A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

In the kingdom of Naurillia, it was a common tradition for noblemen to name their battalions after themselves.

And so, the Bentra Viscount Army arrived at the frontier village.

A vanguard of cavalry, dispatched with urgency, charged ahead. What they saw left them puzzled.

"Wasn’t there supposed to be an attack?"

The cavalry captain asked, surveying the scene himself as part of reconnaissance.

What are they doing?

Why are they burying corpses in the ground?

Despite appearances, the black blood of monsters and beasts had the unusual effect of enriching the soil. Even the poison on a ghoul’s claws would neutralize when buried, rendering it harmless.

For this reason, the frontier villagers were hard at work burying the corpses of the monsters.

The rugged wilderness had become pockmarked and uneven. Most of the villagers were drenched in sweat, wielding shovels and pickaxes.

Soldiers and villagers alike moved as one, their efforts synchronized.

"Yes, the urgent message said it was an emergency."

The lieutenant responded, his tone carrying doubt.

The word emergency hardly seemed appropriate.

It was so urgent, they hadn’t even included estimates of the enemy numbers.

In truth, Deutsch, the sender of the distress call, had been in such a rush that he left out the specifics. The only hint was the vague implication of hundreds of monsters, alongside a mention of cultists.

It was enough to galvanize any force into action.

“To me, it looks like they’re running some kind of monster farming operation,” the cavalry captain muttered.

It genuinely appeared peaceful—apart from the monster corpses, it was a picturesque scene.

Most of the cleanup was already done, and there didn’t seem to be many monsters left.

“Whiiiii, Thud Thud, Cleaving Five Hundred Alone!”

“Name the walls after me!”

“Enkrid, Enkrid, Enkrid!”

To top it off, some absurd labor song was being chanted, its ridiculous melody echoing through the air.

“Find out what’s going on,” the captain ordered, visibly annoyed.

Having ridden through dust and chaos, this sight was nothing short of infuriating.

One of his subordinates spurred their horse forward, galloping into the village to assess the situation. Moments later, they returned with the report.

“What? He took down five hundred Nols by himself?”

The villagers were nothing if not honest.

“What, are you saying a legendary free knight showed up? Or maybe the King of Mercenaries graced us with his presence?”

“Neither. Apparently, it was a platoon leader from the Border Guard.”

A mere platoon leader had supposedly slain five hundred Nols.

Admittedly, it hadn’t all happened in a single day.

They said he’d also killed cultists—no, the cultists died. Somehow, the sly enemy had been tricked, backstabbed, and left clutching their hearts as they collapsed.

Cultists weren’t petty bandits wandering the hills, nor were they cowards with weak stomachs.

Ridiculous.

The captain sneered. How could any mere platoon leader accomplish such feats?

“Fine. Let’s meet this guy.”

The captain said, leading his group into the village.

“He’s already gone,” the village chief explained, stepping forward to address them.

“Already?”

“He said his mission was to resolve the colony, and then he left.”

Just like that, he was gone.

The cavalry captain let out a second derisive snort.

The situation was too convenient, the only witnesses being mercenaries and villagers.

While it was unlikely they were all lying, it was equally hard to believe everything they said was entirely true.

“When people are pushed to the brink, they tend to exaggerate,” the captain thought.

It was a principle he knew well. Someone standing on the edge of a cliff, even with five paces of safe ground behind them, would still feel like they were about to fall.

These villagers were no different.

Five hundred? At most, it was fifty. Maybe a hundred, if you were being generous.

A mercenary worth their salt wouldn’t admit they’d struggled with such a small colony. That would only highlight their own inadequacies.

“They’ve probably exaggerated,” the captain concluded, deciding against digging up the buried corpses to verify the story.

“Leave it,” he said aloud.

The village was intact, and that was what mattered.

Though he could still hear faint echoes of nonsense about Enkrid’s Wall and other absurdities, it wasn’t his place to criticize.

“Whether it was fifty or five hundred,” the captain mused, “that platoon leader did save this village.”

Still, leaving behind inflated tales of his deeds didn’t sit well with the captain.

“One day, I’ll meet him,” he thought.

And when that day came, he’d make sure to knock that man’s pride down a notch—or perhaps cut that boastful tongue of his in half.

With that thought, the captain turned his horse around.

***

“It wouldn’t hurt to stay a bit longer.”

The village chief expressed his regret at Enkrid’s announcement of departure.

It was two days after a night that felt like a festival.

As Enkrid washed up, drenched in sweat, a few of the village women gathered to observe him.

“He’s got a good build.”

“He’s handsome.”

“Strong in battle too.”

“And he has a great personality.”

“So wholesome, I bet even down there he’s—”

The last comment clearly crossed a line, but it was spoken with admiration, respect, and something bordering on worship.

It wasn’t unpleasant.

Enkrid merely took it in stride, neither flattered nor offended.

As news spread of his impending departure, Deutsch Pullman came rushing over, thrusting a glaive toward him.

“Would you spar with me?”

It was a sudden and straightforward request, but his tone carried respect, and his demeanor reflected admiration.

It wasn’t a challenge—it was a humble plea.

Most of all, Enkrid noticed the look in Deutsch’s eyes.

He had that fire.

“I don’t see why not.”

The sparring match was brief.

Clang!

Enkrid parried the glaive twice—once vertically, once horizontally—then stepped inside Deutsch’s reach and drove a solid left hook into his midsection, right where his lungs were.

Thud.

Deutsch crumpled to the ground, clutching his stomach, gasping and heaving for air.

