A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 691: I Refuse

"A sword," he said.

A curt answer.

"Artifact?" Enkrid asked again. From the name alone, and the atmosphere surrounding it, it was obvious this wasn’t some ordinary object.

He’d heard it was something Ragna came to retrieve. That it was in the family head’s possession. That it wouldn’t be easily given up.

Thinking it through, there had to be some sort of condition to receive something called Sunrise—some proof required.

That much was clear from how things were unfolding.

Would Kraiss have begged for a peek if he were here?

It was obviously not the kind of thing one could see for a handful of gold coins.

"It’s a family heirloom, passed down for generations," Ragna said.

“...You’re taking a family heirloom and returning to the Border Guard?” Enkrid asked.

"Yes."

There wasn’t a shred of hesitation in Ragna. His tone was no different from when he’d simply said sword.

Enkrid was aware that he had a bit of an odd personality—stubborn and single-minded, sure. To some people, that probably made him seem eccentric.

But not like this bastard.

This one was definitely crazy.

Taking a family heirloom and walking back to the Border Guard? Who would allow that?

Unconsciously, Enkrid’s gaze sharpened. Catching it, Ragna spoke.

"That’s offensive. Why are you looking at me like you look at Rem?"

As he spoke, water poured down with a splash—over his hair, shoulders, streaming across his body. He’d already stripped during the conversation and was scooping up water and splashing it over himself as he talked.

Enkrid also poured water over himself in reply. Dark water flowed past his feet. He hadn’t washed properly in days, and this was a refreshing moment.

"Think carefully about what you just said."

Ragna answered immediately.

"I don’t see the problem."

Enkrid shook his head, then gave up halfway and muttered with bitter amusement,

"A bunch of madmen. No wonder they call us the Mad Order."

Ragna might’ve ignored a remark like that in the past, out of sheer apathy. But the Ragna of now was trying to understand what he wanted to leave behind. So he couldn’t just let such words slide.

Even when life had felt dull, there were always certain things he couldn’t ignore. Words that just stuck in your gut.

And what Enkrid had said was exactly that kind of remark. So, just as he had been taught, Ragna provoked in return.

"Isn’t that name because you go around breaking women's hearts?"

Enkrid’s gaze drifted to the Tri-Iron Sword propped up in the corner. A light warm-up after washing would be perfect.

Ragna leaned back against the edge of the large wooden tub, lifting his chin with exaggerated arrogance.

"At least you left behind one legend—Destroyer of Hearts."

Even though he wasn’t Ragna’s mother, Enkrid couldn’t help but feel a tinge of admiration at how much the kid had grown.

He’s gotten better at provoking people than before.

But that didn’t mean he was any better with a sword.

Could Ragna come out unscathed from waves and flashes of steel? Was this the right moment to test the insights he'd gained during the journey?

Yes. Enkrid decided.

There was no special reason. He just felt like it.

Objectively, it was insane. They were supposed to be washing up before a meal.

But Enkrid had just seen both Ragna’s father and mother again. He was stirred—put simply, his blood was boiling.

Splash.

Enkrid pulled his hand out from under the water. Using the water as a sheath and his hand as a blade, he extended his fingers straight and tensed them, as if forming a blade with his palm.

Water droplets scattered, steam filled the bath, and cool air drifted lightly through it all. Enkrid’s hand cut downward, drawing a straight vertical line.

"You crazy bastard."

"You crazy bastard."

Ragna murmured back a fragment of thought and raised his hand to meet Enkrid’s.

Smack!

Water burst outward in all directions from the collision.

Ragna stared into blazing blue eyes.

Why attack so suddenly? He didn’t care. Didn’t even want to know.

This was how this man always was. And that was probably why he couldn’t bring himself to dislike him.

Still the same now.

Enkrid lived each day as if he might die tomorrow. That perspective—seeing life through that lens—was what Ragna had learned most from him.

A day never wasted, no matter the circumstance.

That was the life Ragna was chasing now.

What do I want?

He didn’t know. Maybe he’d never know. But does not knowing mean you have to stop?

"Then stumble forward without knowing. Do what you can now."

That was what Enkrid always said. Not with words, but in action. In his attitude.

And now, Ragna accepted that message and spoke.

"Let’s dye the bath red."

Enkrid responded.

"With your blood, I assume?"

Expressionless, Ragna refuted him.

"No."

***

The raucous, messy bathing session came to an end.

Once they emerged, shook the dust from their clothes, and set them aside, fresh ones were laid out by the attendants.

"What the hell were you two doing in there? I said go wash, not..." 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

Grida muttered while squeezing water from her soaked hair with one hand.

It was a fair question from her point of view.

Ragna’s bangs were sliced like they’d been torn apart. Enkrid had a blue bruise swelling on his cheek from a bad hit.

"Talking."

"Water play."

Their answers didn’t match, but there was no need for further inquiry.

Enkrid gave a half-hearted answer as he inspected his clothes. Gray trousers made from tightly woven outer fabric, with a soft inner lining. A beige shirt of coarse material.

His gauntlets and gambeson were packed separately—green innerwear crafted by a master druid of the Fairyfolk. His swordbelt and gear remained strapped to his body.

No one commented. In the Zaun household, carrying a weapon at all times was routine.

Even in the kitchen, many wore dual swords. If you were a guest, wearing a sword was expected.

Anne had also changed into a loose dress-like outfit and slung a bag at her waist.

She couldn’t tie her wet hair yet, so she shook it out, letting it fall to her shoulders. Brushing it a few times with her fingers, she took a deep breath.

She was here with a purpose. She would bring it up during the meal, which naturally made her nervous.

"Let’s go," said Grida as she led the group again.

