Eternally Regressing Knight-Chapter 522 - No Regrets

Chapter 522 - No Regrets

As Enkrid emerged from the conscious world crafted by Aker, he felt the wind ruffle his hair.

Judging by the time, the sun had yet to dip behind the western mountains, so not much real-world time had passed.

His heightened senses, akin to a biological clock, confirmed this.

It hadn't been long.

"It felt like ages inside, though."

Despite his perception, reality was different.

The world he had traversed was one of pure consciousness.

But did that render everything he learned meaningless?

Hardly.

Although it would take time to adapt and implement the lessons with his physical body.

Opening his eyes, Enkrid observed himself, still standing in the same position as before—gripping his sword awkwardly.

"I'm not hungry," he thought.

He felt no need for food or rest.

Despite prolonged focus, he experienced no dizziness.

His body felt fine, even though he'd stood gripping the sword the entire time.

Not a trace of fatigue clung to his limbs.

"Every time I see you, you're doing something bizarre."

Rem's voice broke the silence.

Approaching with his axe slung at his waist, arms hanging loosely, he gave Enkrid a curious look.

Through his sorcery, which had elevated him to the level of a knight, Rem could glimpse parts of the strange interaction between Enkrid and the sword.

Watching Enkrid suddenly grip his weapon, close his eyes, and move subtly, Rem realized something unusual was happening.

Using sorcery, he probed to understand.

Thus, Rem, and everyone else in their unique ways, kept their attention on Enkrid.

Aware of their gazes, Enkrid glanced at them briefly and spoke.

"I was playing with Aker."

"That's what it looked like to me," Rem replied.

"Yeah. I'm heading back."

Releasing the sword, Enkrid stretched his legs to loosen his muscles and moved to a nearby stump in the corner of the training yard. Normally, entering the world Aker created required the deliberate lowering of one's consciousness, akin to sinking into water.

But Enkrid, having dealt with countless situations involving ferrymen of consciousness, had become adept at such transitions.

Not that he ever desired these experiences.

Navigating the boundary between dreams and consciousness was nothing new to him.

Without Aker's invitation, Enkrid re-entered the world of consciousness.

"I suppose this is the moment I'm supposed to be surprised. But I won't be—wasting time isn't my thing."

Aker paused mid-combat to mutter this.

Normally, a flurry of questions might follow.

Did I ever teach you how to enter the conscious world?

Do you understand how your Will flows like an unending spring, making it harder to control?

How did you return so quickly?

Doesn't your mind fray from overuse?

I can tell you're as unyielding as steel, but how's that possible?

Have you struck a deal with the goddess of fortune after narrowly escaping death a hundred times?

These were the types of inquiries one might expect.

But Enkrid was the sort of person who defied explanation. He couldn't be defined by logic or reason.

Recognizing this, Aker opted for silence.

No questions.

No distractions.

Why?

Because matching wits with this man had ignited something within Aker himself.

"I won't go easy on you just because it's tough."

Clenching his teeth, Aker acknowledged the resolve stirring within him.

"Thanks," Enkrid replied nonchalantly, his tone somehow grating.

"This bastard..."

Aker chuckled.

At least he wouldn't need to teach him psychological warfare.

Despite being an incorporeal presence, a fragment of memory and intent, Enkrid had managed to spark something deep within him.

For the next month in the real world—but what felt like eons in the conscious world—they sparred.

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Aker poured every ounce of knowledge into teaching Enkrid, driven by his lingering attachment to this existence.

"If you can refine your technique here, what's your plan? Just grasp the methods. You'll have to relearn everything physically when you return."

"Got it."

Enkrid continuously challenged Aker, absorbing techniques as fast as he could.

He realized there was no need to pant or catch his breath in the conscious world—his body wasn't truly engaged.

But he still mimicked physical exertion, treating it as if it were real.

"Honestly, you're kind of slow."

"What happened to that knightly training? Why are you learning at a snail's pace?"

