A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Today.

The wall.

Threats, crises, hardships, and obstacles.

Just as there are countless ways to name them, there are many ways to overcome them.

One of the simplest methods:

The demon spawned by the temple, the ax-wielding brute, the cunning assassin, the irritable leopard mage, the lazy swordsman.

Allies. Comrades.

If Enkrid asked, some of them would gladly follow him.

With just those companions, threats would cease to be threats.

Even without their help, there were many paths forward.

In the end, it was simple—don’t get cut.

Fight until victory is achieved without being cut.

Thanks to the curse, Enkrid was confined to live only today, even after death.

You could call him a soldier living solely in the present.

Repeat, and repeat again. Repeat endlessly, until that repetition finally opens the door.

But none of that lingered in Enkrid’s mind.

There are those who, once they’ve found their goal, see nothing else and move forward.

Enkrid stood at the extreme end of that spectrum.

More than anything—

The wall seemed to be taunting him, daring him to overcome it.

No matter how many hundreds of ways there might be.

No matter if there were easier paths.

No matter if there was a faster way.

Enkrid possessed a stubbornness that drove him toward his chosen destination.

That was why people said his mind was broken.

‘That’s... annoying.’

To hear it from Rem, of all people, was unacceptable.

Nor did he care to hear it from the Ferryman.

One of them found joy in beating their subordinates to a pulp or chopping them down with an axe.

The other? They trapped people in an endless “today” and delighted in their torment.

Neither had the right to question anyone’s mental stability.

Even if it weren’t those two, it wasn’t a statement Enkrid would ever accept.

‘Broken mind? Ridiculous.’

It was nonsense.

He wasn’t broken; he was simply clear in his dreams, an ordinary person pursuing them.

“Wait... You had it all along?”

“So you already possessed it?”

“If you have it, you won’t die. Oh, what a relief!”

“Ah, you gave me such a scare.”

These were the responses that followed when Enkrid, after being cut by the Shepherd’s blade, spoke with calm composure.

The kind of remarks that begged the question: What am I supposed to have?

So he asked, and the word came.

“Will.”

The Shepherd had spoken, and Enkrid felt its necessity.

There was something blocking the path he wanted to walk.

As Enkrid probed the wall before him, he found clues. He felt them.

Vague yet undeniable.

After organizing his thoughts through his practice of the Isolation Technique, Enkrid returned to his quarters.

It was one of those perfect days—the sun was shining brightly, the sky was blue, and the clouds were pure white.

Behind the barracks door lay a stunning view of the sky. Against that backdrop, Enkrid raised his left hand and spoke:

“Who here can wield Will?”

The question left everyone momentarily speechless.

***

Esther, the leopard mage, naturally dismissed the commotion.

From the early morning, that human was spouting nonsense again.

It was routine.

"Growl," Esther lightly rumbled her throat, expressing her indifference as she rolled around on the soft fur beneath her.

The fur was one of the spoils Kraiss had retrieved. Ironically, Kraiss had also been the most startled to see Esther transform into a human.

"Why? Why are you turning into a person? You’re supposed to be a leopard!"

"Foolish human," she had replied coolly, watching Kraiss pale as he brought her a variety of items.

The fur was one of them.

Sitting on animal fur in her animal form seemed strange, but Esther found it satisfying. Warm fur was nice, but nothing beat softness.

While Esther remained aloof, the others had their own situations.

Rem spoke bluntly: "Will? No, I don’t use that."

"That’s something people on this continent rely on."

Instead, Rem had his own method to reach a similar destination.

Though the power of a knight and Will were fundamentally different, would it matter if he explained?

But Enkrid was clear:

He wasn’t asking for ways to reach his destination.

He wanted one word, Will.

After some hesitation, Rem answered, one boot laced while the other remained undone. His posture reflected the weight of the question.

"It’s not for me."

Even though other methods might work for him, Will was not his path.

Rem gave his answer, bending to tie the other boot.

Jaxon, for his part, had never trained as a knight or aspired to be one.

But watching those near-knight-tier warriors, he could feel something—vaguely, instinctively.

Something faintly similar existed within himself. But was it Will? Was it the so-called force of will they spoke of?

He wasn’t sure.

He couldn’t teach something he didn’t fully understand.

Jaxon shook his head.

