Eternally Regressing Knight

Chapter 333 – The Curse Unravels (2)
“Can we really just leave him there?”
The lieutenant of Lord Graham asked, glancing at his superior.
He wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do.
They had just left Enkrid with some noble—or was it a merchant?—and walked away.
While it felt appropriate since they had found the man, wasn’t this something the lord himself
could handle?
The thoughts swirling in his head couldn’t all be voiced, so he kept his question brief.
Lord Graham responded, sword in hand.
“And if we don’t leave him there? I’m still the lord. If they don’t like it, they can come and cut me
down.”
The lieutenant thought his lord had been treating his life far too lightly lately, but he couldn’t say
much.
Even he could see that if Enkrid put his mind to it, becoming a lord would be no great challenge.
More than anything, Lord Graham seemed ready to lay down his life at any moment.
“Understood.”
The lieutenant nodded.
There was nothing more to say.
Instead, he watched his lord, noticing a rare intensity in his expression.
Graham, half-closing his eyes, held his sword and slowly brought it downward.
A crushing sword?
Was the swordsmanship Enkrid displayed?
No, it wasn’t.
For the first time in ages, Graham’s heart was racing.
His chest throbbed with an uncontrollable yearning and desire that spiraled upward like a vortex.
The emotions fueled his movements.
Ah.
As he swung his sword repeatedly, a small realization struck his mind.
Graham recalled the training he had done yesterday, the day before, and for the past week.
He hadn’t been neglecting his drills.
But had he truly given it his all?
Had he done his best?
No.
He hadn’t.
He had grown complacent, content with maintaining the status quo.
Was he using the busyness of being a lord as an excuse?
Had he convinced himself there was no higher ground to reach?
The fiery determination he had when he first picked up a sword—had it faded completely?
Could he speak of these things in front of that guy?
That guy was none other than Enkrid.
The man who had dreamed of becoming a knight.
The man now walking that path.
When he first joined the unit, Enkrid had been a laughingstock.
A man rumored to do unspeakable things just to survive.
Someone who barely reached the level of a lowly soldier.
But Graham had seen Enkrid’s transformation.
It was only natural that he, too, would feel inspired.
Through the realization brought by the sword, Graham began reflecting on his entire life.
Being a lord doesn’t mean I must abandon the sword.
Graham knew he wasn’t particularly bright.
That was why he had delegated most of the administrative work to his lieutenant.
He had even assigned some tasks to the sharp-witted, big-eyed Krais from the so-called Madmen
Unit.
He had reduced his interactions with others to the bare minimum.
Now, he was at a point where he felt like he would lose his mind if he didn’t swing his sword.
The lieutenant couldn’t stop him.
He himself wasn’t immune to the same feeling.
“Would you care for a spar?”
The lieutenant, a veteran elite soldier from the heavy infantry unit, asked.
He wasn’t just Graham’s lieutenant; he was also his bodyguard.
Naturally, he, too, had witnessed Enkrid’s transformation, seen his actions on the battlefield, and
felt their impact.
It would be a lie to say he wasn’t affected.
“Let’s go at it. I’ll show you the difference between us.”
Graham nodded.
It wasn’t just the two of them.
The ripple had spread across the entire unit.
Even the fairy company commander, Shinar, wasn’t an exception.
She repeated the same movements over and over, wielding her practice staff.
She was honing her precision and finesse.
What had stirred her was the sight of Enkrid’s back when he stood against the knight.
I’ll Block it.
The vivid blade of emotion contained in those two words—Shinar had seen it.
Sensitivity allowed one to feel emotions, and sometimes, that became a way to read the
opponent’s intent.
While she couldn’t read everything, strong emotions—like a gust of wind—were surprisingly
easy to perceive.
The stronger the will, the clearer it became.
That was why Shinar could sense Enkrid’s feelings when he faced the knight.
Even if I die, even if I shatter, even if my heart is torn apart…
I will block it.
What kind of person could think like that?
A person who could focus on one thing so completely that everything else was forgotten.
And what fragment of emotion had surfaced in that singular determination?
It wasn’t fear—it was ecstasy.
Not because fear didn’t exist.
Not because he was immune to pain or suffering.
But because he wrapped it all in the thrill of it.
He enjoyed the moment, forgetting the agony.

He postponed the coming pain to live entirely in the present.
He seemed like someone who lived only for now.
He’s insane.
Shinar thought, her conclusion firm.
Even with his madness, with his mind seemingly broken…
She couldn’t help but feel a thrilling rush whenever she thought of him.
