A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 727: Let’s Have a Sparring Match

"What, you want me to kneel too?"

Ragna furrowed his brow and spoke as Enkrid stared at him silently.

Enkrid shook his head.

One by one, those who had been kneeling—starting with the family head—rose to their feet.

The gloomy weather passed, and the sun came out.

With not a cloud in the sky, the bright sunlight would gently dry the soaked earth.

Still, not every trace left on the ground would disappear.

Enkrid had stepped forward with resolve, ensuring that no one died behind him.

But that didn’t mean no one died at all.

Heskal died, and so did those who followed him, along with others Enkrid had killed.

From what he heard, the representative of the Hunter’s Village had also been replaced.

After all, the dead can’t represent a village.

Apparently, Kato chased someone down and finished them off.

Not that Enkrid cared either way.

There were empty places left by the dead.

Some people mourned.

Some were angry.

Some said they should be glad to have survived.

It wasn't for Enkrid to judge their feelings as right or wrong.

Everyone heals in their own way.

Enkrid had gotten up, but he couldn’t say he was in peak condition yet.

He was still recovering.

Rest and recovery might seem the same, but they’re different.

‘I've rested enough by now.’

Now was the time to focus on recovery.

Simply put, rest is passive, while recovery is active.

Sleeping and lying down are rest.

Eating and lightly moving your body are recovery.

Moreover, Enkrid’s body, having been reborn through training as a regeneration-type physique, healed faster the more he moved.

So after getting up, Enkrid spent two days eating, drinking, and resting while avoiding any intense sparring.

He refrained from swinging his sword, focusing instead on muscle stretching and light jogging.

Of course, what Enkrid considered "light jogging" would make a normal person wonder if he had a death wish.

He spent half the day jogging slowly.

"You eat like a beast."

Anahera, being of the giant race, was no stranger to large appetites.

Even she looked impressed as she watched Enkrid eat.

The dining table, which seated eight, was packed with food.

Today’s main course was pork, steamed until tender, accompanied by steamed vegetables.

Enkrid ate all of it without hesitation.

He didn’t eat in a rush—just steadily and continuously.

As a result, mealtime took twice as long as usual.

He was moving slowly but steadily, never stopping.

"Drink this. It'll help."

Anne, seated at the same table, had just finished her modest portion.

Enkrid took the medicine bottle she handed him and downed every drop without hesitation.

It was bitter and astringent.

But he didn’t frown like a child.

Anne commented, watching him:

"Seriously, is someone chasing you? Why do you look so pressed?"

Apparently, steady motion can still look rushed to others.

As Enkrid chewed with his mouth full and couldn’t reply, Ragna, who was also devouring his meal, answered instead.

"He probably wants to recover quickly and get back to it. Mostly swordplay, I imagine."

"So you’re saying he’s eager to train again? Ugh."

Anne sounded exasperated, but to Enkrid, it was only natural.

‘I’ve learned a lot.’

There were so many new realizations.

He had to organize them in his mind—but he couldn’t do that without moving.

He had to try them himself and set his own milestones.

Wavebreaker Sword, Blade of Coincidence—his thoughts floated between techniques.

He’d sorted out much of it theoretically.

He also had an overflowing desire to further explore the use of Will.

But all that had to wait until his body was fully recovered.

Rush the process, and you'll end up misaligned.

What mattered now was taking things slowly and steadily.

"A commendable attitude."

Anahera, who had already eaten separately, still hovered at the table like a guard and said this.

"Why are you here?"

Ragna asked, looking at her.

Anahera wasn’t one to hide her feelings.

She was blunt and honest.

"I feel bad for trying to kill you.

So I’ll do whatever you ask.

Just say the word.

If you want, I can even spend the night with you.

Yeah, I mean exactly what you're thinking.

It’s not every day you get to share a night with a charming giantess."

"I’ll pass."

Enkrid swallowed his food and responded.

His answer was like a lightning bolt.

"Well, I said what I needed to say.

Let me know if you need anything."

Anahera turned and walked off.

She probably wasn’t the only one feeling that way.

That’s why there were so many people lingering around the estate, unable to speak.

Some even wandered just outside the house for no clear reason.

One little kid came crying to apologize.

Another—who had used Ail Caraz-style martial arts—pretended to be proud, saying he’d make the same choice again.

Enkrid told him, if you're really sorry, plant your head on the ground and apologize.