Audin, infused with divine power, had a different perspective. He believed that nothing wicked could enter a body imbued with sanctity.

And "wicked" didn’t necessarily mean evil.

Even humanity’s discovery of power through will and determination could be seen as unnatural in the eyes of the divine.

While it wasn’t inherently wrong, those who embraced sanctity first didn’t walk the path of Will.

They carved their own way to knighthood using their divine power.

Audin was no exception.

For him, divine power was enough.

"Are you feeling impatient, brother?" he asked gently.

He had noticed Enkrid’s preoccupied expression during his practice of the Isolation Technique. Even so, Enkrid committed himself fully to the training.

Audin saw him as an ascetic, a man who challenged his limits daily.

Breaking past the natural constraints of his body without hesitation—that was what Enkrid desired.

Audin wanted to help, but he lacked what Enkrid sought.

‘Pursuing sanctity might be quicker,’ Audin mused.

But without unwavering faith, it would only hinder him.

Audin shook his head.

"I’m not impatient," Enkrid said clearly.

At some point, the hand he had raised fell back to his side. His posture was relaxed, his voice calm.

He truly didn’t seem hurried.

That left Ragna.

Ragna was roused by Enkrid’s voice, dragging himself from sleep. His late mornings were almost a trademark.

With tousled golden hair and sleepy eyes, he muttered groggily.

"Dandruff’s falling, you lazy bastard," Rem grumbled.

Unfazed, Ragna replied, "If you want, I can teach you. But it’ll be a waste of time."

"Why?" Enkrid asked, standing.

Ragna’s response was matter-of-fact.

"It’s like your black hair and my blonde hair. You can dye your hair blonde, but your natural color will always show. And even if we both had blonde hair, the shades would never be identical. You’ll always live with your hair as it is."

Ragna nodded slightly, seemingly proud of his explanation, as if he thought he’d made an excellent point.

It was an explanation akin to that of an overgrown puppy.

"Do you call that an explanation?"

Even Rem, second only to Ragna in poor explanations, couldn’t let that slide.

Jaxon chuckled, while Audin turned his head, pretending not to notice.

One chuckle from Jaxon, and sparks flew again between him and Rem.

"If you’re going to fight, take it outside."

In the past, Enkrid might have naively stepped in between them, trying to mediate with his body. Those were simpler times.

Now, he simply observed.

Were they really going to fight, or was it just posturing?

This time, it was posturing.

Ragna, meanwhile, spoke again, his tone plain:

"Even if you dye it, your natural hair will grow back. And no two blondes are ever the same. In the end, you live with your own hair."

If Ragna didn’t know how to wield a sword, he’d have been tossed aside ages ago.

He was directionless, a terrible explainer, lazy, and oblivious.

But when given a blade, he stood out like a golden crane among chickens.

"Stop talking and show me instead," Enkrid said.

Sweat still clung to him, and Ragna, stretching slowly, agreed.

"Alright."

The two stepped outside.

Rem and Jaxon ended their spat with mutual "blessings."

"May you die of syphilis, you filthy bastard," Rem snarled.

"I hope you kick the bucket this year," Jaxon shot back.

Audin watched their exchange with an oddly contented expression.

"What are you looking at, you lumbering bear?"

Rem’s annoyance extended to Audin, who ignored him entirely.

Outside, Kraiss spoke. "Shall we? Sister Dunbakel might join us. Sister Finn seems to be absent more often lately."

"She said she’s been busy," Kraiss answered as they all moved outside.

They arrived just as Enkrid and Ragna began clashing with training swords.

"I don’t do intimidation," Ragna said as their blades met.

The idea of using his blade instead of his tongue as a teaching tool was perfect for Enkrid.

As Ragna’s movements demonstrated, Enkrid couldn’t help but think:

Why not? He’s showing me everything right here.

"I can do this instead," Ragna said.

Whuumph!

The wooden training sword in Ragna’s hand disappeared—or at least that’s how it seemed to Enkrid.

It moved that fast. Like the afterglow of lightning following a strike, a long trace remained in its wake, but tracking it in real time was impossible.

Chik.

That was the only sound.

The result? The wooden sword in Enkrid’s hand was left split in two, a clean cut from the unseen strike.

Ragna had sliced through a wooden sword using another wooden sword.

Enkrid could do the same, perhaps, but not in this way.

