A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 715: This Bastard

"Do you know the hallmark of an exceptional con artist?"

Kraiss had said that out of the blue.

After a day’s work, the group would occasionally gather around a campfire, roasting chestnuts or walnuts. It was the kind of idle conversation that surfaced during such times.

You could say it was just meaningless chatter he spat out while letting a chestnut cool after it burned his fingers.

"Isn’t it someone whose brain works really damn well?"

Rem had said, tapping his own head while cracking open walnuts with the back of his axe.

Crack. Snap.

With perfect force and angle, the walnut split cleanly without scattering.

Kraiss exaggeratedly shook his head in response, which made Rem scoff. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Then Rem hurled the axe at him.

Of course, Kraiss didn’t die from it—Enkrid, who was sitting beside him, caught the axe in time.

"Thanks for saving my life, Captain."

Kraiss said it casually, and Enkrid nodded back in kind.

"That’s the sixteenth time I’ve saved your sorry ass. Is that really how you treat the man who keeps sparing your life? Can’t you at least peel a chestnut properly?"

"Yes, yes, here it is, sir."

With practiced hands, Kraiss flicked his knife and handed over a perfectly peeled, pale chestnut.

Shinar sat nearby, wrapping walnuts in flower petals before eating them, and Esther quietly nibbled on a few pine nuts, simply watching the others.

Rem retrieved his axe and muttered,

"That bastard’s not even scared anymore."

Ragna, sitting nearby, offered a helpful suggestion,

"If you really want to kill him, it’s better to swing the axe from up close."

"...You crazy bastard. You think I don’t know that?"

Rem snapped back, but it didn’t escalate into a knife fight.

Jaxon was off to the side quietly organizing chestnuts in perfect columns, while Audin was rambling about how they should all thank the gods for granting such delicious bounty.

Enkrid nodded, savoring the sweetness of the roasted chestnuts, and continued listening to Kraiss’s point.

"Smart con men? They end up relying too much on their own brains, getting blindsided, and knocking on heaven’s door. They fall for their own tricks. That’s why exceptional con men don’t trust their brains."

Enkrid couldn’t respond since he was busy chewing on chestnuts and gulping water, but he gave a faint nod.

"Exceptional ones pick their targets well."

That was the crux of Kraiss’s message. The truly sharp con men don’t go after difficult targets.

He added that gamblers think in the same way.

"It’s not about winning the game. It’s about getting the sucker to sit down at the table."

Exactly.

It’s hard to fool a smart person, but easy to trick a naïve one. The hard part is finding the sucker.

And right now, Enkrid was feeling the full truth of that.

"So, did you predict this too?"

Panito—Heskal’s self-proclaimed right hand—asked with a tone like freshly lit firewood just catching flame.

His eyes, his animated gestures, the words spilling between clenched teeth—they all blazed with heat.

But at the core of that heat was jealousy.

Enkrid, however, ignored the tone completely. Even if the man were spitting fire, he’d just sidestep and calmly say, "Ah, so you breathe fire." That was his level of indifference.

Panito raised his right-hand sword high. Whatever he had done to it, the blade rippled like black waves.

SKREEEEEE—

The sword howled.

A cursed sword imbued with an evil spirit.

So—was it an ego-sword? No, perhaps better classified simply as a demonic sword.

"Of course."

Enkrid nodded, and Panito’s eye twitched.

Watching that, Enkrid continued thinking.

If you piece together the events and fold every coincidence into your intent, the answer reveals itself. Scattered beads become a necklace once threaded.

Who gave him that cursed sword? What powers does it hold?

Through multi-faceted deduction and analysis, you can link assumptions to evidence—and find the truth.

"You put your trust in the sword Drmul gave you? The one that suppresses Will and uses evil spirits to restrict your own body’s freedom?"

The phrasing was intentionally vague but detailed enough to unnerve the opponent.

A calculated move to watch his reaction.

Panito flinched visibly. His shoulder even twitched.

He’d proudly shown off his weapon, clearly believing it could win with a single graze.

Even Pell had once carried such a sword. What they’d learned from that was the Will of Rejection.

Pell’s Idol Slayer didn’t work well on knights or quasi-knights who knew how to wield Will. Which meant Panito’s weapon must be something even more dangerous—or more fitting to the current threat.

‘Panito’s skill at best is quasi-knight level, and yet he stepped forward like this.’

And he didn’t seem that scared either. All of this came from loose deductions. Just speculation, yet he’d guessed right.

"How...?"

Panito’s jaw dropped. Rainwater filled his mouth, but he didn’t even think to close it.

"I told you—it’s all going according to plan."

