A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“Diligence, even in this weather.”

Crack!

The moment Enkrid muttered, a bolt of lightning split the sky.

“Something coming?”

Crang asked. Enkrid nodded.

The weather was in a frenzy. A storm had suddenly erupted.

Rain had been falling since their departure, but who could have expected the weather to turn this erratic?

It was erratic enough to befriend Ragna. The storm’s unpredictability was as bad as that lunatic's terrible sense of direction.

Yesterday had been a bright, clear spring day—now, without warning, a tempest raged.

“There are seven ahead, ten on the left, eight on the right, and six behind us.”

Jaxon reported.

Thududududu!

The rain showed no sign of relenting.

It pounded the ground as if trying to tear it apart.

Even with an oil-treated cloak draped over him, the wind drove the rain sideways, lashing his face. His cheeks stung from the impact.

The wind was relentless, howling with such force that it was difficult to keep his eyes open.

The raindrops hammering his clothes felt like arrows meant to strip away his senses.

Attacking in this weather?

That wasn’t just diligence.

Their dedication to duty was something else entirely.

Or maybe they had no choice.

“Are your families being held hostage? Is that it?”

Enkrid raised his voice, directing it forward.

As he spoke, he took a step forward, his boot sinking halfway into the muddy road. It was the kind of day where every step was a bother.

Ambushing in weather like this?

Wouldn’t they catch a cold?

The thought was almost innocent.

This was a road, technically, but only because large, flat stones had been laid down to create a path.

Crang had mentioned that one of his ancestors, known as a wise king, had ordered this road built.

That was why it was called the Royal Blessing Road.

It stretched from the frontier to the royal capital—a direct route leading to the heart of the kingdom.

The entire kingdom of Naurillia had been built around it, with cities lined up along its path.

And yet, even on a road like this, Ragna still managed to get lost.

Right on cue, the legendary master of losing his way turned around.

The enemies closing in from behind were advancing, step by step.

The ones blocking the front were the same.

Narrowing his eyes, Enkrid strained to take in as much as he could.

Despite the rain, he could see everything clearly.

A few of them wore armor and wielded short swords. Others let their arms hang loosely at their sides.

Among them, the one standing at the front spoke—or rather, shouted—his voice cutting through the downpour.

“Mercenaries? Or standing army? There’s no need to throw your lives away over this. We’re only after one person.”

Utter nonsense.

Aside from the man speaking, the others were already on the move.

Talking while attacking—wasn’t that a common tactic among Valen-style mercenaries?

The enemy was pulling the same trick.

Enkrid considered tracking their movements, but he gave up.

The rain was too heavy to rely on sound.

Even if he tried, the storm drowned out everything.

“Who?”

Enkrid asked, already knowing the answer.

As he spoke, he raised his right hand to his ear while letting his left hand hang loose.

“That’s...”

The enemy hesitated. A classic trick to make others hang on his words.

That moment of distraction was exactly what he wanted.

Rumble.

Above them, the rain began to shift into a strange formation.

‘Oh.’

Enkrid felt a twinge of admiration.

So they brought a mage?

This was no second-rate opponent.

But Enkrid only admired the display.

That was enough. He didn’t bother dodging or cutting through the spell.

There was no need.

Because on their side, they had something like a mage too.

“Hmph.”

Behind him, Esther—no longer in her leopard form—rose to her feet and waved her hand.

The rain, which had gathered into a sphere, suddenly dispersed, splashing outward in every direction.

It was a spectacular sight.

Boom!

The sound of the gathered rain bursting echoed through the battlefield.

For a moment, the downpour vanished above their heads.

But instead, a wind far stronger than before surged outward, colliding with the space where the spells had met.

Enkrid braced himself, planting his feet firmly into the mud.

Whoosh!

The wind threatened to knock him back, but tightening his core, he lowered his stance and endured it.

Naturally, the others held their ground as well.

Even the assassins crouched low to avoid being blown away.

“A mage!”

One of the enemies shouted.

They had oil-treated cloaks too.

But thanks to the gust, many had lost their hoods.

Among them, the man who had shouted earlier was now visible, his exposed face revealing a middle-aged man past fifty.

His gaze was locked onto one thing.

So stunned was he that he hadn’t even thought to pull his hood back up.

His eyes were on Esther.

Standing tall, letting the rain hit her, she remained completely unshaken.

Her cloak deflected the raindrops, and even the wind lost strength as it approached her.

A mysterious sight.

Through the refracted rain, Esther lifted a finger.