Fairies were supposed to suppress their emotions, to be immune to things like exhilaration.
But now, Shinar had forgotten all about that restraint.
The tips of her fingers danced with her staff.
Starting with delicate precision, she moved beyond forms and structures, letting go of
conventions.
The energy she had long held dormant surged wildly within her.
She let it.
She did not try to control it.
At this moment, she simply wanted to wield her staff.
Enkrid’s back had stirred something profound within her.
“Why wouldn’t I be able to do it?”
Enkrid’s actions had naturally inspired the soldiers of the unit, especially those who fancied
themselves skilled with a blade.
Some soldiers had even followed him from Greenpearl all the way here after witnessing his
prowess on the battlefield.
Upon arriving at Border Guard, they openly declared their skill and insisted on joining the
Madmen Unit.
It was enough to draw attention.
Naturally, one of the original Border Guard soldiers took notice and confronted him.
“You think you’re good in a fight? You sure do talk a lot.”
The soldier from Greenperl, unwilling to back down from the provocation, turned to the one
speaking. His name was Janssen.
“I’m good enough,” Janssen replied.
He had fought on the front lines in the last battle and had been training relentlessly after
watching Enkrid. He had undergone intense drills unlike anything he’d done before, and his
newfound confidence was evident.
“Bell, go easy on him,” another soldier muttered, glancing at Janssen.
The comment scratched at Janssen’s pride, and the soldier named Bell stepped forward with a
nod.
His stance was clear: he was ready to fight.
“You’re going to get hurt,” Janssen warned.
“Let’s find out,” Bell replied.
Bell, a member of the Madmen Unit who had undergone rigorous training, occasionally even
receiving specialized drills, did not hold back.
By midday, the Greenperl soldier was seeing stars.
Janssen found himself sprawled on the ground, having blocked Bell’s punch with his forehead
only to be struck on the temple by a counterpunch.
The difference in skill was undeniable, but even more apparent was the difference in mindset.
“Does it hurt?” Bell asked, wiping his brow. “There are plenty like me here.”
Janssen raised his head and introduced himself.
“Janssen.”
“Welcome aboard,” Bell said.
Janssen joined Bell’s squad immediately.
This wasn’t unique to Janssen.
Those who had witnessed Enkrid’s fights all threw themselves into training with renewed fervor.
Sweat poured from them like rain as they pushed their bodies to the limit, even without the usual
Madmen Unit drills.
It seemed like a camp full of maniacs, each soldier training as if possessed.
Of course, there were those who refrained, opting to rest instead. Some shirked entirely.
Participation was entirely voluntary, so no one forced anyone to train.
Yet even those who avoided it couldn’t ignore an instinctive thought:
What happens on the battlefield if I’m the only one slacking off?
The difference would undoubtedly show.
The ripple of inspiration continued to spread.
Rem was no exception.
He, too, began swinging his axe.
Though it was the tail end of winter, it was rare to see Rem without his thermal leather gear.
“Are you unwell?” Krais asked as he passed by, his concern evident.
“If you don’t want your head decorated with an axe, get lost,” Rem growled.
Krais quickly backed off.
Even Dunbakel, driven as though being chased, threw herself into her training. While Rem no
longer went out of his way to torment her, he still sparred with her, trained alongside her, and
offered advice when necessary.
“Are all beastkin as dense as you?” he asked once.
“That’s speciesist,” she retorted.
“So what? You want to die?”
Sometimes, it seemed like Rem was venting his frustrations, but it was all for the better.
Dunbakel absorbed everything, even as she endured the blows.
Audin, too, noticed the changes.
Ragna had changed. His commander had changed.
What did this make Audin feel?
A lot.
It made him reflect, if only briefly.
At least it was Ragna, he thought.
If it had been Rem…
If Rem had changed, the barbarian would have challenged him to endless duels, using his
superior skills to revel in the situation.
Ragna, however, had not done that.
He remained lazy, though not quite like before. He trained more, sparred regularly with the
commander, but refrained from provoking anyone unnecessarily.
Now, Ragna seemed oddly distant, gazing vacantly into space and rarely stepping out of the
barracks.
Even so, it was unsettling.
He’s moving ahead of me, Audin thought.
Is it time to break the restraints?
If Rem had been the one to change, this might have been a serious matter for contemplation.
But it wasn’t. Not yet.
Though Audin sought answers, he didn’t expect them to come from those who had imposed the
restraints on him.
And so—
“Retrace the paths you’ve walked. Within them lies the answer to what blocks your way.”
