Eternally Regressing Knight - Chapter 137: A New Day

In moments of crisis, humans can exert strength beyond their limits.

The ability to draw out that strength even in normal conditions—that is the essence of [Heart of Monstrous Strength].

The name came from the idea of channeling the raw power of a beast’s heart.

In Rem’s tribe, it was said that using this technique invited their gods or some mystical power to dwell within their bodies.

Sure, there was a certain ritualistic aspect to it.

Gods? That was just nonsense, the kind of thing you’d say to appease wild dogs.

‘But it’s far from actual mysticism,’ Rem thought.

He had his own theories, grounded in his firsthand experiences and observations.

‘It’s about triggering something within the body that makes the heart beat faster—that’s all.’

The human body was mysterious, and this phenomenon was one of its wonders. Once something in the body activated, the muscles would tighten, and the [Heart of Monstrous Strength] would awaken.

It wasn’t about rituals or divine descent.

He thought back to when he had first realized this.

Amid countless axe blades, at the brink of death, something surged within him. When it reached his muscles, he found himself wielding strength far beyond his usual capacity.

How did it happen?

Through exploration and research, he discovered the key: when blood surged wildly through the body, the heart would beat several times faster than normal.

Though a ritualistic trigger helped, the core wasn’t magic.

It was about focus, or perhaps, sensory control.

“Focus. Again.”

As Rem continued his train of thought, he spoke aloud.

Encrid stood before him, and soon the two placed their hands on each other’s hearts.

There was a maddeningly precise focus enhancement technique he had learned from a lazy slacker—perhaps it would work.

If not, well, so be it.

Rem had already half-resigned himself. After all, even in his tribe, only a rare few had ever mastered this technique.

And those few had bodies as resilient as steel, having survived numerous brushes with death.

“I once stepped out of a river of death,” they would say.

In other words, mastering [Heart of Monstrous Strength] required the right vessel.

Even if the technique was properly activated, the body would be the first to break down.

So, could the platoon leader handle it?

His vessel wasn’t bad.

Every morning, he endured the grueling physical routines taught by that hulking zealot.

It was a form of forging the body, and if the zealot hadn’t done it, Rem had been prepared to help refine Encrid’s body through other means.

But the zealot’s methods seemed more efficient, so Rem let it be.

As a result, the vessel was mostly prepared.

Still, he wasn’t about to force it. If it was feasible, they’d proceed. If not, they’d stop.

“Feel it.”

Encrid listened to Rem, as he always did—with calm focus and unwavering attention.

However, he already had some insights.

It had started when he learned about pinpoint focus from Ragna.

Ragna was a genius, capable of learning and understanding things effortlessly. What had he said back then?

“Fear of death heightens your focus,” or something like that.

That was only half true.

What was truly needed was an opponent who could push you to unleash everything you had, to the very bottom of your abilities.

This moment was similar, yet the opposite.

With a small revelation, Encrid reached a conclusion:

What is [Heart of Monstrous Strength]?

When faced with intense pressure or similar circumstances, humans can sometimes exert strength beyond their limits.

That was the starting point.

He realized that to achieve [Heart of Monstrous Strength], one had to feel the overwhelming pressure of impending death.

Through his past battles and the life he had lived, Encrid had accumulated countless experiences.

Repeating them day after day, layering upon themselves—

This conclusion was the result.

“More.”

Something from Rem’s hand pressed against Encrid’s heart.

So far, Rem had only been providing a faint sense of what the technique felt like, applying a slight pressure to Encrid’s heart.

This was done using a ritualistic sensation, a kind of sensory transfer to stimulate the heart into beating faster.

“More.”

Encrid spoke again, his eyes half-closed, utterly focused.

“How many times have I told you? You have to be careful with this,” Rem said, his tone sharp.

To hear a man known for recklessness speak of caution was almost laughable.

It sounded like he was warning of death.

Danger, risk, pressure—

These were exactly what Encrid needed.

The mindset of standing on the edge of a cliff, the wind at your back, knowing one wrong move could mean death.

Not an intentional act of suicide, but the ultimate test of survival instincts.

Moments that forced you to your very limits.

“More.”

Encrid repeated, still half-lidded.

Rem’s brows furrowed.

‘Has this man truly lost his mind?’

If anyone was the madman, it should have been him. Yet now, this side seemed crazier.

“Let’s stop.”

As he spoke, Rem began to withdraw his hand.

But then—

‘Grip.’

Encrid grabbed Rem’s wrist.

With his left hand on Rem’s chest and his right gripping the wrist, Encrid spoke again.

