A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 240: The Rescue

The moment Jaxon slipped out of Swiftblade’s line of sight, he disappeared without hesitation. He didn’t bother alerting anyone about his departure—it wasn’t necessary.

“Savages.”

Every time Jaxon vanished, Enkrid would somehow sense the faintest hint of his presence. Half of it was deliberate on Jaxon’s part, leaving traces to be noticed, but the level of perception Enkrid displayed was impressive nonetheless.

There were no sounds, no visible movements.

As Jaxon wove his way through the underbrush, the disturbance was so minimal it could be compared to the flutter of a bee landing on a leaf.

He moved skillfully, avoiding Swiftblade’s attention with ease. Slipping past that fool was hardly a challenge.

Thus, he reached the location where the hostages were being held.

Having hastened his steps the moment he left their line of sight, Jaxon arrived quickly.

“This isn’t the kind of thing I’d normally do for free.”

He hadn’t received a formal request through the guild, nor was it a personal contract. Was he trying too hard for something without compensation?

The brief thought flickered through his mind but disappeared as quickly as it had come.

His body had already moved on its own.

It was an unfamiliar experience for him, but not an unpleasant one.

After all, he was now part of the Mad Platoon.

The abandoned shack where the hostages were held came into view.

“How did you—?”

Bell, one of the captured soldiers, recognized Jaxon and asked in astonishment.

“Easily.”

Jaxon answered curtly, pulling out his dagger to cut the ropes binding Bell’s wrists and ankles.

A few more precise slashes freed the remaining hostages.

Once everyone was untied, Jaxon led them to the back of the shack, towards a small side room.

It was a cramped, blocked-off space.

Why are we going there?

Their confusion was evident in their eyes, but Bell, who had entered first, voiced the question.

“Did you make a hole in the wall?”

Instead of answering, Jaxon gestured toward the outside.

Rather than using the front door, he had created a new exit by slicing through the back wall of the shack with his weapon.

The newly made back door was the result of a unique magical blade in his possession, though he saw no need to explain it. He didn’t owe them that much.

Jaxon had done what needed to be done.

“Get out,” he instructed.

He hadn’t trusted the enemy to keep their promises, so he had taken matters into his own hands. Removing the hostages from the equation would make things easier for their stubborn, reckless commander as well.

Now, the priority was to remain unseen.

If he was spotted, the smug, laughing bastard might retaliate by killing one of the women.

“The commander said he’d protect them.”

Jaxon intended to help make that happen.

It felt strangely out of character for him.

“Saving instead of killing... what a misfit role for me.”

It was an entirely unsuitable task, especially since there was no reward involved.

But it was what the commander wanted.

After ensuring all the hostages had escaped, Jaxon peeked through the newly made exit to observe the unfolding battle.

The Half-Giant charged, her shield rushing forward like a landslide, while Swiftblade’s whip sword darted through the air like a serpent, aiming for Enkrid’s back.

Just as the whip blade was about to strike its target, Enkrid moved.

In that instant, Jaxon’s eyes met his.

***

Enkrid braced his left hand against the oncoming shield and ignited Heart of Might, releasing explosive strength.

With sheer force, he redirected the shield to the side. The energy behind the shield attack flowed harmlessly away, dissipating into the air.

Immediately, something fell from above—a vertical slash. The Half-Giant’s blade, following seamlessly after the shield bash, came crashing down.

Simultaneously, a sharp and lethal intent pierced from behind.

Enkrid twisted, letting the shield slide past while blocking the whip blade with his shoulder guard. Shifting his stance, he stepped his right foot back and used a flowing motion—a skill learned from Audin’s teachings.

He pivoted, swinging his sword upward. As his blade collided with the descending one, he softened his grip, allowing the force to flow away rather than clashing head-on.

It was a flowing blade technique, honed through countless drills.

All of this happened in less than half a breath.

Thud! Tink! Clang! Tschhh!

The sequence unfolded: redirecting the shield, blocking the whip blade with his shoulder guard, and deflecting the sword strike with practiced ease. Sparks flew, but the softened impacts left him with enough energy to act.

With his balance intact, Enkrid retaliated by driving the tip of his boot into the Half-Giant’s shin.

Crack!

She endured it, pulling her shield back and swinging it like a bludgeon.

Meanwhile, the whip blade lashed out again, aiming for his back.

Enkrid countered each strike with calm precision. Deflect, block, redirect—his movements were basic, but executed so seamlessly that no opening remained.

How is that possible?

Swiftblade’s mind reeled with confusion, but the Half-Giant had no such questions.

She understood the moment she saw it.

“Faster, stronger, more fluid.”

By moving faster than his opponents, predicting their actions, and surpassing them in strength and flexibility, such movements became possible.

“Ah.”

Her techniques were being read. The Half-Giant almost allowed herself to become intoxicated by the fight, but something stopped her.

“Take this!”

Swiftblade’s shout echoed behind her.

A hostage, pale with fear, was hurled through the air, straight toward Enkrid.

The timing was perfect—too perfect. The hostage, alive and soaked, was a living weapon. Any careless deflection would harm them.

In the slowed perception of One Point Focus, Enkrid’s gaze shifted. He saw the flying hostage, Swiftblade, and the whip blade darting toward his ankle like a snake.

