Eternally Regressing Knight-Chapter 497 - The Chieftain Wept Once More

Chapter 497 - The Chieftain Wept Once More

Bang!

Enkrid instinctively swung his sword, Aker, in a diagonal slash from lower left to upper right. In that fleeting moment, he saw Rem smiling.

With a deafening roar, concentric rings of dust spread between the two, sending onlookers stumbling backward and landing hard on their backsides.

The axe and sword clashed, their gazes locking through the crossed weapons—blue eyes meeting gray.

"You managed to block that?" Rem asked, his wild grin exuding a feral energy, as though he might rip out Enkrid's throat at any moment.

"Was I supposed to let you hit me?" Enkrid shot back.

Rumble.

As Enkrid responded, his foot slid slightly backward, a small rock under his heel cracking apart. Neither man eased their grip, the intensity of their clash unwavering.

Inwardly, Rem was impressed.

That axe strike just now had been comparable to Oara's swordsmanship.

The technique was different, but the strength it conveyed was unmistakable: the blow of a knight.

And Enkrid had blocked it—not simply with a knight's power, but through an intricate combination of strength and skill.

He had raised his sword to absorb the impact, letting part of the force flow through his solid wrist while bending his knees and ankles to distribute the remaining force. Normally, such a blow would have shattered the wrist, leaving bones jutting through flesh. But Enkrid's muscular arms and robust tendons compensated for any imperfections in his deflection technique.

It was beyond impressive, a feat surpassing even the deceptive tricks of a knight's strike.

Against the ghouls they had faced before, Enkrid would now hold his ground with ease.

How could Rem not admire that?

"Don't die on me, now," Rem said, his grin widening as his canines seemed to grow longer.

Suddenly, Enkrid lost sight of the axe. The keen perception that allowed him to predict his opponent's moves faltered. He knew from experience that hesitation would lead to death—his first lesson on the battlefield.

Bracing himself, he tuned into the primal rhythm of his heart.

Raising Aker vertically, he sharpened his senses to the point where he could pinpoint a needle dropped on the sand. This was sensory art, and his razor-sharp intuition identified the axe's trajectory: upper left.

Enkrid stepped his right foot slightly back and raised his sword to intercept. Before his elbows had fully extended, sword met axe once more.

Clang!

The resounding clash echoed again. Enkrid twisted his sword to deflect, aiming to counter, but Rem extended a leg, thrusting it like a spear.

Boom!

The kick hit Enkrid squarely in the stomach, the impact bursting the air like an explosion.

Though Enkrid narrowly twisted his body to avoid fatal damage, his armor tore apart, as though reduced to rags by Rem's kick.

Armor crafted from beast hide, which had withstood countless sword strikes, had been shredded.

"Yee-haw!" Rem yelled, his voice intoxicated with exhilaration.

His axe blurred, transforming into a streak of light.

Once again, Enkrid responded. Igniting the heart of the beast, he brought his sword down, utilizing a technique honed through repetition.

A method to deflect weapons—matching the opponent's angle and diverting their trajectory mid-swing, combining the finesse of a flowing blade with the force of a heavy strike.

Thud!

The axe and sword collided again, but this time the impact felt oddly light.

At that moment, another blade flashed toward Enkrid's neck.

Swish!

Enkrid leaned back, seeing the thin line in the air where the weapon had sliced through.

In Rem's left hand, a karambit—a curved Western-style dagger—had appeared.

The reversed grip covered Rem's mouth, but his eyes were visible, the upturned corners hinting at a grin beneath.

Stopping meant death.

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The Enkrid who once closed his eyes in the face of death was long gone.

He immediately swung his sword, connecting the dots to form a downward slash, transforming into a white bolt of lightning.

"Heeya!"

With a wild cry, Rem swung his axe upward to meet the descending lightning.

The Result of the Duel?

Enkrid lost.

But it wasn't without resistance.

"How was that?" Enkrid asked, brushing off sweat, dust, and hair stuck to his face.

"You're not bad," he replied with his usual unshakable confidence, regardless of winning or losing.

This wasn't a fight to the death but a sparring session—one where he had learned a lot.

No, more than that, he had witnessed something truly unique.

Why doesn't this lunatic have any preparatory movements?

"It's called feathered axe play," Rem said, laughing. "A little different from when I toy around."

The axe spun lightly in his hands, seemingly weightless, though Enkrid, having just faced it, knew better.

If Rem called that lightweight Lewis Mountain axe a toy, the craftsman who forged it might be devastated.

