Eternally Regressing Knight-Chapter 512 - Unfading

Chapter 512 - Unfading

Ragna, Rem, and Jaxen exchanged looks and nodded.

It was a silent agreement.

Sitting in front of them, Luagarne, crouched down, also nodded and spoke.

"There will be no trickery."

"As long as no tricks are pulled."

Rem said, sharpening his axe on a whetstone, pressing firmly as he spoke.

"Just throw it already."

Jaxen, holding a wooden piece in his left hand and a dagger in his right, followed up.

Every time the dagger moved, it scraped against the raw wood, slicing and carving it like butter.

"Sometimes, when I lost my way, I'd roll the dice to decide."

Ragna added.

The blonde genius was limbering up, not even bothering to sheath his sword.

He seemed to be waiting for something, clearly with intent.

"That's how you get lost."

Ragna's absurd remark was met with Rem's response.

"Who?"

Ragna casually retorted, not understanding the question at all. His tone and attitude irritated Rem's nerves.

"You."

Swish.

The opposite end of Rem's axe, the blade, pointed toward Ragna.

As Rem spoke, he focused his magic, releasing an invisible pressure.

Ragna slightly turned his hand holding the sword, directing the blade toward Rem.

The pressure exerted by Rem's spell was cut by the will embedded in the blade.

It wasn't really a victory or defeat—it was more of a harmless game.

Although, for those watching, it wasn't just a joke, but rather a skillful exchange.

Anyone able to recognize this would probably shake their head at their childishness.

"If you're envious of my pathfinding talent, then the only answer is training."

Ragna said.

"... Yeah, it would have been over long ago if we were supposed to kill each other."

Rem responded without taking a breath.

"If killing was the plan, it would have ended a long time ago."

Jaxen spoke, placing two carved pieces of wood he had made on the ground.

The figures, with their half-cut neck, resembled two people: one oddly like Rem, the other strangely like Ragna.

He had the talent to succeed as a sculptor.

His training in handling sensory awareness and finding weaknesses in various species, along with his years of sculpting for fun, made him capable of this. It wasn't just about talent.

As the tension in the air grew even more palpable, Lagarne slammed her palm onto the ground.

The bulging palm of a frog struck the earth with a resounding thud.

"Focus."

At her command, the three calmed down.

If they weren't seriously considering killing each other, it was probably best to let the frog decide the outcome.

The three of them lowered their energy, and Lagarne gave a slight nod before placing her hand on the cup sitting on the ground.

The best way to test both skill and luck in a duel—what could it be?

The traditional game of rock-paper-scissors was often difficult to judge.

Each of them kept shifting their hands as they broke down their motions, continuously trying to alter their hand shapes in real-time, resulting in various tricks and deceptions.

In the end, Rem's comment proved to be the deciding blow.

He made a hand shape that was neither rock, paper, nor scissors—an exaggerated shape with only his thumb and index finger extended, while the other three fingers were bent back, exposing his palm.

"This is a unique technique of our clan, a scissors-rock-punch hybrid, forged with steel."

It was an excuse.

"My fist breaks anything it touches."

Ragna added.

"Isn't it only natural that scissors can cut rock?"

Jaxen chimed in, and the argument seemed endless.

In the end, they agreed to find a referee for their game.

That referee was Luagarne.

The game would be decided by dice, and now the frog was holding the cup with the dice inside.

Whoosh!

But, as with most plans, things didn't go as expected.

Luagarne's slippery skin caused her to lose grip of the cup, and only her hand remained.

The three men, still brimming with energy, observed as oil dripped from her hand.

"Ah, it's slippery."

Perhaps it was the wrong referee or maybe the wrong game.

"You seem to have plenty of time on your hands."

In the meantime, Krais approached and took the cup from Luagarne.

His past work in a gambling hall showed in his deft movements.

No one could stop him, and no one even had the intention to.

Whoever it was, they were going to shake the cup and reveal the dice.

The three sets of intense eyes said as much.

Krais gripped the cup and began shaking it.

Clatter, clatter, clatter!

