A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 288: Let’s Run

The moment Jaxon grabbed Enkrid, a sense of foreboding struck him.

These crazy bastards...

The instant Lykanos, that bandit bastard who probably didn’t even know his own mother, stepped back, others rushed in to take his place.

Their movements were practiced. This was a prearranged attack.

The sound of blades cutting through the air reached their ears first.

Fwhip! Fwhip! Fwhip! Fwhip!

Black-clad figures, who had clearly been lying in wait, lunged forward, stabbing with needle-thin swords.

Each of them charged with no regard for their own lives, and every single one was fast.

Their thrusts targeted a single precise point.

Heavy, swift strikes—attacks that burned away their very lives for a single swing of the sword.

Jaxon yanked Enkrid backward with his left hand while slashing with the sword in his right.

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At the same time, his mind remained ice-cold.

I can’t block them all.

Jaxon’s blade danced like a fluttering butterfly, its movements deceptively light.

Its tip weaved through the incoming thrusts, like a butterfly dodging raindrops.

As the sword clashed against the enemy’s long blades, unpredictable movements disrupted their trajectories.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

He couldn't deflect them all. Two strikes got past him.

One barely grazed Enkrid’s left shin.

More precisely, Enkrid twisted his waist at the last second to avoid a direct hit.

The fabric and leather of his shin guard tore apart and flapped loosely.

The last thrust struck Enkrid’s waist.

But instead of piercing, it simply bounced off with a dull thud.

Armor.

It was the armor he had acquired earlier. He had once seen a master smith wrap bandages around it like a second skin.

Jaxon tightened his grip on Enkrid’s arm. He was ready to throw him back and cut down the remaining attackers.

But before he could toss Enkrid aside, the enemies scattered.

Damn it.

Fighting while protecting someone wasn’t Jaxon’s forte.

He was used to battling with enemies at his back, not shielding an ally in the middle of a fight. It was an unfamiliar situation, one he had little experience with.

That hesitation cost him.

I miscalculated.

He should have either taken some damage to position Enkrid behind him or flung him out of range entirely. But the timing had slipped away.

The black-clad enemies jumped from above, charged from below, and flanked from the sides.

Their attacks were chillingly single-minded.

As his focus split between offense and defense—

"I’m fine."

Enkrid’s voice cut through the chaos. His right arm was injured, and he was exhausted, but he wasn’t dead yet.

The real problem was—

These insane bastards...

The black-clad attackers fought with no regard for their own survival.

They wore only thin, flexible leather instead of proper armor, making them deceptively fast.

And whoever trained them had taught them well. Their pinpoint thrusts were executed flawlessly.

Jaxon moved constantly, his blade never stopping.

Slice. Stab. Hack.

A sword cleaved through a forearm, nearly severing it. Another pierced a thigh.

Jaxon’s sword moved without hesitation, a cold, emotionless tool of death.

But as long as they weren’t instantly killed, the enemies merely twisted their bodies and pressed forward with their attacks.

A single-minded, inhuman pack of assassins, trained solely to pierce flesh with their blades.

Jaxon sidestepped, only to see an enemy’s blade hurtling toward where he had just stood. He had sensed it a fraction of a second earlier, dodging before the strike landed. The blade stabbed into the cold earth.

Thunk!

The attacker, his weapon buried in the dirt, lifted his head, his eyes filled with something beyond madness.

Jaxon didn’t care.

He simply flicked a knife into the man’s forehead.

Whoosh!

The plain, ordinary knife became a reaper’s blade, snatching away another life.

Jaxon wasn’t meant to fight in the open like this.

Even so, he systematically reduced their numbers one by one.

Meanwhile, Enkrid, after observing Jaxon’s fight, turned his gaze to the ones charging toward him.

This isn’t good.

His right arm had been injured by Lykanos. His shin had been slashed earlier, and it wasn’t a wound he could simply ignore.

The leather and fabric of his guard had been cleanly sliced, and his skin and muscle bore clear signs of damage.

His armor had blocked the thrust aimed at his torso, but the impact remained.

His insides quivered. His abs had absorbed most of it, but if he were an ordinary man, his organs would have ruptured.

Lykanos’ final attack had effectively crippled his right arm.

That left only his left arm.

Enkrid did what he could.

He sheathed the gladius and switched his main sword to his left hand.

Minimizing his footwork, he gripped his blade smoothly.

A Flowing Sword Style.

He received and deflected, over and over.

