Eternally Regressing Knight
Chapter 626 - Deception in Form

Chapter 626: Chapter 626 - Deception in Form

Chapter 626 - Deception in Form

The original teaching of Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship instructed that one should kneel on one knee, gaze intently at the opponent, and feign composure without drawing the sword.

The key was in the positioning of the eyes and hands.

Never grip the sword’s hilt, they said; let your hands hang loose.

When Enkrid first learned this, he marveled at the ingenuity of the swordmaster who devised it, impressed by the relentlessness behind such a deceptive technique.

But now, he understood it differently.

Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship was fundamentally a discipline rooted in Will.

"If you have Will, you can go beyond deception and exert dominance."

It was a refined version of intimidation, or perhaps, an evolution.

Enkrid interpreted it in his own way and named it False Blade.

Naming techniques wasn’t strictly necessary—using them as they came naturally was ideal.

He knew this, having learned it from Rem and heard it from others.

But making everything second nature was still difficult.

Naming techniques and defining their essence through imagery came more naturally to him.

One doesn’t leap without first standing.

One cannot run without walking.

For Enkrid, this meant naming and conceptualizing his techniques before mastering them.

"Shinar’s spirit blade helped shape this."

Spirit blades were intangible forces forged into lethal edges.

Having experienced them countless times, Enkrid had naturally progressed to this point.

This, too, was one of Shinar’s gifts.

Though it bore some resemblance to the web-like structure of the Aker’s swordsmanship, the density here was different.

It also demanded a significant expenditure of Will.

Pressing his left foot against the ground, his posture suggested imminent movement.

Enkrid’s limp right hand swung back and forth twice, drawing out Will to forge an invisible blade instead of a defensive wall.

The result was an unseen, non-existent, intangible False Blade that struck down upon Fel.

"Bloody hell!"

Fel instinctively drew his Idol-slayer and swung, despite their agreement not to draw swords during practice.

His blade slashed through empty air, striking nothing.

"What is this?"

Facing Enkrid, Fel wiped sweat from his brow, cold droplets streaming down his face and back. free\we,bnovel.c o(m)

For a brief moment, Fel was convinced Enkrid had charged forward to cleave his head in two—his body suddenly massive, his blade grotesquely enlarged.

Reflexively, Fel had reacted, swinging his weapon.

"Nothing happened."

Fel wasn’t the only one who reacted.

If Enkrid’s strike had been real, it would have been reckless enough to put even nearby onlookers within its reach.

Luagarne, standing nearby, had instinctively taken a defensive stance, her whip and sword ready.

"Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship—False Blade, a reinterpretation of scaring opponents without a sword."

Enkrid’s explanation was concise, though it greatly simplified the process that had brought him here.

"So, what the hell does that mean?" Fel, uncharacteristically agitated, demanded clarification.

Moments earlier, he had experienced a near-death sensation—false as it was, he vividly remembered his head being split and even a phantom-like pain accompanying it.

"Calm down," Enkrid replied, urging composure.

A wavering heart led to a wavering body, and the goal of this sparring match was to teach Fel.

Of course, it also allowed Enkrid to refine his own technique, and there were aspects of Fel’s combat abilities he wished to learn, such as his talent for exploiting weaknesses.

"Calm down and observe. You’re not really dead, are you?"

To Fel, Enkrid’s tone sounded eerily like someone who had experienced countless deaths himself.

"I felt like I died and came back!" Fel’s face flushed with frustration.

Hearing this, Enkrid realized that the deaths he had endured over countless trials had seeped into his swordsmanship, giving it an aura of death.

"Am I now wielding a blade that shows my opponent death itself?"

Having faced death in so many forms, it wasn’t difficult to imprint those experiences into his Will and project them outward.

Enkrid calmly explained further and resumed sparring.

"Again?" Fel muttered, but he assumed his stance once more.

It was a rare experience—a technique seemingly evolved from intimidation into something entirely new.

It intrigued him, though the sensation of dying remained unsettling.

By the end of the session, Enkrid had "killed" Fel twice more.

Despite understanding the structure of the technique, Fel couldn’t find a way to counter it.

