A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 291: Duty and Responsibility (3)

"I don’t think you fought because you wanted to die."

The bandit leader’s voice rang out.

At first, Enkrid wasn’t sure what he was saying. Then he realized—it was an offer.

The bastard was trying to recruit him.

Join the bandits, rob with them.

Oh, and also warm his bed at night?

He wasn’t sure.

Enkrid’s thoughts were fading in and out.

Especially this part of his memory—it was even more fragmented.

All he could see were a bunch of rabid mutts in front of him.

A pack of filthy, heat-driven dogs.

They were snickering among themselves, their grins stretching unnaturally wide, mouths ripping open from ear to ear.

His vision blurred.

The mutt of a bandit leader flicked his tongue as he drew closer.

They had already subdued him.

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At this point, he should be thinking about tomorrow.

So long as he didn’t die, tomorrow would come.

Another chance would come.

But then, in that moment, he saw the child's corpse again.

He heard the bandit leader’s words.

He wasn’t sure what else the bastard had said after that.

Because the last thing Enkrid remembered—

—was that mutt stripping the dead child of her clothes.

Why is he taking off her clothes?

Hoo.

A Valen-style mercenary knife. A blade without a handle.

Enkrid was clutching the steel itself, his palm split open, blood spilling freely.

But no one realized that the blood was from the weapon in his hand.

Then he struck.

Thrust.

He drove it deep.

Twist.

The blade wrenched inside flesh.

Smash!

The bandit leader’s fist struck him square in the face.

Enkrid’s body lifted off the ground, flung sideways.

He hit the earth shoulder-first. His joint twisted, and his left arm went limp.

Still, he raised his head.

The bandit leader stood clutching his gut with one hand.

The grotesque dog’s head was gone.

Only his real face remained.

"You son of a bitch... if you want to die that badly, then fine. Die."

"Ger. Now."

Enkrid’s tongue weaved a spell.

He spoke as if Ger was alive, as if he was swinging his axe right behind the bandit leader.

The man flinched in panic, rolling forward to dodge.

But of course, Ger was dead.

The only way he’d be fighting now was if he had turned undead—a skeleton soldier or a zombie.

The thought made Enkrid chuckle.

The bandit leader’s eyes darkened with rage.

His hurried movement had worsened his wound. Blood gushed down his stomach.

"You won’t die easy," the man growled.

Well, Enkrid hadn’t exactly lived an easy life either.

So maybe this was fitting.

He was indifferent now.

He had done everything he could.

If anyone approached, he would bite.

That was all that was left.

This feeling...

It felt like a twisted, rotten joke.

Like a sick fucking joke.

A child with a dream of becoming an herbalist—dead because he couldn’t protect her.

Two comrades—dead because they stood by his side.

Villagers—dead because they tried to fight back.

And he himself—soon to be dead.

"What the hell was he even relying on?"

One of the bandits scoffed.

"I have no faith," Enkrid replied, as casually as ever.

The bandit leader and his men exchanged glances, convinced now that he was completely insane.

Who says something like that at a time like this?

He had to have been dropped on his head as a child.

Then—

Thud.

A sudden sound.

A severed head flew.

Blood sprayed.

A body collapsed, headless.

It was the bastard who had been stripping the child’s corpse.

Slash. Thud. Thwip.

The two standing beside him—perhaps waiting for their turn—lost their heads next.

It was too fast to see.

"What the fuck?!"

Mercenaries?

No, even if they had returned, this wasn’t something they could have done.

This didn’t make any sense.

It was like a gust of wind had swept through, cleanly decapitating them.

That’s how fast it was.

Then, the one who caused it finally spoke.

They were already standing among the bandits, staring at them.

Their entire face was covered with a hood, only their eyes barely visible.

But Enkrid knew—

That was a woman disguised as a man.

Of course, that didn’t matter in the slightest.

"You guys are the ones who messed with my camp, right?"

She carried a longsword slung over her shoulder.

Dressed in black leather armor, she had a lean, agile frame.

But despite her build, her swordsmanship was nothing short of monstrous.

Cutting off a human head in one stroke wasn’t easy.

Even now, out of all the bandits that had fallen, only a few had died with a single clean cut.

But she had taken down three burly bandits like it was nothing.

