A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

There is no law that says you must walk with your eyes fixed straight ahead just because you have chosen a path and decided to walk it.

Didn’t the great merchant Rengardis also say,

“Keep your eyes wide open and watch the ground around you. You never know where you might find a stray Krona.”

Surely, he wasn’t the kind of person who would pick up a single coin from a fairy tale. After all, he was known as a merchant.

However, the meaning of his words was clear.

For instance, if you find a pouch of gold coins on your way, it is only right to pick it up.

If you are planning to camp on your journey, it’s a good idea to collect dry branches.

If you can catch two birds with one stone, wouldn’t it be right to throw it?

Encrid did just that.

‘Will.’

Even though he set his goal, he didn’t act foolishly or recklessly.

He did not become a racehorse running blindly forward.

What could he do until the Shepherd, who comes in the evening, arrived on this repetitive day?

Training, fighting, pondering.

Encrid summarized his tasks into three categories.

He learned the basics of the Fluid Sword Technique from Ragna and trained alone repeatedly.

Later, he learned more about the Valaf-Style Martial Arts from Audin.

Their reactions were similar.

“Have you learned this somewhere? Or have you been secretly practicing with a sword all this time?”

“When did you train so much in martial arts? Brother, you make me proud.”

Encrid nodded roughly to both of them.

Though he was trapped in the present and trained alone, it wasn’t a lie.

In truth, he didn’t hear such words often. Encrid focused more on training than sparring.

He would ponder alone, swing his sword, and move his body.

When his mind wouldn’t work, he would exhaust his body using the Isolation Technique while sweating profusely.

“Are you hoping to hear me say that you shouldn’t overdo it, brother?”

Had he trained his body to the point where Audin was worried? Encrid answered indifferently.

“Exercising makes my mind work better.”

“That’s true. Your brain needs blood flow to think properly.”

Jaxon muttered beside him.

If we consider Jaxon’s former or current job, he would probably know more about the human body structure than anyone.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Encrid learned that through his body. When his mind wouldn’t work, he moved his body.

When moving his body didn’t solve the problem, he sat down and pondered.

When the repetitive ‘today’ passed the hundred and eightieth time.

Encrid had mastered the basics of the Fluid Sword Technique, honed the Valaf-Style Martial Arts through Audin, and learned how to handle his senses through Jaxon.

If he had to spend time anyway, he might as well refine and polish what he had.

It wasn’t just that.

Beyond swordsmanship, martial arts, and senses.

What he learned from his comrades and subordinates became sharper, more sensitive, and bolder.

His senses became sharper, his concentration more acute, and his judgment bolder.

But even so.

Swish!

He couldn’t avoid the blade brushing against his body.

The blade that grazed the back of his hand swiftly turned around. The sword, flying like a snake, was based on the Swift Blade and the Illusion Sword Techniques.

‘Once drawn, it’s hard to block.’

If he had the skill to avoid and block without being grazed, he could win without being touched.

To do that.

‘I’d have to become a Knight right away.’

The opponent in front of him was better than the one called Swift Blade.

What if he were a half-blood Giant?

‘It seems like it’s a matter of who delivers the fatal blow first.’

What does it mean to gauge an opponent’s skill?

If Encrid had wanted to kill his opponent, he could have done so several times already.

During almost two hundred days of ‘today’, he never spent a single day idly. That’s why it was possible.

However, not even grazing them remained difficult. It felt like a separate matter.

Is it really impossible unless he becomes a Knight?

If not, he would have to defend all night long.

He had already tried that.

When midnight passed, the same ‘today’ would just begin again.

‘No more defense for now.’

Through the Sense of Evasion, avoiding and blocking all day was meaningless.

So, what should he do?

From that moment, there were only battles as if in real combat.

Encrid fought and fought again.

If there was a time of conscious rebellion after being hit, he also continuously utilized the time spent before that.

The time to figure out how to overcome this barrier after defense and evasion, to learn from the opponent, and to grasp and embody what he learned alone. It was neither tiresome nor hasty.

There was no reason to be.

He was too engrossed in learning something new every day.

Even if it was meaningless to resist something inherent in the sword, he ignored it.

He pursued joy. Naturally, it made Encrid realize many things in various ways.

‘During that time.’

Was it because he had learned too many miscellaneous things?

As he incorporated them one by one into his body, Encrid himself felt he was becoming more solid than before.

However, there was no time to be engrossed or indulge in it.

Even though ‘today’ was repetitive, each day was busy. There were things to do every day without rest.

Pondering, thinking, and moving his body.

If anyone saw him, they would undoubtedly think he was completely mad.

“What is it, what drives you?”

Even the ferryman asked such a question.

Despite the repetition of ‘today’, why couldn’t he let a single day pass idly?