The smell that hit them upon reaching the dining room was rich and tangy.

They hadn’t eaten properly in a while—expectations were high. Once inside, Enkrid tilted his head slightly.

Among the people seated at the wide oval table, one face was familiar.

Too much time had passed for him to recall the name immediately, but he was certain it was someone he knew.

Enkrid searched his memory.

"Ray?"

The man recognized Enkrid as well. His eyes widened in surprise, then he furrowed his brow.

"...I never told you my name. Enkrid of the Border Guard."

His initial surprise gave way to incredulity, and the words slipped out without thinking.

Brown eyes. Unremarkable features. He had once visited the Border Guard with a rapier at his side. He had told Enkrid to come with him.

That sharp-eyed face was memorable. Despite the fierce eyes, his overall look gave a strangely gentle impression.

As the memories came back, Enkrid recalled how fast and long his arms were.

"Hey there," Enkrid said casually, raising his right hand in greeting.

"I don’t recall us being on friendly terms."

Given the years that had passed, even remembering the man was impressive.

"Was it? My memory’s a bit hazy."

He answered honestly. The man opened and closed his mouth a few times before replying.

"Fair enough. It’s something one might forget."

He had already heard of Enkrid’s recent exploits. He was surprised to meet him here, but not clueless.

What the hell are you doing here?

The question lingered, but he knew what Enkrid had done since becoming a knight.

I thought the stories were exaggerated...

But nothing about Enkrid looked inflated. That was surprising in itself. Still, there was nothing to say about it.

Not everything in life goes as expected.

He considered himself good at predictions, but he wasn’t a prophet.

Still, it’s impressive.

Enkrid wasn’t just any knight. His level seemed quite high. Then again, he didn’t trust his own eye enough to say more.

"Well then, everyone’s here. Let’s eat," said the family head.

The long-lost son brings guests home...

The man at the table looked over Ragna.

So he’s the Zaun kid, huh?

Even back then, his talent had stood out.

Came back following his son, I see.

He could guess the process, if not the purpose.

Life truly was unpredictable.

He’d once believed this romantic dreamer would drown in despair. Never imagined they’d meet again here.

"Seems like you know each other?"

Ragna’s mother stood to greet the guest.

"He came to the city long ago and tried to convince me to leave with him," Enkrid answered simply, recalling the memory.

"He makes a habit of that sort of thing," Alexandra said with a shrug, motioning toward a seat. The family head sat first.

Then the sharp-eyed man. Ragna sat across from the family head, Anne next to him, then Enkrid. Grida sat beside Alexandra. Magrun was not present.

As Enkrid took his seat, he asked,

"That sort of thing?"

The man didn’t bother hiding his identity.

"I’m a recruitment officer for the Empire."

"A recruiter?"

"I roam the continent, offering special proposals to talented individuals."

Enkrid remembered the time he was invited to leave.

To avoid misunderstanding, the recruiter clarified:

"What I offered you wasn’t based on combat prowess—I saw your mind and your people skills. I wanted you as my successor."

He had a knack for knowing what to say. That was why the Empire had entrusted him with such a role.

He offered what Enkrid might be curious about, making sure there were no illusions.

Enkrid didn’t mind. He’d never thought himself talented.

He’d known since the day he got stabbed in the gut by a genius child, barely a few days after picking up a sword.

"Strange kind of fate. Let’s eat."

The family head gestured. No one stood on ceremony.

Enkrid tore into a well-roasted turkey leg. Grida sprinkled powdered spices over cooked meat from the side.

Tasting the juicy, savory meat, Enkrid mimicked her.

Maybe it was a Northern style, or the way things were done in Zaun—they sprinkled ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) spice powder over lamb.

It was a mix of spicy, sweet, and tangy seasonings.

Not bad.

The portions were large, meat-heavy. As expected.

People here trained with swords all day long.

He’d seen it on the way in—stone buildings, personal training grounds, and a huge clearing in front of the manor.

People probably gather there often.

Some even wandered around with blunted practice swords.

Naturally, their meals leaned toward meat. But the table wasn’t unbalanced—there were egg salads, greens with olive oil and vinegar, cheese, and more.

"It’s not liquor, but it’ll give you a jolt," Ragna said, offering a yellow-hued drink.

Enkrid took a sip from the copper cup. A tart scent filled his nose, rushed to his head, and the flavor of wild berries grown in the mountains spread through his mouth.

"It’s vinegar fermented and diluted from yellow raspberries. Only grows on cliff faces nearby."

"It was supposed to be a private conversation, and yet you brought outsiders," the recruiter said, barely eating.

"They’re fine to hear it," the family head replied immediately, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"Truly?"

"Of course."

After a pause, the recruiter began.

"From this point forward, what I say is a proposal from His Imperial Majesty, the Great Emperor. Become a Shield Duke, Tempest Zaun."

Enkrid listened in silence. He didn’t know the context, but even hearing “Emperor of the Empire” didn’t shock him.

He had already guessed this man's origins long before he revealed he was a recruiter.

Either the southern empire or the northern one—if not, he wouldn’t have made the offer to begin with.

They must’ve spent years scouring the central continent from both ends.

They’d probably poached more than a few talents.

So this was no surprise. Anyone familiar with the continent’s power dynamics could predict this.

What did surprise him, though, was the faint scent he now caught from the man.

A strange smell.

The scent of a mage.

It wasn’t thick or sweet, but unmistakable. And all the ambushes they’d faced recently had come from magic users.

He hadn’t even gotten around to telling the family head yet—but it was true.

And the family head replied:

"I refuse."

It was blunt, absolute. So lacking in emotion, it almost seemed insincere.