Eternally Regressing Knight-Chapter 508 - Unwavering Voice

Chapter 508 - Unwavering Voice

"Meat."

"How much would you like?"

"A lot."

Enkrid single-handedly devoured enough food to feed twenty people in one sitting.

While he was known to eat quite a bit, this time, it was excessive by any standard.

His focus was on calorie-dense foods: beans, meat, thick sauces.

Several soldiers watched with wide eyes as he ate.

"Is this some kind of training?"

"Seems like it."

"Should we try it too?"

"Don't bother."

Vel, now their commander, casually thumped one of his subordinates on the head as he spoke.

Imitating Enkrid would only lead to an early death, and Vel knew that all too well.

When did he first realize that?

Was it the time Enkrid saved Vengeance?

Vel had always known Enkrid wasn't ordinary, but from that moment on, he started to see him as truly remarkable.

Saving someone in the heat of battle might happen by chance.

But rushing into a burning barracks to save a comrade, knowing full well he might die—and a comrade who disliked him at that?

That was beyond Vel's capabilities.

Unperturbed by the murmurs around him, Enkrid ate just as heartily for dinner, and the next day as well.

His meal portions were absurd.

Sitting nearby, Rem shot him a bewildered glance and asked, "What's with this? Trying to out-eat an ogre or a giant?"

Ogres were notorious for their voracious appetites and cannibalistic tendencies, while giants were simply known for consuming vast quantities of food to sustain their massive bodies.

But Enkrid was neither, so the remark was understandable.

"Just feel like eating heartily."

"Going somewhere?"

"No."

What's he up to now?

Rem gave him a suspicious look but let it go.

If he wanted to eat, who was Rem to stop him?

Enkrid continued like this for four more days, eating well, relieving himself, sleeping soundly, and keeping his body meticulously clean every morning and evening.

"You don't have a fever," Shinar remarked at one point, placing her hand on his forehead.

Her observation stemmed from the fact that he wasn't sparring or engaging in intense activity but instead focused on eating, resting, and light training.

Of course, what he considered "light training" seemed grueling to the average soldier.

Compared to his usual routines, which no one dared to imitate, this regimen looked relatively mild.

It seemed like Enkrid was preparing for some kind of ritual, eating and resting as though bracing for a monumental challenge.

He looked like a lone warrior readying himself for battle.

During that week, autumn winds began to blow, sweeping away the lingering summer heat.

Enkrid sat on a tree stump, waiting for dinner, and let his mind wander to the west, specifically to the practice of shamanism he'd encountered there.

"Shamanism is founded on prayers."

However, he wasn't preparing for shamanic rituals or invocations now.

He simply found that cleansing his body and mind before a task helped him focus, never hindered.

This was more about settling his resolve than anything else.

There were many watchful eyes on Enkrid.

Rem thought the man had finally gone mad but couldn't help being curious about what he planned to do.

He seemed on the verge of something monumental.

Meanwhile, Rem hummed a tune, sharpening his axe with a top-grade whetstone he had somehow procured.

The whetstone, more expensive than most Valerian steel, didn't faze him in the slightest as he used it.

Ragna observed Enkrid and felt something akin to solemnity.

While Enkrid appeared to be enjoying a simple daily routine, he also seemed like a swordsman about to practice a solitary dance with his blade.

If he suddenly drew his weapon and charged, it wouldn't feel out of place.

Audin, meanwhile, offered a silent prayer.

"Father above, bless the actions of my small brother."

He didn't know what Enkrid was planning, but it was clear he was preparing for something.

Audin prayed with all his heart, yet he couldn't shake a faint sense of unease.

"Why?

I don't know," Audin thought.

Yet it felt as though the Father above was warning him that his small brother was about to do something reckless.

"Father above, my brother has always been like this."

There had never been a moment in Enkrid's life that wasn't fraught with boldness.

If a god of battle and conflict descended to deliver a revelation, they might very well scream in exasperation.

