A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 740: A Life Grasped with One’s Own Hands Is Worth This Much

The hermit village didn’t operate on personal property—everything was shared by the residents.

Since no one ever knew when disaster might strike, they had hidden plenty of supplies away, like squirrels burying acorns.

Under tree roots, or within small storage pits hidden beneath planks and dirt near the entrances, secret caches were revealed.

Since it stays cool even in summer, it’s a decent storage method, Enkrid thought.

They’d dug the pits in shaded areas where no sunlight reached.

If you couldn’t afford the luxury of using magical tools to preserve cold, you had to squeeze wisdom out of necessity.

Still, summer was approaching. So they’d kept only things that wouldn’t spoil easily.

It wasn’t as much as in winter, but smoked meat and unfamiliar dried fruits were plentifully laid out on the table.

“At this rate, we’ll have nothing left to eat later.”

One of the villagers muttered.

Despite the situation, they still had a strong, ingrained fear of waste.

They’d never starved.

Partly by luck, they’d been able to gather edible herbs and ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) berries around the settlement and had managed to build relations with passing merchants.

They hunted animals appropriately, and if it really came down to it, they processed beast meat for consumption.

As long as the toxins were removed and you didn’t care about flavor, beast meat had all the nutrients needed to survive.

“Just do as you’re told.”

The timid man said, glancing around nervously.

Harkventyo, their usual spokesperson, kept his lips sealed and busied himself setting the table.

Their activity had multiplied many times over.

They’d been eating more than usual already, but today exceeded even that.

As the table was filled with food, it was the children who reached for it first.

Soon, everyone was too busy eating to say anything.

Screw it. Let’s just eat. If I die after eating, at least I won’t regret it.

Some of them likely thought that way.

There was also a vague hope—somehow, it’ll work out.

It was vague only because they didn’t understand the reason.

If they looked a little closer, it was clear: this shift came from Enkrid’s attitude.

Unless you were the type to feed yourself before your own children, you’d probably have caught on.

Harkventyo chewed a piece of smoked pork loin, salty enough to make his tongue sting.

He downed water in big gulps.

What we’ve done... was training.

Training for what?

For the fight against beasts.

Of course, someone with a sharper mind might ask:

Will this kind of training really help us fight beasts?

Would stabbing forward with spears, standing back to back, really change anything?

Some had given up on thinking altogether, but not all.

Harkventyo had passed the point where worry twisted his gut, but that didn’t mean his mind was at ease.

It felt like lying under a roof made of dirt and loose planks.

You hoped it wouldn’t collapse—but it always felt like it might.

Yet whenever he glanced off into the distance and saw Enkrid silently chewing something, part of the unease lifted.

A strange man.

There was something about him that put people at ease.

His words, his actions, even his casual demeanor—

It all had the same effect.

There was a faint sense of hope in the air, and it came from the way he sat among the villagers with a child next to him, quietly chewing.

* * *

Enkrid popped a fruit into his mouth, swirled it with his tongue, then spat the seed out.

The spit-covered seed rolled on the dirt floor.

The fruit was wrinkled on the outside, its flesh chewy, with a seed about the size of a thumbnail inside.

It was sour, sweet, and astringent—but once you tasted it, you couldn’t stop.

It had been aged through a special process.

“Tastes good, right?”

A child sitting next to him asked.

Beside that child was Brunhilt, now sporting a lump on her forehead in place of a third eye.

“It’s kind of like a plum.”

Another boy added smartly.

When Brunhilt had lunged at Enkrid earlier and been blocked with just a finger, this boy had muttered “What an idiot,” and stepped in to defend her.

“She’s good with her body, but she hates using her brain.

“And once she makes up her mind, she can’t change direction.

“That’s the genius Brunhilt’s flaw. So it’s all just a misunderstanding.”

He couldn’t have been older than thirteen or fourteen.

Small frame, thin limbs. Didn’t look like someone who could fight.

“What’s your name?”

“Airik.”

