A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Jamal believed time was on his side. So there was no need to swing his sword with full power.

His sword, Plunder, would steadily drain the opponent's strength.

The first time someone experienced it, their complexion always changed.

They wouldn't realize it right away. Plunder was like a mouse nibbling at cheese, bit by bit.

Then at some point, suddenly—there came a moment when their legs gave out.

And when that happened, their face would turn pale.

Seeing that expression wasn't Jamal's source of pleasure.

But it was hardly unpleasant either.

After all, it was the signal of victory. Feeling a sense of relief—and a faint joy—was only natural.

All the more so if the opponent was strong enough to send chills down your spine and make your heart race, yet the ending had already been decided in your favor.

Wasn't that something to enjoy?

Now then... it starts from here, right?

As he explained his engraved weapon Plunder, Jamal also steeled his resolve.

Why wouldn't he?

Once the opponent realized their strength was gradually fading, they'd have only one choice left. Kill before being drained.

Besides, Jamal wasn't alone—around him were soldiers with crossbows and Frokk, who was as capable as a junior knight.

Taking him down wouldn't be the end.

Everything around would weigh on the opponent.

Jamal assumed a defensive stance for that very reason.

He wrapped his grip around his sword and was ready to grab and throw the shortsword at his waist if an opening appeared.

The point was simple:

Block the opponent's fierce attacks without giving them a moment to breathe.

Force them further into a corner.

The more frantically they moved, the sooner they would reach the limits of their Will.

They'd feel that limit much earlier than expected.

The fiercer the attack, the more Will it consumed—that was only natural.

Even explaining Plunder had been part of the strategy.

Jamal had sown the poison of impatience into the opponent's heart.

He pressed down on the ground with his feet, lowered his center of gravity, and raised his sword.

He even activated a scroll hidden in his armor.

It was the size of a palm, a scroll that cast a protection spell strong enough to block a single blow that could reach his armor.

There was nothing wrong with being cautious.

He would make use of everything available.

Jamal did exactly what he had learned to survive until now.

At the same time, in his mind's eye, he imagined shackles clamping down on his opponent's feet.

The shackles would grow heavier and heavier, until even lifting their feet from the ground would feel like a struggle.

He completed all his preparations and moved—

—but what greeted Jamal was a scene far from what he had anticipated.

Enkrid didn't press in with overwhelming ferocity.

His sword wasn't as fast as earlier.

It came down vertically in a straight, honest motion.

The blade was slow—but a dense pressure spread around it, sticky and constricting, binding Jamal's body.

It was a crushing sword.

What's he trusting in?

What in the world is he thinking, pulling such a relaxed move in this situation?

Jamal activated his Will, shaking off the crushing force.

He parried the falling sword with his own, deflecting it.

Trrring.

The blade flowed so smoothly, not even a spark flew.

It was an exceptionally executed deflection.

This was Jamal's final weapon.

Let the opponent keep swinging in excitement, while he calmly parried again and again.

That way, the opponent would fall victim to Plunder, poisoned by impatience, and eventually collapse.

It was both his last weapon and his greatest tactic.

Wasn't it because of this that even Varnas had called him a troublesome foe?

"To beat you, a short duel's the only way, tsk."

If the duel didn't end quickly, the enemy would lose strength.

And Jamal's parrying skills were excellent, even among knights.

He had also fortified his defenses with various tools.

The scroll was just one of them.

If needed, Jamal could throw daggers or circle around the target to stall for time.

He was fast on his feet.

He even knew how to use assassin tactics.

All of it was to exploit the opponent's impatience.

But what was this?

What the hell is this bastard?

Jamal didn't show it outwardly, but he was rattled.

Even in this situation, Enkrid showed no signs of impatience.

He wasn't panting.

He wasn't flustered.

From the start, he'd been swinging his sword with a blank expression.

The only thing that changed—

His face?

It wasn't a smile.

But to Jamal, it looked like he was concentrating on something... enjoying it.

And when he looked closer, he was sure.

What's so damn fun?

He looked like a boy gripping a real sword for the first time in his life.

That face, completely immersed in play, in focused joy.

Seeing that, the thrill Jamal had felt earlier now seemed cheap and low.

Even though the outcome had been decided, Enkrid was simply enjoying the moment itself—

—while Jamal had clung to a false tension, delighting in guaranteed victory.

