A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Chapter 795

[ … words ]

A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“Your skills…”

The faint smile that usually played on Oara’s face faded a little.

She wasn’t someone who smiled all the time, after all.

Although she didn’t seem completely shocked, the way she blinked repeatedly made it obvious to anyone that she was surprised.

It was only natural.

Even after exchanging just a few blows, it wouldn’t be hard to see how much had changed.

The way Enkrid now wielded the never-drying Will-Uske, his mindset, and how he made use of Will—

Enkrid was a world apart from the man Oara had met back in the city that once bore the name Thousand Stones and had since inherited her name.

A moment ago, Oara had struck down with her sword, and Enkrid had deflected it with a powerful thrust, knocking her sword aside.

But Oara caught her sword, stopping its movement with brute force, and then shifted her stance to redirect the rest of the blow’s energy.

The knight who had given the city a new name hadn’t lost any skill.

Enkrid saw that clearly, just as Oara realized the man standing before her now was nothing like the one from before.

A smile flickered across Oara’s face again.

This was more fun than she’d expected.

Watching Enkrid change, and clashing swords with this man like this.

It was probably the only time she had genuinely smiled since being captured by Beelrog.

“Didn’t I once advise you to let this matter go?”

She asked, lost in memories of the past.

Enkrid answered casually, as if opening his mouth right away was hardly worth thinking about.

“Oh, I didn’t take it seriously.”

Oara smiled, responding to Enkrid’s remark.

“…This bastard really knows how to provoke someone.”

Oara had also just learned something new about him—something she hadn’t noticed when they’d met in the city.

This guy’s tongue was as sharp as a Ghoul’s.

With that face and manner—someone you wouldn’t expect it from—when he needled you, it was twice as effective.

Oara, who knew her way around a battlefield, understood that well.

Thud.

This time, Oara thrust forward, but Enkrid closed the distance and brought his sword down.

Their blades met lightly, then parted.

Not even a spark flew.

It was as if they were sparring by agreement—swinging, dodging, blocking, deflecting each other’s blades.

But this wasn’t Oara’s intent.

She was just following Enkrid’s lead.

‘I can see he’s improved a fair bit, enough to get this far, but…’

Was he always this good?

Oara was surprised, again and again.

Originally, she hadn’t intended to spar like this.

She didn’t want to sap this man’s strength.

That’s why she had planned to ditch the duel and just have a conversation instead.

Right now, she was only indulging him because he wanted it.

Even so, Oara knew that this wouldn’t be enough to get past Beelrog.

‘But is there really anything I can say?’

There wouldn’t be.

As she moved, Oara looked into her opponent’s eyes.

What she saw was a gaze as clear as a sky without a single cloud.

Eyes holding a light rarely seen in this place.

A look that revealed a will that would not back down, no matter what happened.

That’s why she couldn’t stop him.

Standing here on his own accord, wielding his sword—who was she to tell him not to, by what right could she stop him?

Even if the end was already determined, even if she already knew how this story would finish, Oara had to see it through to the last page.

Even if that ending was destined to be a tragedy.

‘It’s not enough.’

She knew it because she had fought him many times.

Beelrog was not simply a monster who happened to be good at fighting.

As always, time is finite.

Whether outside or within the Labyrinth, everything with a beginning must have an end.

Oara decided that, tragedy or not, it was time for things to begin.

Thunk.

Oara batted the sword away, as if pushing it aside, and was about to say that the time had come.

Enkrid, who had yielded without resistance, slid his sword into the scabbard.

There was a sense of discipline in his movements.

It seemed he could have gone straight into a formal military salute.

Oara recited to herself,

Yes, you must know your time has come, too.

Just as she was about to speak, Enkrid beat her to it.

“Are you any good at hand-to-hand combat?”

Then, without warning, he thrust out a hand.

Oara dodged his punch, which aimed quickly for her upper eyelid.

This time, it wasn’t something she could simply dodge with a smile like before.