"It was you, wasn’t it?"

She murmured something incomprehensible.

Her sword moved.

Bodies dropped.

Enkrid swallowed the blood pooling in his mouth.

His breathing was ragged.

His lungs had been damaged.

But he wasn’t going to die from it.

He had been beaten enough times to know what kind of injuries were fatal.

This wasn’t one of them.

Ignoring the pain, he watched the swordswoman move.

"Kill her! Archers!"

Ping!

Arrows shot toward her.

They missed.

Or rather—

They were never going to hit in the first place.

Her movements were invisible.

Between the falling raindrops, the true reaper of the village arrived.

Not to save them.

Not to avenge them.

She just cut down the people that annoyed her.

"You’re making this big of a fuss over losing one stupid rabbit?"

The bandit leader screamed in frustration.

The woman answered with her sword.

She cut him down.

"You pests should have known better than to mess with the wrong person."

There was no hesitation in her blade.

No mercy.

She sliced through them as easily as she breathed.

Enkrid watched.

He saw the remaining bandits flee.

Then he lost consciousness.

——

Drifting in and out, he vaguely recalled something.

A voice.

"Blond, red eyes, about this tall, looks kind of lazy—do you know him?"

Half-conscious, he blinked up at her.

Their eyes met.

She shrugged.

"If not, forget it."

Later, he heard that she took a few gold coins ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) from the surviving villagers before leaving.

Not as a payment for saving them.

She had been offered the money, so she took it.

She didn’t care about what she had done.

She hadn’t saved or protected them.

She had just cut down what was in her way.

That was all.

——

After he recovered, Enkrid helped the villagers bury the dead.

Ger and Pete were buried.

The child was buried.

"Why did you do it?"

The dead child seemed to ask.

Alone among the graves, Enkrid answered without emotion.

When he returned, people called him the guy who got his comrades killed.

He gained nothing.

He saved nothing.

It was a fight with no reward.

But it was a fight he couldn’t walk away from.

***

"You did it just to be difficult."

"Huh?"

"Because their actions disgusted you. Because you wanted to hit them. Because running away would’ve felt like losing. Ah, now that—I couldn’t stand."

His voice was monotonous, devoid of emotion. Flat, unchanging, and indifferent.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Seriously."

"And you say that with a straight face?"

"I’m the type of man who burns with a cold flame."

"Oh, sure. Whatever you say."

Kraiss gave up.

If Enkrid had been the type to listen to reason, they wouldn’t have made it this far.

Enkrid stood up.

It had been a while since he’d thought about that day.

"I won’t tell you to run away, so just tell me. Why?"

Strangely enough, it was the same question the little girl had whispered to him from her grave.

"Because I wanted to."

The same answer he had given back then.

What is a knight?

They were the ones who upheld their oaths.

Enkrid had grown up listening to poetry, dreaming of the stories he heard.

That dream had led him here.

To him, a knight was someone who upheld their oath and never betrayed their own heart.

He had been faced with these kinds of choices many times.

Whether by the favor of Lady Luck or sheer stubbornness, he had always managed to survive.

And somewhere along the way, he had received a charm from a village of slash-and-burn farmers—one that made him relive the same day over and over again.

Fate is a funny thing.

So he would keep doing what he had to do.

He would follow his heart, as he had sworn to.

"So, in the end, you're staying to protect them?" Kraiss sighed. "If you back out now, the people of Border Guard will suffer. People will die, the cultists will cause havoc—it's going to be a disaster. That’s why you’re doing this, isn’t it?"

"No, I just don’t like how they look."

"Oh, come on! Just admit it—you’re trying to protect them!"

"You keep speaking informally."

"Ugh, fine. Whatever. Let’s just say I lost this argument."

Kraiss gave up completely.

Enkrid chuckled.

Yes. He wanted to protect them.

Wasn’t that his duty? His responsibility?

If he couldn’t even protect the people behind him, then what was he swinging his sword for?

What could he hope to protect in the future?

If he couldn’t even take responsibility for those at his back, then he could do nothing.

That was his oath.

"May the Lord’s blessing be with you."

Audin prayed without a smile.

Ragna silently polished and oiled his sword.

Jaxon had slipped away at some point.

