A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 224: A Bountiful Harvest

As soon as they returned to the quarters, Jaxon brought out the ointment.

The ointment, stored in a small wooden container, was applied evenly across Enkrid’s body by Finn, while Kraiss took care of bandaging his wounds.

"I thought you were a goner back there," Kraiss remarked, expertly wrapping the bandages.

“I was holding back,” Enkrid replied nonchalantly.

Kraiss let out a disbelieving chuckle. “Did you not see that woman’s arms? They were thicker than our dear brother’s,” he said, nodding toward Audin.

The implication was clear: How could you say you were holding back after seeing arms like that?

“Arm size doesn’t determine skill,” Enkrid said without a flicker of emotion, as if the pain from his wounds didn’t even exist.

Kraiss raised his brows in exasperation and withdrew his hands. The worst of the injuries had been tended to.

“Don’t be disheartened if the results aren’t favorable,” Finn chimed in hesitantly. She didn’t yet understand Enkrid.

Ambition often brings with it a fierce desire for victory. Most people are like that.

Enkrid wasn’t devoid of such desires either. Finn had seen her commander and knew he wasn’t one to enjoy losing.

But this time, things were different.

Losing wasn’t the issue.

Enkrid had learned much from his battle with the half-giant warrior woman.

There were things more important than losing.

More important than dying.

The satisfaction of fulfilling a burning desire.

The joy of knowing you’re moving forward toward tomorrow.

Tomorrow, again.

After all, it wasn’t over. He wasn’t dead.

They had simply parted, promising to meet again. Right now, Enkrid wasn’t dwelling on his loss; he was reveling in the progress he had made and the path he was now eager to tread.

The smile crept onto his face unbidden.

Finn, seeing this, cautiously stood from her crouched position and turned away, mouthing silently, Did he hit his head too?

There was no answer.

Audin, who had been watching silently, stepped forward. A towering, bear-like figure, he knelt on one knee and met Enkrid’s gaze.

“Do you... enjoy getting hit, brother?” Audin asked.

It was a question with an obvious answer. Of course, he didn’t.

The real message lay in what followed—Audin’s way of offering a reprimand.

“No one can avoid every attack,” Audin continued, “so what should one do instead?”

Not waiting for a response, he answered his own question.

“If you stop here, merely reveling in how your body moves as you will it, you’ll find it hard to advance further. Don’t stop, brother.”

He tapped his temple lightly with his forefinger for emphasis.

Enkrid didn’t immediately grasp the full weight of Audin’s words.

But he had an inkling that there was something to gain from them. So, he kept silent, letting the words sink in.

As the religious beast of a man stepped back, the axe-wielding beast stepped forward.

“There’s no need to hold back your strength. Stop enduring—let it explode!”

Enkrid didn’t fully understand this either but filed it away for later.

Then came Jaxon’s quip.

“Getting hit on purpose hurts less, you know.”

And finally, Ragna’s question.

“Are you enjoying this?”

At least to that, Enkrid could answer with conviction.

“Immensely,” he said, his sincerity apparent.

Ragna smirked at his response, and Enkrid, with bandages covering one eye and cheek, smiled in return.

Ragna thought that smile was enough to set hearts ablaze.

Why wouldn’t it?

Watching Enkrid fight like that had ignited a new passion within him.

It had been a long time since he felt this way.

He wanted to wield his sword, whether or not he had an opponent. Just to relish the moment. The now.

And so, he wanted to tell his commander the same thing.

Enjoy it.

Enkrid’s answer was simple: he already was.

Ragna left the quarters and headed for the private training grounds.

As he swung his sword, a few soldiers nearby were inspired to do the same.

Some even approached Ragna directly.

“Can I spar with you?” one asked.

There are those who, no matter how much they are battered, refuse to be broken.

Ragna had never noticed them before, but now, they stood out.

Such people grow. They move forward. They learn.

“Sure,” he replied, and didn’t hold back.

He thoroughly trounced his opponent but did so with genuine intent.

Ragna enjoyed today. It was a rare moment, one that filled him with pride and satisfaction. For Ragna, it had been a deeply fulfilling day.

***

Enkrid lay still, breathing steadily.

His body, a testament to regeneration, healed swiftly from even severe injuries. This was the result of discipline—a body honed and trained to activate its restorative capabilities.

What fuels such regenerative power?

First, a conditioned physique. Even at rest, a well-trained body circulates blood rapidly, facilitating healing through enhanced blood flow. Strong muscles and robust physicality amplify recovery by strengthening the heart.

Enkrid had realized this during his training with the Isolation Technique.

Next was proper nutrition. Energy essential for recovery comes from eating.

Audin had always said, “Eat well to build muscles. Eat well to make rest meaningful.”

And Enkrid did just that. After returning to his quarters, he ate heartily.

The meal consisted of finely ground meat patties stir-fried with vegetables, including potatoes and hardy root vegetables. A wholesome, plentiful feast—now an attainable luxury.

"Order whatever you want, use whatever you need," Marcus had said after the battlefield’s dust settled. Though he had phrased it more elegantly, the sentiment was the same.

Enkrid ate and rested well, without the weight of pressure.

Then there was Esther.

The Lake Panther, radiating an air of exasperation, silently entered Enkrid’s embrace.

“It’s been a while,” Enkrid murmured, stroking Esther’s head with his fingers.

Esther didn’t resist.

Their relationship was more akin to comradeship than anything romantic. Enkrid treated her as such, and she, in turn, quietly released her mana, subtly stimulating his body.

