A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 358: Stop, Wait

Catching a flying arrow mid-air could easily be considered a feat of pure skill.

Even when expecting it, it would still be remarkable. But in this case, the arrow had come out of nowhere—fired from behind.

He hadn’t merely sensed it and dodged. He had caught it.

A combination of heightened senses, refined technique, and pinpoint concentration had made it possible.

“...Wow.”

“What... What just happened?!”

Two of the trainees gaped in disbelief.

The other three couldn’t even form words.

It was only natural ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) for them to be astonished.

One was amazed that the arrow had been caught, while the other was stunned that an arrow had been fired at all.

Enkrid turned his gaze toward the outer wall.

A figure stood atop it, not even bothering to conceal their presence—though their face was hidden.

Despite standing on the narrow edge of the wall, the person showed no signs of imbalance. Their stance alone was proof of their exceptional sense of equilibrium.

Their clothes were ordinary: a loose-fitting shirt and short trousers that reached the ankles.

Not wearing black just because it wasn’t nighttime, huh?

But they still had a mask on.

Enkrid tilted his head slightly. The masked figure had made no further movements after launching the arrow. It was as if they were waiting for a response.

“Now then...”

Just as the figure opened their mouth to speak—

Enkrid immediately threw the arrow in his hand.

With a sharp ping, the arrow was flung back toward its sender.

The Valen-style mercenary swordplay: ‘Strike While Talking’.

Ping—!

The opponent twisted to the side, narrowly dodging the projectile before shifting horizontally.

Light on his feet.

Enkrid registered the observation even as his hands continued to move.

First, the arrow had been a decoy.

The real attack followed—a dagger thrown right after.

Fweeeeeee!

A Whistle Dagger.

A rare weapon, difficult to obtain—Enkrid only had a few of them.

And he had just used one here.

With a sharp, piercing whistle, the dagger cut through the air at frightening speed, forcing the figure on the wall to leap backward.

Enkrid’s right foot dug into the ground. His knee bent, gathering explosive force.

Though explained step by step, all of this happened in an instant.

Boom!

The earth beneath him caved in as he launched forward.

To the watching trainees, even an afterimage was barely visible.

“Crazy bastard!”

A voice rang out from beyond the wall, but Enkrid ignored it.

He leaped.

Not fully armored, but still carrying three swords.

The jaws of the five trainees, who had already been open, dropped even wider.

Despite being weighed down by multiple weapons and leather armor, he moved with an almost supernatural lightness.

It was almost like magic.

Or perhaps, something even more absurd.

Enkrid reached for the edge of the wall, hooking just his fingertips over it before hoisting himself up.

How does he do that?

Magic?

The five trainees could barely process what they were seeing.

Meanwhile, Esther, who had woken up at some point, watched the scene with sleepy eyes.

There was, of course, no magic involved.

Just the sheer, relentless disregard for human limitations.

Enkrid pulled himself up, and at that moment, two figures waiting behind the wall drew short swords.

Both lunged forward, blades aimed at his wrist.

Just as Enkrid’s body rose halfway over the wall, he let go with his left hand.

Whoosh, whoosh—!

The blades meant to slice his arm through the wrist met only empty air.

In the next instant, he gripped the wall with his right hand and pulled himself up once more.

Shwoop—!

His body soared upward.

The two attackers flinched, their pupils shaking.

With the sun at his back, Enkrid’s silhouette loomed over them like a sudden shadow.

“Wait—!”

One of them shouted, but it wasn’t Enkrid’s problem.

Why should he care for the circumstances of those who had attacked first?

As he twisted in midair, his right hand drew a gladius, while his left hand gripped the Ember Blade.

To the attackers, it looked as if his eyes were glowing.

With the sunlight behind him, it was eerie.

Like a shadow sprouting twin beams of light, armed with overwhelming force.

Clang! Thud!

His right-hand sword slashed mid-draw.

His left-hand blade stabbed the moment it was unsheathed.

Two distinct sword techniques, executed simultaneously.

The one on the right barely managed to block.

The one on the left wasn’t so lucky.

The blade pierced his left shoulder.

And that was lucky for him.

Enkrid had just put into practice something he had realized moments ago.

‘Still not enough.’

His left hand carried a moment of Will.

His right hand carried crushing force.

He learned as he fought, refining his craft even in the middle of battle.

He was always looking toward the next step.

Enkrid landed with a solid thud, one knee on the ground, lifting his head.

A smile played on his lips before he even realized it.

Is there ever a limit to learning?

Every moment, every battle, every enemy—each was a lesson.

He had learned from Crang’s fierce presence.

He had studied Andrew’s blending of wrestling and swordsmanship.

