Eternally Regressing Knight

“What’s with that bastard?”

Lykanos had heard the name Enkrid and had a general idea of his abilities—or so he thought.

That’s why he revealed his hidden trump card, confident of an absolute victory.

Yet, Enkrid evaded it, managing to inflict only a temporary injury on one arm—not even a decisive blow.

“Ha.”

For Lykanos, it was baffling. Never before had he drawn his sword and failed to achieve his intended goal.

This was a blade known to only two people in the entire world.

A weapon designed for speed-based thrusts, with hidden blades within a flail. And somehow, this man—who wasn’t even a knight—avoided it.

The swordplay didn’t end there.

Even after losing an eye, Lykanos signaled his forces. He had prepared a secondary blade just in case.

“Kill him.”

His handpicked unit charged but failed to kill their target.

“One eye down, and still…”

Half his world was now covered in darkness.

Though medicinal herbs had been crushed and applied to his injured eye, they couldn’t alleviate the pain entirely.

It hurt.

Unless a high-ranking cleric appeared out of nowhere, the loss of his eye was inevitable. That fact alone irritated him.

Failure and injury.

With these two setbacks, frustration bubbled within him.

“What a cursed situation. Hoo.”

With a single curse and a deep breath, Lykanos suppressed his emotions.

“Are the preparations ready?”

He asked afterward, and an immediate reply came, “Yes.”

Recalling his orders, Lykanos calmed himself.

Getting riled up wouldn’t change anything.

If his hidden technique and handpicked forces failed, did that mean there was no next step? Of course not.

Lykanos wasn’t a genius strategist, but he had survived long enough in this world to learn one thing:

“Humans are creatures with weaknesses.”

No one was without flaws—not even those lauded as geniuses.

The trick was finding them. How?

By probing and testing. Using every method available. Trying this and that until something worked. If even one tactic hit its mark, that was success.

No one was immune to a blade piercing their flesh.

That applied even to knights. A single lapse in vigilance, and the blade could penetrate skin, muscle, and delve deep into vital organs.

“Probe him. No matter what it takes, find out what makes that bastard tick.”

From the very beginning, the Black Blade operated as an intelligence-gathering entity.

Their reach extended deep into Aspen, uncovering secrets about border guards, religious zealots, and even Marcus’s forces.

They had investigated Enkrid, too.

“Being good with a sword isn’t everything.”

Initially, they had tried persuasion.

The Black Blade could offer anything—gold, women, power.

The plan was to tame him, turn him into their tool.

But Enkrid didn’t even pretend to listen.

“No interest?”

Lykanos couldn’t fathom such a man.

When persuasion failed, the next step was elimination—an easy solution.

Although it was regrettable, plunging a blade into a man’s chest was no challenge.

Yet again, the attempt failed.

“Not even that?”

Neither assassination, poison, nor bribery worked.

Was he truly without weaknesses?

The leader of the Black Blade personally intervened.

By analyzing Enkrid’s past, present behavior, emotions, and idiosyncrasies, he constructed a psychological profile, which he handed to Lykanos.

“A lunatic?”

Lykanos was taken aback. Enkrid was an idealist—a man who wielded his blade to save others.

A true madman.

It wasn’t without reason that people called him “The Madman.”

Even the tale of his last duel spread far and wide, carried by countless storytellers who eagerly sold their accounts for a few coins.

“Would he really surrender just because hostages are taken?”

Was it because of overconfidence in his skills?

Or perhaps a genuine desire to save others?

Through countless resources and information, they constructed a plan.

“Will this work?”

Lykanos wasn’t certain. It was a gamble, one he wouldn’t have attempted if Enkrid had died by his blade or his men’s weapons.

The plan itself was simple: infiltrate the Border Guard, kidnap a few children, and send them back with scrolls wrapped around their bodies.

The scrolls contained a volatile explosive magic spell.

This scrolls were relics of a fallen kingdom.

The magic was powerful but could only detonate at close range. It was so unstable that the caster would often perish without adequate protection.

But what if the caster’s death didn’t matter?

By binding the spell to scrolls and attaching them to individuals, and carefully controlling activation, it became a viable tactic.

Though resource-intensive and risky, its potential to disrupt the battlefield was undeniable.

Lykanos chose to act rather than hesitate. Sometimes, action was more important than deliberation. Now was one of those times.

Sometimes, actions mattered more than overthinking.

Now was one of those times.

Lykanos resurrected a tactic once pioneered by the strategists of the old kingdom.

“Will this really work?” one of his subordinates asked doubtfully.