Though no divine intervention came, Audin simply continued his prayer, pouring his support into it.

"Guide him."

A sense of calm washed over Audin.

His Father would help.

He concluded his prayer with a blessing.

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Nearby, Jaxen leaned against a tree, holding a dagger in his right hand and a book in his left.

His posture was so casual that no one would suspect he was armed.

The dagger, the same one he'd carried on his first mission, held no extraordinary magic but brought him comfort.

While the mission had ended with a single upward kick rather than the use of the dagger, it remained a meaningful keepsake.

"Death."

Jaxen's instincts, honed by countless encounters with mortality, told him that whatever Enkrid was doing carried significant risk.

"Why?"

Even Jaxen questioned his own intuition.

From the outside, Enkrid seemed to be leading an unremarkable routine.

Yet, the unsettling feeling persisted, compelling Jaxen to keep a close eye on him, even at the expense of other tasks.

Enkrid's actions—eating, drinking, resting, and cleaning himself—seemed ordinary.

But the intensity with which he approached these activities made it look like he was fighting for his life.

Shinar sat a few steps away, observing Enkrid with her sculpted, composed expression.

To an outsider, it might look as though she were admiring him.

"Fiancé, come back soon," Shinar said suddenly.

It was a comment reminiscent of her own inner journey when she communed with the forest spirit.

It was a dangerous journey with low survival odds, but she had believed in her success.

Perhaps it was her way of acknowledging that Enkrid seemed to be embarking on a similar venture.

If he brushed it off as a joke, so be it.

Enkrid smiled at her in response, his eyes soft and his lips curling upward.

Was Shinar's smile rare to him?

It was the same for her—this gentle smile of his felt like a first.

"Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere," he replied.

As the sun began to set, the black witch Esther approached. Her nickname as a witch seemed more fitting than ever, though she didn't mind the strange moniker. Life in the world came with its quirks, and she wasn't one to waste time on trivialities.

She knew her priorities and focused on what mattered.

Watching Enkrid was not a duty but something she wanted to do.

"What are you waiting for?" Esther asked, gazing at him.

Though whatever he was preparing for seemed irrelevant, his demeanor suggested he was waiting for something.

"The sunset," Enkrid replied.

"Why?"

"Because I want to see it."

Fair enough.

Esther nodded.

From behind her, Wierd-Eye approached. Without standing, Enkrid reached out and stroked the beast's mane. Wierd-Eye lowered his head to meet the hand, circled Enkrid once, and then quietly sat nearby.

From a distance, Teresa began singing, her voice a mix of roughness and clarity.

The hymn she had recently learned resonated, transcending mere melody and delivering something deeply stirring to the heart.

Teresa's song worked a magic akin to that of instruments, wielded effortlessly by her voice.

Luagarne, refraining even from the urge to puff out her cheeks, didn't blink an eye.

Ropord swallowed hard, sensing the weight of the atmosphere.

Fel felt a crushing sense of defeat at everything about this moment and wondered why he was even there.

Everyone's eyes were fixed on Enkrid.

As the sun dipped below the western horizon, the world began to bathe in hues of orange.

From the cloudless sky to the earth, the twilight painted everything.

The glow reached Enkrid's face.

He drew a long, steady breath, exhaled slowly, and began to move.

Something was about to happen.

Everyone reached the same conclusion.

A brief moment passed.

The rhythmic sound of Rem sharpening his axe came to a sudden halt.

The precious whetstone, brought all the way from the southern region, fell to the ground with a soft thud.

"What?"

Rem muttered, breaking the silence as Ragna rose to his feet.

Audin's pupils dilated as he stared at Enkrid, while Jaxen quietly moved to stand beside him.

Enkrid, who had been taking slow, deep breaths, now appeared utterly still.

Jaxen's hand moved to his upper lip. He had already sensed something had happened within Enkrid, though he hadn't foreseen it ending like this.

"He's dead."

Jaxen's words broke the spell. A death that defied reason. Sudden. Without explanation.