Enkrid pivoted, his body twisting completely.

The Half-Giant had no choice but to swing her shield or sword to keep up with the situation.

But her hands hesitated.

Why had they fought with Enkrid between them?

Why had they allowed themselves to be manipulated into this position?

It had been for this moment.

Even knowing that, her body refused to move.

Enkrid kicked the incoming whip blade with the tip of his boot.

Crack!

His boot’s edge was severed, but his foot remained unharmed.

He caught the flying hostage with ease.

Thud.

Kneeling to absorb the impact, he used a turning motion to transfer the force and set them gently on the ground.

If this had been a contest for catching airborne humans, Enkrid would have won effortlessly.

“Are you alright?”

The hostage, none other than Juri, the marmalade maker, was too shocked to respond.

Her silence spoke volumes.

“I can’t do this.”

The husky voice came from behind.

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Enkrid glanced over his shoulder and replied casually.

“Is that so?”

The Half-Giant nodded.

“I can’t.”

This wasn’t the fight she wanted. This wasn’t an enemy she wanted to kill.

She had been ordered to kill him, but her hands wouldn’t move.

“This isn’t right.”

Her mind screamed no, and her heart agreed.

The Half-Giant lowered her weapon, stepping back.

Unbeknownst to anyone, she had just surrendered not only the fight but her very will to live.

It was an act tantamount to suicide.

But...

“I don’t think I’ll regret it.”

The Half-Giant thought as she stepped away, signaling her decision.

“You crazy woman!”

Swiftblade roared in fury, but even that didn’t stop her.

Instead, he turned and sprinted toward the shack where the hostages had been held.

His speed was remarkable, but Enkrid didn’t react.

He could have thrown a dagger or rushed after him to intercept.

It wouldn’t have stopped Swiftblade entirely, but it would have slowed him down.

Yet there was no need.

Swiftblade flung the shack door open, and his voice faltered.

Empty.

Jaxon had already evacuated the hostages.

“Surprised?” Enkrid asked, setting Juri down as the Half-Giant stepped forward to assist her.

“I won’t harm her,” the Half-Giant said.

Her words carried sincerity. She had no intention of betrayal.

Enkrid handed Juri to her, and she gently lowered the woman to the ground.

Then Enkrid began walking toward Swiftblade.

Slowly, steadily.

The rain-soaked earth squelched under his boots, each step echoing ominously.

Swiftblade turned his head, his face twisted with rage.

“Did you steal the hostages? You lying bastard!”

Such shameless words. This coming from someone who had thrown a hostage like a weapon.

“Your face is thicker than Rem’s skin,” Enkrid muttered, his tone almost amused.

Swiftblade gripped his whip blade in one hand and his longsword in the other, readying his stance.

Enkrid lifted his sword, holding it behind his head, his hand close to his ear.

The stance of the Raging Strike, the ultimate mid-blade technique.

“To cut charging lions and cleave unyielding steel.”

Ragna’s words came to mind as Enkrid assumed the stance.

If the whip blade was troublesome, cut it down. If it kept coming back, slice it apart.

“There’s nothing in this world that can’t be cut. If I fail, it’s because I lacked skill or proper tools.”

Those were Ragna’s words.

Lazy though he was, his genius was undeniable. Learning from him had been a stroke of fortune.

“I’ll kill you,” Swiftblade sneered, dropping one of his swords to reach for something at his waist.

What now? A thrown weapon?

Enkrid’s guess was wrong.

Swiftblade pulled out a scroll.

It was Enkrid’s first time seeing such an artifact—a scroll.

A rare item imbued with a spell, ready to unleash at a moment’s notice.

“Burn!” Swiftblade yelled, tossing the scroll into the air above Enkrid.

Even without understanding what it was, Enkrid’s instincts screamed danger.

The scroll ignited, releasing a massive fireball that barreled downward.

It wasn’t as fast as an arrow, and dodging was an option.

But if he evaded, the fireball would strike behind him.

There, the Half-Giant and Juri stood. Even if the Half-Giant blocked with her shield, the resulting explosion would kill Juri.

Enkrid’s thoughts accelerated, analyzing and concluding in an instant.

His decision was made.

He dashed forward, sword raised, his movements fluid and calculated.

Every step, every breath, every ounce of strength channeled into one action.

Wham!

To Swiftblade’s eyes, Enkrid’s figure blurred, stretching unnaturally as if defying the laws of reality.

“What an idiot!”

Swiftblade was certain of his victory.

No swordsman could outrun or block a fireball head-on.

But Enkrid didn’t intend to block.

He aimed to cut.

Pivoting on his left foot, he transferred force from his toes through his waist and into his arms, executing a diagonal slash.

Whoosh!

The fireball split cleanly in two.

Each half veered off to either side of Enkrid, exploding harmlessly behind him.

Boom! Boom!

Dirt and debris rained down, and singed rocks clattered against his armor.

Enkrid knelt briefly, his left knee touching the ground.

Rising slowly, he glanced at his blade.

“It cuts,” he murmured, the words understated yet filled with satisfaction.

If it hadn’t, he would have been scorched, perhaps scarred for life.

But scars didn’t matter. What mattered now was standing firm, unyielding.

Enkrid had cut through magic.