“Huff... what strength...”

After regaining his breath, Deutsch stood and bowed deeply.

“Thank you.”

Enkrid nodded nonchalantly, not making a big deal of it.

With no reason to delay further, he decided to move on.

“Let me come with you.”

Despite recovering in the village, Finn insisted on accompanying him.

“I’m a ranger.”

Those words carried a lot of weight.

Rangers always moved ahead of the main force—that was their creed.

“I don’t like falling behind.”

It wasn’t mere stubbornness. While Finn wasn’t fully healed, the wound wasn’t critical, and Kraiss’s treatment had been excellent.

Kraiss had a knack for many things, though combat wasn’t his strong suit. His talents lay in his intellect and versatility.

Besides, the journey ahead didn’t seem particularly dangerous.

At worst...

“Just a few monsters or beasts,” Enkrid thought.

Colonies typically drained the surrounding area of monsters. It was a natural phenomenon—colonies formed when monsters gathered, and once the colony was eradicated, the local monster population would be nearly wiped out.

“It’ll be fine.”

“Treasure, treasure,” Kraiss hummed with excitement, as if narrating a tune.

According to him, the location marked on the treasure map was only a day’s journey away.

“It’s nothing major. Back in the day, you’d have to deal with traps and complications, but nowadays? If you’ve read The Cristrown Guide to Dungeon Clearing, it’s child’s play.”

His confidence was evident, and in truth, it really wasn’t a big deal.

After stocking up on preserved food and a few bottles of apple cider, they set out.

“Please, visit again—promise us.”

The village chief bowed deeply as they departed. In fact, the entire village turned out, bowing in unison.

Enkrid gave a curt nod.

“If the opportunity arises.”

Though blunt, his response was genuine, and the sincerity in his tone was unmistakable.

Thus began their short journey, ending with a treasure to retrieve and then heading back.

“Let’s find that treasure! Treasure!” Kraiss exclaimed, full of enthusiasm.

“Sure,” Enkrid replied with an easy nod.

“Are you coming with us?”

Lua Gharne hadn’t left immediately. Whether she had no pressing need to return or felt reluctant to part ways, Enkrid didn’t question it.

Instead...

“A spar?”

He treated her the same as always. While she had made remarks about being infatuated, such things would reveal themselves with time.

What mattered more to Enkrid was learning from her.

In terms of sheer combat ability, if it came to a kill-or-be-killed scenario, Enkrid was confident he could surpass her. But her experience and skill were genuine, not to be underestimated.

While her raw power wasn’t overwhelming, her techniques revealed a level of mastery that only came with standing atop a peak—one he could now glimpse as he climbed.

“Are all Frokk like her?”

He doubted it.

As she had mentioned multiple times, she was a scholar.

“It’s not a bad idea. I’ve gotten a bit rusty. I should take this time to refine my skills,” she admitted.

Even facing the cultists had taught her something.

The two clashed wooden swords, the sharp sound echoing as they walked the path.

They reflected on what they had gained, learned, and mastered.

“You’re truly a strange human,” Lua Gharne remarked after a bout.

“No talent should allow for such results.”

“Is that so?” Enkrid replied indifferently.

His dream was to become a knight, and there were still countless mountains to climb and roads to walk.

One step, no matter how great, was far from enough.

Even if he reached his dream, would it satisfy him? Was the journey over once he became a knight? Certainly not.

The dream remained, but the reasons for pursuing it had grown over his travels—some as sediment, some as lingering regrets.

“The strangest thing is your attitude,” Lua Gharne continued, but Enkrid remained unchanged.

He learned and absorbed knowledge. It quenched the thirst within him, guiding him to the next marker on his path.

“Again?”

The routine continued.

After another spar, they rested, drinking water and cider as they traveled.

Finn took the lead, with Kraiss chatting beside him.

“According to the map, the terrain should match this area. What do you think, Finn?”

“Looks about right.”

Kraiss had a knack for finding paths based on fragments of maps, especially when his life or wealth was at stake.

With Finn’s assistance, they made good progress.

The group’s dynamic reflected their name, Mad Platoon—each member eccentric and skilled in their own right.

Among them, Enkrid seemed almost normal by comparison.

At least, that’s how he saw it.

Watching Enkrid in action, even Lua Gharne was astonished.

“Insane human.”

She’d seen him change before, but this time felt different.

He’d cut down hundreds of monsters without magic, without a mystical weapon—just his usual sword and armor.

He hadn’t found some mythical blade; he had simply changed.

It was the kind of power befitting a quasi-knight.

Even Kraiss was impressed, though he didn’t dwell on it.

“Well, he’s the platoon leader. What did you expect?”

Finn, however, couldn’t hide her bewilderment.

“How is that even possible?”

When she first met him, he hadn’t seemed this extraordinary.

Though impressive then, it had still felt within the realm of human limits.

But now...

His recovery alone was staggering.

“Even the Frokk would be jealous,” Finn thought.

He fought as if on the brink of death, only to rise the next day, fully restored.

It was incomprehensible, yet Enkrid’s companions eventually stopped questioning him.

“Anyway, a fascinating man,” Lua Gharne murmured, summing up their collective thoughts.

“Is that so?” Enkrid responded with his usual calm.

Their journey took them to the backside of a rocky mountain.

The terrain was scattered with stones, sparse grass, and the occasional tree.

It wasn’t quite a plain, a wasteland, or a rocky field—it was somewhere in between.

“Captain, do you know this?”

“Know what?”

Kraiss suddenly spoke, breaking the silence.