A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 701: You Know What to Do Without Using Your Head

Enkrid, for the first time, saw a flicker of emotion in the family head's eyes. It looked like worry—or perhaps concern—but the trace of that emotion vanished as quickly as it appeared. So much so that Enkrid couldn’t even be sure he saw it at all.

"You're not coming with me."

The family head spoke again, his voice stripped of emotion like a steel automaton. Ragna flared up in response. Enkrid felt a distinct, simmering anger radiating from him—and he was right. Ragna was furious.

"Are you asking me to take ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) this insult lying down?"

As he spoke, Ragna stepped forward with his left foot—crossing the threshold of the door. That single step carried the weight of unsheathed steel, ready to strike. His fury was more intense than when Rem stole his special rations.

Emotion became force, and force became pressure that filled the corridor outside the room.

The family head didn’t respond to Ragna. He behaved like a man of wisdom. He merely looked silently at Enkrid, urging him wordlessly.

And yet, it looked almost like a desperate plea.

Something’s off.

Enkrid thought as much and nodded to himself inwardly.

If you don’t understand the situation, act first—figure it out later.

If Grida's suspicions were right and the family head was up to something, this might be his chance to find out.

"Ragna, stay here. I’ll be right back."

Enkrid spoke. Ragna, after glaring at the family head in silence, finally nodded.

Only then did the family head start walking, the soft squelching of his steps echoing off the floor. Unlike before, they were not silent. His boots, soaked with rain, scraped and slapped against the hall, playing their own rhythm.

Of course, outside, the symphony of thunder, lightning, and storm raged like a grand orchestra, so one needed trained ears to catch the sound of footsteps amidst the KWA-AAAAH of the storm.

Only a knight would be able to hear them.

Enkrid sensed a quiet relief in the man’s steps.

Not an overt show of emotion—but something subtle, like the kind of warmth Alexandra had once shown with her sword as thanks.

Well, maybe halfway. It could’ve been that—or nothing at all.

As Enkrid followed him out into the storm, the family head spoke up unexpectedly.

KWA-AAAAAH!

Through the waterfall-like downpour, his voice reached Enkrid’s ears.

"Ragna listens well now."

"He has no reason not to."

"He never listened to anyone since he was a child. Even after returning, he seemed unchanged."

"Maybe it’s just that he accepted it. It’s not about me."

"Or maybe he just listens when you speak. How did you manage to soften up my son?"

Soften up? Enkrid had no clue. He paused, then said as he walked:

"I wouldn’t know about that. I just struggled to survive, and one day, Ragna was there swinging his sword beside me."

This time, the family head fell silent, as if choosing his words. With the storm roaring in the background, only their wet, uneven footsteps could be heard.

Then the family head spoke again.

"You're right. You can’t bend a man’s heart by force. Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve tried to overpower him instead. But it’s too late for that now."

Outside the lodging stood Alexandra, cloaked in black. Her face was expressionless. Millestia had been her long-time friend. And now she was dead—for Zaun.

That truth stabbed her heart. So her expression vanished all the more.

Enkrid had now been in Zaun for twelve days. The storm had rolled in, making it impossible to tell if it was day or night.

His goal and thoughts were the same as when he arrived. Nothing had changed. He still held to the idea that there was no need to play the fixer and go around looking for someone.

That someone would come forward in time. Until then, Enkrid’s task was simple.

Protect Anne.

Wait patiently, maintaining his body in good condition.

"Lord!"

Through rain, lightning, and storm, someone shouted.

The calm was over, and the storm had arrived.

CRAAAAAACK!

A white bolt of lightning lit up the world. On the far end, two groups stood facing off.

It was as if an invisible line split them down the middle, and both sides looked moments away from clashing.

Enkrid realized then that the family head stood in front of him, and Alexandra was behind him.

He also realized that these two were among the strongest in Zaun—and if they attacked together, very few could survive.

In other words, Enkrid now stood between the most dangerous blades in Zaun.

***

I will cure this disease.

Anne reaffirmed her resolve.

A disease called a curse had killed her family.

