A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 292: A Tailored Scheme

"What the hell is up with that guy?"

Lykanos had heard the name Enkrid and had a general grasp of his abilities. Or at least, he thought he did.

That was why he had pulled out his hidden trump card.

It was supposed to be an unwinnable fight.

And yet, Enkrid survived.

He had only managed to disable one of his arms—didn’t even cut it off, just made it useless for a while.

"Hah."

Lykanos was stunned.

It was the first time he had drawn his blade and failed to accomplish his goal.

A Ki Blade—one of only two in existence.

A strike based purely on speed.

A hidden blade inside a mace.

And this bastard, who wasn’t even a knight, had managed to dodge it?

And even that wasn’t the end of it.

Even after losing an eye, Lykanos had given a hand signal.

Just in case.

The second hidden blade.

"Kill him."

His personally trained [N O V E L I G H T] unit charged in.

And yet, they still failed to kill him.

"Lost an eye, too."

Half his world was now in darkness.

He had crushed herbs and smeared them over his wound, but that did nothing for the pain.

It hurt like hell.

Unless a high-ranking cleric miraculously appeared, becoming one-eyed was now a certainty.

And that pissed him off.

Failure and injury.

Two misfortunes stacked on top of each other.

His irritation flared—

"Shit, what a fucking mess. Hah."

—but with a single curse and a deep breath, Lykanos controlled his emotions.

"Have they moved yet?"

He asked.

"Yes."

Came the immediate response.

Lykanos recalled the orders he had given.

There was no use getting worked up.

Just because his hidden technique and elite unit had failed didn’t mean he was out of options.

Lykanos wasn’t a genius strategist. He was a survivor.

But during his years of surviving, he had learned one simple truth.

Every human has a weakness.

No one was without flaws.

Even the greatest geniuses had gaps in their defenses.

How do you find them?

You poke.

Try everything. Use any means necessary.

Keep prodding until something works.

Because no matter how skilled someone was, a blade to the flesh would still cut them.

Even knights could bleed.

A single mistake, a moment of carelessness, and steel would pierce flesh, rip through muscle, and tear into their guts.

"Press him. Do whatever it takes—find out what makes him tick."

Even before this battle, the Black Blade had been gathering intelligence.

The thieves' guild embedded in the kingdom worked in the shadows, meticulously unearthing information.

They had eliminated Marcus, pulled Azpen into their ranks, aligned themselves with the cultists, and pried into every so-called elite warrior of Border Guard.

That included Enkrid.

"Being good with a sword isn’t everything."

At first, they had tried to recruit him.

The Black Blade could offer anything.

Women, gold, power.

A proper taming—just like they had done with so many others.

But he hadn’t even listened.

Not even remotely interested.

"Not working?"

What kind of freak was this guy?

If bribery didn’t work, then fine.

They would just eliminate him.

That was the easiest method.

After all, slipping a blade into his gut was hardly a challenge.

But that had also failed.

"Even that didn’t work?"

Assassination. Poison. Persuasion.

Everything had failed.

Did that mean he had no weaknesses?

The leader of the Black Blade personally took charge.

He analyzed Enkrid’s past, his current actions, his emotions, his oddities—everything.

Then he constructed a psychological profile and handed it to Lykanos.

"What the fuck?!"

Lykanos was baffled.

This bastard was a romantic.

A swordsman who raised his blade to protect people.

An absolute lunatic.

No wonder he had earned the nickname Madman.

Even Swiftblade’s final words confirmed it.

All it had taken was a few coins to get the right people talking.

The streets were full of eager mouths willing to sell their stories to a bard.

"So, he surrendered just because they took some hostages?"

Was it confidence in his own skill?

Or had he actually done it to save them?

After all the digging, all the effort—this was the answer.

And so, Lykanos had a simple thought.

"Will this work?"

He wasn’t sure.

It was just a guess.

He didn’t think it was the perfect solution.

If his sword had done the job, or if his men had killed Enkrid, he never would have resorted to this.

It wasn’t complicated.

They infiltrated Border Guard, snatched a few children, wrapped their bodies in scrolls, and sent them back.

The scrolls contained explosive spells.

It was a strategy from a long-dead kingdom.

A devastating technique, but with a severe drawback—it only worked at close range.

If the caster was nearby, they would also be killed.

Even the mage who created it had called it a failure.

A spell so flawed that if the user didn’t protect themselves properly before casting, they would die first.

But what if the caster’s life didn’t matter?

What if the spell was written onto scrolls and wrapped around a hostage?

What if someone else triggered them?