The dice rattled within the wooden cup.

There were six sides, two large numbers chosen by Rem, two medium numbers by Ragna, and the remaining small numbers by Jaxen.

Shing, thud.

Krais's hand stopped, and the dice hidden in the cup finally settled on the ground.

"But why are we even doing this?"

Recalling his old habit of building tension before opening the cup, Krais paused, pretending to hesitate, then spoke.

"Just open it, brother, or you might die."

Audin's kind advice followed.

Despite the swords drawn before them, the three pairs of eyes were far more menacing than any dagger or blade.

Krais lifted the cup.

The number on the dice was five.

"I knew the Mother Bear would help me."

Rem laughed, Jaxen shook his head, and Ragna stared at the dice.

He was considering just smashing them and starting over.

"That's probably enough."

Enkrid, observing from one side of the training hall, spoke.

Ragna gave up on his thoughts.

If he broke the dice, they'd have to start over, and he had already made Enkrid wait for too long.

It was only yesterday that he confirmed Enkrid had become a knight.

"Let me just refine it for a day."

Instead of proposing a duel, Enkrid shook his head, and Audin joined him in the refinement process.

"Hit me."

They began a training exercise called the strike method.

A light punch at first.

Thud!

Later, a punch filled with more intent.

"If it gets too hard, you should say something, brother."

Audin said, and Enkrid didn't stop taking hits until evening.

Audin was drenched in sweat, and Teresa watched him with wide eyes.

'Is it really okay for him to take those punches?'

Despite being a knight, it was amazing how he could endure.

Audin had changed his stance and delivered a punch with rotational force from his ankles to his knees and waist.

Even more impressive was that Audin's fists were as tough as steel.

After years of training, they had hardened to the point of resembling solid iron.

It was the equivalent of enduring a full force blow from a mace.

And yet, Enkrid didn't even grunt.

He took dozens of hits, not showing any sign of pain.

"Armor-clad."

Luagarne, who had been watching, couldn't help but marvel.

The sound of the punches echoing through the room was more exciting than hearing rain after a long drought.

"How does he do it?"

Luagarne muttered.

She wasn't asking Enkrid.

It was just to herself.

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She judged that she needed to observe Enkrid directly before she could ask him any questions.

If she found something worth asking, she'd do so then.

For now, she would just watch.

Enkrid had plenty of elements that piqued her curiosity.

What had once been mere expectations had now become something more.

The unfolding events were continuously surprising her.

Luagarne didn't want to satisfy her curiosity with just a few words.

The Frog's way of fulfilling desires was somewhat peculiar, but Enkrid simply thought it was to be expected.

He, too, had a lot on his plate.

As part of the verification process, he was trying various things.

He spent the entire day like that.

"Isn't it tough?"

Teresa, who had been watching, was concerned, but Enkrid was unfazed.

A light sheen of sweat, his body bruised here and there.

The bruises were nothing more than that.

The tool that created those bruises was Audin, the punch attached to a body created by the gods' mistake.

"It's not bad, really."

Enkrid answered, looking deep in thought, though Teresa didn't notice.

What was happening right in front of her eyes was simply too fascinating.

"If you collect your Will and endure with your body, you'll get stronger, Brother."

Audin said, sweating more than Teresa had ever seen anyone sweat.

He had swung his fist with great focus.

What was even more surprising was that Enkrid sweated less.

Even after taking those punches.

After being hit by that fist, he was like that.

It was no wonder Teresa was surprised.

Thus, Enkrid spent the day, and the next morning, Rem, Jaxen, and Ragna fought over who would be the first to take a sparring partner. After some rock-paper-scissors, things turned into a mess.

Since there hadn't been rain lately, the ground was dry, and the dust scattered with even the slightest breeze.

Swoosh.

A few grass leaves fell to the side and were blown away by the wind. Krais, who had been rolling dice in the corner of the training field while squatting on the ground, moved aside, and the space naturally opened up.

Enkrid stood holding Aker.

"How deep do you want to go?"

Rem cut to the chase, but Enkrid understood perfectly.