Yet Rem appeared euphoric, reveling in yet another victory over Enkrid, as though it were his first.

"I am the great hero Rem!"

"Best sorcerer? Forget the flattery."

"One more round? Come at me anytime!"

"Haha, what? Of course, I'm solid as a rock!"

"Feathered axe play isn't something you can just learn. You'd need to start with sorcery, but never mind—it'd be useless for you anyway."

Resting his hands on his hips, Rem prattled on, his words flowing freely.

Though Enkrid remained silent, Rem seemed perfectly content with his one-sided conversation.

But why did he tilt his head skyward, as if aiming to outshine the heavens?

"Lua."

"Yes?"

Lagarne, often seized by shivers lately, answered Enkrid's question.

"Where's the nearest temple?"

Watching Rem in his overexcited state, Enkrid concluded that his head had broken under the influence of sorcery.

Perhaps Audin's style of healing—with a hammer—was precisely what Rem needed.

"Hahaha!"

Rem continued laughing uproariously.

Is beating me really that exciting?

Enkrid wondered, though he felt no shame in defeat.

He simply sought to learn and reflect, just as always.

"Hahaha! Let's go again!"

"Alright, let's see what I can learn."

"Just one technique? I'll teach you twenty!"

Rem lifted his chin so high that only his jaw was visible.

He had always seemed half-crazy, but now he was entirely unhinged.

That day, they sparred three more times.

The watching twins were awestruck by Enkrid's relentless attempts and his falls to the ground.

Luagarne shivered while pondering what to say to Enkrid.

Dunbakel, meanwhile, regarded Rem with a grave expression, knowing his exhilaration might soon affect her too.

"Wait, you damned idiot! I'll slit your throat!" Rem roared.

Although he had been seeking sorcery for ages, it seemed he had only now decided to proclaim it.

Enkrid had long thought Rem abnormal, but now he was convinced: the man was utterly insane—a lunatic with no need for further qualifiers.

"Captain, isn't that Rem a bit dangerous?"

With curiosity gnawing at him, he approached Enkrid and cautiously asked.

Enkrid responded with a question of his own.

"Are you a noble, by any chance?"

"Huh? Of course not."

Why would a noble even be here, hunting like this?

"Then it's fine."

How does that make sense?

"He's less likely to target you if you're not a noble."

Enri frowned at Enkrid's additional comment, struggling to grasp its meaning. It wasn't that Enkrid had a clear answer—it was simply a casual remark borne out of his own contemplations.

Rem's axe swings were unlike anything he had ever encountered.

How does he manage it?

Despite lacking preparatory movements, the sheer force behind his strikes exceeded even the strength of the Heart of the Beast. Having been imbued with some sorcery, his strength and speed had both increased dramatically.

His observational skills, too, were sharper, with every aspect of him seemingly enhanced.

He resembled a knight wielding "Will."

That much made sense.

But what was with those axe strikes that came out of nowhere?

They completely disrupted any attempts to read ahead.

There was no room for tactical maneuvering.

Understanding everything wasn't possible just by analyzing it.

It was a process of inferring steps based on outcomes, but even that wasn't easy.

Simply seeing a masterful swordplay technique, like Oara's strikes or Shinar's precision with energy, didn't mean it could be replicated.

Through deep contemplation, Enkrid began to grasp the principle behind Rem's axe swings—it was nothing but raw instinct.

The same method he'd always used, which allowed Enkrid to notice the pattern.

"Without thought, there's no visible attack line."

Rem struck, slashed, and broke things as he saw them, trusting solely in his combat instincts.

"As soon as his mind moves, so does his hand."

That overwhelming strength allowed him to wield his axe like a twig, making it impossible for opponents to respond before the axe landed.

Every single strike followed that principle.

Not only his axe—his entire body moved this way.

Arms, legs—his whole being was a weapon.

Could such mastery come from sorcery alone?

No way.

Time spent honing his body, moments of awakening techniques, all layered beneath the sorcery that enhanced him.

Sorcery was a tool that supported what Rem sought to achieve.

What about "Will"? It was likely the same.

Simply possessing Will wouldn't make everything possible.

The body still had to move to execute an action.

Adding what he learned from Rem to his earlier realizations, Enkrid rose from his seat.

The three sparring sessions they'd had were far from the end.

There would be more to learn, and time for that awaited him.

The sheer thought thrilled him so much that he burst into laughter.

"Hahaha!"

