A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 287: Eve, spit it out! That’s not food!

As Enkrid moved to the forefront of the unit, a sharp-eyed scout spoke up.

"Someone’s coming."

Just as he said, a lone figure trudged forward from the viscount’s forces. The sun, obscured by clouds, cast a faint light upon the figure’s head.

A big one?

They were large—about the same size as Audin.

Enkrid watched intently from a distance, his gaze fixed on the figure whose presence seemed to distort perspective in an uncanny way. The man wasn’t riding a horse; he was walking forward on his own two feet.

Neither fast nor slow, but exuding confidence.

After all, stepping into the heart of the battlefield alone was nothing if not an act of sheer confidence.

"Should we shoot?"

One of the archers asked.

"No."

Enkrid answered.

Even with his command, some of the archers hesitated, hands briefly gripping their bowstrings before letting go.

A battle always began with a volley of arrows—that was the fundamental rule of war.

Grr! Woof! Grrr!

Wolves barked behind the approaching man. They were loud—annoyingly so—but the man simply dug a finger into his ear and shouted.

"My name is Lykanos! Send out your best fighter!"

With his declaration, he stomped his foot. A heavy boom followed, sending tremors through the ground.

How is he that strong?

The soldiers’ morale plummeted into an icy silence. If Rem had taken a hit, and this new opponent was even fiercer, then things were getting serious. Even compared to the legendary Enkrid, he didn’t seem lacking.

Breaking the enemy’s spirit before a battle even began—this was one of the most effective strategies of all.

A duel.

If you had a winning hand, you played it.

The Black Blade thieves had undoubtedly prepared their own cards for this.

Ragna stepped forward. Audin reacted as well.

Before either could move, Enkrid drew his sword and swung it downward.

Not fast, not heavy.

Whoosh.

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The blade, glowing faintly blue, traced a sharp arc through the air, stopping both of them in their tracks.

"This one's mine. You two handle something else."

His gaze remained locked onto Lykanos.

Even as he focused on the fight, Enkrid was already thinking about the broader battlefield.

How many battles would follow? What could be gained from this encounter?

Kraiss had set the stage. Now it was up to Enkrid to take the winnings and move forward.

When did I start getting this confident?

A confidence was rising in his chest, urging him toward the battle.

And Enkrid didn’t hate it.

This was where he belonged—the place he had always sought, the battlefield that awaited him.

"Jaxon."

"Yes."

"When the chance comes, take the pig’s head."

Today would be fine. The next battle would work too. It didn’t matter when—what needed to be cleaned up had to be cleaned up.

"Got it."

Jaxon gave a curt nod.

That was reassuring. He wouldn’t fail.

"Audin, Teresa. There’s something big among those wolves, isn’t there?"

When they had infiltrated enemy territory before, there had been three massive beasts. Now, only one seemed to remain.

Or... was this one even bigger?

It didn’t matter. Just another oversized beast.

But regular soldiers couldn’t be allowed to face it. His instincts told him that much.

"As the brother desires, so shall it be. Let us pray."

Audin clasped his hands together and quietly stepped back. Beside him, Teresa knelt on one knee.

"As you command."

Then Dunbakel tugged at his collar.

Ragna stood nearby as well, his cold eyes speaking clearly. He was ready. He wanted to fight. Right now, with his own blade, he could cut that thing down.

Seeing Ragna fired up was unexpectedly satisfying.

Enkrid had never been frustrated by Ragna’s laziness before.

But watching someone waste their talent was never enjoyable.

Not that it really mattered—Enkrid’s heart was strong enough not to dwell on it.

A genius with drive, huh?

Watching Ragna’s enthusiasm was enjoyable. Even if he had never been frustrated by Ragna’s past indifference, this moment was undeniably satisfying.

And seeing himself standing beside Ragna, just as ready, was just as exhilarating.

"Go wild. Cut down everything in sight. But only after the wolves are dealt with."

If the enemy had a massive wolf, then they had something far worse—a beastkin warrior and a sword that could cut through anything.

If they sent them charging into the enemy ranks, the battle’s tide would shift in an instant.

There was no need for elaborate speeches to boost morale. Just having those two step forward would change the battlefield.

A battlefield ruled by an elite few—that was the reality they would prove today.

That was enough. Dunbakel exhaled sharply and nodded.

That was enough. Dunbakel exhaled sharply and nodded.

"I'll make it a spectacle worthy of Kreimhart."

Kreimhart—the god the beastkin revered.

The god of war and fertility.

To fight in a way worthy of his gaze was to fight without shame.

That was thanks to Rem. The torment of the savages had turned one beastkin into a berserker.

"I'll stand down."

Ragna’s voice was calm as he stepped back, and Enkrid moved forward.

"Took you long enough. I was starting to think you lot didn’t have any real men over there. What, are you gonna keep me waiting all night?"

Lykanos smirked, tapping at his groin as he shouted.

It was a provocation—a way to rouse his own men.

He wasn’t actually looking for a response.

"Ha! No balls!"

"A spineless bastard!"

"A eunuch!"

