A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 421: Ominous Signs Approach

"Ominous signs are approaching."

A violet lamp, a lone boat floating on a black river, and the ferryman.

A setting so familiar now that Enkrid could envision it with his eyes closed.

It was a dream.

And he was on the ferryman’s boat.

"What do you mean by ominous signs?"

Enkrid sat at the edge of the boat, idly wondering if he should cross his legs.

Before he could decide, the ferryman’s gaze settled on him.

"I cannot tell you any more than that."

A response as fickle as the wind.

Enkrid looked at him with the same wary eyes he reserved for all unpredictable men.

The ferryman was never the same. His personality, his speech, even his attitude shifted at whim, as if dictated by some unseen force.

But Enkrid wasn’t troubled by such people.

He had wandered the continent just to master swordsmanship—he had seen far worse.

Brawlers, mercenaries, noble guards, caravan swordsmen, instructors at training halls—there had been plenty of eccentric and peculiar figures among them.

And the strangest ones of all were now under his command.

He had more than enough experience dealing with people like this.

If anything, the ferryman was easier to handle than Rem.

There was no need to react. No need to show emotion.

"I see."

Enkrid nodded, buying himself a moment before asking again.

"How do you know that something ominous is coming?"

The ferryman didn’t answer. He truly had no intention of saying more.

His gaze lingered on Enkrid for a moment—

Then, darkness fell.

When he opened his eyes, it was morning.

The summer sun rose early, and even during his isolation training, the surroundings were already bright.

Enkrid focused on his usual training.

Jaxon had spent days lost in thought after their duel, but afterward, he had suddenly started acting friendly with the squad members.

Now, however, he had returned to his usual self.

Not only that, but he had taken a short leave, claiming he had some business to take care of.

A shame.

If he were here, they could have had another sparring match.

"Good morning, brother."

Audin greeted him as he stepped outside.

Behind him, Teresa, Dunbakel, Rophod, and Bell emerged one by one.

"You’re intense this early in the morning."

Bell muttered, unimpressed.

Anyone could see it.

This wasn’t training meant to be watched.

It was just something Enkrid did.

"When are you going to fight me?"

A replacement, since Jaxon was gone.

"Not yet."

A possessed spirit, desperate for battle, must have latched onto him.

Bell felt the itch in his hands, but he held back.

It was obvious that he’d lose, so why bother?

A shepherd always moved efficiently.

Still... There’s something about him that sets your blood boiling.

Just watching made his chest burn with the urge to fight.

But Enkrid wasn’t going to force someone unwilling.

Instead, he turned and began another grueling session with Audin.

Starting with impact training, they then moved into stretching postures that tore at every muscle fiber.

"Muscles that lose flexibility are nothing more than useless flesh."

Audin’s instruction continued.

Teresa oversaw Rophod’s training.

Dunbakel, dripping with sweat, silently mimicked Enkrid’s movements.

Was it a nightmare? Or just the ferryman’s tricks?

Either way, this was the morning that followed.

Routine.

It had been half a month since Enkrid returned to the Border Guard.

The days were growing familiar.

Even the fact that the battalion commander had started calling him General was becoming normal.

There was plenty of work.

But with Kraiss handling most of it, Enkrid’s own responsibilities were surprisingly light.

"I think we should standardize the soldiers’ equipment first, then divide them into specialized units for training."

Training.

"That outpost should be expanded. We need to turn it into an actual fortress. Right now, it only holds twenty men, but we should aim for at least a hundred. If we give each location a proper name, the soldiers will feel a stronger sense of duty."

Security.

"The nobles keep sending gifts. I’ll handle the replies."

Diplomacy.

"The Lockfried Trading Company wants to establish branches in the surrounding cities. Should we approve it? If not, Leona might sulk."

Economy.

"We’ve raised the soldiers’ wages. I also selected a few capable individuals to become landowners. There’s a lot of fertile land going unused, so I was thinking of establishing some new outposts near Green Pearl’s borders."

Finances.

At this rate, even if Kraiss had ten bodies, it still wouldn’t be enough.

"Are you eating properly?"

Enkrid asked as he wiped away sweat.

