A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 311

Enkrid received praise from the ferryman.

The two men chanted the same incantation.

The flow of water that arose from the stream blocked their path like a wall.

With a light swipe of his gladius, the water parted, but it quickly filled back in.

It was like cutting through water with a blade.

The wall of water was only five steps wide, but this wasn’t the end of it.

“Come in, come in, listen to me.”

At the command of the other two, a round mass resembling a club made of water appeared beside the wall of the water.

Its head was smooth, and around the chest area, it was thick.

It had hand-like appendages, but instead of feet, wriggling currents of water acted as its legs.

It was something akin to a water spirit.

Or a golem made of water—whatever it was, part of the spell world had manifested in this world.

“Block them.”

At the mage’s command, two water ghosts without feet charged forward, their lower bodies kicking up bubbles as they approached.

They didn’t rush—they attacked in a manner that perfectly fit the expression ‘charging into.’

The bodies of the approaching creatures would rise before descending, crashing forward like waves.

Enkrid thrust his sword, striking at them.

The blade was no ordinary weapon; perhaps it was enchanted with magic similar to a fairy’s.

But there was no magic involved.

The sword pierced the water with a satisfying cut.

The spirits didn’t even flinch, swinging their water clubs with no hesitation.

Enkrid retrieved his blade, leaping sideways.

Bang!

The water club slammed into the ground.

The ground cracked beneath the blow.

The impact left a visible indentation, showing the water club wasn’t something to be underestimated.

After just one exchange, Enkrid found his answer.

‘The caster.’

There was no solution in fighting the spell itself.

To end this, he had to kill the caster.

But the two mages had created a wall of water, restricting his movement and vision.

The other two had called upon spirits to hinder him.

Not to mention, they seemed intent on pulling his feet from under him, likely knowing they couldn’t kill him themselves.

When he tried to retreat, the spirits swelled up and wobbled toward him, making it difficult to ignore them.

Though time hadn’t stretched long, Enkrid had already been forced to leave the three Hurrier family swordsmen behind.

"I didn’t think I'd see you again today."

Enkrid murmured.

He meant it.

It was almost like he was repeating yesterday’s actions, yet the outcome seemed the same.

"Don’t speak."

"Crazy bastard."

"Is that so?"

"You again? I don’t think I’ve met you before."

All three of them had a strange, intense energy as if they’d greet him with a kiss.

But not with lips—rather, with swords and steel meeting each other in a grim embrace.

Enkrid tightened his grip on his sword.

His arm muscles trembled.

He hadn’t properly rested from yesterday.

No matter how well-trained the body, the strain could not be ignored.

‘Tough.’

It wasn’t the first time his breath was at the edge of his chest.

His heart pounded painfully.

He steadied his breathing, took in the sight of the mage’s water spirits, the Hurrier family swordsmen, and the soldiers.

There was no thought of giving up.

No day could be easily passed.

And he did just that.

He resisted, killed the two mages, and defeated the three Hurrier swordsmen.

"Yeah, this is right."

He coughed as the last dead swordsman spoke, blood spattering from his mouth.

Enkrid had been struck by a water arrow in his thigh, causing a hole.

Had he not worn his armor, it would have been lodged in his stomach.

What was worse than a normal quarrel was that the water arrow disappeared after serving its purpose, causing blood to spill without any obstruction.

If the arrow had remained, it would have stopped the bleeding, but the blood loss was considerable.

The wound had struck an unfortunate spot.

Some techniques in isolation could stop bleeding by strengthening muscles.

Enkrid tried to use that, but the blood vessels had torn.

This was something the muscles couldn't control.

Dizziness from blood loss set in.

Still, his focus didn’t waver.

With the heart of a beast still pounding in his chest, Enkrid remained unshaken.

Adrenaline surged through his veins.

"You’re wearing something valuable."

The surviving mage spoke.

Perhaps he’d been careless, but as he closed the distance, Enkrid stomped his foot into the ground.

He charged forward, using the momentum of his wounded thigh.

Blood splattered from the wound in his leg.

Before the blood hit the ground, Enkrid reached the mage and struck him with a punch to the head.

Crack!

"Ugh!"

The skull cracked open, brains and blood spilling out.

A human couldn’t survive that.

It was a full-powered punch.

This was how it was supposed to be.

The opponent hadn’t even worn a helmet.

Just as Enkrid claimed another mage’s life, a spearhead flew from behind.

Thwip!

The heated metal cut through his back, slicing his spine, muscles, bones, blood vessels, and internal organs.

