A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 226: Swiftblade

The fight with Swiftblade was a bloody duel.

For every attempt Enkrid made to land a blow, he had to endure being cut twice.

And yet, Enkrid remained unchanged. He was as composed as ever. Even with his life hanging by a thread, he was the same.

His unyielding spirit and nature, steadfast in the face of anything, were the reason he stood where he did now.

“Man, those eyes of yours are really annoying,” Swiftblade said, a grin spreading across his face.

Watching the fight, Rem winced several times, unable to hold back his thoughts.

“I mean, yeah, they are annoying, aren’t they?” he muttered.

He couldn’t help but sympathize with Swiftblade’s frustration. After all, he’d experienced it himself.

Sure enough, Ragna, Jaxon, and even Audin all nodded in agreement.

No matter what you threw at him, Enkrid didn’t waver. He never faltered.

He simply did what needed to be done, moving forward without hesitation, caring little about right or wrong in the moment.

Audin had developed the Isolation Technique by testing it on Enkrid.

Jaxon had taught him sensory combat techniques.

Rem had passed on the Heart of the Beast.

Even Ragna had shared his own techniques with Enkrid, for the same reason.

It was those steadfast eyes and that unwavering determination—never even considering the idea of giving up.

Watching him had the power to drive people insane.

“Aren’t you afraid?” Swiftblade asked, sounding almost exasperated. As he spoke, he subtly twisted his blade, shifting into an unconventional stance and adjusting the position of his feet.

Enkrid, ever observant, mirrored the change, altering the angle of his sword while sliding his body slightly to the side. Without bending his knees, he pushed his foot along the ground, making it appear as though his body glided into position.

“Afraid of what?” Enkrid asked.

“You almost died just now,” Swiftblade said.

“Seems to me you were in the same boat,” Enkrid replied.

In the previous exchange, Swiftblade had feinted by extending his left foot forward, only to pull it back at the last moment.

Enkrid, fooled by the trick, had swung his sword forward, leaving himself open to a perfectly timed thrust.

When the tip of the blade split into four as it twisted toward him, the danger was palpable. Anyone would have felt their stomach drop at that moment.

Enkrid was no exception.

Yet, he hadn’t been skewered.

How had he avoided it?

“The sense of evasion.”

It was Jaxon’s technique that saved his life. Even so, his neck had been grazed, and it felt as though a searing brand had been pressed against it. The sharp pain burned hot.

And that wasn’t the only injury.

Enkrid’s abdomen had a puncture wound, his arm tendons were nearly severed, and moments earlier, he had almost been decapitated.

“All right, that’s enough for today! Remember, there’s always tomorrow,” Kraiss shouted loudly, signaling the end of the match on Rem’s cue.

Swiftblade, however, had no intention of stopping. He was ready to cut Enkrid down then and there.

Of course, his plans were thwarted.

“Careful. You’re becoming a real nuisance,” Rem said casually. Somehow, he had appeared to Enkrid’s left and slightly behind him.

What would happen if Swiftblade struck Enkrid here?

Even if he hadn’t yet revealed his trump card, he knew the outcome wouldn’t be in his favor.

“I’d die too.”

Swiftblade, naturally, valued his own life above anyone else’s.

“Fine,” he said, withdrawing his sword and raising both hands in a gesture of surrender. Yet, even as he stepped back, a faint trace of hostility lingered in his eyes.

Rem smirked, turning away without a care.

He wasn’t worried. At this range, no matter what Swiftblade tried, his axes would find their mark first.

Besides, Rem wasn’t alone.

That sly alley cat had positioned herself on the opposite side.

How many people had noticed her presence?

Certainly not Swiftblade.

“All right, folks, let’s call it a day! Take a break, make some friends, and if you’re bored, there are plenty of shops in the alleys behind the inn where you can find something to enjoy. Not sure where to go? Well, good thing I thought ahead!”

Kraiss took the opportunity to promote his wares with shameless enthusiasm, though oddly enough, it wasn’t off-putting.

There was a strange charm about how he defused the tense atmosphere.

“Here it is—the official Border Guard’s ‘Good Map,’” he said, holding up a simple yet detailed map. It marked shops selling spiced jerky, marmalade, freshly baked bread, and other local delicacies.

“Each map is only ten copper coins!” Kraiss announced.

The price was modest—neither too high nor too low—but for those with generous pockets, it was almost negligible.

“I’ll take one. After bleeding this much, I’d better eat well,” Swiftblade said with a sly grin, grabbing a map. His purchase prompted others, including members of the trading caravan, to follow suit.

The rapier swordsman and Edin Molsen’s party naturally ended up with maps as well.

Finally, the half-giant warrior hesitantly asked, “Doesn’t the gentleman who shed blood today pay for this?”

Kraiss, about to hand her a map, suddenly withdrew it.

“That was the policy until yesterday. Starting today, everyone pays full price. Even you, my lady.”

