376 - A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

376. No Next Time “That lunatic.” Upon seeing Encreed smile, Aisia almost lost her composure but quickly regained her focus. If she wasn’t planning to kill him, she had to stop him here. Her sibling was taken hostage. There was an unexpected presence behind her. Layers of complicated thoughts piled up and then vanished. With the person in front smiling like that, there wasn't much else to say. “There must be a reason you need to break through. I have a reason to stop you.” Words naturally spilled from her. Why? Why was she speaking to Encreed this way? She didn’t know. The atmosphere compelled her. Thus, she hardened her face even further. Concealing her expression, she began to tell the story through her sword. Her specialty wasn't just pointing her sword. She never lost in skill. Between her and Encreed, there was a gap that couldn’t be closed easily. She acknowledged that he was stronger, but bridging the gap in skill wouldn’t be so easy. In both strength and strategy, Encreed excelled. However, no matter how good you are at strategy, failing repeatedly in detailed techniques leads to no answer. Encreed closed his eyes again. “That way, you’ll end up dead.” She wasn’t planning on killing him, but she couldn’t let her guard down. “Try if you can.” Encreed didn’t back down. Aisia felt a bit frustrated by this. “If it’s not now, there’s no need to fight while bearing so much risk next time.” Even as she spoke, Aisia knew the answer. It was obvious what Encreed would say. She’d only been with him for days, but she understood exactly what kind of person Encreed was. “If not today, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then the time after.” Encreed spoke, eyes closed, sword aimed. “If I ever thought about ‘next time,’ I wouldn’t even be standing before you now.” Aisia gritted her teeth. They clashed repeatedly. Finally, Aisia managed to leave two punctures in Encreed's forearm. A finger's length had embedded deeply into his thigh. In the meantime, Encreed lost Silver, leaving a long streak across Aisia’s cheek with an ember. “If my intent was to kill, it would've been easier.” Aisia caught her breath and spoke. The sun, leaning more heavily to one side, was now visible. The blade of rebellion, which began in broad daylight, had now pierced through the entire palace. As expected. “It’s done now.” From behind Aisia, a voice emerged from the shadows untouched by light. “Put that away.” The voice continued. Encreed, collapsed, turned his gaze beyond Aisia. There was no light. He couldn’t properly see the figure. Only a silhouette was discernible. A dark, deep silhouette. Even standing in the dark, the person’s presence felt intensely vivid. Who could that be? Just from the pressure, one could sense by Aisia’s demeanor that they held a higher rank than her. A man walked out from the shadow that took form without a lit candle. Color infused the silhouette as it moved closer. Watching, it seemed like an unstoppable boulder rolling toward them. “Not a knight.” His instincts and experience told him so. Hadn’t he encountered it before? One slash, but having experienced a knight, he knew. He wasn’t a knight. With drab hair, he carried a long sword at his waist and a blood-stained dagger in his hand. Aisia turned around. Despite knowing Encreed had the strength for one last strike, she reversed her stance without hesitation. Facing the man, she said with her sword poised: “Senior, let’s stop here.” In front of Encreed, he saw Aisia’s back and the man’s face, bearing an overwhelming weight. The man with the dagger tilted his head. His thick brown curls moved with the motion. “Aisia?” “This is enough. What will you do if the master returns?” Encreed sensed the lack of conviction in Aisia’s words. Even as she spoke, she didn’t seem to believe them herself. “If you can’t do it, I will.” The man spoke, striding forward confidently. Aisia exuded pressure once more. A wall. The wall that once blocked Encreed had now turned its direction. “You should consider stopping.” Encreed muttered. It was difficult to gauge the opponent’s skill. Was it his lack of discernment? He wasn’t sure. It felt like looking at Ragna or Rem. “Not all apprentice knights are the same.” Aisia's previous remarks hit home. Had she said them during their sparring because of this man? Possibly. The man disregarded Aisia’s pressure. His pace remained unchanged. “Aisia.” From his sitting position, Encreed called her name again. Aisia did not respond. Instead, she raised her blade. Pointing with the sword tip. Once again, Encreed saw the correct response that thwarted her guard. After Rem, Ragna, Saxon, he encountered it for the fourth time. As Aisia aimed her sword, the man lunged forward, landing a strike with his dagger against Aisia’s sword. The precision pointing was rendered useless. Encreed, in that instant, comprehended what the man had done. Seeing the fourth correct response naturally brought enlightenment. “Pointing doesn’t change where the sword physically is.” The sword remained there. If it could be struck with power, one could break through her precision pointing. If Aisia swung or blocked with her sword, the technique would break anyway. Thus, even with the dagger swung, the attack could only be deflected or blocked. However, the conditions for executing such a maneuver, to prevent her from using deflection and denying any chance of a counterattack, were numerous. Then, how was it possible now? The answer appeared, but not the entire process. “Normally, one would deflect and strike again.” The rhythm was disrupted. To showcase such skill with a mere dagger implied a different level of ability. Apprentice knights weren’t all the same. That remark resonated deeply within his heart. Using his sword like a cane, Encreed rose. He could draw his sword once or twice more if necessary. Just watching and letting Aisia die wouldn't leave Encreed with restless dreams. Once he decided to rise, Encreed stopped worrying about whether his sword would strike true. He did it because he could. “Don’t be stupid.” The man with the dagger spoke once more. His gaze never shifted towards Encreed, solely focused on Aisia. Aisia retrieved her bounced sword and stabbed in three bifurcated thrusts. A strike resembling a trident—wasn’t this technique called Trident? It was a skill inspired from