Eternally Regressing Knight-Chapter 551 - Why the Ferryman?

Chapter 551 - Why the Ferryman?

Splash.

A black river, a ferry, a purple lamp, and the ferryman seated atop it.

It had been a long time. Waking in a dream, or the world of impressions itself, was a rare occurrence.

Naturally, Enkrid's gaze fell on the ferryman.

This time, the figure wasn't as blurry as before; the ferryman's visage was relatively clear.

Beneath the hooded robe was skin cracked and parched like a drought-stricken earth. His eyes, clouded with a milky haze, gazed directly at Enkrid.

"Did you hope I'd disappear since we haven't met for a while? That won't happen. You, mortal, who dares to dream of immortality."

Enkrid, meeting the ferryman's eyes after so long, leaned against the edge of the ferry. There was no chair today.

"You could claim the throne by killing just one person. Don't you feel any temptation?"

Was it because it had been so long since they last met?

Or had the ferryman decided to change his ways?

Rather than urging him to stop here, the ferryman probed at the core of human greed today.

"If you killed him, you could be king. Damage to your Will? That can always heal. Besides, even if your Will were slightly damaged, it wouldn't matter."

Instinctively, Enkrid knew the ferryman's words were wrong.

Will didn't operate in such a way.

If Enkrid acted on those impulses, the endless Will that he drew from might disappear.

Of course, it might not.

After all, no one could predict the future.

If Will could vanish due to a single mistake, then Aspen's knight Corwin would've lost his Will when he fled.

But that wasn't the case.

While the ferryman's words provoked many thoughts, Enkrid neither argued nor questioned him.

"The moment will come when a perfect today is necessary."

Perhaps this was the ferryman's main point.

His detached voice pierced Enkrid's mind—or rather, it directly imprinted itself on his consciousness.

After all, this was the world of impressions.

Unlike the time he had warned of a coming curse, the ferryman's tone carried a different weight.

It wasn't a warning of imminent disaster but a statement of inevitability, like the rising sun tomorrow morning.

Enkrid, who had been half-lowered, lifted his head at those words.

This scene seemed oddly familiar, but he didn't dwell on it and opened his mouth.

"It's not a Wave Sword, but a Wave-Blocking Sword. That seems right."

The ferryman wasn't as caught off guard as before.

He already knew the guy was lost in thought.

"A sword that blocks crashing waves instead of striking like them, huh?"

With ease, the ferryman picked up Enkrid's words and added his own thoughts on swordsmanship.

"That's right."

"Blocking alone? Then a shield would be better."

Indeed, the ferryman had a point.

It was the same dilemma that had haunted Enkrid before bed last night.

As he worked to refine the shape and flow of his swordsmanship, he found himself developing a style not of crashing waves but one that blocked them.

Wouldn't it be better to wield a shield instead?

No, that wouldn't do.

Enkrid already had a technique, after all—the Snake Blade.

A move that didn't just deflect but countered the attack.

What if his blade could transfer a kind of recoil instead of merely blocking?

"Polished like a mirror reflecting sunlight, it could become quite useful."

A mirror doesn't stop light; it reflects it.

Not holding back the crashing wave, but blocking it while advancing to strike back.

Abstract ideas began to solidify in his mind.

He felt like he might get somewhere if he tried it in motion.

"Don't you ever tire of it?"

The ferryman asked.

Enkrid stared at him blankly, unsure what he meant.

Tire?

Of what?

"No, never mind. Go."

The ferryman's tone shifted subtly, but that was the end of it.

He added one final remark, but it was inconsequential.

Awaking from the dream—or the world of impressions—Enkrid stepped off his bed.

At his movement, a faint cough came from the servant waiting outside the door, who announced, "It's dawn, my lord."

"Light," he thought.

His body felt unusually good.

Not that he had felt unwell recently, but today, it was exceptional.

Was it the dream's influence, the result of last night's deliberations, or the ferryman's favor?

Right before waking, the ferryman had remarked that no matter what kind of today awaited, he would have to face it.

And that fate was inevitable.

Enkrid brushed the words aside.