The enemy hurled insults.

The allies threw them right back.

"What a joke!"

"We’ve got ‘em, and they’re bigger than yours!"

"Filthy bandit scum!"

As curses and cheers filled the air, Enkrid strode forward, and from behind, Graham spoke.

"Can you win this?"

"Yes. Even if I die, I’ll win."

Was he truly ready to die? Graham folded his arms, masking his unease.

But Enkrid was simply being honest.

It was exactly as he said. If the thing standing before him was a wall, if it was death itself—

He would surpass it. And win.

Yet, oddly enough, Enkrid felt no excitement. No thrill.

His body was neither sluggish nor at its peak.

"I’ve got them. And they’re bigger than yours."

As soon as he said it, Lykanos’ lips twisted.

The nerve on this bastard.

"Bigger than mine?"

"I’ve never seen anyone bigger than me."

"...Arrogant little shit. Alright then, let’s crack you open. You’re that Enkrid guy, aren’t you?"

His opponent already knew his name. Of course, Enkrid knew him too.

One of the power players in the Black Blade thieves.

A beast of a man, built like Audin, with a heavy weapon strapped to his back—his style of combat was obvious.

Then, Lykanos subtly shifted his left foot forward.

Into Enkrid’s striking range.

Enkrid reacted instantly, drawing and slashing his sword from his left hip.

Despite his size, Lykanos moved with startling agility, retreating two extra steps.

Whoosh.

The blade cut through the empty air.

Lykanos, following the motion of Enkrid’s sword, swung his own weapon.

Whoosh!

A shadow arced through the air from behind him.

A heavy, downward swing.

Enkrid stepped aside.

Swish!

His footwork glided across the dirt, shifting him to Lykanos’ flank.

The moment he moved, the massive iron mace crashed into the ground.

Boom!

Dirt and stones exploded in all directions, some pelting Enkrid’s body and head. Ignoring the debris, he immediately drew his dwarven gladius and thrust forward.

A rapid strike.

The stab shot straight into the gap between Lykanos’ ribs.

A precise, lightning-fast thrust.

But Lykanos twisted, catching the blade between his arm and his ribs.

His reflexes were astonishing.

He tried to twist and snap the sword in two, but it didn’t go as planned.

"Goddamn, you’re tough!"

Snarling, Lykanos swung his mace again.

Whoosh!

The air pressure alone slammed against Enkrid’s face.

He judged the trajectory by sound alone.

He ducked.

The heavy iron barely missed his skull.

Enkrid activated Heart of Might, gripping his gladius tighter.

Inhale.

His left arm swelled with explosive power.

Crack!

The blade twisted, tearing into Lykanos' side and forearm as if to grind the flesh away.

Lykanos couldn’t hold out and was forced to release the blade clamped against his ribs.

"You bastard."

Blood streamed from the inside of his forearm.

His armor left only a scar on his ribs, but his forearm had definitely been torn open.

"Does it hurt?"

Enkrid asked as he steadied his breath, raising his right-hand sword and bringing it down in a vertical strike.

At the same time, he retrieved the gladius and sheathed it.

Lykanos retreated just in time to avoid the descending strike.

He wasn’t just a brute who swung a mace mindlessly. His movements were sharp and efficient.

Clearly, he had trained for years and gained extensive real battle experience.

The blade cut through the air with a sharp whoosh. Through that fleeting arc of steel, Lykanos locked eyes with Enkrid.

His dull, dark-brown eyes reminded Enkrid of Jaxon.

Meaning—they looked sinister.

Thud!

Lykanos kicked off the ground again. The frozen, solid earth cracked beneath his feet, sending hardened dirt fragments flying like scattered stones.

Enkrid placed his left hand on the gladius' hilt.

Feigning a draw, he moved his feet again.

This time, he pushed off with his toes, stepping back—a perfect backstep.

He dodged all the stone shrapnel bouncing up between them.

Did he dodge?

Lykanos hesitated for a fraction of a second but continued his movement.

He raised his mace and swung it diagonally downward.

At the same time, he crossed his feet and lunged forward like a coiled spring.

Just before Lykanos completed his strike, Enkrid released his right-hand sword mid-air and slashed downward.

To an outsider, it might have looked like he had simply dropped his sword and flailed his hand uselessly.

But there was something else in that hand.

A Whistle Dagger.

Whistle!

A dagger whizzed through the air, burying itself into Lykanos' face at close range.

From the very start, Enkrid had anticipated that Lykanos would dodge or block his sword, so he had already been holding the dagger in his right hand.

Now, it paid off.

He had even learned how to hide daggers in his sleeves from Torres of the Border Defense Force.

All those techniques came together at this moment.

Lykanos’ head snapped back.

But then, it returned forward almost immediately.

Not the result Enkrid had wanted.

"You son of a—"

The dagger had been caught between Lykanos’ front teeth.

His upper incisors had cracked, but he had blocked the attack.

"Eve, spit it out! That’s not food."

Enkrid taunted. His provocations were always perfectly timed.