If he were to speak of sincerity, how deep would that go?

"Five."

Enkrid replied. If they fought sincerely, one of them could die.

"It's hard to control myself. Be careful."

Enkrid said, and Rem smiled.

"Who are you talking to? The lost one? The stray cat? Or maybe the youngest bear who's now sulking alone?"

Rem, who called Audin "the youngest bear" after they returned, had no trouble praying for the mother bear's help. Well, "mother bear" and "youngest bear" were different after all. Rem's specialty was making distinctions.

That was why it was fine for him to live with magic from a young age.

As long as he learned how to make distinctions properly, he would never do something foolish, like getting drawn to spirits.

On the other hand, if he couldn't distinguish, he might accept a demon into his body and end up spitting out nothing but ghosts in some stupid manner.

"My weapon is a relic weapon. So, it won't break against a half-baked magic sword. It has its own ego."

"Ego weapon" was a term for weapons with a will of their own. It was something that appeared in legends or distant historical texts, but it existed nonetheless.

Rem's weapon had emotions.

Because of this, the strength it emitted could vary depending on the intensity of those emotions.

Of course, there were both pros and cons. The drawback was that there was a variance when used as a medium for magic.

The advantage was that when it erupted, it went wild.

At such times, he honestly believed that even the three knights wouldn't stand a chance.

Though, he was talking about knights he knew within his common sense.

Not all knights were the same.

If there were people like Oara, then there were people like the knight of Aspen as well.

Both might have reached the rank of knight, but when you looked at it coldly, there was a difference.

Well, you never really knew until you fought, so there was no need to give a definitive answer.

Lost in thought while presenting his axe, Enkrid said something strange. To Rem, it sounded like nonsense.

"You too?"

"What do you mean, 'you too'?"

"My sword talks."

"It talks?"

Isn't a sword that talks supposed to be called a cursed sword or a divine sword?

Was that a good thing?

Rem wasn't sure, but luckily, it wasn't a cursed sword or a divine sword.

Enkrid had already realized through a conversation with his sword, Aker, that it was a rather unusual weapon.

"Well, it's kind of nonsense, but..."

Hey, nonsense?

Do you know how rare it is for a sword with the lingering spirit of a former knight to talk?

At that moment, Aker hummed, and the words, only audible to Enkrid, reached his mind.

"We'll talk about it later."

Enkrid muttered.

Regardless of whether it was a cursed sword or not, right now, he was about to spar with Rem.

"True enough."

Rem agreed with Enkrid's statement to his sword.

With that, he also shook off his distractions.

When fighting, you had to focus solely on the fight.

Worrying about how to escape, or what to do next, only meant that you wouldn't even show half your true strength.

Facing the leader who had awakened the Will, there was no room for carelessness.

Let's see how much you've changed.

Without any words or signals, Rem swung his axe.

Enkrid also raised his sword to meet it.

Rem's axe was slightly faster, but Enkrid was just as quick.

Even if someone was watching carefully, it was hard to tell the difference in their speed.

Clash!

Sparks flew where Aker and the axe met, and Enkrid's blue eyes drew a sharp line in the air.

He closed the distance with a step, raising his sword in a follow-up strike.

A series of rapid attacks cut through the breaths between them.

Rem also struck with his axe at the exact same moment.

Clash!

The second collision occurred, and from there, Aker and the axe met countless times, parting and reuniting. It was like a capricious lover.

After dozens of such encounters, Rem took a step back.

'What is this?'

He was once again surprised.

Enkrid's shoulder twitched slightly.

Rem deliberately pushed their weapons together, clashing harder.

There was intention behind it.

If it had been Ragna or Jaxen, they likely would have done the same.

It was good to control the omnipotence, but there was a concept more important to grasp afterward. That was seeing the limits of Will.

When does exhaustion set in? The key was to adjust and control it. Rem saw that as the next step.

Magic worked similarly.

But then...

"Are you tired?"

"Already worn out?"

Enkrid's body was screaming, but the Will inside him remained as strong as ever. It felt like an endlessly flowing spring, as though water would never stop rising.