Eternally Regressing Knight Chapter 312 - The Wall is One

What is the wall?

"You've taken the wrong path."

In his ntal realm, Enkrid rubbed his ears as if he'd misheard.

"The wall must be faced," the Ferryman continued.

Though suspicion arose, the words were crystal clear: Face the wall.

Look at it properly.

What is the wall?

It's the numbers of those blocking his path.

It's the quality of their forces: Hurrier family knights, rcenaries, the Grey Dogs, mages, shamans.

It's the terrain itself.

Until now, Enkrid had concluded that the solution was this: Grow stronger and break through.

But every ti, a new challenge awaited him.

Once, just as he thought he'd barely escaped:

"The Grey Dogs never lose their target."

More tenacious than even Rem, they stood in his way.

Even as their heads flew off, their bodies would ram into him.

The arrival of the Grey Dogs—a maddening persistence personified.

Once he managed to overco them, they too beca part of today.

They were included now.

At first, it was Cent and three knights of the Hurrier family. Then ca the mages, followed by the shamans. Overcoming all of these, the Grey Dogs awaited.

In the midst of it all, waves of ordinary soldiers ceaselessly charged.

Even though he experienced the sa scenarios repeatedly, today always felt different.

The order of enemies shifted, their strategies changed.

Enkrid wasn't a master of military tactics, but one thing was certain:

"I'm definitely caught in sothing."

So what should he do?

What did he need to escape?

He still believed the answer lay in strength.

So days, he didn't encounter the Grey Dogs. On others, he bypassed the shamans or mages.

Occasionally, even Cent didn't appear—a rare relief.

But those days were far fewer than the ones where they all showed up.

"Oh, Cent again. Nice to see you."

"Do you know ?"

This was how he greeted Cent, wielding the Valen-style rcenary sword like an old friend.

With Ember, he pierced Cent's throat, broke through the human wall blocking his path, and then—inevitably—died again.

Another today arrived.

Climbing down a cliffside in search of a possible escape route, he fell to his death.

Throwing himself into a river, he was struck down by a mage.

By then, Enkrid had begun to categorize the walls he faced into five.

Cent and his rcenary group.

The three knights of the Hurrier family, whose nas he now knew: Roch, rior, and Leblanc.

The four mages who conjured water spirits or blasted water cannons. Their water whip was particularly dangerous, a swirling current that shredded armguards with ease. It even left them gasping for air after use, their faces pale.

Then there were the shamans.

They mostly wielded curses like "unseen force," though they weren't as difficult to face since their presence wasn't entirely undetectable. With his Sense of Evasion, Enkrid could avoid them.

Still, their techniques were annoying, making the ground beneath his feet sticky or pulling similar tricks.

Shamans always appeared with heavily armored infantry carrying spears, making them a formidable challenge.

Finally, the Grey Dogs.

In terms of raw strength, the Grey Dogs seed the least intimidating.

But in terms of tenacity? They were unmatched.

Their relentless persistence deserved not one, but two thumbs up.

These were the faces of today.

Five walls: rcenaries, Hurrier knights, mages, shamans, and the Grey Dogs.

If he could break through all five simultaneously, perhaps he could escape.

But it was impossible.

Especially when mixed with archers, crossbown, spearn, and heavily armored infantry.

So were skilled elf archers, while others included beastkin with unpredictable movents.

Thankfully, there were no Frogs, draconians, or giants among them.

Should he consider these additional forces as a sixth wall?

Adding them into the equation only worsened the situation.

"Not good," he muttered inwardly, though outwardly, he still relished the challenge.

Through the endless repetition of today, Enkrid used the ti wisely.

He struggled. He raged.

He used everything he had gained, maximizing every mont.

Under the unseasonably warm winter sun, he fought with everything he had.

But the outco remained bleak.

It was experience in slaughter.

Killing and being killed beca second nature, the scent of blood numbing his senses.

Yet no path out of today revealed itself.

And so, the Ferryman's words struck a chord.

Five or six walls—what difference did it make?

He faced them all and nothing changed.

In the repetition of today, he dread again, and the Ferryman spoke.

