A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 325

Enkrid only allowed himself to collapse after Kraiss had left.

His legs had no more strength left to support him.

With a heavy thud, he landed on his backside.

The weighty impact traveled up through his muscles.

This is harder than being trapped with a thousand soldiers.

Compared to an entire day of desperate struggles against multiple opponents, this felt far worse.

Of course, it did.

After all, he had only swung his sword once.

But in that fleeting moment, his exhaustion had accumulated to a breaking point.

His vision swam, his mouth was dry.

His body felt completely drained.

His muscles had been emptied of all strength.

And that was separate from the pain of his dislocated shoulders.

Compared to the previous versions of today, the difference was absurd.

The boatman hadn’t been singing about despair, despair for nothing.

He had ranted so much about it that it sometimes felt like he would break into poetry.

Still, Enkrid had endured.

No—more than that, he had dictated the situation itself.

He had reversed the concept of enduring.

By striking first, he had survived the knight’s sword.

In the end, his dislocated shoulders and trembling body were proof that he had won.

Luck.

Luck had played a role.

But far more than that—it had been calculation and effort.

Enkrid started to lie back but was stopped by a hand.

“You should be careful with the furnace.”

It was Shinar.

If he lay back now, his burned back would get worse.

Her palm gently cradled the back of his head.

His hair hadn’t been completely burned, but strands crumbled like graphite powder, falling to the floor.

“This is a rare sight.”

Shinar muttered, gazing at the space where the knight had disappeared.

“Yes, it is.”

Enkrid replied, looking in the same direction.

“Monstrous.”

Ragna muttered to himself.

And coming from him, that word carried a heavy weight.

The knight’s strength was beyond human.

Even Ragna had admitted as much.

Ragna had faced the knight’s sword and, in doing so, had seen the next path.

A door had opened, revealing a clearer road ahead.

His task now was clear.

Maintain the will to push forward.

Fortunately, there was no need to force that motivation.

“Next time.”

Enkrid was already muttering about next time.

He had just faced a knight’s blade, yet he was already speaking of another chance, already discussing honor.

Ragna felt an impulse.

He didn’t want to fall behind.

And that was amusing.

So, he laughed.

“What’s so funny after getting smacked?”

Enkrid shot at him.

“And why are you smiling?”

Enkrid was grinning as well.

Despite his injuries, despite his burned back, despite sitting there like a collapsed wreck—he was smiling.

“If you want to laugh, just laugh.”

“Hahaha!”

Dunbakel added, but no one responded to her.

***

Jamal departed under Kraiss’ escort.

No one stopped him.

“This is Commander Enkrid’s order.

Step aside.

Do not interfere.

Make way, make way.”

Kraiss cleared the path ahead.

Within this camp, Enkrid’s name was as sharp as a legendary blade.

Who would dare go against it?

Even Battalion Commander Garrett couldn’t challenge his authority, which meant he essentially wielded power built on the soldiers’ respect.

Still, there were a few men who glared murderously at the knight.

It was only natural—his casual, unbothered gait must have been infuriating.

There were hot-headed soldiers everywhere.

“Move.”

Kraiss purposely hardened his gaze.

Jamal, meanwhile, paid no attention to his surroundings.

Why should he?

They were all soldiers he could cut down if they got in his way.

He wouldn’t strike first—it wouldn’t be honorable.

But if anyone attacked, he wouldn’t hesitate to pierce or cut them down.

Fortunately, no one made a move.

So, with a tinge of curiosity, he asked:

“Is this kind of insanity normal for you people?”

There was no need to specify who he meant.

Kraiss understood immediately.

Jamal had the distinct impression that Enkrid had recognized him and deliberately attacked.

Based on his question about his affiliation, it was clear he hadn’t known exactly who Jamal was.

But he had sensed what he was.

Which was why he had struck with a sword infused with Will.

A descending blade, laced with pressure—one that could not be ignored.

It had been a long time since Jamal had been forced into action.

It had been a refreshing experience.

Abnaier would be shocked if he found out.

But some things were unavoidable.

And at the end of those thoughts, this was the question that lingered:

Is he always this insane?

If he had miscalculated by even a fraction...

