A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Chapter 667

[ … words ]

“A gift, you said?”

Rem muttered.

She only said it because Shinar had picked up the practice swords and looked ready to attack.

As if answering Rem’s comment, Shinar replied.

“If it’s a gift for a madman, then of course it’s a duel, isn’t it?”

Ah, well then. That fits.

The words Shinar spoke could have been turned into a song if you just added a melody. That’s how clear and lovely her voice was—like the sound of a water droplet falling into a still lake.

Since it had been destroyed once before, the barracks had been placed a bit farther away from the sparring grounds. Sure, it could be rebuilt anytime it got wrecked again, but Kraiss wouldn’t just sit by and let precious krona go to waste.

So, set a little apart from the barracks—if you looked down from above—it sat nestled in one corner of the camp. And into that sparring ground, sunlight dripped down like it was soaking through silk.

“You’ll get hurt if you underestimate her, Sister.”

Audin said.

It was late afternoon, and the sunlight was warm. Pollen from wildflowers across the sparring ground danced in the air, and a gentle breeze carried the mingled scent of grass and blossoms.

It was the kind of season where just lying down would lull you to sleep and simply walking around lifted your mood.

And both standing in the sparring ring were visibly lifted. Enkrid was thrilled at the mention of a “gift,” and Shinar was delighted to finally be back.

Standing at the center of the ring, Shinar showed everyone how much she’d changed.

The first thing was her smile. Her lips curved faintly into a soft smile.

That smile alone was enough to make someone form a royal guard to protect her with their lives.

Fortunately, no one here was deluded enough to do that just for a smile.

“She’s smiling?”

“She smiled?”

Rem and Ragna both stared blankly, muttering.

“You’ve learned to smile, Sister.”

Audin returned the smile.

“Looks good on you.”

Teresa said, surprised.

“Eh?”

Rophod felt himself dazing out for a moment, but quickly snapped back to focus.

“Is she possessed by a spirit?”

Pell muttered, rejecting the bewitching spell trying to cloud his mind. Even without magic, a smile like that could be called sorcery.

How many legends like that were there across the continent?

The most famous story was that of Pello the painter and Zello the alchemist. The two brothers both fell in love with the same country maiden whose beauty was said to be so great, even a king who laid eyes on her would make her queen on the spot.

And the painter and alchemist brothers knew it too.

Eventually, the crown prince saw her, then the king, and then a powerful noble—all at war to claim her.

The king even killed his own handsome young son. The noble went to war with the crown to possess her.

The kingdom was nearly destroyed by civil war. In desperation, Zello did something he shouldn’t have: he brewed a love potion and gave it to her.

She died because of it.

Grieving, Pello stopped eating, drinking, and sleeping, and spent two weeks painting—until he died too.

That became the famous Dorothea Portrait. A legendary painting said to ignite a possessive madness in anyone who saw it.

“I, the Golden Witch, have not yet been defeated.”

The fairy said, as if Zello or Pello had been reborn to throw themselves at her once again.

And from what Shinar was saying, she had clearly heard the rumors—even though she’d just arrived.

Then again, that was to be expected. The migrated fairy clan had kept their mouths shut and their ears open. Thanks to that, they knew everything.

Especially stories about the idol who had saved their people.

Every time Enkrid came into town, some fairies snuck out °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° to catch a glimpse of him.

They got caught by Jaxon more than once.

Some even tried to occupy the place before their queen arrived, but they failed every time.

Even just reaching Enkrid’s lodging wasn’t easy, and getting past Jaxon’s senses and the magic barrier Esther had erected? Impossible.

So with nothing they could do directly, all the fairies simply listened—ears perked up—soaking in every rumor that drifted by.

“Rumors say the Black Flower won.”

Shinar said upon arrival, so her charge forward was inevitable.

In any case, Enkrid stared at the practice sword and calmed his excited heart.

He remembered the Shinar from before. The one who’d given him the Sword of Seasons, the one possessed by the demon.

Shinar lifted the training blade and gave it a shake above her head. The breeze shifted around the blade, sweeping away the floral scent.

She kicked off the ground.

A fairy’s footwork was always light.

To Enkrid, her body suddenly seemed to grow larger, and he immediately stretched time through accelerated thought and swung his sword.

Shinar’s blade landed above Enkrid’s head.

He twisted his waist and turned his head at the same time. The evasive motion came reflexively.

With his feet planted, he pushed off the ground using strength beyond human limits.

His body stretched sideways with a smooth motion.

Anyone watching would be awed. And yet, he didn’t completely dodge the blade.

It wasn’t a fatal wound. But even accounting for the duel setting, Enkrid felt the solid impact across his shoulder.

How?

There was a blade between blades. The strike blended Ragna’s heavy blow and Jaxon’s intentless thrust.

“A winter mountain breeze.”

Shinar said, and stopped.

Enkrid looked at her. She looked back at him.

He could feel faint heat rising from her entire body.

She must’ve clenched her teeth and trained mercilessly to prepare this gift. She wouldn’t have shown up with half-baked skills.

