A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 299: Thief Lykanos

Lykanos watched as the cultists’ advance was halted.

It was impossible not to notice—the man fighting a direwolf with his bare hands.

Kheung!

The man took the direwolf’s front paw to his chest once.

“Hahaha! That feels refreshing!”

What in the world was that body made of, to only end up with bruises after taking a monster’s blow?

The bruises were yellow, but somehow, that only made it look more unnatural.

Normally, he should have been reduced to a bloody pulp.

Regardless, after enduring the monster’s strike, the man used his own front paw.

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Bang!

“Refreshing, isn’t it?”

What the hell was so refreshing?

The monster staggered from the hit—it was nothing short of bizarre.

‘Is he insane?’

And he wasn’t the only one. The cultists' advance was in complete disarray.

They couldn’t fight properly.

Why?

Lykanos could feel it.

Something was wrong with their command.

The cultists were one thing, but the people on this side weren’t exactly normal either.

There was that damn Enkrid, the one he had failed to kill.

And then there was that swordsman—cutting, slashing, and tearing through the unit Lykanos had personally raised.

‘That bastard is no joke either.’

They had fought once before. No matter how he looked at it, that man wasn’t beneath him.

Would his Fastest Blade work on him?

He wasn’t sure.

But strangely enough, he had no desire to test it.

It wasn’t about whether it would work or not. He simply didn’t want to share his final blade with that man.

Was this his last selfish act?

Or was it the warrior’s fighting spirit he had long ignored?

‘What’s the point of analyzing this?’

He never expected things to end like this.

"Let’s settle this between the two of us."

Lykanos spoke. The words were directed at Enkrid, who had stepped back.

It wasn’t that he looked down on the golden-haired warrior.

But if this was to be his final battle, he wanted to decide it for himself.

‘The first person to block my sword.’

He still couldn't shake the image of the one who had kept up with his Fastest Blade.

He had intended to kill him.

And yet, for the first time, he had failed.

No, this was the second time.

But the first one had been a knight, hadn’t he?

So this was the first time it really felt like failure.

He might as well exclude the knight from consideration.

Enkrid simply stared at him.

His legs were unsteady as he got up, gripping and re-gripping his sword.

That stance, that attitude—what did it show?

The image of a man who refused to step back.

‘I never should’ve left this to my men.’

That was his mistake.

‘Let’s fight.’

It wasn’t about killing Enkrid anymore.

He simply wanted to fight him again.

The instinct to struggle, the youthful recklessness he thought he had forgotten, awakened on its own.

They said he mimicked speed? That he was a genius?

Then let him face the sword he had built over the years.

Let them compete in speed.

That was all there was to it.

Lykanos’ eyes shone. They were like stars—nothing like the eyes of a man who had given up.

Enkrid steadied his breathing, gripping his sword once more.

At last, he was comfortable. A small, necessary adjustment.

"Fine."

Enkrid did not refuse.

There was no reason to.

He wanted to test himself again just as much.

As Enkrid stepped forward, Ragna cut down the approaching enemies, ensuring no one would interfere.

That was enough.

Enkrid stood, limping. His leg was already beyond saving.

But Lykanos wasn’t unscathed either.

He had been cut in the right shoulder when he charged at Ragna’s sword.

Blood was still dripping down his arm.

They stood face to face.

Between them, snowflakes fell. The snowfall thickened.

"You’ve got something wrapped around your stomach, right?"

Lykanos asked.

Enkrid nodded.

The item wrapped around him had saved his stomach from being pierced through multiple times.

Lykanos nodded as well, his thoughts forming.

‘The target is set.’

He let his arms hang loose.

He would thrust in an instant, using explosive strength.

One point. One single point.

He would mark the spot with the most optimal movement.

That would end it.

End it? Was that really the end? Win, and then die?

His opponent didn’t even seem that great when he looked at him now.

Then why end it?

Why did he have to end it?

Lykanos changed his mind.

‘I’ll figure it out after I finish this.’

He had never considered an end to be truly final.

That was why he had made it this far.

His will to live, what he had built, what he still needed to achieve, what he had left behind, and what he would claim for himself in the future.

Lykanos’ gaze turned murky.