She twisted her waist, shifted her center of gravity, and sharply turned her neck.

At the same moment, she opened her palm and struck back.

With this kind of attack, it doesn’t end just by dodging—one must counter.

The insight and habits of a Knight, honed by training, kicked in reflexively.

Thud!

Enkrid aimed his left fist at Oara’s face, then followed up by striking her outstretched palm with his right elbow.

The sound was loud—a clear sign of how hard he’d hit her.

Oara, whose palm had been blocked, sprang back twice like a startled rabbit.

Her specialty had always been a continuous, flowing sword style that relied on nimble footwork, so her movements were anything but ordinary.

Even to a Knight’s trained eye, her ability to shift her center of gravity was impressive, and her reflexes were exceptional.

“…What was that?”

Oara, having retreated, asked.

“A warm-up?”

Enkrid replied matter-of-factly.

“So, I’m just your warm-up?”

Oara was reminded once again of how sharp Enkrid’s tongue could be.

He really knew how to get under someone’s skin.

Battlefield prowess aside, it was an infuriating skill he had.

The story about Beelrog that had been on the tip of her tongue slipped from her mind for a moment.

“Why? Is an Oara who doesn’t smile third-rate? Just some nobody? A small fry? Is that what you mean?”

And although Oara—who always smiled—was a Knight with a steel heart, she wasn’t the type to just brush off provocation.

No matter what her opponent said, she was the sort of person who responded with skill, crushing them through sheer ability.

“That’s not exactly it, though.”

He replied calmly, his blue-eyed stare unwavering.

That serenity of his gradually got on people’s nerves.

Oara reacted, and Enkrid smiled.

Even that smile, Oara took as a provocation.

***

“All right, let’s see if you can kill me, then.”

Once, she had ruled the battlefield with just a single sword.

That was her life before becoming a Knight.

“Come at me, all of you!”

Her name had spread far and wide because of the time she single-handedly defeated the famed Ten Mercenaries.

Back then, all ten had ambushed her, hoping that if they could kill her—a small, elite force could turn the tide, losing one battle to win the war.

“I’ll have you crawling between my legs.”

The one who kept provoking her was the first to lose his legs.

She never tolerated provocation.

***

Why was she remembering that now?

Oara pushed aside her fractured thoughts and gripped her sword.

There was no longer Laughter that had been her Engraved Weapon.

But the ‘me’ who wielded Laughter still existed.

Whether this was a fragment of the soul, mere scraps of memory, or a Fragment of Lingering Thought—she didn’t know.

He asked if she ever fought empty-handed, but she ignored him and reached for her sword.

Srring.

The drawn sword flowed like water.

Her sword was an unstoppable line—a surge that never broke, a wave that never ceased.

Oara’s blade traced a diagonal arc, and Enkrid’s sword mirrored that motion with an identical diagonal slash.

It was like looking in a mirror, their blades coming down in perfect opposition.

Two blades met in midair.

Clang—!

Sparks flew.

The force behind both their swings was real.

Oara’s robe, with its wide sleeves, was pushed all the way up to her elbow by the clash.

Beneath that, the fine cords of muscle rippled along her arm like rolling waves.

So smooth.

In the briefest instant as their swords met, Enkrid grasped the nature of Oara’s blade.

Reading the true character of her sword so quickly wasn’t a matter of skill alone.

He had known her for a long time, and he had trained by using parts of her sword techniques as his benchmark.

He pressed forward, pushing his opponent’s sword aside with force—a heavy, powerful shove.

Ka-ga-ga-gang!

Just before locking in a Bind, Oara realized she’d been forced back in the diagonal slash and immediately retreated.

But as swiftly as she stepped back, she lunged forward again, slashing diagonally once more.

As soon as the sound of her feet striking the ground rang out—ta-dak!—her dull-colored blade traced the same slanted path downward.

If her last strike had been smooth, this one was full of grit and aggression.