It was a labor-intensive strategy.

Resource-intensive, too.

Highly inefficient.

But the battlefield wasn’t always won by efficiency.

Sometimes, a single elite group could change everything.

Even if they couldn’t kill them, simply stalling them would be enough.

That was the purpose of this tactic.

Lykanos didn’t waste time wondering if it would work.

He simply did it.

Sometimes, acting was more important than thinking.

And this was one of those times.

So he revived a dead kingdom’s forbidden tactic.

"Will this really work?"

One of his men voiced his doubts.

Would a few random children really have an impact?

In a world where people valued their own lives above all else—where most wouldn’t care even if their own mother was killed—why would this matter?

Would Enkrid even recognize the kid?

There were plenty of brats running around Border Guard.

"Should I wrap you in a scroll and send you instead?"

Lykanos bared his teeth, revealing green herbal residue dripping from his lips.

It was an eerie sight.

The man immediately shut up and moved.

"Fucking idiot."

Lykanos despised cowardly subordinates.

Winning by any means necessary—that was what mattered.

Poke and prod until an opening appeared.

That was how the Black Blade operated.

That night, a group of thieves infiltrated Border Guard.

Some of them were caught—beaten to death or forced to flee.

But one of them managed to snatch a child.

Barely.

When Lykanos heard that, he felt an ache in the back of his head.

"Are these idiots really from the Black Blade?"

Of course, for the kidnapped child, this was a nightmare.

But would it actually shake the battlefield?

Would it matter?

Probably not.

A mother would grieve.

But deep down, even she would accept that her child was never coming back.

That was the world they lived in.

"Shit. Will this really work?"

Even his subordinates doubted it as they wrapped the child in the scrolls.

A robed mage muttered something ominous in the background, his eyes sunken and hollow.

His words were incomprehensible.

He was a foul creature.

"Preparations are complete."

"Send it."

The old magician, his nose covered in black warts, gave the command.

The child was shoved forward.

"P-please... s-spare me..."

Tears and snot ran down the child’s face.

A bandit pulled out a dagger.

He lightly traced it across the kid’s cheek.

A thin line of blood appeared.

"If you don’t want to die, do exactly as we say."

The child’s legs shook.

But they ran.

Without crying.

Without screaming.

Biting down hard, dragging their trembling legs forward.

Viscount Tarhnin barely spared a glance.

What was one dead child?

Even if it had been one of his own people, he wouldn’t have cared.

A Border Guard brat? A rebel spawn?

If sacrificing a few kids could win him this war—

And make him a Grand Lord—

Then he would gladly force that sacrifice.

A vague desire, an urge on the brink of becoming reality. His heart roiled.

That was why joining hands with a band of thieves was nothing to him. Whether they wrapped the child's body in scrolls or laced them with iron thorns, it wasn't his concern.

Even if they were to place a crown of thorns upon the child’s head, it would have been the same.

"Go."

The thief urged. The child stepped forward.

They walked past the range of arrows, heading straight into enemy territory.

Trembling, yet pressing forward. Running, even.

Towards the land they once called home.

No arrows struck the child.

No one blocked their path.

Instead, someone stepped forward. It didn’t matter who.

The mage had tethered his spell world to the scroll wrapped around the child’s body.

A single mistake, and his spell world would suffer severe damage. That alone made it a dangerous act. Even in success, his spell world would be scarred. That made it reckless. But that was why it would work.

What kind of lunatic mage would attempt something like this?

Only one old and decrepit, one who had long abandoned the pursuit of magic in favor of greed, a man who had become nothing more than a tool for a band of thieves.

"Detonate."

The mage muttered.

The ferryman’s eyes came into view. He shook his violet lamp and spoke.

That voice still burrowed into his skull.

"Are you enjoying this?"

Enkrid hadn’t yet grasped what had happened. He had only realized that he had died.

Facing the dreamlike existence before him, he spoke.

"It’s been a while."

His greeting was cordial, but the ferryman showed no emotion. His voice remained indifferent.

"You will not enjoy this."

The black river receded as his eyes opened, and once more, the day repeated itself.

"Are we seriously doing this?"

Kraiss’s voice reached him as he sat up and ate his morning meal.

He ate well, ensuring his body was in the best possible condition. The injuries remained. He would have to endure another day in this state.

He recalled the final moments.

The Black Blades had kidnapped the child. They had placed something in the child's hands.

No, not just in their hands—they had wrapped it around them.

He had at least pinpointed the origin of the light.

"A scroll?"

That had to be it. Nothing else made sense.

