A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Chapter 324

The best defense was a strong offense. Enkrid imprinted the enemy’s entire body into his mind.

He wasn’t just looking with his eyes—he was reading the intent behind each movent.

For a mont, it felt as though his head and eyes were burning.

He gathered that much focus.

His blood vessels bulged as his pulse pounded through his body.

His One-Point Focus activated to its fullest extent.

The enemy moved.

A series of small motions.

A sequence of actions, each containing a hidden aning.

Just as one could read between the lines of an otherwise mundane sentence, Enkrid deciphered the context of his opponent’s movents.

Movents that seed aningless—he analyzed them.

How does a knight’s sword move?

He didn’t fully know yet.

Understanding the process was difficult.

But he had seen it countless tis through death.

He had stood frozen in place, powerless, and watched.

He had watched as Ragna and the others fell.

And so, he saw it now.

A tiny gap—the briefest of openings that erged in the mont a knight drew their sword and swung.

Had he not repeated today over and over, had he not gained these repeated experiences, he never would have noticed it.

Even with the sharpest senses and his finest One-Point Focus, that gap would have remained invisible.

But Enkrid had been waiting for it.

Sharpening his instincts through countless deaths, he had pushed his concentration to its limit, feeling as though his blood vessels were igniting.

The enemy was about to draw their sword.

Enkrid felt ti slow down.

Yet he proceeded with complete composure.

Exactly as planned.

Exactly as he had envisioned.

First, he activated Heart of Might.

Boom.

As his heart pounded, blood surged wildly through his veins.

His body wasn’t in perfect condition, but this was the best it could be.

His hand naturally wrapped around the gladius grip as he pivoted his body slightly.

At that mont, the knight’s sword was fully drawn.

With an irritating tchik sound, the blade scraped against the scabbard.

Enkrid took a breath.

Ti felt sluggish, but his thoughts moved with clarity.

A fleeting series of realizations flashed through his mind.

The first sword he had developed—the Serpent Blade.

A sword that flowed.

The second—the Lightning Thrust.

A technique infused with Instantaneous Will.

A sword centered on speed.

And now, the third.

There was no preparatory movent.

Enkrid had studied the enemy knight’s sword countless tis.

He had witnessed it through death.

He had observed the way the opponent swung their blade and contemplated its principles.

The flow of power, the shifting of weight, the transitions between movents.

He had morized Ragna’s sword as well.

A technique he called Lightning Strike.

Though he didn’t know its na, the image of its movents was carved into his mind.

He had also mimicked the fae’s ability to read intent.

He continued reading, again and again.

With the experience he had gained through these repeated days, the hidden gap beca vividly clear.

"Just before the sword is drawn and swung."

Too early would be a mistake.

Too late would be a failure.

All eyes were on them.

Ragna’s pupils dilated in silent astonishnt.

It looked as if his commander’s movents were mirroring those of the unexpected intruder.

Shinar’s gaze carried the sa disbelief.

What is…?

The mont unfolded before anyone could fully process it.

Dunbakel and Kraiss were too slow to react, and Esther had just begun to rise, her fur bristling.

In the peculiar silence, the intruder drew their sword, and Enkrid emanated an eerie intensity.

It didn’t matter whether others were watching.

Enkrid did what needed to be done.

“I can’t block it.”

That was Enkrid’s conclusion.

So what was the solution?

If blocking was impossible, what about striking first?

He had never attempted it before, but he saw the possibility.

The mory was clear—Ragna’s sword had struck his own, causing his hands to bleed.

Even as he died, a lightning bolt had crashed through his mind.

Sword. Knight. Power. Defense. Failure.

All of these combined into a single answer.

"If I can’t block it—"

"Then I will strike first."

Enkrid unleashed his third sword technique.

A heavy sword—one that followed the principles of Greatsword Techniques.

He infused it with Will.

A force he had beco intimately familiar with through countless defeats.

A pressure—an aura of dominance.

He couldn’t yet wield it perfectly, but he had honed it enough to incorporate into his swordsmanship.

Ragna had been stunned when he saw it before.

Of course, since today had reset, Ragna was about to be shocked all over again.

To this, Enkrid added the Valen-style rcenary Sword techniques.

Traditionally, an advance began with a step forward, but Enkrid stepped sideways instead.

The knight’s gaze instinctively flickered downward.

"What—?"

It ant nothing in itself, but it was enough to create doubt.

The knight’s sword didn’t slow down, but his thought process did.

And that was the timing Enkrid had been waiting for.

Thud.

He kicked off the ground.