And thus, the day came to an end.

***

Just before everything began, after completing his preparations, Enkrid waited for the sunset. It was his favorite time of the day.

The sun tilted westward, turning the world into shades of orange.

Surrendering himself to the breeze, Enkrid sat on the stump beside the barracks.

Nearby, Rem was sharpening his axe, Jaxen was reading a book, and Ragna sat slouched in a half-dazed manner.

Shinar watched him from a short distance away, while Weird-eyes gazed at the sunset alongside him.

Esther nonchalantly glanced over before settling herself on the ground in a casual sprawl, reminiscent of a countrywoman resting by the roadside.

Though her appearance was akin to that of a duchess, her demeanor was far more grounded.

Audin offered prayers, and Teresa sang a hymn.

Her voice was as mesmerizing as any finely tuned instrument.

"Lord, Lord, my father does not retreat in battle but aids in judgment. Lord, Lord, my father does not bear injustice but aids in judgment."

Listening to Teresa's voice, Enkrid summoned his Will, channeling it down to his toes.

Rem, Ragna, Shinar, and Jaxen had all risen to the level of knights. It was only natural to question whether growth could come so easily. Their progression was a complex mix of environment, natural talent, and the inspiration drawn from watching Enkrid, a catalyst for their efforts.

However, this intricate interplay wasn't something Enkrid could fully grasp, nor did he care to.

He only sought answers to the question: how?

Rem credited his innate constitution, saying he had sensed its difference from a young age and expanded his abilities in handling sorcery as a result.

"It just came to me," Ragna said simply.

Shinar mentioned a short journey, during which he came to understand energy and spirits.

It wasn't a physical voyage but a mental one—a state of disconnection from the world while maintaining his sense of self.

And Audin?

Though he had not yet reached the level of a knight, he seemed to understand now.

"Your vessel is different," he thought.

A vessel already complete. He too harbored secrets, ones that, if revealed, would allow him to fight like a knight.

When pressed, Audin only answered, "I merely followed the revelations given by my father."

Even with such answers, the methods often seemed incomprehensible.

As for Oara, who might have held a clue, she was no longer of this world.

The mercenary king?

The knights of Aspen?

Each would have their own ways, likely supported by innate talent.

It simply comes to them.

One must be born with it to tread such paths, to progress along them.

To be born with it—that is talent.

Enkrid knew he lacked it.

At least, he wasn't made to become a knight.

He was acutely aware of this fact.

So, would he give up?

Succumb to despair and stop here?

Accept a patched-up dream, frayed and weathered by reality?

"I know."

He knew better than anyone that he lacked talent.

He had long understood that the words spoken by his first sword instructor—a lame mercenary in his youth—were far from truth.

Perhaps he had already sensed it back then, but the harsh truth had been too much to face.

Still, he had never believed the path to knighthood would be easy.

From the beginning, his road had always been blocked.

If he were to stop at every dead end, he would have given up long ago.

Yet, Enkrid had not stopped.

All the time and effort he had endured had forged within him a resolve.

"If I lack talent, is there no other way?"

He considered alternative paths.

Becoming a chimera knight or relying on sorcery?

Those options existed but felt wrong to him.

Instead, he sought another solution.

His method was simple: if one cannot naturally open the gate to Will, then force it.

And so he did.

Drawing Will from his toes, piece by piece, he made it dwell within his body.

Through practice and accumulated experience, he learned the lessons of a knight's strike and applied them.

Every thrust, every repetition, had brought him here.

As Will filled his body, an unseen force gripped his heart and brought it to a halt.

It was a quiet death.

A death unmarked by great pain, yet one that revealed the insurmountable wall of talent.

That death spoke to Enkrid.

"You've built this wall yourself, yet it is one you cannot overcome."

When he opened his eyes, he saw the ferryman.

The ferryman repeated the death's words.

"Is that so?"

And as always, Enkrid replied without hesitation. His voice was unwavering.