A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 687: Swordsmanship of Calculation

Nightfall came quickly in the mountains. The early twilight faded fast, and soon the sky above was lit by the moon and stars, taking the sun’s place.

They weren’t sprinting flat-out, but they were running at a decent pace.

Whenever the terrain evened out, their speed doubled. Their steps grew faster, and the moon and stars overhead stretched into streaks above them.

Screeeech!

A wild boar-like monster they passed along the way flinched in shock, gave chase briefly, then gave up.

Had it been more persistent, it might’ve experienced the rare sensation of its intestines spilling across the earth—but the creature was lucky.

Grida raised her hand over her sword’s grip, then lowered it. She decided, in that brief instant, that killing a monster here and spreading the scent of blood would attract other creatures. Better not.

Running on flat land almost felt like a break.

True to Magrun’s earlier words, the path veered into rougher terrain.

Jagged stones jutted from the ground, and tree roots—looking like natural traps—were scattered around, brushing against their feet.

They could have tripped someone. But they were knights.

None of them were hindered by such obstacles.

Anne, the only one who couldn’t keep up at this pace, had already swallowed two small pills and fallen into a sleep that made her seem practically dead, slumped against Ragna’s back—nothing to worry about.

Swish! Crack! Thwack!

At the front, Magrun swung his sword, slicing through a few branches. The severed limbs flew backward.

He avoided a few roots and chose solid footing, and when they encountered a boulder up to their waists, not one of them touched it—they simply leapt over.

From below, the incline might’ve drawn sighs. But they passed without hesitation.

As they ran, Enkrid sank into thought. Doing two things at once had long since become second nature—dodging obstacles while thinking was easy now.

His eyes, adapted to the dark, navigated with just the light of the moon and stars. Unless he was sprinting full-speed, adjusting his footing mid-stride wasn’t difficult.

This, in fact, was the perfect time to think about swordsmanship. Or so Enkrid thought.

Like reaching out instinctively when something flies toward you, or like a dried meat vendor turning skewers over a fire.

If he could apply Will that naturally, then even when reacting to surprise attacks, his strikes would carry power.

He’d already realized this once. But unless he put it into practice repeatedly, it wouldn’t become instinctive.

Enkrid knew himself. Just recalling a thought wasn’t enough—it had to be drilled in.

Which is why he welcomed this kind of surprise attack.

Lost in thought, his instincts flared.

Something’s coming.

At the same time he sensed it, Ragna—carrying Anne—suddenly shifted his stride, kicking out sideways and changing direction.

Thud! The ground where he’d stomped caved in, forming a shallow pit.

Even with that much force, his boots wouldn’t break. Their soles were reinforced with steel, and the outer layers were made of troll leather.

From Enkrid’s perspective, he saw the customized boots—commissioned specially by Kraiss—kick up soil in slow motion.

Then something long and black shot through the gap.

“Ambush!”

Ragna dodged first. Grida’s shout came next. Enkrid, right behind Ragna, unsheathed Penna and swung it at the exact moment Grida shouted.

Slice!

The fairy-forged blade, famed for its cutting edge, slashed diagonally through the shadow.

An arm.

Enkrid knew as he struck. His dark-adapted eyes caught it in the moonlight.

A forearm, covered in dense black scales.

He could also tell by the sensation in his hands.

It’s tough.

Even with an ordinary sword, he would have cut it—but not as cleanly.

A thick, black-scaled arm. That was the information his eyes and touch gave him.

There was no scream. Instead, dark blood sprayed through the air—deliberately aimed at Enkrid’s face by the flailing stump.

His high-speed cognition ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ caught the intent immediately.

It’s turning a severed limb into an attack.

This wasn’t a tactic ordinary monsters would use. Their instinct when injured was usually to retreat or flail.

“Black!”

Grida shouted again, but Enkrid had already avoided the blood spray and darted left. Ragna had gone right.

Enkrid used the frog-step he’d learned from Lua Gharne, bouncing off the ground and swinging Penna horizontally this time.

Attack shines in an instant.

Every move was imbued with Will, clean and efficient—almost like a preset motion.

The blade, gleaming like moonlight, tore through the air in a shining arc and cut down everything in its path.

The night’s darkness, and the black-scaled Scaler hidden within it.

Splatter!

The monster, half-severed, collapsed on its side, gushing black blood and entrails.

Enkrid held his stance after the strike. The rest of the group paused.

"Look at these bastards.”

Grida muttered, staring forward.

No scent, no presence easily detected. But from the darkness, vertical, beast-like pupils revealed them.

Dozens of pitch-black eyes floated, each with a vertical slit glowing faintly.

Ssssssshhh...

Their howls spread from the hidden underbrush and beneath thick tree roots. Another Scaler pack.

Enkrid assessed the path they’d traveled and the group blocking the way ahead.

Not magic, not curses—just Scalers.

Fewer in number than before.

“Watch the ones with black scales. Some have special abilities.”

Grida warned.

Perhaps those abilities served in place of magic or spells.

The one Enkrid had just slain—

It was tougher than the rest.

Was that all? Probably not.

