn, Enkrid’s blade split the darkness first.

Cling! Whoosh!

He drew and struck in one motion. It was a medium-sword style draw cut, an upward slash.

Through the blade slicing the air, Enkrid could see the gleam in the opponent’s eyes.

Before long, a dagger appeared in the opponent’s hand.

And Enkrid felt that a line had been drawn between them.

Ping.

A high-pitched sound rang out, and the dagger’s speed was incredibly fast.

Before Enkrid could fully register it, the dagger was already right in front of him.

Enkrid pushed down with his left foot, twisting his body and leaning backward.

It was a reflexive reaction.

The sense of evasion kicked in.

The dagger then sharply changed direction, taking an angular path.

In that instant, Enkrid switched his sword to a single grip.

Enkrid reached for his waist with his empty left hand and pulled out a black-bladed dagger to block the opponent’s dagger. It was a weapon he had obtained after defeating the Black Blade Bandits earlier.

Clang!

The two daggers clashed, sending sparks flying.

In that brief moment, Enkrid pulled his right-hand sword.

He didn’t slash but drew it in a straight line.

The opponent didn’t retreat; instead, he found his distance.

It was the range where short weapons like a dagger would be effective.

Enkrid’s blade was angled to meet the opponent’s dagger.

Ka-cha-cha-ching!

Sparks flew from the close-range clash, but neither of them flinched.

Neither had a chance to catch their breath. The battle had entered a phase of intense, rapid exchanges.

It was as though there was no world outside of the two of them, as if failure meant death.

With the moonlight shattering and dirt flying, they fought, isolated from everything around them.

The opponent’s hands became faster. Enkrid’s own hands and feet also moved more quickly.

The shepherd of the wilderness was skilled in hand-to-hand combat as well.

Enkrid didn’t back down either.

Neither of them had gained the upper hand when Enkrid suddenly lost all awareness of the surroundings.

The place, the weather, the situation, the opponent—everything vanished.

His heart pounded, craving short breaths. In that exchange, Enkrid had become lost in the moment. He had been immersed, drawn in.

It was a sensation similar to when he had fought Mitch Huryer.

In an instant, Enkrid grabbed the opponent’s extended elbow and shattered their will with sheer strength.

Enkrid hadn’t calculated his move or understood the sequence of his actions.

It had all been done purely on instinct and sensation.

He pushed the elbow towards his own right side, then moved his foot to position himself behind the opponent. With a swift motion, he raised his sword horizontally and placed it against the opponent’s neck.

With his back secured, Enkrid moved his sword between his body and the blade.

He pressed the opponent’s elbow, twisting their body, and prepared to perform a guillotine cut.

Enkrid pulled the sword, not hesitating. It was just moments away from victory when—

Thwack!

He felt resistance from the blade.

Enkrid knew that his sword was not ordinary.

Yet, the blade had been blocked.

Somehow, the sword at the opponent’s waist had wedged between Enkrid’s blade and their neck.

The sword now looked more like a mere stick than a weapon.

Ha!

The shepherd let out a battle cry. At the same time, he twisted his body, then slammed his back into Enkrid’s chest. Despite Enkrid’s overwhelming strength, he was pushed back.

The opponent’s strength was formidable.

The shepherd turned his body. In his eyes now was the intent to kill.

Enkrid could not afford to lose, and so he gathered his own killing intent.

From below, stepping out with his left foot, he executed the Greatsword Strike again.

Power, weight, rotation, and timing.

Everything aligned perfectly, and Enkrid felt a surge of exhilaration.

At the same moment, his rising sword met the opponent’s staff.

Crash!

A sound like an explosion rang out. Along with it, the scabbard shattered, and the blade sprang out from inside.

Enkrid reacted, but he couldn’t stop the blade from grazing his forehead.

Immediately after the cut, the opponent mumbled and quickly retreated.

The immersion was broken.

“Ah, I wasn’t supposed to use this.”

The muttering reached Enkrid’s ears, a beat too late.

“Damn. I’m sorry.”

The man spoke.

“Wha…”

Enkrid couldn’t finish his sentence.

What was going on?

Something began to seep into his body from his forehead.

Poison?

No, it was something else entirely.