In a world of killing and being killed, what could they accomplish with some half-familiar brat?

People valued their lives above all else. Even if their own mothers were killed, most would prioritize survival.

Besides, would the enemy even recognize the child? Nobles’ lands were full of kids scurrying around.

“Want me to wrap it around your body and send you instead?”

Lykanos bared his fangs as he spoke, a green liquid trickling from his mouth, the remnants of some herbal concoction.

The sight was unsettling.

His subordinate lowered his head and moved to comply.

What an idiot, Lykanos thought with contempt.

This was what it meant to abandon morality for the sake of victory.

You kept probing until you found a crack in your enemy’s defenses.

The Black Blade thieves operated the same way.

They infiltrated the Border Guard under cover of night, sending in a handful of men disguised as robbers.

Though many were caught by some frog-like creature, beaten, killed, or driven off,

a few managed to kidnap a single child.

Barely.

Hearing this, Lykanos felt a dull ache in the back of his head.

Are these fools really part of the Black Blade bandits?

From the child’s perspective, it must’ve felt like the sky was falling. But would such a petty act disrupt the battlefield? No. It wouldn’t change anything.

A mother might despair at the loss of her child, but even she would know deep down that the child wouldn’t return. Such was the world they lived in.

Will this even work?

Even the subordinate tasked with wrapping the scroll around the child’s body seemed doubtful.

A mage muttered something incomprehensible in a hollow voice, his expression shadowed and grim.

“Everything’s ready.”

“Send him.”

The order came from an old mage, his bulbous strawberry-colored nose speckled with black spots.

Following his command, the child was pushed forward.

“P-please… Please spare me!”

The child, sobbing and trembling, begged as tears and snot ran down their face.

The bandit drew a dagger and lightly grazed the child’s cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.

“If you don’t want to die, do as you’re told. Now go.”

The child staggered forward, legs shaking, dragging their feet yet forcing themselves onward.

Tarning, the viscount, saw the captured child but paid no mind.

What’s the big deal about a kid or two dying?

Even if they were one of his own subjects, it wouldn’t matter. This was a rebel brat plucked from the Border Guard.

If the sacrifice of a few subjects could win him the war and make him the ruler of these lands, he would force it without hesitation.

Tarning’s ambition was boundless.

Overlord!

His vague desires and ambitions teetered on the edge of becoming reality, igniting his greed.

Thus, colluding with bandits, wrapping children in scrolls, or adorning them with iron thorns was trivial to him.

Even if they wore crowns of spikes, so be it.

“Go.”

At the bandit’s urging, the child continued forward, crossing the range of arrows and heading straight into enemy territory.

Trembling all the way, yet they kept moving.

The child walked toward their own homeland—the land they once lived in.

No arrow harmed them, and no one blocked their path.

Instead, someone stepped forward to meet them. Who it was didn’t matter.

The mage maintained their connection to the scroll wrapped around the child’s body, linking it to their own magic world.

It was a dangerous gamble. One slip-up, and their magic world would suffer severe damage. Even success would leave scars.

It was a reckless act, and thus an effective one.

What kind of lunatic mage would resort to such measures?

Only an old, diseased mage, driven more by greed than the pursuit of knowledge, could sink to such depths.

“Detonate.”

The mage whispered the command.

The ferryman’s eyes appeared, staring at him as the violet lantern swayed in his hand.

The voice, deep and intrusive, echoed again.

“Do you enjoy it?”

Enkrid hadn’t yet grasped what had happened. He only knew death.

Facing the dreamlike presence, he spoke.

“It’s been a while.”

Despite his greeting, the ferryman showed no emotion. Indifferent as ever, he responded.

“You won’t enjoy it.”

The black river receded as Enkrid opened his eyes, waking to face yet another repetitive day.

“Are you seriously going to keep this up?”

Krais’s voice reached him as he got up and prepared for the morning.

He ate heartily and checked his injuries. They hadn’t healed. He’d have to survive the day with this battered body.

He reviewed the last situation.

The Black Blade had kidnapped a child, placing something in their hands—or more accurately, wrapped it around their body—and sent them.

He’d pinpointed the source of the light.

A scroll?

What else could it be? Right before the child’s body seemed about to burst, a chilling sense of foreboding struck him.

Light, a flash, searing pain engulfing his body.

The sensation of being torn apart piece by piece.

It was a dread he’d felt before—a magical trap he’d encountered when his sixth sense had first awakened.

This time, there was no way to avoid it.

What a joke. Would they just let the child approach and shoot them down with arrows?

