A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 428: Dream and Dream

A knight’s power often shattered conventional expectations.

Take, for example, the knight from Azpen whom Enkrid had fought before.

Enkrid stood with his sword in hand, lost in thought.

‘What if I had seen that knight’s sword? If I had predicted his attack?’

Would that have allowed him to block it?

Just as important as moving the body was the time spent in meditation.

He immersed himself in his thoughts and visualized the scene.

The Azpen knight appeared in his mind, and the trajectory of his sword was vividly etched before him.

‘It wasn’t some extraordinary swordsmanship.’

It was just a swing.

But it had been too strong, too fast—impossible to block, no matter what he tried.

So, was that what a knight’s strike was?

Something that came with such speed and power that even if one saw it, they couldn’t stop it?

Would witnessing a knight’s true battle always be so astonishing?

It was a trivial thought.

***

What was a knight?

A title given to those who had surpassed human limitations.

The King of the East was not a knight, yet he possessed the same level of power.

And he displayed that power without restraint.

Not all of it, but enough that anyone watching up close would be left speechless.

A troll swung a massive stone axe wrapped in thick vines.

It was too slow.

By the time the troll’s shoulder began to move, the king had already thrust his spear.

Thunk!

The spearhead pierced the troll’s skull—no, it didn’t just pierce it; it burst it apart.

The sheer force behind the thrust was enough to make that happen.

His spear, having shattered one troll’s head, swept to the side.

With repeated thunks and cracks, every troll whose head it touched met the same fate.

To kill a troll, one had to burn its body entirely or sever its head.

Severing the head meant cutting off its connection to the body.

Smashing the skull achieved the same effect.

Anu’s spear proved it.

Thrusting, slashing, striking, and smashing.

At first, he moved as if he was merely loosening his muscles.

But within the span of just a few breaths, his spear became even faster.

Yet, every strike precisely targeted only the trolls’ heads.

Like a swift swallow plucking fish from the water.

A swallow born with an innate talent for hunting.

Not a single mistake. Not a single wasted movement.

It was a demonstration—one meant for Rem.

Anu single-handedly killed over twenty trolls in an instant.

Despite such a slaughter, barely a trace of their black blood stained his clothes.

Standing amidst the carnage, Rem, who had split open the heads of three trolls, watched him in silence.

King Anu withdrew his spear and glanced at Rem, unconsciously tilting his head.

‘Shouldn’t he be impressed right now?’

That was usually the reaction.

Most people, upon witnessing his spear techniques, would begin with astonishment and end with admiration.

But Rem’s eyes were far from respectful.

They were downright insolent, filled with dissatisfaction.

“Oh, having fun doing it all by yourself?”

Even his tone was mocking.

The king blinked.

“That... seems to be the case, my lord.”

Asaluhi approached and whispered.

He took the spear from the king’s hand, meticulously wiping the blade and shaft before wrapping it in cloth again.

The lieutenant had already guessed the king’s intent.

He had deliberately shown off his skill, expecting awe in return.

That was why he had gone so far as to bring out his secondary weapon just to fight these mere trolls.

Rem seemed like he was about to complain but ultimately didn’t.

If someone wanted to show off, the best response was to let them.

“I haven’t warmed up enough, so I’ll keep going. Separately. Alone.”

With that, Rem strode off on his own, as if it didn’t matter whether this was the Pen-Hanil mountain range or not.

To him, this was a perfectly natural reaction.

He didn’t care whether his attitude left others dumbfounded or not.

If he found his lost sorcery in the West, then whatever the King of the East had just shown—he could do it too.

There was nothing to envy.

Knights and those like them used Will, and while his approach was slightly different, in Rem’s mind, it was all the same.

“One question.”

The king called after him.

“Go ahead.”

“Why are you here? Why are you following that man? What do you want that keeps you in this city?”

Rem answered without a moment’s hesitation.

“It’s fun.”

Why had he left the West in the first place?

To find enjoyment.

Right now, his fun was watching Enkrid, who had clawed his way up from the bottom, and seeing where he would go.

In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t some noble reason.

Simply put, he was staying because he was enjoying himself.

And if something more entertaining came along, he would leave without hesitation.

The king listened to that answer and nodded.

“I see.”

A straightforward response.

Rem disappeared into the mountains.

When the king returned, finished with the hunt and accompanied only by his lieutenant, a large-eyed troublemaker greeted him with a smirk.

“Did you bury Rem out there? If so, gold coins might not be enough. You’ll need at least gold bars to cover it...”