It wasn’t that he couldn’t, he just didn’t.

Encrid was enjoying the present.

Rather than seeing a faded dream and struggling in darkness where not even an inch ahead was visible.

Even if the road was blocked and the wall obstructed him, the fact that there was light beyond gave him more joy than ever.

Even if suffering and pain followed.

Encrid felt the joy of growth once again.

Though he never thought he was stagnant, facing the opportunity to advance was always joy and ecstasy.

That joy drove him.

After being injured on his wrist again.

When a scratch appeared on Encrid’s hand, the Shepherd frowned.

It was a face that showed this was an unwanted situation.

Encrid wiped his injured hand with the opposite hand.

As he wiped away the blood droplets, blood trickled from the wound the size of two finger joints.

He was now accustomed to the screams that sounded like a banshee grabbing his earlobe and the shrieks as if a ghoul was sticking its head into his stomach.

Although it wasn’t that it wasn’t painful, he could refrain from showing it outwardly.

Thus, his nonchalant tone came forth.

“Does that sword have a name?”

“…Oh? Are you alright?”

The Shepherd was rather surprised. Having seen it more than once, Encrid cleanly ignored the opponent’s reaction.

“The sword’s name.”

Only then did he throw his question. The Shepherd mumbled and then answered.

“It’s called Idol Slayer.”

It was a sword worthy of having a name. Of course, it was a name he had heard for the first time.

He still didn’t know anything about the sword’s power or the principle by which people died because of it.

He had asked about that, but it was hard to get an answer from his opponent.

For him, today was their first encounter, so it would be hard to give a proper answer even if he asked.

‘Even if I heard it, it wouldn’t be useful.’

‘Will’ is something that cannot be explained, something that cannot be taught, something that cannot be conveyed.

Among these, what is called a rite is also a type of superstition.

A rite doesn’t necessarily mean one realizes ‘Will’.

“If a talented human is placed in a life-threatening situation, wouldn’t they realize it? So if they are cut by a blade forged by willpower, wouldn’t they understand the feeling?”

This method, which started from such a question, is called a rite.

So even if he heard it, it wouldn’t be useful. Whatever that sword was, if it had ‘Will’, it was said that he wouldn’t die.

That sword was something forged by ‘Will’. So he didn’t ask and just rolled with it. He decided to learn by experiencing.

“Can you forge it? Can you block it?”

The Shepherd asked, and Encrid shook his head. This was a common question as his time withstanding the sword lengthened.

Once again, the repetition of ‘today’.

Afterward, Encrid performed a few tricks.

For example, instead of blocking and avoiding the sword all day, he would do something like making sure the opponent couldn’t even draw their sword in the first place.

Thump! Tak, Tuk.

He raised his chin from below the opponent’s palm, then swung his hand horizontally towards the Shepherd’s neck, who dodged it.

The Shepherd blocked with his chin pulled back. He was skilled in martial arts as well.

Encrid, while performing tricks with his hands, at some point stepped on the opponent’s foot.

When his foot was stepped on, the Shepherd’s hand twisted.

Though he was skilled in martial arts, it wasn’t his specialty.

This guy was a swordsman.

When the opponent gripped the sword hilt, Encrid gripped it together with him.

It was a result achieved by getting inside the range of a dagger strike in close quarters.

‘Valaf-Style Martial Arts Pommel Pressing.’

One of the secret techniques to prevent the opponent from drawing their sword.

It was a skill he had learned and mastered recently.

“…I’ve lost.”

The Shepherd, filled with the desire to win, tried to draw his sword but even failed at that.

Even knowing that drawing his sword was dangerous, he attempted it.

However, his opponent blocked that source. It was a situation worth admitting defeat.

“No, let’s do it again.”

But Encrid stepped back and said.

He retreated to the distance of sword range.

Shing.

Encrid drew his sword.

“It’s sharp and keen. Be careful.”

As he mentioned that his weapon was no ordinary one, the Shepherd bit his lips for a moment and then drew his sword.

Ting!

In an instant, he drew his sword and pointed it forward.

“You will die if you even get grazed. Consider it coated with a deadly poison.”

The two moons intertwined their shadows. Due to the peculiar angle, the Shepherd’s shadow appeared larger than Encrid’s.

‘How kind. Telling me not to get even grazed.’

It was the opponent’s repeated kindness. Encrid nodded.

As it was a signal to attack, the Shepherd took his stance.

It was a more cautious stance than ever before.

He had no choice. The opponent had bound his sword with fists and feet.

And then, swords extended their tongues towards each other.

Clang!

Sparks flew as steel met steel.

Despite having seen various sword techniques and habits of using feet, Encrid felt it was new every time he raised his sword to engage.

‘You improve while fighting.’

It was talent, something he did not possess.