Aker could have thrown such barbs, as others often had at Enkrid.

But he didn't.

One month was a short time, and Aker, driven by a desire to leave no regrets, prioritized pouring all his knowledge into Enkrid.

No unnecessary questions.

No fretting over talent.

Just instruction.

"Show me your swordsmanship. You must've learned something from Knight Aker's techniques."

Since Aker's fragment was distinct from the original Knight Aker, he referred to himself separately.

Enkrid nodded, demonstrating his evolved and personalized swordsmanship—combinations like "Mind Games," "Precision Strikes," and "Nameless Sword." He also displayed methods to conceal his intent, generating a flurry of movements to confuse opponents.

"You think I'm some greenhorn? That trick only works on amateurs."

Aker countered Enkrid's strikes effortlessly.

In his era, knights were more numerous, and battles more frequent.

The chaotic landscape of that time demanded warriors with sharper skills, not those hampered by hesitation.

Strategies like Enkrid's might have worked on lesser foes, but not against veterans.

"You've improved," Aker admitted. "Still, you should learn the later stages of the Nameless Sword."

Enkrid, though busy fending off attacks, managed a nod.

He treated each bout as though his physical body were at stake, pushing himself to exhaustion even though he knew it wasn't necessary.

A sudden flash of insight illuminated his mind, sharpening his focus.

He remained attentive as Aker explained.

"This technique's original name is Aker's Spiderweb. Aker loved spiders, even kept some as pets."

As the month progressed, Enkrid immersed himself in mastering these techniques.

Outside, he alternated between rest and training, devoting every waking moment to Aker.

Every meeting, however, comes to an end.

Aker's time was drawing to a close, and Enkrid sensed it each time he returned to reality.

The once-sharp blade grew dull, the solid hilt softened, and even Enkrid's grip felt like it could crush the now-frail weapon.

What remained was no longer a masterpiece, but a relic on the verge of crumbling.

One ordinary day, in the conscious world, Aker's form began to fade amidst the grass.

"Well, I'm off."

Enkrid nodded silently, watching as Aker's face began to dissolve into radiant particles.

Cheeks, hair, then his entire body disintegrated into a cascade of tiny lights.

It was a strangely beautiful yet cruel sight—the disappearance of an existence, no matter its form, felt poignant.

Still, Aker smiled—a serene, untroubled expression devoid of regret or sorrow.

"Thank you."

Aker spoke, though the two hadn't had much time for deep conversation.

Aker didn't share much about himself but occasionally threw in a few light stories.

However, there was no room to discuss regrets or goals.

Instead, the two wielded their swords.

That alone was enough for Enkrid to feel what Aker wanted.

Yet, there wasn't much else to say.

The human form of the thought-body blurred and disappeared. Particles of light scattered, spiraling skyward like a miniature tornado.

Simultaneously, the grassy field and the sunny sky split apart.

From the fissured heavens, light burst forth—flashes of brilliance, like hundreds or thousands of meteors streaking past. It was an illusion, a flickering journey across the boundary of consciousness and unconsciousness, leading Enkrid back to reality.

As he awoke, Enkrid opened his eyes, letting his head drop slightly.

Rustle.

Aker, who had been in his hand, scattered like dust.

Looking ahead, the sun in the sky shone through the thin clouds, as if challenging anything to block its rays.

It was a clear day, the sunlight brightening the surroundings.

"A mid day field. Aker's favorite place. This was his homeland."

Those were Aker's words.

Though he claimed he didn't talk much about himself, he had shared more than enough.

For someone who claimed to know nothing as a thought-body, he had turned out to be quite chatty.

"Did you also learn Valen's swordsmanship?"

"Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship?"

"Why would that man be a mercenary?"

"Wasn't he?"

"He was a knight. One of the top ten in the ranks. Do you think his swordsmanship is just trickery? It's trickery, yes, but if you dig deeper, you'll find it has a different flavor. It's a style created with wielding Will as its foundation."

