A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

But somehow, it also seemed like the correct response.

‘Because it’s Encrid.’

Because it was Encrid, it somehow made sense.

Soon, Encrid, who had been trembling while holding the sword, let it go and stepped back.

‘Has he given up?’

Giving up once is easy. It becomes even easier the second time.

Once you step back, a Tutor becomes an insurmountable wall.

For Encrid, that would be a critical flaw.

Luagarne watched with concern.

“It wouldn’t be good to show another technique.”

Encrid muttered, then picked up the sword again without even taking a breath.

“…?”

“Well, uh, our platoon is called the Madmen Platoon.”

Krais said indirectly. Or rather, was that being direct?

It seemed like they were calling Encrid a madman.

A commotion, perhaps.

While Esther was still lying down asleep, Encrid picked up and put down the sword four more times, showing a slight smile.

“This is it.”

Then he swung his sword through the air. At this point, Luagarne realized that trying to stop him was pointless.

What should he do then?

“What a madman.”

Admire him.

“That’s not it.”

Teach him.

Encrid welcomed Luagarne’s guidance.

Winning a fight and mastering swordsmanship were different matters.

Luagarne had rich experience and excellent swordsmanship.

He could parry, strike, and read the opponent’s intentions.

It was like a conversation with swords, an orchestra conducted by blades. Encrid memorized everything he saw and experienced, and Luagarne helped him.

Even the evil spirit residing in the Tutor had excellent swordsmanship but was not as skilled as Luagarne.

If there was only one ring attached to that sword, something that would activate with the lightest touch, perhaps Luagarne could have resolved it.

Krais had experimented, and nothing happened when he just touched the sword with his finger.

It required a firm grip, with a certain amount of force.

So it was beyond Luagarne’s capability.

Swoosh!

He tried several more times, but the result was the same.

“I can see it, but…”

The time was too short to do anything, and after that, only Encrid continued to hold the sword.

“It seems like things are going well.”

Finn muttered as she prepared her sleeping area. She pulled out a blanket from her backpack, took out a piece of hard cheese, peeled the outer layer with a knife, and sliced it thinly.

She then placed the cheese on a piece of hard bread, completing his meal preparation.

“Since it’s partly my responsibility.”

For some reason, Krais stepped forward and grabbed the sword.

And then he died. His body remained intact, but his spirit was shattered.

It happened when Encrid wasn’t holding the sword.

“Krrrr.”

Krais foamed at the mouth and collapsed, a pointless act.

Esther kept sleeping, and naturally, their roles became clear.

Encrid returned after putting down the sword.

Frog taught him swordsmanship based on that.

Finn and Krais prepared the sleeping arrangements and food.

Esther ate, slept, and woke up.

There wasn’t a convenient place for them to relieve themselves, so they all did their business in the corners.

The curtain blocked everything underground, but they could dig a little bit into the ground.

It was like a roughly hemispherical prison with a slightly raised bottom.

They would relieve themselves in the area they had dug out.

“We can go over a week without needing to relieve ourselves if necessary.”

Frog’s comment made Finn nod in agreement, expressing envy.

After a full day passed.

Luagarne was quietly impressed.

Originally, she had so many things she wanted to say, advice to give.

It was almost boiling inside her.

What she had been saying to him so far seemed insufficient.

Originally, she would have condensed what she needed to say for the journey back, but at this moment, it seemed like words were no longer necessary for Encrid.

What did Encrid need for the future?

She was about to provide an answer to this question.

‘He’s already finding the answer.’

Still, a few words of advice might be necessary.

Krais kept quiet, thinking it was his fault.

It was a simple task, like picking up a coin from the ground, but suddenly they were trapped in a situation where they couldn’t see an inch ahead.

His mind was busy spinning, trying to find a way out of this place.

Of course, an answer was not easily forthcoming.

‘I was blinded by Krona.’

It was a situation that arose because he hadn’t considered the worst-case scenario, and Krais reflected on his mistake.

As the situation took a strange turn, Finn completely gave up thinking.

She simply observed Encrid.

‘He’s practicing swordsmanship even here.’

It could be seen as consistent, but to surpass the Tutor, sword practice was necessary.

Even so,

‘You can’t really call it normal.’

That’s what she thought when she looked at Encrid.

Or rather, behind that exceptional skill was probably this kind of madness.

Watching this, Finn felt something new filling her heart—a small or perhaps greater realization.

She had set her own limits at some point and had stopped progressing.