That cheapness made him angry.

"You crazy bastard!"

Jamal shouted and swung his sword.

Enkrid's Valerisan steel sword clashed with Plunder again.

Clang!

The sound of the collision was much quieter than before.

The atmosphere didn't vibrate.

There was no sensation of the air being torn.

Instead, the pale blue blade in Enkrid's hand moved like a snake, twisting around Plunder—

—and stabbed Jamal in the shoulder.

Thunk.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

The moment Jamal realized he had been stabbed, he leapt back.

It wasn't a deep wound.

Just a graze on part of the shoulder plate, a slice across the skin.

Still, it was humiliating.

Damn it.

It was psychological warfare.

That's how Jamal interpreted it.

That moment of superiority had gone to Enkrid.

He'd made a mistake.

It was only a shallow wound, but in that single exchange, he had been completely outdone.

Now it was time for him to fall into a disadvantage.

But Jamal's expectation failed again.

Enkrid didn't charge.

Instead, he swung his sword once in the air, then smoothly returned it to his waist.

And then—he drew another weapon, one shaped like an awl, razor-sharp.

First, the Gladius.

Then, the Valerisan steel sword.

Third, a sword called Spark, crafted by the fairy race.

Enkrid raised it to his face—

—then lunged.

The sword moved faster than sound.

Jamal drew on superhuman focus.

Cheap thrill or not, he was still a knight.

Jamal twisted Plunder up to block it.

At the same time, sensing danger, he pulled out a magical weapon from his back.

It was a broad defensive shortsword called Guard Sword.

Wider than the average Guard Sword.

It almost looked like a cooking pan in the shape of a blade.

It might've looked ridiculous—

—but anyone who treated it as such was a fool.

It was, in essence, a shield imbued with a protective spell, wielded by a knight.

Jamal was determined to block and endure.

And he was right.

Spark struck Plunder repeatedly, marking points and drawing lines, pouring down like rain.

Faster than the swift strikes Jamal had shown just moments ago.

His hands got busier.

Clang! Clangclangclang!

To make it look like he was absorbing the opponent's Will with Plunder,

Jamal had to consume his own Will as slowly as possible.

That way, the opponent would mistakenly believe their Will was being stolen.

That too was part of the strategy.

But there was no time to feign composure and act unaffected.

If he made a single mistake, he'd be skewered.

When the hell was he supposed to pretend, then?

He was literally too busy defending.

Clangclangclangclangclangclangclangclang!

Their battle was a continuous spark-flinging clash—

—but now the sparks were even fiercer—

—as if a storm had erupted.

From the center of their clash, the air tore, forming strange currents—

—and blasted outward.

Not only that, but the ground around them caved in, trees exploded, and rocks split apart.

"Fall back!"

General Frokk made a wise decision.

If they just stood there watching the fight, they'd end up dying for nothing.

Now was the time to retreat just to stay alive.

The thought of stepping in to fire a single crossbow bolt didn't even cross his mind.

What would he even aim at?

Should he leave it to luck and shoot?

What if he hit an ally in the back?

To be honest, it didn't even look like he could hit either of them.

As Frokk shouted, the soldiers withdrew.

But the weapons of the two continued to fly, collide, and seek each other's flesh without pause.

Between the rapid tatadatang sounds came a clang!—a loud metallic ring—

—and in between that, a deep boom! exploded.

With the explosion, something flew over the soldiers' heads—

—it was a piece of armor.

To Frokk's eyes, that clearly didn't look like it came from [N O V E L I G H T] the enemy.

***

Enkrid had shown a crushing sword with the Gladius, rapid thrusts and pinpoint focus with Spark, and various techniques that used pressure and force with the Valerisan steel blade.

But that wasn't the end.

He gripped the blade, swung it like a club using the hilt as a blunt weapon,

—added in the Valen-style mercenary sword techniques, too.

He deliberately played with his breathing to confuse his opponent, even showing false breath.

When he pretended to gasp for air, Jamal's eyes briefly lit up.

Seeing that, Enkrid returned to normal breathing.

Jamal's pupils shook violently.

His eyes said it all once he realized he'd been tricked.

"This bastard...?"

He was too busy to even speak.

Then Enkrid showed the Valen-style Triple Sword technique.

After threatening with Spark, he suddenly let go of the sword and threw a Whistle Dagger.

