Eternally Regressing Knight

Jaxen slipped away as soon as he was out of Jebikal’s line of sight. There was no need to notify anyone separately.

‘That barbarian.’

Every time Jaxen disappeared, Jevikal seemed to sense his movements. While part of it was intentional—a trail left for detection—it still demonstrated Jebikal’s sharp awareness.

There was no sound, no visible trace.

Sliding through the brush, Jaxen moved so subtly that the grass shifted no more than if a single bee had landed.

Utilizing his expertise, avoiding the fool Jevikal’s gaze was effortless.

Thus, Jaxen infiltrated the area where the hostages were being held.

Once out of sight, his swift pace had paid off.

‘Not the sort of thing I’d do for free.’

He hadn’t been hired for this task, neither through the guild nor personally. Was he working too hard for nothing?

The fleeting doubt barely surfaced before it faded away.

His body moved on its own.

It was an unfamiliar sensation, though not unpleasant.

After all, he was a member of the Mad Company for now.

Entering the abandoned hut, he was met with a voice.

“How did you—?”

Bell, recognizing Jaxen, questioned him.

“Easily.”

Jaxen replied curtly, then sliced through the ropes binding Bell’s wrists and ankles.

With a few more movements of his dagger, the rest of the hostages were freed in moments.

Jaxen then led them to the back of the hut, toward a small storage room.

A cramped and sealed area—why were they going there?

As doubt filled their eyes, Bell, who had entered first, asked, “Did you break through the wall?”

Jaxen silently pointed outside.

Instead of using the door, he had carved a new exit at the back of the hut with his blade.

A back door, in essence.

The ease with which he had sliced through the wall was thanks to his unique magical weapon, but there was no need to explain that. He wasn’t obligated to answer such questions.

Jaxen had done his part.

“Get out.”

He hadn’t expected the enemy to keep their word, so he took matters into his own hands. Clearing these people out of the way would also help their eccentric leader.

The key now was to remain unseen.

If he didn’t, the woman caught in the grasp of that irritating, smirking man might end up dead.

‘The Commander swore to protect her.’

So he would help make that happen.

Jaxen couldn’t help but think this was unlike him.

‘Saving instead of killing?’

How utterly ill-fitting for someone like him.

And without compensation, no less.

But it was what his Commander wanted.

After ensuring all the hostages were freed, Jaxen peered out of the window to assess the fight’s progress.

***

A giant charged forward, and a snake-like blade lunged toward Enkrid’s back. Enkrid moved just in time, and that was when Jaxen caught sight of him.

Enkrid placed his left hand against the charging shield, unleashing the Heart of the Beast in a powerful burst.

Rather than resisting directly, he redirected the force to the side.

The momentum shifted, and immediately after, a massive blade descended vertically—a follow-up attack from the half-giant. The shield strike had merely been the precursor.

Simultaneously, a sharp thrust came from behind.

Enkrid deflected the shield, blocked the snake-like sword with his shoulder guard, and shifted his stance, stepping his right foot backward.

It was a technique to redirect force, something Audin had taught him.

Moving fluidly, he swung his blade upward. Meeting the descending sword, he released half his strength, allowing the force to flow away.

It was a soft deflection—an application of the Sense of Evasion honed through relentless practice.

All of this transpired in the span of half a breath.

Thud. Ting. Clang! Shhhriiing!

He redirected the shield, blocked the snake sword with his shoulder, and parried the downward blade.

Sparks flew, but the impacts were negligible, leaving him enough energy for the next move.

Finishing his sequence, Enkrid kicked the half-giant’s shin with the tip of his boot.

Crack!

The giant endured it and swung the shield like a club.

At the same time, the snake-like sword aimed for his back once more.

Enkrid calmly deflected, blocked, and redirected again.

His movements adhered strictly to the basics, yet they were strangely seamless.

“How is that even possible?”

While Jebikal’s mind swirled with questions, the half-giant had no such doubts.

In that instant, she understood Enkrid’s movements.

‘Faster, stronger, more flexible.’

If one could outpace their opponent, anticipate their moves, and wield superior strength, such movements were indeed feasible.

‘Ah.’

Her techniques were being read. The half-giant almost found herself intoxicated by the thrill of battle but couldn’t allow herself to succumb.

