A Knight Who Eternally Regresses
Chapter 513

“This is... kinda fascinating.”

Rem said as she lazily twirled her axe.

The purpose of the spar had been clear from the start, so there was no need to continue.

They hadn’t even bothered to determine a winner—just clashed weapons endlessly and stopped.

Everyone who had fought over sparring with Enkrid shared the same intent as Rem, so they felt similar things.

‘No exhaustion?’

Jaxon said nothing, but thought it to himself.

“He should be worn out by now.”

Ragna’s words meant the same thing.

When someone awakens to Will and begins to circulate it through their body,

the first thing they experience is omnipotence.

The literal sensation that anything is possible.

In extreme cases, it even feels like you could grab a cloud, shape it, and forge it into a sword.

Of course, that's absurd and impossible—but it still feels like you could.

The sheer ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) intoxication of omnipotence is far more euphoric than any drug.

That euphoria drives action.

It makes you recklessly pour out Will, not even realizing you’re draining yourself dry.

And in doing so, you slowly begin to distinguish between what is and isn’t possible.

Enkrid had already made that distinction.

Oh? This works. That doesn’t.

You have to walk into range to cut someone’s neck.

You can’t chop down a tree just by gesturing from a distance.

It was like being reborn—learning to walk all over again, but with omnipotence.

But what happens if you pour out too much Will?

Exhaustion hits.

Your energy gets sucked dry, and your body collapses.

If you keep moving in that state, you start to break down.

Sure, with time you recover—but if you're constantly forced into burnout,

then not only can you shorten recovery time, but you can also train your body and mind to avoid permanent damage.

‘I didn’t think that’d be necessary…’

Rem scratched her cheek.

But still—

wasn’t this too strange?

Ragna and Jaxon had both wanted to be Enkrid’s first sparring partner to help guide him through that exhaustion.

Even Jaxon had stepped up—that alone was rare.

The moment of controlling omnipotence—

they had genuinely wanted to help lead him through it.

That’s why they’d gone as far as throwing dice.

And yet this is what they got?

“I’m still fine.”

Enkrid had sweat streaming down his body, yet his momentum hadn’t faltered one bit.

He was exactly the same as when they began.

“This really is amazing.”

Rem said again, while Audin simply let out a soft laugh.

He’d already seen it firsthand the day before.

He had purposely not observed the spar too closely, knowing it’d ruin the surprise for the others.

That’s why they were shocked.

Enkrid stood there, calm and composed.

If he were going to collapse from exhaustion, it would’ve happened long ago.

“Well, whatever, let’s just move on.”

Rem brushed off her hands.

This wasn’t something they’d understand just by thinking about it.

She knew better than anyone—

the world was full of absurdities, and anything could happen.

Ragna and Jaxon felt the same.

So Rem went ahead to the next topic.

If we skip burnout, what’s next?

Mastery.

If you reach a level where you can handle Will comfortably,

you begin to develop nuance.

You use Will more sharply.

Or more heavily.

Same with shamanism—it wasn’t any different.

In his case, Will was replaced with spiritual power or divine force, but the principles weren’t far off.

Even so, this too felt... vague.

Hard to define.

For someone who had become a knight, Enkrid was a bit... dense.

In sword skill, intuition, and composure, he had definitely grown by leaps and bounds—

but his Will control felt clunky.

If anything, it was heavier than before.

Not that it meant he was regressing in skill.

Still, it meant there was no clear trait to point out.

Stronger? Faster?

But also rougher? Cruder?

If there was one defining trait—it was that he didn’t tire.

Even that “roughness” was just Rem’s take.

If Lophod or Bell saw it, they’d probably ask what she was talking about.

That’s how large the gap was between them and Enkrid.

So what do you do if it’s clunky?

If it’s crude?

If it’s unrefined?

‘Does it matter?’

It didn’t.

Honestly, no one knew how things would go from here.

No one.

But not one person thought this was a bad thing.

Still, everyone—Lua Gharne included—had once wondered the same thing.

What happens when someone like this becomes a knight?

If one’s Will expands in proportion to the oaths they keep—and if that oath towers like a spire reaching the heavens—

then what of the Will, that formless force, that mirrors it?

The answer was right here.

That no one could measure it.

There was no pre-set road before Enkrid.

“Face the vastness. What lies before you is not a wall, but a field with nothing at all.”

It felt like someone was saying that.

Was it?

Enkrid had stepped into uncharted land.