Enkrid would have died.

He had swung his sword with his own life on the line.

Honor aside, his blade had wedged itself into the smallest of gaps.

The path he had taken was lined with nothing but blades.

If his judgment had been even slightly off.

If his angle had been even slightly wrong.

He would be dead.

And yet, had there been even a hint of hesitation in his sword?

Even as he risked his life, his blade had shown no reluctance.

Crushing Blade.

For that briefest of moments, Enkrid’s technique had lived up to its name.

It had crushed.

It had forced Jamal to react.

How could he possibly consider this man normal?

Even knights were human.

Even they had fear, instincts.

But Enkrid—he moved outside of normal constraints.

A knight’s insight was different from an ordinary warrior’s.

Jamal had seen all he needed to see in that single exchange.

Kraiss chose his words carefully before answering.

“You’ve got good eyes.

Yes, he’s insane.”

Kraiss couldn’t help but admire knights.

Their intuition was incredible.

He had recognized his commander’s madness in an instant.

“I see.”

Jamal departed.

He had no more questions.

It was unfortunate news, but his job here was done.

Now, he had to return to his post.

Would this incident lead Naurillia to fully commit to war?

A knight had drawn his sword.

And the consequences would be significant.

***

Garrett stormed into the ruined tent late.

Only after safety was assured.

His survival instincts were on par with Kraiss’.

“What the hell happened?”

Even so, his expression showed genuine shock.

Enkrid explained everything.

Garrett didn’t report it.

Nothing good would come from spreading the news that a knight had been here.

They had just won.

The battle was supposed to be over.

Should he now tell the soldiers, "By the way, a knight might come to slit your throat soon?"

Even if he reassured them that Jamal wouldn’t return, fear didn’t work like that.

The people here seemed to have already moved on.

But Garrett had other reasons to keep quiet.

“I need to report this to central command.”

Garrett muttered.

Kraiss, who had returned from escorting the knight, narrowed his eyes.

“Couldn’t this just... be buried?”

“That’s not our decision to make.”

Kraiss frowned.

The stench of politics was strong in the air.

Would something else unfold from this?

This content is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

Of course, it would.

Political leverage.

Azpen had broken the first vow.

It wasn’t a non-aggression treaty, but they had agreed not to cross the line for a while.

Yet they had crossed the border—and lost.

And now they had even sent a knight?

There was no way this would be ignored.

Most likely, Naurillia would extract a major political advantage from this.

In exchange for keeping the knight’s involvement hidden, they would demand a guarantee that there would be no immediate war.

For Kraiss, it was obvious.

Of course, it wasn’t something he had a great stake in, but that didn’t mean it was entirely unrelated to him either.

Filth was filth, but if there was anything to be gained from it, one might as well take advantage.

‘From the perspective of the Border Guard.’

It would be a tremendous profit.

And if he laid his hand on it, he’d profit as well.

His mind automatically turned toward ways to earn more Krona.

“Phew, then, get treated first.”

Assessing the situation, Garrett clapped his hands lightly as he spoke.

With that sharp clap drawing everyone’s attention, he stepped outside and issued a few orders. Soon, a squad of soldiers arrived to clean up the tent, which had turned into a mess after the chaos.

Two medics worked together to set Enkrid’s dislocated shoulder.

Even though the pain from realigning the bone was no small matter, Enkrid remained completely unfazed.

A dull crack sounded as the joint snapped back into place, causing Dunbakel to instinctively furrow her brow.

Just hearing it was unsettling.

“...Doesn’t it hurt?”

The medic found himself asking before he could stop the words from slipping out.

He’d once heard of a rare condition where a person was born unable to feel pain.

Maybe this was something like that.

“No, it hurts.”

“But you didn’t even let out a groan.”

“Crying out doesn’t make it hurt any less, does it?”

A fair point, but humans weren’t usually like that.

When something hurt, people naturally let out sounds of pain.

“You really are something else, Captain.”

Captain?

Why was this guy calling him that?

Enkrid had no energy to respond.

While he hadn’t let out a single groan or scream, he still ended up bedridden with a fever for two days.

During that time, Azpen’s forces withdrew.

