A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 404: Resolve Shines as Will

But that wasn’t all.

The man who had been grimacing in pain was now showing a more relaxed expression.

It wasn’t a lie or trickery—he genuinely seemed to be feeling better.

The process was beyond Enkrid’s understanding, even as he kept watching for any signs of deception.

“Did you know? Maltan had better techniques than me. Bennukt was stronger than me. And Banat’s agility... It’s a level beyond what a human can keep up with.”

Rearvart mentioned the names of his comrades, names Enkrid didn’t recognize. Instead of responding, Enkrid swung his sword. He stepped forward and made a diagonal cut, retracting the flame from his blade and gripping Silver with both hands.

Thud!

Rearvart, showing just as much power, blocked the strike with his sword.

The sound of metal clashing rang out, and sparks flew fiercely from the contact.

‘What is this?’

The shock from the impact sent a tingle through Enkrid’s hands.

After exchanging that single blow, they both retreated. Rearvart seemed to recreate the same motion in the air, swinging his sword with one hand. He had blocked Enkrid’s two-handed strike with a single hand.

He seemed to be getting comfortable with his new sword, repeating the motions.

Diagonal cuts, overhead slashes, horizontal sweeps, thrusts.

Simple techniques, but the strength behind them was anything but ordinary.

Whoosh.

The sword fell vertically, the wind from its movement brushing Enkrid’s cheek.

“This is what I mean.”

As Rearvart spoke, blood flowed from his side, mixing with the blackness that had taken over him, turning his blood a dark red. The blood soon stopped flowing, but the changes were undeniable.

The beard on Rearvart’s face grew sharper like thorns, and the fine hairs on his face began to lengthen, covering it.

However, his eyes remained unchanged. The coldness that had once been there was gone.

Instead, they were now filled with a fiery intensity. A blazing, murderous heat that looked almost like lust for violence.

It was not pure passion. It was a distorted, ugly emotion.

“Once you’ve mastered every ability at a knight’s level, you can become one.”

Rearvart spoke.

There was truth in his words.

Physical abilities, reaction time, strength, agility—all of those could be matched, and if you could fight on par with a knight, you would be a knight.

Rearvart’s whole body was covered in fur.

He had once been human, but now he was not.

He resented the world that had pushed him to this point. That was why he wanted to speak his story. Why he had been forced to go this far, why he was doing this.

He had to speak it.

There were times when people wanted to share their own story so badly.

This was one of those times for Rearvart.

The one who had defeated him, who had talent to spare, stood before him.

He didn’t know Enkrid well, but assumed that Enkrid had reached this point purely through his raw talent.

It didn’t make sense any other way.

Thus, his words came.

He spoke of his comrades—Maltan, Bennukt, and Banat—each superior in their own way.

With the fur covering his arms and hands, he let his sword arm drop, his mouth opening as his jaw structure shifted slightly. While it had been difficult at first to get used to, now it was no longer a problem.

“Sometimes, some of us have to risk our lives to become knights. But if death is inevitable, should we walk that path?”

He had reached the edge of the cliff, with only the choice to jump remaining. Should he jump, knowing he would die?

“The steps of another person may be steps I must risk my life for.”

There was nothing but resentment in Rearvart’s words.

“Even if I was lucky enough to get past once, is that enough? No. It wasn’t. I had to get past again, and again. I had to face another cliff. That’s when I gave up.”

It might have been deceit. Enkrid, who hadn’t possessed such raw talent, had come this far despite it.

No matter how it seemed, Rearvart’s talent had always been greater.

His opponent spoke of resentment, of struggles, and of despair. He cursed his lack of talent, cursing the world.

Sometimes, he probably cursed Lady Luck.

Sometimes, he cursed fate.

That was how it was now.

Still, to Enkrid, Rearvart’s words did not feel like deceit.

‘Rem has his path.’

‘Ragna has his path.’

‘Jaxоn has his path.’

‘Audin has his path.’

‘Dunbakel, Teresa, Esther, Andrew.’

They all walk their own paths.

As for Enkrid, his path was his own.

There was no need to join in on the lament of his opponent, no need to echo the despair sung by the other.

Thus, Enkrid didn’t see it as deceit.

Thus, he didn’t feel resentment.

And thus, no emotion for his opponent surfaced.

Rearvart felt discomfort.

There was supposed to be a reaction to his words. Normally, it would have been two-fold.

It had always been like that.

After getting used to this power, Rearvart had sought out and killed those who had defeated him, one by one.

“That’s cheating.”

Someone had once said, and that satisfied Rearvart’s twisted mind.

Yes, it was cheating!

Talent was cheating, so what was wrong with doing this?

“Why is someone like you even trying? What a foolish choice.”

Another had reprimanded him for using false strength.

No, strength was truth.

So, now, tell me.

If a knight comes, do you believe you can surpass me?

Rearvart had sensed the limits of his talent, so he had changed his body.

He had thus taken on the power of a knight.

“All the chimeras were test subjects for me.”

Rearvart spoke.

Enkrid didn’t feel the need to respond to him, nor to address the Count’s plans that Esther had shared.

It would make no difference.

Even if he did speak, it wouldn’t change anything.

Enkrid gripped his sword.

Rearvart stared at him with his blue eyes gleaming through his dark hair.

Those eyes were still unwavering. Eyes that stared straight ahead, unflinching.

Rearvart wanted to dig into those eyes. He despised them.

In the end, Enkrid’s mere presence was uncomfortable to Rearvart. It was as if Enkrid was chastising him for straying from his path. It hurt more than the words of those who had said it outright.

Thus, he would kill him. He would kill Enkrid.

“My master has given me this strength.”

Enkrid adjusted his sword to an angled grip.