Though not a healing spell, mana inherently influenced the body. Esther did what she could.

This, combined with other factors, made Enkrid’s rapid recovery inevitable.

Unaware of all this, Dunbakel widened her eyes in astonishment.

“Already up?”

She couldn’t believe he was on his feet after just a day.

She herself had been battered by Rem before, and it had felt like her body might give out entirely.

Not that she’d ever consider running away, but the pain was unavoidable, even for beastfolk like her.

They, too, weren’t immune to pain or particularly adept at enduring it. Their combat prowess stemmed from their innate agility and reflexes—they couldn’t afford to be sluggish like giants.

Despite her protests, Rem had merely scoffed at her concerns.

“Great, let’s double the beating today,” he would say nonchalantly.

“It’s training, not violence, right?”

Rem always insisted it wasn’t about wanting to hit people but about necessary training. Yet sometimes, he seemed to forget that and let his true desires show.

“Oh, right. Training. Double the training,” he’d respond, shamelessly brushing it off.

Dunbakel could only grumble internally.

Meanwhile, Enkrid twisted his torso side to side, testing his mobility.

“My ribs are still a bit sore. How about you? Gotten any better, ex-thief?” he asked, glancing at Dunbakel.

The term “ex-thief” irked her, but she couldn’t argue against it.

“A little,” she replied curtly.

“Exciting,” Enkrid remarked cryptically.

What’s exciting? The desperate struggle to survive?

Dunbakel couldn’t comprehend his words.

In just a day, Enkrid rose from his bed.

The ribs are mostly healed.

Though not perfect, he felt restless staying down.

What if the half-giant warrior woman left before he got another chance?

Where she came from no longer mattered to Enkrid. All he cared about was having a worthy opponent. The mere thought of fighting her again filled him with anticipation.

Such thoughts earned him the label of a madman, but Enkrid was unbothered. Or rather, he simply didn’t have the time to care.

There are geniuses, prodigies, and natural-born talents.

To reach a level even geniuses struggle to attain, one couldn’t rely on ordinary effort.

Madness was essential.

Fortunately, Enkrid achieved this unconsciously, driven by instinct.

Those who truly understood him would find his inner workings astonishing, but no one could fully grasp his mind—not entirely.

After a good night’s sleep, Enkrid rose clear-headed and began to think.

Walking helped him process thoughts. It was a habit from childhood—to walk when his mind hit a wall.

He strolled toward the marketplace, pondering along the way.

It wasn’t a sudden epiphany but a gradual realization, like the tide creeping in to wet his ankles.

Was I arrogant?

What he had learned from his comrades awakened new abilities within him. Had that newfound talent turned into a poison, making him complacent?

Audin’s advice echoed in his mind: Reflect and reflect again.

The half-giant warrior’s attacks had been swift, fierce, and precise—not easily evaded.

“Getting hit on purpose hurts less,” Jaxon had said, advising him to anticipate blows.

Perceive with your senses.

Relying solely on sight was too slow. Had he grown overconfident in his enhanced body?

Despite the storm brewing inside, Enkrid didn’t stop reflecting.

Open all five senses. Unlock the door to the sixth.

Had he done so, he would have noticed the first shield bash sooner.

Complacency born from his wellspring of experience had trapped him.

But he broke free.

For Enkrid, shattering his limits was second nature—more so than for anyone else.

Let it explode.

The Heart of Might enhanced strength through boldness.

Was it about maintaining composure while using it?

No.

Moments.

It was about unleashing bursts of power in brief intervals.

He couldn’t sustain the Heart of Might throughout an entire fight, so this was the logical approach.

By the time he reached the market, his thoughts had crystallized.

Capture with the sixth sense. Explode in the moment.

As he arrived, murmurs filled the air.

“It’s unusually tense today.”

“They all seem formidable.”

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“Bell almost broke her leg, I heard.”

The chatter suggested something was happening.

For the first time that day, Enkrid noticed that neither Rem nor the others were around—they were all here.

“So this is where everyone went,” he muttered.

As he walked, the crowd parted for him, recognizing who he was.

“Sir, you’re here?”

“Already? Are you alright?”

“Care for some jerky?”

He passed through the crowd until he reached the intersection flanked by the four inns symbolizing the Border Guard.

The road ahead was blocked. Several wagons had come to a halt.

Ahead, he spotted the half-giant warrior woman. Her shield and sword were planted into the ground beside her, making her look like a statue.

And she wasn’t alone.

“Well, I’m called the Swiftblade. Does anyone know me? I’m here to challenge that independent commander Enkrid,” said a thin man with a smug grin.

He radiated an unsettling aura, his smile feeling insincere.

By his side stood others, including a blond man who stepped forward with a booming declaration.

“I am Edin Molsen, son of Count Molsen! I’ve come to test my skills against the famed commander Enkrid!”

Enkrid recognized him immediately—the coachman from before.

Next to Edin was a younger man with a similar demeanor, accompanied by an imposing guard.

The crowd hushed as Rem stepped into the center, pointing to his head.

“If you’re impatient, feel free to play with my axe. Though, our captain here might have a screw loose,” he said, spinning a finger by his ear.

That bastard.

Enkrid didn’t bother hiding. The crowd parted, revealing him.

“You’re all here for me?”

In that moment, Enkrid understood something profound.

It was a bountiful harvest.

Each of them, as strong as the half-giant warrior, had come seeking him.