Right before the child's body exploded, an ominous premonition struck his mind like a hammer.

Light. Flickering. The searing pain of fire consuming his entire being.

Flesh splitting apart, shredded into pieces.

He had felt this dread before. A trap woven from magic, something he had encountered when he first awakened his sixth sense.

This time, however, he wouldn’t be able to avoid it. It was barreling toward him, inevitable.

Ridiculous. And if he just dodged it? What about the child? What if they were shot down before reaching him?

Yet someone had gone to the trouble of using a scroll for this—an expensive scroll at that. They had infiltrated the border guard, kidnapped a child?

None of this had been easy.

"This is absurd."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"I'm the one who's actually baffled here."

Kraiss sighed.

"Right. Sure."

Enkrid ignored him, running the scenario through his head.

It was absurd. And yet, Enkrid had no intention of turning away.

A solution.

If a problem was placed before him, he would face it head-on. He would push through.

Just as he always had.

Enkrid deliberately focused his thoughts in one direction.

How to endure the explosion, how to overcome it, how to surpass it.

And, if possible, how to save the child as well.

How could he do it?

He was used to repeating the same day.

The first thought that came to mind was Esther.

Magic was the realization of the mystical. That scroll had to be a spell.

If he had Esther, half the problem would be solved.

The issue was that she had to be in human form to use magic. She had said so herself.

Enkrid’s gaze dropped to his side.

A lake panther lay curled up on the floor, resting peacefully.

He placed his hand on her back, stroking her lightly. She let out a pleased purr.

"Hasn’t it been about time for you to turn human?"

Running his hand over Esther’s head and down her back, Enkrid spoke.

"Turn into a human. Poof."

He was only half-serious. It wasn’t like he expected anything to happen.

But apparently, everyone else had heard him, because all eyes turned in his direction.

This chapter is updat𝙚d by freeweɓnovel.cøm.

Dunbakel approached and placed a hand on his forehead, muttering to herself.

"...Is he running a fever?"

Kraiss, who had been watching, quietly shook his head.

"Gods help me. I've lost my mind."

And then he sighed.

Esther merely looked up at him, her eyes half-lidded in drowsy amusement.

What are you doing?

That’s what she seemed to be asking.

"Never mind."

Enkrid pressed down on her head again. She lowered it, nestling back into her spot.

He hadn’t expected much to begin with.

Esther still spent more time as a panther than as a human.

She had once mentioned that she could barely stay in human form for even a single day in a week.

'If only she could turn into a person now.'

What a selfish thought.

Even back when they had taken down the Black Blades’ illicit business in the village, she had beaten a lightning mage to a pulp.

Whether she could help or not was another matter.

Since when had he relied on anyone else to survive the day?

‘This is my job.’

He spent the entire day thinking.

Once that spell was activated, the kid would explode.

He pulled a chair over and sat, leaning forward with his chin on his hand, lost in thought.

Beside him, Dunbakel murmured to Esther to turn into a human, only to have her hand bitten.

"Ow!"

Teresa remained silent, as did Ragna and Audin.

In the brief stillness, Kraiss, his voice drained of energy, finally asked.

"What the hell are you thinking so hard about?"

Enkrid knew how sharp Kraiss could be. Lifting his gaze, Enkrid opened his mouth and explained.

What if someone wrapped a child in a scroll and sent them charging at you?

"What else? If you knew in advance, you’d dodge or shoot them down with an arrow."

"That won’t work."

"What?"

"Never mind."

"What the hell do you mean, ‘never mind’? No, seriously, what is it?"

Kraiss was growing irritated, but Enkrid ignored him.

The cold-blooded King Eyeball had been right.

Dodging would have been the easiest option.

But he couldn’t do that.

He had wielded a sword, swung it, cut, killed. He had slain monsters, felled beasts.

He had done so for duty and responsibility.

He wouldn’t deny that there was some pleasure in it. But if he had truly wanted to revel in mindless slaughter, he would never have aspired to be a knight.

‘I promised to protect my own.’

That was why he swung his sword. That was why he fought. That was the foundation of his knighthood.

If the only option was to sacrifice the child—if he had no other choice—then he would do it.

But if it meant abandoning the child just to claw his way past another day?

That, he could not accept.

A knight’s vow began with conviction, and conviction stemmed from the heart.

Enkrid could not chase his dream while trampling on his own heart.

The dream he pursued, the knight he longed to be, was not built on such things.

And so, there were some things he simply could not let go of.

The opponent’s scheme was absurd.

But for him—

It was effective.

A perfect, tailor-made trap.