324 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Attack is the best defense, so Enkried committed his focus to his opponent's entire being. Rather than just observing with his eyes, he deciphered the intention behind each movement. In an instant, it felt as if his head and eyes were burning. He gathered concentration to that extent. His brain vessels bulged, and his pulsating heartbeat echoed throughout his body. His intense focus was triggered at a singular point. The opponent moved. They executed a series of small movements. In the succession of these motions, Enkried read the underlying meanings. Just as one reads between the lines of seemingly meaningless words in a sentence, he grasped the context similarly. He discerned his opponent's seemingly meaningless actions. How does a knight’s sword move? He could not know yet. The process was difficult to comprehend. But hadn’t he seen it countless times through death? Hadn’t he seen it even when he was petrified and unable to move? Hadn’t those like Ragnar shown him as they lay dying? And thus, he saw it. A very brief gap, the space created in the moment between drawing and swinging the sword—separation. Had he not repeated today, had that repeated experience not existed, he wouldn’t have been able to see it. Even by honing his sensory skills to a fine blade, even with focused attention, the gap was imperceptible. Enkried aimed for that gap. After sharpening his senses with experience to an extreme sensitivity, he felt like his brain vessels were burning as he drew upon his concentration. His opponent was about to draw the sword. Enkried felt time slowing down. Yet he continued his task calmly. Just as he envisioned, according to the pre-conceived order. He detonated the heart of monster strength first. Boom-! As the heart beat, his entire bloodstream swirled frantically. Though his physical state wasn’t perfect, this was the best he could do. Enkried’s hand calmly gripped the gladius grip and angled his body obliquely. Meanwhile, the knight’s sword was fully drawn. Along with a grating click- sound. He steadied his breath. In the slowed time, thoughts flowed relatively fast. It was a fleeting thought. The first sword he created was the Serpent Sword. A flowing sword. The second sword he created was the Lightning Thrust. An art imbued with the ‘Will of the Moment.’ A sword embodying the theme of speed. And then the third. ‘There was no preparatory movement.’ Enkried observed the opposing knight’s sword. He had truly seen it countless times. He experienced it through death. Thus, he observed the opponent’s swing and contemplated its principles. The transfer of force, the movement of the center of gravity, the ensuing actions. Moreover, Ragnar’s sword also caught his eye. It was a blitz sword. He didn’t know its name, but he etched the sword strike’s movement into his mind. He also mimicked the elven art and deciphered his opponent’s intention. He read and reread. As he added the experiences accumulated from today’s repetition, the separation of gaps became vividly apparent. ‘Just before drawing and swinging the sword.’ Neither too early nor too late. All eyes focused. Ragnar's pupils dilated silently. To him, the commander’s movements overlapped with those of the suddenly intervening man. Sinarr's eyes were no different. ‘What…?’ Before anyone could recognize the situation, it unfolded. Neither Dunbakel nor Krys could make sense of the situation, and Esther was just getting up, her fur bristling. In the peculiar silence, the man who had entered drew his sword, and Enkried emanated a peculiar presence. Regardless of everyone’s attention, Enkried carried out his task. ‘It cannot be blocked.’ That was Enkried’s conclusion. If so, then what was to be done? If blocking was impossible, what of striking first? Though unattempted, he saw its possibility. Ragnar’s sword, when blocked, drew blood from his hands vividly. At that moment, even in dying, a lightning bolt struck his mind. Sword, knight, force, defense, failure. Everything converged to present one solution. ‘If I cannot block it.’ Strike first. Enkried presented his third sword. A heavy sword, an art grounded in the form of a heavyweight sword. He layered a Will atop the heavyweight sword style. It was an intimidation familiar through countless experiences. Though he couldn’t wield perfect intimidation, he sharpened and mixed it with swordsmanship. Ragnar once saw this swordsmanship and was astonished. Of course, since today had vanished, he would be freshly astonished once again today. He mixed in techniques from Valen-style mercenary swords. Originally, advancement starts with a forward step, but Enkried stepped sideways. The knight’s eyes subtly scanned his feet. ‘What…?’ Though irrelevant, it was enough to provoke curiosity. The knight’s sword did not slow, but the thoughts lagged. Enkried aimed for that timing. Thunk. He kicked the ground. He stepped sideways with his left foot and powered his trailing right foot. Valen-style mercenary sword, crisscross stepping. Eyes focused by skilled opponents were distracted by his peculiar steps. It was footwork aimed at exploiting and widening even the smallest gaps—a technique to slightly increase the possibility. ‘Speed won’t do.’ He already knew, didn’t he? Therefore, it was not speed he relied on, but momentum. Enkried’s tactic worked. The knight didn’t stagger, but the sword did not swing forward. Seizing the timing, Enkried advanced. Ching! He drew his sword and raised it vertically. From this raised position, he emitted pressure, grounded in Will and intimidation. The knight reflexively moved his sword. Refined senses honed over many years urged him. This must be blocked, they demanded. The third swordsmanship, a pressing sword. Like a mountain pressing against the earth, like a finger pressing an ant down, it imposed suppression and pressure. The pressure based on intimidation left the opponent with no options. In other words, it compelled him to block. Though slower compared to a lightning thrust executed with sparks. However, the momentum grounded in ‘Will’ sufficiently pressured the opponent. The knight, Jamal, was not caught off guard, yet he did not anticipate this particular scenario. Or rather, he could not. Who would foresee it? Bursting through the tent, his timing immediately stolen, beset by a heavyweight sword strike? The drawing speed was slow. Afterward, relative speed picked up. A reasonably fast sword traced a trajectory that the opponent could only block. Even so, the knight did not fall easily. ‘Where…’ Reflexively, the knight's sword vibrated and clashed against the incoming blade. In an instant, almost too brief to describe, the swords resonated in a hum. To Enkried, the sound was unheard. He had already committed himself, swinging his sword with all his might, exhausting every bit of energy he had without a second thought for what came next. Crash! A thunderous noise roared. Snap! The sound of a bone twisting followed after. Enkried felt a sense of buoyancy. From a worn-out shortsword, which he could have broken with his bare hands, came an unbelievable recoil. With this feeling of buoyancy, he was flung backward with a whoosh. A thud soon followed as his back collided with something, accompanied by a sharp pain. It flared like fire. He had crashed into a brazier, back-first. Enkried rolled to the side. "What!" An exclamation of surprise burst from Krys. Flames erupted from the fallen brazier nearby. Though lengthy in explanation, it all happened in a very short span of time. The interloper had burst through the tent and engaged in battle almost immediately. Enkried’s head dropped to the side. For a moment, he lost consciousness. And right after Enkried collapsed, Whoosh. Ragnar reacted. The gasp of surprise came simultaneously from Krys as Ragnar lunged forth. Crash! A second boom resounded. The knight clashed upwards against Ragnar’s lunge, which had demonstrated a blitz attack. Ragnar was sent flying backward. Despite being airborne, unlike Enkried, he didn’t tumble upon landing. Instead, he stabbed his sword into the ground while leaping backward. The sound of the sword burrowing into the earth echoed with a sizzle, carving a long line. “Gasp.” Ragnar caught a short breath. From that single clash, he could tell. His opponent was certainly not below him. Sinarr, instead of charging, tackled Enkried, beating his burning back with a blanket. The rapid beating quickly extinguished the flames. The sound of a crack emanated from Ragnar's sword. It neared the point of breaking after one fierce blow. Ragnar discarded his sword and drew another. It was the weapon previously used by Squire Bill. Although the weapon wasn’t as high quality as that of the knight Aaya, its length and weight were more familiar to Ragnar. Clang. He drew it and aimed. Steadying his breath, he settled into a crouch and assumed a fighting stance. Ragnar was ready for battle. “Stop.” Enkried spoke from where he lay. The knight’s eyes turned toward him. Ragnar halted his advancing step. Sinarr quietly retreated, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. It was obvious just by watching. ‘Monstrous.’ Could such a feat be possible with a simple shortsword that seemed likely to break any moment? To achieve that meant a presence of power beyond mere physical strength. In other words, a knight. “You don’t seem like someone who should be here,” Sinarr said. The knight remained silent. He quietly observed the one who had struck him without warning, as he lay on the ground. Before the burns on Enkried's back could heal, he had been scorched by flames again. Without magical armor, the heat couldn't be stopped. Naturally, his spine was burned. Fortunately, the injuries weren't severe. Sinarr’s swift actions played a part in this. His back wasn’t his worst injury, however. ‘Comparable to a giant.’ Both of his shoulders were dislocated. It didn’t end with just shoulder dislocation. The pressing sword worked, yet the ensuing counterattack was fearsome. ‘Had I not released strength at the last moment,’ It wouldn’t have ended with just dislocations. Both his palms were torn, bleeding profusely. It was inevitable. Before the clash, the knight Jamal had employed his specialty, the Blade Echo. An art adding explosive power through weapon vibrations. The knight remained silent while Enkried let out a coughing hack. He waited in silence. He had anticipated somewhat of this. Having dreamt and aspired to be a knight, being familiar with them was only natural. Enkried, with an abundant collection of knight stories, understood the honor they spoke of. Which meant he comprehended Enkried's words. “Once should suffice, shouldn't it?” Hence, he spoke. The knight glared silently at Enkried. “What was that?” “A pressing sword.” “Remarkable.” Ting. The knight sheathed his sword. Ragnar still stood, sword in hand and aimed. Enkried rose using only the strength of his legs, then made a move with his arms, slumped due to his dislocated shoulders, to tap Ragnar’s shoulder. The task was painful and verged on an acrobatic feat, but it wasn’t impossible. “Don't engage today.” Enkried instructed. Ragnar obediently retreated. A talent hailed as genius. He understood too. That the opponent was a knight. To put it bluntly, battling now meant certain death. “What’s your name?” Enkried asked. “Jamal.” Came the straightforward reply. “Are you with the King’s Knights?” “Yes.” There was no concealing it. Unless he intended to break his previously spoken word and cut everyone down. If he couldn’t do that, there was no reason to hide his affiliation. A knight must be dignified wherever they may be. Having spoken minimal courtesy and having it reciprocated, he now held to his remaining honor and trust. That was what it meant to be a knight. “It was an honor.” Enkried spoke. Regardless of how things would proceed, he was sincere. Jamal’s eyes flickered with intrigue. What kind of human is this? What sort of situation is this? Yet, despite the absurdity, he couldn’t help but laugh. “An honor?” Reflexively, a smile crept, responding with a question. “A knight’s sword isn’t something one faces every day.” “You swung your sword first.” “I felt I’d be defeated if I waited.” Is it good intuition, judgment, or luck? Or a stroke akin to tripping on a step and catching a mouse in that fall? Has the Goddess of Fortune blessed him? Amused by the absurdity, Jamal laughed further. He felt no tension from the start. Now the killing intent dissipated. No longer bearing thoughts of killing, what remained was an ordinary man, too typical to believe knightly. “I trusted you to speak of honor.” “You will become great.” Jamal was indeed a knight. Naturally, he could recognize the talent of others. He saw not just Enkried's current skill but also his potential for growth. For the moment, the blond man with red eyes stood out. Ragnar immediately caught one's attention at first sight. However, There were instances where, irrespective of talent, a person exuded something indescribable. Such was the case with the man before them. “We’ll meet again,” Jamal remarked. In this turn of events, he felt an unexpected sense of relief. He had pledged on his honor, and he was bound to uphold that promise. Not even Avnyr would be able to object too much. After all, he had agreed to only a single strike himself. "It’s an honor." Standing upright, Enkried felt the throbbing ache in his thigh and calf muscles. It seemed that every time he surmounted the mysterious, despairing barriers that the helmsman had spoken of, his body bore the brunt. "An attack as the best form of defense—well done." Having said his piece, Jamal turned away. “...You’re just going to let him go?” Dunbakel asked with a troubled expression. “What, so we should pick a fight? Unless you have a death wish, it’s best to let him leave. In fact, we might even need to guide him out.” Krys chimed in, shivering as he spoke. He understood, intuitively, the terrifying power their opponent possessed. “Ah, Krys, it might not be best to cause a scene, so go ahead and guide him out,” Enkried instructed, causing Krys’s eyes to widen. “What did you say?" "The sword of a knight is safer than a dagger wielded by a common thug." “You do realize he’s the enemy, right?” Krys muttered, lowering his voice. Even though he whispered, there was little chance it made any difference if overheard. Indeed, the King’s Knights were adversaries. They knew as much. But today, the conversation was about honor. "Of course. We have to uphold our end of things as well." They should allow the knight to find his way out comfortably. Krys wasn’t ignorant. If the guards spotted their unexpected guest and raised an alarm, the situation would become far more complicated. Would Dunbakel be the one to escort him, or maybe Ragnar? Sinarr? Using force to subdue him was no longer an option, so having the most rational person accompany him was the best choice. Force didn’t matter in this situation. Their opponent was a knight. Krys understood that, too. With a reluctant expression, the big-eyed owl moved toward the exit. “Damn.” Of course, he couldn’t help but mutter a few choice words out of disgruntlement.