watching fishermen in a coastal village. The man stirred his dagger up and down. Like stirring a ladle in stew, that's how Encreed imagined it looked. Clang! Clang! Clang! Three clashes rang out. “Is this truly what you want?” The man questioned again. Instead of words, Aisia responded by adjusting her stance. Her specialty wasn't just sword-pointing precision. Encreed knew this well. She placed strength into her toes, shifting her center of gravity. Although she didn’t neglect physical training, there were many with superior raw strength compared to her. If she hadn't devised a way to overcome that, she could never have become an apprentice knight. “Do you really wish to die?” His tone was flat, devoid of fluctuation. It was more a recitation of facts. Aisia launched her sword a few more times. Twisting, plunging, and soaring. It was the technique that had pierced Encreed's forearm when he couldn’t block it. It was delicate, sharp—her speed rivaled the explosive moments of will he prided himself on. Perhaps it was her master stroke. But even against all those strikes, the man effortlessly parried with his dagger. In the end, one blade’s edge grazed his cheek, although it was far from lethal. A trickle of blood sizzled into the air. The man dropped his dagger. The short blade fell to the ground. In that moment, his hand grasped the hilt of the longsword at his waist. Encreed noticed a pommel shaped like a wolf. He drew the sword. It neither gleamed swift like lightning nor bore a heavy force. It simply emerged and advanced. Yet the sword he swung severed the path of Aisia's thrusts at a curious angle. It intercepted her strikes mid-course, with a shock that sent Aisia’s sword recoiling. “How is that even possible?” He couldn't fathom it. None of it made sense just by observing. Aisia pulled her sword to her chest. Her momentum was broken. Her spirit had faltered, and there was no chance her adversary would fall to an attack from her weakened state. With her rhythm disrupted, her steps faltered, and her breath hitched. Her breathing stalled in her throat. Abandoning breath entirely, she slashed instead of stabbing, disregarding all flow. A vertical downward cut—it wasn't blinding like a storm but quick as a flash. It resembled an unusual tactic Encreed occasionally performed with his sparks. When she brought her blade down with a gust, the man deflected with a casual parry. Sparks flew as their swords collided. A brief gridlock ensued as their blades interlocked. In that instant, Encreed lunged forward. Recreating the explosive charge he’d shown against Aisia was impossible. But he could deliver one decisive blow. He surged with acceleration. He rejected the intimidating presence and forced his heart into overdrive with concentrated focus. He thrust the ember in his left hand straight forward. His extended sword mimicked sunlight. The sun, when you feel its warmth, it’s already upon you. There’s no dodging it. The thrust was reminiscent of that imagery. Of all times, it was when his technique achieved its highest completeness: matched breath, steps, timing, muscle elasticity, the grip's strength. Everything aligned perfectly in this strike. Without even experiencing elation or anything of the sort, it felt precisely right. And yet, the opponent’s sword found its way between the gap. How to avoid sunlight? Stand in the shade. His momentum was severed. The opposing sword intercepted before his spear-like thrust of embers could fully materialize. Though its force lacked violence, the deviation disrupted his gathered power, his rhythms, his stance—all of it unraveled. Encreed realized his strike had failed. As a result. The man's sword, already in his right hand, cleaved through Aisia’s heart. “Ugh.” Aisia spat foamy blood. Her heart pierced, she attempted one last swing with her rapier, but strength had deserted her. The man didn’t bother to block. He let the falling blade slide off his shoulder guard. Meanwhile, his left hand extended, holding a short sword that swiftly thrust into Encreed’s chest. The bandaged armor absorbed some impact, sparing his heart, but the blade dug into his side, tearing into other organs. The man’s gaze scanned inside Encreed but he remained silent. His expression was that of looking at a mere roadside stone. Was it due to a disparity in skill? No, it wasn’t that. It was the gaze one gives towards things or people entirely unrelated to oneself. “There was no way to subdue you otherwise.” He spoke solely to Aisia. “Senior.” Aisia’s mouth parted through the blood foam, gathering all her remaining strength for one final plea. “My sibling.” “Don’t worry.” The light in Aisia’s eyes dimmed. Despite the searing pain in his ripped organs, Encreed's mind stayed focused. Today’s repetition was a curse, offering no blessing of adapting to pain. Therefore, whether this was his first repeating day or now, the pain remained the same. Nonetheless, he couldn't pull his gaze from Aisia. Stopping him, fine; but why did she turn around here? Why block his path in the first place? The flowing atmosphere revealed it all. She could have turned a blind eye. She could have turned away. Then, there'd be no need to risk her life. But she hadn’t done so. Encreed understood without needing to ask why. Just as he chose never to postpone today to tomorrow. Even for Aisia, there were things she simply couldn’t compromise on. What couldn't she compromise on? ‘Not turning away from her heart.’ Initially, why was she even standing there? To kill him? No, that was never the intent. If she wanted, she could’ve killed him anytime. The members of her squad all said the same: “If it turns into a fight to the death, the outcome will be decided ultimately. But that doesn’t eliminate the truth that winning outright now is difficult.” Rem had said. “If we fight, we lose. Generally, we lose.” Ragna had also remarked. As these thoughts continued, the man stood before him. Encreed noticed the black boots first. As he lifted his gaze, the man spoke at last. “She died because of you.” His tone was utterly devoid of emotion, cold and detached. Then, the man's sword struck Encreed's neck. Pain radiated from the nape to his brain. The burning, flesh-tearing agony, and darkness enveloped him entirely. Bound in that moment, he crossed to where the river waters swelled. “Would you like to know the easy way?” asked the ferryman.