Realizing this did not make him jealous.

He was simply pleased with his opponent’s progress.

Every day, although repetitive, brought a new opponent.

Because of this, winning without getting grazed by that sword was impossible.

Enduring all night and winning were different matters.

He didn’t intend to purposely get stabbed, but he also didn’t want to spend the day just enduring.

This time was no different.

Slash.

A light wound, a scream began.

Soon, his heart stopped, and his mind went blank.

It felt as if someone was stabbing his head with a red-hot poker.

It was extreme pain. Terrible pain. And thus, Encrid died.

He died. He died again. And again.

He died over three hundred times.

Consecutive deaths, continuous deaths.

Each time, he used Valaf-Style Martial Arts to prevent the sword from being drawn.

As he continued, his skill naturally improved.

Of course, all of this was merely secondary.

‘I can’t catch it.’

In the invisible darkness, Encrid became a lost wanderer.

He saw a light far away, but he couldn’t reach it, couldn’t get closer.

So, did anything change?

Even though he couldn’t see the way, nothing changed, so Encrid walked silently. He crawled. Even though he struggled, as long as he could move forward, he was a traveler and a wanderer.

“You fool.”

It was the ferryman’s words.

Whenever he spoke, it was always something like that.

You fool.

You idiot.

You ignoramus.

He didn’t seem to consider that the listener might get hurt.

Of course, he wasn’t hurt.

He walked through such a foolish autumn day.

He picked up fallen leaves on the path.

One day, while walking with the picked-up leaves in his arms, the light brushed against his hand.

‘Die.’

A voice was heard amidst the screams.

Encrid reacted instinctively to those words. No, it was something he had always, truly, and earnestly screamed.

Though outwardly calm, Encrid was always struggling and resisting internally.

His resistance was always the same, and ultimately, it converged into one desire and wish.

‘I don’t want to.’

He didn’t want to die. He wouldn’t die. No matter what your blade does, I won’t die.

It was a statement containing that resolve.

This time, too, he died. But it was a different death from before.

The pain was the same, but.

“Huh? Didn’t you say you couldn’t do it?”

For a while, a really long while, he endured.

What should this be called?

Humans don’t have tails. If a tail suddenly grew, it would surely be difficult to use.

So, to use it, practice would be necessary.

On a path shrouded in darkness, the moment he realized what to do.

It could be seen as a matter of sense, or as something intentional.

What is ‘willpower’?

What is ‘Will’?

‘As I desire.’

If the sword’s message upon being cut by the Shepherd’s blade was death, if the sword’s coercion was death.

Encrid had only one thing to do.

On the four hundred and eighty-fifth ‘today’.

Even though he overwhelmed his opponent with both sword and fist, when he couldn’t block the sword brushing against his shoulder.

Encrid felt the will to die.

It was a one-sided attack and pressure from the sword.

An intangible force that strangled his heart and scorched his mind.

Because he felt it clearly, he could refuse.

When he couldn’t feel it, he had to die without knowing anything, but because he felt it.

Just as you would brush away an approaching hand to express your intention.

He could show his will in such a way.

“No.”

Speaking aloud, he shows his will.

Something he didn’t know before he realized it.

Something he could never have anticipated before willpower, ‘Will’, was translated into an intangible force.

“Ah.”

The Shepherd opened his mouth in surprise.

Encrid deflected the ‘will to die’ that came from the wound on his shoulder.

He was simply cut and muttering to himself. There was no explosion of intangible pressure, no light streaming down, and no magical phenomenon occurred.

Despite that.

Because he had peeled away the intangible coercion and will that those who had touched the power of ‘Will’ could feel.

The Shepherd knew, and Encrid knew.

Now, the Shepherd’s sword could not be fatal to Encrid. It could not harm him.

Apart from the utility of the blade, the ‘willpower’ contained in that sword could no longer kill Encrid.

Encrid recognized that he had deflected something.

It was someone’s lifetime, their life, and their resentment.

Someone had imbued that sword with ‘Will’.

And he had just broken it.

“…Did you just realize it now?”

The Shepherd was quick-witted.

“Yes.”

He didn’t deny it. He even felt a slight desire to be honest.

It wasn’t just now, there were over four hundred days of ‘today’.

Of course, he couldn’t say that.

“I’ve lost.”

The Shepherd let his arms drop. The tip of the sword in his hand touched the ground.

He looked despondent. He also seemed somewhat relieved.

Encrid knew that ‘today’ had ended.

The two moons still shone on them.

Among the long shadows, Encrid’s appeared larger. It was the change in shadows created by the passing moon.

Encrid muttered to himself.

‘This is Will.’

This wasn’t all. It was just a tiny part.

He could only ‘refuse’.

Even so.

“This is crazy.”

He was thrilled to death.

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