Did they send these monsters in a hurry because we deviated from the expected route?

Then how did they know where they were?

Simple. They observed them.

How?

How do you track enemy movements on a battlefield?

You send scouts.

The enemy must’ve done the same.

If they’d sent obvious scouts, they’d be noticed. So perhaps they used unpredictable, unnoticeable methods?

A few clues clicked together. His mind reflexively followed the chain of cause and effect.

The bat monster from the first day.

Bats navigate with sound.

If the goal was just to observe, that’d be enough. And if someone knew this terrain and had sharp eyes, they could even track them by the sound of snapping branches.

Thinking about it—predicting their path might’ve failed, but intercepting them in real-time? That was easy enough.

That’s why they sent the Scalers here.

Their goal is to delay us.

They weren’t just aiming for Anne this time. The hostility toward her remained, but now they were more focused on blocking the way.

Delays were not strategically beneficial.

“Go ahead.”

That was Enkrid’s decision.

At his words, Grida asked,

“You?”

“I’ll catch up. Leave some traces behind.”

Asking if he’d be okay would be pointless. Even if the enemy had specialized monsters with black scales—

This side has a specialized knight.

Grida thought that and nodded at Magrun. He took the lead, and Ragna left without even turning back.

His posture was clear—there was no reason to worry, nothing to consider.

Would the Scaler pack split? No. When Enkrid stopped, so did they.

Had the enemy anticipated this split? Who knew.

They were still too far behind the curtain to make that judgment.

So for now, he’d focus on what was in front of him.

Enkrid faced the group blocking the path, and with a hint of enjoyment, said,

“Let’s play.”

If his enemies had intelligence, they’d have felt a chill.

Maybe the monsters did too. Who could say?

Shing, chiiing!

He sheathed Penna and drew the Three-Iron Sword.

The blades of True Silver and Black Gold jostled, each vying to be drawn first.

“Whoa, easy.”

As Enkrid calmed the two blades, the enemies surged, mistaking it for an opening.

They closed in from both flanks. Enkrid struck them down, one after another.

On the right, he slashed upward with True Silver toward the sky. On the left, he brought Black Gold down in a heavy cleave.

Shnk, slice!

As if wings had sprouted from their backs, the Scalers were split vertically, blood spraying as their bodies fell.

The moonlight caught on Enkrid’s smile—smooth and effortless.

“Let’s keep going.”

It was maddening, as if he could almost grasp something—but not quite.

As he spoke and lifted his sword above his head, two black-scaled Scalers reached toward him.

They were psychokinetics. He felt invisible threads wrapping around his limbs.

Stronger than the manticore?

No—about the same.

That was the extent of it.

Not worth his attention. He could tear through it.

Crackle.

There was no sound, but it felt like that as Enkrid broke through the psychic threads with sheer force.

He didn’t even rush at the enemies who used it.

Instead, he calmly slashed and stabbed the nearby monsters one by one.

Left foot forward—heavy cleave in midguard stance. Then a long forward thrust with his rear right foot.

Thunk, stab!

Sensing three lines of killing intent from behind, he pivoted and slashed backward. Three strikes shattered their wooden spears.

Sometimes fast enough to blur. Other times slow and deliberate.

Only as fast or slow as needed.

Defense like waves. Offense like lightning.

But... must they be separate?

Why divide attack and defense?

At the level of a high knight, swordsmanship becomes seamless. So he simply fought that way.

Even as he thought it, his body responded.

A psychokinetic tried to bind his sword, while another thrust a long wooden spear from the side.

Its tip was dark—poisoned, clearly.

It’s not about training or skill.

Enkrid reshaped an earlier concept.

He’d once divided swordsmanship into Finisher, Sustain, and Versatile—and then into Skill and Training.

He changed that.

It’s about Sensation and Calculation—not Skill and Training.

That felt more accurate. And even if someone focused more on one, the other would naturally follow.

If Pell couldn’t calculate, Rophod would beat him easily. But if Rophod lacked Pell’s instincts, he’d lose in a single strike.

As he refined his thoughts, his twin blades moved as one—not separate techniques, but seamless flow.

Each repetition brought refinement. Each strike improved over the last.

What I’m doing now is calculation.

He assessed possibilities, determined the highest probability, and acted.

It all happened as naturally as breathing.

I was arrogant.

They say high knights use Will instinctively.

It looks effortless, but it’s repetition beneath repetition.

Natural use of Will, more swordsmanship, and more repetition. That’s what it is.

Even now, he could see where he was lacking.

Swordsmanship of Calculation.

He could do it now—but what of instinctive swordsmanship?

The Mad Platoon told him to hide his specialty.

But Enkrid chose to gain another one instead.

If anyone saw him, they’d call it madness.

Even Rem might.

But despite the wandering thoughts, his blade never faltered.

A knight is calamity—cuts through hundreds alone.

Enkrid made that old continent’s proverb a reality, carving through the monsters.

Not a scratch on him.

He didn’t even bother looking back.

The moment he deemed it over, he turned and followed after his companions.

All the Scaler pack had done was delay them slightly—and give Enkrid a bit of live training.