A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Enkrid stood in the training field, gripping Acker.

From the outside, it looked like he was muttering to himself while awkwardly holding a sword in the corner of the training ground.

It wasn't something that would come across as normal behavior.

But it didn't matter, since no one came to this place unless they were part of the Mad Squad.

And even if someone was watching, Enkrid would've acted exactly the same.

His eyes burned like flames, just as they had before.

"Speak. You didn't stick around just to chat, did you? Show me what you've got. I'll leave my review of what your predecessor left behind."

Enkrid spoke a bit too fast. His excitement stirred his momentum.

The moment the thought struck him that he might gain something from this cursed sword Acker, he couldn't hold back.

Even if he had to break it—he would learn what was inside this blade.

It was the kind of momentum that made everyone in the barracks turn their heads toward Enkrid.

So the concern seemed ridiculous now—Enkrid was there, just like the first time they'd seen him, still filled with longing and resolve.

"Why was I even worried about that guy?"

Rem said with a short scoff, sharpening his axe while sitting on a stump-chair.

"Did the guide's luck finally kick in?"

Ragna, lying in the shade on the opposite side of Rem, raised his head sleepily and spoke.

The momentum was enough to snap someone awake, but Ragna just blinked, didn't even wipe the sleep from his eyes, and went back to napping.

Jaxon leaned against a building pillar, quietly watching.

He'd never say it out loud, but inside, he agreed with the barbarian's words.

Worried that his longing had vanished? Whose?

That man was the same as ever. Unchanging.

When he was first assigned to the squad, when he taught Jaxon the sensory technique—

'He hasn't changed.'

A man forged by heat and longing.

"You've returned, brother."

Audin said with a smile. He was studying scripture with Teresa.

The scripture said: For those who yearn, opportunity will come.

Teresa repeated that line several times in her mind.

'The yearning that doesn't give up.'

She had seen and learned that from Enkrid. Back then and even now.

But is simply not giving up enough?

To her, Enkrid looked more excited now than he did when he became a knight.

He enjoyed the process of becoming more than the act of achieving. He valued learning more than perfection.

So then where does longing come from?

From anticipation. From the expectation that something will bring joy, the thrill of being overcome by it.

That was how Enkrid was right now. Teresa had a small realization and began to pray silently.

My longing, my joy, my bliss—I offer it all to the Lord.

Then a faint light flowed from her shoulders. So subtle it vanished unless one was standing right in front of her.

So no one saw it. Even Audin missed it because his eyes were fixed on Enkrid—but Audin, being divine, could sense the change in Teresa.

His eyes turned back to her. She was focused in prayer. He had witnessed a miracle right in front of him.

For the woman who had once been a half-giant and a cultist, the Holy Spirit had left a mark.

"The Lord is being generous today."

Audin said. Teresa nodded. She couldn't explain it, but she knew she had received something.

Whatever it was, she could take time to find out. There was no need to rush or demand answers.

She had always been patient, but ever since she found true faith, her patience had deepened.

"You've seen the light? Then run toward it."

Lua Gharne said, more focused on training than at any other time in her life.

The whip in her hand drooped to the ground.

She had just stopped whipping it around because her body was sweating too much.

Then she turned and said it while looking at Enkrid.

But it was also something she was telling herself.

She was on the older side for a Frokk. If compared to a human, she'd be past middle age.

Of course, Frokk and humans were different species, so age didn't match up the same way.

Still, one thing was similar.

Training at her age?

Aging comes for everyone the same way.

Lua Gharne had reached that point in her life as a Frokk when aging caught up.

She wasn't at the age to be training.

One could even say:

What's the point of a Frokk training when the end is already in sight?

Frokk are born fighters. Their strength is immense, and their skin renders most weapons useless. Sloppy swordsmen wouldn't even dare face them.

Most Frokk only repeated what they had already mastered through real combat.

That was enough. And because they had the eyes to read talent, they knew their limits all too well.

Limits can't be surpassed. Frokk know this better than anyone. Their ability to judge talent applies even to themselves.

But if someone stood before you, constantly, again and again, breaking through what should've been the limit?

Lua Gharne had never felt this way in her entire life. It wasn't the urge to teach—it was the desire to grow.

She was also enjoying this moment.

Even if she couldn't move forward from here, she'd still be satisfied.

She had learned that from Enkrid.

Her Frokk arm muscles trembled from overuse. Lua Gharne puffed her cheeks, savoring the shake.