His breathing was steady. If there was one thing he had over anyone, it was endurance.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

A quick decision deflected three or four blades in succession. But before he could react, another was already at his throat.

Its polished steel gleamed like ice.

I can’t block this one.

The Beast’s Heart awakened, sharpening his focus to its peak.

His mind burned with clarity.

Even with his best effort, he was about to lose an eye.

The enemy’s tactics were superior.

The moment they failed to take out Lykanos, they had sent in this group of swordsmen.

And it was working.

He could see the future—his own eye being lost. He couldn't dodge, but he could at least accept it.

Would losing an eye change anything?

No.

Enkrid turned his head, preparing to take the wound.

There was never an option in his mind to die and restart from scratch.

If he were the type to throw his life away over something like this, he would have given up and succumbed to stagnation long ago.

As the sword tip magnified before his eye, appearing as thick as a club—

Thud!

A sharp impact.

The impending darkness vanished.

The swordsman attacking him was flung into the air.

His weapon was sent soaring alongside him.

"Aaaaaaagh!"

A shriek echoed.

He soared high, high into the sky. In that moment, he must have envied the birds.

Of course, his flight was short-lived, and its end was far from graceful.

The man crashed down amidst the border guard’s reserves.

And, startled by the sudden flying body, a spearman instinctively thrust upward, impaling him midair.

Enkrid was still reeling, trying to stay upright.

He fell back, landing hard on his rear.

And then, next to him, he saw—

A wild horse.

One that had just sent a man flying with a single kick.

"One-Eyed?"

"Hiiiiiigh!"

The horse neighed furiously, as if rejecting the name.

But at a time like this, he didn’t care what name it had been given.

A low growl rumbled nearby.

At some point, Esther had appeared at his side.

Still in her Lake Panther form.

Her sleek black fur shimmered like silk, resembling the hair she had in human form.

And beside the assassins, as if appearing out of nowhere, stood the one man who could survive anywhere as long as he had his sword.

Whoosh. Thud. Whoosh. Stab. Whoosh. Crack. Whoosh. Slash.

Enkrid’s eyes darted around, trying to follow the relentless exchange of blows.

Ragna struck from the side, cutting down five men in five steps.

What the hell kind of technique is that?

One step. Five slashes.

How was that even possible?

It defied comprehension.

It was a sword faster than the enemy’s. A preemptive blade.

Ragna had just demonstrated it.

"I’ll clean this up. You go ahead."

His voice was dry, his golden hair falling over his eyes.

Through the strands, his cold red eyes gazed forward.

As arrows rained down from above, he cut them away, slashing through the oncoming enemies.

To Enkrid’s eyes, even Ragna’s sword seemed to blur.

Arrows fell toward Enkrid’s head, but before they could reach him, several shielded soldiers rushed forward.

"Damn, he’s good at that."

Dunbakel was watching from the sidelines.

She crushed the skull of an assassin lunging from behind, dual daggers in hand, and spoke as if making an offhand remark.

The moment she sensed the enemy closing in, she planted her right foot and drove her left knee into his head.

Of course, Enkrid had also reacted, gripping his sword.

But regardless, her attention soon turned to Ragna.

As arrows rained down from above, One-Eyed dashed forward, kicking up dust as he came to Enkrid’s rescue. Esther and Dunbakel flanked him, while behind them, their allies formed a protective barrier with large, round shields.

At this rate, Enkrid wouldn't die.

His gaze naturally shifted forward.

Lykanos.

Ragna’s sword was fast, but in that final moment, Lykanos' blade had been even faster.

And the swords of the assassins that had rushed Enkrid just now had been similar.

Those who had recklessly charged at him hesitated and pulled back after several were cut down by Ragna.

Even Ragna hadn’t emerged unscathed—his thigh had been slashed.

His armor was torn, and blood stained his clothing, but he returned as if nothing had happened.

"Don’t hold back your arrows!"

"Fuck, just die already!"

"The real heart of the battlefield is the infantry!"

"Pain’s just another kind of pleasure!"

Curses and war cries erupted from every direction.

An enemy had an arrow lodged in his skull, collapsing lifelessly.

Another, struck mid-charge by a throwing axe, pitched forward, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

"YORORORORO!"

An enemy mercenary clad in strange fur armor pounded his chest and let out an eerie battle cry.

Before he could finish, Bell appeared out of nowhere, hurling a spear straight into his chest.

"If you don’t want to die, fight!"

Bell’s shout rang through the chaos.