She’d seen him face a one-killer. She must’ve trained like hell to prepare for this.

I was careless.

He hadn’t gotten arrogant. He wasn’t conceited. He had simply underestimated her.

If I can change, others can too.

He’d already learned that from Rem. Why had he forgotten?

Yes, he had let his guard down.

And now, Enkrid finally realized—

The fairy before him was also one of the greatest prodigies ever born to her clan.

Quite literally, Shinar had inherited the talents of both her mother and father.

Only the fairy race’s inherently slow sense of time had restrained her.

Fairies live long lives. As a cost, they lose passion. They only ignite for a brief spark in life. Like igniculus.

So her transformation was inevitable. Her spark was still burning.

“How did you do that?”

Asked the one who’d given her the spark.

“What fun would it be if I told you everything?”

Shinar answered with a sly tone. And yet her beauty made even that mischief seem elegant, not snide.

Enkrid replayed the moment and drew his conclusion.

Extreme, lethal, ultimate technique style—that was Shinar’s swordsmanship. It was something she had forged and something she was born with.

She had studied his wave-blocking sword and crafted a custom counter for it.

Her delayed arrival was likely due in part to that.

“A little later and you’d have been a petal fallen off the whole bloom.”

Was she still talking about swordplay? Enkrid asked curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like becoming an unripe fruit.”

Enkrid tilted his head. Was there some deeper meaning?

Shinar looked at him and rephrased more directly.

“I mean I almost became a widow before my wedding night.”

A rare, pure-grade fairy joke—hardly heard these days.

“You’re back, you crazy fairy.”

Rem said in awe. She’d just gotten here and was already dropping lines like that.

“Let’s go again.”

Enkrid, as always, ignored the joke and answered crisply and firmly.

“If I win, are we getting married?”

Shinar never gave up. Especially with jokes, she didn’t care how anyone responded.

“Are you serious?”

“No, I wouldn’t force it. That’d make the night no fun.”

She’d definitely gotten bolder and more daring than before the demon extermination. But regardless of that, her skills were real.

Her new swordsmanship and next steps were like telling Enkrid: Refine what you already have first.

His complacency cracked. His thinking shifted. Was it bothersome? No. It was exhilarating.

The moment of sweat, the time pressing forward step by step, the conversations soaked with meaning shared with people like this—everything about it was profoundly joyful.

That day, Shinar used the same technique three more times, then shook her head.

“One more and I’m collapsing, you cute little brat.”

“And what’s that nickname now?”

Enkrid’s mouth fell open in disbelief.

“It means I’m older than you. And it’s me who’ll collapse, not you. Oh, but if I do, will you hold me again? That warmth of yours was really quite nice.”

Shinar was in high spirits, but her tongue was sharper than her blade.

Enkrid didn’t bother dueling that possessed tongue.

A great tactician knows when to fight—and when not to.

With swords, sure, you sometimes just brawl.

But when it came to verbal sparring, Enkrid was a grizzled veteran of a thousand battles.

So, for a tactical retreat, he shut his mouth.

That evening, everyone gathered, and since they were already together, they roasted an entire pig.

Kraiss had orchestrated the meal.

“Feels like a company dinner. Roasting a whole pig seems just right.”

Knights don’t eat like ordinary people. A single pig wouldn’t be enough for this lot.

Even Jaxon, who looked like the type to eat quietly, packed it away.

It was all about calorie consumption.

Enkrid, seated at the long stone table outside the newly built barracks, could feel Kraiss’s attention to detail.

So if we’re tired from training, we can just eat here.

They’d built a dining hall, but also placed stone tables outside. That one was right in front of him.

Rough-hewn and ugly, made for function over form. Just like Kraiss—who probably accounted even for broken furniture in his plans.

“If I asked you to stop sword fighting during meals, would you actually listen? You wouldn’t. So please eat separately from the soldiers now.”

No one actually said it aloud, but Kraiss’s care was clear as if it had been spoken.

He was incredibly busy these days too.

Supposedly, he’d asked a fairy to dig an extra well.

He was working on trade deals with the merchant city and even talking with the Holy Nation.

Enkrid knew the plan, had a sense of Kraiss’s intentions—but it was a bother.

He’d stamped some documents, sure, but made it clear he had no interest in this kind of work.

Lately, he’d even considered dumping all his authority on the castellan.

Though Lord Greyham likely had no desire to take it.

Still, surely someone capable existed. If not, Kraiss would suffer. So someone would be found, one way or another.

As everyone ate and drank, the talk naturally turned to techniques and swordplay.

Among the topics, the most discussed was Enkrid’s recently developed framework for knightly systems.

It made sense. They rarely gathered like this.

While they’d all spoken with Enkrid one-on-one, this was the first time they’d discussed it as a group.

The topic eventually shifted from techniques and specialties to the idea of swinging a sword “naturally.”

“What do you mean by naturally? Like, how?”

Rem started.

“As I said before—you just swing it. Just like that.”

Enkrid listened to them all and, from that, clearly understood the unique traits each person possessed.