A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Enkrid calmed his breathing quietly and swung his sword. He kept the flow going without a break. If he stopped, he died. Four knights were his opponents. On top of that, they were stronger than the ones who had rampaged on gryphons or the two he had fought on the way.

So up to now there had only been one thing he had to do.

‘Snuffing embers.’

He blocked before the attack even started. It would be best if he succeeded every time, but it was fine even if he failed. He just had to move straight on to the next.

‘A split-second judgment.’

Even if snuffing embers failed and metal lumps or claws came flying in, he just had to block them. He worked his feet, swung his sword, and sent Will out at a steady strength. It was no strain. It was something he had done countless times even in sparring.

It was easier than facing Rem, Ragna, and Audin.

‘A stamina fight.’

That was Enkrid’s specialty. He had Uske, a Will that did not run dry.

And even so, moments had passed that were more than enough to call crises. Before Enkrid arrived, Jaxon had survived by choosing one option out of dozens. Enkrid had pulled off something similar.

You chose one out of dozens of choices. If that wasn’t the right answer, you immediately played the next move and responded. Like that, you blocked, struck, hit, and blocked again.

He knocked aside with Dawn a fist wrapped in bristling fur that looked like it would rip chunks of flesh off with just a graze, and in that same instant he brought his sword down toward the shield coming in from behind for his waist.

His thinking was optimized and tightened. His focus burned hotter than ever. It felt like his brain was going to melt.

At the same time, Enkrid’s thinking split in two.

‘Tactics.’

One was the line of thought that made him think about the “next” and the “whole” before the split-second judgment.

The other reacted to escape the crisis rushing right up before his eyes.

He repeated that. That was enough. Enkrid did exactly that.

If things kept on like this, even with Uske he might get pushed back, but he wasn’t alone. While Enkrid did what he had to do, Jaxon did his own task.

“How?”

“Goddamn it!”

Their voices overlapped. They were focused on blocking and dodging blades. It was hard to grasp everything that had happened in the meantime. But seeing the result, they could guess.

“How did he get through?”

He was the knight who had used two shields in place of gauntlets. The kind of knight who believed that if he resolved to block, no one could pierce his shields and armor.

A sword was stuck in his heart. Blood clung to the transparent blade and showed its shape. It was a blade broken halfway through. Even without knowing the process, the hardship behind it showed in the result.

“Even the monstrous strength of monsters couldn’t punch through it.”

He still spoke even as blood surged out. He showed genuine curiosity. He simply wanted to know why the armor that had held out even against monsters had been pierced.

Jaxon had gotten a fairly deep wound in his side. Blood wasn’t pouring out. He had already clamped down his muscles to block it. It was a mark from the edge of the shield scraping him. If he had been just a little slower twisting his waist away, he would have ended up admiring the shape of his own guts.

Of course, Jaxon was full of confidence that he could repeat what he had just done several times over.

“You can’t break it with a fist, but you can punch through it with an awl.”

Jaxon answered. The principle was simple. It was just difficult to pull off.

“You dodged my attack and found that gap and stabbed?”

“It’s easier than wandering a maze with your eyes closed and your ears plugged.”

His master, his teacher, had taught him like that. As he answered, Jaxon looked at one of the Carmen Collection, which had turned into an ornament in the opponent’s heart, broken in half. It was a weapon that had finished its role. Then it was right to let it go.

Saying words he didn’t have to say was respect toward the opponent. It was question and answer for a knight who was dying. Honor and chivalry, such things showed even in Jaxon.

“Uuuaargh!”

Barik let out a beastly roar. The fight wasn’t over.

“Goddamn it, come on!”

Longarm shouted along with him. Knight Barod slowly fell to his knees. Blood streamed down the blade that was stuck in him, broken in two. The light faded from his eyes. Some people thrashed even as they were dying, but the moment death was assured, Barod’s will snapped.

All of this had been a frenzy he had been putting up just to survive.

“You think you’re going to beat us?”

Pustis glared fiercely and lifted his flail.

Enkrid drew everyone’s eyes again.

Boom!

He stamped the ground with his left foot and leveled his sword. Dawn’s blue light seized everyone’s eyes.

“Don’t let your guard down, knights of the South. If things go wrong, you die on my sword.”