The kid did exactly that.

So pure.

That was what Zaun was made of.

Enkrid found himself repeating a thought he’d had during battle.

“Shouldn’t you take care of yourself before jumping into danger? Why did you do that?”

Ragna’s scolding tone mixed gratitude and embarrassment.

It had been two days since Enkrid woke up.

Ragna really couldn’t hide his emotions.

He should’ve just said thank you.

Enkrid considered telling him to bow and say thanks, but let it go.

Ragna seemed genuinely curious.

Enkrid rested his forked arm on the table and replied.

"I’d make the same choice again."

"Why, though?"

Should he explain his convictions?

Say it was for an oath?

Because he had the power to enforce his will?

They were all true, but there was another reason.

Even during that moment, he had activated Lua Gharne-style tactical swordplay.

He calculated the environment and ran every scenario in his head.

The conclusion was this:

"I trusted Anne."

He said it casually.

Anne looked up at Enkrid.

Ragna’s eyebrows twitched, then stilled.

Was Enkrid’s thinking on another level?

Not quite.

He simply viewed things from a different angle.

That’s why his thoughts naturally branched that way.

If he stepped forward, Zaun wouldn’t fracture.

Ragna wouldn’t have to raise his blade against his own father.

‘If my body could hold out just a little longer, Zaun would have tried to save me with everything it had.’

He had heard and seen as much.

Milezcia, the healer, had tremendous skill.

She must have left behind rare herbs or potions.

Zaun was legendary.

Surely they had treasures.

Lynox had supposedly hoarded relics from his days roaming the continent.

There had to be medicine and artifacts.

If he could prevent Zaun’s collapse, he could use them.

With Anne around, she would’ve chosen what he needed.

"Drmul called it a disease. If it was a disease, then Anne would cure it."

It sounded like complete, unshakable trust.

Not a trace of calculation.

Anne’s cheeks turned red.

Raban’s disciples had always been wary of one another.

And Raban himself never gave praise.

If he had lived, he probably would’ve tried to kill Anne.

So she'd rarely been acknowledged for her ability.

But now, the central pillar of the Mad Platoon and master of the Border Guard Region had staked his life on that belief in her.

Her heart trembled.

"How shameless.

Still, no thanks.

I’ve already got Ragna."

“...What are you even talking about?”

Anne cleared her throat and turned her head—to her lover, of course.

"How are you feeling?"

"No more coughing. No more blood."

"Then why didn’t you say anything sooner, dummy?"

By the time Enkrid had conquered the final stages of Drmul’s disease, Ragna had finally told Anne about his symptoms.

Anne’s reaction was not what you’d expect.

"Before the coughing, what happened? Did you eat something weird?"

Not flustered at all.

She was like a warrior on the battlefield—this was her domain.

She knew the Mad Platoon. She knew Ragna.

She had checked his condition multiple times during the journey to Zaun.

There were no signs of terminal illness.

Sure, she didn’t know every disease on the continent, but people rarely just dropped dead without any warning signs.

And Ragna had coughed blood.

Anne questioned him in detail.

Ragna admitted he’d fainted a few times while experimenting with manipulating his Will.

"Did you feel chills or fever?"

"My head felt warm for two days."

Was this guy numb? Or half-insane?

Anne was stunned, but she got the picture.

"This shift in Will—does it put strain on your body?"

"It was a bit much, yeah."

"Did your throat hurt?"

"It did."

What even is this guy?

Anne gave him a look.

Ragna reflected.

Maybe he’d been a little impatient because Enkrid was growing at such a surprising pace.

Yeah. That was it.

He'd recklessly charged forward, despite the difficulty of altering Will.

"Eat. And rest for a full day. No talking."

Ragna was never one for many words.

He obeyed, and even though he coughed again, the pain was lighter.

No more blood.

He seemed fully recovered now.

Come to think of it—during the final battle, when he burst his Will and killed that old man with three eyes, blood had surged from his throat.

"Next time you're sick, come straight to me.

I’m Remed Omnia, practically an elixir in human form."

"Got it."

With that dry tone, Ragna patted her on the head and added:

"I want to stay by your side too.

So I «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» will."

So that happened.

Enkrid quietly watched the odd energy radiating from the two of them.

Not his business.

No matter what went on between them, all Enkrid had to do was focus on recovery.