Meeting Encrid had been breaking down all those limits one by one, and today she finally grasped the beginning of a realization.

‘Limits are not something I set.’

Ail Caraz-Style martial arts, the qualifications as a ranger.

Had she not tried to go beyond these, and why had she stopped?

‘Because everyone said it was the right thing to do.’

But Encrid was different. Even without saying it, his actions, attitude, and the way he looked at life said something else.

Finn quietly embraced the wave of inspiration.

It was something unexpected, but it kept her mouth shut.

Esther was in a state of self-recrimination.

‘It was such a petty curse. Something so insignificant that it could hardly be called a curse.’

It was something hard to call even a spell.

And to think she hadn’t noticed it and got trapped?

If it were before, back when she was still a human, she would have bitten her tongue and died immediately.

There were reasons for her failure.

She had exhausted her magical energy by casting enhancement spells on Encrid’s sword and constantly reinforcing her body.

Everything had been too much.

Her body was bound by the curse, and her magic realm was closed off, so she had been using shortcuts.

All of these had backfired, leaving her weakened.

‘Even so!’

How could she not notice something so trivial?

She had ignored what she needed to do immediately.

She had thought the journey back would be leisurely, so she hadn’t focused on recovery.

Esther needed time to recover her lost strength and dissipated energy.

Whatever might happen next, she wouldn’t just stand by and watch.

Esther lay down, burying her head and trying to nap. At most, she estimated it would take a week to recover enough magical power to break through this pathetic barrier.

She thought about this as she fell half asleep.

Amidst these intertwined and complicated situations, a strange time passed.

“Knowing what’s lacking in yourself is important.”

Amid all this, Luagarne didn’t hold back in teaching.

It was different from the swordsmanship of the Tutor. It was purely instruction.

Winning a fight and mastering swordsmanship were different matters, and Encrid was acutely aware of this.

Luagarne was an excellent teacher.

It was clear that she was better than any instructor at the training school where Encrid had spent Krona.

“What happens if you don’t hold any cards in a card game?”

This was Luagarne’s question.

For Encrid, it was a new way of looking at things.

Her next words surprised him and made him realize once again how excellent a teacher Luagarne was.

She was someone who could not only teach but also guide and set milestones.

* * *

“Basics, start with the basics.”

“Whatever you do, you need to build your body first.”

“If you don’t know how to hold a sword, you can’t lift it. If you can’t lift it, you can’t swing it!”

“You need to have a clear vision to move forward. Do you always have to hold a sword?”

“What’s left is to think and reflect. You must burn the candle of life with contemplation. Until it goes out, you have to burn using your own body as fuel. If you don’t die, you’ll gain something.”

“Why not just farm? Do you have to wield a sword?”

There were countless instructors.

They always said the same thing.

The basics are important.

So, he focused on the basics. He tried hard, kept his eyes wide open, and moved his feet quickly. He didn’t swing his sword carelessly.

Even so, he often heard those same words.

That he should just farm.

Did he really have to wield a sword?

“If someone sits at a gambling table with a lot of silver coins, what should they hold in their hand?”

At first, Luagarne tried to discourage him and found it absurd, but she seemed to find the situation somewhat enjoyable. Well, Encrid might be imagining it.

Reading Frog’s expression was not easy for humans.

It was just a feeling she had.

“You can’t sit at a gambling table without cards.”

“Exactly, cards. Right now, you’re just a fool sitting with a bag of silver coins.”

Silver coins were the basics. No one sits at a gambling table without any coins. But also, no one sits there with just a few coins.

Why did he feel a sense of pride hearing those words?

‘They said to build a foundation.’

And now, they said that the foundation had been built. He had sought out and learned the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique as a way to lash out against his slow progress.

So, could the Mercenary Sword Technique become that card?

“It can. But what’s even better is a sword technique honed over time. The Valen Mercenary Sword Technique is ultimately too specialized in its attack methods. If all the cards in your hand are jokers, you can’t use them.”

What a perfect metaphor.

Jokers only shine when combined with other cards.

The same was true for the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique.

Regenerative Healing, Leonesis Oniac defined branches of swordsmanship.

People in later generations created swordsmanship based on those branches.

Even Northern-style heavy swordsmanship had multiple variations.

The same was true for the Central Continent’s Correct Sword Technique.

Mixing what’s appropriate from the regenerative healing technique, combining trial and error with one’s talent, created swordsmanship.

What Luagarne referred to was one of these styles.

Specifically, the swordsmanship learned through the Tutor.