“Excuse me, are there any priests nearby? If we hurry, maybe you can still live… though, it’s probably too late.”

The shepherd seemed flustered, speaking out of order.

A terrible pain started from his forehead and spread throughout his body. At the same time, a scream echoed from somewhere.

“Well, you see, this… you shouldn’t just cut people down recklessly… this sword cuts a person’s soul. The moment you’re cut, if you can endure it, you might survive. But… I think it’s too late.”

The shepherd rambled, offering unnecessary explanations.

Enkrid felt something tightening around his heart, unable to process the shepherd’s words.

The shepherd was right.

He couldn’t understand everything, but the last part — that it was too late — was clear to him.

Something had overtaken his mind that he could not overcome with everything he had learned.

His vision darkened.

He had thought he had faced countless challenges before, but this kind of death was something new.

Something was tearing and prodding at his head.

It was something mental.

Enkrid’s forehead felt like it was being burned with black scorch marks.

Yet, he did not feel unjust.

Immersion and concentration.

It had truly been a meaningful moment.

It was hard to determine who was superior in skill, his or the opponent’s.

The shepherd fought well.

The advantage of the weapon? If this were a life-or-death battle, using the weapon was the right choice.

Though, now it was a sparring match, and he had gotten too caught up in the fight, which led to this situation.

He hadn’t meant to cut, it was a reflexive reaction. He didn’t mind that. He had done the same.

Enkrid could not bring himself to blame the opponent.

In the final Guillotine Cut, he had intended to strike the opponent’s neck as well.

If he had hesitated, he would have lost.

What was it, though?

There were moments when you didn’t want to lose, no matter how much you fought.

He felt something similar from the opponent right now.

‘Why?’

It wasn’t that he didn’t care about victory, but if there was something to learn from this day, he didn’t mind the loss.

If it had been different, he would have fought to the death, no matter who it was, whether it was Jevikal or anyone else.

Enkrid was used to strategizing and retrospection.

That’s why it was easy to understand his complicated feelings.

‘Ah.’

A brief realization struck him.

The opponent in front of him resembled the young boy he had met when he was wandering the continent.

The one who, despite having only held a sword for six months, had created a hole in Enkrid’s side.

Of course, this wasn’t the same child grown up, but the opponent reminded him of that moment.

The position, the time, the weather — everything was the same. Even the innocence in the opponent’s face.

That was why he didn’t want to lose.

The child who had broken his beginnings came to mind.

He had once made that child his goal for a while.

“Anyway, sorry for killing you.”

The shepherd also acted similarly. He gave a half-hearted bow.

This guy.

Sorry, but there was nothing that could be done. The shepherd turned around and added one last remark.

“If you somehow survive, let’s call it a debt. I’m Shepherd Pell.”

He quickly walked away, seemingly aware of how troublesome staying would be.

Enkrid collapsed forward.

As he fell, the only thought in his head was whether this was poison or something else.

A sudden blackout, dying from a wound on his forehead. This was death.

Just before dying, he heard the woman’s eerie scream, and cries like those coming from the depths of hell.

It was strange.

When he closed his eyes and opened them again, he saw the familiar dark river.

The ferryman was holding a violet lantern and smiling.

“Do you think you can survive knowing?”

The ferryman asked.

Enkrid responded flatly.

“It doesn’t matter if I know.”

If he was cut by the sword, he would die. So, he just had to avoid being cut.

No, even if he was cut.

‘Once more.’

He wanted to experience that moment of immersion again.

He wanted to fight the shepherd again.

Regardless of victory or defeat, just fighting itself with such a person filled him with joy.

Enkrid was sincere in this desire.

“…Shouldn’t you fix that broken head first?”

After hearing those words, Enkrid lost consciousness again.

By the way, did the ferryman hear the sounds from the outside?

The “broken head” phrase that Rem keeps bringing up had reached this place.

In any case, Rem was the problem.

It was a new day again.

“If you do it again, you might die.”

It was another evening like the last.

“I don’t care. You should teach Dunbakel properly, Rem.”

“…Why do I feel like you’re treating me worse than usual?”

Rem expressed his doubts, but Enkrid didn’t answer.

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Come back tomorrow for 3 more chapters!

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