The revelation caught Enkrid's attention enough to perk up his ears, but he didn't have the mental space to dwell on it at the time.

He had too much on his plate.

Aker's teachings were valuable, but Enkrid had his own realizations to chase.

To pursue them, he tirelessly wielded his sword and threw himself into battle.

In any case, what Aker left behind had fully passed on to Enkrid.

Now, there were no lingering regrets.

And the fact that Aker had departed without regret meant that the knight's unfulfilled desires had been resolved.

Thus, Aker, the royal treasure, had fulfilled his role—no, he had done more than that.

What was more than his role?

Enkrid had realized that his approach to wielding Will was clumsy.

To fix it, he would need to face his limits repeatedly.

That was why he fought Aker, again and again, breaking through his Will in the process.

While fighting in the realm of consciousness, Enkrid also reinforced the metaphorical bricks he had laid before, replacing them with sturdier stones.

'I should've been the one to say thank you.'

Enkrid thought as he gazed at the falling sunlight, silently addressing Aker.

***

By now, autumn had come fully into its own.

Autumn, the season perfect for both fighting and waging war.

The heat had waned, making it easier to preserve food supplies. Forests and fields nearby offered additional resources for foraging. The cool breeze brought refreshing clarity rather than the bite of cold.

It was a season of scant rain, with the sky often clear or adorned with thin clouds. The high, open skies provided excellent visibility.

The battlefield was set in Green Pearl.

If the plains were the stage, it was a poor environment for tricks—an open confrontation seemed inevitable.

At least, that's how it appeared.

As Enkrid spent a month assimilating what he had learned from Aker, Aspen declared war.

"If you give us half of Green Pearl and two of your newly fortified cities, we can avoid a fight."

This was the envoy's message to the royal court.

"You wouldn't say that thinking I'd agree, so let's see for ourselves what Aspen places its faith in."

Krang, seated on the throne, neither scolded nor raged but instead displayed his majesty through calm words.

The envoy, representing the Ekkins family—a symbol of administration and governance—retreated, thinking the Naurilia king's composure to be impressive.

Aspen moved noisily, as if to announce their intent. This clamor reverberated across the continent.

They exploited rumors to the fullest.

"This battle will be Aspen's victory," some claimed.

At first, it was the gossipy merchants. Then, even the leaders of major trade houses began predicting the outcome of the war.

Among them were those who bet on Aspen's victory, having witnessed the massive army they had raised, draining their kingdom to its core.

By contrast, Naurilia's response seemed subdued—at least outwardly.

Their intention was to defend Border Guard first and move their forces later.

Naurilia refrained from revealing their full strength too easily, while Aspen made no effort to conceal theirs. It was as though they were daring their opponent to try and stop them.

Amidst this, Krais put his strategic plan into action.

"We're ready to march."

The big-eyed man, whose future included managing countless salons, spoke while surveying the assembled troops at the training grounds.

Everyone had finished arming themselves.

Enkrid, in place of Aker, had acquired a solid blade made from steel of the Valeri Mountains, once again carrying three swords.

In addition, he slung a throwing spear diagonally across his back, bringing his arsenal to four large weapons.

He wore a blue gambeson embroidered with gold over a drake-scale leather cuirass. Instead of a gauntlet, his left wrist was wrapped with leather straps connected by clasps—a custom wrist guard made by Eitri using leather from the giant merchant.

Enkrid's infamous Madmen Unit gathered on either side of him.

Rem, wielding an axe

Ragna, with a greatsword slung over his shoulder

Jaxen, standing with arms crossed and eyes downcast

Shinar, expressionless, standing directly behind Enkrid.

"This is both unsettling and reassuring," Krais muttered, watching them.

According to his plan, Audin, Teresa, and others would remain here.

The rest of the forces, however, would move out.

"We only march together for a while before splitting up, right?"

Enkrid confirmed, and Krais nodded.

Thus, the beginning was set.

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