A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 238: The Hostage Crisis

The half-blooded giant sat by the window, absently watching the relentless rain pour down.

As she wiped away the moisture on her arms, staring out at the storm, she recalled Enkrid’s words.

“What about tomorrow?”

Not just today, not just the present—he was talking about the future.

Is it even okay to think about such things?

Does it even matter?

The questions swirled in her mind, relentless and unyielding.

As a member of the Sacred Order of the Demon Realm, her purpose was clear.

“Hey.”

She turned at the sound.

Leaning casually against her doorframe stood Swiftblade, grinning with his usual unnerving ease.

“I was never interested in sparring in the first place,” he said, his tone light yet pointed. “You weren’t either, were you?”

Swiftblade was sharp, both in wit and memory. The two of them had crossed paths before, and he knew her identity. That was why he was here now, making this suggestion.

The Sacred Order didn’t worship strength or physical prowess like some barbaric cult. If they had sent her here, it was with a specific purpose in mind.

“Let’s kill him. That’s what we’re supposed to do, right?”

She knew he was right. She had no reason to hesitate.

But her head refused to nod, her lips wouldn’t form the words.

Still, duty was duty. She forced herself to agree.

“If you want to survive, endure. If you want to survive, kill.”

The teachings of the Sacred Order remained etched in her mind, sharp and unwavering. She was nothing more than a warrior of the Sacred Order—a servant until death.

So, she acted accordingly, nodding in agreement with Swiftblade’s plan.

“I’ve got an idea,” Swiftblade said, stepping closer. His breath reeked of rot, and his words carried a similar stench.

Thus, their plan began.

By the gates of the domain, Swiftblade lingered, waiting for a lone soldier.

“Hey, friend!”

“Hm?”

The rain poured hard enough to render even oil-treated cloaks useless. The world was shrouded in darkness, vision restricted to what little could be illuminated by the dim light of torches.

Bell, the guard on duty, stepped closer to the flickering flame to get a better look at the man calling out to him.

He recognized the face.

What was his name again?

Then it struck him—he hadn’t asked for a name when this man entered the domain.

What he did know was that this was one of Enkrid’s guests. A sparring partner staying at the inn, and someone Marcus had warned them to keep an eye on.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

“What’s the matter?” Bell asked.

Swiftblade’s smile widened, unsettling but unspoken.

“Do you have a moment?”

The way he asked, with that filthy grin, grated on Bell’s nerves.

“No, I don’t,” Bell replied flatly, intending to dismiss him.

But before he could turn away—

Snap!

The sudden sound made Bell whip his head around, only to see a massive figure emerging from the shadows.

A half-blooded giant warrior.

He recognized her, too. Bell had watched her spar with Enkrid before.

Her face was cold, her expression set like stone.

Bell barely had time to open his mouth to shout before he felt the icy touch of a blade against his throat.

“Shh.”

That was the last thing he heard before something struck the back of his head.

When Bell regained consciousness, he found his hands and feet tightly bound.

His clothes were soaked through, and the chill of the damp room seeped into his bones.

He wasn’t alone.

“Lord above...”

A trembling voice murmured a prayer beside him. Bell turned his head to see a middle-aged woman, her face streaked with tears.

He recognized her as the mother of one of his fellow soldiers. She sold spiced jerky in the market.

She wasn’t the only familiar face.

“Vanessa?” Bell muttered.

“Damn it, you’re finally awake?” snapped the gruff voice of the innkeeper. Despite her sharp tone, her eyes betrayed her fear.

Bell took a moment to take in his surroundings, his vision still blurry but clear enough to recognize where he was.

Nearly two dozen people were tied up, just like him.

And then, a voice cut through the tense silence.

“Anyone who resists will be killed, one by one.”

The words came from the shadowed corner of the room. Bell realized they were in a hunter’s shack—one located outside the walls, beyond the main gate.

The room reeked of decay. He recognized a few of the items scattered around: old leather blinds, rotting hides, and a fireplace that hadn’t been used in years.

The place had been abandoned long ago.

How did it come to this?

Familiar faces, all tied up in this forsaken place, their fates hanging by a thread.

Sunlight trickled weakly through a cracked window. Bell, lying on his side, tensed his abs and pushed himself upright.

“Hup!”

Through the window, he caught a glimpse of a figure standing outside.

It was the same man he’d seen before losing consciousness.

“That bastard...”

His head throbbed, and the sticky sensation on his temple confirmed that he was bleeding.

He wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t far from it.

Beyond the man’s figure, Bell spotted another blurry silhouette. He couldn’t make out the details, but he recognized the voice.

“Then you’ll die too.”

It was Enkrid.

Bell quickly pieced the situation together.

A hostage crisis.

And yet, he couldn’t help but wonder:

“Does this even matter?”

In a world where death and killing were the norm, would Enkrid really risk his life for these people?

It seemed unlikely.

So why was this still dragging on?

Questions swirled in Bell’s mind, but for now, he could only wait and see how it would all unfold.

***

Swiftblade’s scheme wasn’t clever, nor was it particularly extraordinary.

It was simple—and outright despicable.

“I said I’ll kill them all, didn’t I?”

From the moment he arrived at Border Guard, Swiftblade had been watching.

He observed, assessed, and identified key details.

First:

“What the hell? They put someone on me right away?”

He noticed the watchful eyes on him almost immediately. This was thanks to Kraiss, who had reported him to Marcus.

