A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 324

The best defense was a strong offense. Enkrid imprinted the enemy’s entire body into his mind.

He wasn’t just looking with his eyes—he was reading the intent behind each movement.

For a moment, it felt as though his head and eyes were burning.

He gathered that much focus.

His blood vessels bulged as his pulse pounded through his body.

His One-Point Focus activated to its fullest extent.

The enemy moved.

A series of small motions.

A sequence of actions, each containing a hidden meaning.

Just as one could read between the lines of an otherwise mundane sentence, Enkrid deciphered the context of his opponent’s movements.

Movements that seemed meaningless—he analyzed them.

How does a knight’s sword move?

He didn’t fully know yet.

Understanding the process was difficult.

But he had seen it countless times through death.

He had stood frozen in place, powerless, and watched.

He had watched as Ragna and the others fell.

And so, he saw it now.

A tiny gap—the briefest of openings that emerged in the moment a knight drew their sword and swung.

Had he not repeated today over and over, had he not gained these repeated experiences, he never would have noticed it.

Even with the sharpest senses and his finest One-Point Focus, that gap would have remained invisible.

But Enkrid had been waiting for it.

Sharpening his instincts through countless deaths, he had pushed his concentration to its limit, feeling as though his blood vessels were igniting.

The enemy was about to draw their sword.

Enkrid felt time slow down.

Yet he proceeded with complete composure.

Exactly as planned.

Exactly as he had envisioned.

First, he activated Heart of Might.

Boom.

As his heart pounded, blood surged wildly through his veins.

His body wasn’t in perfect condition, but this was the best it could be.

His hand naturally wrapped around the gladius grip as he pivoted his body slightly.

At that moment, the knight’s sword was fully drawn.

With an irritating tchik sound, the blade scraped against the scabbard.

Enkrid took a breath.

Time felt sluggish, but his thoughts moved with clarity.

A fleeting series of realizations flashed through his mind.

The first sword he had developed—the Serpent Blade.

A sword that flowed.

The second—the Lightning Thrust.

A technique infused with Instantaneous Will.

A sword centered on speed.

And now, the third.

There was no preparatory movement.

Enkrid had studied the enemy knight’s sword countless times.

He had witnessed it through death.

He had observed the way the opponent swung their blade and contemplated its principles.

The flow of power, the shifting of weight, the transitions between movements.

He had memorized Ragna’s sword as well.

A technique he called Lightning Strike.

Though he didn’t know its name, the image of its movements was carved into his mind.

He had also mimicked the fae’s ability to read intent.

He continued reading, again and again.

With the experience he had gained through these repeated days, the hidden gap became vividly clear.

"Just before the sword is drawn and swung."

Too early would be a mistake.

Too late would be a failure.

All eyes were on them.

Ragna’s pupils dilated in silent astonishment.

It looked as if his commander’s movements were mirroring those of the unexpected intruder.

Shinar’s gaze carried the same disbelief.

What is...?

The moment unfolded before anyone could fully process it.

Dunbakel and Kraiss were too slow to react, and Esther had just begun to rise, her fur bristling.

In the peculiar silence, the intruder drew their sword, and Enkrid emanated an eerie intensity.

It didn’t matter whether others were watching.

Enkrid did what needed to be done.

“I can’t block it.”

That was Enkrid’s conclusion.

So what was the solution?

If blocking was impossible, what about striking first?

He had never attempted it before, but he saw the possibility.

The memory was clear—Ragna’s sword had struck his own, causing his hands to bleed.

Even as he died, a lightning bolt had crashed through his mind.

Sword. Knight. Power. Defense. Failure.

All of these combined into a single answer.

"If I can’t block it—"

"Then I will strike first."

Enkrid unleashed his third sword technique.

A heavy sword—one that followed the principles of Greatsword Techniques.

He infused it with Will.

A force he had become intimately familiar with through countless defeats.

A pressure—an aura of dominance.

He couldn’t yet wield it perfectly, but he had honed it enough to incorporate into his swordsmanship.

Ragna had been stunned when he saw it before.

Of course, since today had reset, Ragna was about to be shocked all over again.

To this, Enkrid added the Valen-style Mercenary Sword techniques.

Traditionally, an advance began with a step forward, but Enkrid stepped sideways instead.

The knight’s gaze instinctively flickered downward.

"What—?"

It meant nothing in itself, but it was enough to create doubt.

The knight’s sword didn’t slow down, but his thought process did.

And that was the timing Enkrid had been waiting for.

Thud.

He kicked off the ground.

His left foot stepped outward while his right foot—his back foot—dug in.