Paying heed to such things would only hinder him from doing what needed to be done.

"I'll fetch water for washing," the servant said.

Enkrid lightly rolled his neck and wrists before shaking his head.

"Later."

With that, he stepped outside.

There was a training ground within the palace.

It used to be exclusive to royal knights and the royal family, didn't it?

Krang had called it an "interesting spectacle" and overhauled it entirely.

Now, it was a place for anyone who wanted to sweat to gather.

A crisp blue, a vivid darkness—if he were to describe the moment, it would be like this.

It was early morning, the air tinted with a bluish hue, as though hinting at the approaching light.

A cool autumn breeze swept through, filling his lungs with its brisk clarity before leaving again.

Thunk!

Before the training ground came into view, his ears caught the sound of someone's presence.

The communal ground, formerly reserved for royalty, was encircled by a small stone wall.

Soft earth, filtered of stones, filled the floor, while sparse grass grew at the edges.

"Do they have too much time or too little to waste? They build a training ground, yet leave it unused by those who need it," Krang had once grumbled during their travels through Aspen.

Someone within the grounds was already warming the cool autumn morning.

Enkrid vaulted over the wall without touching it, landing inside.

The person swinging a heavy wooden practice sword turned their head.

"Rievart."

Enkrid greeted him first—a figure from his past.

Seeing the faint sheen of sweat on him, Enkrid spoke out of habit.

"Spar?"

A smile broke across Rievart's face.

"Gladly."

Seeing someone who never stopped moving forward brought joy.

Enkrid felt that way.

Looking at Rievart, he couldn't help but think:

'Was this the ferryman's doing?'

Had the ferryman's words last night been advice, even assistance?

But why?

Did he enjoy watching Enkrid's progress?

The ferryman?

That seemed unlikely.

After all, he had ended their meeting with a pseudo-curse.

It didn't matter now.

Enkrid picked up one of the wooden swords neatly stacked on the side.

Rievart, who had been wielding a stone practice club, put it down and switched to a wooden sword, giving it a few experimental swings in the air.

"Up early?"

"I didn't sleep. Came straight here after duty."

Fair enough.

Not that he cared.

Enkrid gripped his sword and faced his opponent.

He adjusted his strength and speed to match Rievart, focusing instead on deflecting and countering strikes.

Rievart's blade came straight down—a technique he was confident in.

Likely one he had honed to reduce preparation time and movement.

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But it posed no threat to Enkrid.

Clack!

The wooden swords clashed.

Rievan frowned.

'What?'

Though he had swung with full strength, he wasn't new to handling a sword.

What was this?

The unexpected impact left his wrist faintly throbbing.

It felt as though he had struck something harder than rock.

'Harder than stone—like solid metal.'

Or perhaps even tougher than that.

Rievart had swung a wooden sword several times during his training, so he had a rough idea of its strength.

Yet, as he swung once more, a crisp crack echoed as their practice swords crossed.

This time, instead of a full clash, the blade merely grazed past the other.

Rievart swiftly stepped aside, utilizing a hit-and-retreat footwork technique.

However, as soon as he executed the movement, his wrist began to tremble.

Brrrrr.

His wrist throbbed with a dull ache.

That slight graze had done this?

"It works," said the knight with piercing blue eyes, standing just a sword's length away.

Had this been a real battle, a single thrust would have ended Rievart's life.

But Enkrid, the owner of those blue eyes, chose not to pierce his throat.

Instead, he twirled his practice sword a few times in the air before commenting.

"But this weapon won't hold out much longer."

The middle section of Enkrid's wooden sword was twisted and splintered.

At this rate, it might shatter even without the use of advanced techniques.

"What... is this?" Rievart asked, his voice filled with genuine awe.

It was the first time he had encountered such a technique. In truth, even Rem would find it remarkable.

"The Wave-Blocking Sword," Enkrid replied.

The name implied a sword that could block even surging waves, but in reality, it was a sword technique that absorbed and redirected the force of an opponent's strike, leveraging the rebound energy. It was a step above the Snake Blade.

