Eternally Regressing Knight-Chapter 505 - A Rainy Night

Chapter 505 - A Rainy Night

Rain fell deep into the night.

Enkrid nodded, though he hadn't intended for there to be gifts; somehow, there was nothing left to give to Ragna.

Krais believed the jeweled scabbard and the upcoming merchant guild themselves were gifts enough.

Sitting to the side like a painting, Esther held one of the items Enkrid had given—a beast's fang.

"I received it," she said, though no one had asked, just as Shinar entered the tent.

"That dagger you gave me—can I consider it an engagement gift?" she joked in the faerie tongue.

Ropord and Fel hadn't received anything either, so Ragna didn't feel particularly slighted.

"Come out, savage. I'll tear your head off."

Ragna simply thought that some barbarian must have pulled a stunt in the middle.

Whether he became a knight or not, bad feelings were bad feelings.

Swordsmanship didn't turn a man into a sage or a saint.

"Fine, come at me you directionally-disfunctional bastard."

Neither of them actually left; it was just their usual bickering.

"So, where were you?"

Enkrid asked, steering the conversation.

Ragna shifted his gaze from Rem and answered without much care—he wasn't truly upset.

"I went for some air. On the way, I saw a lost weird-eyed horse and brought him along."

"Who's brought who along?"

Rem scoffed from the side, and Luagarne nodded in agreement.

Rem was right.

Jaxen stayed silent, and Audin was still deep in prayer.

Krais yawned, as if growing lethargic.

It was peaceful.

Amidst the sound of the seasonal rain pouring down, Enkrid posed a question he'd been holding onto for when everyone was gathered.

"If you were dropped in a desert, how would you get out?"

This wasn't just a casual question.

As knights, what would they do if their physical capabilities changed?

Enkrid had escaped the desert, but he believed luck played a role.

Without luck, how would one escape?

The first to respond was Ragna, whose skill at navigation was well-known.

"By finding my way using the stars," he said, lying blatantly but not entirely wrong.

"What you have is a sickness, you idiot. Also, you wouldn't see them—the skies there are blocked," Rem retorted, and Enkrid nodded.

Ragna calmly added, "Then I'd rely on my instincts."

It was madness.

Enkrid had no expectations of Ragna to begin with.

Rem muttered something about a crazy man with no sense of direction before sharing his own thoughts.

"Pick a direction and keep walking. No matter where you are, there's always an end."

Rem's words reflected an understanding of deserts.

Unlike legendary labyrinths, deserts weren't mazes—they were just land.

So walking persistently was enough.

If things got desperate, he planned to summon the guiding bird of wishes to find Enkrid.

"I could go a month without eating or drinking, but there's no need. I'd just run."

His solution was viable due to his shamanic abilities.

Rem's words implied that by invoking the spirit of Belopter, he could run for days.

Next was Audin.

"I would ask God and listen for His guidance."

With divine power, Audin could perform miracles, healing the sick and injured.

To him, asking God and receiving answers wasn't absurd—it was his reality.

If such a situation arose, divine revelation would guide him.

Enkrid knew Audin spoke with complete sincerity.

Jaxen, instead of answering, posed a counter-question.

"You said there's no way to orient oneself. Was that really the case, no matter what you tried?"

It's impossible to change the past, but reflecting on it can prevent repeated mistakes.

Enkrid had asked with that in mind, along with a desire to gauge their thoughts.

Jaxen's question pointed out a critical detail: was there truly nothing he could've relied on to guide him?

"Did you hear any sounds? Wind? How was the western wind?"

Rem thought Jaxen's question fit him perfectly—like a sly desert cat.

Rare though they were, some guides existed even in the western deserts.

While they couldn't necessarily locate people, they spoke of following the wind.

Only those with extraordinary senses could do so.

"Wind direction, scent, everything becomes a trail or a clue. You can't get lost."

Jaxen could even navigate labyrinths.

His sense, born from Will, was one of the tools that elevated him to his current position.

He didn't earn titles like Master of the Dagger of Geogr or the Dawn Dew Owner over card games.

"An interesting topic," Shinar chimed in.

She understood deserts—a world opposite of forests.

But that didn't mean deserts lacked vitality.

To see vitality was to see spirits.

Shinar had a natural affinity for such energy.

Even in the desert, spirits or traces of their presence would exist.

"Deserts aren't devoid of energy. I'd follow the paths of vitality," she said.