Enkrid spoke while confirming another thing—this man had likely spent most of his life within Zaun. He had never traveled the continent, never been conned, never gambled.

In other words—he was naïve.

"Go ahead. Pull out whatever else you’ve got hidden back there."

That line? Total bluff.

"How... how did you—?"

Panito was shocked again.

"It’s all part of the plan."

Enkrid repeated the line, scoring a huge victory in their psychological duel.

And just like that, two sword-wielders emerged behind Panito—ones that hadn’t even appeared in Enkrid’s monochrome awareness.

More precisely, they were the kind of presence-erasers that made you overlook them even if you looked right at them.

They wore cloaks with deep hoods—each cloak embedded with spell objects implementing a veiling enchantment.

Swordsmen, sure—but their eyes were pitch black. Human in form, but not truly sentient.

One was large, the other small.

Frankly, it was a bit surprising.

But Enkrid had always been skilled at deception—that’s why he liked the Valen-style mercenary sword so much.

"...So, it was all part of the plan."

Because he had decided to fold even coincidence and misfortune into his intent, Enkrid maintained the same tone—and took it one step further.

"I can see a thousand steps ahead while sitting down."

Blatant nonsense.

"Ah—so that’s it!"

Panito’s mouth dropped even wider. You could probably fit a fist in there.

"I can even foresee what will happen tomorrow."

Another absurd statement.

"That can’t be... it’s impossible."

His eyes grew twice as wide as before.

But he did look like he believed it.

"I see it. The future."

Panito’s cheeks trembled. Then he shut his mouth and regained his normal expression.

As gullible as he was, he was still a skilled swordsman. Not so easily broken.

"Still... nothing’s going to change."

Panito spoke, sweeping his arm down.

That simple motion triggered the wave of arrows.

Over fifty bolts launched simultaneously.

A slight head tilt wouldn’t dodge them all—they meant to turn him into a porcupine from head to toe.

Simultaneously, telekinetic hands formed in the air, scattering raindrops as they tried to grab him.

But the moment Panito’s hand dropped—Enkrid was already gone.

If your words gain you an edge, of course you make use of it.

The Lua Gharne-style Tactical Sword uses every environmental element.

And the Valen-style mercenary sword?

Its first rule was: If you can deceive, even the sky can be fooled.

"Panito! Watch out!"

Enkrid shouted while jumping sideways, eyes still closed. His voice was fierce and commanding—just as the arrows flew and the telekinetic grips reached.

Like Tempest Zaun turning his pressure into a greatsword, Enkrid shaped his aura into force.

The aura pressed down on Panito.

A square, unwavering fortress wall.

A pressure built from honesty and unbending will.

To Panito’s eyes, Enkrid had just now shifted weight to his rear foot. A motion signaling an aggressive charge.

Panito’s mind accelerated—death felt near.

That pressure from Enkrid was that overwhelming.

In that high-speed thought process, Panito mustered all his resources.

Block it.

His armor was enchanted to deflect most attacks. That should hold for several strikes.

Then, with the cursed blade from Drmul, he would slash or stab—and the evil spirit embedded in it would plant chaos in his opponent’s mind.

The seed of that chaos would make the enemy see illusions, hear whispers, lose their sense of friend or foe.

That wasn’t all.

The moment their mind was broken, the two shadowy swordsmen behind him would rush in to finish it.

In truth, the most dangerous weapons here weren’t the cursed blade—

It was those two human-shaped golems.

Flash Golems, hand-crafted by a top-tier alchemist.

Come at me.

He was ready.

The moment to respond had come.

"...This bastard."

Panito muttered as the words slipped from his mouth.

FFFT-THTHMP!

All fifty arrows struck the ground.

The telekinetic force lost its target and vanished into the storm.

The two golems, ready to leap, tensed in place.

And at the very moment Panito braced himself for a noble knight’s frontal assault—

BOOM!

Enkrid leapt backward.

The ground beneath him cracked with the force. A raw, brutal burst of power—no, it was a charge in reverse.

The suddenness made it look like he vanished from view.

Everyone was fooled.

And Enkrid—who had just perfectly deceived a complete idiot—rushed straight between the two golems standing guard behind Panito.

If they had known, they would’ve reacted.

But this... this was the kind of deception that, even after seeing it, made you blink once and then curse out loud.

He bluffed with pressure, leapt backward, and swung his sword at full strength.

The first strike took the larger swordsman’s head clean off.

CRACK!

The sound of the blade slicing through the neck was harsh—his outer shell had been incredibly tough.

And since Enkrid had swung with all his might, you’d think the smaller one would have had a chance to react.

But no.

That bastard Enkrid swung his right-hand sword while simultaneously throwing the one in his left.