Enkrid had herded them into the pit like Kraiss would’ve.

It wasn’t just about a short-term showdown—he’d read ahead, preparing for the future.

He’d driven them like Rem, but planned like Kraiss.

“You grouped those with similar builds together in formations, right?

“To keep them from dying easily. To help them hold out.”

Airik had seen through it.

A cool breeze blew, surprising for summer.

It made the boy’s hair flutter—golden blond, diluted to a white sheen.

An interesting kid.

Enkrid, chewing a slice of overly salty smoked meat between herb bread, asked:

“What about keeping circular formation and using spears instead of shields?”

“Well, it’s to force distance, right?

“By confronting the beasts, we’re buying time.

“Only the strongest need to carry shields.

“If we gave it a name, it could be something like ‘Scared Hedgehog Formation.’

“If we tried to block everything completely, sure, no one would die—but if we can’t endure, we’ll all die anyway.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to use bows or slings, then?”

“No. Arrows leave a gap when reloading.

“If stones and arrows were enough, things wouldn’t be so dangerous.”

Those shining, burning eyes—he’d seen them in Brunhilt before.

Watery blue eyes stared straight at Enkrid.

Like two lakes side by side, reflecting the noonday sun.

If Enkrid’s were a deep blue, this child’s were pale.

Before Enkrid could say anything, the boy asked:

“Was I wrong?”

He hadn’t been among the children Brunhilt led, nor did he stand out among the training adults.

“You were right.”

“Good.”

He said it was a relief, despite asking with such certainty.

No—Enkrid realized.

This wasn’t like Kraiss, who always knew his answers were right.

This child had genuinely doubted himself.

He was anxious.

And probably worried about the outsider’s intentions too.

This is a process of confirmation.

Brunhilt stepping in, defending him—those were part of it too.

It was like watching Kraiss as a child.

The boy’s mind worked differently.

Talent isn’t fair.

It tilts the scale, sometimes violently.

And that’s how coincidences like this happen.

If Brunhilt was born with talent for the body—then this boy had unmatched talent for the mind.

“Memorize the formation.

“If that shakes, everyone dies.”

They’d chosen a tactic that gave no room for distance—because giving distance meant death.

“What comes next?”

No matter how clever he was, a child couldn’t imagine beyond the world he knew.

Airik couldn’t envision what Enkrid might do next.

“Predict.

“Deduce.

“Think it through.

“Figure out what needs to be done.”

“If you’re planning to take us with you...”

The boy was measuring Enkrid’s intentions.

That boldness might’ve been annoying, but Enkrid wasn’t small-minded.

He hadn’t resented Brunhilt—and he didn’t resent Airik.

Airik was trying to gauge Enkrid’s kindness.

Did he plan that too?

Probably not.

What came next was a gamble.

He was speaking for the sake of the village, even if it meant risking his life.

“We can’t.

“We came this far because we’d rather die together than live under someone’s thumb again.

“We can’t give up what we’ve built.”

Better to die than return to being slaves under some city lord.

That was their will.

Home. Foundation. Roots. Land.

All different words—but their home was here.

He remembered what was said before leaving Zaun:

“Sorry.

“I’d like to go with you, but this is where I belong. I’m sure of that.”

“If you said I had to become a slave to go with you, I’d do it.

“But if you said I had to live as Riley Zaun... then I’d never leave Zaun.”

“Can I visit later?”

Or was that their way of trying to make him stay in Zaun?

Ridiculous.

He understood the boy’s concern.

And he understood why Harkventyo kept glancing at him.

Neither of them was in love with him.

Were they trying to convince him to leave?

What did they want from him?

Those questions circled endlessly.

If a single word could have reassured them, he’d have already gathered the whole village and given a speech.

But since that wouldn’t work, he didn’t bother.

Even if it did, it wouldn’t matter—it’d be a waste of time.

Enkrid patted the boy’s head.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“...Seventeen?”

“Yeah. I’m small for my age.

“That’s the root of my inferiority complex.