“Take this!”

Jevikal’s shout came from behind.

Ssssssshh!

An ashen-faced hostage was hurled through the air, too terrified to even scream.

A living projectile aimed directly at Enkrid. It wasn’t something he could simply deflect—an excruciatingly troublesome kind of weapon.

The hem of their skirt was damp, likely from sheer terror.

Time slowed. Enkrid’s gaze shifted to the hostage and then to Jevikal.

Meanwhile, the snake-like sword slithered toward his ankle.

Enkrid’s body twisted entirely.

The half-giant readied herself, whether to strike with her shield or sword.

Wasn’t that the whole point of her positioning?

Why had the fight been staged with Enkrid at the center?

Even though they’d been played by that conniving tongue, all for this moment.

And yet, her hand refused to move.

Enkrid responded to the approaching snake-like sword with a sharp kick of his boot.

There was a snap as the tip of his boot was sliced off, but his toes remained unharmed.

The flying hostage was caught softly.

With a deft motion, he absorbed the weight with his knees, twisting to disperse the momentum.

If this were a competition for catching flying humans, he would have easily taken the gold.

“Are you alright?”

Enkrid’s question was directed at Juri, who made marmalade. She still couldn’t speak, too shaken to respond.

“I can’t do this.”

The husky voice from behind belonged to the half-giant.

“Is that so?”

Enkrid glanced back and replied nonchalantly.

“Yes, I can’t.”

She nodded.

This wasn’t the kind of fight she had wanted. This wasn’t an opponent she was meant to kill. Though ordered to do so, her hands refused to act.

‘This isn’t right.’

Her mind rejected it, and her heart stopped her hands.

Though she knew it wasn’t how things should be, she simply couldn’t bring herself to strike.

The half-giant gave up.

Unbeknownst to all, this was tantamount to giving up her life.

It was, effectively, suicide.

Yet—

‘I doubt I’ll regret it.’

She thought as she lowered her hands, abandoning any further intent to fight.

“You crazy woman!”

Jevikal shouted from behind. Without waiting for a response, he sprinted away.

Where was he headed?

Straight to the hut where the hostages had been held. His speed was remarkable, but Enkrid had ways to stop him.

He could throw a dagger or charge after him. Even if it didn’t completely stop him, it could delay him long enough. With luck, he might not reach the hut at all.

But there was no need.

Jevikal flung open the door of the hut. Enkrid watched his actions quietly.

The image of the snake-like blade flashed in his mind.

‘The tip of my boot was sliced.’

He had intended to deflect it after dodging, but the blade had twisted unpredictably at the last moment.

How should he counter this in the future?

Seven possible methods came to mind. The experience he had accumulated over time now flourished, ingrained in his body.

Fel might have fastened the last button, but the rest had already been secured long ago. And when a button couldn’t be fastened, he had stitched it together, or even crafted a new one.

There was no need to thank Fel.

“…Damn it.”

Jevikal muttered.

It was only natural to curse.

The hut was, of course, empty.

‘Because Jaxen was here.’

Enkrid had anticipated this. Jevikal clearly hadn’t.

“Surprised?”

Enkrid asked as he began lowering the hostage in his arms.

The half-giant extended her hands.

“I won’t hurt her.”

Not only had she refrained from attacking, but she also wouldn’t harm the hostage.

It was only natural.

Enkrid handed the woman over to the half-giant, who gently placed her on the ground.

Enkrid then walked toward Jevikal.

Slowly, steadily.

The rain-soaked ground squelched with each step.

The wet earth clung to his boots, their sound drawing Jebikal’s attention.

“You smuggled out the hostages? You liar!”

Look at that—his shamelessness rivaled Rem’s.

To stab someone in the back and then call them a liar?

“Quite the thick skin you have.”

Enkrid no longer had the luxury to smile.

Jevikal gripped his blade in one hand and the dangling snake-like sword in the other, preparing his stance.

Enkrid raised his sword behind his head, placing his free hand by his right ear.

It was the killing strike stance of the heavy blade—The Stance of Wrath.

“To cut down a charging lion or cleave through unyielding steel.”

Ragna’s words came to mind, and the stance came naturally to him.