He had just taken his first step.

Was it the right direction?

He didn’t know.

Was he lost in uncertainty, unsure of where to go?

Not at all.

Enkrid smiled.

What lay before him wasn’t a barren wasteland lacking signs—it was a vast road where signs were simply unnecessary.

So he would just walk.

And so, he smiled.

“Well, that smile’s not bad.”

Rem smiled too.

Jaxon showed a faint smirk.

Ragna smiled brightly.

‘I’ll need more technique.’

Enkrid thought that just one spar had told him what to do next.

Once, such a thing would’ve been unimaginable.

Back then, not knowing what to do, he swung his sword at random.

Ran, jumped, climbed mountains with his bare hands to build grip strength.

Not that it didn’t help—but he hadn’t known what he was doing.

That’s why he had once carried stacks of krona to pay for sword instructors.

Enkrid wasn’t denying the path he’d walked.

He had simply recognized that he no longer needed an instructor.

‘The knack for handling Will.’

If he had to explain it, it would be like gaining a new sensory organ, and now he had to learn to use it.

Usually, it wasn’t that hard—but for Enkrid, it was.

Because his Will was too vast.

His vessel was different.

So of course he wouldn’t get it all at once.

He already knew that.

But it didn’t matter.

Hoo.

As the sun warmed his face and sweat dripped down, a breeze blew in, carrying away the heat.

“Can I ask what you’re feeling, fiancé?”

It was Shinar.

At some point, she had approached.

Enkrid turned his gaze to the fairy.

Along with it came the memory of her arm scattering into dust.

She wasn’t the only one.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

He remembered Rem—her face aged with fatigue.

Jaxon, staring at him with a twisted expression.

Ragna, watching him wordlessly.

Audin, his eyes, nose, mouth bleeding light from every pore.

These were memories only he knew.

Only he had seen their faces, their pain, their resolve.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“Thanks to some dumb bastards, it took longer than it should’ve… but yeah. I feel good.”

He turned his gaze toward Rem, Jaxon, Ragna, Audin.

Lophod and Bell weren’t there.

Esther stood just behind him, and Odd-Eye too.

His eyes swept over them all.

Every single one of them was looking at him.

It was the kind of ridiculous joke only life could make.

Because of them, he was confident.

That was why he said it—because he knew it better than anyone.

Shinar, rarely, showed a faint smile.

Enkrid’s open, joyful expression made it a pleasure just to watch him.

“What the hell.”

Rem chuckled and replied, while Audin offered a prayer, Jaxon let out a dry snort, and Ragna raised his sword. It was his turn for the next spar.

Enkrid adjusted his stance once more.

He wasn’t fatigued.

He wasn’t tired.

He wasn’t intoxicated by omnipotence.

His rough combat style was something that time would naturally polish.

Ragna simply wanted to fight.

Watching wasn’t enough.

Jaxon took a step back, lost in thought.

‘He’s a pain to deal with.’

If you exploit an opening, you can wound him.

With poison, you might gain the upper hand.

But both methods were ill-suited for a spar.

If the opponent were a barbarian, sure, you could go wild with those techniques.

But many of Jaxon’s skills were just… inappropriate for practice bouts.

That was the real reason he stepped back.

He saw there was no exhaustion.

No need to wear the man down through sparring.

He’d only stepped in, unlike himself, because it seemed better than leaving it to the barbarian or the directionless one.

Thinking that, Jaxon drew two daggers and stood in line.

His thoughts and actions were opposites.

“Next is me.”

And so were his words.

Whenever he looked at their captain, even the heart of a cold-blooded assassin began to burn with heat.

Enkrid still wore a smile.

More precisely, a smile brimming with anticipation.

No one knew.

There were times, watching Rem and Ragna fight, when Enkrid had dreamed of standing among them.

And now, that dream was realized, perfectly, right here.

He raised Acker and took his stance.

—Hey, this guy’s pretty good.

It was Will, flowing through his entire body, that carried the message.

The sword, imbued with Will, transmitted its will.

A low hum from the blade turned to words and entered his mind.

Enkrid ignored it and focused.

And then, like a silent black bolt of lightning, a strike came down from above.

Even with his sixth sense and foresight, the strike and his recognition of it came almost simultaneously.

Enkrid’s Acker surged upward, glowing white.

Chkeng!

The two blades clashed, entwined, then separated.

A few exchanges, footwork—everything was at the level of knights.

Ragna won that spar.