His left foot stepped outward while his right foot—his back foot—dug in.

A technique from the Valen-style rcenary Swordsmanship: Cross-Step.

To opponents with keen eyesight, this kind of footwork was particularly distracting.

It was designed to exploit even the smallest of gaps—to create even the slightest advantage.

"Speed alone won’t work."

He had already learned that.

So he wouldn’t rely on speed—he would use montum.

And it worked.

The knight didn’t falter, but his sword did not strike.

Enkrid had stolen his timing.

Shing!

Enkrid drew his sword and raised it vertically.

With the blade upright, he pressed forward with Will—with pressure.

The knight reacted on pure instinct.

His well-trained body urged him to block.

The third sword technique—Crushing Blade.

Like a mountain pressing down on the earth.

Like a finger pinning down an ant.

It overwheld and oppressed.

By forcing pressure upon the enemy, it left them with no choice but to defend.

Compared to the Lightning Thrust, it was slow.

But the sheer force of Will behind it was suffocating.

The knight—Jamal—hadn’t underestimated his opponent.

But this?

This, he had not expected.

No, he could not have expected it.

Who would?

An enemy bursts into the tent.

Imdiately steals the initiative.

Then forces him into a defensive stance with a greatsword’s weight?

His draw speed had been slow.

But after that, he had built up speed.

His sword moved at just the right pace—fast enough that the opponent had to block.

But Jamal was no ordinary knight.

"Not happening."

His sword vibrated.

A counterstrike to repel the descending blade.

Wung.

In the briefest of monts—so fast it was almost imperceptible—the swords clashed.

Enkrid couldn’t hear the sound.

He had already committed his entire focus and strength into the strike.

There was no energy left to process anything else.

Boom!

A deafening explosion.

Crack!

The sound of bones twisting.

A weightless sensation overwheld Enkrid.

The old, poorly maintained short sword in Jamal’s hand had sohow produced an absurd amount of recoil.

He felt his body lift.

Then—a crash.

Pain imdiately followed.

A scorching sensation.

His back had slamd into the furnace.

Enkrid rolled to the side.

“Ah—!”

Kraiss let out a startled yelp.

The fallen furnace sparked into flas.

Despite the long explanation, it had all happened in an instant.

The intruder had torn through the tent, spoken a few words, and attacked imdiately.

Enkrid’s head lolled to the side.

For a brief mont, his mind went blank.

And as he collapsed—

Whoosh.

Ragna reacted.

At the sa ti as Kraiss’s shocked cry—

Boom!

A second explosion.

Ragna had unleashed Lightning Strike, and the knight had countered.

Ragna was sent flying.

But unlike Enkrid, he didn’t roll.

He stabbed his sword into the ground, dragging a long, searing line into the earth.

“Hah…”

Ragna inhaled sharply.

With one strike, he already knew.

This man—this opponent—was not below him.

anwhile, Shinar wasn’t engaging—he was slapping a blanket against Enkrid’s burning back.

Smack, smack.

The flas died out.

And then—

A crack echoed from Ragna’s sword.

It was about to break.

He discarded it and drew another.

The weapon of Squire Bill.

Shing.

He raised it.

Regulating his breath, Ragna planted his knee firmly and steadied his stance.

He was ready to fight.

“Enough.”

Enkrid, still lying on the ground, spoke.

The knight’s gaze shifted toward him.

Ragna halted his forward step.

Shinar quietly withdrew, placing his hand on his knives.

It was obvious just by watching.

Monstrous.

How could soone do that with a short sword that looked ready to snap at any mont?

That was only possible if there was sothing beyond re strength residing within their body.

In other words, this man was a knight.

“You don’t seem like soone who should be here.”

Shinar spoke.

The knight remained silent.

He rely observed the man lying before him—the man who had, without hesitation, struck him first.

Enkrid had been burned again before his previous injuries could even heal.

He wasn’t wearing enchanted armor, so there was nothing protecting him from the heat.

Of course, his back was burned.

Fortunately, it wasn’t a severe wound.

Shinar had put out the flas quickly.

His back wasn’t even the worst of it.

Not even a giant could hit this hard.

Both his shoulders had dislocated.

And that wasn’t the worst of it either.

His Crushing Blade had landed, but the counterattack that followed had been vicious.

If I hadn’t redirected the force at the last second…

His injuries wouldn’t have ended with re dislocations.

Both of his hands had been torn open, blood dripping freely.

It was inevitable.

Jamal had activated his signature technique, Blade Echo, just before impact.

A sword skill that added explosive force through high-speed vibrations.