The moment the big guy’s head fell, the second sword lodged itself in the small one’s skull.

His legs kicked up and his body was sent flying, tumbling backward across the mud.

Thunk. Splash.

Heskal knew Lynox. He knew his techniques, his temperament, even his smallest habits.

Lynox’s skills might be strange, but in combat, he never used trickery.

That was the kind of man he was.

But Enkrid was not.

Deceive.

Enkrid had fully grasped the core of the Valen-style mercenary sword—and he used it perfectly.

He observed the situation with Lua Gharne-style Tactical Sword and exploited the environment.

And with Valen-style swordsmanship, he used ingrained skill to mislead his foes.

“You goddamn con artist!”

Panito shouted.

Enkrid had just taken out the two swordsmen, and now pretended to pause—catching his breath.

Anyone watching would’ve thought it was a brief moment of rest.

So of course... it was another surprise charge.

There were still over ten scalers with excellent supernatural abilities.

‘They can’t use telekinesis without line of sight.’

He had already seen it several times.

"You’ve seen that much—shouldn’t you have figured out their weakness by now?"

If Frokk of the Mad Platoon were here, he’d probably say something like that.

The foundation of Lua Gharne-style Tactical Sword was insight.

Not just a glimpse into the next second—but an ongoing, razor-sharp awareness of the battlefield.

‘And use that awareness exactly when it matters.’

It was deception, exploiting environment and timing.

Until now, Enkrid hadn’t once exploited the scalers’ weak point.

He saved that knowledge for this one attack.

With sudden deceleration and acceleration, he vanished from the scalers’ view.

Even if monsters have excellent reflexes, living eyes are weak against abrupt speed changes.

Enkrid knew this personally—he’d taken a hit from Alexandra using that very trick.

Using that shift in momentum, Enkrid closed in—right up to Panito’s face.

“You crazy bastard!”

Panito panicked and swung his sword upward.

Enkrid was taller. The sense of an incoming downward slash triggered a reflexive move.

Enkrid recognized the weapon.

A sword possessed by an evil spirit.

He couldn’t even afford a graze.

But hadn’t he fought dozens of these before?

He’d already dealt with Onekiller, that devil incarnate.

This was a knockoff by comparison.

His instincts said: You won’t die, even if it hits.

And his cold, calculating brain followed:

‘Still, no reason to let it hit you.’

From above, the descending Three-Iron Sword struck the rising black blade.

It was another tactical move.

He had the strength advantage—and positional superiority.

BOOM!

The blades clashed with an explosive sound.

Like a landslide of boulders crashing into the earth.

The blast blew away raindrops and scattered the storm winds.

But it wasn’t over.

Their blades didn’t separate.

Bind.

Enkrid’s next move was simple.

He pushed the sword downward.

Sure, Panito wore good armor and wielded a powerful weapon.

But what about muscle?

In raw strength, even Rem would admit Enkrid outclassed him.

And now, Will moved with that muscle.

That’s what made knights who’d mastered Will into asymmetrical monsters—

their strength and agility pushed past normal limits.

Panito had the gear, but not the strength.

“Grrgh!”

Panito strained to resist.

But Enkrid’s blade drove across the top of his helmet.

The sword he’d raised to block became his own guillotine.

Enkrid pressed down and crushed it through.

CLANG! CRACK! SHHHKT!

The cursed blade tore through his own helmet.

Even in the rain, sparks flew bright and fierce.

The sword carved through the helm and sliced the top of Panito’s head clean off.

His elbow bent backwards, and from an unarmored joint, a jagged bone burst through.

“You... you...”

Our poor, innocent Panito clung to life a moment longer—even with his head nearly split.

But he had no strength left.

All he could do was glare—eyes full of injustice and betrayal.

Just his eyes were enough.

Even if he hadn’t spoken, the bloody tears pouring from them told the story.

“Heskal’s other victims probably felt the same way.”

Enkrid’s voice was flat.

One of those people Heskal had killed had spent a few joyful days with Enkrid.

Just a few days—and it still made him furious.

If he felt like this, how must the others feel?

Some were even angrier—but didn’t even know why.

SKREEEEEE—!

The evil spirit inside the sword screamed and shot upward.

It coalesced, then vanished—soaring past enemy lines.

Panito’s eyes lost focus, and raindrops pooled in them.

He gasped, choking on his final breath, and muttered:

“Was... this... all... part... of it...?”

Who he was asking—no one knew.

But with that, Panito died.

What remained was a horde of monsters.

“Don’t run. I hate chasing things down.”

Enkrid’s eyes remained closed—yet his sharpened senses perceived even telekinesis.

Which meant...

Creatures like these were laughably easy to deal with.