A Knight Who Eternally Regresses-Chapter 423: Rem’s Resolve

"Why?"

The eyes beneath the hood trembled violently as the words spilled out. The man was so shocked that even his breathing turned ragged.

His hand, which had grabbed Enkrid, trembled incessantly.

He was clearly in great pain.

"The infirmary is that way."

Enkrid spoke politely, as the man appeared to be an elderly individual.

To him, the man simply seemed to be someone whose mind had deteriorated due to illness.

The shoemaker standing beside them shot a sharp glare at the man, but the Apostle of Curses didn’t even register it.

He was too stunned to breathe, having witnessed something beyond his imagination.

"Why?"

Unconsciously, he asked again.

For Enkrid, the question made no sense.

There was something odd about the energy emanating from the man’s body, but it didn’t feel particularly threatening.

The Apostle of Curses felt as though he had tossed a handful of salt into the sea.

The curse simply dispersed into the air, dissolving into nothingness.

What is this? Am I dreaming? This makes no sense.

"Are you alright?"

Enkrid asked kindly once more. To him, the man appeared to be mentally unstable.

At Enkrid’s calm demeanor, Redit felt his breath catch in his throat.

The curse had no effect. The divine affliction plaguing his body convulsed in response, his mind so shaken that he lost focus. Panic set in.

"Gh... Ghhk!"

Foaming at the mouth, Redit collapsed.

"Healer!"

Enkrid shouted. The moment his cry ended, a massive figure surged forward.

It was Audin. With each powerful stride, his body seemed to grow larger. If he had been an enemy, his sheer speed would have been enough to paralyze an onlooker with fear.

"General Brother."

Audin frowned upon seeing the fallen Redit. A rare expression for him.

"Ah. He’s dead."

Enkrid, who had been calling for a healer, paused as he confirmed the man’s lifeless state.

And so, Redit died.

For over twenty years, he had been a high-ranking assassin of the Sacred Sanctuary of the Demon Realm, killing and killing again with curses that obliterated those who stood in his way.

Yet here, only two people even considered the possibility.

One was, of course, Audin.

Lord?

Even Audin was inwardly taken aback.

The man had clearly been a formidable curse wielder, yet his intended target remained completely unharmed.

Enkrid was utterly unaffected.

Another witness, observing a few steps away, was the black leopard.

Esther had sensed the overwhelming malice and tracked it to its source, only to see the outcome.

A born curse wielder.

Esther recognized him at once but also knew that his curses would never work on Enkrid.

She herself was a Fire Witch and a magician of extraordinary talent.

She didn't understand the nature of what was intertwined with Enkrid’s body, but even her own curses wavered in his presence.

It was only natural that he remained unaffected.

Curses crumbled when faced with something far greater.

"Grmph."

With a snort, Esther turned back toward the tent.

Lately, she had been even more diligent in restoring the World of Spells, and it was exhausting work.

***

The ferryman clicked his tongue at the inevitable outcome.

"Tsk."

In this world, there were events one could prepare for and still fail to overcome, just as there were those that could be effortlessly endured without preparation.

The latter case was only possible through relentless study and training.

For instance, dodging a sudden arrow required a lifetime of readiness.

"Isn’t it obvious? If you don’t want to die from a stray arrow, you should be prepared for it."

Rem’s words carried that sentiment. Had Enkrid not trained by dodging Jaxon’s daggers from just ten paces away?

Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t—but the preparation had always been there.

Was this curse the same?

No. It was neither the former nor the latter.

The ferryman knew something that Enkrid didn’t.

Curses were powerless before something far greater.

The curse that bound Enkrid to an endless cycle of repetition was the most severe of all curses—even including the ferryman himself.

Furthermore, curses preyed on the weak-willed, exploiting the gaps in their resolve.

The reason some succumbed to pain inflicted by a voodoo doll curse while others remained unaffected lay in the differences in their mental fortitude.

In other words—

A difference in willpower.

The ferryman had seen it firsthand. Enkrid’s determination wasn’t just strong—it was madness itself.

Not mere iron will.

A will bordering on insanity.

Against someone like this, no ordinary curse could take hold.

That was precisely why curses rarely worked on knights.

They wielded Will, an enigmatic force derived from sheer determination.

The ferryman, eyes widened in disbelief, knew just how powerful the dead man’s curse had been.

