A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

The more Enkrid delved into the mysteries of Will, the more enthralling and addictive it became.

If swinging a sword a hundred times brought enjoyment, then brushing against Will just once brought tangible, immediate change.

It was incomparable to mere swordsmanship.

“This is insane,” Enkrid thought, his outward expression calm, though inside he was thrilled to the point of madness. He wasn’t just satisfied—he was consumed by it. Even sleep felt like a waste of time.

He studied and practiced Will even in his dreams. For someone who had once found joy in the grueling path of swordsmanship, the training of Will was the ultimate pleasure.

If the rapier swordsman who had once intimidated him were to witness him now, the man would be shocked beyond belief.

Achieving a level of familiarity with Will that felt natural to the body was known to take years, even for the most gifted. Yet, here Enkrid stood, wielding it with a mastery that seemed almost unfair.

His insatiable drive for improvement pushed him forward, but it didn’t whip him. It guided him gently, as if with a comforting hand on his shoulder, urging him onward.

And now, with this newfound power, the desire to test his limits burned fiercely within him.

“How far will my refusal go?”

A general-class monster stood before him—a creature whose oppressive aura could crush the resolve of seasoned warriors.

“What luck.”

Enkrid couldn’t help but feel that fate—or perhaps some mischievous goddess—was smiling upon him. No mere coincidence could explain this opportunity.

The centaur leader’s oppressive killing intent hit Enkrid’s body.

He refused it.

There wasn’t even the slightest difficulty in brushing it aside. He drew his sword.

Ching.

The centaur leader, now only ten paces away, charged forward. On either side of it, subordinate monsters darted past.

Enkrid ignored them. One swung a crude wooden club at his head, but he simply bent at the waist, the motion fluid and effortless, as though it had been choreographed.

The club whooshed harmlessly over his head, the wind pressure rustling his hair and grazing his cheek.

Ragna had disappeared somewhere into the chaos, but Enkrid wasn’t worried. A man like Ragna wouldn’t fall victim to mere killing intent.

Enkrid’s focus remained solely on the centaur leader before him.

“Why? Surprised?” he asked, his voice soft yet tinged with amusement.

The act of rejecting the monster’s oppressive aura filled him with exhilaration. There was no difficulty, no hesitation. Walking, confronting, fighting—it all felt perfectly natural, almost euphoric.

The centaur leader hesitated. It wasn’t just a beast—it had intelligence.

What is this human? it thought. Humans were supposed to be prey. Yet this one withstood its aura as if it were nothing.

Since its arrival, everything it encountered had crumbled under its oppressive presence. But this human was different.

Enkrid’s icy blue eyes locked onto the monster.

“Let’s send you to heaven,” he said, briefly thinking of Audin, before stepping forward and swinging his sword.

His left foot shifted forward, and his weight followed. The muscles in his arm swelled as he brought the blade down in a textbook descending slash.

The sword gleamed, cutting through the air like a ray of light.

Clang!

The centaur leader reacted with startling reflexes, thrusting its glaive forward to intercept the strike. The clash sent sparks flying, and the sound of impact echoed like a thunderclap.

Enkrid smirked. This wasn’t just a monster wielding brute force—it was strong and skilled.

The shock of the clash rippled through Enkrid’s body, but he absorbed it gracefully, stepping back a single pace to maintain balance.

The glaive, momentarily knocked upward by the impact, now angled toward him in a diagonal arc.

It was an attack designed to leave no room to evade.

Enkrid saw through it.

Ting!

He redirected the glaive with a subtle twist of his wrist, letting it slide off his blade. The motion was smooth, almost like water flowing around an obstacle.

With the glaive deflected, Enkrid stepped forward and thrust his left hand forward. In his grasp was a secondary blade—a guard sword.

He hurled it with precision.

Ping! Thud!

The blade buried itself deep in the centaur leader’s side, the hilt the only visible part.

The force of the throw, enhanced by Beast’s Heart, was enough to make the creature’s durability seem miraculous. It hadn’t been fully pierced, a testament to its toughness.

The leader howled in pain and rage.

Screeeeech!

Its killing intent surged anew, denser and more malevolent than before.

“Die, die, you’re my prey!”

The sensation rising from deep within Enkrid’s core felt like a burning heat, spreading through his body. It surged with intensity, casting off the oppressive aura that his opponent exuded.

It was rejection.

Enkrid inhaled sharply, steadying his breath. Planting his foot firmly, he bent his knee slightly and positioned his sword. With a single, fluid motion, he pivoted on his waist, delivering a horizontal slash.

Whoosh!

The centaur leader didn’t attempt to block the strike, retreating instead.

Just as planned.

Enkrid pressed forward, his movements flowing like a dance. His feet pushed off the ground with precision, and his blade moved in tandem—piercing, slashing, and slicing.

If the leader dodged, Enkrid adjusted. If it blocked, he shifted and struck again.