“I’ve always been weak and sickly.”

“But you’re smart.”

That last comment came from Brunhilt.

“Obviously.

“You should listen to him more.”

“I do. I do listen.”

Brunhilt wasn’t slow.

Watching how things were going, she’d realized this outsider teaching her spearplay wasn’t acting out of malice.

The Night of the Hunt had passed.

There was still fear, still uncertainty, lingering in their hearts.

But it had changed shape.

“Beasts!”

Before the twin moons disappeared, just before dawn—

More than fifty beasts—wild hounds and wolves—invaded the village.

They ignored the trap laid in front and approached with glowing red eyes through the trees, pressing heavy forepaws into the dirt.

Those holding spears gulped hard.

Before, the beasts’ bloodlust and stench alone would’ve made their knees shake.

But not now.

They’d spent the last fifteen days facing a blade far more terrifying.

Enkrid had never let up.

He’d stabbed at their backs when they slacked and slashed past their noses without warning.

“If you fall, I’ll cut you—wherever.”

To an outsider, it might have looked like sadistic bullying.

But the result?

Everyone who’d been through it had developed nerves of steel.

Even now, facing beasts, their legs held firm.

“Begin.”

Harkventyo shouted.

“Hah!”

In groups of ten, they formed circular rings.

Human formations with spears thrust forward faced the encroaching beasts.

They placed those who couldn’t fight in the center, wrapping around them.

Airik stood at the core and looked around.

Hold the line.

He understood the outsider’s intention.

But not the reason behind it.

A sadist?

Did he want to see them die flailing and screaming?

Did he want to torture them before the end?

Or maybe kill the survivors himself?

All sorts of thoughts crossed his mind.

But the weak had no options.

They could only struggle to survive.

The outsider had strengthened not the individuals—but the group.

He didn’t shape them around the exceptional, but made the inferior into the baseline. Then unified them.

Airik had seen it clearly.

He was right.

The strength of an army comes from unity.

“Rotate!”

“Hah!”

Their muscles ached from being pushed to the brink—

But their minds were clearer than ever.

Growl!

Four wild dogs rushed the circle.

Those holding spears knew exactly how to strike.

With both hands, they claimed the space the beasts moved into.

Where there were gaps, Brunhilt ran around teaching them more—on Enkrid’s orders, of course.

Only then did the adults realize how gifted she truly was.

Defense came from the person beside you.

With spears thrust out in perfect timing and spacing—

The formation became a hedgehog's spines.

Growl! Yelp! Screech!

Compared to magical beasts, regular beasts had soft hides.

Aside from a few special cases, they were manageable.

And they didn’t even need to kill—just endure.

Now then...

Enkrid watched them from atop a tree.

They wouldn’t die so easily anymore.

A phantom of the Ferryman appeared beside him in the air.

“You sly bastard.”

Sly? No—this was good strategy.

Valen-style mercenary swordplay—Feigning Defeat.

Feigning defeat was a strange technique.

While retreating, it allowed an ally to strike the enemy’s blind spot.

Valen-style was about factoring in the help of others.

Many underestimated it, thinking it was just trickery—

But anyone who understood the intent within the swordplay wouldn’t say that.

Phantom swordplay is essentially tactical swordplay.

Enkrid had already mastered phantom swordplay to a considerable degree.

The only issue was—no matter the style, it still required strength to use.

Steel meant nothing unless someone could grip and swing it.

Enkrid sharpened his senses atop the tree.

Then, when enough time had passed, he jumped down—

And slew the beasts, driving them away.

“Huff, huff, huh, huhhh...”

Everyone was gasping for breath—

But no one had died.

Not even a single wound.

They had endured.

“We rest today.”

Enkrid said.

This was practice as real as battle.

With him watching, it still counted as training.

True battle needed only one trial.

“Uwoooohhh!”

A shout erupted—something they’d never uttered before.

It hadn’t come when others had saved them—

But now, with their own hands, they had seized life.

And that made it worth everything.