And even now, he was learning.

That was enough for him.

That was what had brought him this far.

That was what had allowed him to escort Crang to the capital.

It was simply the way he was.

From the perspective of the enemy, however—

It was terrifying.

He had leapt over the wall, cut one man down mid-air, impaled another’s shoulder, landed, and then smiled.

The glow in his eyes could easily be mistaken for madness.

“This guy is insane!”

One of the remaining attackers shouted.

Enkrid, however, had no interest in their chatter.

Who were these people?

A gut feeling. No—a certainty.

Were they any different from the ones before?

No.

Then, the only solution was to cut them down.

Because he could tell—these weren’t random attackers.

They were assassins.

The same kind as the ones he had already fought.

He moved.

The moment he committed to the attack, one of them shouted desperately.

“Wait! Stop!”

A plea filled with sincerity.

Of course, it was meaningless.

They had already been marked as enemies.

Whoosh.

The gap closed in an instant.

It was difficult to tell exactly when his steps landed or when they stopped.

At the same time, a blade descended from above.

There were three assassins left, and only the first archer remained unscathed.

He was the one who had shouted “Stop.”

But before his voice had even faded, a blade was already falling from the sky.

It was as if space had folded, and the sword had simply appeared.

Shit!

There wasn’t even time to swear aloud.

He drew his own blades, two curved sabers.

His signature weapons.

A key figure in the Assassins' Coalition.

Block and deflect.

That was the plan.

The moment he made up his mind, his sabers rose to meet the descending blade.

Blocked it!

But something was off.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

The moment his sabers met the light, time stretched.

His thoughts continued—longer than they should have.

But there was no time to question it.

He had never been more focused.

He was only thinking about blocking.

Fast.

Realization struck.

The angle of the draw.

The grip.

The distribution of force.

This—this is how it should be done.

But then—why hadn’t he felt the impact yet?

His eyes followed the descending light.

It was still falling.

Still. Falling.

The moment the two sabers met it—

BOOM!

CRACK! CRUNCH!

Enkrid had poured a moment of Will into his strike.

What is speed if not the perfect synchronization of strength?

“Speed is about muscle contraction. Those bulky bastards who just build mass but are slow? They’re all idiots.”

That was what Rem had once said.

“It’s all about muscle, brother.”

That was what Audin had once said.

And so, every fiber of muscle in Enkrid’s body synchronized.

His entire frame compressed and released at once.

The strike was like lightning.

A blow that only a knight of at least High Adept rank could hope to withstand.

Not a thrusting Will—but a crushing Will.

The curved sabers snapped like twigs.

The assassin’s arms shattered.

And finally—

CRACK!

The blunt end of the broken blade slammed into his collarbone.

Enkrid crushed his opponent in a single blow.

“...Hah.”

As Enkrid exhaled deeply, his breath rose like mist, dissipating into the air.

The two remaining attackers didn’t dare to charge.

One of them, the one with a hole in his shoulder, had a vial of "Ten Breaths" poison in his hand—yet he couldn't even lift a finger.

Standing against the backdrop of the wall’s lingering shadow, Enkrid exhaled again, his breath visibly rising due to the residual heat from his rapid movements.

"Stop? Wait? You got something to say?"

It was only then that Enkrid spoke.

‘Damn, about time he asked.’

The attacker who had barely blocked the gladius—breaking two fingers in the process—pushed himself up and answered.

"We came to give you a warning."

"A warning?"

Was it just his imagination, or did it feel more like they’d come to get beaten up?

Enkrid gave them a look that said, Keep talking.

"Hhng... We came to tell you that this is not where you belong. Leave."

This time, it was the wounded one who spoke.

"You're the ones who attacked first."

"It was within a level you could dodge."

"Bullshit. With all the times you’ve attacked me already, I could chop both your heads off and no one would say a damn thing."

The moment he finished speaking, the injured attacker threw a smoke bomb onto the ground.

Boom!

A thick cloud of smoke erupted.

Enkrid watched and scoffed.

They really think this will work on me?

Did they seriously believe that tossing a smoke bomb would somehow give them the upper hand?

He retrieved the Ember Blade and swept his gladius through the air, angling the broad surface forward.

Whoosh!

The sheer force of his swing sent a gust of wind surging forward.

Physics taken to an extreme became no different from magic.

The dense smoke was blown aside, revealing the battlefield.

Enkrid fully expected them to attack again.

Because that’s what assassins do.

But—

They were gone.

"Hah... I let my guard down."

He admitted it.

He hadn’t expected them to run.

All of them had fled.

"What happened?"

Andrew arrived late, rushing out from the mansion.

Fully armed.