It was a warning not to neglect him while being conscious of Jaxon. Enkrid, too, was missing one shoulder piece of armor, and a fairly deep cut could be seen above that. Even so, he acted as if there were no restriction at all on his movements.

Scratches like the ones on his cheek didn’t even count as wounds.

No sooner were the words out than the fight continued. Enkrid blocked, and Jaxon hid and watched for openings. The problem was, Enkrid never got pierced.

Thud.

Jaxon had simply done what he had to do.

“Y-you bastard.”

Next was Longarm. He recalled the past when he had done anything and everything to live. The day he killed his own brother and took his trinkets, and the vicious days when he coveted his friend’s wife and took her.

‘I want to live.’

He was a villain whose survival instinct was thorough. Longarm had prepared himself, and Jaxon did not attempt assassination against an opponent like that. With his left arm injured, he took a single stiletto in hand and went for a frontal fight.

If there was something amusing, it was that in the past he might have been pushed back a little, but now he could fight.

Seeing Jaxon step out proudly, Longarm’s heart wavered first. The dead Barod weighed on his mind. Jaxon pricked at his nerves with whistling sounds and sliced the back of his neck with a short sword.

Every time Longarm heard the whistling, he thought of thrown weapons. If he had calmly sized up the situation, steadied his heart, and fought, who knew who would have won, but now their paths had split into life and death.

One side was firm and one side shook. This time, he had lost not in skill but in will.

The color drained black from Pustis’s face. He had glimpsed death. Even so, he could not retreat.

If he fell back, the commander would get pushed. The monster standing up ahead was mixing more and more offense into his movements. He wasn’t just blocking anymore.

‘Different from the High Pontiff.’

It was different from the strength the High Pontiff possessed, but this one was a monster all the same.

“Where did bastards like this come from?”

They hadn’t gotten their notorious name of madmen for nothing.

“Pustis, now the continent is entering a new era. The old reputations will be empty things.”

The words the High Pontiff had spoken when he presented the newly formed knight order rang in his ears. The High Pontiff had put forward a new force different from the old Rihinstetten knight order.

But had that made the reputation of the knighthood that had held firm until now fade?

“That’s not it. It’s that we became stronger.”

That was what the High Pontiff had said.

“The day when I have the entire continent under my feet isn’t far off.”

The High Pontiff’s dream was big. Truly big.

Pustis’s train of thought broke into fragments. His thoughts wouldn’t connect well.

It couldn’t be helped when two daggers had been driven into his heart in a cross. Pustis let his flail hang, dropped to his knees, and bowed his head.

Right before he died, he thought of his mother he had left back in the homeland.

‘Mother.’

Let at least his mother be at peace.

His wish was ordinary.

“You weren’t in your best condition, were you?”

Only one was left. Barik, the bear beastman, asked. He faced what had happened just after he had gone beyond his limits. It was something he didn’t want to understand and was hard to accept.

‘It was the moment where it was more natural than ever that I should win.’

Should he look away just because it was painful? Nothing changed because he looked away. Then he simply accepted it.

“I did have some travel fatigue.”

Enkrid answered.

It was true he was worn out from riding Odd-Eye for days.

“I am Barik of the Mud Order of Knights.”

He spoke as he took his stance, fists split between both hands. He wanted his opponent to die as a knight. Enkrid understood that.

“Don’t butt in, Jaxon.”

“I don’t have the strength to butt in any more anyway.”

Enkrid faced Barik. A chill wind passed between the two. The blood spilled by the dead gave off a fishy smell.

What color was the ground? Soil that had soaked up blood turned black. It was a bright day. The sunlight did not hinder anyone’s eyes. With the two at the center, the sun was at its zenith.

There was no process of reading each other’s breathing or anything of the sort. Barik recognized his opponent’s skill.

‘The best I can do.’

He focused not on the opponent but on showing what he had.

Barik charged, making his whole body a weapon. Once he got in close, it would be easy to mash the opponent’s whole body. Then he would win. He just had to break the legs, snap the wrists, and smash the breastbone with his forehead.

Enkrid’s Dawn dropped straight down and aimed for the head of Barik, who was charging in.

Clang!

