A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 743: Loss

“So. You’ve slaughtered all the beasts and finally broken free from the day you had prepared for.”

The surging river, the violet lamp, and the appearance of the Ferryman made it clear this wasn’t a dream.

Enkrid sat at the boat’s edge, staring into the distance, then turned his head.

No matter where he looked, there was no end in sight. No—more precisely, all he could see was the end.

As if every direction was blocked. Even the river’s flow and the unending trail of light looked like that. If asked why, he wouldn’t have a proper answer—just because.

“Congratulations. Born mortal, and yet you shall long for the immortal, human.”

There was a scholarly tone in the words.

Today’s Ferryman was poetic. Or perhaps like a sage in search of truth.

“I never wished for immortality.”

“You will.”

“You’re deciding that for me?”

After everything I’ve °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° already gone through?

That unspoken question underlay his words.

The Ferryman’s lips curled into a crooked grin. He even smiled now. A noticeable change compared to when they’d first met.

“The moment you’re trapped in the prison of regret, you’ll beg. Plead. Yes, you won’t believe it. You’ll deny it. I know. So I’ll show you.”

The Ferryman’s hand—the one without the lamp—rose into the air. His robe fluttered upward, and the inside of it wasn’t just dark—it looked like someone had painted it pure black.

Enkrid's eyes were drawn toward the inside of the robe. The moment he thought he’d gotten distracted, everything changed. He was no longer on the boat.

On blackened ground, Enkrid knelt on one knee, holding someone in his arms.

“Leave me. Do what you have to do. Fuck...”

Hair matted with blood had dulled beyond its usual gray.

Rem was dying. There was nothing he could do.

“The future is mutable, of course. Yes, this must be a far-distant future.”

The Ferryman’s voice echoed from all around.

It wasn’t vile or cruel. It was calm. A high-probability forecast, simply offered.

Which made it feel even more real.

Rem was dead. Enkrid had to watch as the last breath left him.

“That will be the first ‘today’ you will earn.”

Loss. It meant losing something.

The Ferryman’s intention was clear.

Cling to your pain. Why insist on enduring such agony?

Enkrid understood his intention, but had no intention of playing along.

Besides—

‘It hasn’t happened yet.’

Nothing was certain. Worrying now wouldn’t change anything.

So—get up, shake it off, and do what needs to be done.

Enkrid woke from the dream and opened his eyes. The smell of water was thick in the air. Since last night, a damp atmosphere had spread, and now a slow drizzle had begun to fall.

“Ugh-cha.”

Enkrid rose lightly from the bed, pleased by the solid firmness of it.

The bed had been a gift from Shinar. She’d filled it with special leaves—so she said.

Shirtless and wearing only light pants, Enkrid stepped outside.

“You’re up, brother.”

Audin, towering like a bear, greeted him with a smile.

“You’re up early.”

“It’s Prayer Week.”

A priest serving the God of War, keeping to his devotions with discipline.

Even in the holy city of Legion, few were as faithful as him.

Unless you counted that ragged saint—the one Audin called his spiritual father.

Word was that saint was headed to Legion. Something about receiving a request on the road. A letter from Lord Overdeer had arrived as well.

‘If it’s from Lord Overdeer, then yes, that man must be faithful.’

Other than him—maybe Noah.

Returning to Border Guard, Enkrid had found several letters from Noah as well.

Mostly trivial words, but the meaning within was clear.

If he was needed, if he could help in any way—he would.

Not to repay a debt—just because, if Enkrid could do it as a friend, so could he.

‘Such a fuss.’

If he really had been captured by the Empire, things would have turned ugly.

Audin spoke beside him.

“You haven’t been slacking off.”

Even while at House Zaun, Enkrid had kept up with training. Naturally.

“You think?”

“Of course.”

In the drizzling dawn rain, the two of them lifted and dropped stones, then lay down with iron spheres between their legs, raising them with nothing but abdominal strength.

Anyone watching would have been horrified.

If they dropped that iron ball from between their legs, it could crush a face—or worse.

Of course, neither of them had that happen. They simply trained, unfazed.

“I was kind of looking forward to a war with the Empire. A little disappointed.”

Pell appeared and said this, while Rophod beside him shook his head.

“I wasn’t looking forward to it.”

War breeds sorrow. Rophod knew that. Pell knew it too—he just believed that if necessary, you had to fight.