Lykanos spat out the dagger, his eyes blazing with fury.

"I will kill you. Before I do, I’ll grind you into dust. Big? I’ll flatten you so much you won’t even be visible."

His voice seethed with resentment, but Enkrid didn’t even smirk—securing a psychological victory.

Whoosh.

The mace came again. This time, Enkrid held his sword with both hands and deflected it.

A snake blade technique. He tried to guide the blow aside.

Brute force.

Even with Heart of Might activated, Lykanos' strength was overwhelming.

Will?

That thought crossed his mind.

If there was a Will that rejected force, then there had to be one that granted it.

Unable to fully deflect the mace, their weapons remained locked together.

Lykanos pressed down, shifting his grip and inhaling sharply.

He was trying to crush Enkrid through sheer strength. Enkrid stepped back with his left foot.

Crunch. His knee bent slightly.

He was losing ground in raw power.

As he pushed down, Lykanos sneered.

"What? Thought you wouldn’t lose in strength? Hey, you little shit, you thought you were the only strong one?"

No, there are plenty stronger than me. Always.

There was Audin, of course. Rem, Ragna, Teresa—he wasn’t sure he could overpower any of them yet.

"Your front tooth is cracked."

Now that Lykanos was exerting all his strength, the tooth that had blocked the dagger earlier had finally snapped.

"Women won’t like that."

The perfectly timed remark was enough to push Lykanos into a blind rage.

"RAAAAAAH!"

The beast roared.

Enkrid gathered his own strength and let out a deep breath.

An easy-to-provoke opponent?

The thought flickered through his mind but was immediately discarded.

There was no time for distractions.

Lykanos was strong. Very strong.

He was nothing like the half-baked mercenaries who barely reached the level of a junior knight.

Still locked in a weapon clash, Lykanos suddenly released his left hand, clenched his fist, and swung it.

Thud!

Enkrid flexed his trapezius and twisted his head to absorb the impact.

A Balraf-style maneuver—redirecting the force with his body.

He didn’t just take the hit.

As he absorbed the blow, he twisted his stance and kicked Lykanos' shin.

Whack!

A heavy impact echoed over the shin guard.

"That hurt, bastard."

Lykanos growled and let go of his weapon entirely.

Then he reached for Enkrid’s collar with his right hand.

Enkrid used his left hand—pulling out his second sword, the gladius, aiming to sever every one of Lykanos’ fingers.

But as if expecting it, Lykanos pulled his hand back.

Their hands and feet clashed repeatedly. Enkrid mixed in his sword strikes, keeping up the close-quarters combat, but none of his attacks were decisive.

Brutal and relentless, their attacks exchanged without a single fatal strike landing.

Enkrid's head was bleeding from a wound, while Lykanos, having lost his helmet during the fight, had a split lip and a bleeding cheek.

Enkrid had also taken a solid hit to the stomach, disrupting his breathing.

In the same moment, he kicked Lykanos' chin, sending him spinning through the air before landing on his feet in an acrobatic display.

By the time they separated, neither was in normal condition.

"It's been a while since I met someone like you."

"I run into guys like you all the time."

"Never fought someone who never shuts up, though."

"Ah, I’m used to that."

Used to winning, too.

Crack.

Lykanos clenched his teeth. His shattered front tooth left his face looking a bit ridiculous, but the murderous intent remained unchanged.

"You annoying little shit."

And then, he swung his mace again.

But something was off.

It was different this time.

Enkrid couldn’t quite put it into words.

But he couldn’t afford to step back.

He had to block.

He raised his sword, guiding the mace’s trajectory away. Instead of resisting, he let it slide.

Clang!

As the heavy mace slid past his blade—

In the moment that time seemed to slow—

Lykanos moved twice as fast as before.

Enkrid’s focus ignited like never before.

The mace?

It was a decoy.

In the suspended moment, Lykanos pulled out a hidden weapon.

A thin, needle-like rapier that had been concealed inside the mace.

He thrust.

It was the fastest blade Enkrid had ever seen.

The moment Enkrid blocked, it was as if a beam of light had been fired at him.

It struck before his eyes could register it.

The sword was about to skewer him.

In that split-second, his instincts kicked in.

He twisted his body.

Because of that, the blade only grazed his side before piercing into his upper right arm.

Everything blurred—like a scene flashing through a dream.

The clang of the drawn blade. The sound of flesh being pierced. The sensation of pain.

None of it fully registered.

All that mattered was not dying.

And his body reacted.

He twisted, pulling his right arm free, and slashed upward with his left-hand sword.

The gladius cut through—fast and vicious.

It carved from Lykanos’ jaw, slashing up past his left eye.

Thwack! Rip!

A pair of different, visceral sounds echoed between them as they were both knocked backward.

Or rather, they were blown away from each other.

"Shoot!"

Someone shouted.

Regardless of whether the duel was over, arrows rained down.

The duel had ended.

The full-scale battle had begun.

Enkrid staggered, dropping to one knee.

Someone caught his body from behind.

"We're pulling back."

It was Jaxon.

Enkrid nodded.