A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 681: Playing with Fire

"What are you doing?"

Anne, drenched in blood, asked.

Enkrid, holding a flaming log, replied,

"Playing with fire."

With that, he tossed the burning wood into a pile of dry underbrush. There had been no rain in the past few days, so the bundle of brown, thorny brush caught fire instantly.

Fwoooosh!

Only a few breaths later, and the flames had already risen to Enkrid’s waist.

"...What?"

Anne asked again, but the others already understood why Enkrid was doing this.

It was dark. He was trying to light up the surroundings and flush out whatever might be hiding nearby.

They watched in silence as the fire grew, soon larger than anyone present. You might believe a giant made of fire had dropped in for a visit.

Enkrid, watching the fire blaze, sharpened his senses further.

Where is it?

He stayed alert and stepped in front of Anne. The scent still lingered. Ragna, having spotted Enkrid’s movement, moved in to stand behind Anne.

"Why?"

Anne hadn't sensed the killing intent. But anyone with a brain could tell something was wrong—these two were clearly positioning themselves to protect her.

A beast had been severed just above her head, and blood had been spilled.

"Seems like someone’s after you. You didn’t run off after skimming some krona, did you?"

Enkrid said, half-joking.

Grida glanced at Anne. If someone that needed protecting got too scared, it’d be a problem. Why say something like that?

But Anne didn’t panic. If anyone had nerves of steel, it was her. She’d traveled alone with a merchant caravan and even sought out the border guard herself.

"Not much."

Anne wiped the dark blood from her face.

"You owe someone?"

"Just a little. It was an emergency back then. If they come to collect, help me pay them back."

"Uh, sure."

Before joining the border guard, Enkrid had worked as a bodyguard. Most of that time, he was dragged around by noblewomen like a dressed-up puppet, but he hadn’t walked away from it empty-handed.

If the target was clear, the position of the guard should be just as clear.

"What is it?"

Ragna felt the discomfort in his gut, and Enkrid, with experience, recognized what it was.

"A spell."

That answer was enough.

Anne stuck to her role—she kept her mouth shut and sat still.

The ambush had begun just before midnight, and they spent the entire night like that.

The fire didn’t spread far. There wasn’t much underbrush in the area to begin with.

"You’re not planning to let us all burn alive, right?"

At some point, Grida had cleverly started a backfire to control the blaze.

They greeted dawn through a haze of gray smoke. Even then, the enemy didn’t strike. When the backfire was lit and the smoke blinded their vision—that would've been the perfect time, but nothing happened.

No one said it aloud, but Grida had started the backfire hoping exactly for that: to bait them in. Controlling the fire was only one of the reasons.

Still, no attack came.

Enkrid sank into thought.

Cautious? Or scared?

Maybe both. It was hard to tell without seeing the enemy. No—he wouldn’t have guessed easily even if he had seen them.

None of them were weak or exhausted. But keeping their guards up all night was anything but pleasant.

It was a nerve-grinding night—or more like, a night that gnawed at your nerves.

"This is boring."

Odinkar muttered, watching the rising sun.

Enkrid didn’t answer. His thoughts continued.

Do they think we’re prey?

The cloying scent that had hung in the air all night vanished with the dawn. Maybe the fragrance on the dry petals had simply run out. Or perhaps someone deliberately removed the flowers that had been right under their noses.

It was obviously the latter. It had felt like standing off against someone with drawn swords all night.

An enemy whose position couldn’t be tracked.

What the hell is this?

He couldn’t say.

Only one thing was certain.

Odinkar may have said it was boring, but Enkrid didn’t agree.

Enkrid didn’t shy away from battles. This was something even Grida and Magrun hadn’t fully understood about him.

No matter what form the fight took, Enkrid was a warrior who never backed down. If he lacked this nature, he would’ve never begun the long struggle that defined his life.

He would've quit when he lost to a kid over ten years younger than him.

Because fighting isn’t always about swinging swords against someone else.