Enkrid observed them. Different, yet similar in temperament.

Both would fight when necessary—but the paths they took to get there were different. So their way of understanding would differ too.

A question that had once crossed his mind returned.

‘Can knights be forged through a structured system?’

These two had been beaten and broken for that purpose. Audin had told him about it yesterday.

“I put them through the wringer. Now they’re both coming along nicely.”

Enkrid could see why he’d said that.

‘Their Will responds.’

Just looking at them made them instinctively adjust their stances.

It wasn’t because a fight was coming. It was reflex.

‘Learned behavior through repeated experience.’

The system that brought them here—Enkrid had built it.

Can knights be created through a system? What’s the answer?

‘A half-baked system won’t cut it.’

Sure, if you beat a body enough, even a near-knight could trigger their Will at absurd speeds.

But that wouldn’t lead them to knighthood.

‘Using Will unconsciously.’

That’s their next goal.

This wasn’t something planned.

He simply saw them. Saw how they prepared themselves. And he felt moved.

He’d seen Zaun. Stayed in small villages.

Coming to Border Guard, Enkrid had learned a lot. Especially through teaching.

His conversation with Valphir Valmung had helped too.

‘A knight must awaken and rise.’

It’s not just about brute strength.

‘Everything must move in harmony.’

Strength, reaction, perception—all must unite. What leads them is Will.

Rophod and Pell were different. So each needed a different method.

Call it luck if you like. Half was coincidence—the other half, Enkrid’s peculiar way of growing.

Enkrid instinctively came up with a way to push them toward knighthood.

As soon as the thought struck, his body moved. As usual.

He set the iron ball down and grabbed Three Iron.

“Pell.”

Then moved.

The drawn Three Iron rose vertically, then dropped. Between stepping forward and swinging his arm, the pressure crashed down on Pell.

From the side, the strike didn’t even look fast.

‘Unblockable.’

Rophod knew the moment he saw it. His insight was unusual.

Peeking into the future, he sensed death.

Not his own—Pell’s.

Lua Gharne, who had stepped out to watch, had her eyes go wide. Blood vessels popped over her sclera. She was burning through all the natural power her Frokk body possessed.

‘If it hits, his body’s cleaved. Even dodging it would cost an arm.’

Pressure. The sword.

The motion had no wind-up. No warning.

Pell instinctively reached for the Idol Slayer.

Before Enkrid even called, he had already sensed danger on a primal level.

Like a grazing animal wary of drinking at the river, Pell’s alertness spiked the moment he saw Enkrid.

He noticed when Enkrid’s aura shifted—and reacted.

The Idol Slayer was drawn.

Ching—

Parry it or die.

He had to pull out his Will, but there was no time to think.

Which is why it all came naturally.

Survival is the most basic instinct of all humans.

And Pell? A shepherd of the wild.

They’ll do whatever it takes to survive.

That was how he’d been raised since childhood.

Before conscious intent could even form, he pulled up his Will.

Zing—

The Idol Slayer responded to the Will. Muscles, nerves, and senses synchronized—and he struck down Enkrid’s sword.

Fwoosh.

No metallic clash.

Three Iron paused mid-air and twisted away. The Idol Slayer only sliced empty air.

Then Pell looked at Enkrid—but his eyes weren’t seeing him. They stared at something far beyond.

Thud.

The blade that had cut only air dropped to the ground.

Pell, arms limp, stood motionless.

Everyone stood watching, trying to make sense of what just happened.

“Shh.”

Enkrid pressed a finger to his lips.

Pell had entered his inner world.

His body and mind, tempered through Audin and the Mad Knights’ harsh training, were now one step away from true knighthood.

Enkrid had helped push him there.

‘The Empire’s knight-training method.’

Probably something like this.

‘Apprenticeship.’

That’s what naturally came to mind. A master and student—a system of transmission.

If so, it’s a sustainable way to keep knights trained.

That’s what Valmung had implied.

Rem came out late, rubbing his eyes—then laughed.

Well damn, look at you now?

Something none of the Mad Knights could pull off, Enkrid had done in an instant.

That sword strike he delivered—yeah, it was exactly what was needed.

‘Just fast enough.’

Enough to threaten a life, but not kill.

Enough to leave no time for other thoughts.

Easier said than done.

Enkrid glanced at Rem and silently mouthed the words.

Later.