Enkrid raised his sword, meeting her blow with a gentle upward push.

Ki-gi-ging.

Their swords crossed and they switched places.

A moment before, Oara had the campfire at her back, but now it was Enkrid standing with the fire behind him.

The torch stand’s fire was far, but the campfire’s flame was close.

Their shadows overlapped between the two.

Just as their swords and bodies crossed, so did their gazes.

His inscrutable blue eyes were as straight, clear, and pure as ever.

In that instant, Oara realized why she had thought of the Ten Mercenaries from so long ago.

She had noticed the mercenaries’ ambush far in advance.

Their tactics hadn’t exactly been sophisticated.

But even knowing this, she had played along.

Just like now.

This was a sparring match by agreement.

Oara knew that if she fought with all her strength, she could leave at least one wound—even if she was just a Fragment of Lingering Thought—but she chose not to.

“You’ve really improved.”

“It’s all thanks to letting things slide back then.”

“…Did you always talk like that?”

“Ah, it seems you let this one slide, Dame Oara. I’ve always been like this.”

If there were a contest for the most irritating way of speaking, this guy would have to be the best on the Continent.

Oara had wanted to spend time with Enkrid and help him.

She meant to pass on some of the experience she’d gained from fighting Beelrog.

‘…How do you know everything?’

How to use the wings, how to break free from intimidation, even those surprise kicks that flew in from outside the range of calculation.

‘You know it all.’

Of course, Enkrid had fought Beelrog more than a hundred times lately, so it wasn’t strange, but from Oara’s perspective, it was hard not to tilt her head in confusion.

Not that she could complain, anyway.

From that point on, Oara understood what Enkrid wanted.

Even without speaking directly, just crossing swords was enough for them to understand each other’s intentions.

She swung her sword, ignoring all defense, while Enkrid easily parried, deflected, and blocked every strike Oara threw at him.

There was still an iron sword with several teeth missing, gripped in Oara’s hand.

Their spar dragged on for a long time.

So long, in fact, that a band of madmen went searching for the chief of their crazy group and found him before they were finished.

“Alright, let’s stop here.”

Oara called it off after a long exchange.

Enkrid naturally drew back his sword and settled into a ready stance.

There was no time for words.

Suddenly, Oara’s body was flung to the side.

Like a puppet on a string, she went flying, yanked sharply sideways.

Then, from within the shadow where she had just stood, a foot covered in dark crimson hide shot out.

In the blink of an eye, their positions had shifted—Oara now had the campfire at her back.

Their shadows had overlapped, and just as they did, the foot lunged out at Enkrid.

This happened right before their eyes.

Time stretched out in Enkrid’s mind.

The air pressed heavily on his shoulders, and his vision, extending far beyond human limits, caught the form that had surged up from the shadow.

Even if he hadn’t seen it, he would have known.

The insight gained from experience let him instinctively realize what was happening.

The foot that burst out belonged to Beelrog.

Even in the drawn-out moment, Beelrog’s foot left a faded afterimage.

No matter how he stretched out his thoughts, there was no way to dodge—it was a trajectory and speed that couldn’t be avoided.

And it wasn’t just the foot that came out; there was overwhelming force mixed in as well.

An intangible pressure, manifesting as chains burning with fire, gripped his arms and legs.

Bang

Enkrid was kicked.

His body shot backwards with a whoosh, hurtling as though he would slam straight into the Wall.

But that didn’t happen.

Thud.

A large hand—truly as big as a Bear’s paw—caught Enkrid’s back as he flew and redirected the force to the side.

The huge figure that had caught him spun around.

The impact, enough to not just break the Wall but crash straight through it, scattered in midair.

A ringing buzz echoed in Enkrid’s ears.

Even though he had protected his body with Will, the sudden flight made them ring—that sensation quickly faded, thanks to his sturdy body.

The very person who had helped him train his body to this point was now the one supporting his back.