But the match-up had been hopelessly unfair.

The Apostle of Curses never stood a chance.

To Enkrid, a curse was no more bothersome than a mosquito. Less than a fly buzzing around.

That was why he had felt no danger.

His instincts and intuition hadn’t even triggered.

On a fundamental level, his body simply knew—this opponent was no threat.

"Did he just kill someone with a look?"

A passing city dweller muttered in disbelief.

"Killing with a glare? What nonsense."

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Another nearby scoffed, chastising the first for talking nonsense.

No one knew that a high-ranking assassin of the cult—who had once slaughtered with mere curses—had died in such a pathetic manner.

A truly meaningless death.

Had he spread his curse across the entire city or targeted someone other than Enkrid, he might have achieved something.

But it was too late now.

The healer came to check for any traces of disease, and citizens recoiled at the sight of the corpse’s blistered skin.

And so, without realizing it, Enkrid had become the greatest nemesis of the cult.

***

"Come at me."

Rem spoke, and Enkrid returned to the border guard training ground, ready to showcase something he had been working on tirelessly.

Enkrid raised Acker. The tip of the blade pointed skyward at a sharp angle.

Rem steadied his breath.

If I hold back, I’ll die.

When had he caught up to this level? Rem licked his dry lips.

The weather was insane. A good downpour would have helped, but the sky remained stubbornly clear, leaving only the stifling, damp heat.

Even standing still made sweat pour down in streams.

The air was thick, muggy, and uncomfortable.

Yet, for a brief moment, Rem forgot about that discomfort.

The pressure radiating from Enkrid sent chills through his entire body.

Not a single breeze stirred. Even the dust on the training ground clung tightly to the earth as if holding its breath.

All the nearby soldiers had, naturally, become spectators.

No one dared to take a deep breath as they watched.

The first to move was Enkrid.

His shoulders lifted slightly from his stance, and then the sword moved.

Fast.

Ragna, watching closely, saw traces of his own swift and heavy swordsmanship within that single strike.

Shinar, observing from the side, recognized the precision of the strike’s minute adjustments.

Audin detected the distinct imprint of the close-combat techniques he had taught Enkrid.

Enkrid simply swung his sword with complete focus.

What was Will? It was determination.

What was determination? It was the resolve to accomplish something.

A momentary explosion.

He compressed his muscles, unleashed them in an instant, and added acceleration to amplify his force.

On top of that, he layered /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ the pressure of the heavy sword techniques he had learned.

To Rem’s eyes, Enkrid’s entire body seemed to overflow with surging battle energy.

The power behind that single strike was impossible to ignore.

Rem activated Heart of Might. His strength, formidable enough to clash against an actual giant, surged as he swung his twin axes.

Enkrid stepped forward, bringing his sword down in a powerful arc.

Rem responded by crossing his twin axes from below, swinging upward.

Light weapons were generally less destructive.

But not for Rem.

The weapons he originally wielded had been just as light.

The moment their weapons collided—

CLAAAANG!

A deafening roar erupted, sending shockwaves outward in perfect concentric circles.

It was an absurdly brute-force clash—one that no sane person would engage in during a sparring match.

The impact sent the dust that had been lying flat across the ground scattering in every direction.

Both of them halted with their weapons locked in place.

Rem spoke first.

"What do you call that?"

"The Giant’s Strike."

"The name’s boring. Why not call it 'The Giant’s Last Ounce of Strength' instead?"

Enkrid wasn’t the type to bark back just because a dog barked at him. He simply continued speaking.

Rem might have found it frustrating. Even a real giant would have had to put everything they had into delivering such a strike.

"What was that technique you used?"

"Feathered Axe."

A name Enkrid had never heard before. Naturally so. It was a Western technique, adapted into the language of this continent.

Rem was surprised by how much Enkrid had improved. Enkrid, in turn, was impressed by Rem’s mastery of the axe.

Even against The Giant’s Strike, Rem had blocked it by sticking his axe blades together momentarily before letting them slip apart.

It had looked like a direct clash, but in reality, he had redirected and diffused Enkrid’s force using the strength in his wrists.

It was an almost impossible technique to replicate.

More than that, it was something Rem had never shown before.

"Did you come up with that yourself?"

"I refined an old technique. No weapons like this existed before, so I had to adjust."

Rem twirled the axes in his hands as he spoke.