"But do we really need to get lost in a desert to begin with? It feels like a situation I'd avoid altogether," Fel remarked.

"Don't say something stupid. This was hypothetical from the start," Ropord interjected immediately. Fel countered, and Ropord responded with a sharp smile that seemed stiff.

"I'm saying I'd avoid it entirely."

"That's why your premise is flawed. Shepherds don't get lost; they find their way out. And I always carry a few days' worth of provisions."

"So don't go in the first place."

This time, Ropord wasn't smiling.

"That's a stupid argument."

Fel crossed his arms.

"You want to get punched?"

"The Idol Slayer doesn't discriminate. You know that, right?"

"So I just have to avoid getting hit. Easy."

When had it started?

It might have started when the crack formed between Fel and Ropord.

Their relationship was strained, reminiscent of the chaotic past of the Madmen unit.

Perhaps it was because their ideals diverged.

Ropord emphasized calculation and strategy, while Fel believed in the importance of split-second decisions.

Their differing perspectives on swordsmanship turned their skills into the ultimate argument for their beliefs.

Additionally, Shepherd Fel had no tact in choosing his words, and Ropord, a knight under the order, lacked the experience to handle someone so blatantly disrespectful.

For various reasons, their animosity grew intense.

Enkrid, watching them quietly, eventually spoke.

"Enough."

That single word sufficed.

Both men immediately suppressed their tempers and ceased glaring at each other.

In this regard, they were oddly similar—they didn't waste energy on unnecessary things.

Fel stifled the bubbling frustration inside.

The cracks in his heart could crumble as they would, but he still wanted to bash in the head of that prim-and-proper swordsman, Ropord.

There was no reason it couldn't be done.

Catching up to someone who had been lucky enough to get ahead wasn't impossible.

Ropord had similar thoughts.

That shepherd had no manners and lacked respect for others.

He needed a lesson.

To win against someone like Fel, one only needed to live daily like Enkrid did.

With Ragna back, there were more opportunities to spar and hone his swordsmanship.

Somehow, Ropord had already forgotten his original intention to return to the order.

Enkrid observed the two and thought how nice it would be if Rem, Ragna, Audin, and Jaxen could follow orders this well.

'Not a chance.'

He asked questions and got answers, understanding that everyone had a different way of thinking.

Some would push forward with raw determination, while others would rely on their unique abilities.

'Could I also sense the wind's scent?'

Jaxen had once told him to rely on scent if he couldn't hear.

While he couldn't see the energy or spirits like Shinar, had his instincts truly detected nothing?

He wasn't sure.

Perhaps there had been something.

"If I had studied and known beforehand, it might have helped," he murmured to himself, recalling Luagarne's earlier comment.

Knowledge was power, and every piece of insight they shared had proven useful.

Thinking back, he remembered the soldier who had charged at him in the camp. That soldier—Marco—had wielded Will.

What method had he used?

The soldier bolstered his mental strength by refusing to retreat.

He fortified his resolve by warning his opponent and established a psychological edge with a decisive first strike.

Even if he didn't win with a single thrust, he could leave a lasting impression of his spear's lethality.

Every stance, movement, and strike had been part of a strategy.

Enkrid reflected on this, understanding that each person had their tactics, and there was always something to learn and internalize.

"There's not just one way."

He spoke softly to himself.

"With an abundance of Will, even physical stamina changes," Ragna had once said.

It was true—since taking that final step in the desert, every step he'd taken had been imbued with Will.

Enkrid carefully organized his thoughts and carved the lessons he'd gained into his mind. The Eastern mercenary king, Anu, had always said to experience as much as possible.

Why?

Because Enkrid saw differences in everything he observed and experienced.

And not just differences—he saw commonalities too.

Emerging from the desert, what he had learned, what he now understood, and what he had gained from asking questions were all connected.

It was like moonlight—visible but intangible, as if a missing piece was still needed. There was no rush, for clarity wouldn't come just by pondering.

"Since we're all gathered here, let's hear your story, fiancé."

Shinar, sitting with one knee pulled up on her chair, spoke casually. Her words made Enkrid look up.

"What did you do to earn titles like the Savior of the City or the Pioneer of the West?"

Her question came again, her expression more relaxed than usual—or so it seemed to Enkrid.

Unbeknownst to him, the deeds he had accomplished had earned him several nicknames. Since there was no reason not to share, he began his tale—from slaying demons to becoming a savior and pioneer.