While the Snake Blade relied on pure skill without invoking Will, this technique used an endless reservoir of Will as its weapon.

Even if Ragna saw and tried to mimic it, he would likely choose not to use it.

It was far too inefficient, wasting Will recklessly to envelop the entire body in energy just to deflect attacks.

The simplicity of its structure also came with drawbacks: striking a solid rock with a blade often results in either a dulled edge or a broken wrist.

Without immense physical conditioning, speed, or timing, the technique was useless.

But for Enkrid, it was an ideal match.

Not only that, the technique still had room to grow.

As Enkrid spun his wooden sword through the air a few more times, he eventually tossed it aside and began practicing his Isolation Technique.

"Train yourself," he said.

Rievart's lack of wrist conditioning had made him an easy target, but how would Rem or Ragna fare?

Even against Audin, the technique likely wouldn't work so easily.

Still, it was undeniably intriguing.

The experience of conceptualizing a technique in a single night and executing it the next morning was new to Enkrid.

His body moved exactly as he envisioned it.

The sheer joy of training made his face light up with a smile.

Enkrid had always enjoyed wielding a sword, but even he had moments of doubt, despair, and frustration.

Now, there was no room for doubt—just a grin plastered on his face.

From the side, Rievart watched, his pupils trembling.

"Does one need to be mad to achieve this?"

That thought naturally crossed his mind as he observed Enkrid lifting and squatting with a large stone from the training yard, all while smiling like a lunatic.

The Enkrid Rievart had once known had never been normal, but this version seemed downright unhinged.

Yet, watching him stirred something within Rievart as well.

Had it not been for Enkrid, Rievart wouldn't even be training like this after a day's duties.

He wasn't extraordinary; he was diligent, yes, but he also enjoyed a drink after work and took his rest when he could.

The difference between himself and Enkrid wasn't talent or opportunity but the willingness to do.

Enkrid spent every moment this way, while Rievart did not.

Smack!

Rievart slapped both cheeks with his hands.

"All it takes is determination!" he shouted, loud enough for Enkrid to glance over.

"I'll train," Rievart declared.

If Rem had been present, he might have remarked that another soul had been led astray.

Enkrid spent the early morning hours training alongside Rievart before demonstrating the Wave-Blocking Sword to Rem as well.

"Not bad," Rem said, unusually starting with praise.

The technique had proven to be quite formidable. Even with minimal contact, his wrist felt the strain.

'How does it work?' Rem pondered.

After some thought, he concluded it was a wasteful technique that expended Will excessively.

By channeling explosive bursts of energy, it bent the opponent's wrist angle through sheer force, utilizing timing, technique, and strength in harmony.

But wouldn't a vibrating blade be more efficient for that purpose?

Rem assisted Enkrid with his refinement, recalling how an Aspen swordsman once shattered a vibrating blade with a crushing strike.

'No, that's different.' Vibrations could be countered with finesse, but Enkrid's technique would evolve and adapt to the opponent.

That made it more dangerous.

If avoiding contact entirely was the only counter, was that even feasible?

Perhaps summoning a spirit wolf from afar to attack?

But if someone used such spirit arts on Enkrid, he'd likely charge straight at the caster, ignoring the wolf entirely.

After considering all this, Rem summarized, "You seem unhesitant in your progress, brother."

Audin, joining in, added, "Agreed."

Later that evening, as the trio prepared for the royal banquet, a servant arrived with tailored formalwear for each.

After some deliberation, Audin donned a light blue jacket that ended at his waist, while Enkrid wore a deep purple velvet vest.

Rem opted for a gray waistcoat.

Despite the general uniformity of the formal attire, the three looked striking once dressed.

As servants spent hours perfecting their hair and appearance, neither Audin nor Enkrid lost their temper—a fact that Rem found particularly remarkable.

Moments before entering the grand palace hall, a herald hesitated, gritting his teeth as he consulted with his superior.

Then, steeling himself, he shouted with determination:

"The Madmen Knight Order have arrived!"

The once lively hall fell silent as dozens, then hundreds of gazes turned toward the trio entering the banquet.

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