“Do it.”

Because his gaze was slightly lowered, Rem couldn’t see Encrid’s eyes clearly.

Had his sanity truly slipped away?

“Are you insane?”

Rem’s glare sharpened. Wasn’t this as good as asking him to kill him with his own hands?

There were things passion and desire alone couldn’t overcome.

There were times when one had to step back and acknowledge their limits.

But Rem’s thoughts were interrupted.

A voice pierced through his rationality, his emotions, and his very core.

“Just do it.”

It was a command, one that had to be obeyed.

If words carried power, Rem felt it in that moment.

No spell, no incantation, no knightly authority was involved.

Deep in his heart, he realized what Encrid was to him.

Encrid raised his gaze, and their eyes met.

Two flames clashed—one blue, one gray.

Though different in color, they burned fiercely, as if ready to consume each other.

Their stares were so intense, it felt like they could kill one another.

Does victory in this battle leave anything behind?

No.

At best, someone ends up half-crippled—and not himself, but the one standing before him.

Then why?

Even so, Rem wanted to do it. He simply wanted to.

It felt like he had to follow this man’s command. It felt right.

Maybe it was instinct.

Or maybe he had been completely captivated by his platoon leader standing before him.

“Do it.”

Encrid’s lips moved again.

“Damn it, to hell with it.”

Rem cursed and tightened his grip on Encrid’s heart. A fleeting thought emerged in the back of his mind—it was worth doing because he believed in something.

After justifying it to himself, Rem put his full strength into it.

‘Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud!’

The pounding surged, sending blood wildly rushing through Encrid’s body. The crushing pressure would align with the heart, pushing it to pump strength far beyond its limits, empowering his muscles to unleash unimaginable force.

‘Thud.’

A piercing pain shot through Encrid.

He had been stabbed by swords, pierced by spears, and struck by arrows countless times.

One would think he’d have grown numb to pain by now.

Yet each death had felt new, different in its own way.

Death. The thought brought to mind the ferryman of the black river.

‘Thud, thud, thu-thud.’

Encrid’s eyes snapped open, bloodshot and intense, as Rem stared at him.

“Shit,” Rem muttered.

Why did he listen to this man? Why follow his insane orders?

Rem regretted it.

But Encrid was satisfied. He smiled.

A small realization had become a signpost for the path he would walk.

‘Thud.’

The heart, having fired its final beat, came to a stop. Something that had pushed it beyond its limits struck it down, halting it completely.

It was death.

Darkness began to close in.

“Stop,” came Jaxson’s voice through the encroaching shadows.

“You’re insane,” Ragna’s voice followed.

“What have you done, brother?”

Encrid felt rough hands grabbing his wrists, but—

It was already too late.

No divine power, no miraculous medicine could save someone whose heart had stopped, whose body had sunk into the cradle of death.

Encrid died.

It was a unique experience, one that might even be called a form of suicide.

This was the result of his desperate struggle to obtain the [Heart of Monstrous Strength]. No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t find another way.

To give up on it?

If he’d been willing to give up and move on—

‘I would’ve settled for mediocrity.’

But he wouldn’t settle. He would move forward, even if it was only half a step at a time—or crawling, if need be.

A tremor rippled through his body, twisting it in pain.

After overcoming wave after wave of agony—

‘Splash.’

The darkness faded, and when he opened his eyes, he saw the ferryman of the black river.

The ferryman said nothing. His laughter, his words, would come only when he willed it.

Now, he merely stared.

That gaze conveyed nothing but curiosity and doubt.

‘What kind of person are you?’

When Encrid opened his eyes again, it was the early morning of another day. A day just like any other.

Sitting up on his cot, he exhaled deeply and said:

“Rem, you’re such a bastard.”

“…I’m awake, and I can hear everything, you know.”

“I know.”

“So, why are you calling me a bastard first thing in the morning? Did you dream about me naked or something?”

“No, I’m just saying you’re a bastard.”

The fact that this technique required putting one’s life on the line just to barely grasp it—what a damned technique.

And yet—

The day of near-death, a day that Rem would never remember, left Encrid smiling. He was satisfied.

Moments when the path ahead became clear were always a source of joy for him.

“It’s a good morning,” he said, throwing the words out casually as he stepped outside to begin his day.

“…Didn’t you just say I was a bastard?” Rem muttered, his lips curling into a slight pout.

He still thought his platoon leader wasn’t normal.

And in that, he wasn’t wrong.

Encrid embraced the new day—a spring day, a season brimming with magic, as they called it.