Surprisingly, Luagarne was the first to devise a solution: she shifted her mindset, sacrificing limbs to avoid death and breaking free from the oppressive pressure.

"This won’t work so easily against a Frog."

That evening, after the second day of sparring, Enkrid dreamed.

He saw the Ferryman, who silently watched him before finally speaking.

"I have seen it."

"What have you seen?" Enkrid asked.

"Your future."

Half-joking, Enkrid quipped, "Will I have a son? Or a daughter"

"You’re thinking of having children? Planning to marry and raise a family someday?"

"No, I was just joking because you mentioned seeing the future."

Without Shinar, Enkrid found himself making fairy-like jests—a reminder of how much he longed to see Shinar again.

"You are a resilient one. Let me show you."

The Ferryman raised a hand not holding his lamp.

Enkrid sensed a difference—this Ferryman seemed unlike the one he’d met before.

The Ferryman’s gray hand revealed a pitch-black void, expanding until it enveloped Enkrid completely, leaving him in total darkness.

In that void, the Ferryman’s voice resonated—not a sound, but an intent communicated through Will.

"In the dark cavern, you will face an immovable wall."

Enkrid strained his focus on the darkness, perceiving a faint presence beyond.

As he stared deeper, a form gradually emerged, and he concentrated to see what stood before him.

Though he couldn’t see the face or smell any scent, Enkrid could discern the opponent’s identity just from their physique.

It was far too familiar a form to feign ignorance.

"That will be your wall."

The Ferryman spoke, his words sounding like a curse.

"I see."

But curses were only effective if the recipient’s response mattered, and Enkrid was far too calm.

He didn’t flinch or show any signs of unease.

A curse’s power often lay in how deeply it could unsettle the target, yet Enkrid simply pondered it dispassionately.

The figure’s shape revealed it to be a woman, and it was a silhouette Enkrid knew well.

There was no need to deliberate further—it was Shinar, the one he sought.

Enkrid had spoken with the Ferryman countless times before, and the latter rarely offered explanations out of kindness.

This made Enkrid adept at extracting clues from even the shortest conversations.

"She, not that."

The Ferryman hadn’t called Shinar "her wall" but "that wall."

It wasn’t a mistake of phrasing.

In other words, Shinar wasn’t the wall.

Enkrid woke from his dream immediately.

The Ferryman, who had sent him out of the dream, sank into his own thoughts for a moment.

"Who made him like that? He doesn’t even flinch when cursed. Why is he so skilled at exploiting the gaps in my words?"

The Ferryman muttered, having read a glimpse of Enkrid’s thoughts.

It was infuriating that Enkrid had caught the subtle difference between "that" and "her."

Every Ferryman who had encountered Enkrid before now kept silent.

Once, they had enjoyed taunting and tormenting him, but they had inadvertently contributed to shaping the current Enkrid.

"They’ve created a real snake."

The Ferryman sighed.

***

Enkrid paid no mind to dreams or talk of barriers from the night before.

Dwelling on the Ferryman’s words would only hinder his progress.

And what difference did knowing there was a wall make?

None.

He had no intention of turning back.

For three days, he continued south, choosing similar routes.

On the third day, as he passed through a small forest and an area filled with piles of rocks, a snoring sound rumbled in the distance.

"Looks like some crazy idiot is sleeping on the roadside," Fel remarked.

Luagarne tilted her head quizzically.

Regardless, Enkrid continued walking.

Eventually, they came across a massive figure leaning against a large boulder.

Its size defied perspective.

A giant—a bipedal creature often called the "Bloody Beast."

As Enkrid approached, the snoring giant twitched its nose and slowly opened its eyes.

Its pupils were a striking blue.

Its disheveled hair gleamed with grease, matted together as if it hadn’t been near water in at least two weeks.

The stench matched the sight.

Around the giant lay scattered bones and scraps of leather.

"Urp."

The giant burped, releasing a nauseating stench that reached Enkrid.

Even while seated, its stature dwarfed Enkrid’s.

His gaze naturally lifted.

When their eyes met, the giant spoke in a flat tone, devoid of any humor.