He was in the middle of a weapons control drill using a practice sword—one that was five times the weight of an ordinary steel blade.

"Huh?"

Kraiss looked up in confusion.

"Are you not busy?"

If Eastern fairy tales were true, then even a genie summoned from a lamp wouldn’t work as hard as Kraiss.

"It’s manageable."

"Should I raise your salary?"

"I’m already at the limit. If I take any more, I’d be making more than the Border Guard’s lord."

Of course.

Kraiss wasn’t the type to forget his own pocket.

Enkrid nodded.

"And am I actually doing the work? All I do is approve things from the top."

That was true.

Kraiss had even gone out of his way to get Enkrid an official seal.

He wasn’t a noble by birth, but at this point, Enkrid had more authority than most.

He had taken over an entire territory once ruled by a rebel lord.

He was a hero of the kingdom, a slayer of demons, a friend of the king.

"I also brought in Gilpin to help with administrative work. And Lockfried Trading Company is handling most of the financial records."

Enkrid let Kraiss do as he pleased.

Honestly, even if he tried, he wouldn’t be able to manage things this well.

He entrusted everything to Kraiss, only overseeing a few details himself.

One of them was the soldiers’ armament.

"Spearmen, swordsmen, shield bearers. Train them all in basic weapon handling, then outfit them like this."

For swordsmen:

A longsword and a dagger.

A wrist-mounted mini-crossbow, inspired by a bandit’s design Enkrid had once seen.

A leather tunic reinforced with flaxseed oil, covered in hide.

Arm and shin guards.

Three throwing knives.

A hand axe.

A kite shield.

A padded leather helmet.

A short club.

For spearmen and archers, the equipment was similar, minus their primary weapons.

Fully armed, all they need is a backpack, and they’ll be suffering anyway.

Kraiss glanced at his commander.

Enkrid immediately answered.

"Anyone who complains about the weight—send them home."

The Border Guard had once been desperate for numbers, accepting any recruit they could find.

That was no longer the case.

"Fewer, better-trained soldiers are preferable."

Kraiss agreed.

Everything they were discussing was meant to increase combat effectiveness.

Even though they had an office, most of these discussions happened on the training field.

Swordsmen, spearmen, archers, shield bearers, cavalry, mounted archers.

Enkrid laid the foundation.

Kraiss built upon it.

"Since we're at it, why don’t we reorganize your squad? You know you can’t remain an independent unit forever, right?"

Enkrid nodded.

He passed the order along.

"Rem, pick out a few good men and form a new unit."

A shock force—soldiers who would ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) charge into battle and carve through enemy lines.

"Huh? You serious?"

Enkrid hesitated.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

If he wasn’t careful, this training would just turn the recruits into broken wrecks.

"I said form a unit, not destroy them."

"I’ll do my best."

Rem stood up.

"Don’t do your best."

Enkrid pitied the soldiers already.

He gave Ragna the same order.

"Cavalry, infantry, take your pick."

"Too much work."

After returning from the royal palace, Ragna devoted himself to training for a few days.

Then, just like before, he began lounging around the barracks, dozing off at every opportunity.

Aside from the occasional appearance at the training grounds—usually because Rophod dragged him out—he had returned to his lazy ways.

Rophod, fearless as ever, repeatedly challenged Ragna to spar.

Naturally, he was either beaten to a pulp or threatened with death.

"Keep bothering me, and I’ll cut off one of your arms."

"Then I’ll train hard enough not to lose it!"

Yet, Rophod remained undeterred.

A rare kind of fool.

At least, outwardly, he seemed that way.

Ragna was the type to follow through on his words.

Though... he probably wouldn’t actually cut off an arm.

Probably.

Even Enkrid found it necessary to step in.

"Don’t cut him."

"We’ll see."

Not exactly reassuring.

Still, pairing Rophod with Ragna had its benefits.

It meant someone was keeping an eye on the lazy bastard.

And Rophod, trained by the knightly order, was better suited than anyone to handle squad organization.

Dunbakel was assigned to Rem.

If Rem had someone to torment, he’d go easier on the rest of the troops.

Audin, of course, took it all in stride.