Yet, to kidnap a child, smuggle them out of Border Guard territory, and use a scroll—an expensive one, at that—for this scheme?

None of it had been easy.

“Ridiculous.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m the one feeling more ridiculous here,” Krais muttered, letting out a deep sigh.

“Yeah, sure,” Enkrid replied, dismissively.

He ignored the complaint and focused on thinking.

It was absurd, truly, but Enkrid had no intention of turning away.

A solution.

If something was in front of him, he would break through it, overcome it, and push past it.

Just like always.

Enkrid deliberately concentrated his thoughts in one direction.

The goal: a way to face and survive the explosive magic. To endure it. To surpass it. And if possible, to save the child as well.

How could he achieve all that?

Facing another repetitive day wasn’t a new ordeal for him.

The first name that came to mind was Esther.

A magician who embodied mystery, and if the scrolls involved a spell, she might resolve half the problem.

The issue, however, was that Esther needed to assume her human form to cast magic—a limitation she herself had explained.

Enkrid glanced down by his thigh.

There lay a Lake Panther, quietly resting on the floor.

When he placed his hand on her back and gently stroked her fur, she purred softly, seemingly pleased.

“Isn’t it about time you turned back into a human?”

Enkrid spoke as he ran his hand from Esther’s head down to her back.

“Turn back into a human. Yab!” he declared, almost whimsically.

He hadn’t said it with any real expectation.

However, everyone in earshot turned their attention to him, their gazes gathering.

Among them, Dunbakel stepped forward, placed a hand on Enkrid’s forehead, and muttered to herself, “…Does he have a fever?”

Watching this scene unfold, Krais shook his head silently.

“Good grief… Why do I even bother?” Krais groaned in frustration.

Esther, on the other hand, simply stared at him with languid eyes.

Her gaze seemed to ask, What are you doing?

“Never mind,” Enkrid said, pressing his palm once more against Esther’s head. She tilted her head slightly, then settled back into her original position, completely unbothered.

He hadn’t truly expected much from the attempt.

Esther still spent more time as a panther than as a human.

When in human form, she had once told him she could only maintain it briefly.

“Not even once a week, it seems,” Enkrid mused.

If only she could become human right now—not during some formal speech but here, in this critical moment—how helpful would that be?

Wishful thinking.

Esther had already proven herself capable in other ways.

She had single-handedly taken down a magic-wielding foe during their raid on a Black Blade-controlled village.

Her assistance was valuable, but reliance wasn’t an option.

Since when had he ever escaped a challenge by depending on someone else?

“This is my responsibility.”

The entire day was spent contemplating the situation.

When that spell triggered, the child would explode. That much was certain.

Dragging a chair over, Enkrid sat down, leaned forward, and rested his chin on his hand, lost in thought.

Nearby, Dunbakel tried coaxing Esther to turn into a human, only to have her hand bitten in return.

“Ouch!”

Teresa remained silent, as did Ragna and Audin.

In the brief silence that followed, Enkrid’s thoughts were interrupted by Krais’s weary voice.

“What are you thinking so hard about?”

Enkrid was aware of Krais’s knack for clever thinking. He lifted his eyes to meet Krais’s, then briefly explained the situation.

What if someone charged with a scroll wrapped around their body? How would he respond?

“What else? If you know ahead of time, you dodge or shoot them down with arrows.”

“That’s not an option.”

“What?”

“No.”

“Then what is it? Stop saying no and just do it!”

Though Krais grew irritable, Enkrid ignored him.

The cold, pragmatic logic of “Big Eyes” was correct: avoidance was the simplest solution.

But that wasn’t an option here.

Enkrid had wielded his sword to slash, pierce, and kill. He had cut down beasts, monsters, and even men.

He did so for duty and responsibility.

There was a grim satisfaction in it, if all he wanted was to revel in slaughter, he wouldn’t have aspired to be a knight.

“I swore to protect those behind me.”

That was why he fought. It was the source of his resolve and the root of his dream to become a knight.

If sacrificing a child was the only way to escape this situation…

If it had to be done…

Enkrid would do it.

But if it was merely a desperate attempt to escape today by discarding the child…

That was unacceptable.

A knight’s oath was born of conviction, and conviction stemmed from the heart.

Enkrid couldn’t achieve his dream by betraying his own heart.

The dream he sought, the kind of knight he wished to become, was not built on such actions.

That was why there were things he could never abandon.

The enemy’s ploy was utterly preposterous, but…

It was effective against him.

A scheme tailored to exploit his principles.