Enkrid usually listened well to others, but when it came to the sword, he shut out everything like a madman. He obsessed. He craved.

The way he used to drool while swinging his blade—it overlapped with how he looked now.

Which is why Enkrid didn't listen to anyone this time either.

Whether or not the others were watching, he was listening to Acker.

Vmmm.

The sword trembled, and with will, it conveyed its intent.

—You have fulfilled the fourth condition.

He appreciated the lack of excuses.

—Shall we speak face-to-face now?

Before Enkrid could say anything, the sword continued transmitting its will.

Right after the first message, came the second. Enkrid didn't blink, watching as green and white light streamed out from Acker's blade.

The light expanded outward and erased everything around them.

Then came the wind.

Pasutsssss.

The breeze /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ rustled the grass that reached up to their ankles.

It was a field of grass. One that stretched endlessly.

The time seemed to be around noon. Shadows slipped slightly to the right beneath his feet in a soft curve.

Since the shadow wasn't long, the sun must have been directly overhead.

The sunlight was just bright enough—not too hot or cold.

It stung a little, but the wind blowing in brought the perfect amount of cool.

"This is the first time we're meeting like this, isn't it?"

And there, only five steps ahead of Enkrid, stood a man.

He rested a sword, the same as Acker, diagonally on his shoulder without a scabbard. His appearance was ordinary.

Light brown hair and brown eyes.

But despite the common features, he didn't look ordinary.

The sword resting on his shoulder looked ready to strike at any moment, and his feet were planted firmly on the ground.

No gaps in his stance.

"Who are you?"

"Acker."

Acker narrowed his eyes.

Why bother asking for a name here? As if you didn't already know.

That's what those eyes seemed to say.

Enkrid lowered his arms. The sword in his hand looked exactly like the one his opponent held.

There was no other gear. No armor, no throwing knives.

The same was true for the ghostly figure claiming to be Acker.

Two swords and two people—or rather, one person and one ghost. That was it.

"You've got that look like you just thought something rude."

"Not at all."

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

"Probably right. I'm inside your conscious world, and I'll be sharing some of it."

The ghost Acker, with light brown hair, raised his left hand and tapped at his temple with his finger.

"Isn't that kind of cheating?"

"Don't worry. I can only perceive a bit of your emotions."

The ghost Acker said as he narrowed one eye and brought his thumb and forefinger together in front of his face.

"Worry about what?"

"I'm saying this because you're already preparing to fight."

Acker gave a small smile. A breeze blew. The grass swayed. The ghost sneezed with an "Achoo"—but his stance didn't waver. Not a single gap.

What if I strike right now? He'll respond.

Enkrid briefly foresaw what would happen next.

The opponent would wipe his nose, dodge the thrust, and immediately raise his sword to strike back.

He would swing upward vertically, then twist, trying to predict Enkrid's next move.

Should I factor that in and close the distance while thrusting?

But Enkrid couldn't do that.

If he thrust, the opponent wouldn't dodge—he'd swing to knock the weapon away.

Two futures appeared at once.

And that wasn't all.

If their blades met instead of being deflected, he'd immediately seal the weapon and punch the flat of the blade.

That wouldn't break the sword, but it would shake Enkrid's grip.

And if his grip wavered, he'd lose his rhythm from the very start.

'Hmm?'

Enkrid saw the opponent showing three responses at once.

Then a fourth. And a fifth.

New responses kept appearing.

The opponent's stance hadn't changed, but his responses kept shifting.

"Even when I said we should talk face-to-face, I figured you wouldn't start with words. What do you think? Fun, isn't it? Some scoff at grappling, but I used it well when I was alive. If you know how to use Will, this kind of thing is possible. It's a way to jam future vision."

Will was intent. A formless power forged by intent could generate momentum.

For example, if you had the intent to strike the head of the man in front of you, your body would naturally prepare to strike.

You'd rotate your shoulders, get into a posture where your hands could move freely.

Then the opponent, unconsciously, would start preparing to guard their head.

Future vision was insight—the ability to read movement and momentum.

What Acker's thought-form had done was to mix Will in various ways, twist the flow of momentum, and show that to the opponent—disrupting their insight, their vision of the future.

If Rem neutralized future vision through unconscious axe swings,

This one split conscious intent into dozens of threads, showed them all to the opponent, and disrupted their senses.

"Not easy."

Enkrid muttered under his breath.