Sometimes, it’s about fighting a world that tells you to give up—or even yourself, who urges you to despair.

And sometimes, it’s about unearthing the schemes of those hiding in the shadows.

"We should head somewhere with water. I need to wash up."

Enkrid said. Anne was soaked in beast blood. Washing up came first.

Everyone agreed. Grida got up and led them to a stream she had scouted the previous evening.

"This way. There should be a stream."

She was an exceptional pathfinder. Enkrid had worked as one too, but even the best he’d seen didn’t match Grida’s instincts.

She read the terrain quickly and thoroughly. While Magrun had done the initial guiding, it was Grida who had brought them this far.

Even now, she quickly led them to where the stream would be.

When she was gathering firewood, she’d already scouted the area—sniffing the soil, checking tree growth, and following the direction of greenery. She hadn’t needed water back then, but she’d scouted anyway.

That’s what a real pathfinder does.

Grida had also noted paths where beasts might appear, traces of monsters, even the dung of surviving wild animals.

In fact, by her assessment—someone who could easily qualify as a top-tier pathfinder—the ambush from last night was strange.

Normally, there shouldn’t have been one. Or at least, there should’ve been warning signs.

She had chosen a path that should’ve avoided danger.

It feels like someone set a hidden trap.

Sometimes, intuition is as powerful a weapon as the sword in your hand. Grida knew that. And something was definitely nagging at her.

But for now, she had no words to explain it.

As they walked, her expectations were met—the stream appeared. It was ankle-deep and babbled beneath their feet.

Grida turned to the others. From her vantage point, she saw the freckled healer. Her name was Anne.

Why target her?

She couldn’t have been more than twenty. Maybe younger. Barely old enough to call an adult. She was a talented healer, yes.

That was all Grida knew.

There could be a reason—a grudge, something else. Maybe something Grida didn’t know.

But even so, this didn’t make sense.

The enemy had hidden in plain sight, despite having nowhere to hide.

How often does that happen?

Someone who escaped not only her instincts but those of everyone in the group?

Unlikely. And if they had such ability, why bother?

Nothing about this added up.

At the stream, the group washed themselves, filled waterskins, and let the horses drink. After a bit of rest, they moved out again.

"Nice day, huh?"

Anne said, looking up at the sky. Then she turned her gaze forward and added,

"Still a long road ahead."

Sunlight streamed between faint ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ clouds. It was a bright day.

Besides the small woods they had entered earlier to find water, nothing obstructed their view.

Especially in the direction they were heading.

Far ahead were several bumpy hills. But for now, the land was open.

Dark soil lined the sides like someone had kneaded it with their hands.

"This area used to be a volcanic zone, I heard. They say a fire demon summoned by the Sacred Flame Sect once made this place its home."

Enkrid observed the surroundings as he spoke. He recalled hearing that the eruption had been caused by that demon.

The land gradually sloped upward. If they kept going, they’d be ascending into the mountains.

Just beyond the hills ahead, a gentle-looking range appeared. Part of the Pen-Hanil Mountains—like the spine of a massive beast running through the continent.

"Let’s camp here for the night."

Grida, acting as pathfinder, offered the suggestion. Enkrid agreed. They had spent the whole day on high alert. It wasn’t expected.

Which meant it was wise to rest to maintain optimal condition.

A pathfinder’s call.

And there was no reason to rush the schedule.

"That disease people say is a curse—it doesn’t attack in a day or kill overnight. Takes at least two weeks before it kills you. Unless something’s changed."

She looked at Odinkar and Magrun as if to confirm that. Magrun nodded.

"Yeah. They suffer before dying. There’s even some signs we talk about among ourselves."

"Good. That’s a relief."

Ragna answered this time. Magrun looked at him.

Relief? Because you’re worried about me?

Magrun had never interacted with Ragna personally. When Ragna left, Magrun hadn’t yet proven himself.

"So that means... we still have time to do whatever we’ve put off, right?"

