Eternally Regressing Knight-Chapter 480 - The Giant Slayer

Chapter 480 - The Giant Slayer

"I've made up my mind, mister," said Jiba, her words cutting through the still air.

Enkrid looked up from drying his damp hair, her sudden declaration pulling his attention away from the lingering warmth of the recent battle.

Jiba's small figure stood resolute before him, her eyes alight with an intensity that made her seem far older than her years.

Her damp hair clung to her face as she spoke, her gaze unwavering.

"I'm going to become your bride.

Just wait five years!"

Beside them, Luagarne puffed out her cheeks in an effort to stifle his laughter, while Dunbakel tilted her head, her sharp gaze flicking between the two.

"Will five years be enough?" Dunbakel asked, skeptical. "Doesn't seem like there's much to grow from."

Jiba's small frame straightened defiantly. "Look at my mom! I'll grow—tremendously!"

What exactly would grow remained a mystery, though Jiba's mother, seated nearby, wordlessly straightened her back and thrust her chest out with pride. The western man sitting beside her nodded approvingly, his face a portrait of agreement.

Rem, unfamiliar with the dynamics of this particular tent, finally broke his silence. "Who's this kid?"

"She's Jiba, the plucky little dreamer," Enkrid replied with his usual bluntness, drying his hair with a cloth Jiba's mother had thoughtfully provided.

"A dreamer without much support," Rem observed, raising an eyebrow at the peculiar situation.

While most dreams were worthy of encouragement, this one seemed destined for complications.

After all, marriage required mutual consent, not to mention understanding.

To Enkrid, Jiba was simply a spirited child, one fortunate to have survived thus far.

Her bold proclamation, while endearing, held no real weight in his mind.

Jiba, having said her piece, stepped back.

She understood when to retreat, particularly when the lingering heat of combat still coursed through the camp and others sought Enkrid's attention.

"You've improved significantly," Rem noted, his tone carrying genuine admiration.

He wasn't wrong. The murmurs calling Enkrid a great warrior or savior no longer seemed exaggerated.

Even Rem, with his keen eye for strength, couldn't deny the skill Enkrid had demonstrated.

The victories over the twin giants were not mere feats of strength—they were proof of cultivated experience, honed abilities, and an unyielding spirit.

Rem mused quietly, "Combat is unpredictable. Even a knight might fall to a squire. Skills only provide so much certainty."

Enkrid's evolution wasn't just about strength; it was about depth—a refinement borne from surviving countless battles. As Rem observed, his abilities had been elevated across all aspects: speed, judgment, adaptability, and an uncanny mental resilience. It was an alchemy of knowledge, instinct, and grit.

"That's extraordinary," said Ayul, who had been silently listening.

Her voice carried awe, her expression openly impressed. "I've never seen anyone fight better than Rem."

Juol, standing nearby, nodded in agreement. "I had a feeling you weren't ordinary when I first saw you, but this..." His voice trailed off, as though words failed to capture the enormity of what he'd witnessed.

Even a Western elder, his face still streaked with the remnants of tears, stepped forward to express his gratitude. "You saved my tribe from the curse and slew the giants. I don't know how to thank you enough."

Enkrid, bewildered, glanced at the man. "You're the chieftain?"

The elder chuckled. "Didn't you know?"

Enkrid shook his head. The man had always seemed kind but unassuming, his gestures limited to gifts of fruit and quiet thanks. That such a humble figure led the tribe felt surprising.

"Regardless, what you've done for us goes beyond words. If there's anything you need, even my position as chieftain is yours to claim."

The camp buzzed with activity as the moment of levity—Jiba's innocent declaration and the chieftain's effusive thanks—gave way to the rhythm of daily responsibilities. One by one, the others dispersed, leaving Enkrid a rare moment of solitude.

"Let's spar later," said a voice. It was Geonnara, his Western teeth bared in a challenging grin.

"Didn't you say you'd wait until you fully recovered?" Enkrid replied.

Geonnara shrugged. "What's the fun in holding back?" His sharpened fangs gleamed as he spoke.

"Won't change the outcome," Enkrid said with a smirk.

"You've got a way with words, don't you?"

"Been told that before."

Enkrid turned inward, his thoughts drifting to the battles and growth that had brought him here. Each step, each swing of his sword, had been a process of learning and unlearning, a layering of techniques from mercenary traditions to the fluid movements of unnamed sword styles. It was a discipline of breaking apart, understanding, and rebuilding.

And now, standing at the precipice of even greater strength, he prepared to face what lay ahead.

"I think I could go further."

