A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Chapter 621: A Gift

Audin gave up on the squad training he’d postponed for days just to sit and watch.

Rumor had it that his divine battalion actually sang praises to the Lord for sparing them.

The Lord’s na probably wasn’t Shinar, but when you were being beaten half to death by your commanding officer, a temporary substitution in worship seed fair.

Enkrid, for his part, had no room to care. Whatever he heard went in one ear and out the other. He was too imrsed—devouring, savoring, and relishing every move Shinar showed him.

The fairy race’s native swordsmanship constantly sparked inspiration in him.

Maybe for geniuses, it was just a glimpse of an alternate path. But for Enkrid? It was pure ignition.

That rising tide of insight, the euphoria that flooded his entire body—only felt in monts of real growth—seared through him like red-hot iron branding the soul. How could he not enjoy it?

“Be careful,”

Shinar warned on the fourth day as she approached again. With that, she gave a flick of her sword.

Leafblade changed again. The blade split into five jagged edges and widened into a shape resembling a poorly crafted fan.

As Enkrid stared at it lengthening, he could feel the Essence surging through it.

“Is this magical?”

He recalled that Naydil was a magic sword—said to be a bonded weapon of the fairies.

Knights wield inscribed blades. Sorcerers, upon reaching a certain threshold, acquire descended weapons.

From Lua Gharne, he’d heard that Frokk used sothing called a fused weapon.

Beastn and giants also used inscribed weapons, though apparently by different thods.

The fairy race followed their own path. Bonded weapons changed shape according to their master’s intent, and Essence guided those transformations.

The transford blade didn’t look combat-optimized, but the swordsmanship she showed with it was anything but ordinary.

Her sweeping horizontal strikes were not only fast but ca from difficult angles. The flat strikes with the widened blade hit with the force of soone slamming a shield full force—like Teresa would.

Even if Teresa was “just” knight-adjacent, she was a half-giant. A full-power shield bash from her was nothing to sneeze at.

And yet this sword, wielded flat, moved with a wind-carving grace that defied resistance.

“The speed’s the sa whether slashing or striking.”

That seed to be the key. The sword danced as though riding the wind.

If Spring Breeze summoned the wind, and Sumr Downpour rained relentlessly, then Autumn Leaves rode it.

Was that the reason for the na?

Like maple leaves trembling in the wind—blows fell ceaselessly, striking without rhythm or pause.

If spring was green, and sumr blue, today’s Essence burned red.

Not crimson like fresh blood, but sothing deeper—like twilight.

Before he knew it, the spar was over. Ti had vanished, consud by the joy of this craft.

Beads of sweat glistened on Shinar’s brow.

In the dead of winter—and for a fairy, no less—that sweat spoke volus of how much effort she’d poured into the match.

Still flushed with inspiration, Enkrid asked,

“Is winter tomorrow?”

Shinar replied with a faint smile.

“It will be fun.”

On the fourth day, Shinar revealed Winter’s sword technique. Its na: Sparks.

Her blade, Naydil, thinned and shortened—resembling Enkrid’s own short sword Emberfall.

The technique that followed lived up to its na.

Her blade, gleaming white, vanished like a flicker and stabbed like lightning.

Thrust after thrust. No defense. Just unrelenting offense.

Unlike the Sumr Downpour, which drained stamina and pressured with volu, Sparks would leave holes in you if you missed a single parry. Every strike was fatal, offensive to the core.

Naturally, such overwhelming offense ca with vulnerabilities. If none of the strikes landed, the style was self-destructive.

A perfect na.

In the fairy tongue, Naydil ant “spring sword,” and Nidil ant “winter sword.” The suffix -dil ant “sword” when stressed, but due to the fairy language’s complex use of tones, accents, and inflections, not every “dil” ant sword.

As a human, Enkrid figured this was enough to understand for now.

The flying sparks were sharp and fast. If you lost focus even once, you’d lose sight of them.

Even in a state of total concentration, all he could see was the tip of her blade.

He parried, deflected, and dodged—but then ca Shinar’s voice:

“If you pass through sparks, you beco a teor.”

Her thrusts were rciless. But she wasn’t going all out, so Enkrid managed to defend himself.

Still, her blade was precise and unforgiving.

A twisted follow-through sliced deep into his cheek—blood poured freely.

“That was close,”

Audin remarked.

Seiki, ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) who’d beco a bystander sowhere along the way, stepped forward and channeled divine light into his wound.

“It’ll heal soon.”

“No need to fuss,” Enkrid muttered.

“Plenty of people would be upset if that face got ruined,” Seiki said offhandedly.

Her healing wasn’t great—the light scattered inefficiently, confirming her divine technique was still rough.

“Are you enjoying this?”

Shinar looked at him with an unreadable gaze and asked.

Enkrid nodded, a quiet smile on his face.

His cheek still bled, but the torrent of insight from the Fairy Sword of Four Seasons was worth it.

Each blade was no amateur’s trick—but a craft honed over generations by an entire race.