The pain of having his body torn by iron was something he couldn’t grow used to.

But he could still overcome it.

"Die."

"Monster."

"Die!"

The enemy soldier imbued his spear with fear as he struck.

A maddened gleam was visible in their eyes.

They were cornered, and their fear and insanity were plain.

Enkrid was indifferent.

There were no screams, no groans; they just died.

To be honest, he had no strength to even let out a breath.

They died just like that.

He was familiar with the agony of death, but overcoming it never got easier.

‘Huh.’

A deep breath pushed the pain of the day aside.

There were no dreams.

The ferryman didn’t appear.

It was simply the start of the third day.

And on this third day, he took off down another path.

Yet—

"Why is there a cliff here?"

He hadn’t climbed high, but a precipice greeted him instead.

Would jumping save him?

He’d need good luck to only be half-disabled.

Even that would be impossible unless the goddess of fortune was truly kind.

With that kind of luck, you’d be considered lucky.

Falling meant death.

"That’s your grave."

Behind him, the Hurrier swordsmen, some mercenaries skilled in combat, and a mage he didn’t recognize had gathered.

‘Again, a different path today.’

Enkrid scratched his chin with his left hand, his right still hanging by his side.

It felt strange.

How was it always the same result?

He instinctively searched for an answer as he fought.

The last battle of this third day was magic.

Enkrid was struck by the technique called "Invisible Force."

Truly intangible, something unseen pushed against him and struck him.

But after throwing his gladius at the mage’s head, taking down the mercenaries, and ensuring the defeat of the Hurrier swordsmen, Enkrid managed to deliver one last blow.

"Fall!"

The mage shouted, and with a thud, Enkrid’s gladius was embedded in his skull.

Enkrid fell over the cliff.

Naturally, he experienced the horrible sensation of falling to his death.

At first, his breath was cut off, followed by the shock of his body crashing.

But he didn’t die easily, experiencing an agonizing pain unlike anything before.

On the fourth, fifth, and ninth days, he would die again.

This time, one of the Hurrier family swordsmen held onto his sword, keeping his body still long enough for one of the mercenaries to strike with a poisoned dagger.

They’d been worn out after wiping out the enemy’s heavy infantry.

His body stiffened slowly.

There was nothing he could do.

He could only endure, using his instinct to evade as much as possible.

No man could withstand this many enemies.

The twenty-fifth day passed.

Each death came in a different form, but they were the same.

No matter where he went, he couldn’t escape the labyrinth.

It was a prison.

The sky became the ceiling, the wind the bars, and the leaders all wished for his death.

At that point, he realized something.

It was the same realization he had from the previous days.

Why did it always end the same when he saved the child?

No matter how differently he acted, the outcome was the same.

‘Someone is watching and triggering the scroll.’

It was the same now.

Someone was controlling his forces from outside, making him die.

No matter which way he went, the result was always the same.

So, how was he supposed to get past this?

He knew it was a wall, but how should he climb it?

The thirty-fourth day began, and the ferryman asked again.

"Today, I suppose you’ll answer."

He waited for Enkrid’s response.

Enkrid finally had the energy to answer.

Enkrid, feeling a bit like he wanted to speak, responded promptly.

"Just a bit."

He paused, thinking, then added more.

"A lot."

The ferryman couldn’t possibly understand Enkrid’s state of mind.

Enkrid smiled.

That was his nature.

It’s easy for people to despair in the dark, in the void, with no sight ahead.

But Enkrid had always been different.

Even in the darkest, most hopeless moments, he found joy in moving forward.

He knew that change could bring {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} something new, even if he hadn’t figured it all out yet.

But that didn’t change anything.

Even without understanding, he could still welcome the unknown with joy.

"Truly a madman."

The ferryman complimented him.

***

Once, the greatest strategist of the continent had said that before a war, five things must be considered.

First, do the king and the people share the same heart?

A war where the king, swayed by his own desires, turns away from his people can never be welcomed.

Second, have the seasons—cold, heat, etc.—been considered?

Third, has the terrain been thoroughly examined?

Fourth, is the commander capable and competent?

Fifth, is the army’s structure, command system, and supply chain solid and connected?

To summarize, the five were: the king’s politics, the timing, terrain awareness, the commander’s capability, and the organizational system.

Abnaier had particularly focused on the third, fourth, and fifth.

The second was lost since they had started the battle in an unfavorable position during the cold.

The first was about the king’s political power, which could be revisited later.

The terrain was originally disadvantageous, but it was reshaped.