"I see no issue, brother."

That, in itself, was worrying.

So Teresa was sent to watch over them.

With that, Enkrid was satisfied that the elite training would continue.

They didn’t need numbers.

They needed warriors.

Enkrid wasn’t one to ignore his responsibilities.

He handled his training and his duties without cutting corners.

And thanks to Kraiss, his training hours hadn’t suffered in the slightest.

"Let’s watch some training. Show me what you’ve got."

Lua Gharne had officially joined Enkrid’s command through a request to the royal palace.

Since then, she followed him around like a baby duck trailing its mother.

During her time in the Gilpin Guild, she had crushed every opponent thrown at her.

She had even encountered Frokk Meelun, the infamous resident of the city.

But they had merely acknowledged each other’s existence before going their separate ways.

Neither seemed remotely interested in the other.

When asked why, Frokk simply shrugged.

"I am Frokk."

"And?"

"Everyone follows their own desires. That Frokk's desires are not my concern."

As always, Frokk made no effort to understand what didn’t interest her.

Which, ironically, made her unusual.

Few Frokk took an interest in anything beyond their immediate wants.

Lua Gharne’s desire, however, was knowledge.

In a way, she was an academic among her kind.

"What do you think is the essence of proper swordsmanship?"

Lua Gharne had been a great asset—not just in combat, but in instruction.

A skilled duelist wasn’t necessarily a good teacher.

Rem, Ragna, Audin, Jaxon—they were proof of that.

Tell them to train soldiers, and they would.

But when it came to teaching?

Absolutely hopeless.

Geniuses were often like that.

In contrast, Lua Gharne was an excellent teacher.

"Tactics?"

"Implication and control."

The key was this:

You didn’t have to swing your sword.

If you could shape the battlefield through subtle gestures and feints, you were already in control.

"Actually striking is merely the final step after everything has been confirmed."

"Then why is it that even when I maneuver Rem into a predictable position, he still counters instantly?"

"Because that axe is a monster."

Lua Gharne’s eyes could perceive talent.

To her, Rem was a monster.

"And Ragna?"

"That bastard is a monster with a sword."

"Audin?"

"A monster in body."

"Jaxon?"

"A scheming monster?"

Lua Gharne’s vocabulary was lacking.

But, to be fair, Enkrid agreed with her.

"And you? You’re an incomprehensible monster."

"Is that so?"

Occasionally, Shinar came by to spar.

She had a habit of unleashing techniques that sent chills down his spine.

Yet, even then, it felt as if she was holding back.

"What’s wrong? Did you think you’d win easily, fiancé?"

"Perhaps it’s time to change how you address me."

"General fiancé?"

"Let’s not change it."

Meanwhile, Kraiss only needed to hear what Enkrid was requesting to understand Crang’s intentions.

"He’s preparing for war."

"Probably."

"With Azpen?"

"Most likely."

Enkrid answered vaguely.

But Kraiss had already figured it out.

That man’s mind worked in ways no one could fathom.

Each day passed in much the same way.

And every night, the ferryman appeared in his dreams.

"Ominous signs are approaching."

For fifteen nights, Enkrid had heard the same words.

Was the ferryman trying to get him to say it was getting old?

He always called Enkrid persistent and annoying, after all.

But Enkrid didn’t feel annoyed.

"Do you know how close it is?"

"I cannot tell you."

He was simply curious.

If the ferryman was speaking, it was a wall—something inevitable.

Even the ferryman didn’t know exactly what the omen was.

If time repeated, he could glimpse the future.

But seeing everything before it happened?

Not even gods could do that.

The ferryman thought to himself.

Even repeated days change.

The man before him had proven that.

And this was the price.

"Ominous signs are approaching."

The ferryman was being generous.

"I look forward to seeing it."

The ferryman scowled.

Just a little.

But he didn’t take back his kindness.

"It draws near."

"Is that so?"

As always, Enkrid remained unshaken.

"Take this seriously, foolish one, who walks the path of mortals only to meet ruin."

"Oh, I am taking this very seriously."

He didn’t look serious in the slightest.

If anything, he looked eager.

The ferryman found that incredibly irritating.