The world was still in spring, and for the time being, Encrid intended to enjoy it.

Rebuilding his heart anew wouldn’t be an easy task.

“Truly a beautiful day,” he remarked.

On this day, when a new signpost had emerged, he couldn’t hate it.

After that, Encrid died countless more times.

But there were also days when he couldn’t die.

On those days, he pushed his body to its limits.

A death deliberately avoided, a day spent in grueling labor—it always returned to the same starting point when morning came.

It seemed as though his first death marked the true branching point.

Why this happened, he didn’t know.

But pondering it wouldn’t change anything. All he could do was push his body to its limits for the remainder of the day.

On days when death eluded him, he would confront Rem with relentless resolve.

“Trust me and do it.”

“This is insane. Do you think this even makes sense? I’m losing my mind here.”

The days when he succeeded in convincing Rem, he saw an expression he had never seen on him before—a mix of confusion, shock, and an odd intoxication.

On the days he failed, he saw firm resolve and refusal etched into Rem’s face.

What was the difference between the two kinds of days?

Nothing, really. The sincerity and determination in his words remained the same.

The difference became clear after about sixty-six repetitions.

What went beyond sincerity and conviction?

“Do it.”

It had to be a command.

Why did someone like Rem follow his orders so faithfully?

The curiosity lingered in his mind but was set aside.

Someday, perhaps, the answer would come. But not today.

“Do it.”

“Do it.”

“Do it.”

“Do it.”

“Just do it.”

“Shut up and do it.”

He endured countless todays.

And as those days passed—today, tomorrow, and the day after—

“What? What’s this?”

At some point, Rem’s help was no longer necessary.

By the time he surpassed eighty repetitions, something had changed.

From then on, it felt like he was raging and flailing on his own.

Thanks to mastering the sensation, he no longer needed Rem’s assistance.

After countless repetitions, the ferryman of the black river returned to his dreams.

“That was not a wall.”

The ferryman spoke, and Encrid listened. Yet, as always, he could not respond.

The ferryman’s words carried no hint of emotion.

A small boat drifted along the black river. The ferryman stood at its helm, rippling water below.

Encrid found himself aboard the vessel.

“Go,” the ferryman said, and Encrid opened his eyes.

He didn’t question the ferryman’s words or feel any particular curiosity about them.

After all, he hadn’t even questioned why Rem followed his commands so faithfully. Why bother trying to understand the intentions of a ferryman whose hobby was rowing?

The only thing that lingered deeply in his chest was the statement: ‘That was not a wall.’

What is a wall?

Perhaps it was the obstacle forcing him to repeat today over and over.

The ferryman’s words implied that what he was doing now was unrelated to his own will.

‘So what am I supposed to do about it?’

But Encrid didn’t really care. Whether the words settled deeply or brushed lightly against him, he discarded them.

There was too much to do to be bogged down by trifles.

“Good morning, Rem,” Encrid said as he rose.

“Huh? How’d you know I was awake?”

“Just did.”

How could he not, after repeating this day over a hundred times?

A new day began.

Encrid activated the [Heart of Monstrous Strength].

‘Thud!’

His heart pounded, channeling power into his muscles. Blood surged wildly, racing through his veins as if they were polished highways, carrying his strength to every corner of his body.

‘Thud.’

But this time, his heart didn’t burst.

“…I just have two questions,” Rem said, speaking right behind him. It was clear Encrid had demonstrated this technique at a time when Rem would notice it.

He had to show that he’d learned it properly, that he’d succeeded.

“First, are you from the West by any chance? And second…”

Rem paused, choosing his words carefully before asking:

“Were you secretly a genius?”

Encrid let out a soft laugh.

To think Rem would say something like that—it was completely unexpected.

“No, neither.”

His response was calm, and Rem gave him a look of disbelief.

“But you managed to do that in just one day?”

For Encrid, it hadn’t been just a day. But for Rem, that’s exactly what it looked like.

After all, he’d witnessed Encrid go from being unable to grasp the technique to fully executing it overnight.

With his skin flushed red from the activation of the [Heart of Monstrous Strength], Encrid deactivated it and spoke.

“You can wonder, be amazed, or find it absurd, but…”

“How about a sparring match?”

Wasn’t this the perfect time to put his body to work?

“Fine by me,” Rem said with a smirk. He wasn’t the kind of man to dwell on things either.

‘Thunk.’

A sword and an axe.

The two exchanged greetings, preparing to spar again—a new match, another step forward, a moment to measure their growth.