The assigned surveillance irritated Swiftblade to no end.

And as he continued gathering information, he came to a realization:

Enkrid, despite his aloof demeanor, had unknowingly formed close bonds with the people around him.

That connection was what Swiftblade planned to exploit.

But he also knew that simply taking hostages and demanding Enkrid’s life wouldn’t work.

Hostages were only as valuable as the weight they carried for the one being threatened.

“They’re not family, not lovers...”

Not even secret children.

At best, they were acquaintances.

“All I’m asking is simple: send everyone back. Just leave yourself behind,” Swiftblade proposed with a grin.

His offer was calculated. While he believed that he and the half-blooded giant could kill Enkrid together, there was a problem:

“Those bastards.”

The ones laughing behind Enkrid, casually holding their weapons, ready to intervene.

Rem, casually stroking his axe. Dunbakel, towering like a bear. Jaxon, calm but clearly capable of deadly action.

Swiftblade pointed his knife at Jaxon.

“Especially you. Don’t disappear. If I don’t see you, I’ll kill this woman first,” he snarled.

He was holding a hostage—a woman named Juri, known for her marmalade. The blade pressed against her throat drew a thin line of blood.

Enkrid recognized her but couldn’t immediately recall her name.

“Touch even a finger on her, and you won’t die clean,” Kraiss said, unusually serious.

Juri, pale and trembling, was dragged helplessly by Swiftblade.

Even as the scene unfolded, Enkrid remained calm, showing no outward signs of urgency.

That composure only deepened Swiftblade’s twisted grin.

“Those eyes. I hate those damn eyes.”

He made a mental note to gouge them out once he got his way.

“Am I asking for too much? It’s not that hard, is it? Or... are you just scared?” Swiftblade goaded.

His taunts were crude, but they carried weight.

His conditions were clear: send everyone back and leave Enkrid alone. Then, Enkrid would fight him and the giant one-on-two.

“If you take us both down, it’s over. I’ll release the hostages,” Swiftblade promised.

It was clearly nonsense. But he wasn’t asking for Enkrid’s life outright or demanding a limb.

And Swiftblade was the kind of man who would kill the hostages without hesitation if refused.

It was a precarious situation.

Enkrid carefully considered the implications.

“If I fight them alone, what happens next?”

If he got seriously injured, his allies wouldn’t just stand idly by. They’d retaliate.

“Do they have an escape plan? Another trick up their sleeve?”

Having survived countless life-or-death scenarios, Enkrid’s instincts and intuition worked overtime.

“There’s more to this than he’s showing. Something hidden.”

Beside Swiftblade stood the half-blooded giant warrior, armed with a shield and sword.

Dealing with her alone would have been impossible once.

But now...

“I can handle this.”

His expression remained composed, his eyes calm and steady.

Swiftblade’s grin widened further, though the sight of it only deepened Enkrid’s distaste.

Just as Enkrid was about to agree, a loud voice cut through the tension.

“Bullshit!”

“Who’s reading my thoughts aloud?” Rem quipped, ever sarcastic, from the shack.

It was Bell, shouting defiantly from his bound position.

“He’s going to get himself killed at this rate.”

Enkrid couldn’t help but worry, though his expression betrayed nothing.

This entire situation had unfolded because of him. Everyone here was someone he knew, even if only in passing.

“It’s not a battlefield. If anyone dies here, it’ll weigh on me.”

Swiftblade’s face twisted, his grin turning into something grotesque, like a mask of frustration and amusement.

“That smile is hideous,” Rem commented. “Brother, let’s talk this over. The Holy Scriptures say to look back when you’re on the wrong path. How about you take a look behind you?”

Rem gestured dramatically, trying to bait Swiftblade into looking away.

Meanwhile, Jaxon shifted his left foot, and Rem casually loosened his grip on his axe. Ragna, however, merely yawned, as if bored by the entire ordeal.

“Cut the crap,” Swiftblade growled, not falling for the ploy.

Enkrid made his decision.

“I’ve got no choice. This isn’t worth anyone’s life.”

“Everyone, head back. Wash up and rest,” he ordered.

“You’re handling this alone?” Rem asked, uncharacteristically subdued.

“I can manage,” Enkrid replied.

There had been a time when Rem would have mocked him for such confidence.

But after their recent sparring match, Rem bit his tongue.

“He’s gotten stronger. He’s no longer someone to underestimate.”

Enkrid had awakened a fragment of Will. That alone qualified him for an invitation to the Crimson Cloak Knights, the kingdom’s sole knightly order.

“Are you sure?” Rem asked.

“Just go.”

Enkrid waited until his allies had retreated far enough to be out of sight.

All the while, Swiftblade kept Juri close, his knife pressed against her throat.

If Juri hadn’t been the hostage, Enkrid might have already made his move.

But the situation required precision.

“If I kill Swiftblade, she dies too. Is sacrificing one life for the greater good worth it?”

Enkrid weighed his options.

Sacrificing Juri would simplify things, but letting someone die due to his own failure didn’t sit right with him.

“I don’t wallow in guilt over past mistakes, but I don’t ignore preventable tragedies either.”

With a soft hum of steel, Enkrid drew his sword.

“I didn’t swear to protect Border Guard’s people,” he said, his voice steady.

“But she’s one of mine now. I won’t just stand by and watch.”

Under the now-clear sky, bathed in the brilliant blue of a radiant sun, Enkrid stood with his sword in hand.