A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 294: The Ferryman Spoke

A boat drifted along the dark river.

A violet lamp burned quietly, standing still, its light barely reaching beyond itself.

It was just enough to see my own hands.

Even though I had seen this scenery countless times, today it felt even more ominous.

The Ferryman’s voice carried more weight than usual.

It shook my heart, rattled my skull.

One particular part of what he said caught my interest.

"A ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) path?"

Didn’t he enjoy watching me suffer, trapped against this wall? Why was he offering guidance now?

"Step back and watch. If you avoid, a path will open."

Today always resets once it ends. Avoidance cannot be a method to move forward.

And yet he was telling me to retreat?

The Ferryman’s voice grew heavier.

"Avoid it."

His words buzzed through my body.

It was as if something was twisting my insides.

It wasn’t pain. It was sensory. No, this was the realm of the mind—sensation did not exist here.

It was psychological.

The real issue wasn’t the voice itself.

I didn’t doubt the Ferryman.

I didn’t doubt his purpose either.

The Ferryman’s role was to keep me within today.

Perhaps because I knew that, a scripture Audin recited every day surfaced in my mind:

"The devil always comes in the guise of an angel."

"Avoid it."

The Ferryman's words kept digging into my mind, twisting my thoughts.

And suddenly, the black river pulled away.

Even though my eyes were already open, it felt as if I was opening them again—an eerie sensation.

A new day began.

His words echoed more vividly in my mind than ever before.

Unlike my usual dreams, which faded into vague memories, this time, they lingered.

It was almost as if I had been brainwashed.

"Run away. Turn back. Just abandon the child, and you’ll pass this day with ease. That’s all it takes."

I understood now.

The Ferryman had offered me an easy way out.

I repeated his words in my mind, feeling an urge—a temptation—to follow them.

"Do we really have to go this far?"

Kraiss' voice was slightly different today. I ignored it.

The Ferryman’s words were correct.

Desire and logic pointed toward the same conclusion.

And yet, in this moment—

"If you stick around me, I might remember you later. Maybe I’ll even give you one of my famous potions, so you better stay on my good side."

A memory surfaced. A kid, hands on her hips, chin lifted, chattering away.

Normally, Will—the power to resist—only reacted to direct forms of coercion.

Things like pressure from sheer willpower, or the innate terror that monsters inspired in humans.

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I knew this instinctively.

But I still whispered to myself—

"I refuse."

And yet, in my mind, the easy path echoed again and again.

Logic told me it was right. Instinct agreed.

But even limping, I walked to the front of the battlefield.

"...You're stepping forward again today?"

A soldier beside me asked.

My face was covered in fresh scratches.

"I’ll step forward tomorrow too."

I answered, tossing aside my leather helmet.

Helmets restricted vision, dulled my senses.

This time, I would drive my sword forward before the spell could activate.

"Take the fastest route."

I traced the movement in my mind, etched it into my muscles.

The wind brushed against my cheek.

Even though it was daytime, the sky was dark, the air biting.

The battlefield smelled—of blood, metal, excrement, fear, excitement, tension.

All of it blended into one, processed by my brain.

The five senses combined, unlocking a sixth.

With a sharp focus, my perception ignited, and the battlefield slowed.

A child ran toward me.

I shut out all other sounds.

I didn’t need to hear them.

I locked my eyes on the child, ignoring everything else.

I didn’t need to see anything else.

All sensory input blurred together, converging into a single line.

A point and another point.

"I am also just a point."

I recognized myself as a point.

I saw the child's path as another point.

The fastest route between them—

I bent my right knee, then sprang forward.

Even without Will, my legs, forged through brute endurance, launched my body forward at terrifying speed.

At the same time, I thrust my left-handed sword forward.

To the watching soldiers, the sword moved ahead of my body.

The blade, tinged with a blue gleam, shot forward faster than an arrow.

At least, that’s how it appeared to them.

This was the fastest I had ever met today.

I saw the child's face. His eyes. His nose. His lips.

Overlapping with the already-dead child who had once dreamed of becoming an herbalist.

My blade struck the child's shoulder strap. A precise cut.

The strap snapped, the scroll dangling, half-severed.

It shone.

Failure.

"You're a fool."

The Ferryman’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

I didn’t respond. I repeated the same actions. I lived the same today again.

When does a person truly despair?

If something is impossible from the start, people accept it.

They acknowledge the end.

But if it's within reach—just barely out of grasp—what then?

That is when despair sets in.

And if, at that moment, a shortcut is presented?

If an easier path is suggested?

The Ferryman had changed today.

For the first time, he felt curiosity toward a being like me.

Why does this man not give up?

Why does this man not despair?

Why? How?

Doubt led to suspicion.

Suspicion led to his second offer.

It came after eighty-six repetitions of today.

"It is already too late for regrets."

His sudden words made me tilt my head.

For him to display emotion in this realm of the mind—

It was surprising.

But I had already seen too much to be truly surprised anymore.

"However, I am generous."

"Generous?"

I parroted the word back, keeping my tone casual.

That meant my will remained firm.

In this place, I was speaking not with a physical body, but with my will itself.

My attitude was irreverent, but that was fine.

I already knew this was a game.

I wouldn’t let myself be caught in his rhythm.

The Ferryman ignored my provocation and continued.

"I shall grant you one more chance."

"Again?"

Even though I mocked him, he remained composed.