They were light yet sturdy, perfectly responding to his grip.

Enkrid glanced at the axes that had withstood Acker’s might.

Just the fact that their edges hadn’t chipped was impressive.

The craftsman sent by Crang had done an outstanding job.

In fact, that craftsman had been so proud of these weapons that he had named them himself, but neither of their wielders had bothered using those names.

"Does it answer when you call its name?"

Rem had no intention of humoring the craftsman’s request.

The weapons weren’t heirlooms, so there was no reason to treat them that way.

Ragna, on the other hand, had simply named his sword Blackie.

If the craftsman had heard that, he would have felt an overwhelming urge to bash Ragna’s skull in with a hammer.

It was so Ragna—caring about nothing except swordsmanship.

The moment Rem stepped back—

"Now it’s my Blackie’s turn."

Ragna stepped forward.

This was a different kind of battle.

Unlike before, Enkrid was no longer being pushed back one-sidedly.

Ragna watched as Enkrid endured even Severance, the force of Will imbued in his strikes, and shouted excitedly:

"Excellent!"

So thrilled was he that he unleashed his full potential.

"I’ll borrow that for a moment!"

Ragna immediately copied the sword technique Enkrid had just used.

More precisely, he adapted it into his own style.

It was insane talent.

Enkrid countered with Giant Cleave, a technique he had learned from Rem.

By using Heart of Might, he absorbed the impact of Ragna’s overpowering blows.

He repeated the sequence three times.

"Once more."

To be precise, Enkrid requested two more exchanges.

There was still stiffness in his movements while deflecting and redirecting.

He could feel that refining it would be key to his training.

"You’ve improved significantly."

Ragna commented as they finished their spar.

Rem nodded in agreement.

Enkrid calmly responded to them both.

"Not enough yet."

Because his goal was far too high.

And because they knew he was never one to be satisfied, neither of them was surprised.

***

That evening, Rem remained alone in the training ground.

He's right on my heels.

The leader who had once struggled, unable to even awaken the Beast’s Heart, was gone.

So, should he retrieve what he had left behind in the West?

No. He would not.

He had made a decision when he left. He had made a vow.

"I will never go back for it."

He had spoken those words himself when he walked away.

Well, I’ll just deal with it as it comes.

If he intended to use sorcery in earnest, he would need to retrieve what he had left behind.

But that didn’t mean there was no other way to grow stronger.

Truthfully, his method was inefficient, even somewhat underhanded, but it wasn’t without results.

His axes, forged from Lewisian steel, would also aid him in this endeavor.

Lost in thought, he sensed a presence approaching.

Rem’s gaze lifted.

That sneaky alley cat was on his way back.

Since the training ground was connected to the main path, it was only natural to see people coming and going.

"Why don’t you just go shack up somewhere, you horny stray?"

The words left Rem’s mouth instinctively, as naturally as a man who had wandered the desert for three days would gulp down water upon finding an oasis.

That bastard practically begged to be insulted upon sight.

Jaxon had just returned from trying—once again—to convince a stubborn guild member to listen.

One particularly obstinate fool had irritated him more than he expected.

Shouldn’t three brushes with death be enough to convince a man?

Irritated and on edge, Jaxon snapped back at Rem’s provocation without hesitation.

"And you think a barbarian who's never even held a woman's wrist has the right to talk?"

"I’m already married."

"I’d bet my middle bit that’s a damn lie."

Enkrid’s wit had rubbed off on the two of them.

"Fine. I’ll kill you. Come at me."

Rem rose to his feet. This was half an excuse to vent. His past had surfaced in his mind, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

At times like this, it was best to beat the hell out of that sneaky alley cat.

Jaxon had no objections.

The fight between them was intense, and unlike before, Jaxon pulled out everything he had.

In other words, he used Will.

Of course, it was completely different from how knights wielded it.

Rem realized he was losing.

And Jaxon knew it too.

After securing his victory, Jaxon pulled back and said—

"Go hang yourself."

"What the fuck did you just say?"

That was when Rem made his decision. freewebnσvel.cøm

He would make a trip to the West.

Resolve? What did that matter now?

It was bad enough that Ragna was acting cocky, but now even this sneaky alley cat was getting on his nerves?

This was something he could not tolerate.

He swore to himself—he would go to the West, and he would do it soon.