“This is a cursed sword, but what’s contained within is real.”

In reality, Encrid had rarely learned swordsmanship beyond the basics.

Everything was superficial.

Luagarne emphasized the necessity of mastering swordsmanship once more.

“If you properly learn a sword technique derived from the Correct Sword Technique, it will feel like your opponent can read your every move.”

He had experienced this multiple times.

The evil spirit within the sword was doing something similar.

“I see.”

Encrid nodded, his eyes still blazing with intensity. The reflection of torchlight in his usually blue eyes made them appear tinged with red.

Encrid showed his emotions openly when it came to learning, something Luagarne found fascinating.

‘He really is a sword-obsessed maniac.’

Or simply, a ‘sword fanatic’.

Everything he had learned and practiced so far was more preparation for handling a sword than actual sword technique.

This was the essence of what Luagarne had conveyed.

Encrid realized this while learning swordsmanship from the Tutor.

“Let me go fetch some swordsmanship.”

He joked as he grasped the sword again. It was repetition, learning swordsmanship through a process that felt much gentler and more serene than actual death.

To put it simply,

‘It’s an easy and enjoyable task.’

That’s how it was for Encrid.

Encrid picked up the sword, moved his body from side to side briefly, and then returned.

Blinking, he shook his head.

“Did it happen again?”

“This time, my legs were completely cut off.”

He spoke with an astonishingly calm demeanor.

“The final strike was supposed to be a downward slash, but it ended up being a diagonal neck cut.”

He had observed the process, so he understood it.

So, what was needed here?

Encrid picked up the broken sword he had been using instead of a wooden one, still in its scabbard.

Luagarne’s heart pounded without her realizing it.

Her cheeks puffed up with excitement.

“You are truly…”

An incredibly fascinating person.

Even the Tutor couldn’t limit him. No, look at this—his mind had already surpassed the Tutor!

The message was clear. She couldn’t teach him new swordsmanship, as she was bound by certain agreements.

But she could guide him in what he had already learned.

She did just that.

He would go in, learn techniques, and come out to replicate them.

It was possible because he had complete control over his body.

Luagarne would then refine what he had learned.

Once he mastered it, he would pick up the sword again.

This time, Encrid mentioned that his fingers had been cut off.

“And then he thrust at the neck, with the blade curving like a snake.”

“He used a wrist snap.”

This was Luagarne’s response.

Despite appearing tired with dark circles under his eyes, Encrid remained composed.

He took breaks occasionally, as neglecting to eat and drink would damage the body.

While resting, Finn gazed at the sword and muttered, “It reminds me of an old legend. Something about pulling a sword to become a King.”

Encrid, who was resting, also heard this.

Becoming a King just by pulling out a sword?

Even for a legend, it seemed overly simplistic.

A King is a person entangled in politics and various circumstances.

Legends and stories are inherently exaggerated, so, well.

Afterward, Encrid continued to immerse himself in swordsmanship.

He had already picked up and put down the sword over a hundred times.

It should have seemed like self-torture.

Yet Encrid remained indifferent. The pain lingered in his body, but for someone repeating the same day, it felt somehow diminished.

‘It works.’

Encrid felt a renewed thrill in learning swordsmanship.

It took just a day and a half.

Instead of repeating the day by dying, he could immediately exchange quality swordsmanship by simply holding the sword.

He spared no time and immersed himself completely.

A short but intense period passed.

It was enough.

“Now, it’s done.”

These words came from Luagarne.

Was it thanks to the Tutor?

No, it wasn’t that.

Above all, Encrid was different from before. He was vastly different from the time when he struggled with minimal talent.

Encrid reflected on the day.

He pondered and reviewed everything he had gone through, wondering how he had overlooked certain things.

What had he gained from it?

Though it was a time that couldn’t be easily described, if he had to sum it up, Encrid could do so in two words.

“Talent.”

The feeling of standing out among others had ingrained itself into his well-structured body.

From the Heart of the Beast to the Sense of Evasion.

He had trained his body, increasing his strength, agility, and reaction speed.

He had mastered complete control over his body.

He had also enhanced his boldness, focus, and senses to support himself.

“You, um, what are you?”

Luagarne was astonished. It seemed like he had developed a talent that hadn’t been there before.

As he grasped the sword once more, soon, with the feel of the wet ground, a metallic figure lunged at him.

Clang!

The swords clashed. The difference this time was that Encrid had now grasped the opponent’s swordsmanship.

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