The knight said nothing, and Enkrid coughed up blood.

He waited in silence.

This was within his expectations.

He had once dread of becoming a knight.

Of course, he had studied them extensively.

He knew their principles.

He knew their honor.

And he knew exactly what the knight had ant.

“You said once was enough, didn’t you?”

So he asked.

Jamal silently stared at him.

“What was that technique?”

“Crushing Blade.”

“Impressive.”

Ting.

The knight sheathed his sword.

Ragna still held his, tip pointed at the man.

Enkrid forced himself up using only his legs.

Since his dislocated shoulders prevented his arms from rising, he awkwardly swung his arms from his waist and tapped Ragna’s shoulder.

Pain flared through him, and it was almost comical—but not impossible.

“Don’t fight today.”

Enkrid said.

Ragna obediently stepped back.

A talent worthy of the title genius.

He, too, understood.

The opponent was a knight.

And to put it bluntly, if he fought now, his death was guaranteed.

“What’s your na?”

Enkrid asked.

“Jamal.”

The knight answered without hesitation.

“You’re with the Royal Knight Order of the Commonwealth?”

“I am.”

There was no point in hiding it.

Unless he intended to go back on his word and cut them all down.

And if he wasn’t going to do that, then there was no reason to conceal his affiliation.

A knight had to stand with pride.

He had made a promise, and his opponent had honored it.

Now, it was his turn to uphold what remained of his honor.

That was what it ant to be a knight.

“It was an honor.”

Enkrid said.

Regardless of how the situation had played out, he ant it.

Jamal’s eyes glimred.

What is with this guy?

And what was with this entire situation?

And yet, despite the absurdity, laughter slipped out.

“An honor?”

He found himself repeating the words, a chuckle in his voice.

“It’s not every day you get to face a knight’s sword.”

“You were the one who struck first.”

“I had a feeling I wouldn’t survive if I waited.”

Was it keen intuition?

Good judgnt?

Or just pure luck?

Like soone taking a step back only to accidentally avoid a snake’s bite?

Had fortune smiled upon him?

Jamal let out another amused laugh.

He hadn’t been tense from the start.

And now, even the lingering killing intent had faded.

With the intent to kill gone, all that remained before him was a man—a man so ordinary it was almost hard to believe he had just fought a knight.

“You spoke of honor, so I believed you.”

“You’ll go far.”

Jamal was a knight.

Naturally, he could recognize talent.

Not just raw skill, but potential.

For now, the most eye-catching presence was the blond-haired, red-eyed man—Ragna.

He was the obvious standout.

But sotis, there were people whose presence couldn’t be explained by talent alone.

People who had sothing that defied words.

The man standing before him was one of them.

“We’ll et again.”

Jamal said.

Now that things had co to this, he actually felt at ease.

He had made a promise based on his honor.

And a knight must keep his word.

Even Abnaier couldn’t object.

He, too, had agreed to the one strike condition.

“It was an honor.”

Standing upright, Enkrid felt the ache in his thighs and calves.

It seed like every ti he overca an obstacle—be it ignorance, despair, or agony—his body suffered for it.

“The best defense is a strong offense. I liked that.”

Jamal said.

And with that, he turned away.

“...We’re just letting him go?”

Dunbakel muttered, her expression unsettled.

“What, you want to fight him?

Unless you’ve got a death wish, we have to let him go.

Hell, we should be escorting him out.”

Kraiss shot back.

He shuddered as he spoke.

He had caught on.

He had felt it.

The sheer weight of power the man possessed.

“Ah, Kraiss, we can’t afford to cause a disturbance. Guide him out.”

Enkrid said.

Kraiss’ eyes widened.

“What did you just say?”

“A knight’s sword is safer than a thug’s dagger.”

“You do know he’s our enemy, right?”

Kraiss lowered his voice.

As if speaking more quietly would change anything.

Because what difference would it make if Jamal heard?

Yes, the Royal Knight Order of the Commonwealth was an enemy.

He knew that.

But today, they had spoken of honor.

“Of course.

And we must uphold our own principles as well.”

If they were letting him go, they should ensure he left without trouble.

Kraiss wasn’t stupid.

If the patrols spotted him, it would escalate into a bigger ss.

Who else could guide him?

Dunbakel?

Ragna?

Shinar?

Subduing him was out of the question, so the best option was to send soone clever.

Strength didn’t matter.

The opponent was a knight.

Kraiss understood that.

With a miserable expression, King Eyeball stepped outside.

“Damn it.”

He muttered under his breath.

Because that didn’t an he had to like it.