A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Encrid quickly turned his head, moving reflexively based on his sense of evasion.

He took in and assessed the surrounding situation in an instant.

“Krais, stick, chest, sword?”

Encrid noticed something murky emanating from the sword embedded in the altar.

The gray substance spread around and enveloped the area.

Esther’s body sprang forward, aiming towards the path they had come from.

Just as she was about to escape, a gray barrier blocked her path.

Thud!

The panther was thrown back after hitting the barrier, and Encrid reached out to catch it.

His movements were swift, like the wind.

Cradling the panther gently, Encrid scanned the surroundings while placing a hand on the sword’s grip.

The atmosphere was tense, as if something could jump out at any moment.

“Finn.”

At his command, Finn stood behind Encrid.

Luagarne took care of Krais, pulling him back while he was standing there holding a stick, and she also stood on guard.

Without having time to check on Esther, Encrid’s danger sense kicked in.

It was an ability that only Encrid, who had died countless times, possessed. And then.

“Hmm?”

There was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“…What is this?”

Meanwhile, Krais mumbled something.

Encrid’s gaze shifted in that direction.

“Kya.”

Esther spoke, seemingly unharmed by the barrier’s impact.

After setting down the panther, Encrid approached Krais.

It seemed Krais had opened a chest with a stick.

Inside, instead of poison arrows, there was only dust and a small letter.

Krais unfolded the letter, muttering things like ‘Has it already been looted? Or is Dolph insane?’

“Let me see.”

Encrid approached to examine the letter.

– Only those who obtain the treasure may leave.

Did they enter through the back? Sorry, but this is the only trap here.

Fwoosh.

As the sound of the torch burning filled the air, Encrid let out a groan.

It felt as if the letter’s writer, Dolph, was laughing sinisterly.

So, treasure? The chest was empty. What about the other chest?

Just then, Krais opened the remaining chest with the stick.

“Nothing here.”

That one was empty too.

“In this era, they called a ‘backdoor’ a ‘rear exit’, huh? Damn it. Treasure, my foot.”

Krais grabbed his head in frustration.

An ancient symbol had left a modern, quick-witted soldier in despair.

It was unavoidable.

It was a trap interwoven with magic, and such a trick was difficult for anyone to anticipate.

“Anyone would have been caught in this.”

Finn also agreed.

Encrid turned his head, leaving the wide-eyed Finn behind, and saw the sword standing silently on the platform.

The sword, which had been covered in moss and dust earlier, had changed.

Its blade now glowed faintly with a bluish tint. The handle was still worn and rusty, and the blade was blunt.

“The blade’s color has changed.”

Could it have been maintained in a place like this? Did someone look after it? Perhaps they placed a skeleton soldier to oil the blade?

It was clear that the blade wasn’t sharp, and it was quite old. However, it was remarkable that the blade had remained intact for such a long time.

Usually, weapons like swords become useless if not maintained. It was common for weapons found in ancient dungeons to break apart after a single swing, as they were often badly degraded by time.

For a mercenary, a weapon is life, and those lacking confidence in their skills often rely on their weapons. Over the years, Encrid had paid close attention to his weapons.

Thus, he had an eye for swords.

The sword with a blunt blade and a handle so fragile it seemed ready to crumble if gripped too tightly.

‘It still has life in it.’

It was an intact piece, although it needed some care.

That was the only thing one could call a treasure here.

“How long has it been since this Dolph person made this?”

Encrid asked.

“At least fifty years.”

Krais replied with an astonished expression, shifting his gaze. With only the sword left, everyone’s attention naturally turned to it.

A sword left standing for fifty years was in better condition than expected?

If that wasn’t a treasure, what was?

“It’s the only thing left, so I’ll try to pull it out.”

Krais’s frustration was brief. He quickly stood up, muttered something about Dolph being a bastard, and stepped forward.

Despite his natural talent for hiding and running away, he couldn’t ignore the mess he had created.

Without a word, Krais grabbed the sword but quickly let go.

“Ouch!”

He seemed startled.

As everyone looked at him curiously, Krais continued.