It was likely the first time in her life the half-giant warrior had been called “my lady.” She nodded solemnly and handed over ten copper coins before accepting her map.

Clapping his hands, Kraiss addressed the crowd.

“Enjoy your rest! Explore the city, spar among yourselves if you must, but remember—no accidents. And please, take extra care to ensure the safety of the city’s residents.”

With a theatrical flourish, he bowed deeply, then straightened and added with a grin, “Welcome to Border Guard.”

Despite his injuries, Enkrid watched it all unfold, deep in thought.

Does he think this is some kind of tourist destination?

Though it masqueraded as a trade hub, Border Guard was, at its core, a military city.

There wasn’t much for outsiders to see or enjoy. Not that it mattered—they didn’t seem inclined to leave anytime soon.

Why would they?

The rapier swordsman, for instance, said, “I’ll fight next time,” his eyes shining with curiosity and competitiveness. He wasn’t going anywhere.

The half-giant warrior showed no signs of leaving either, fully intending to stay.

Edin Molsen’s party was a given—they wouldn’t leave while Edin’s pride was still bruised.

“Fight me again!” Edin had shouted the moment his injuries healed, only to fall silent after watching Enkrid’s duel with Swiftblade.

Still, his furrowed brow and twitching expression made it clear he wasn’t pleased with the situation.

With Edin staying, his bodyguard would remain as well.

“How abundant.”

The thought filled Enkrid with an odd satisfaction, as though his heart were nourished simply by the prospect of what lay ahead.

“Trying to make a fortune, huh? And what was that about ensuring the citizens’ safety?” Enkrid asked Kraiss as he returned, his curiosity piqued.

It seemed like something they should already be handling.

Kraiss’s response, spoken in a low voice, revealed his reasoning.

“That Swiftblade guy gives me a bad feeling. If we leave him unchecked, I’m worried he’ll cause trouble. It’s one thing if he fights a soldier and dies, but if an outsider like him kills civilians, we’re going to have a real mess on our hands.”

Enkrid considered the memory of his fight with Swiftblade.

His swordsmanship, his attacks—they were memorable. Enkrid had been too focused on countering him to read into his personality, but Kraiss’s intuition about people was usually sharp.

“Jaxon, report it to the higher-ups,” Enkrid said.

“On it,” Jaxon replied.

After sending the sly alley cat on her way, Enkrid limped back to the quarters once again.

“You’re really pushing your body, huh?” Rem commented, walking beside him.

It was nagging, sure, but there was no way Enkrid could argue against him. Rem was right.

His body was a wreck. A punctured abdomen, nearly severed tendons in his arms—it was miraculous that he was even walking.

If he died, everything would be healed. His wounds would disappear, leaving only the gains from his training behind. In some ways, it was an advantageous ability.

But Enkrid endured.

Why?

He wouldn’t have an answer if someone asked.

He just wanted to. To struggle, to fight, to claw his way forward.

In the face of such struggles, Enkrid had erased the word “surrender” from his vocabulary.

Unbeknownst to him, the Ferryman’s curse had always been this way. Its essence was to tempt one into complacency.

If the Ferryman had realized this was Enkrid’s mindset, he might have thrown his lamp into the black river out of sheer frustration.

But Enkrid didn’t know any of this.

He was simply doing what he had always done.

“Well, I’m not dead,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You sure talk like it’s nothing. Tell me, did you even catch all the moves that guy made earlier?” Rem asked.

“I did,” Enkrid replied.

For a moment, he replayed the fight in his mind.

Swiftblade’s swordsmanship was a mix of straight-edge precision and illusory feints. It was the kind of style referred to as Ki Swordsmanship on the continent—specifically, the Eastern Ki Swordsmanship.

The trajectory of his sword was strange, and his strikes were unexpected.

Aiming for the arm, then suddenly targeting the shoulder. Aiming downward at the shoulder, only to sweep toward the thigh.

Reading the patterns had been no easy task.

So how had Enkrid reacted?

At first, he matched Swiftblade blow for blow, attacking with the mindset of if I take a cut, I’ll land one in return.

Fast and aggressive, he swung his sword.

And Swiftblade’s response?

He parried and countered by targeting Enkrid’s wrist with surgical precision.

From a technical standpoint, Swiftblade’s reputation wasn’t unwarranted. His nickname wasn’t given without cause.

And he hadn’t even used the signature technique that earned him that name.

In the end, Enkrid had been overpowered. He lost. It was a clear defeat.

But did that bother him? Not in the slightest.

“I can beat him.”

If a day of training wasn’t enough, he would train for two. If two days weren’t enough, he would take a week. If a week wasn’t enough, he’d spend a month.

As long as time was on his side, he was confident he could surpass Swiftblade.

It wasn’t a matter of losing in terms of strategy, strength, or speed. The difference lay in mastery.

And Ki Swordsmanship had always been about mastery—an art of peculiar movements and refined technique.