In some places, they had dug into the ground.

In others, they had set up nets.

As for the fourth, the commander leading the charge had made a major effort.

"Are you planning to bury Gray Dog’s name here? Or should I get to work here?"

Appropriate incentives and future rewards.

Even if the Gray Dog unit fell here, they would be reborn.

The current commander had chosen to bear the sacrifice.

He had set out with patriotism and loyalty.

Abnaier had used that to his advantage.

The fifth, the organizational structure, was the one Abnaier had focused on most.

Criminals, those with families back home.

He had given them the opportunity to change their lives with just this one battle.

Desire and threat.

These two weapons bound the army’s system.

Enkrid didn’t know exactly what Abnaier had done.

He didn’t even know the enemy commander’s name.

But one thing was clear.

The feeling of being trapped at the edge of a cliff was inevitable.

Still, Enkrid remained calm.

He woke up, opened his eyes, and repeated the day.

This time, he charged straight into what he presumed to be the center, where the mercenary Cent greeted him first.

It seemed like the first time they met without any injuries.

"You won’t get away."

"Get away from where?"

"You won’t."

Cent clenched his teeth and got into position.

Behind him, another man drew a poisoned dagger against his own neck.

That guy still had no name.

He couldn’t think of a way to escape today.

The future seemed unclear.

The markers that had once been visible now blurred again.

But...

"Are you laughing?"

Cent raised an eyebrow, looking at Enkrid’s face.

Was someone who laughed in this situation really sane?

Cent began to doubt Enkrid’s mental state.

He’s definitely a madman.

Enkrid felt lost, but oddly, he was enjoying himself.

He couldn’t see it, but he didn’t feel frustrated.

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Whatever blocked his way, he would find a way out.

Where would he head next?

He wouldn’t give up, he wouldn’t retreat, and by piecing together the broken dreams, he would keep moving forward.

Enkrid laughed.

He had gained so much before.

Hadn’t he gone through so many days already?

What had he gained from all those days?

Experience had piled up, so even the unclear future was something he could embrace joyfully.

"Kill him!"

From behind Cent and the mercenaries, a group of archers rushed in.

Cent, having met Enkrid several times before, knew three strikes with his sword would be enough this time.

If he could throw his gladius, two would do.

Should he throw it?

No, he couldn’t do that.

It was better to extend the fight.

In a one-against-many situation, dropping his weapon was not a good idea.

But since they had met from the start, Enkrid still had his gleaming steel sword in hand.

This sword could be thrown.

It had broken several times after just a few swings.

Fortunately, Enkrid had two more swords.

With his left foot forward, he drew a sword with his right hand and threw it.

The motion was smooth.

He’d done it several times before.

Repeating today, he didn’t just play around.

Enkrid had sharpened his skills.

He had learned to throw a longsword.

It was an application of his throwing dagger technique.

Thud!

The sword flew, and Cent hastily deflected it.

Enkrid stomped on the ground and activated "Momentary Will."

This was the second proof that he hadn’t been playing around.

It was the second "Will" he’d gained from learning the fastest sword strikes and the quickest sword techniques.

With his will in the moment, he ran.

Things around him seemed to move back as he sped forward.

The muscles in his thighs swelled as if they would burst from the acceleration.

The blood in his veins seemed to pound in rhythm.

Like a wild horse galloping, his blood surged through his body.

Enkrid extended his sword.

The acceleration followed by the thrust stabbed Cent’s neck.

This third day started with Cent’s death.

"Peek-a-boo."

It was a teasing strike, so Cent didn’t even hear it, but it was enough to horrify the mercenaries behind him.

"You crazy bastard!"

His reflexive swearing proved he was indeed a born mercenary.

As Enkrid thrust again, the mercenaries tried to deflect the strike, but Enkrid struck with the gladius again.

Using "Momentary Will" twice, Enkrid swiftly cut down the two mercenaries.

Then, he encountered the heavy infantry and the three Hurrier family swordsmen.

Among the crossbowmen and archers, a few fairies could be seen.

Some of them were exceptionally skilled with the bow.

They aimed only when the opponent’s breath faltered.

Enkrid withstood it.

The first time wasn’t the hardest; it became easier each time.

As he repeated the day fifty times, Enkrid mastered "Momentary Will."

His swordsmanship became cleaner and stronger.

But he still hadn’t escaped from Abnaier’s trap.

Thus, on the two hundred fifty-fifth day...

The ferryman said something unexpected.

In the previous day, he had told him to give up, but today, he said something different.