“No, it’s like some crazy guy with a sword is chasing me.”

Just by grabbing the sword, it felt like a madman was chasing after him with a sword.

“Let me try.”

Finn stepped forward. Bravery and sometimes recklessness were synonyms for a ranger.

Rangers, who were brave but sometimes reckless, were the first to step forward.

Before anyone could stop her, Finn grabbed the sword and then let go just as quickly.

“It’s true.”

Encrid’s gaze rested on the sword’s handle.

“A cursed sword?”

Luagarne said, glaring at the sword. She waved her hand in the air dismissively and puffed her cheeks.

“A cursed sword, my foot.”

She stepped forward and placed her hand on the sword’s handle.

Swoosh, thud.

“…Hmm.”

Encrid let out a soft sound of disapproval. Luagarne tried again.

Slip.

Her hand slid off the grip without being able to hold it.

“I saw something for a moment.”

Frogs have a peculiar slickness to their skin, which is why they use loops to handle weapons.

The cursed sword was too smooth and slippery for her to grip.

It didn’t even have a proper pommel at the end of the grip.

“That’s the only thing here that looks like a treasure.”

Krais spoke, glancing at the sword. It seemed they needed to pull out that sword.

“Can we trust the words left by that guy Dolph?”

Encrid asked. If they pulled out the sword believing it was a treasure, and it turned out to be a trap meant to kill them, they’d be in trouble.

“Yes, well, we should trust it, right? Dolph, bastard as he is, lived his life with integrity and was known never to lie. It’s a pretty credible statement.”

If such a person lied, it would be serious, but for now, they had no choice but to believe.

Encrid thought this as he shook his head slightly and stood before the sword.

Slip, slip.

Even then, Luagarne was still trying to grip the sword.

“I can see it, a guy holding a sword.”

She seemed to be half-closing her eyes in concentration.

“A cursed sword, huh.”

Krais muttered, fiddling with his fingers. They needed to pull out the sword, but if they grabbed it, some crazy guy would come chasing after them with a sword. Even though it was brief, he didn’t want to experience that again. He didn’t want to see it. Cold sweat ran down his back.

Luagarne gave up trying to grip the sword and shook her hand, saying,

“A cursed sword, or rather, a sword possessed by an evil spirit.”

An evil spirit?

Encrid had wandered the continent quite a bit, but he had only encountered an evil spirit once.

It was called a wraith, a type of evil spirit that fed on human anxiety and fear.

He had been hired for the job but couldn’t handle it.

The village had already been completely corrupted by evil spirits.

It had been a horrific experience.

The ragtag mercenaries armed with iron had no way to deal with it. They needed a priest, one capable of performing holy rituals.

‘How much did that cost back then?’

Encrid had spent his own money. He had taken the job and intended to solve it. That was his thinking.

The funny part was that the one who made the request was a ghost.

It was the remnant of a human soul that hadn’t become an evil spirit, constantly crying and wishing.

A young girl’s wish had been so desperate that she had disguised herself as a city beggar and made the request.

Encrid had fulfilled the promise, eliminating the evil spirits from that village.

‘I think I spent all my money.’

When summoning a priest, especially one capable of using holy powers to banish evil spirits, it required a significant amount of Krona.

The point is, evil spirits were not something ordinary mercenaries could handle.

While Encrid was lost in his thoughts, Krais muttered,

“Oh, so if I had kept holding onto it…”

Luagarne immediately responded,

“It would have split your head open.”

It was a chilling answer. As Krais nervously rubbed his arm, Encrid casually raised his hand.

Pull out the sword and take it. Then, leave. It was a simple premise. He was also curious.

Encrid gripped the sword’s handle.

Even without blinking, he could tell the surroundings had changed.

The air density was different.

He was standing on sticky mud.

The mud was like a trap, pulling at his feet.

Then, something fell from above. It was a sword, its blade descending vertically.

His body reacted instinctively, drawing and swinging his sword horizontally to meet the vertical blade.

Clang!

The moment they clashed, he pushed back with force.

With a heavy noise, the floating sword in the mist was pushed back.

