A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 370: Contrast in Colors

Ripples.

The water stirred.

A single source of light illuminated the pitch-black darkness, casting its glow around. As Enkrid followed the traces of the light, he saw a figure holding a lantern atop a narrow boat.

He was aboard a long ferry that drifted across the river.

Was it just his imagination, or had the boat grown larger and longer than before?

It had been a while since he last had this dream.

The ferryman stood at the opposite end, gripping the oar.

"It has been a while," Enkrid said.

Now, he could see eyes, a nose, and a mouth— the ferryman's face was visible.

His skin was like drought-stricken earth, cracked and lifeless, an ashen gray with no trace of humanity.

His expression was still impossible to read, but compared to their first meeting, there was more to see.

At least now, the features were visible.

And now, the ferryman could even speak.

The ferryman’s mouth opened— just a thin line parting briefly before closing again.

It was impossible to read his lips.

"This wall will be entertaining," he said.

His deep, weighted voice struck like a dull hammer.

Words, once spoken, reach the other person instantly.

There is no weapon faster than speech.

Before Enkrid could even think to defend, the ferryman’s words hit him like a hammer to the heart.

Shock rippled through his entire being. His body trembled. Vibrations coursed through him, awakening the primal fear of humanity.

That was the ferryman’s power.

And Enkrid—

"I look forward to it."

— embraced it.

In this place, there was no Heart of Might, no absolute focus, no enhanced senses, no honed body.

Only his essence remained.

He responded with his will, his conviction, his resolve.

And he was not lying.

He truly, deeply, enjoyed this.

From the bottom of his heart, he meant it.

The trembling of his heart, the shock transmitted through his body— all of it would serve as a stepping stone for what came next.

A thrill that overcame fear.

Would there ever come a day when none of this became a stepping stone?

Perhaps.

But also— never.

A contradiction.

A paradox.

Yet, to Enkrid, it made perfect sense.

"There is something to be learned even from a flower blooming in a field."

And there is something to be learned from the stars shining in the night sky.

Even from a dandelion seed drifting in the wind.

Contemplate.

Ponder.

Struggle.

Think and think again— never forget that everything can become your sword.

His teachers. His instructors. Mercenaries.

Rem, Ragna, Jaxon, Audin.

Esther, Dunbakel, Teresa.

Crang, Andrew.

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Even Aisia, recently.

And all the others— even those who had died by his sword.

The enemy soldiers from his first repeated today.

The swordsmen of the Hurrier family.

Mages, magic, sorcery, traps of strategy.

Everything had been a lesson.

"Madness or resolve?"

The ferryman spoke.

His form blurred at the edges.

This place was a dream— an inner world.

Soon, he would wake.

"Or is it simply the flailing of an ignorant fool?"

The ferryman’s eyes shifted colors—

From blue to red, from red to pitch-black, then to a deep violet before darkening into the hue of aged tree bark.

Only then did Enkrid realize—

This was the first time he had truly met the ferryman’s gaze.

"So now you can look me in the eyes as well."

The ferryman’s voice carried a faint note of admiration.

And with that, Enkrid woke up.

"It’s been a while."

It had been so long since he last had a dream of the ferryman.

It felt like ages since their last encounter.

Had he let his guard down because he hadn’t repeated today in a while?

No.

Not when he was hunting the Moonlight Beast.

Not when he fought Aisia.

The thought of Aisia made him recall their sparring match— and the deep regret that came with it.

If they had fought just a little longer, it would have been even more fun.

There was still so much to learn from her.

But she had left.

Aisia's swordplay had a discipline that neither Rem, Ragna, nor Jaxon possessed.

"Was it because she trained in the knightly order?"

Smooth yet unwavering.

Although she wielded an illusionary sword, her style was nothing like the Valen mercenary swordsmanship.

"Illusionary swordplay is meant to deceive and confuse the opponent."

But hers wasn’t just about deception— it exploited the opponent’s focus against them.

To most high-level warriors, that wouldn’t work.

Perhaps against an apprentice knight or even a squire, they would ignore her technique and simply strike with their own.

Sometimes, ignorance itself made a person seem bold.

Of course, anyone that weak wouldn’t even be worth using the technique against.

Even in a short period, he had learned a lot.

Just like in his dream.

"There is something to be learned from a drifting dandelion seed."

Everything happening around him was his teacher.

If there was a lesson, he would contemplate, study, and master it.

Enkrid never consciously thought about it, but his desire to improve never ceased.

To grow stronger.

To advance further.

To hone his skill, ability, and technique.

This mindset made him naturally proactive.

And more than that— it made him reflect on himself.

Because he now understood—

Sometimes, rest was necessary.