Like the pure white snow darkening as it mixed with blood and dirt.

But his presence was as sharp as a well-honed blade.

Razor-sharp.

Lykanos also wielded Will.

His Will was focused entirely on his arms.

The moment his extended arm carried his intent, his Fastest Blade would come to life.

Lykanos realized he was ready.

He swung his sword back and forth.

That strange, pendulum-like movement caught Enkrid’s attention.

Enkrid was slightly different than usual.

‘How fast was it?’

There had been a time when Rem’s axe had seemed like a flash of light.

But this man’s blade was beyond that.

The moment it flashed, it was already piercing through flesh.

Because of that, he still couldn’t properly use his right arm.

Enkrid suddenly remembered the moment he had saved the child.

Becoming an herbalist?

He had saved that child thanks to a talent that let him conceal his true abilities.

So, should he do the same now?

No. That wasn’t right.

He didn’t want to.

Enkrid wanted to cross blades.

To face the Fastest Blade with his own sword.

‘Even speed itself...’

He wanted to grasp it, absorb it, understand it.

There was a reason today had repeated itself.

Like chasing two rabbits running in opposite directions, catching them one by one.

Now, it was time to catch the second rabbit.

The Beast’s Heart beat within him.

Recognizing his opponent’s speed, his tensed muscles relaxed.

Only because he was imbued with courage.

His arms and hands, tensed just the right amount, gripped the sword lightly, aiming forward.

The longsword's tip traced an upward diagonal path, piercing the sky.

The next step was Perceptive Art.

He imbued his intuition with intent—the intent to thrust, and nothing else.

The concentration he had cultivated would explode into action the moment he swung his sword.

The Isolation Technique he had mastered served as the foundation for everything.

Enkrid understood it all, processed it, and then—

Forgot it.

He erased everything from his mind except the opponent before him.

He even let go of who he was, who his opponent was, and what this fight was for.

Only one thing remained.

The fastest blade.

Hoo.

The wind rushed past.

But the sword moved faster than the wind.

Before he knew it, it was already at his throat.

Puk!

The sound of flesh being pierced.

Enkrid collapsed, as if crumbling from within.

As he fell, a Ferryman emerged like an apparition.

Through the falling snow, the specter of the Ferryman, his torso floating in midair, asked:

"Was it worth it?"

Enkrid’s face was filled with a smile.

At the final moment of the thrust, he felt something—something akin to rejection.

Will.

It did not reside in his arm this time. This Will had embedded itself in the moment.

For just an instant, it traveled from his toes, through his knees, waist, shoulder, and elbow, until it reached the very tip of his fingers.

And in that one fleeting moment—

Enkrid’s blade was faster than Lykanos’s.

***

Graham did not hesitate, even in the face of an assassin’s ambush.

He held his ground, refusing to retreat from the battlefield, unleashing his strength without reserve.

"Do not back down!"

In the chaos, Dunbakel stormed into the battlefield, flipping the tide of battle, while Shinar went around slitting the throats of key mercenary officers.

Amidst the whirlwind of combat, they had been wading through the battlefield for what felt like an eternity.

"There, that’s the enemy commander."

His adjutant—his bodyguard—pointed forward.

Through the gap in the melee, past the adjutant’s helmet-covered head, Graham could indeed see the enemy commander.

And standing before him—

Enkrid.

The two faced each other.

Even with Ragna carving through foes in the background, the sheer intensity between the two men consumed all attention.

Graham stopped his advance, momentarily forgetting to push the enemy back.

They weren’t swinging their swords.

Neither had pressed a blade to the other’s throat.

Yet, at a glance, Graham’s hands were already sweating.

Goosebumps crawled over his skin.

The sweat trickling down his back felt cold.

He could no longer see the falling snow.

Graham, without realizing it, was completely focused on them.

The majority of soldiers around them were in the same state.

A storm had formed, drawing in every gaze.

It was Will, clashing against Will.

Few understood what was truly happening, but they could all feel it.

‘Ah.’

Graham felt uneasy.

That enemy commander’s sword—

It was terrifying.

‘He’s going to die.’

He could see Enkrid’s death.

Neither had moved yet, but the moment the enemy commander did, Enkrid’s throat would be pierced.