“If you caught it all, it’s easy. Just block everything and strike back,” Rem said, his straightforward advice sinking in.

“Do I need to beat him with pure technique?”

A single destination could have multiple paths.

“Use your head a little more,” Rem added.

Rather than running headlong toward one solution, Enkrid decided to broaden his perspective.

Even if his body could handle it, he refused to grow complacent.

“I like that,” Rem said, smiling approvingly. His grin was strangely reassuring.

Enkrid thought back to how much he disliked Swiftblade’s grin. Maybe Kraiss had been right about him.

When Enkrid returned, dripping blood, Esther coughed—a sound between a scoff and a sigh.

Her expression made it clear what she thought: I sent you out fine this morning, and you come back looking like this?

“How is her nagging somehow worse than Rem’s?” Enkrid wondered, baffled.

Rem, amused by the scene, burst out laughing.

“Hey, Panther Mage, get used to it. This guy’s going to keep doing this forever,” Rem said with a snicker.

The black panther didn’t respond, though Ragna quietly asked, “Had fun today?”

Enkrid nodded.

This time, though, his wounds weren’t something he could shake off in a single day.

But to Dunbakel, who watched from the sidelines, his recovery was just as astounding.

“Three days? You’re already up?”

This content is taken from fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm.

“I’m fine now,” Enkrid replied.

Is this beastwoman going to be shocked every time I get up? Enkrid thought, amused, as he took his first steps.

He had heard that the group was still staying at the inn near the marketplace.

Who should I fight next?

His heart pounded with anticipation as he made his way there.

His arm hadn’t fully healed, but his other arm was fine. Plus, the ointment Jaxon had given him worked wonders.

Audin had also secretly used his divine power. Though not strong enough to be visible, the divine energy had boosted Enkrid’s natural healing.

Without that, not even Enkrid’s regenerative ability would have gotten him back on his feet in less than a week.

But now, he was ready to take on the next challenge.

***

Swiftblade felt an overwhelming urge to kill.

Perhaps he should step out into the night and slit the throats of a few hapless souls.

The wounds he’d earned in his fight against Enkrid had scabbed over after two days, but looking at them only stoked his desires further.

Unable to suppress the craving, he began heading out.

“Stop, little man,” said a voice, blocking his path.

It was the half-giant warrior.

“Huh?”

“I said stop.”

“Stop what?” Swiftblade asked with a feigned grin, playing dumb.

From the first-floor pub, a man sitting at a table and nursing a drink gave him a sideways glance.

It was the rapier swordsman.

“Swiftblade, you’re with the Black Blades, aren’t you? Always running your mouth and sticking together like flies. Enough already. You’ll cause trouble for everyone staying in the city.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Swiftblade replied, grinning wider as he dodged the accusation.

Neither of them said anything further, but they made it clear he wasn’t free to ignore them and leave.

“Tch. Just wanted to go for a night stroll,” he muttered, reluctantly turning back and climbing the creaky wooden stairs.

As Swiftblade disappeared upstairs, the rapier swordsman resumed sipping his drink, and the half-giant stood in silence, deep in thought.

What thoughts occupied their minds at that moment was anyone’s guess.

“Why haven’t you fought the big one yet?” the rapier swordsman eventually asked.

“Not my goal or purpose,” the half-giant replied.

Though curious about Audin’s skills, the rapier swordsman nodded in understanding.

Soon, Edin Molsen’s guard descended the stairs.

The creaking of the steps naturally drew their gazes upward.

Without a word, the guard exited the inn and stepped outside.

But Swiftblade, who had apparently been watching, came down shortly after and asked, “Why let him leave?”

“He’s not the type to cause trouble,” the half-giant replied.

“And me?”

“You’ll definitely cause trouble,” the rapier swordsman said without skipping a beat.

Swiftblade hesitated for a moment, debating whether to take a swing at him.

But he relented.

While his injuries weren’t debilitating, they were still wounds.

Moreover, both of them had already seen his swordsmanship in action.

Fairness demanded that he see theirs as well.

Next time, it would be fair to pit Enkrid against either of them.

It wasn’t long before Swiftblade got what he wanted.

When Enkrid returned, the rapier swordsman stepped forward.

“This time, it’s my turn.”

“All right,” Enkrid replied calmly, indifferent to who his opponent was.

Watching this exchange made Swiftblade’s stomach churn.

“Those damned eyes of his.”

Why were they always so upright and unyielding?

Regardless, Enkrid squared off against the rapier swordsman.

This time, the fight didn’t result in any serious injuries.

It was a clean duel, almost evenly matched.

But if Swiftblade were to describe it honestly...

“What the hell is this guy here for?”

He had a rough idea of why most of the others had come. Especially the towering female warrior—her identity was something Swiftblade was already aware of, though he feigned ignorance.

The rapier swordsman, however, was different.

Through the duel, he was teaching Enkrid.