Sometimes, taking a step back to observe was just as important.

He had never grasped this «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» while training under countless instructors.

But now— now he saw it.

Now he understood it.

Now he engraved it into himself.

The time he had spent had not been wasted.

With these thoughts, he rose and began his usual routine.

He stepped outside and jumped in place to warm his body.

Then, he went through his joint-loosening exercises and performed a specialized isolation technique to stretch his muscles.

After that, he stood before a stack of garden stones Andrew had prepared, gripped them with both hands, and lifted.

The movement strengthened his hamstrings, core, and quadriceps as he squatted and rose.

At some point, he forgot about the ferryman’s dream.

At some point, he forgot about his hunger for improvement.

All that remained—

Was sheer determination.

"Don't you ever get tired of this?"

Andrew, who had just arrived, clicked his tongue.

"Of what?"

Enkrid steadied his breathing, taking a short rest, and asked back.

"Of this. No, of all of this."

Training his body in the morning.

Then getting pummeled by Dunbakel’s stones or Rem’s fists for further training.

Then practicing swordsmanship and all manner of weaponry.

Then sparring, again and again.

Then training others in his spare time.

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Every single day, he followed this grueling schedule as if it was nothing.

Andrew honestly wondered if he was even human.

Especially after coming back from fighting the Moonlight Beast—

As if it had just been a casual evening stroll.

"Honestly."

Enkrid spoke.

"Honestly?"

Andrew prompted when he didn’t continue.

"It's so much fun I could die."

Andrew's lips parted slightly, then closed.

Then parted again.

Then closed.

He had no words.

But if he didn’t say something, the sheer insanity of this moment would suffocate him.

So, he turned his head slightly to the side and muttered under his breath.

"...Crazy bastard."

Though he whispered, Enkrid heard it clearly.

Jaxon, who had arrived unnoticed, spoke up behind him.

"He hears everything."

"Huh?"

Startled, Andrew turned sharply.

"The captain has sharp ears," Jaxon explained helpfully.

Andrew's skeptical gaze flicked to Enkrid.

"I didn’t hear you call me a crazy bastard."

"Ah."

Andrew let out a sigh.

"Let’s begin the training."

That day, the Isolation Technique was tailored specifically for Andrew.

The human body adapts. If you train at the same intensity every day, you naturally grow weaker.

So the solution was to push harder. To make it more grueling, more unyielding.

Enkrid gave Andrew just such a gift.

"Why us?"

The five trainees, too, had to endure the increased intensity of the training.

A faint look of resentment flickered in their eyes.

"Oh? What’s with those looks, kids?"

Rem chuckled upon seeing it. Just where were they getting those pitiful eyes from? Resentment? Rrrreeeesentment?

"Good. I like it."

Rem snickered, and at that, the faces of the five trainees turned pale.

Ragna only emerged in the training ground by late morning.

Compared to before, he was practically a different person.

It seemed like today would be just another ordinary day.

Except for one thing—tomorrow was Crang’s title conferment ceremony.

But something was different.

Enkrid could feel the change in the air against his skin.

"Hm, it’s quiet."

Rem, attuned to such instincts, picked up the same scent in the air. Dunbakel did as well.

"Arm yourselves."

Enkrid’s voice was firm. Rem nodded without a word, and the others began moving. Enkrid, too, began gathering his gear.

‘Six Whistle Daggers.’

They would be useful as long as the timing was right.

Three swords, a bandage-like armor wrapped around his body, and over that, a leather cuirass.

The inner lining was made of tough fabric.

It clung stiffly to his body, restricting movement slightly, but not enough to be a real hindrance.

It was a gift from Andrew.

"Gear up."

It was right after their morning training session. At Enkrid’s words, Andrew and the five trainees gathered as well.

"What’s going on?"

Mack asked. Had he noticed the uneasy air too?

Or was he simply nervous from watching Enkrid and the others react?

"Something’s off."

Dunbakel was the one who answered. Ragna, off to the side, strapped on his sword and added a short sword to his belt.

Then, he pulled his bootlaces tight.

Enkrid checked his gear, starting from his sword belt, scanning the mansion’s surroundings, and listening carefully.

"Nothing, huh?"

There was a reason Rem had called it oddly quiet.

Enkrid’s words made Jaxon nod.

He had switched out his longsword for a forearm-length blade at his waist.

The moment Jaxon sensed something off, he started scanning the surroundings.

The mansion’s perimeter was eerily empty. A path that usually saw decent foot traffic didn’t even have a stray dog in sight.

Beyond the cleanly swept blue stone road, a few people were peering out from within their homes.

Had someone cleared the area? No, the locals were simply avoiding this place.

That meant the area was already surrounded by troops.