Enkrid was being carried backward. Three soldiers rushed in to support him. His left shin wound was bad enough that walking was no longer an option.

"Fuck, they’re tough."

Graham muttered as he stared across the battlefield.

Lykanos was there.

Enkrid saw him too.

He hadn’t simply lost that fight.

He had landed a hit on Lykanos' face.

Despite half his face being drenched in blood, Lykanos stood firm.

He didn’t smile, nor did he frown—he simply stared at Enkrid and his group for a moment before turning away.

As he withdrew, the black-clad assassins—the relentless strike force—gathered around him.

"There’s a lot of them."

Graham murmured.

"There are."

Behind him, Kraiss, his face pale, nodded.

A unit trained to stake their lives on a single thrust—it was horrifying.

At a glance, there were still more than fifty left.

And that was after they had already lost a good number.

Considering hidden assassins and their ability to strike from the shadows—

This is going to be a problem.

Enkrid thought so. Kraiss clearly agreed.

The battle had been brief.

Audin had stayed out of it since their so-called Wolf Bishop hadn’t made a move, and Ragna hadn’t pushed in too deep.

At some point, Jaxon had also returned.

Neither army’s commanders intended to end the fight in a single day.

Before they had even finished regrouping, Graham, his face still pale, approached Enkrid, hurriedly tying a makeshift bandage to stop the bleeding.

Kraiss, watching the scene, finally spoke.

"We knew it wouldn’t be over in one go. We’ll end this in three battles. We only need to break their main force. After all, battlefields are decided by elite warriors."

His voice lacked its usual confidence.

Understandable.

Kraiss believed in Enkrid’s strength.

Even if he couldn’t end it with one decisive blow, he was sure Enkrid would ultimately win.

But that wasn’t what had happened.

This first battle had been as good as a loss.

Retreating into the fortress was the worst possible option—so they had to end it here.

And as quickly as possible.

That meant three battles.

If we endure, we lose.

Behind the border guards, Azpen hadn’t even drawn his sword yet.

Fucking hell.

Kraiss kept up his composed façade but was already thinking about escape routes.

It was time to consider retreat.

Maybe through the escape tunnel?

He had made some preparations, just in case.

"The cultists just stood back and watched? They only threw a few wolf beasts at us?"

Graham scanned the battlefield and held back the heavy infantry.

If the enemy was conserving their strength, they had to do the same.

If they exhausted themselves and got pushed back, they’d be wiped out.

If the battle among elites was close, then the rest would fall to the main infantry.

And the heavy infantry would play a crucial role.

"Right. No telling if they’ll just watch again tomorrow."

Kraiss said as he turned his gaze to Enkrid.

As always, the commander was calm. His expression was composed.

Damn it, this is exhausting.

He couldn’t just abandon him.

Kraiss had been a merchant, a thief, even a pickpocket.

But he had never turned his back on someone who had saved his life.

That wasn’t just about profession—it was about character.

Especially when survival only required a bit of effort. This wasn’t something that demanded his life.

"Next time, I’ll cut him down myself."

"He was fast."

Ragna noted, and Enkrid, still composed, responded.

"If that’s all he has, then I’ll just cut him down."

Ragna’s resolute words made Enkrid pause for a moment.

He really was fast.

His right arm was useless, and his left shin was a problem.

His armor had blocked a hit, but his stomach was already bruised. His internal organs weren’t damaged, but the pain was lingering.

The Isolation Technique was a skill honed through endless repeated days.

He had withstood this much only because of the strength he had built over time.

A hit to his torso? That would heal after a good meal and a night of sleep.

But his right arm? That was different.

"For now, we rest and get through the night. Stay on alert for night raids. Keep the scouts moving!"

Graham shouted.

Tonight, the heavy infantry would be on guard duty.

It had been a short battle, but they had suffered more casualties than ever before.

The death toll had reached double digits.

Enkrid was lost in thought.

Kraiss watched him for a moment, then stepped forward.

The torchlight behind him cast his shadow across Enkrid, stretching and wavering in the flickering light.

They were inside a newly erected tent.

Outside, the wild horse stood. Inside were Ragna, Audin, Dunbakel, Teresa, and Esther.

Whhhhoooosh.

A cold wind swept through the half-open tent, making ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) the flames dance.

Kraiss’ shadow split into two before merging back into one.

"Why?"

Enkrid leaned back slightly.

Kraiss had just finished wrapping his bandages.

Kraiss swallowed and spoke.

"Let’s run."