A technique from the Valen-style Mercenary Swordsmanship: Cross-Step.

To opponents with keen eyesight, this kind of footwork was particularly distracting.

It was designed to exploit even the smallest of gaps—to create even the slightest advantage.

"Speed alone won’t work."

He had already learned that.

So he wouldn’t rely on speed—he would use momentum.

And it worked.

The knight didn’t falter, but his sword did not strike.

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Enkrid had stolen his timing.

Shing!

Enkrid drew his sword and raised it vertically.

With the blade upright, he pressed forward with Will—with pressure.

The knight reacted on pure instinct.

His well-trained body urged him to block.

The third sword technique—Crushing Blade.

Like a mountain pressing down on the earth.

Like a finger pinning down an ant.

It overwhelmed and oppressed.

By forcing pressure upon the enemy, it left them with no choice but to defend.

Compared to the Lightning Thrust, it was slow.

But the sheer force of Will behind it was suffocating.

The knight—Jamal—hadn’t underestimated his opponent.

But this?

This, he had not expected.

No, he could not have expected it.

Who would?

An enemy bursts into the tent.

Immediately steals the initiative.

Then forces him into a defensive stance with a greatsword’s weight?

His draw speed had been slow.

But after that, he had built up speed.

His sword moved at just the right pace—fast enough that the opponent had to block.

But Jamal was no ordinary knight.

"Not happening."

His sword vibrated.

A counterstrike to repel the descending blade.

Wung.

In the briefest of moments—so fast it was almost imperceptible—the swords clashed.

Enkrid couldn’t hear the sound.

He had already committed his entire focus and strength into the strike.

There was no energy left to process anything else.

Boom!

A deafening explosion.

Crack!

The sound of bones twisting.

A weightless sensation overwhelmed Enkrid.

The old, poorly maintained short sword in Jamal’s hand had somehow produced an absurd amount of recoil.

He felt his body lift.

Then—a crash.

Pain immediately followed.

A scorching sensation.

His back had slammed into the furnace.

Enkrid rolled to the side.

“Ah—!”

Kraiss let out a startled yelp.

The fallen furnace sparked into flames.

Despite the long explanation, it had all happened in an instant.

The intruder had torn through the tent, spoken a few words, and attacked immediately.

Enkrid’s head lolled to the side.

For a brief moment, his mind went blank.

And as he collapsed—

Whoosh.

Ragna reacted.

At the same time as Kraiss’s shocked cry—

Boom!

A second explosion.

Ragna had unleashed Lightning Strike, and the knight had countered.

Ragna was sent flying.

But unlike Enkrid, he didn’t roll.

He stabbed his sword into the ground, dragging a long, searing line into the earth.

“Hah...”

Ragna inhaled sharply.

With one strike, he already knew.

This man—this opponent—was not below him.

Meanwhile, Shinar wasn’t engaging—he was slapping a blanket against Enkrid’s burning back.

Smack, smack.

The flames died out.

And then—

A crack echoed from Ragna’s sword.

It was about to break.

He discarded it and drew another.

The weapon of Squire Bill.

Shing.

He raised it.

Regulating his breath, Ragna planted his knee firmly and steadied his stance.

He was ready to fight.

“Enough.”

Enkrid, still lying on the ground, spoke.

The knight’s gaze shifted toward him.

Ragna halted his forward step.

Shinar quietly withdrew, placing his hand on his knives.

It was obvious just by watching.

Monstrous.

How could someone do that with a short sword that looked ready to snap at any moment?

That was only possible if there was something beyond mere strength residing within their body.

In other words, this man was a knight.

“You don’t seem like someone who should be here.”

Shinar spoke.

The knight remained silent.

He merely observed the man lying before him—the man who had, without hesitation, struck him first.

Enkrid had been burned again before his previous injuries could even heal.

He wasn’t wearing enchanted armor, so there was nothing protecting him from the heat.

Of course, his back was burned.

Fortunately, it wasn’t a severe wound.

Shinar had put out the flames quickly.

His back wasn’t even the worst of it.

Not even a giant could hit this hard.

Both his shoulders had dislocated.

And that wasn’t the worst of it either.

His Crushing Blade had landed, but the counterattack that followed had been vicious.

If I hadn’t redirected the force at the last second...

His injuries wouldn’t have ended with mere dislocations.

Both of his hands had been torn open, blood dripping freely.

It was inevitable.

Jamal had activated his signature technique, Blade Echo, just before impact.

A sword skill that added explosive force through high-speed vibrations.