"You cannot overco what you do not understand.

The wall is one."

Enkrid took the words to heart.

Even though they didn't imdiately change him, they prompted reflection.

After several more todays, he t the Ferryman again.

"Hey, aren't you bored yet?" the Ferryman asked idly this ti.

"Bored? It's more that difficult," Enkrid replied.

And because it was difficult, boredom never set in.

Did the uncertainty of the future weigh on him?

If it had, he wouldn't have dared to dream.

Enkrid racked his brain over and over.

What is the wall?

It was right after he returned to the starting point.

"How much do I have to tell you? How far do I need to go before you understand?"

The Ferryman mocked him with a smirk.

Curious about the emotion he sensed, Enkrid asked, "Are you mocking ?"

He wondered if he had misunderstood.

"Do I need to spell it out for you?"

The Ferryman's expression instantly turned blank with distaste.

The fact that the Ferryman conveyed that distaste was the only reason Enkrid knew it existed.

As Enkrid found himself stuck, eting the Ferryman beca a regular occurrence. In those monts, he sought to satisfy his curiosity.

"Why a ferry?"

Wouldn't a sentinel dragging a hellhound suit you better?

Why a river, why a ferry, and why a Ferryman?

"Because a boat can go anywhere."

"What's that supposed to an?"

"It's not ant for you to understand."

Through countless repeated etings, Enkrid concluded that the Ferryman had multiple personalities.

The personality changed at will.

"Do not indulge in curiosity," one persona would solemnly declare.

On other days, a playful voice would say, "I'll call you a bastard."

Then there was the Ferryman who constantly spoke of the wall, no matter the question.

"Have you faced the wall?"

And, of course, the kinder Ferryman, who at least offered so semblance of a conversation.

When Enkrid asked what he normally did, the kind Ferryman replied, "I steer the boat."

He gave answers but rarely ones that made sense.

"I see," Enkrid would respond, brushing it off.

"You too will steer a boat," the Ferryman said once, but Enkrid let the comnt pass without much thought.

In over 300 iterations of today, Enkrid felt the limits of his skills.

"I can't improve any further," he thought.

It was a feeling he'd had before, back when he encountered a master of thrusts—a perfectionist of a single technique.

There's only so much one can gain from a mont or a situation.

Without facing tomorrow, nothing would change.

And so, the wall of today had to be overco.

"Five walls, or maybe six."

No, just one wall.

Could the five be unified into one?

Should he gather them in one place and fight them all at once?

Following his instincts, he tried it.

He struggled to gather the five groups and engage them in battle.

He died.

The four mages and the shamans worked well together despite appearing to be strangers. They quickly synchronized their efforts.

Cent's specialty was confird: striking from behind rather than engaging directly.

Enkrid realized he had forced Cent into direct combat every ti they t.

Now he understood why—Cent's sneak attacks had been thwarted each ti by Enkrid's heightened senses.

"So he was always aiming for my back," Enkrid mused.

It took over 300 iterations of today to realize it.

But it wasn't the answer.

Next, he kidnapped an enemy soldier.

Normally, enemy soldiers moved in groups of ten, but when nature called, they moved in trios.

"I need to take a leak."

After waiting in hiding, Enkrid seized his chance.

"Stick together," said the squad leader, and Enkrid followed the trio.

When one began relieving himself, Enkrid snapped his neck and used Ember to pierce the throats of the other two.

He hid the bodies in the bushes and stripped one of its uniform.

The act of changing clothes was more tedious than killing.

Draping the enemy's attire over himself, Enkrid improvised.

"Ambush!" he shouted, running toward a different unit instead of his target.

Would this let him escape?

Would evasion result in his return to today?

Did he truly need to overco the five walls to move forward?

But the Ferryman had said the wall was one.

And one cannot overco what they don't understand.

"What am I missing?"

He still didn't know.

The thrill was fading, but despair did not replace it.

Enkrid sought a solution, wandering and digging deeper—a survival skill of his.

"Was it you who shouted?"

He encountered another enemy unit.

The soldier didn't lower his guard, keeping a distance.

Why?

Their uniforms matched.

Could it be that every soldier knew each other's faces?