Still didn’t mean he wanted to keep watching them exchange glances.

"Out.

Go play outside."

Anne shut her mouth.

Ragna casually replied:

"I’ll go fetch the sunrise."

Enkrid nodded as if to say, whatever.

Odinkar visited once a day like clockwork.

He always said something—though it didn’t always make sense.

"Seems like I’ll be the next head of Zaun.

So when can we spar?"

That was the kind of thing he’d blurt out.

Grida, meanwhile, seemed to have read something in Heskal’s actions.

"Being a Guardian really sucks, huh."

Maybe she’d asked the family head more questions.

"Why are you telling me that?"

"Just felt like it."

Anne was rarely seen lately.

Apparently she was training the heir that Milezcia had raised in secret.

Ragna returned to normal.

"You’re not curious anymore about what’s left behind?"

Enkrid asked.

Ragna just gave a slight smile.

He seemed like someone who had reached enlightenment—untouchable, no matter what insults were thrown his way.

It was infuriating.

Enkrid said again:

"So can I go back and tell Rem... or Rem, or maybe Rem... that you thought you were dying of some incurable illness?"

"You trying to die?"

Ragna asked seriously.

Enkrid shook his head.

Still too early for sparring.

Maybe in two more days.

In the meantime, he continued organizing his swordsmanship and priorities.

"Riley."

One of those priorities.

Enkrid went to find him in the early evening, as dusk spilled its last light and the moon and stars began to fill the sky.

Riley sat silently before a mound of earth.

His gaze was vacant, and his fingers blackened from days of digging.

"Are you here to accuse me of my crimes?"

Why would he question only Riley for crimes no one else had been asked about?

"Because of what my father did?"

Before he spoke, it looked like his soul had gone elsewhere.

But once he started, he spoke with surprising strength.

Riley spent half the day here.

Before him was a crude grave.

A tree branch stuck in the ground in place of a gravestone, with carved letters from a dagger:

Here lies Heskal.

Riley couldn’t bring himself to hate him.

Enkrid believed Riley deserved to know.

Riley was Heskal’s son.

If the family head had delivered the message himself, too much emotion would’ve seeped into his voice.

Maybe it wasn’t Enkrid’s place to do it—but he just felt compelled.

So he told Riley.

Slowly, he shared the family head’s guesses and Enkrid’s own insights. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

Riley listened in silence.

By the end, his expression hadn’t changed—but tears were flowing.

"He must have known that if he left you behind, the family head would spare you.

If he really wanted to destroy Zaun, he would’ve killed you too.

You don’t have combat experience, but you learned basic tactics, right?"

Enkrid asked.

Riley didn’t respond.

Because it was true.

His father had taught him.

Heskal was clever and cunning—but he couldn’t cast aside his fatherly love.

He couldn’t kill Riley.

Enkrid left him there, weeping silently.

***

By the time the sunlight had mostly dried the ground, Enkrid was out at dawn as usual, loosening up his body.

Today was the day he considered finally swinging his sword again.

Tap, tap. Tap, tap.

Using a sheathed sword as a cane, a limping figure approached.

His face was solemn.

Lips tightly sealed.

Eyes full of resolve.

He knelt on the dry earth, awkwardly folding his lame leg.

"I’ll be your slave."

That was Riley’s way of repaying him.

He had saved Zaun.

He’d accepted his father’s death.

Now he had to do something.

If Enkrid bore even a shred of resentment, he had to erase it.

He would become his slave, so Enkrid would feel no ill will toward Zaun.

That was his logic.

But for it to mean anything, the other person had to actually feel resentment—and agree.

"I don’t need a slave."

Enkrid was as calm as ever.

He hadn’t gotten riled up even after coming to Zaun.

Same now.

"Let’s spar."

Even his tone said so.

Enkrid was just that kind of person.

Riley’s determined expression cracked.

"What slave.

And get in line, dumbass.

You’re not first."

Riley wasn’t alone.

Lynox mocked him.

Odinkar, Grida, Magrun, and Alexandra were all present.

This was what Enkrid had been waiting for.

To him, this was playtime.

This was joy.

Enkrid’s mouth twisted into a grin, revealing his front teeth.

"Come at me all at once."

At that arrogant declaration, the faces of Zaun’s warriors stiffened.

"If he weren’t the hero who saved the village, seriously..."

Odinkar muttered.

Everyone seemed to agree.