If the snake-like blade was troublesome, how should he handle it? If it lunged back after being deflected? The answer was simple: cut everything down.

‘There is nothing in this world that cannot be cut. If I fail to cut something, it’s because I lack skill—or the right tools.’

That was what Ragna had said.

That mad sloth of a man—but his genius was undeniable. Learning the sword from him had been a stroke of luck.

“Hey, I’m going to kill you.”

Jevikal let his intact blade drop with a sharp ting as he spoke.

Kill me? How?

Enkrid’s confidence wasn’t arrogance.

Jebikal wasn’t his equal.

Even before meeting Fel, Enkrid could have handled him.

If he had resolved to endure injury, he could have killed him then.

Of course, that was before Jevikal started using the snake-like blade.

Now?

He wouldn’t lose. He could cut it. He would cut it.

This repeated determination planted a small seed in Enkrid’s heart.

It was a formless energy born from rejecting defeat. Though it hadn’t sprouted yet, the seed had undeniably been sown.

“Come on, then.”

He spoke.

“Yeah, you bastard.”

Jevikal, cornered, reached into his coat.

A bullet technique? Was he going to throw something?

Enkrid’s expectations were off. What Jebikal pulled out was a scroll.

It was a tool, an artifact Enkrid had never seen before in his life.

A scroll, an exceedingly rare item.

So, it was something that stored a spell, to be activated at a critical moment.

Magic was mysterious, and spells were peculiar things.

“Explode!”

With that shout, Jevikal threw the scroll above Enkrid.

Enkrid didn’t recognize it as a scroll—how could he? It was the first time he had seen such an artifact.

However, his instincts warned him.

Something was about to happen with that scroll.

And then, it did.

Fwoosh!

The scroll ignited, summoning a massive fireball that surged downward.

It wasn’t as fast as an arrow, so it was avoidable.

But from the moment he had assumed his stance, Enkrid had etched the surrounding area into his mind.

‘If I dodge?’

The fireball would pass behind him. In its path stood the half-giant and the terrified woman.

Even if the half-giant blocked it with her shield, what if it exploded?

The rescued woman would die.

Enkrid’s mind accelerated.

He evaluated everything in an instant, reached a conclusion, and extracted the best response he could from the Wrath Stance.

Thud!

He dashed toward the oncoming fireball.

His feet pushed off the ground, his breath steady, his sword raised. His grip, the balance of his body in motion, and the alignment of his sword all unified into one seamless movement.

Boom!

It sounded like an explosion.

To Jevikal’s eyes, Enkrid’s figure blurred and seemed to stretch.

‘Idiot!’

Jevikal was convinced of his victory.

What kind of swordsman charges a fireball with nothing but a blade?

If it hit him, that was the end. He’d be gravely injured, unable to stop Jebikal.

The half-giant woman had stepped back, but she wouldn’t interfere.

Victory! Elation!

The thrill of imminent triumph mixed with the release of pent-up bloodlust from suppressing his killing instincts.

Cornered only to break free, Jevikal’s mind also accelerated in this pivotal moment.

For an instant, their thoughts intersected.

When Enkrid’s stretched figure reached the fireball, his most logical action in the Wrath Stance manifested.

He pivoted on his left foot, channeling rotational force from his toes to his waist and into his arms—a diagonal slash of the heavy blade.

Whoosh!

Everything happened in an instant.

On a tree beside the hut, Jaxen’s brows twitched as he watched.

‘He cut it?’

From the Wrath Stance, Enkrid’s blade delivered a decisive strike.

The fireball, flying straight for him, split into two along the diagonal path of his slash.

The divided flames fell to either side of Enkrid.

Boom! Boom! KA-BOOM!

Explosions erupted. The wet ground dried instantly, dirt and debris scattering everywhere.

Bits of stone, now fiery embers, zipped past Enkrid’s head and struck his back.

After exerting such force, Enkrid knelt on his left knee. For a brief moment, he replayed the instant he cut the fireball before standing again.

“Hmm. It can be cut.”

His tone of admiration was excessively plain.

If it worked, good. If it hadn’t, he figured he’d get a little singed.

Half his face might have been burned away.

But to Enkrid, his appearance mattered less than the refusal to retreat or give up.

And so, Enkrid cut through magic itself.

———————————————————————-
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