After Ragna came Jaxon.

That bout ended in a draw.

Jaxon withdrew first, shaking off his hands.

Enkrid had to admit—he still couldn’t fully catch Jaxon’s footwork.

If either Ragna or Jaxon had gone all the way, the result could have changed.

Then Rem came in again with her axe.

Even as the sun fell, the duels continued—but not once did Enkrid’s Will run dry.

“You’ve turned into a monster.”

Rem’s words were the truth.

Everyone nodded as if in agreement.

Among them, the gurgling Lua Gharne looked like oil was dripping from every pore—she was that moved.

***

“I trust in you.”

The one seated atop a red carpet-trimmed dais, with three steps leading up to the throne, spoke.

The man standing before him raised his head.

“I shall reclaim Azpen’s lands that were unjustly lost.”

The man’s face had a black nose, ears like a wolf’s, and eyes that were nothing like a human’s.

A wolf beastkin—so of course.

“Very well.”

The wolf beastkin general turned his body.

Once hailed as Azpen’s guardian deity, he had now been pushed to a distant post—an aging general exiled from the center.

As he exited the throne hall, two humans and one frogkin awaited him.

“What about Abnaier?”

The beastkin asked as soon as he stepped out.

Something about it irked him—he snorted.

Even though the throne was just one door behind them, his attitude was blunt and brazen.

Those who knew his nature stayed quiet.

Even the attendants acted like he wasn’t there.

“It would be best not to mention that name within the palace.”

One of the well-dressed men replied.

A knight by rank, he knew better than to provoke this beastkin, so his tone was exceedingly polite.

Are all knights the same?

Of course not.

This was a knight of Azpen.

The same kind who had once gifted a sword clash to Enkrid, Ragna, and others.

He knew this truth well.

“If you’re gonna toss honor aside anyway, you should’ve just killed him.”

The beastkin growled.

Was that what he really wanted?

Half right, half wrong.

He wasn’t angry that the man had acted—

he was angry that he hadn’t owned it.

That he’d left the stain of that decision lingering in his heart.

“Because of the oath…”

“You’ll die by your excuses. Didn’t I teach you that a knight who fails to uphold their honor dies by the blemish in their heart? What, did I live too long and forget what I said? Huh?”

The beastkin cut him off and launched into a tirade.

The man flared with anger but didn’t talk back.

Arguing with a master who yelled about excuses would only get him more scolding.

And it wasn’t even an excuse—it was the truth.

Because of the oath, he had no choice.

Whatever else, his sword would never weaken. Its traits were clear.

Even though the man kept silent, the beastkin saw right through him.

Tch.

Clicking his tongue, the beastkin turned his gaze.

“Don’t overdo it. Fight drunk on omnipotence and you’ll die. There are plenty of skilled fighters in the world.”

“Yes, sir.”

He answered, but he wouldn’t truly agree.

That’s just the kind of man he was.

Even now, confidence radiated from him, Will flowing faintly around him.

A guy who couldn’t even fully control his Will yet. Tch.

Lastly, the frogkin.

The same one who’d once delivered a kick to Enkrid’s side.

“Prepared?”

The beastkin gave a small nod with his chin.

The frogkin nodded.

“Just about.”

They might be weaker than knights in a direct fight, but if it was war, it didn’t matter who the enemy was.

War and combat were very different.

The beastkin general knew the difference well.

That’s why he wouldn’t talk strategy himself.

That’s what he had Abnaier for.

Once called a genius strategist.

Some said he should be executed as the one responsible for their loss.

But those were just some damn nobles whining.

Why the hell kill someone like that?

Idiots.

Outwardly, the beastkin general had demanded Abnaier’s execution.

Privately, he’d put him under his command.

Abnaier had chosen to hide himself in shame for not being able to kill a single man.

The beastkin had beat the crap out of him to drag him back.

Snort.

He let out another burst of breath.

So strong, one of the curtains fluttered.

“Let’s go.”

He led the way.

Two humans and one frogkin followed behind.

They moved in step with his long, confident strides.

The palace corridors were wide enough for five men to walk shoulder to shoulder.

Yet with these four walking, the hallway felt cramped.

Outside, two more aides waited.

Bathed in clear sunlight, the two bowed their heads in greeting.

One of the two aides, while conditional, could still be called a knight.

Trained and raised directly by the beastkin general.

So, setting the frogkin aside—if you included the beastkin himself, that made four knights.

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