The pressure radiating from Rearvart had changed since his transformation.

It wasn’t just weight on his shoulders. It felt like an overwhelming force.

The pressure from the knight of Azpen had been like ropes binding him. Now, it felt like a heavy, aggressive metal bearing down.

“This is how I became a knight.”

Rearvart’s declaration resonated with a greater sense of pressure.

Enkrid didn’t back down.

His opponent spoke of becoming a knight, while Enkrid remained a semi-knight.

Did it matter?

No.

Even so, he would win.

Even so, he wouldn’t lose.

Resolve shines as will.

Whoosh.

It was as if space folded as Enkrid moved.

Rearvart’s sword seemed to thin like thread as it fell.

Enkrid raised his sword to block.

It was a narrow miss. If he had missed, his body would have been split.

The sound of two swords clashing rang out.

Clang!

Enkrid felt his body being pressed into the ground. His knees trembled.

No, it wasn’t that. It was just a sensation. The pressure came from the sword he swung, carrying the weight of authority.

Enkrid freed his foot, which had sunk into the earth, with force, then raised his sword vertically.

Riarvart’s sword struck the blade Enkrid held, as if it had been waiting for this moment.

Clang! Scrape!

A crack appeared in the middle of the silver blade.

The enemy’s sword still looked like thread.

The thread was fast and faint, and the moment it touched, the impact doubled, coursing through Enkrid’s entire body. But he could block it. He could respond.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

He swung his silver sword at the incoming strikes. He met them, blocking and blocking again.

If Enkrid wasn’t here, he would have given up long ago.

What Riarvart said was true.

He had surpassed human limits through the body of the Chimera.

Thus, he had gained the power of a knight.

Enkrid repeatedly blocked the enemy's sword.

It was close, but he held on.

Seeing the crack in his silver sword, Enkrid took out Gladiolus. The thick, sturdy blade, crafted by dwarven hands, didn’t easily break, even after being struck repeatedly.

The thread-like sword aimed for his shoulder. Enkrid raised his sword and swung it diagonally.

Instead of blocking, he deflected it. He learned this when he faced the knights of Azpen.

Enkrid did exactly what he had learned.

Every strike and block followed similar patterns.

After more than thirty exchanges of strikes and near-perfect blocks, Riarvart took a step back.

There was no denying it.

"Are you blocking a knight's sword?"

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

A junior knight? That couldn’t be. The level of the sword was different. The speed and force of the attacks were different. How could he withstand it?

Riarvart's words made Enkrid roughly press his torn ear.

It was a wound caused by the edge of the sword grazing his body while he was dodging and blocking.

Blood flowed down his neck.

His armor was also battered and torn in several places. Without a helmet, blood ran through his hair as his scalp had torn slightly.

It was an overwhelming attack. The sword moved so freely it felt like thread. Yet, he could still block it.

It was more blockable than Ragna’s true strike.

More blockable than Rem’s ax strikes.

More blockable than Jaxon’s silent sword.

Easier to endure than Audin’s reckless punches.

He could do it because he had all those experiences.

At least, that’s how he felt now.

"Are you really a knight?"

Enkrid asked in return.

If he were truly a knight, he knew this wasn’t enough. Enkrid realized this as he asked the question and continued.

"You’ve never fought a knight before, have you?"

It was the right answer.

Riarvart feared defeat and death, and he feared confirming the gap in talent.

That’s why he secretly wanted to fight a knight. He needed to surpass his limits. He believed he could surpass them.

Enkrid saw through him.

Riarvart’s eyes, filled with displeasure, were now burning with rage.

A mere junior knight?

Enkrid, showing his dimples, said, “In my eyes, you’re not even as good as Ragna.”

Who’s that?

Riarvart didn’t ask. He understood the implication.

He was poking fun at Enkrid, referring to a name he had just mentioned.

“Rem could probably catch you if he really tried. A knight?”

Enkrid raised the end of his words. It enraged Riarvart.

If he couldn’t become a knight after all this?

What had he become after ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) abandoning his humanity?

He had walked the path of slaughter, killing his family and everything his house stood for.

Starting with his fiancée, he had thrown his family members to be experimented upon.

He had sacrificed everyone who followed him to the altar.

And yet, even after all that, he still couldn’t become a knight?

"Maybe a few punches from Audin will make you come to your senses. How about praying to the gods during this chance?"

He panted, his arm trembling as he gripped the sword.

That was what snapped Riarvart’s tenuous grip on reason.

“I’ll kill you, and then I’ll hunt down every one of those people you mentioned, and kill them all.”

With those words, Riarvart charged, faster and stronger than before.

As he spoke about “those people,” his sword was already flying towards Enkrid’s head.

Enkrid barely managed to block it.

Clang!

The sound of steel rang through the battlefield. By now, the watching eyes had increased. Both sides had stopped fighting and were watching the outcome of this duel.

Their fight wouldn't decide the war.

But it was a duel that no one could look away from.

It was the moment when two lives collided, proving whether the path they walked was right or wrong.

They had drawn their lives with swords, and now that they had reached the present, it was only natural they would communicate through their swords.

Their swords clashed again.

Enkrid’s body bore more wounds.

With a loud crash, his shoulder flew off.

His cheek was scratched.

Blood sprayed into the air.

His thigh was also slashed.

Despite all this, Enkrid’s resolve remained the same.

Esther had told him not to lose.

If he lost here, he would have to start again from the morning.

Would that mean his death would just be a repeat of today?

If he had lived thinking that way, he would have already been trapped in a meaningless today.

‘I will win.’

I will not lose.

It was the same determination.

Once again, his resolve shone brightly.

This was the manifestation of a new Will.

Rejection, the moment, the pressure, and the fourth Will after it all.