He spoke well, and before long, everyone was utterly absorbed, swallowing nervously as they listened.

"You should've been a bard instead of a knight," Krais quipped, his tone playful.

"Not a bad idea," Luagarne added, puffing her cheeks slightly. Though she had experienced those events herself, hearing them from Enkrid's lips made them even more fascinating.

Not that he was the continent's greatest bard—apart from Krais, his companions' storytelling skills were generally terrible. However, Krais's well-placed interjections enriched the tale further.

The most shocking revelation was about Rem's wife and child.

"Trash," Krais spat in disgust, his tone biting.

Many children had been abandoned by their parents in their youth, Krais included. He despised parents who abandoned their children.

"Want to die?"

"To leave your wife and child behind...."

"Ayul is a strong woman. She also knows what she wants," Rem replied.

In truth, Ayul had urged Rem to leave. She was a remarkable woman who supported her partner's big dreams.

"Marriage? Did you threaten her?" Ragna asked.

Rem's answer was a silent swing of his axe.

Jaxen scratched his ears repeatedly, as if he'd misheard. When an axe came flying his way, he dodged effortlessly.

Audin offered a prayer of blessing.

"As they say, even a bat without wings finds its mate. Surely, this union is divinely blessed."

Though it sounded more like personal opinion than a proper blessing.

"Damn it, how is that a blessing?" Rem grumbled.

They talked until dawn. Shinar, uncharacteristically, shared tales of the Forest of Energy. Her story ended with a demonic domain.

"If you fall into it, you die. Every single one did."

It had started as a peaceful tale about the forest, but her storytelling skills were evidently lacking.

Audin recounted Teresa's journey of faith. Teresa couldn't forget her past, but she had learned to look to the future instead of dwelling on yesterday.

As he spoke, his gaze lingered on Enkrid, filled with warmth and determination. It was not affection but gratitude and the competitive spirit of a student toward his teacher.

"Cultists should be killed on sight," Luagarne declared.

Even Ropord and Fel joined in the conversation eventually. Fel shared tales of shepherding, and Ropord spoke about the rarity of true knights even within the order. He looked around the group, noting there were three people here capable of fighting at a knight's level.

Jaxen's story, related to the Carmen Collection, sent chills down their spines despite the lingering summer heat. It was a harrowing tale of a person's relentless revenge.

Surprisingly, Jaxen spoke eloquently despite his usual reticence, proving himself capable when the occasion called for it.

"Met a few who were decent with a sword while out for a walk."

Ragna summed up getting lost in that one line. Beyond that, his days had been filled with training, sleeping, and lazing about, leaving him with little else to say.

The very reason he'd gone out on that walk was because Enkrid wasn't around.

Feeling his drive dimming and slipping away, he'd forced himself to go out in search of some stimulation.

"Are you out of your damn mind?"

Rem chimed in, earning himself a punch from Ragna this time. Naturally, Rem dodged it, tilting his head aside. From his seat, he then threw a punch of his own. Caught between the two, Audin intervened from his seated position, physically stopping them. As expected of a master in close combat, regardless of rank or title, he handled them with ease.

Between laughter and conversation, a few soldiers brought over bottles of alcohol and food. It was on Krais's orders, and everyone partook, eating and drinking together. It was an impromptu feast. For Enkrid, this finally felt like truly coming home—unimportant jokes, stories, and each person speaking their mind. They talked and bantered, letting the night deepen. Eventually, the scuffling stopped, and only real conversations remained.

"A Beelrog, huh. A troublesome foe."

Ragna said this midway, after hearing Oara's tale. It was naturally assumed that Enkrid was going to kill the Beelrog. Not a single person suggested giving up or voiced concerns about the danger. If it was something that needed to be done, they would do it. That was what all of them believed.

"Not right now."

Enkrid responded in kind. Krais let out a sigh in the middle of it.

"Would you guys at least try to stop him? A Beelrog, seriously?"

To the average person, a Beelrog was the kind of creature they might never even hear of in their lifetime. What? It wields a flaming whip and a sword wreathed in fire? A hidden deity of the Gnoll within the Demon realm?

Stories passed around—tales of the Demon realm, Holy Church, childhood memories, the time in the West meeting Jiba and her mother, the man who loved her. Fragments of what Oara had left behind made their way into the conversation.

The night wore on. Rain fell. Drinks circled among them. The crackling fire drove away the dampness just enough.

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