He’d noticed his Will stirring and leaking through his aura—and was letting him know.

Jaxon stepped out of his lodging as well—and he could feel it.

Enkrid’s senses had sharpened beyond what they’d once been.

Come to think of it, he’d sensed Jaxon’s presence the moment they crossed paths.

Jaxon’s eyes gleamed.

Tag was going to be a lot harder now. Sneaking up from behind wouldn’t be so easy anymore.

Everyone except Ragna headed toward the training grounds.

He was still sleeping.

Only after Pell had been left behind did Rophod speak.

“Why just Pell?”

What happens if Pell awakens before I do?

Enkrid looked at him and said:

“Swing your sword without rest for three days. No water. Block every strike like it’ll kill you.”

If Pell needed intense stimulation, then Rophod needed time to process and reinforce.

Rophod fell silent for a moment, then nodded.

“I’ll be away for a while.”

He’d left the new recruits to Squire Clemence—so he had nothing keeping him here.

And just like that, Rophod vanished.

He would return changed, before Pell awoke. The determination burned bright on his back.

“Came back with some fun new tricks, huh?”

Rem said.

Ragna had already seen Enkrid’s change, but the others hadn’t.

“Learned a lot.”

“Yeah?”

Clearly wanting to spar—but Enkrid looked at the sunlight slipping through the rainclouds and replied,

“Later. I have plans.”

“...You’re refusing a duel?”

Rem looked shocked. Enkrid just responded blandly.

“The grip on Three Iron’s loose. If I’m doing it, I’ll do it right.”

“I’ll wait, brother.”

That answer came from Audin.

“And Teresa—she’s already done, isn’t she?”

To Enkrid’s question, Audin nodded with a smile.

She had reached it faster than either Rophod or Pell. Though her path had been different.

It happened while Enkrid was away. Audin had helped her, offered guidance, and showed her another route.

“She might even join the Paladin Order.”

He had made the offer.

“This is where I want to live. This is my home.”

Teresa had refused, without hesitation.

Why did everyone call this place home?

Because of the man who nodded and picked up his oiled cloak.

“I’m stepping out for a bit.”

Aitri was waiting. Three days had passed since he returned.

The first night, it had already turned dark.

The next day, he’d told everyone what had happened while he was gone.

“Stories hit different when the Captain tells them.”

That was Rem’s remark. Though he’d heard it from Ragna already, that guy had a habit of skipping details.

Anne had been there too, but she wasn’t exactly talkative either.

Enkrid had spent enough time buying stories in the past that he’d picked up the art.

If you’ve listened to enough good storytelling—you start picking it up.

Jaxon agreed.

“Makes me want to ask for the next chapter right now.”

His face remained composed, but that’s what he said.

Aitri accepted the returned Three Iron and told him to wait four days.

“I’ll tune it and return it. And though I’ve secured the True Steel, the engraved blade will take a little longer.”

The real engraved weapon wasn’t ready. Though Three Iron already felt half like one.

“Got it.”

Enkrid got up. No need to ask more. That was Aitri’s job.

Frokk, the artisan, acknowledged him with a glance, and Enkrid nodded vaguely back.

The rain was nearly gone, and the sun peeked out cautiously.

Back at the camp, Rem was tossing three hand axes in the air.

Throwing them in sequence and catching them with alternating hands.

A circus trick to most—but not to Rem.

“What’re you doing?”

“Can’t you tell?”

No matter what you said, Rem always had a sharp tongue. Maybe blame his parents?

Looking at him, Enkrid realized he hadn’t shaken off the dream entirely.

No one had come and gone, but like dust collecting from days without cleaning, remnants clung to his mind.

So he said—

“Don’t die easily. Rem.”

Clack.

He snatched a spinning axe mid-air. A light flashed in his gray eyes—likely the power he called sorcery flooding his body.

“Wanna go right now?”

Always interpreting words his own way—of course it was Rem.

A barbarian who took concern as a declaration of war.

“Wait.”

Enkrid raised his palm.

He had something in the works. Something he wanted to refine and show everyone.

Until then, sparring would have to wait.

“What am I, a dog?”

Rem growled at the gesture, but this was just another ordinary moment.

And that night.

“Well. What do you think?”

The Ferryman had prepared a new stage.

Same setup—different cast.

This time, the one dying in Enkrid’s arms...

Was Jaxon.