Teresa and Dunbakel had nothing to say.

Esther, of course, was indifferent.

The leopard barely paid attention, as if it had no interest in their discussion.

"Oh, come on. Is everyone insane?"

Only Kraiss muttered to himself, but none of them looked like they planned on leaving.

Night passed.

Enkrid determined that his right arm was unusable for the time being.

He could move it in an emergency, but for now, it was best left alone.

His shin wound wasn’t as bad.

As long as I don’t move too much, it should be fine.

Late at night, Audin approached him.

"Shall I heal you?"

Enkrid was sharp.

Luck had saved him plenty of times, but so had his instincts.

He understood well enough what would happen if Audin used his divine power.

And more than anything, he knew Audin didn’t want to.

Was it really worth forcing him, just to heal his arm a little faster?

Should he make a devoted soldier like him sacrifice something for that?

"No need."

He pushed Audin away.

The man simply smiled again.

That night, they held a strategy meeting.

There was much to do.

"We need to force them to reveal their hand first. Hold out another day, and strike on the third."

Graham nodded. He was thinking about when to deploy the heavy infantry.

Kraiss, meanwhile, considered every worst-case scenario and broke them down one by one.

He barely slept. By morning, the dark circles under his eyes were worse than ever.

"Staying up all night is terrible for your skin," he muttered.

Despite his complaints, he kept thinking.

At dawn, the battle resumed.

"Kill them all!"

Lykanos didn’t step onto the battlefield—he only gave the order.

"We have to hold out. Intact."

Kraiss gave the command.

Enkrid followed his instincts, moving to where he was needed—at the front.

The very front.

He held his sword in his left hand.

"Hold the line!"

"What doesn’t kill me—!"

"Makes me stronger tomorrow!"

The distorted rallying cry found its way back to its original form.

Before the battle had even properly begun, a squad of spear-wielding skirmishers lunged for Enkrid.

Lykanos simply watched.

His one remaining eye gleamed, but Enkrid paid him no attention.

Once again, he barely survived.

He didn’t die.

But he couldn’t push forward either.

Because Enkrid endured, his allies' morale soared.

The Mad Platoon wouldn’t stop just because of a few injuries.

Especially since his unit hadn’t even entered the battlefield yet.

Both sides were still holding back their trump cards.

"Kill them alllllll!"

"Goddamn it!"

Between battle cries and curses, the soldiers fought.

Enkrid survived again—but took three cuts to the stomach.

It was intentional.

Fighting one-handed made his movements clumsy.

But he trusted the armor he had obtained from the Tomb of the Explorer.

Tap. Tap.

He patted his stomach and grinned.

"Solid."

Another insane remark.

Kraiss sighed deeply and endured another day of madness.

The next morning.

"Did you really have to go that far?"

His face, arms, and torso were covered in shallow cuts.

Scars from the previous day’s battle.

It wasn’t a big deal—just some minor wounds.

They’d heal with a bit of spit.

But Kraiss wasn’t happy about it.

"You let them hit you on purpose, didn’t you?"

Enkrid had traded his stomach wounds for two enemy throats.

One with the Serpent Fang dagger, the other with a downward slash.

"Forget it."

When the next battle started, Enkrid saw something he hadn’t expected.

A child.

A small, trembling child stood at the front of the enemy lines.

Not just close to the enemy.

Not hidden behind them.

Right in front.

Standing there as if asking to be shot by an arrow.

Not bandits.

Not Tarhnin’s forces.

Not cultists.

A familiar face.

A child from Border Guard.

A child who was supposed to be protected.

"Here’s a present for you, bastard!"

Lykanos shouted from the back.

There was no real excitement in his voice.

It was just a petty trick, meant to lower their morale.

"Venzance."

Enkrid didn’t need to explain.

Venzance understood immediately.

"Hold your fire!"

Venzance's command stopped the archers.

Even the enemy archers didn’t release their arrows.

The child ran.

Her legs trembled, but she kept running.

Enkrid stepped forward.

If an arrow flew at her back, he would deflect it.

A round shield was already strapped to his left arm.

And the moment she reached him—

A burst of light erupted from her stomach.

And then—

"Did you really have to go that far?"

Kraiss’s voice.

Enkrid opened his eyes.

The day had restarted.