A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Chapter 311

Enkrid received praise from the ferryman.

The two men chanted the same incantation.

The flow of water that arose from the stream blocked their path like a wall.

With a light swipe of his gladius, the water parted, but it quickly filled back in.

It was like cutting through water with a blade.

The wall of water was only five steps wide, but this wasn’t the end of it.

“Come in, come in, listen to me.”

At the command of the other two, a round mass resembling a club made of water appeared beside the wall of the water.

Its head was smooth, and around the chest area, it was thick.

It had hand-like appendages, but instead of feet, wriggling currents of water acted as its legs.

It was something akin to a water spirit.

Or a golem made of water—whatever it was, part of the spell world had manifested in this world.

“Block them.”

At the mage’s command, two water ghosts without feet charged forward, their lower bodies kicking up bubbles as they approached.

They didn’t rush—they attacked in a manner that perfectly fit the expression ‘charging into.’

The bodies of the approaching creatures would rise before descending, crashing forward like waves.

Enkrid thrust his sword, striking at them.

The blade was no ordinary weapon; perhaps it was enchanted with magic similar to a fairy’s.

But there was no magic involved.

The sword pierced the water with a satisfying cut.

The spirits didn’t even flinch, swinging their water clubs with no hesitation.

Enkrid retrieved his blade, leaping sideways.

Bang!

The water club slammed into the ground.

The ground cracked beneath the blow.

The impact left a visible indentation, showing the water club wasn’t something to be underestimated.

After just one exchange, Enkrid found his answer.

‘The caster.’

There was no solution in fighting the spell itself.

To end this, he had to kill the caster.

But the two mages had created a wall of water, restricting his movement and vision.

The other two had called upon spirits to hinder him.

Not to mention, they seemed intent on pulling his feet from under him, likely knowing they couldn’t kill him themselves.

When he tried to retreat, the spirits swelled up and wobbled toward him, making it difficult to ignore them.

Though time hadn’t stretched long, Enkrid had already been forced to leave the three Hurrier family swordsmen behind.

"I didn’t think I'd see you again today."

Enkrid murmured.

He meant it.

It was almost like he was repeating yesterday’s actions, yet the outcome seemed the same.

"Don’t speak."

"Crazy bastard."

"Is that so?"

"You again? I don’t think I’ve met you before."

All three of them had a strange, intense energy as if they’d greet him with a kiss.

But not with lips—rather, with swords and steel meeting each other in a grim embrace.

Enkrid tightened his grip on his sword.

His arm muscles trembled.

He hadn’t properly rested from yesterday.

No matter how well-trained the body, the strain could not be ignored.

‘Tough.’

It wasn’t the first time his breath was at the edge of his chest.

His heart pounded painfully.

He steadied his breathing, took in the sight of the mage’s water spirits, the Hurrier family swordsmen, and the soldiers.

There was no thought of giving up.

No day could be easily passed.

And he did just that.

He resisted, killed the two mages, and defeated the three Hurrier swordsmen.

"Yeah, this is right."

He coughed as the last dead swordsman spoke, blood spattering from his mouth.

Enkrid had been struck by a water arrow in his thigh, causing a hole.

Had he not worn his armor, it would have been lodged in his stomach.

What was worse than a normal quarrel was that the water arrow disappeared after serving its purpose, causing blood to spill without any obstruction.

If the arrow had remained, it would have stopped the bleeding, but the blood loss was considerable.

The wound had struck an unfortunate spot.

Some techniques in isolation could stop bleeding by strengthening muscles.

Enkrid tried to use that, but the blood vessels had torn.

This was something the muscles couldn't control.

Dizziness from blood loss set in.

Still, his focus didn’t waver.

With the heart of a beast still pounding in his chest, Enkrid remained unshaken.

Adrenaline surged through his veins.

"You’re wearing something valuable."

The surviving mage spoke.

Perhaps he’d been careless, but as he closed the distance, Enkrid stomped his foot into the ground.

He charged forward, using the momentum of his wounded thigh.

Blood splattered from the wound in his leg.

Before the blood hit the ground, Enkrid reached the mage and struck him with a punch to the head.

Crack!

"Ugh!"

The skull cracked open, brains and blood spilling out.

A human couldn’t survive that.

It was a full-powered punch.

This was how it was supposed to be.

The opponent hadn’t even worn a helmet.

Just as Enkrid claimed another mage’s life, a spearhead flew from behind.

Thwip!

The heated metal cut through his back, slicing his spine, muscles, bones, blood vessels, and internal organs.

The pain of having his body torn by iron was something he couldn’t grow used to.

But he could still overcome it.

"Die."

"Monster."

"Die!"

The enemy soldier imbued his spear with fear as he struck.

A maddened gleam was visible in their eyes.

They were cornered, and their fear and insanity were plain.

Enkrid was indifferent.

There were no screams, no groans; they just died.

To be honest, he had no strength to even let out a breath.

They died just like that.

He was familiar with the agony of death, but overcoming it never got easier.

‘Huh.’

A deep breath pushed the pain of the day aside.

There were no dreams.

The ferryman didn’t appear.

It was simply the start of the third day.

And on this third day, he took off down another path.

Yet—

"Why is there a cliff here?"

He hadn’t climbed high, but a precipice greeted him instead.

Would jumping save him?

He’d need good luck to only be half-disabled.

Even that would be impossible unless the goddess of fortune was truly kind.

With that kind of luck, you’d be considered lucky.

Falling meant death.

"That’s your grave."

Behind him, the Hurrier swordsmen, some mercenaries skilled in combat, and a mage he didn’t recognize had gathered.

‘Again, a different path today.’

Enkrid scratched his chin with his left hand, his right still hanging by his side.

It felt strange.

How was it always the same result?

He instinctively

The acceleration followed by the thrust stabbed Cent’s neck.

This third day started with Cent’s death.

"Peek-a-boo."

It was a teasing strike, so Cent didn’t even hear it, but it was enough to horrify the mercenaries behind him.

"You crazy bastard!"

His reflexive swearing proved he was indeed a born mercenary.

As Enkrid thrust again, the mercenaries tried to deflect the strike, but Enkrid struck with the gladius again.

Using "Momentary Will" twice, Enkrid swiftly cut down the two mercenaries.

Then, he encountered the heavy infantry and the three Hurrier family swordsmen.

Among the crossbowmen and archers, a few fairies could be seen.

Some of them were exceptionally skilled with the bow.

They aimed only when the opponent’s breath faltered.

Enkrid withstood it.

The first time wasn’t the hardest; it became easier each time.

As he repeated the day fifty times, Enkrid mastered "Momentary Will."

His swordsmanship became cleaner and stronger.

But he still hadn’t escaped from Abnaier’s trap.

Thus, on the two hundred fifty-fifth day...

The ferryman said something unexpected.

In the previous day, he had told him to give up, but today, he said something different.