“He said he wanted to play a bit longer.”

The king cut him off mid-sentence and strode inside.

His gaze fell upon Audin.

“You’re called Audin, correct? Why are you staying here?”

“My Lord Father instructed me to do so.”

“Lord? Father?”

No further conversation was necessary.

Asaluhi discreetly whispered beside him.

“He’s a zealot, isn’t he?”

The king thought the same.

No matter what he asked, the answer would always be the same—everything was done according to divine guidance, all was part of the divine plan.

The king nodded and shifted his attention elsewhere.

He saw Ragna, snoring away.

And the half-giant, just passing by the barracks.

“And you, why are you here?”

He asked.

“I owe my life.”

Teresa responded in her distinct, metallic yet oddly pleasant voice.

Her demeanor was devoid of jest.

A life debt.

That was not something that could be repaid by anyone else.

“My desire is to explore the unknown. Look at him—how fascinating a man he is. And on top of that, he’s good-looking. Easy on the eyes. But you? Not so much.”

That was Frokk Lua Gharne’s answer.

The King of the East took pride in his own face.

But knowing Frokk’s standards, he replied with only a single sentence.

“Are your eyes damaged? Look again at my face, Frokk. Something must be wrong with your vision.”

“Does the East not have mirrors?”

Naturally, Lua Gharne retorted without missing a beat.

Next was Dunbakel.

“If I leave now, I’ll be running away for the rest of my life.”

His offer for her to become his daughter had been half-joke, half-serious.

If she came to the East, he had much to offer her.

But she had rejected everything.

“You do know that I’m a beastkin, right?”

The king asked.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“The only person here who doesn’t know that is that idiot over there.”

Dunbakel pointed at Squire Lophod.

Since he was at it, the king decided to ask everyone in sight.

“I came here to find my true self. Until I do, how could I leave?”

Lophod, his eye swollen from a recent beating, responded.

“I am a shepherd of the wilds. I only came here for a short visit.”

Pel kept his true thoughts to himself.

But the king saw something in Pel’s eyes that he couldn’t hide—an undeniable fighting spirit.

And his gaze wasn’t directed at Ragna or Rem.

It was locked onto Enkrid.

That was unusual.

But not incomprehensible.

Enkrid was the kind of man who, just by existing, made others want to challenge him.

The king knew it well.

He also saw the fairy, Shinar, approaching.

So he asked her too.

“We are betrothed.”

The fairy answered.

“...That was a joke.”

Enkrid's voice rang out immediately.

Once again, he remarked that fairy jokes were impossible to understand.

The king didn’t bother probing Shinar any further. He didn’t need to hear her reasoning to know she wouldn’t follow him.

After spending several days in the camp, the king also met Jaxon.

“I have a rough idea of where you’re from. Your skill... it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call it master-level.”

How many people could recognize someone’s hidden abilities at a glance?

Yet Jaxon wasn’t surprised.

When one stayed by Enkrid’s side, all sorts of unimaginable things happened.

He himself was already doing things he had never thought possible.

His lover had once said:

“I never imagined you’d change like this.”

A statement that made him reflect.

‘Have I changed?’

He didn’t know. But one thing was certain.

Jaxon had found the place where he belonged. And he liked it.

So when the king asked, Why are you here?, Jaxon’s answer was simple. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

“Because this is where I belong.”

The king asked nothing more.

After questioning them all, their answers had been different.

Each had their own reasons for staying.

Yet all those reasons led back to one person.

That morning, Ragna finally woke and stepped outside. He had been asleep for over three days.

The king turned his gaze toward him.

Ragna walked with his usual stride, yet the king knew—he had broken through a barrier.

That didn’t mean he had become a knight.

No one became a knight in an instant. That was not how knights were made.

Innate talent had to be layered with relentless effort.

The shift in Ragna’s presence was something only the king, standing here, could perceive.

‘No... I’m not the only one who noticed.’

Of course. Even after seeing the king’s skill, Rem hadn’t been particularly impressed.

Yet now, the man who had barely reacted to the king’s abilities was clenching his teeth, his face filled with frustration.

Audin’s response was similar.

Normally, he could withstand pressure, but upon seeing the newly awakened Ragna, he fell into deep contemplation—then immediately began a silent prayer, hands clasped, head bowed.

The king’s gaze landed on Enkrid.

‘Good eyes.’

He had seen it too.

For a moment, the king thought Enkrid was an unusual man.