He took advantage of the recoil, retreating, but the slippery ground made it difficult to find footing.

As he pushed off the ground with a thud, thud.

Whoosh.

The wind picked up, and the misty figure behind the floating sword dissipated.

Beyond the dissipating mist, his opponent became visible.

A helmet and plate armor, with blue flames in place of eyes within the helmet.

‘What is this?’

There was no speech or breath. He couldn’t sense any indication of an impending attack. Something essential that a human should possess was absent.

The sword simply began to move.

With a few strikes exchanged, Encrid realized his body wasn’t responding as usual.

‘The Heart of Great Strength isn’t working.’

He had lost something he had. While his reaction speed was roughly the same, his body felt stiff.

Most concerning was the opponent’s swordsmanship, it was astonishingly formal, as if anticipating several moves ahead.

Every time he instinctively and reflexively struck, the opponent seemed to deflect his sword and prepare for the next attack.

This time, it was a thrust.

Gasp.

He inhaled sharply and stepped back. He had to retreat. He needed to shift his consciousness back to the outside world immediately.

Instinctively, he understood how to escape from this place.

The problem was that his opponent was too close.

‘In the meantime, I’ll be cut.’

It was a clear fact.

Regardless of his physical abilities, the opponent seemed to read Encrid’s every move.

The result was clear.

Thud.

He was struck in the abdomen by an iron-clad gauntlet.

Encrid didn’t just take the hit. He swung his sword with force, aiming for the opponent’s shoulder.

He had aimed for the neck but was blocked by the shoulder plate.

‘It was read.’

He narrowly avoided the next slash, but then took an elbow to the cheekbone.

Crack.

When you’ve had your neck broken several times, there’s something you come to know.

This level of damage means death.

“Urk.”

Encrid gasped a death rattle. That seemed to be the end. He thought he was dead, but when he opened his eyes, he was back to reality. He had escaped from the realm of the mind, or perhaps an evil spirit’s playground.

“Captain?”

Krais’s large eyes looked at him, along with Finn, Luagarne, and Esther.

“Are you okay?”

“How much time has passed?”

Encrid asked, rubbing his throat as if it felt dry. The pain was vividly lingering, and his neck felt cold, but it hadn’t twisted in the wrong direction.

Only the pain and the moment of death remained.

“It felt like less than a minute.”

Encrid frowned. It was unusual. He had died, yet he hadn’t?

It felt like he was fighting barehanded in that place, using only the sword to communicate, leaving everything else behind.

For Encrid, it was no different from fighting without arms and legs.

“Are you really okay?”

“Yes.”

Nodding at Krais’s question, Encrid pondered over the sword. It hadn’t been pulled out. It was the same as before, like looking at a noble lady. Though inside the sword, there was just a piece of metal.

“Did I fail?”

Luagarne asked from the side.

“My neck was broken.”

“Inside there?”

Encrid nodded.

Hearing that, Luagarne fell into thought.

They couldn’t physically harm an evil spirit, but the evil spirit hadn’t been able to harm Encrid either. It was the same as during that old job.

Could it be the same situation now?

It didn’t seem like it.

It felt real. Even knowing it was fake, it was just like actually dying.

Encrid knew this because he was, in a sense, an expert in dying, having experienced it countless times.

Meanwhile, Luagarne examined the gray barrier. She touched it with her fingers, tapping and probing it.

On the other side, Esther was scratching the barrier with her claws.

“Does that panther know something?”

Finn mumbled, surprised at what she saw.

“Maybe?”

Encrid knew that the lake panther by his side wasn’t ordinary.

Everyone was busy trying to grasp the situation.

The answer came from Luagarne. After tapping the barrier, observing the sword, and repeatedly failing to grip it due to its slipperiness, she spoke.

“It’s a bit of a guess.”

“What is it?”

Encrid asked.

She spoke in a serious tone—though it was hard to read a Frog’s emotions, she seemed somewhat uncertain.

Her explanation sounded plausible.

“You probably have to die dozens of times. Only then will you see something like a treasure.”

For Encrid, it was a relatively easy task, but Luagarne wouldn’t have known that.

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