A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Chapter 378

‘How did he achieve such delicate movements?’

In his memory, Shinar swung his sword. His footwork was light as a butterfly. The Leaf Blade he wielded moved just as lightly.

Despite its broad, leaf-shaped middle, it fluttered as though weightless.

Watching the blade dance like a drifting leaf, it seemed as if there was no force behind it at all.

But facing it in battle was an entirely different experience. The strikes carried undeniable power. Enkrid knew this well—he had fought against it himself.

How does he do that?

To execute something with precision, one must apply force. Yet, such movements were only possible when that force was absent.

He understood the mechanics, but whether his body could actually replicate them was another question entirely.

‘Is this a path I don’t know?’

No. He knew it already. He had learned, trained, and endured countless hardships, imprinting these skills onto his body.

“There isn’t just one way to exert force. Without precision, the Isolation Technique is meaningless.”

Audin had once said that muscles come in different types.

There were large muscles, but also smaller ones that controlled fine movements.

By training and retraining those smaller muscles, Shinar had achieved that level of precision.

Enkrid needed that, too.

“If you sharpen your senses, you’ll be able to feel it.”

Jaxon had repeated the same words countless times. Taking that to heart, Enkrid half-closed his eyes and began swinging the weapons in his hands.

He traced an imaginary line in the air and swung his sword toward it with exacting precision. It didn’t work perfectly at first. That didn’t matter. Enkrid repeated it.

It was similar to training where one would draw a target on a tree and strike only that mark. However, compared to wildly hacking at a large target, this practice—what he called "Meeting the Sword Tip"—required an entirely different level of precision.

If he were to use Naurillia’s military ranking system as an analogy, this was the difference between a bottom-tier soldier and an elite warrior.

And his opponent’s sword wouldn’t remain still.

‘Aisia never stays in one place.’

She was always shifting, stepping, turning, adjusting the angle of her blade.

The answer became clear—he needed the precision to pluck a moving bird’s feather in flight.

To achieve that, he had to train so that the tips of his swords would meet with pinpoint accuracy. Enkrid sank into deep concentration, immersing himself in the sea of repetition.

Then, voices interrupted him.

“A barbarian like you has no business interfering! Go suck on goat’s milk!”

The third training session of the day wasn’t all that different from usual. However, the moment the situation escalated—the meeting with the magistrate—was entirely unlike before.

When Enkrid turned his gaze, he saw Rem grinning as he gripped the handle of his axe.

“Goat milk, you say?”

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