Jamal flinched and twisted his body like a worm stepped on.

Enkrid followed that by throwing a second Whistle Dagger at Jamal's waist.

A close-range throwing technique he learned from Jaxon exploded forth.

Piiik—!

With a short screech, the dagger was just about to stab into Jamal's belt when a flash of light burst from the waist area.

The dagger was deflected.

A scroll containing a protective spell had done its job.

Enkrid didn't know.

He didn't need to.

He was simply enjoying the moment.

He used other techniques too—like Shadow Thrust, and Double Draw.

Thang! Clang!

Jamal, who blocked the Double Draw, now saw that both of Enkrid's hands held swords.

It was a Valen-style mercenary Duo.

The two swords moved with different rhythm and timing.

The Valerisan steel sword in his right hand bore down with heavy strikes.

Spark, in his left hand, darted with piercing speed.

Jamal held his breath, blocking again and again with the blade he had pulled out as a makeshift shield.

I'm losing.

Jamal realized it.

And Enkrid was still enjoying himself.

Why wouldn't he?

Everything's going as planned.

Every motion of his hands, every honed technique, every insight from trained instinct—

—it all clicked.

His opponent was only focused on blocking, and even that reaction was within Enkrid's expectations.

There was no reason for his hands or feet to slow.

Everything was going perfectly.

It was the first time he had experienced something like this.

In Enkrid's world of swordsmanship, falling, stumbling, and struggling were the norm.

Crumpling, taking hits, and crawling forward anyway—

—that was the sword he had learned, the sword he had practiced.

That had always been his path.

To force himself forward, no matter what.

But now, things were different.

Everything he had learned and trained flowed out effortlessly,

—and everything moved just as he had envisioned from the beginning.

For the first time since he was born, Enkrid was walking a road without walls.

A road with no thorns.

A road free from the scorching heat of the sun.

A road without wind that cut like blades.

How could he not enjoy this?

As a knight, Jamal didn't possess exceptionally deep skill.

He was a broad but shallow opponent.

Perfect for training.

To unleash what he'd learned.

To express what he'd mastered.

Enkrid was thrilled—completely immersed in the moment.

Starting from what he had learned in the ritual world crafted by Acker,

—everything he'd honed since then was carving marks into Jamal's body, one by one.

Each strike that slipped through left armor shattered and cracked.

Under the pressure created at the eye of their storm, chunks of armor were blown outward.

The tip of the blade Jamal had been using as a shield shattered.

Plunder cracked.

Proof that the knight Jamal's conviction had wavered.

"You monster bastard... why won't you dry out..."

It was the first time in Jamal's life he had ever said such a thing.

His voice was full of resentment.

An undrying Will?

Wasn't that just a legend?

And yet, the man standing before him was demonstrating that legend in the flesh.

He had spent Will.

Had it stolen by Plunder.

And still, he didn't dry up.

He was the same as at the start.

No—he looked even more exhilarated.

Jamal sensed the end.

Enkrid saw it too.

Their insights aligned, seeing the same future.

There was no chance of that future changing.

Enkrid, now finished with the Duo, discarded both swords.

He now held only Spark.

Jamal tossed aside his shattered Guard Sword and gripped Plunder with both hands.

Enkrid extended his left foot—

—and boldly stepped into the range of Jamal's sword.

With his left and right foot crossing forward and back, he shot his body forward.

Like an arrow loosed from a bow.

A modification of the basic fencing Lunge Step—this was an Arrow Step.

Just before Plunder could strike where Enkrid's head had been,

—Enkrid's sword pierced Jamal's neck first.

Pook!

Cutting through flesh and bone, the tip of Spark pierced the cervical vertebrae and exited from the back of his neck.

The red rod that was Spark returned just as fast as it had thrust.

Whoosh.

Jamal's sword dropped weakly, falling from above to below.

Enkrid had already sidestepped.

He had completely evaded Jamal's final swing.

And so, standing tall, Enkrid looked on as the body that once belonged to the knight Jamal teetered forward.

His body slowly tipped, then collapsed with a thud.

Until the sound of that fall echoed across the ground, not a single onlooker spoke.

Was it an overwhelming difference? More accurately, it was a bad matchup.

But who among the onlookers could even tell?

All that mattered was the oppressive pressure radiating from Enkrid. It pressed down over the entire battlefield.