This wasn’t just breaking—it was cutting. All Enkrid heard was the chik of the strike, and he couldn’t react to the speed.

Though Ragna claimed he couldn’t use intimidation, the sheer force of his presence resembled it.

Even with a single swing, Enkrid felt an explosive energy from Ragna, an instant burst that seemed to radiate outward.

Looking into Ragna’s eyes, Enkrid saw something like gemstones emitting light.

“Severance,” Ragna said.

It was the technique he had previously mentioned, for which Enkrid had trained extensively with Lion’s Slash and Steel Cleave.

“This is my Will right now.”

Some things couldn’t be understood through mere sparring.

Enkrid had asked questions, and Ragna’s answers, while clumsy, carried undeniable truths.

More importantly, there were insights from those watching: Rem, Audin, and Jaxon.

What was Will?

Will was determination—its foundation lay there. But if it were merely determination, how could Will allow humans to transcend their limits?

What made it the symbol of a knight?

It was the intangible power forged from raw determination.

That power, built and honed, was called Will.

“It’s different for everyone, like the color of their hair,” Ragna repeated, seemingly satisfied with his analogy.

Now, Enkrid could understand.

Will couldn’t be taught.

Through a ritual called baptism, one could offer a spark of realization or aid someone who was stuck at a wall.

But baptism couldn’t awaken Will.

To awaken it and to master it were separate matters.

One could master Will through baptism, but awakening it? That was another story.

Repeated experiences, however, might lead to understanding. Baptism existed for that purpose.

“For me to master Severance, I trained over a thousand times a month with Lion’s Slash and Steel Cleave,” Ragna explained.

Despite his overwhelming talent, even Ragna’s path had required relentless practice.

From his explanation, Enkrid gleaned a key insight:

Will is not taught; it is awakened.

The road was long, but baptism offered a stepping stone.

“Baptism, huh?”

Not in the religious sense.

One exposed themselves to a technique, a power forged from determination.

“To awaken Will, squires in the knight orders undergo baptism as often as once a month, though usually once every three months,” Ragna explained.

“Doesn’t that seem too infrequent?”

“Even that drives some to the brink of madness. That’s why that rapier-wielding bastard’s intimidation is so dangerous.”

It explained why figures like Aisia, the rapier-wielding quasi-knight, elicited such sharp reactions from Rem and others in the past.

“Resisting baptism is a way to master Will independently,” Ragna added.

Surprisingly, he seemed well-versed in the topic. Enkrid wondered what it would’ve been like if Ragna had explained all this from the start.

“Why the hair-color analogy?”

“To make it easier to understand.”

Enkrid mentally groaned. Please don’t bother next time. Still, he nodded.

It wasn’t right to dismiss someone’s efforts outright.

Even if those efforts didn’t shine today, they might someday.

Just as Enkrid was mastering swordsmanship, perhaps Ragna was learning something—like how to explain or navigate properly.

“Why’d you split it?”

Rem asked, watching intently.

Enkrid touched his face.

Ah, I was smiling without realizing it.

The smile came naturally.

Even with baptism, and even if he endured it, they said Will was nearly impossible to master. They said it was difficult to even grasp a hint of it.

And yet, Enkrid smiled.

It felt as though he had already seen something.

The road wouldn’t be easy—of course not. He understood that perfectly.

But so what? When had it ever been easy?

For Enkrid, the sword and the dream had always been paths strewn with hardship.

The Shepherd had said that Will was needed to overcome the mysterious power imbued in their blade.

The answer wasn’t far.

The repeated days, the Shepherd’s sword—those were the baptism, the opportunity.

He had already endured it over eighty times.

Before, he hadn’t understood. But now, with the explanation, he had a faint realization.

Neither instincts nor intuition could perceive what was hidden.

But when had he ever relied on understanding to begin with?

When he trained his senses and opened the door to his intuition, when he pierced through traps forged by spells, it had been the same.

So why not do the same this time?

How to resist the unseen power? He didn’t know.

Where was the path? It wasn’t visible.

But was that a problem?

No, it wasn’t.

Enkrid smiled. He was ready to keep rolling forward, even through death itself. No matter how treacherous the road, he could smile.

Because that road would elevate him.

As Enkrid smiled, Rem, watching him closely, spoke with a rare seriousness.

“Are you sure you don’t want to visit the temple?”