He recited sacred scripture and prayed.
That was what Audin did.
In the remaining time, he meticulously honed his body, one step at a time.
Steady accumulation—layer upon layer—was the source of Audin’s strength.
He reflected on the journey from the beginning to now.
He carefully reviewed the changes in his body.
That’s what he did.
As Enkrid advanced, so did the people around him. The ripple effect spread, stirring up the entire
barracks.
It was quiet, yet intense.
Intense, yet subtle.
The change within the barracks was undeniable.
While similar sparks had ignited some before, this time it was different—it even influenced the
entire city, including its lord.
“Could you possibly find a better offer than this?”
Enkrid had already forgotten the man’s name.
He thought about looking to Graham for support, but Graham was nowhere to be found.
When Count Molsan came or dealt with important guests, Graham made it a point to show up.
Now, faced with someone less significant, he had simply dumped the task on Enkrid.
Is this how you treat a war hero?
Even if calling himself a hero felt ridiculous, wasn’t it just as ridiculous to make him deal with
this nonsense?
Is this what a lord should do?
A sudden desire to spar with Graham surged within him. He figured he could learn a thing or
two, like how to fall gracefully, take a hit well, or even how to pass out without too much pain.
“She’s my daughter, the fairest in our territory!” the noble merchant croaked.
The man resembled a toad. His daughter, who was far more human-like, gave a shy smile and
averted her gaze.
Should I kill them both?
Of course not.
What about beating him up?
Enkrid could almost hear Krais’s nagging voice in his mind, asking if he was “turning into Rem
or something.”
It didn’t help that Shinar was preoccupied elsewhere, nor that Esther had shut herself away,
meditating.
Maybe I should’ve brought Rem.
At least he’d cause a scene big enough to end this quickly.
But no. He had sparred with Rem that morning, and even that routine being disrupted irked him.
Still, this wasn’t a place to vent.
As the conversation droned on, Enkrid retreated into his thoughts, imagining sparring scenarios.
In his mind, he was already busy fending off Rem’s blazing axe strikes.
I heard he used a sling once. How should I counter that?
He had no idea.
I’ll figure it out as I go.
He was itching to experience and learn through combat again.
Patience or not, Enkrid saw no purpose in this meeting. Enough time had been wasted—he had
even finished a whole cup of tea, though he had gulped it down.
“Well, what do you say?” the merchant pressed.
Enkrid simply stood up, delivering his answer with a bright, curt dismissal.
“That’ll be all.”
“Hey! Don’t you know who I am? I’m a noble and the head of trade in this region!” the merchant
blustered.
Enkrid didn’t even bother acknowledging the man with a glance. He was too eager to spar with
Rem’s axe, his sword ready to clash.
As for trade? That was the lord’s problem, not his.
Leaving the merchant to stew in his indignation, Enkrid walked out without a second thought.
The noble merchant was stunned—and not just stunned. He was furious.
Enkrid had left countless such encounters in his wake, many of them carrying grudges.
“You scoundrel,” the merchant growled, his jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles visibly
bulged.
Beside him, his daughter’s eyes welled with tears. She felt humiliated; the man hadn’t even
spared her a proper look.
All of this unfolded as Krais watched from the doorway, his expression unreadable.
“Let’s go!” the merchant snapped, his voice sharp with anger.
Krais knew this would escalate.
How could it not? The pattern was all too familiar.
But instead of anger, Krais felt something else: glee.
The source of his amusement? Money.
This was about gold coins, and that always brought him joy.
“Just wait!” the merchant shouted, storming off in a huff.
Krais wasn’t worried in the slightest.
A woman standing nearby turned and asked him, “So, are we supposed to act as a shield for the
local merchants?”
Her question caught Krais off guard, his wide eyes blinking.
“What? I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Playing dumb, are we?”
Her tone implied that some choice words were being left unsaid.
Krais averted his gaze but couldn’t deny it. She was right.
If the city’s trade and commerce were up for grabs, if the power vacuum was so obvious, then it
was only a matter of assigning that power to the right person.
And someone suitable had just arrived in the city.
Word from the Gilpin Guild was faster than even the city guards.
“It’s an honor to formally meet you. I apologize for the delay, Guildmaster Leona Rockfreed,”
Krais said, bowing.
“Well, that’s a quick turnaround for an apology,” Leona replied with a wry smile.
Both of them were seasoned players, carrying hidden agendas.
Negotiations would undoubtedly take time, but Krais had no intention of wasting too much of it
on this matter.