No.

"Wilted flower."

There was a code phrase.

Would he uncover it after a few more iterations of today?

Regardless, he had been discovered.

It was ti for another desperate fight.

A chaotic battle ensued.

In the next iteration, he stole another uniform and asked first this ti:

"Wilted flower."

"Enemy!"

The response was imdiate.

What had he done wrong?

Enkrid couldn't discern the mistake.

The truth, however, was simple.

Abnaier did not underestimate Enkrid.

Ti and again, he dissected him, studying the man thoroughly.

What he discovered was telling.

"He's cunning and adept at deception—a tactician by instinct."

Abnaier devised counterasures, anticipating that Enkrid might try to escape through trickery.

The passphrase "Wilted Flower" wasn't about the words—it was about the accompanying action.

The response required both a verbal and physical component. Observing the movent, one would confirm unit affiliation and reply accordingly.

It wasn't overly complex, but without prior knowledge, it was impossible to decipher.

Abnaier left no gaps.

He ensured that Enkrid could never simply overhear and escape using the passphrase.

He trained nearby units to recognize one another's faces and introduced subtle differences in uniforms for additional verification.

These were safeguards Enkrid couldn't breach, no matter how many tis he repeated today.

Above all, even Enkrid's instincts eventually told him this path wasn't the solution.

"This is a headache," he muttered, steadying his resolve.

"What am I missing?"

Reflection and recollection beca his tools.

Enkrid repeated his process, relying on his strengths.

He revisited the Ferryman's words.

Having endured countless iterations of today and faced death repeatedly, Enkrid ca to understand.

"The wall is one."

What is the wall?

It is sothing to overco.

"The wall is one."

He repeated the phrase over and over until clarity struck.

The reason behind the Ferryman's words beca evident.

"I see now," Enkrid said.

"What?"

His realization ca face-to-face with Cent, whose eyes widened in shock.

But what could Cent do?

Enkrid smashed Cent's jaw with the poml of his sword.

Crack!

The jaw shattered, sending teeth flying through the air.

Without hesitation, Enkrid's gladius severed Cent's neck.

Slash!

The severed head fell to the ground.

"Kill him!"

Once again, the cycle of endless fighting resud.

Near death, Enkrid repeatedly evaded his enemies to catch his breath.

He had mastered the art of prolonged combat.

Each brief respite allowed him to organize his thoughts.

To move forward, Enkrid needed to understand.

"You can't overco what you don't know."

It was obvious.

The wall wasn't physical—it was a strategy he needed to uncover.

It wasn't five walls.

It was one.

"A strategy."

Or perhaps a tactic, or even a doctrine—sothing that required dismantling the enemy commander's carefully laid trap.

"But how?"

He was not Krais.

So how should he proceed?

Enkrid delved into his mories.

He recalled a conversation with Krais, one that offered a glimr of insight.

When the mory surfaced, so did a possible approach.

Though the path ahead was still long, Enkrid now had a direction.

"I think there are two kinds of strategists," Krais had said.

"One predicts everything and prepares for it. The other moves on instinct and intuition."

Krais had smiled, adding, "You, Commander, belong firmly to the latter."

Enkrid hadn't questioned why.

Instead, he reflected on over 300 iterations of today.

Monts he'd overlooked in the chaos of battle surfaced in his mind.

Warnings he'd sensed but ignored, feelings he'd brushed aside, choices he had dismissed.

"Why did I overlook them? Why did I ignore them? Why did I feel I had to?"

Because he was focused solely on overcoming the wall in front of him.

But now, his perspective widened.

This was different.

Previously, he couldn't overco the wall because he didn't understand it.

But now that it was visible, he knew what to do.

"Minimal combat. Battles for survival."

Not reckless resistance, but a thodical use of intuition, instinct, and perception to dismantle the enemy's strategy.

That was the path forward.

"If I don't have to fight everyone..."

Abnaier had miscalculated two key points.

The first was that Enkrid could repeat today.

The second was that Enkrid's mind worked far better than Abnaier anticipated.

"Ah."

On exactly the 378th iteration of today, Enkrid found the path forward.

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