The guards stood out the most—dressed in their uniforms, armed with spears and swords, more than twenty of them.

Enkrid ignored them. There was no way they had come here with just that number to act.

Then what was their play?

His backing was Crang. And Marcus. Were they really going to make a move while ignoring that?

‘I wonder what they’re planning.’

A sense of anticipation welled up within him.

As he waited, Esther suddenly lifted her head.

Her gaze met Enkrid’s.

She had been lounging idly, but something had pricked at her senses.

‘A spell?’

More precisely, it was a disturbance in mana.

Someone had worked some magical trickery here.

Nothing was happening just yet, but whatever had been prepared would inevitably be triggered if left alone.

There was an old saying—In a battle between mages, the one who prepares wins.

That’s how crucial knowledge and countermeasures were in magical warfare.

‘Do they know me?’

From a magic user’s perspective, they probably did. Though he rarely exposed himself, he had taken down Galaph, who held dominion over the waterways.

There could be a disciple among them who recognized his traces.

‘Who could it be?’

More than curiosity, it was competitive spirit.

There was a reason she was once called the Witch of Battle.

Esther had never shied away from a fight.

Rumors had spread far and wide that she had grown weak due to a curse.

If her opponent had come under that assumption, they would soon regret it.

Esther stepped forward, shifting from her leopard form into a human.

Her fur vanished, revealing smooth, white skin, and then, halfway through, transformed into a long coat.

She fastened the front of the coat and scanned her surroundings.

"Stare too long and you’ll lose an eye."

At that moment, Enkrid was seen grabbing Andrew’s chin, turning his face away.

"Well done."

Esther gave a short word of praise before stepping forward.

"I’ll be back shortly."

Enkrid didn’t ask where. She would handle it on her own. If there was magic at play, she was moving to counter it.

He wasn’t worried, but he did want to send her off with a few words of encouragement.

"Don’t get your ass kicked."

"And who exactly are you worried about?"

With a confident smirk, her long black hair tied back in a tight knot, Esther vaulted over the wall.

At some point, under her coat, she had donned long leather pants and a white shirt.

Now that she had shaken off the effects of her curse, creating enchanted clothing for protection wasn’t difficult.

It wasn’t as if she had been lying around doing nothing all this time.

Esther had been preparing.

Not all magic users were prophets, but those truly skilled in their craft always developed a sense for impending danger.

Esther was no different.

She hadn’t foreseen this exact moment, but she had made preparations.

And now, it was time to show them.

The moment Esther left, Enkrid turned his head toward a certain direction, his ears twitching slightly before he spoke.

"Andrew, leave some people inside to defend the mansion."

"Huh?"

"There are quite a few of them."

Andrew didn’t ask questions—he simply followed the command.

"Get inside!"

A handful of servants, including a few remaining maids and attendants, as well as Mack and the five trainees, hurried inside. Andrew, however, remained in the training ground.

When Enkrid glanced at him, Andrew responded.

"Someone has to lend a hand, don’t they?"

He had said there were many of them.

He didn’t feel like defending while fighting at the same time, but Andrew wouldn’t go down easily.

The trainees and Mack should be able to hold out, at least for a while.

Not that Enkrid had any intention of letting anyone get inside the mansion to begin with.

Thud-thud-thud-thud.

A chilling tremor began to shake the ground.

The earth rumbled beneath their feet, the vibration tangible against their skin.

A cloud of dust kicked up, and soon, cavalry thundered across the blue stone path.

All eyes turned toward the mansion’s entrance, where a heavily armored unit blocked the way.

At the front, a man in an ornate suit of armor spoke.

"I am Polman Vertes. Is there a man here by the name of Enkrid?"

"...The sheriff?"

Andrew muttered upon hearing the name.

"That would be me."

Enkrid raised his hand—a hand clad in a reinforced leather and steel-plated gauntlet.

A clear sign that he was armed.

The sheriff’s eyes immediately took note.

The force surrounding the mansion consisted of over twenty men. This new cavalry unit added more than thirty, followed by additional infantry, bringing their total number to over a hundred.

It seemed the entire city guard had gathered.

Among them, Enkrid spotted the South Gate Captain, whom he had seen during the Moonlight Beast incident.

The captain’s complexion had turned deathly pale.

"The charge is murder—the killing of Viscount Bentra. You are hereby placed under arrest."

The sheriff announced this from atop his horse.

Oh, what utter bullshit.

Enkrid’s expression alone conveyed his thoughts.

"Utter bullshit."

Rem, on the other hand, said it out loud.

The sheriff’s face turned red at the sheer bluntness of the response.

A stark contrast to the South Gate Captain, whose face had gone completely white.