Had he been human, he would have cursed at me by now.

But he wasn’t.

"Keep the source of the wall from drawing near. Force it to cross the river before it reaches you."

The Ferryman maintained his solemn tone.

I remained in the same posture and asked—

"The river?"

For the first time, the Ferryman took a deep breath.

One he normally didn’t need.

Then, he expelled me.

The moment I vanished from his realm, he finally revealed his true feelings.

"That bastard."

A Short but Firm Will

Even after all his pushing, even after shoving his will deep into Enkrid’s mind—

"That bastard is still going to do whatever he wants."

The Ferryman already knew.

He knew Enkrid would betray his intentions.

And realizing this, he did something he hadn’t done since becoming the Ferryman—

He laughed.

"Hah."

It was a laugh that was half exasperation, half amusement.

"He keeps talking nonsense. Must be bored."

Enkrid had never been one to take the easy road.

Naturally, this latest offer was ignored.

His mind was consumed by only one thought.

"Can I be faster?"

Connecting points, igniting his brain with focus until his eyes felt like they would burst—

And yet, failure.

Then what was speed?

He had seen plenty of fast swords, swords that embodied pure speed.

And yet the answer came suddenly, easily.

"I was never the fastest pickpocket."

"But I was the best. My hands were a little slower, but I had sharp instincts. If I moved when no one was looking, it didn’t matter how slow I was."

"Only idiots try to win by being the fastest when they’re being watched."

Kraiss had said that, offhandedly, while passing by.

At the time, Enkrid had been training with Ragna, trading their fastest slashes, and drilling with Audin on Balraf-style martial arts.

It was a throwaway remark. Kraiss hadn’t meant anything by it.

Or rather, the real meaning had come with his next words.

"The enemy already knows us. This is like trying to steal a coin purse while the owner stares right at you."

He was saying that things were dire, that an unpredictable variable was needed.

Enkrid hadn’t responded.

No—he couldn’t respond.

Because at that moment, a bolt of lightning struck his mind.

"Beyond their perception."

Speed was relative.

If the enemy knew what you were going to do, no matter how fast you were, it was still slow.

Because if they saw it coming, they would prepare.

"Eh? Again? Not listening? Hey, Enki, you bastard!"

Kraiss waved his hands in front of Enkrid’s face, bouncing on his feet.

But Enkrid didn’t hear him.

He had submerged into his own world. His mouth hung open slightly, a bit of drool escaping.

Yet his thoughts did not stop.

"Leave him be."

Ragna dragged Kraiss away.

Enkrid was in the process of breaking something—some mental barrier that had been holding him back.

Perception and intention.

Humans could convey meaning with the smallest of gestures.

That was why sleight of hand tricks existed.

That was why illusions and misdirection worked.

In a gambling den, such tricks were commonplace.

Intention was like that.

"Deception."

Even with intention alone, one could deceive.

True speed existed outside of the opponent’s perception.

Was this really a contest of raw speed, fought in plain sight?

No.

At least, not for Enkrid.

This wasn’t about who was faster.

It was about saving the child.

That was the decision he had made.

Which meant he needed a phantom sword.

Or perhaps—

"Ki Swordsmanship."

Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship had countless techniques of this kind.

"Ah."

More lightning crackled through his mind.

Speed wasn’t about being fast.

It was about acting beyond the enemy’s perception.

It was about never showing the enemy his speed.

Jaxon’s Lethal Thrust flashed through his thoughts.

And he added something new to it.

"Evasion is driven by instinct."

The Sense of Evasion was triggered by the subconscious—by the unseen, by danger just at the edge of perception.

But what if intention was added on top?

What if instinct was given direction?

A new path had appeared.

It was within reach—just barely.

That’s why—why he had buried himself in only speed until now.

But he was wrong.

"There’s more than one path."

And yet, absolute speed was still necessary.

People said if you chased two rabbits, you’d catch neither.

But everything—his experience, his failures, his training—showed him the movement of both rabbits.

He could catch them both.

Especially since Jaxon’s training had prepared him for this.

Hadn’t he already trained in close-range Sense of Evasion?

All that practice, dodging stones—

What had been the point of that training?

A question needed an intention.

And training was the path to a result.

For Enkrid, there was only one result.

"Overlay instinct with intention."

The Sense of Evasion was a performance of pure instinct.

A body reacting on its own, guided by the subconscious.

That was why it was evasion.

A skill rooted in the body’s survival instinct.

Enkrid twisted that instinct.

"Imbue it with intention."

It was no longer Evasion Sense.

It could just as easily be called Attack Sense.

Crack.

The mental chains the Ferryman had planted shattered.

The wall that had seemed so close yet unreachable—

The easy way out, the repeated offers—

All of it had been a trap. A prison.

But Enkrid had never even stepped near that prison.

He had ignored the offers.

And now, he had found his own path.

"Ah."

At the peak of this realization, another new day arrived.

And the battlefield was waiting for him.

"Again today..."

"What doesn’t kill me—"

He stood at the front of the battlefield.

The soldier beside him had spoken, as he did every day.

Enkrid cut him off.

The soldier blinked, then finished the phrase.

"Only makes me stronger."

Reality was different.

Pain that could kill you didn’t make you stronger. It just killed you.

But he liked this version of the phrase better.

Enkrid stepped forward, pushing through the biting wind.

And from across the battlefield, the child wrapped in the scroll was running toward him.