She extended her index and thumb, curling the rest of her fingers into a fist.

Then, she whispered.

“Drumuller’s Arrow.”

Her words were lost in the sound of the rain. No one heard them.

A condensed mass of wind took shape and shot forward.

“Tsk!”

The enemy mage barely had time to react.

Thud!

His head exploded.

“Die.”

Esther’s voice rang out clearly only after her target had fallen.

Enkrid mused that in moments like this, saying “Die.” felt off.

Shouldn’t it be “He’s dead.” instead?

“...What the.”

It wasn’t the assassin leader who spoke—it was one of his escorts, whispering in shock.

Surprised?

Yeah, I was surprised too.

Enkrid admitted to himself.

He knew Esther was a mage, but he hadn’t expected her to overwhelm the enemy so effortlessly.

“Why are you so good at fighting?”

Rem asked Esther in a casual tone.

“I’ve always been good at fighting.”

Surprisingly, Esther and Rem got along fine. She answered him easily.

“Nice.”

Rem simply nodded in approval.

“Kill them all!”

The assassin leader finally snapped out of his daze.

The enemy forces charged from all directions.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Had they already forgotten about their failed magic attack? No, it was just good training.

Good training meant doing what needed to be done, exactly when it needed to be done.

And that was exactly what they were doing.

Maintaining formation, they loosed poisoned daggers and crossbow bolts.

They didn’t charge recklessly.

“Aah.”

Enkrid had once escaped from a battlefield swarming with soldiers, shamans, and mages, all set on hunting him down.

Compared to that, this hardly counted as an ambush.

Besides, this time, he had Rem, Jaxon, Ragna, Dunbakel, and Esther with him.

And their mage? Already dead from the start.

‘We can break through with brute force.’

As the thought crossed his mind, Enkrid swung his sword.

Five crossbow bolts aimed at Crang deflected off his silver blade.

His escort pulled out a shield, blocking incoming daggers.

The long, narrow shield served its purpose well.

Meanwhile, Rem charged into the enemy like a furious beast.

The assassins scattered.

But not fast enough.

Before they could retreat, their limbs flew through the air.

They weren’t fast enough to escape before Rem reached them.

His axe, recently modified at the forge, glinted in the rain.

“Make the handle longer.”

Rem’s axe had a much longer handle now.

It carved silent arcs through the air, cleaving arms, legs, and heads.

Its reach was far greater than it seemed.

“They dodged?”

As he spoke, Rem turned.

The man had barely managed to dodge the axe that had been swung with deadly intent.

In weather like this, wearing a gambeson or full plate armor was more trouble than it was worth.

The enemy had chosen the same approach.

He was clad in light leather armor reinforced with studs and wielded twin shortswords.

Shrugging off his half-drenched cloak, he shouted,

“You crazy bastard!”

He didn’t seem like an assassin—more like a mercenary confident in his own skills.

“Do you even know who I am?”

He bellowed.

Rem answered with action.

His arsenal wasn’t limited to just the axe in his hands.

Two throwing axes dangled from his belt, and a collapsible short spear was strapped to his back.

Scattered across his body were short daggers, each positioned within easy reach.

One of those daggers sliced through the rain and wind.

In the moment his left hand flicked, the throwing axe spun through the air like a vertical disc and lodged itself deep in the mercenary’s skull.

The impact sent the man’s legs flying backward. His arms instinctively crossed in front of his chest, gripping his swords.

It was a reflexive motion—his body’s last command before death.

The twin blades clashed meaninglessly against each other before falling uselessly to the ground. His arms slackened, his body lost all strength, and he collapsed onto his back.

The axe remained buried in his head, as firmly as a tree stump rooted in the earth.

The heavy rain quickly washed away the blood.

Watching the scene, Enkrid came to a realization.

This wasn’t just overwhelming force—it was beyond that.

‘They don’t know.’

This was all he needed to conclude something crucial.

These assassins had been after Crang’s head, but they had no idea who had joined forces to protect him.

Their decision had been made hastily. They had moved immediately, picking up speed to intercept.

The enemy had likely been more concerned with blocking the road than analyzing their targets.

That had been the whole point.

This was exactly why Kraiss had advised using the main road for speed.

Enkrid hadn’t expected them to fall into the trap so perfectly, but here they were.

“Guh!”

“Urk!”

A chorus of dying cries erupted from behind.

Ragna was cutting loose.

With every movement of his thick, heavy sword, blood gushed from an enemy’s throat.

Flamboyant greatswordsmanship? No.

His technique was precise—each thrust executed flawlessly, claiming a life with every strike.