The rhythm of his blade was relentless. He swung down from overhead, retracted the blade to thrust, feinted a stab before cutting left, and followed with a sweeping slash.

Bang! Thud! Shing!

Some of his strikes were deflected, but many landed.

The centaur’s glaive couldn’t find its trajectory. Every attempt to counter was preemptively disrupted by Enkrid’s constant pressure.

The nameless, cursed sword in Enkrid’s hand—executing unyielding techniques—hammered away at the leader’s defenses.

The leader, for all its monstrous might, failed to recognize the trap. It couldn’t unleash its full strength because Enkrid’s sword constantly restricted its movement.

Despite its massive frame and powerful musculature, the centaur leader found itself stumbling backward, its dominant presence beginning to wane.

Enkrid was utterly overwhelming it.

“Kiiiiyaaat! Kyaaah!”

The leader screeched in desperation, unleashing its oppressive aura again.

But Enkrid brushed it aside without effort. His rejection had become second nature, more familiar to him than his own body.

He felt as though he possessed an endless well—deep and unyielding, providing the strength he needed to repel any attack.

From that well, his rejection flowed effortlessly.

This was nothing.

With relentless precision, Enkrid continued to press his advantage. His blade struck again and again, slashing and cutting as he drove his opponent into a corner.

Finally, his sword struck true, slicing deep into the leader’s right foreleg.

The blade cleaved through muscle and nerves, carving into the powerful limb.

Spurt.

Black blood gushed from the wound, pouring in rhythmic spurts as though a vital artery had been severed.

The centaur’s regenerative abilities, though formidable, were being pushed to their limits. For a colony leader, this kind of resilience was expected—akin to a troll’s regenerative prowess.

But even that wouldn’t save it now.

“This is the end.”

Enkrid could see the finish line.

The leader’s confidence shattered. Fear filled its eyes as it realized the truth—it had met a predator far stronger than itself.

The memories came rushing back. It remembered why it had fled to this place. Once before, it had encountered an indomitable human. And now, it faced another.

“Kiiiiyaaah!”

The leader shrieked a signal to its subordinates before pivoting to retreat.

Despite its severe injury, the creature displayed astonishing agility. It slammed its front hooves against the ground, propelling itself backward. Using its hind legs as a pivot, it turned to flee.

Its movements were incredible, a testament to its raw physical prowess.

But Enkrid wasn’t about to let it escape.

He surged forward, intent on delivering the killing blow.

“Screeeech!”

Two harpies dived suddenly, talons outstretched toward Enkrid. Their claws were sharp enough to shred through his gambeson and leather armor with ease if they landed.

Was this an unexpected attack?

Not at all. Even while focused on the centaur leader, Enkrid's heightened senses remained alert.

He wasn’t startled by the ambush. Instead, his response was swift and calculated.

With a diagonal slash from his upper left to his lower abdomen, followed by an upward stroke in the opposite direction, Enkrid struck back.

Slash! Crack! Thud! Thud!

In two precise sword strikes, the two harpies became four lifeless chunks of flesh, their dismembered remains tumbling to the ground in a bloody mess.

Enkrid didn’t pause. Stepping over the harpies’ remains, he fixed his gaze ahead. The centaur leader was already fleeing, its powerful strides propelling it further from the battlefield.

“This could be a problem if it escapes.”

It was clear just from the chaos it had already caused that the creature was no ordinary monster.

If it managed to regroup, breed more horse beasts, and establish a new colony deeper in the forest, it would spell disaster. Worse, colony leaders tended to grow stronger with time.

Enkrid pushed off the ground.

He recalled the squire from the Azpen battlefield—the image of their impossible charge burned vividly into his mind.

“Like the squire?”

Could he emulate that? Could he channel Will into his legs?

The answer wasn’t straightforward. Since learning to wield rejection, using it had become second nature, an effortless joy. But learning something entirely new? That was still as daunting as ever.

He didn’t have time to theorize further. There was no way to force something that wasn’t working.

Instead, Enkrid activated Beast’s Heart, unleashing explosive power in his legs.

Muscles in his thighs tightened, and strength coiled within them like a spring. As he kicked off the ground, the impact echoed like a hammer smashing into a steel gate.

Boom!

The force of his leap reverberated across the battlefield, sending tremors through the earth.

A subordinate monster, a centaur wielding a club, rushed to intercept him. It swung its weapon wildly, aiming to halt Enkrid’s advance.

Enkrid didn’t slow down.

In a single, fluid motion, he ducked beneath the club and swung his sword.

Slice!

The centaur’s neck split open, blood spraying as its body crumpled to the ground. The club’s deadly arc passed harmlessly over Enkrid’s crouched form.

The move had been seamless—a maneuver that, not long ago, he wouldn’t have dared to attempt.

His body became a streak of motion, the ground beneath his feet seeming to blur as he surged forward, chasing after the fleeing leader.

Witnesses

There were others on the battlefield who saw what happened.