"You really tried to gulp it all down at once? You've got no shame."

Even though he mumbled, the ghost caught it and responded.

"Do I look like someone who explains things easily?"

"Don't tell me you won't explain it?"

"You just ask and expect me to? That's not how it works."

"You're not going to tell me?"

Why is this bastard so shameless? And yet, in his eyes was nothing but pure longing.

Were his eyes like that too when he threw himself off the cliff? No way to know.

It might've felt awkward to Acker, but Enkrid would go even further if it meant learning.

"Three conditions already had me pissed off. Has anyone ever passed the hidden fourth condition? Of course not. So you're the first, and I've got a lot to say—but you skip the explanation and ask me to hand over the technique? Wow. No thanks."

Acker said with a deliberately fake smile.

Enkrid was fully ready to listen to him now. First, he had to confirm whether the blindfold he used to block Acker's future vision actually worked.

He had no choice. He'd seen too many blazing eyes—more than one, four pairs in total.

The eyes of the giant merchant. The eyes of the artisan Eitri. The eyes of the Frokk who made accessories. The eyes of the little boy who wanted to be a healer.

The fire in Enkrid's heart had never really gone out—but this was like pouring oil on the remaining embers.

Enkrid burned.

He wanted to learn anything. Do anything.

Whether it was sparring or training.

Judge my skill now.

Watch my sword.

I can learn anything—so teach me.

Enkrid's presence pressed down on his opponent, clearer and more defined than ever.

It was a fresh kind of pressure.

Not the kind that makes someone feel like they'll die if they move, or that they'll be sliced no matter where they go.

It was the kind of pressure that screamed, I want to learn everything.

So instead of coercion, it felt more like an encouragement that stirred up a desire to fight.

The kind of presence that made you want to spar.

The moment he thought Acker was hiding something, Enkrid pestering him was inevitable.

"For real."

Thud!

"So annoying."

Enkrid hid his breath and raised both arms in a flash. The tip of his sword pointed toward the sky, then he stepped forward with his right foot using his left as a pivot, slashing diagonally downward.

It was a clean and weighty diagonal cut.

Acker chose one of the movements from the futures he'd shown earlier.

He raised his sword and deflected the blow diagonally while shifting sideways.

As their blades clashed—Thud!—a loud friction sound rang out.

And Acker still said what he wanted to say.

The ghost Acker's shadow stretched long to the side.

Enkrid's gaze followed Acker's feet and blade. With his eyes tracking the motion, he stepped forward and thrust.

His blue eyes drew a line, leaving an afterimage behind.

It was a speed only a knight could perceive.

An ordinary person would be stabbed and cut before even seeing the afterimage.

Of course, even in this mental realm, Acker wasn't caught off guard.

Though he was only a thought-form, in the world of consciousness, he was as good as a knight.

Acker was a weapon imbued with such a spell to begin with.

Future vision showed dozens of possibilities. Enkrid thought he would pick one again, but Acker broke expectations.

He grabbed the sword grip with his right hand, and the base of the blade with his left hand, and used strength to block Enkrid's sword.

CLANG!

The two identical swords met, releasing a shockwave.

Grass bent in a perfect circle around them, then sprung back up.

Shshshshshshsh.

The rustling of the grass was deafening.

With a shift in weight, the hard downward strike was stopped by the defensive stance Acker had created.

"Abandoning future vision for instinctive cleverness? Not bad, but who are you trying to copy?"

Enkrid had planned to mimic Rem's technique after seeing Acker's skill—but that got blocked. Acker continued.

"This is like a conscious world forged by the sword. If you want to leave, there's only one way."

Acker expected Enkrid to ask what would happen if he couldn't get out. After all, the instinct to preserve one's life was universal.

Will I die if I can't escape? Then what happens?

If Enkrid asked that, Acker was fully ready to mock him with a smug, "What do you think?"

But since Acker had shattered Enkrid's future vision, Enkrid's reaction shattered Acker's expectations as well.

"Yeah, okay."

He barely pretended to listen as he gave a half-hearted answer. His eyes were already drowning in madness.

"Hey, try opening your eyes properly."

"Yeah, okay."

Is this bastard insane?

Acker had finally come to the same conclusion everyone who'd ever met Enkrid had reached.

In the desert, Enkrid observed his surroundings like he was half-asleep—so this was Acker's first time facing Enkrid's madness firsthand.

If Rem had seen it, he would've snickered and said:

"Yup, next victim—step right up."