Ragna added.

Magrun, not knowing the Ragna from before, assumed he was always like this.

But could someone this eager and fired up really have left Zaun because he found sword training boring?

Is there something I don’t know?

Magrun wondered. But it was a pointless suspicion.

"...Yeah. Right."

Magrun replied to Ragna, and the group arranged two-person shifts for the night. Enkrid and Ragna would alternate sleeping.

"I hate this kind of stuff."

Odinkar grumbled while checking his gear. In one-on-one combat, he was one of the best in the Zaun family. But he hated chasing or dealing with hidden enemies.

If you weren’t going to draw your sword and fight cleanly, why bother?

That didn’t mean he’d forgotten the basics. He’d learned tracking from Zaun, even if he’d done so half-heartedly.

Enkrid took first watch with Odinkar. They set up packs as makeshift tents and left them open for ventilation.

The two squatted by the entrance, yawning their time away.

Even Enkrid couldn’t just suggest sparring here.

"We shouldn’t be sparring, right?"

Odinkar asked.

Enkrid could’ve chewed him out.

"You serious? Or are you trying to swing your sword with your brain left somewhere else?"

You couldn’t spar properly if your alertness was at its peak.

And if you focused on sparring, your guard would drop. It was a trade-off.

"I know."

"You always ask things you already know. That’s a bad habit. Fix it."

Odinkar had a habit of choosing his words carefully, not because he was afraid of slipping up, but because he hated having to repeat himself.

But Enkrid always understood him, even grasped his intent.

So Odinkar found it easier to speak plainly with him.

"You’ve got a damn annoying way of talking."

"Yeah, that’s true. Say what’s bothering you."

He had a way of cutting straight to the point, making it easier to be roundabout in response.

To realize Odinkar was hesitant, even when he didn’t say it outright—that was a sharp intuition.

Odinkar sighed and finally spoke.

"Unlike that heir holed up inside, Zaun is everything to me."

Of course. Odinkar had always been ready to return home, always showed his pride and reverence for his family.

"So?"

Enkrid nudged him to go on. Odinkar exhaled sharply.

"I’ve got a bad feeling."

"A bad feeling? Go on."

"Just a hunch. Like something’s happened to the family. I know—like Magrun said, we’re not even in the family’s territory yet. We haven’t even crossed into the Empire. Probably won’t until we pass those hills and that range. And even then, it’s not truly imperial territory."

He pointed at the mountain range ahead with his left index finger. It was daytime, and the view was clear.

Not much was known about the Empire’s structure. Even someone raised in Zaun like Odinkar didn’t know the details.

And that wasn’t even his point.

"I just... feel like I need to go protect them."

A mix of belonging and anxiety.

Enkrid didn’t offer any comforting words.

"Feels like I should be where I belong, you know?"

From the sound of it, Odinkar never really wanted to be involved in this mission.

"Ragna Zaun—yeah, I’ve heard the name. But couldn’t someone else have brought him back?"

"Then why did you come?"

Enkrid asked, scribbling in the dirt with a stick. The sharp end drew a few lines—all sword techniques.

"They said no one else could."

"And?"

There was more. He trailed off.

Enkrid knew Odinkar had a habit of saving the important bits for last. You didn’t need long conversations to spot that. Just listen properly—it was obvious.

"The head told me to go."

Half a command, then.

Enkrid could tell.

After that unimportant chat, both drifted into their own thoughts.

A few hours later, their shift ended, and Ragna and Magrun woke up.

"Get some rest. We’ve got a long road ahead."

Magrun said as they switched.

Even if they took a breather, nothing would change what they had to do. Enkrid knew that.

He laid his head on his pack beneath the makeshift tent and closed his eyes—

And knew instantly that he was on a boat.

A familiar ferryman stood before him. At the swaying edge of the boat, a violet lantern scattered light.

Beyond the shimmering purple hue, a gray face and slender jawline came into view.