Soldiers, both those of Martai’s garrison and Enkrid’s own Mad Platoon, watched as he launched himself forward, cutting through enemies with precision and determination.

The sight left many stunned.

“He’s like a streak of lightning,” one soldier muttered, gripping their weapon tighter.

“That’s our commander for you,” another murmured, awe laced with a tinge of fear.

Even amidst the chaos, the soldiers couldn’t tear their eyes away from Enkrid’s relentless pursuit of the centaur leader. His speed, power, and sheer presence were something few had ever witnessed before.

“You’re not escaping.”

Enkrid’s gaze remained locked on the leader, his determination unwavering. The thrill of the chase only fueled his resolve further.

***

Just as Torres thought most of his soldiers were frozen stiff under the centaur leader’s killing intent—rendered as useless as decorations—Ragna moved.

“Be severed,” Ragna muttered as he swung his sword through the air, cutting down the oppressive aura with a sharp blade of clarity.

Effortlessly, he stepped among the soldiers paralyzed by fear and began to carve his way through the charging centaurs.

None of them lasted beyond a second strike. Ragna deflected a club and split a skull. He slashed vertically, cleaving a charging horse body in two.

Every motion seemed so simple, so effortless, that it didn’t even feel dynamic.

It was like cutting dry hay with a sharp sickle—a repetitive and mechanical process, almost devoid of tension.

What is that? many soldiers thought, watching in stunned disbelief.

Yet, as remarkable as Ragna’s technique was, it wasn’t what truly shocked Torres.

“Why is he moving?” Torres wondered as he saw Enkrid slicing through the battlefield, utterly unaffected by the killing intent.

For a moment, Torres had thought the darkness clouding his vision was permanent, but the sight of Enkrid fighting cleared it away.

Enkrid swung his sword without hesitation, driving the centaur leader back with every blow. His attacks were precise, relentless, and brimming with the intensity of his rejection.

The leader’s aura, its terrifying Will, was powerless before him.

“What the hell?” Torres muttered, frozen in awe.

Though he’d always known Enkrid to be a capable warrior, what he witnessed now was on an entirely different level. Enkrid wasn’t just skilled—he was extraordinary.

He was overwhelming the leader completely.

Crack! Thud!

Meanwhile, Ragna continued his steady work, cutting down one monster after another. Each strike was clean, efficient, and utterly lethal.

Another figure appeared, moving through the chaos: Jaxon.

Quietly but effectively, he hunted down the scattered monsters, dispatching each with precision.

As for Enkrid, his focus remained singular. When the centaur leader finally turned tail and fled, Enkrid gave chase.

“Hey! If you go in there—” Torres started to shout, but stopped himself.

Chasing the leader into the forest seemed reckless. Dangerous. Yet, it was the right thing to do. Letting the leader escape would only invite greater disaster later.

“Rem! Your commander’s headed for the forest!” Torres yelled.

“Goddammit!” Rem shouted back. His tone wasn’t exactly directed at Torres, but the frustration was evident.

Wielding his twin axes, Rem swung them left and right, turning the gnolls surrounding him into dismembered heaps. In seconds, he had cleared six of them.

His axes gleamed as they sliced through the air, leaving carnage in their wake. Once done, Rem charged forward.

Through the battlefield, Rem moved like he owned the place, slipping through clusters of enemies as if strolling through his backyard. Behind him, only the mangled corpses of monsters remained.

“Get moving, if you’re done freezing,” Ragna murmured, following suit. He swung his sword in a broad arc, clearing his path as he too chased after Enkrid.

On the periphery, Audin and another hulking figure—Torres—smashed their way through the chaos. Audin crushed a ghoul’s skull with his fist, exclaiming, “Let’s go!” as he charged after the others.

The battlefield, which moments ago had been a chaotic melee, now tilted heavily in favor of the humans. The monsters and beasts were overwhelmed, their once-coordinated attacks now devolving into desperate attempts at survival.

Torres could only watch in stunned admiration.

“What the hell...” he muttered, stepping on a rolling ghoul’s eyeball. It burst with a sickening squish beneath his boot.

There was no time for admiration, however. The battle wasn’t over yet.

“Kill them all!” Torres roared, rallying the remaining soldiers to finish the job.

A Relentless Chase

They’re fast.

Enkrid sprinted as hard as he could, but the fleeing centaur leader, born to run, maintained its lead.

The forest terrain slowed the centaur down just enough for Enkrid to stay within range. Had they been in open plains, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.

If we hit flat ground, I’ll lose him.

Enkrid’s assessment was brutally honest. Could he throw a dagger? Maybe, but the leader was already running with a gaping wound and a blade lodged in its torso. A few more injuries wouldn’t stop it. If anything, they’d only push it to run harder.

Even so, Enkrid didn’t stop. He refused to give up. The odds didn’t matter. The outcome didn’t matter. What mattered was chasing the monster until the end.