Before it could hit his head, a lump of metal came out and blocked the blade. As if he had been waiting for it, Barik pulled a knife up from the hide on his back where it had been hidden. It was his secret art. He hid a weapon under the hide and drew it out by moving only the muscles of his back.

The sword strike was blocked. The chance came back to Barik. He spread both arms and grabbed his opponent in an embrace.

Enkrid found no space or gap to slip away. Instead, he let go of the sword he had been swinging, gathered Will throughout his whole body, and detonated it with Point Explosion as he thrust out his fist. Using his left foot as the pivot, he turned his entire body and poured that power wholly into his fist.

‘The trick is to make it stay inside.’

The original name of the technique was Holy Penetration.

It would be better to do it with a sword, but he still couldn’t do that yet. Instead, with his fist he had practiced and trained it hundreds of times. It had started with what Audin had shown him, and after that he had learned more from the dream the ferryman had shown him.

‘How to put weight in when dealing with big ones.’

He had wondered ever since he had seen it in the dream. Didn’t he use any other trick besides putting weight into it?

No. He had. Penetration—making Will stay inside and then detonating it.

Enkrid’s fist hit Barik’s jaw. Barik meant to endure it. If he held out, he would win. With the hardness of his body, it should be enough.

The Will loaded into Enkrid’s fist rode up through Barik’s jaw, tore his muscles, gnawed at his nerves, and turned his brain to mush.

Barik should not have trusted in the hardness of his body but gathered Will to block. The two had made their choices, and the result was stark.

Gurgle.

Blood and clots came out mixed from Barik’s nose and mouth. At first the clots were pink, and later they turned red.

Enkrid caught Barik, who was pressing down on his body, on his back and dropped to one knee.

Having blocked the attacks of four knights in succession and extended even the final blow, the strength went out of his whole body for a moment. As he put one knee down and caught his breath, a hand came in at Barik’s side, through the gap in the dead man’s flank.

“Isn’t it heavy to wear in place of a coat?”

The owner of the hand spoke.

“You call that a joke?”

“I’m serious.”

It was a pointless remark.

“Nnngh.”

Enkrid rolled Barik’s corpse off to the side. With a thud, the corpse hit the ground, and foreign matter mixed with blood oozed out of every hole on its face. Jaxon slumped down a little distance away from the body. If you were counting who had overdone it, he had pushed himself more than Enkrid.

“What brings you here?”

Only then did Jaxon ask. Enkrid let out a snort of a laugh. Jaxon spoke again.

“Thanks to you, my lover won’t be making the captain her top-priority assassination target.”

“Mm, so that was what would have happened if you died?”

“You didn’t know?”

Jaxon spoke with a laugh. A guy who normally never smiled was wearing a full smile. It was a bright smile, with his eyes curving and the corners of his mouth lifted.

Was it that being alive was good, or was he simply enjoying the present? Enjoying this moment of having beaten his opponents? It was hard to say.

“You can still move, right?”

“Do I look like I have strength left?”

Which was to say he was just as exhausted.

“Where do you think the remaining strength of the enemy knight order went? The reason the ones who think the main force has been blocked by the spell would move is obvious.”

The meaning of the words Jaxon threw out wasn’t hard.

“Odd-Eye!”

Enkrid put strength back in his legs and stood up again. He wasn’t so exhausted he could die yet.

He caught his breath and roused his bottomless Will. When resolve surged up, strength that hadn’t been there came into being.

The winged horse descended below.

“I’m going.”

“Go.”

With that brief exchange of greetings, the commander, who had become a dark-green wall blocking his front, leapt away.

Only then did Jaxon catch his breath and close his eyes. Venom’s poison hadn’t been completely detoxified, and there was no small amount of blood he had spilled here and there.

The dizziness wouldn’t fade, and he had no strength in his limbs. Was it all right to just rest like this? As that thought came to him, he suddenly felt like he heard the barbarian’s words.

“You’re tired out from just that much, you sneaky tomcat bastard?”

It was a really unpleasant voice to hear. It wasn’t actually echoing in his ears, but it was deeply annoying.

Jaxon got up from where he sat.

“Phew.”

He steadied his breathing and put the moment he had nearly died behind him. Now he would simply walk toward tomorrow again. Of course, he wasn’t alone in walking toward that tomorrow. Madmen would be walking with him.