Enkrid heard the news in passing while half-conscious.

This time, it seemed like he had truly pushed his body to its limits.

Not that it was a bad thing.

During his fevered state, he met the Ferryman again.

“Don’t get cocky.”

The Ferryman’s voice rang out.

Enkrid felt a tinge of injustice.

He hadn’t even said anything.

He was merely sitting on the boat, leisurely gazing at the black river.

For a brief moment, he had simply thought that the inky waters, devoid of any visible depth, had a certain appeal to them.

If one considered this a landscape, perhaps one’s perception of it could change depending on their mindset.

“Arrogant.”

The Ferryman spoke again.

There was no other conversation.

And there was no need for one.

“The wall will always stand in your path.”

For the third time, the Ferryman spoke.

Enkrid simply nodded in response.

It had always been that way, and it always would be.

They called it a curse.

But Enkrid never felt it was a curse.

To him, it was an opportunity.

An opportunity to bridge the gap between the talented and the talentless.

An opportunity that had brought him this far.

An opportunity that had led him to receive a knight’s sword.

He didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt the urge to speak.

“...My thanks.”

As always, he meant those words sincerely.

The Ferryman was unlike others.

Even though Enkrid had spoken so suddenly, the Ferryman wasn’t fazed.

And that was it.

He woke from the dream.

When he came to, he found Dunbakel dozing off in front of him.

What the hell was she doing here?

Something cool rested against his forehead.

A damp cloth.

It was comfortably cool.

It seemed someone had been changing the cloth regularly.

“...Hey, go lie down properly if you’re going to sleep.”

“Ah, I just dozed off for a moment.”

Dunbakel wiped away a bit of drool as she opened her eyes.

She blinked a few times, let out a yawn, and scratched her cheek with her clawed fingers.

Then, with what seemed to be a shy expression—though honestly, it wasn’t convincing as shyness, but for a beastwoman, this was probably as close to it as one could get—she spoke in a slightly softer voice while absentmindedly scratching her neck with her claws.

“...Felt like taking care of a sick little sibling.”

“I’m older than you.”

“Well, yeah, but I’m going # Nоvеlight # to get stronger. Strong enough to take down any bastard that comes our way. So don’t die.”

For a brief moment, Dunbakel had glimpsed Enkrid’s death.

Her beast instincts flared in alarm.

Charging in meant death.

And yet, Enkrid had charged in.

Even though the mere sight of the enemy should have screamed certain death, he had still charged in.

Dunbakel thought back to that moment when she had hesitated.

A wave of self-reproach washed over her.

I haven’t changed.

And that was the worst thing.

Hadn’t she stayed here because she wanted to live differently from her days as a bandit, wielding a thief’s blade?

But she didn’t want to die either.

Standing at a crossroads, she had taken neither path.

So then, what should she do?

I’ll get stronger.

That was the conclusion she came to.

No more sinking into despair. She would move forward.

Wasn’t that exactly what she had learned from watching that crazy captain, Enkrid?

“You don’t die either.”

Enkrid spoke without thinking.

After all, whenever he was struck down, whenever he was immobilized, Dunbakel had repeatedly hurled herself at the knight’s blade, her expression twisted in grim resolve.

Even though she must have known she would die, she had still charged in.

What had driven her?

“Don’t push yourself too—”

“I will get stronger. Sniff.

And hey, if you ever need a woman’s warmth, just say the word. I’ll sleep next to you.”

Dunbakel cut him off, her tongue quick as ever.

Had she picked up that habit from Rem?

Lately, she had been sounding more and more like him.

“...Esther is enough.”

Curled up in Enkrid’s arms, the leopard had already claimed her spot.

Those blue, lake-like eyes met Dunbakel’s golden gaze.

Dunbakel narrowed her eyes at Esther and muttered,

“No hoarding.”

...What was that supposed to mean?

“Hmph.”

Esther let out something close to a scoff.

Was it a challenge?

Was she telling Dunbakel to just try and take her place?

Dunbakel let it go.

When Enkrid awoke again after a short rest, the camp outside was bustling.

Azpen had retreated.

Which meant—

It was time for a victory party.