It was a realization born from intuition and insight, something observed and understood through reflection. So, what was needed now?

"For now, I suppose you don't need me," Luagarne said.

Her words were accurate. While he still wielded his sword as always, it felt more fitting now to embody each concept physically rather than ponder and deliberate.

"That seems to be the case."

"Good timing, isn't it?"

Luagarne murmured as she prepared to leave. Lately, she often went out, though he didn't bother asking why. If it mattered, she'd eventually share it herself. With this atmosphere, life didn't change much. Enkrid remained deeply immersed in training, as always.

"You're free to leave if you'd like, but if staying here is more comfortable, that's fine too. Let me know if there's anything you want; I can procure most things," Hira said, the familiar reed stick in her mouth. Though she'd always been kind, her attentiveness had become even more pronounced.

At meals, Jiba's mother served them dishes just as she always had.

"This is wind rabbit meat, a specialty of the West. Please enjoy."

Wind rabbits were native to the region—nimble creatures twice as fast as normal rabbits. Only the most skilled hunters could catch them, even in the West. The meat was tender, almost melting in the mouth. Ground Western-style and mixed with grain flour, it was grilled flat, dissolving effortlessly on the tongue.

"We've got a guy in our unit named Krais. If he tasted this, he'd probably suggest opening a shop immediately," Enkrid said with genuine praise.

Though Hira and the other Westerners often asked what he wanted, Enkrid only expressed a desire for sparring partners.

"Are your wounds still not fully recovered?" Hira asked.

Geonnara shook his head. "Not yet."

It wasn't avoidance. As he had realized earlier, a proper clash required preparation. Surprisingly—or perhaps inevitably—finding sparring partners wasn't difficult. Westerners prided themselves on their resilience, viewing retreat as shameful.

There were plenty eager to fight Enkrid, drawn by his strength. Among them was one who had observed his battles ten days ago and come to learn.

"A scar on the back is shameful for a Westerner," said the newcomer.

He had short gray hair, a sharp jawline, and a determined look.

"What if it's from an ambush?"

"Well, that can't be helped."

Westerners weren't rigid to a fault—they were flexible and, above all, loved a good joke.

Enkrid smiled, catching the wooden sword tossed to him by his opponent. The craftsmanship seemed off, the balance unsteady, but it was clearly carved with care.

"This sword feels wrong," Enkrid thought, testing its weight. Was it poorly made or purposefully crafted for this duel?

The man continued speaking, even as he approached, wooden sword in hand.

Updat𝓮d from frёewebnoѵēl.com.

"They say it's dishonorable to fight unfairly, but..."

Mid-sentence, he suddenly lunged, swinging his sword. His cloak whipped violently, its patterned design blurring Enkrid's vision. Everything—his weapon, his movements, even his words—was calculated to gain the upper hand.

"Tactics," Enkrid noted silently.

Deception, too, was a form of strategy.

But such ploys held no sway over him.

The wooden sword, it turned out, was hollowed and brittle.

Feigning engagement, Enkrid let his sword drop.

His opponent's swing followed through, snapping his weapon in two.

"Just how rotten was that thing?" Enkrid wondered.

Seizing the moment, he stepped in close, driving the heel of his palm into the man's solar plexus. He didn't use his full strength—otherwise, the man would've been a corpse.

A sharp crack echoed. His opponent collapsed, unable to react, gasping for air as if lifeless.

"You trying to kill him?" Dunbakel asked, stepping in to prop the man up.

"Cough... Huff... I saw my dead father," the fallen warrior managed to wheeze.

Examining his own hand, Enkrid thought, Still need to work on control.

Another challenger—a female warrior—stepped forward. Her braided hair framed broad, muscular shoulders, and she wielded a massive axe.

Watching her comrade barely survive didn't faze her.

"Even if you go all out, I don't think I'll die. Shall we?" she asked.

Enkrid nodded, sidestepping her powerful strikes before delivering a precise blow to the back of her neck, rendering her unconscious.

He realized that this settlement held many skilled fighters—and their numbers seemed to be growing.

"Is it true he's that formidable?" some newcomers asked, approaching to witness the warrior who felled a giant.

"Show respect. Act up, and you'll end up dead," Geonnara warned them.

"Yes, sir," they replied, nodding obediently.

Though impressed by Enkrid's feats, they had their own duties—sharpening weapons, meditating, training. The settlement was clearly preparing for battle.

The giant's death wasn't the end of things—it was only the beginning.

Please support my work and read more Chapters by heading over to my kofi

www.ko-fi.com/samowek

Thank you for supporting my work :)