It was inevitable.

‘No—!’

He had to stop this.

Enkrid wasn’t someone who should die here.

There was no need to stake his life on this fight.

But of course, Graham never got the chance to interfere.

Neither Enkrid nor the enemy commander signaled anything.

Without a word, without hesitation—

They moved.

Their swords clashed in a thrust—

No.

They had already passed each other.

Graham hadn’t even blinked, yet he failed to witness the execution of their strikes.

It started and ended in the same instant.

The process was invisible.

But the outcome was clear.

"...Ah."

Graham let out a small gasp.

He was shocked.

It was something he hadn’t expected—

And yet, it was also a relief.

Lykanos collapsed.

Enkrid, too, was wounded. Blood streamed down his neck.

But he casually pressed his hand to the wound, tilting his head slightly—showing that he was, for the most part, fine.

‘Yes!’

Graham unconsciously slammed his fist against his thigh.

"Mad Captain!"

"The Captain of Pain!"

The soldiers who had been watching erupted into cheers, Graham’s adjutant among them.

Everyone’s hearts surged with excitement.

They had won!

Graham felt that the tide of battle had completely shifted.

It was over.

Maybe it was natural to let their guard down.

Though Graham himself remained on edge, his adjutant had let his guard slip.

Boom!

Suddenly, dirt exploded behind Graham.

Three assassins emerged from the ground.

Fwip.

They lunged at Graham’s back.

Of the three, only one succeeded in reaching their goal.

Slash!

The three assassins burst forth at the same time—

But two of their heads were instantly severed by a blade as sharp as a leaf.

A curved blade sliced through the air, elegant yet merciless, executing two assassins in an instant.

"When fighting, never let your guard down."

The Pixie Captain spoke as she twirled her sword.

She had been lingering near Graham at Kraiss’s request.

And now, she had done her part.

But the third assassin was persistent.

He sacrificed his arm, letting the Pixie Captain sever it while using his remaining hand to drive a poisoned dagger into Graham’s back.

Thunk!

A poisoned tip.

"Bastard."

Graham clenched his teeth, staggering backward.

It wasn’t a fatal wound, but it was deep.

"For a new world..."

The assassin uttered his final words.

Shinar, without hesitation, swung her Leaf Blade once more.

The fairy’s blade took the assassin’s head.

***

Lykanos lay on the ground, watching everything unfold.

He could feel it.

His death.

The reasons that had led him here, the circumstances, the past—it all faded away.

Only regret remained.

‘Brother...’

He tried to speak, but his punctured throat rendered him silent.

From where he lay, he watched his subordinate pierce the enemy’s back before dying himself.

His eyes naturally turned upward.

The sky.

The snow was falling heavily now.

But even the snow was tainted red, mixed with the blood pooling around him.

Everything was turning crimson.

As he lay dying, Lykanos recalled a moment from the past.

"If you’re going to be a thief, then steal the throne itself. We’ll create a new world. We will steal freedom itself."

Was being born a serf a reason to throw away one’s life?

Was having nothing a justification for oppression?

Was it natural to have everything taken away by those in power?

If so—

Then he would live by that same rule.

"We will become kings."

The birth of the Black Blade Thieves.

Lykanos had been the leader’s sworn brother.

He had been the embodiment of their strength.

And now, as he lay dying, he thought:

‘Was this the world we wanted, Brother?’

Their ideals had crumbled quickly.

With power, with Krona, with authority—

They had spoken of stealing the throne, of ushering in a new world.

They had vowed to end suffering for those like them.

But those vows had vanished, melting away like snow.

Lykanos saw a glowing doorway amidst the falling snow.

As the door opened, figures stepped through.

His sister.

His parents.

All dead.

His sister had been taken by the lord for failing to pay taxes—never to be seen again.

His parents had been slain by bandits, simply because they had nothing worth stealing.

Now, they stood before him, blood dripping from their eyes and mouths.

It is ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ too late.

Come, my son.

Lykanos’s eyes shut.

Beyond the doorway, directly beneath his family—

A river of dark red flowed.

The river to hell.

He surrendered himself to the current.

Beyond the shining door, the Crimson River welcomed him.