Unable to suppress his joy, he laughed aloud.

"Ha! Hahaha! You damn stray cat, I'm coming for you!"

Beside him, Rem threw his head back, laughing wildly.

"Kurrrr!"

Nearby, Luagarne puffed her cheeks in exhilaration.

"Nya-haha-ha!"

The disheveled beastwoman laughed along, contagious in their mirth. Rem didn't feel threatened by any hostility from Enkrid, and everything seemed to fall into place naturally.

Watching them, Enri briefly wondered if trusting Enkrid and going along with his plans was the right choice.

"Is this really okay?"

He didn't know.

The dice had already been cast.

As Enkrid tended to the chipped blade of Aker, he found three new nicks from Rem's relentless axe swings.

He'd need a good whetstone to repair it.

"By the way, are you really okay with giving away that bow?"

Rem, now calm, brought up the rare gift Enri had received—a precious and meaningful object.

"Considering he saved my life, I think the giver would understand."

Enkrid replied while applying linseed oil to his sword. The bow wasn't suited to him—he lacked the physique, interest, and training for archery.

He wasn't entirely clueless about shooting, but it held no value to him.

It was far better as a payment for saving his life.

"When are you leaving?"

"At dawn tomorrow."

***

After a restful night, Enkrid prepared thoroughly in the morning, eating a hearty meal and packing supplies.

Enri stayed behind with a Belopter he'd purchased at great expense, viewing it as a symbol of fortune. After all, the Belopter had seemingly sniffed out the scent of luck, leading him to save Enkrid's life.

"It was good seeing you again."

"We'll meet again, right?"

"Huh? Oh, yes. If all goes well, I'll stop by Border Guard."

Once a hunter, Enri now sported a clean-cut look that gave him a respectable appearance.

"But why are you even here, Enri?"

Rem asked the question just as it was time to part.

Enri chuckled sheepishly, but Enkrid answered bluntly.

"Heartbreak."

"Ah."

Rem nodded.

He'd been dumped.

"...Captain, being rejected by a widow was just the tipping point. It's about finding new purpose while traveling."

Enri tried to explain, but no one listened.

He was now a man who had found a new calling through heartbreak.

"Let's go, then. Twins, help Enri out."

The twins nodded, and Rem turned to Ayul.

"Don't forget to notify me if he kicks the bucket."

Ayul addressed Enkrid, standing behind Rem, who hesitated before replying.

"Do I look like the dying type?"

"Take care!"

Ayul responded in a lighthearted tone, but the sentiment behind it wasn't shallow. Both carried an air of mutual trust, unmarred by sorrow or fear.

They knew their paths would cross again, bound by a shared belief in one another.

Ayul gave Rem a brief embrace.

"I'll name the child myself."

"Make it a good one."

"I will."

Enkrid couldn't discern whether their bond was of friendship, love, or mutual understanding.

All he cared about was practical alternatives should things go awry.

"If it doesn't work out, come live at Border Guard."

"I have too much to do in the west."

Ayul replied somberly, knowing full well the magnitude of tasks ahead, starting with the food crisis.

"Let's go."

Rem led the way, followed by Enkrid, Luagarne, and Dunbakel.

It was time to return.

"What is this?"

The chieftain of the Narai Tribe stared at the stack of smoked ham, dried fruit, and vegetables before him. The merchant who had transported it here answered from behind his bodyguards.

"A gift from His Majesty, the wise and honorable king of Naurilia, as well as the Rockfreed Trading Company under Border Guard."

"Why?"

The merchant blinked.

Why indeed?

He was just following orders.

Transporting this had been exhausting.

"It seems General Enkrid sent word requesting aid."

Through his connections, Enkrid had handed letters to those traversing the western lands and the continent.

Krang and Krais handled the details, ensuring food supplies were sent after meticulous planning.

Realizing the situation, the chieftain wept.

Though summer was ending, they were far from ready to resume their nomadic ways.

Starvation loomed, with death from hunger a distinct possibility.

Grazing animals needed to roam for fresh pastures, yet maintaining livestock required more resources than they had.

Such worries vanished with this delivery.

"His Majesty also wishes to establish diplomatic ties. Please accept."

"Gladly."

The chieftain, weeping, nodded.

The merchant, baffled by the display, couldn't understand why the man cried so much.

In the distant future, the chieftain would be interred in sacred ground, with the epitaph "Chieftain of Tears" engraved on his tombstone. But that was a tale for another time.

For now, the chieftain wept once more.

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