Rem rampaged while Ragna held their rear.

Amidst them, one figure was having the time of her life.

“Over here! Here! Right here!”

Dunbakel charged forward, her scimitar cleaving through the air.

Her thighs tensed as she kicked off the ground, turning into a streak of motion.

Three of the assassins targeted her with slings.

They twirled their cords overhead and hurled hand-crafted projectiles—smooth, rounded stones.

The moment Dunbakel saw them, her eyes burned with fury.

“You bastards!”

The resentment of countless past beatings poured out in that instant.

Of course, these weren’t even close to the power or speed of Rem’s thrown weapons.

Dunbakel drew her scimitar, twisting her wrist.

With perfect timing, she intercepted the projectiles using the broad surface of her blade.

No sound of impact rang out.

Had the storm drowned it out?

No.

She had absorbed the force of the incoming projectiles and redirected them.

Clang! Cling!

The projectiles deflected harmlessly, bouncing away in different directions.

A masterful display of control.

It was a technique that blended precision and audacity.

‘Dunbakel, too...’

Was she a genius?

Perhaps.

Otherwise, Rem wouldn’t have taken her under his wing.

Having effortlessly deflected the slingshot barrage, she lunged forward.

If Rem resembled an enraged beast, Dunbakel was a true beast.

Because she was one.

Her beastkin fur, soaked by the rain, did nothing to slow her down.

She moved swiftly, her scimitar forcing enemies back while her claws shredded through helmets and skulls alike.

Those who relied on leather armor found their heads split open as if it were paper.

“Where the hell did these monsters come from?!”

One of the assassins screamed.

Enkrid, meanwhile, was parrying incoming crossbow bolts and daggers aimed at Crang.

Kicking up a fallen blade with his foot, he caught it midair and hurled it.

The dagger embedded itself squarely in the forehead of the man who had shouted.

“Oh, sorry. Were you still talking?”

There was no reply.

The assassin lay sprawled on the ground, his limbs twitching violently.

The rain continued its relentless downpour.

Shhhhhhhhhh!

Boom!

Another flash of lightning split the sky, followed by a rolling thunderclap.

Enkrid spoke offhandedly.

“Were you always this popular?”

The question was directed at Crang.

“Lately, it’s gotten worse.”

Crang replied with ease.

“You must be giving the best bard in the continent a run for his money.”

“It’s just a temporary spike in fame.”

Enkrid’s joke was met with an effortless response.

Crang had enjoyed poetry and writing since childhood—banter came naturally to him.

The escort standing nearby wanted to tell them this wasn’t the time for jokes.

But he kept his mouth shut.

It was understandable.

The fight was already ending as quickly as it had begun.

Esther stood silently beside Enkrid, having already dispatched the enemy mage.

Rem had obliterated the frontlines by tossing his throwing axe at the fleeing stragglers.

The leader, presumed to be the most skilled among them, had already died in the first charge—his skull split open.

And Ragna?

The six who had surrounded him thought they only ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) needed one clean strike to kill him.

Ragna had merely made it look that way.

If they had the eyes to judge real skill, they would have seen it immediately.

By the time they realized the difference in ability, they were already dead.

Jaxon moved like a shadow, stabbing through the hearts of enemies who tried to circle around them before slipping back into position.

Dunbakel took care of the rest.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?!”

She even shouted after the fleeing assassins with genuine disappointment.

“They’re running.”

Enkrid stated matter-of-factly.

“Oh...”

Dunbakel let out a wistful sigh.

‘She’s insane.’

The escort had finally grasped the truth about her.

But insanity aside, it was clear—she was far beyond his skill level.

That was expected.

She hadn’t wasted her time.

The beastkin warrior who had once struggled against Enkrid was no longer the same.

But more than anything, what truly shocked the escort was the man before him.

Enkrid.

The man tossing around jokes was casually deflecting daggers, bolts, and projectiles in the middle of a storm.

It was damn near a miracle.

Yet he acted like it was nothing.

An unbelievable feat.

Even Enkrid himself noticed that his reflexes and instincts had sharpened considerably.

‘Is it because of that time, trapped deep behind enemy lines?’

The blade of his intuition had never been sharper.

Even unseen attacks were easy to counter.

“You really are a monster.”

Crang muttered in awe.

The battlefield had become a massacre.

Whether these corpses would rise as ghouls or transform into drowners born from the river and rain—who knew?

But that wasn’t their concern.

“For now, we move on.”

Enkrid led the way.

The fight was over. Time to continue forward.