As time passed, the plague spread, and frightened people burned down the slums. Her family, fellow slum-dwellers, burned to death in a fire set by their own.

That was when Anne decided—

Revenge.

Her target was a vague fog.

So she had to first understand. And so she did. She learned, studied, and stepped into the world of alchemy.

Her first target of vengeance became illness and ignorance. And while she hanged some alchemists who experimented on children or created chimeras from human entrails, that wasn’t vengeance—that was just cleaning up.

Still, even if she claimed her pursuit of alchemy was for vengeance, it would be a lie to say she didn’t enjoy it. She loved it.

Maybe it was the whims of Lady Luck—or maybe the reward of effort—but solving problems with a unique insight brought a joy she had never felt before.

Ah. Got it.

Anne felt that joy again now.

She had identified the type of seed spreading through Zaun—and found a solution. Not for everything, but—

She knew the core principle.

To explain it to someone else, she’d have to give a long lecture on the essence and fundamental nature of something called “essence.” So, it was hard to explain. But she had something to tell Ragna.

The moment had come to lift the curse on this family.

Although she also had to tell him there were parts beyond her ability.

She raised her head to speak—and someone spoke first in an unfamiliar voice.

"I still don’t get it."

Anne's room was too small for a person to enter easily—but the window was wide enough for a face, a hand, or something else.

And the voice came from outside that window.

"Why the hell should you be the one to make me act?"

RUMBLE, KRAKOOOM.

Even amid thunder, storm, and pounding rain, the voice struck her ears clearly.

CLANG!

The window frame snapped, and the entire window ripped off. The man tore it off barehanded and continued.

"Not that I care, though."

A man with wet blond hair clinging to his face aimed something at her. It was like a short spear, tipped with a sharp point—shorter than a proper spear handle.

Even in the raging storm, Anne recognized his face. She had seen it all the way here.

Chiseled jaw, blue eyes, short blond hair—distinctive. She knew him.

Odinkar.

Huh?

Anne’s eyes widened in shock—but Odinkar, expressionless, simply threw the thing in his hand. She couldn’t even see his arm move.

She just knew he did something—

CLANG!

—and something else happened in return.

As Odinkar ripped out part of the window and threw his spear, a greatsword flew in from behind and smashed it aside.

CRACK!

The thrown spear bounced off and stuck into the wall.

Anne felt someone yank her arm.

Of course—it was Ragna. He pulled her behind him and spoke.

"And who the hell are you?"

Anne realized she’d been holding her breath.

Huff, huff, huff.

Catch your breath first.

The man at the window looked at Ragna with blank eyes.

Anne’s gaze dropped to the man’s fingertips clinging to the window.

They were blackened.

That was what happened after years of handling poison.

"That's not Odinkar."

Anne was intelligent. Her mind worked properly even now.

She hadn't smelled any potion on Odinkar during their travels. This one was a fake.

The imposter’s lips twitched.

"Oh?"

A short gasp—then he asked again.

"How did you figure it out?"

"That stink is hard to miss."

Ragna answered in her place. He had realized it immediately.

The vibe was completely different from Will’s. Not to mention the actual stench.

Ragna stared at the man calmly without flinching—but didn’t charge. More precisely, he couldn’t.

There are many of them.

The enemy wasn’t alone. Others were hiding nearby, waiting for an opening.

How did they get in?

Someone must’ve opened the door for them.

No use thinking about that now. He shoved the thought aside.

CRAAAACK.

A white bolt lit the room and window. Behind the intruder stood several winged monsters—at least five, by a quick glance.

Didn’t the captain mention seeing a unique creature in Oara?

He remembered something like that. Those in front of him seemed to be that.

A unique-type monster—ones that used Will.

Ragna, wielding a greatsword, judged that the space worked against him. Even as he made that judgment, he thrust his blade.

Pivoting on his left foot, he twisted his waist and stabbed through the window.

THWACK!

He aimed to smash the man’s head—but the enemy dodged, and only his shoulder was grazed. Worse, the man twisted away mid-blow, so the shoulder bone didn’t break, and the arm wasn’t severed.