Behind him, the five trainees followed, along with Mack.

Despite his supposed retirement into butler duty, Mack’s posture showed he hadn’t neglected his training.

And in a city like this, one couldn't afford to.

"They’re already gone."

Andrew had already sensed there had been an attack. His eyes immediately went to the corpse.

"Who’s this?"

"Came at me, took a hit, died."

The arms were shattered, collarbone broken—internal organs likely ruptured from the impact. His own weapon had been driven back into his heart from the recoil.

"Unbelievable. They’re just jumping noble estate walls in broad daylight now? Not even waiting for night?"

Andrew's voice carried frustration as he examined the smoke’s lingering traces.

Meanwhile, Enkrid was piecing things together.

This was an assassin group.

As for why they had attacked now?

"Jaxon is away. Everyone’s scattered."

This was the perfect timing.

And what did that imply?

"They’ve been watching."

Andrew clenched his jaw.

"These bastards..."

His pride was wounded, and his anger was rising.

Enkrid casually wiped his sword clean, sheathing it before running a hand through his hair.

A moment ago, things had been good.

He had learned something.

Ragna and Rem might shatter a dozen walls of limitation in a single day, but he needed repetition.

Still, one thought nagged at him.

"Can I force that ‘luck’ to happen more often?"

To do that, he needed information.

"Where the hell are the knights? The knight orders?"

Straight to the core of the issue.

Andrew tensed slightly, lips twitching.

What was the foundation of a kingdom’s military power?

Knights.

If there were no knights—or if they weren’t being trained—the kingdom would be crushed by Azpen in no time.

This wasn’t about skirmishes.

If Naurillia's military force had shown any weakness, Azpen would have already marched its armies across the border.

The only reason they hadn’t was because the knights were still standing as a deterrent.

If Azpen had seen a real chance to end things for good, they wouldn’t have hesitated.

Enkrid calculated the situation.

‘This kind of thing is King Eyeball’s specialty.’

But he wasn’t here.

No choice but to figure it out himself.

"Do you know the kingdom’s current situation?"

Andrew paused before answering.

"Do you?"

"Nope."

Enkrid’s response was quick and unapologetic.

It wasn’t his job to care.

Andrew suddenly understood why Crang respected this madman.

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How many people had the clarity to simply admit they didn’t know something?

He was direct.

Blunt.

And unyielding.

And as for his strength?

"He’s a monster. A damn monster."

Andrew glanced at the corpse.

What had his final moments been like?

Why did it look like the dead man had been smiling?

Maybe he had realized something in his last moment of life.

Andrew would never know.

"There isn’t a single knight left in the capital right now. Let’s talk inside."

This wasn’t something for the trainees to hear.

"Mack."

Andrew turned as he walked.

"Understood. I’ll take care of it."

Mack's expression was grim.

Enkrid understood why.

If his lord had put everything on the line for a fight he was destined to lose, wouldn’t his head hurt, too?

Even without details, the situation was clear.

"Isn’t this fight a little too one-sided?"

Even without overthinking it, it was obvious.

From Crang’s perspective, he was walking into constant danger.

Wouldn’t it have been better to build strength elsewhere first and then crush them with sheer force later?

By the time Rem returned that evening, he was already complaining.

"Nothing good to buy."

Dunbakel had come back with him, and not long after, Ragna arrived.

"Why does he keep saying he knows shortcuts when he’s never been to the capital before?"

The servant who had been sent with Ragna was drenched in sweat despite the weather not being hot.

Clearly, sending someone with him had been the right choice.

Finally, Jaxon arrived.

"Where the hell have you been wandering off to?"

Rem shot him a look.

They were all gathered in the first-floor lounge, which had become their makeshift meeting room.

Rem, of course, had also been wandering around—but conveniently forgot about that.

Because he was Rem.

Jaxon completely ignored the remark.

Not even a glance.

Not even a flicker of reaction.

It wasn’t just his usual silence.

It was as if he didn’t even hear it.

Instead, he turned his gaze toward Enkrid.

Enkrid spoke first.

"You’re back."

Jaxon nodded.

And to Enkrid’s eyes—

That simple nod felt off.

Subtle.

Minuscule.

Something only perceptible through instinct.

"Something wrong?"

"No."

The response came immediately.

Which was also strange.

Normally, Jaxon would have answered with something like:

"Should there be?"

Or.

"I’d say there’s more going on here than with me."

But he didn’t.

Why?

Enkrid was curious—

But was Jaxon the type to answer if asked?

No.

That’s why they were called the Mad Squad.

For now—

"Andrew, keep talking."

There was still a situation to assess.

Whether they acted or didn’t—

They needed to understand the battlefield first.