The knight said nothing, and Enkrid coughed up blood.

He waited in silence.

This was within his expectations.

He had once dreamed of becoming a knight.

Of course, he had ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ studied them extensively.

He knew their principles.

He knew their honor.

And he knew exactly what the knight had meant.

“You said once was enough, didn’t you?”

So he asked.

Jamal silently stared at him.

“What was that technique?”

“Crushing Blade.”

“Impressive.”

Ting.

The knight sheathed his sword.

Ragna still held his, tip pointed at the man.

Enkrid forced himself up using only his legs.

Since his dislocated shoulders prevented his arms from rising, he awkwardly swung his arms from his waist and tapped Ragna’s shoulder.

Pain flared through him, and it was almost comical—but not impossible.

“Don’t fight today.”

Enkrid said.

Ragna obediently stepped back.

A talent worthy of the title genius.

He, too, understood.

The opponent was a knight.

And to put it bluntly, if he fought now, his death was guaranteed.

“What’s your name?”

Enkrid asked.

“Jamal.”

The knight answered without hesitation.

“You’re with the Royal Knight Order of the Commonwealth?”

“I am.”

There was no point in hiding it.

Unless he intended to go back on his word and cut them all down.

And if he wasn’t going to do that, then there was no reason to conceal his affiliation.

A knight had to stand with pride.

He had made a promise, and his opponent had honored it.

Now, it was his turn to uphold what remained of his honor.

That was what it meant to be a knight.

“It was an honor.”

Enkrid said.

Regardless of how the situation had played out, he meant it.

Jamal’s eyes glimmered.

What is with this guy?

And what was with this entire situation?

And yet, despite the absurdity, laughter slipped out.

“An honor?”

He found himself repeating the words, a chuckle in his voice.

“It’s not every day you get to face a knight’s sword.”

“You were the one who struck first.”

“I had a feeling I wouldn’t survive if I waited.”

Was it keen intuition?

Good judgment?

Or just pure luck?

Like someone taking a step back only to accidentally avoid a snake’s bite?

Had fortune smiled upon him?

Jamal let out another amused laugh.

He hadn’t been tense from the start.

And now, even the lingering killing intent had faded.

With the intent to kill gone, all that remained before him was a man—a man so ordinary it was almost hard to believe he had just fought a knight.

“You spoke of honor, so I believed you.”

“You’ll go far.”

Jamal was a knight.

Naturally, he could recognize talent.

Not just raw skill, but potential.

For now, the most eye-catching presence was the blond-haired, red-eyed man—Ragna.

He was the obvious standout.

But sometimes, there were people whose presence couldn’t be explained by talent alone.

People who had something that defied words.

The man standing before him was one of them.

“We’ll meet again.”

Jamal said.

Now that things had come to this, he actually felt at ease.

He had made a promise based on his honor.

And a knight must keep his word.

Even Abnaier couldn’t object.

He, too, had agreed to the one strike condition.

“It was an honor.”

Standing upright, Enkrid felt the ache in his thighs and calves.

It seemed like every time he overcame an obstacle—be it ignorance, despair, or agony—his body suffered for it.

“The best defense is a strong offense. I liked that.”

Jamal said.

And with that, he turned away.

“...We’re just letting him go?”

Dunbakel muttered, her expression unsettled.

“What, you want to fight him?

Unless you’ve got a death wish, we have to let him go.

Hell, we should be escorting him out.”

Kraiss shot back.

He shuddered as he spoke.

He had caught on.

He had felt it.

The sheer weight of power the man possessed.

“Ah, Kraiss, we can’t afford to cause a disturbance. Guide him out.”

Enkrid said.

Kraiss’ eyes widened.

“What did you just say?”

“A knight’s sword is safer than a thug’s dagger.”

“You do know he’s our enemy, right?”

Kraiss lowered his voice.

As if speaking more quietly would change anything.

Because what difference would it make if Jamal heard?

Yes, the Royal Knight Order of the Commonwealth was an enemy.

He knew that.

But today, they had spoken of honor.

“Of course.

And we must uphold our own principles as well.”

If they were letting him go, they should ensure he left without trouble.

Kraiss wasn’t stupid.

If the patrols spotted him, it would escalate into a bigger mess.

Who else could guide him?

Dunbakel?

Ragna?

Shinar?

Subduing him was out of the question, so the best option was to send someone clever.

Strength didn’t matter.

The opponent was a knight.

Kraiss understood that.

With a miserable expression, King Eyeball stepped outside.

“Damn it.”

He muttered under his breath.

Because that didn’t mean he had to like it.