Partly because he dodged—and partly because his skin was unusually tough.

Ragna knew it from one swing.

"That hurt, bastard."

The man muttered, then splashed a yellow liquid from his hand.

Ragna had already pulled back, scooped Anne up, and leapt into the hallway.

SSSSSSHHH!

Where the liquid landed, the desk and floor melted.

"You think I’ll let you get away?"

The man’s voice echoed behind them.

As Ragna opened the door, he sensed something falling from above.

Both attackers aimed solely at Anne, uncaring for their own lives.

He didn’t even look—but Ragna perceived the monsters’ movement.

Merging his senses, he cast a net around his body to predict their actions.

Two owlbears, arms spread and claws bared.

They charged like ballista-fired arrows.

Ragna cradled Anne in his left arm and swung his sword with the right.

Holding his breath, he burst Will.

The sword, driven by impossible speed and power, slashed through the incoming monsters.

SPLAT, CRACK!

One monster flew into the wall and tumbled down.

One’s skull split; the other was cleaved from chest to jaw, a huge gash down its body. Black blood gushed, pooling on the floor.

Rain poured in, mixing with the black blood.

Even though he dodged sideways by instinct, Ragna caught a choking stench in the air.

This is bad.

His instincts warned.

Anne, unable to handle the speed, stuck her head out and vomited.

"Ugh!"

The yellow bile splashed onto Ragna’s boots.

That burst of speed was too much for an untrained body.

Anne gritted her teeth and forced out a word through the dizziness that felt like dying.

"Poison!"

Just one word. That’s all she could manage.

Ragna had just realized it too.

Those two monsters were coated in something.

It was as if they bathed in poison.

He’d inhaled it—and now felt his limbs losing strength.

Will began fighting off the poison inside him. Natural.

But Will couldn’t neutralize all poisons—just endure them longer.

Still, this poison felt tailor-made for knights. It spread fast through his body.

His legs gave out. He hadn’t even moved, but his strength was gone.

"Think knights are immune to every drug?"

They were escaping down the hallway. The Odinkar lookalike stepped out from Anne’s room behind them and spoke.

It had Odinkar’s face—but the core was someone else.

"Not a chance. Don’t get arrogant just because you’re a knight. You pompous, deluded fools."

Ragna stared silently.

The man’s limbs were thicker now. His torso had swelled.

He wasn’t a stuffed doll. Rain didn’t cause this swelling.

He’d modified his body.

Raising his darkened fingers, he pointed at Ragna.

"You’ll crawl, coughing blood, begging for your life."

He acted like someone who already knew he’d won.

He didn’t laugh—but his voice made it sound like a fact.

Ragna wasn’t one to think too much—unlike Rem or Enkrid.

So he didn’t bother wondering why or how this happened.

He just knew what needed to be done. That was his talent.

"If I start fighting—find the captain and go."

Ragna spoke.

If this was the last blaze of his life, and that blaze saved this woman—then so be it.

If the last thing he left behind was Anne, he’d be satisfied. That was the thought.

Short life or long—it didn’t matter. No regrets.

He was ready.

"What the hell are you saying? You crazy man. Take this."

Anne wiped her mouth roughly, pulled a thumb-sized pill from her pouch, and shoved it in Ragna’s mouth.

As Ragna obediently held the pill, Anne asked:

"If I stop that bastard’s tricks, you can protect me and kill them all, right?"

Ragna nodded at her boldness and answered.

"That’s the easy part."

The fake Odinkar frowned.

What the hell are those two even saying?

"Do neither of you want a clean death?"

Should he torture them until they regretted running their mouths?

He spoke—and Ragna felt the strength returning to his limbs. The Will inside him quieted.

The antidote worked instantly.

Normally, antidotes are many times harder than poisons—but this one worked.

Any trained alchemist would say:

Anne’s skill was at least ten times better than that of the man before them.

It was genius versus mediocrity.

A child against a trained adult soldier.

Ragna didn’t know any of that. He just raised his sword.

It was time to do the one thing he did best.

Even if he didn’t use his head—Ragna always knew exactly what needed to be done. Instinctively.