“Then that’s good,”

Shinar replied, smiling faintly, the corners of her eyes curving ever so slightly. For the first ti, she looked truly content.

That night, just before sleep, Shinar called him out.

“What’s this about?”

“Just a walk.”

Enkrid followed without protest.

“Out for a midnight date, huh?”

Rem heckled from behind.

Enkrid didn’t respond, and Rem didn’t expect one. Just another reflex joke at sothing she saw.

This wasn’t unusual—Shinar often sought Enkrid out. Lately, it was to ask for warmth.

Tonight, the stars were mostly hidden behind thick clouds. The moonlight was faint.

Snow tomorrow?

The air was bitingly cold—deep winter had set in.

Their breath ca in long puffs, curling in the cold.

They walked in silence. The air felt heavy with moisture, but not unpleasant.

Sowhere, a winter bird called.

As they passed a patch of stubborn green weeds growing in the frost...

“Stubborn things,”

Shinar remarked, stopping to face him.

It was pitch dark, but their senses were sharp enough to know exactly where the other’s eyes were.

Her eyes, normally green or blue, glowed faintly in the dark.

Looking him in the eye, she spoke evenly:

“Do you really have no intention of bonding with ?”

Unexpected.

She hadn’t joked much lately, so to call him out just to say this...

“Were we ever intimate?”

he asked.

“Uncomfortable?”

“Seems like it.”

“Then... did you like it?”

That triggered a mory. The first ti he’d heard one of her “fairy-style” jokes.

Just before eting Leona, wasn’t it?

It should have been forgettable—but sohow, it wasn’t.

He rembered how flustered he’d been, how badly he’d wanted to kick Jaxon for laughing nearby.

“No, I don’t,”

he said, scratching his cheek. It wasn’t a difficult question—just another teasing remark.

“I see.”

Shinar turned away without the faintest hint of a smile.

After four days of swordsmanship like a crazed fairy, now she just said:

“It was fun.”

She murmured it as she turned away.

But the tone—it was different from before.

“It was fun.”

She had said those exact words when teasing him the first ti.

But now, the emotion behind them was absent.

If there had been even a hint of regret in that phrase, Enkrid would’ve asked her why.

But there wasn’t. So he let her go.

She walked away with the sa stride, sa pace, sa posture as always.

And three days later—Shinar disappeared.

Enkrid didn’t think much of it at first.

But even after three days, she hadn’t returned.

“She left a letter,”

Kraiss said, handing it over during a break after morning drills.

“Where’d you find it?”

“She’d been gone for days without a word. I checked her room.”

“...Right.”

Technically, Shinar was a mber of the Mad Knight Order.

So no one could exactly complain that she left. Kraiss probably just looked because the room was empty.

More likely, he had his lover do it for him.

Enkrid scanned the situation quickly and opened the letter.

Apparently, Shinar had expected soone to read it after she left.

On the front, in elegant handwriting:

To Enkrid. If anyone else reads this, may you sprout like a cursed potato.

A curse. A fairy-style curse.

Enkrid peeled away the wax seal and unfolded the paper inside.

The parchnt wasn’t expensive. The ssage was short.

“I’ll be waiting for your proposal.”

Enkrid let out a soft puff of air—a laugh that escaped like air from a balloon.

Even in her final mont, she’d left a joke.

Truly, an unbeatable fairy.

“What’s it say?”

Kraiss asked.

Enkrid flipped the letter around to show him.

“Should I be impressed... but why leave without a word?”

“She must have sothing to do.”

Technically, Shinar was part of the Mad Knight Order now, but originally, she hadn’t belonged to any kingdom.

He rembered sothing Crang had said before. Sothing about a duty?

Enkrid wasn’t worried.

It was her choice, her decision—and he respected that.

He’d be the sa no matter who left. Just like when Dunbakel had gone east—he’d accepted it.

That was all.

And so, life returned to sothing like normal.

“Ti to train.”

In the mornings, he strained his muscles to the limit with Audin.

“Focus, damn it. Today’s gonna be even more brutal,”

Rem snapped during sparring.

“Everyone—run.”

He led the squad’s drills.

The only difference now: he spent more ti ditating.

“Precise sword. Heavy sword. Deceptive sword. Fast sword. Gentle sword.”

Leonessis Oniac, the genius, had categorized swordsmanship into five types.

“Are those five all there is?”

No.

Even if he went back in ti and asked Leonessis himself, the answer would be the sa.

“The five are foundational.”

Derivatives were sothing else.

Everything Enkrid had learned, practiced, revisited—combined now with the Four Season Sword of the fairies.

Shinar had intentionally excluded environntal factors, focusing purely on the technique’s essence.

“It was a performance—ant to be seen.”

Four seasons, four forms. They couldn’t be boxed into the Oniac Five.

Foundation, derivatives, experience—

When those fused, sothing burst in his mind.

The inspiration Shinar had gifted him had ripened and fallen—

—finally bearing fruit.