"Your eyes are blue."

Its deep voice reverberated, spreading waves of sound around them.

Fel wrinkled his brow, the stench akin to animal waste assaulting his senses as well.

"And so are yours," Enkrid replied, his tone equally humorless.

"Yeah, I know. Hah."

The giant rose from the boulder with a sound like grinding stone, the massive rock shifting backward under its weight.

Its sheer strength and mass were evident in the simple act of standing.

Giant lore said that they would sink in water, unable to float due to their immense density.

While they didn’t fear water itself, they avoided large bodies like lakes, preferring to stay clear of anything beyond streams.

But here, with no nearby water, the giant seemed completely at ease.

Showing its blackened teeth, it asked, "What’s your name?"

"Why ask?"

Fel interjected, drawing the giant’s gaze.

"Wait your turn. You’re next."

The giant pointed at Enkrid.

"Next for what?" Fel pressed.

"To die. So, you’re after him," the giant replied matter-of-factly.

"Who are you planning to kill?" Luagarne asked, stepping in.

The giant grinned before repeating his question.

"You’re Enkrid, right?"

Unfazed, Enkrid replied, "I didn’t expect to be greeted roadside like this. Do we know each other, or is this by someone’s introduction? Perhaps someone with a black hood and a lamp?"

The giant chuckled, ignoring the question.

"You just can’t help yourself, can you?"

"Doesn’t seem like you were introduced by anyone I know. So how did you know I’d be here? That’s what I’m curious about," Enkrid countered, maintaining his calm.

"Keep showing off, and you end up meeting assassins. Or, if your luck’s really bad, you meet me."

The conversation went nowhere.

Both spoke their minds without truly engaging.

Then Enkrid asked abruptly,

"Are you old?"

"Yeah."

"How old?"

"Over a hundred."

"That’s it?"

"You damn human."

"Some woman I know is over four hundred."

What was even the point?

The dialogue felt aimless, a string of offhand remarks.

Yet something about Enkrid’s demeanor grated on the giant’s nerves.

Did this guy have no fear, or was he confident about something?

Relying on a Frog as an ally?

The Frog wasn’t a threat to this giant.

Why was the thought dragging on?

Everything about this—Enkrid’s tone, his demeanor, and his words—was irritating.

The giant’s patience had been stretched thin.

"You won’t die peacefully. I’ll devour you alive."

"I’ll make sure you die peacefully. Where should I send your head once I wrap it up?"

"Kruuuargh!"

The giant suddenly roared into the air, a feral cry that would paralyze most creatures to the core.

It was a primal howl, akin to a beast instilling terror into its prey.

Powered by Will, it was a technique designed to unsettle foes.

Enkrid activated his Will of Rejection effortlessly, neutralizing the effect.

Fel let out a short sigh and stepped back, while Luagarne retreated two more steps before bounding further away to gain distance.

The roar alone was enough to confirm the truth—this giant was knight-level.

Enkrid had already realized this even before the roar.

The giant’s stance and sheer presence had activated his instincts.

Gripping the hilt of the his sword, he studied his adversary.

"Say something again," the giant challenged.

"Packaging. Where. Neatly. Kill," Enkrid retorted, mocking him as if he were teasing Rem.

The giant bristled, infuriated by Enkrid’s unflinching demeanor and mocking words.

"I am Hatun, the Giant Apostle of the Demon Cult’s Sacred Grounds!"

Hatun declared as he extended his hand, revealing a hidden weapon he’d concealed behind a boulder.

The weapon was a whip-like construct, though calling it a whip hardly did justice to the massive steel chain.

Whoosh!

The steel chain tore through the air with a ferocious swing, aimed directly at Enkrid’s previous position.

Boom!

A deafening crash followed as earth and stones exploded into the air.

The sheer force shattered rocks and uprooted embedded boulders, sending them hurtling away.

To describe these flying fragments as pebbles would be as absurd as calling the sun a firefly.

Bang!

Fel intercepted one of the incoming boulders, deflecting it with his sword.

The weight was immense; the chunk of rock landed with a resounding thud as it was redirected to the ground nearby.

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