No matter how many times he was beaten down, he got back up, coming at his opponent like an unkillable skeletal soldier.

And the king also knew—

Ragna was on the verge of exploding. He had just acquired power and was desperate to use it.

It was clear as day.

So the king spoke.

“If you follow me, you’ll have plenty of chances to use that power.”

He skipped all pleasantries and went straight for the heart—like a spear thrust directly into the enemy’s core.

It was a statement that could shake anyone.

And for someone who had just overcome a wall, it was impossible not to be tempted.

Arms crossed, the king looked at Ragna.

The natural weight of his presence spread through the air.

This was the air of a man who ruled a nation, of someone who possessed the might of a knight.

“There aren’t many places where you can truly wield your power. Come to a land where you can be free, where you can unleash your ambitions. This country cannot contain you.”

He was telling him not to be trapped in the rigid mold of a knight’s order, but to seek a greater world.

Enkrid, swinging his sword nearby, was also watching the changed Ragna.

So were Rem, Audin, Teresa, and Dunbakel.

Lophod and Pel were absent due to their duties.

Regardless of their reasons for staying here, mandatory service was non-negotiable. That was Enkrid’s will.

Everyone else’s gaze was fixed on Ragna.

Still squinting against the morning sunlight, Ragna muttered,

“...That sounds like ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ a hassle.”

He had spoken politely, but the content of his words was anything but.

“...A hassle?”

The king forgot his own dignity and repeated the word.

Many had rejected him before.

But this was the first time someone had turned him down simply because it sounded like too much work.

“The journey to the East sounds like a pain.”

Ragna reaffirmed his stance.

No matter how good he was at finding shortcuts, the journey would take at least half a year.

Under normal circumstances, riding a fine steed without rest would take around two weeks.

The king let out a brief, hollow laugh.

His lieutenant, Asaluhi, watched him carefully, wondering if he was angry.

Fortunately, the king neither erupted in rage nor showed any sign of frustration.

“...A hassle.”

He merely murmured the words.

Ragna couldn’t even be bothered to explain further.

He had reached a realization, and in refining that realization, his senses felt misaligned.

To readjust them, he would have to sweat for several days.

More than anything, Ragna had absolutely no intention of following the King of the East.

Calling it a hassle wasn’t exactly a lie, but—

‘If I must serve under one person...’

Then it had to be the one who had brought him this far.

Look at that madman staring at him with burning eyes from the side.

If not for him, Jaxon would never have found his own drive.

Even now, everything felt like a bother. But those eyes—just looking at them made him want to move.

After spending three sleepless nights swinging his sword, syncing his senses, he wanted nothing more than to strike his blade against Acker, that famed sword.

The king watched him for a moment, then turned away.

“It’s about time we head back.”

Asaluhi spoke, and the king nodded, though he didn’t seem in any hurry to leave.

And so, another day passed.

It had rained lightly the night before and in the morning, but by now, the sun had broken through the clouds.

The sunlight was gentle, and the air was crisp.

A summer day unlike any other.

The afternoon following the rain was neither humid nor hot. It was a cool, clear day.

On such a day, the king found himself occupied by Enkrid until evening.

“One more round?”

“Fine.”

Another spar.

As if he never grew tired of it.

The king won by driving his elbow into Enkrid’s solar plexus.

It was a solid blow, yet Enkrid’s body was resilient. He had endured it well.

After the spar, the king looked up at the sky.

The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the world in twilight.

The orange hues of the sunset stretched across the clouds and fell upon the earth.

Amidst the fading golden light, the king spoke.

“What do you think is in the East? Gold? Silver? Iron? Treasure? I don’t know. No one knows. And that’s what sets my heart racing.”

At the edge of the training ground, where the last remnants of sunlight touched, the king spoke of his dream.

Enkrid listened.

Goosebumps ran across his skin.

Following the king’s words, his mind conjured images of uncharted lands, ruins filled with unknown dangers, as if he were exploring them himself.

Like Crang, the king burned with passion as he spoke.

“To conquer new lands—that is my battle. That is my struggle. What do you think?”

His voice carried heat.

Anyone could be swept up in it.

It was the kind of speech that made people want to follow him, to believe in his vision, to swear loyalty.

A speech given to just one listener.

The King of the East radiated fire.

Enkrid answered.

“Do you know the song The Knight of the Armistice?”

Just as the king had spoken of his dream, Enkrid now spoke of his own.

A dream, faded and torn, but patched together and held fast—one that had begun with an old song, a tune that still lingered in the hearts of knights.