A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Edin Molsen’s head throbbed from the smell of burning oil inside the lantern.

If this went on any longer, he might die—not from anything else, but from the sheer lack of fresh air.

Even without being tortured or beaten.

Damn it.

As he spat out a curse in his mind, the thought of his younger sibling suddenly stabbed through his head.

Raising his gaze, he saw the man sitting right in front of him with his legs crossed. A man with strikingly large eyes, the kind even other men might turn their heads to look at. It was Kraiss from the Mad Platoon—someone Edin knew well.

He had never imagined that this bastard had planted a watcher so close to him and his sibling. But there was no point in resentment now—nothing would change. Instead, he asked a pragmatic and realistic question.

“My sibling?”

“They're doing just fine. Their appetite is a bit small, but I suppose that’s the secret to maintaining that figure.”

The smooth way Kraiss spoke was infuriating.

“If you'd escaped right before the civil war broke out, none of this would have happened.”

At those words, Edin almost blurted out that he had wanted to do exactly that, but he held his tongue.

How was he supposed to avoid something he didn’t even know was coming?

That his father, the so-called King of the Borderlands, was planning and executing a rebellion? He had known, but he could never have spoken of it so carelessly.

No matter what anyone said, that man was still his father.

And the penalty for treason was a double execution by beheading.

Would he stand against his father, then?

Not a chance.

Edin knew the extent of his father’s power. He wasn’t the type to fight a losing battle.

All Edin Molsen had wanted was to take his sibling and hide away somewhere quiet.

The east, the north—anywhere would have been fine.

That was why he had endured, even as Enkrid beat him to a pulp.

He had even tried convincing his father that his sibling could seduce Enkrid.

Looking back now, it seemed his father had never really cared about him at all.

Not that he would have let me escape either.

“Just kill me.”

Edin said it plainly. These people were his father’s enemies. They wouldn’t keep him alive.

As a hostage? That was laughable.

His father?

Dean Molsen had long ceased to be a man. His coldness was on par with the eternal frost of the permafrost lands.

It wasn’t visible on the surface, but up close, it was clear—there was something inhuman about his father’s frigidity.

When did he become like that?

He didn’t know. It was beyond his ability to perceive. At some point, his father had changed.

“What do you mean, ‘kill you’?”

Kraiss shook his head from side to side, then clapped his thigh with a sharp slap before speaking.

“All right, how about this?”

Kraiss knew how to handle people. He was quick-witted and had a keen grasp of the situation.

He had known from the start that Edin Molsen was worthless as a hostage.

The Count of Molsen didn’t give a damn about his son.

Nor, for that matter, about the daughter he had disguised as a man and brought along.

Kraiss didn’t care about other people’s family matters, but one thing was certain.

Edin Molsen wants to escape.

That much was clear. Torture wasn’t necessary.

“Tell us everything you know, and head to Martai. We’ll set you up with a new identity and a home. I assume you planned to sell off the jewelry and ornaments you brought with you to build a foundation—but do you really think you can sell those off so easily? You should just be glad if you don’t get stabbed by a thief in the middle of the night.”

Kraiss had hidden people before and made quite a bit of money doing it. At one point, he had even considered making it his main trade.

But between the chances of getting stabbed and the high likelihood of ending up in prison, he had decided against it.

Still, he hadn’t lost his touch.

With the help of the Gilpin Guild, the job wouldn’t even be that difficult.

“...You’re saying you’ll let me live?”

Edin’s eyes were full of doubt.

Yeah, I wouldn’t believe it either.

Kraiss said something that sounded convincing, at least on the surface.

“I swear on the commander’s honor.”

The commander was Enkrid. In the Border Guard, there was nothing that carried more weight than the name Enkrid.

Even if they didn’t know the name of the lord, every passing brat knew Enkrid’s name.

“What if this is a lie?”

“Do you have any other options?”

Edin had no choices left. He could either talk and take a chance or just die.

“...Shit. I really got screwed over.”

Edin Molsen told them what he knew. Not that it mattered much to him.

He didn’t know the details anyway.

“There are five monstrous warriors in the count’s forces.”

“Not ‘beasts,’ but warriors?”

The unit sounded off.

“They’re called that because each of them wields a different weapon.”

The explanation was brief.

The count’s forces were divided into four main groups, each led by one of the four generals under his command.

The rest of the structure was similar to that of the kingdom’s forces.

The four generals, and the warriors who guarded the count himself—those were the five monstrous warriors of Molsen.

Some also called them the five monsters who had proven their strength.

The mute warrior who wielded a hammer, Malten.

The giant who used his body as a weapon, /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ Bennukt.

The dual spear-wielding virtuoso, Jalban.

The fairy of the Leaf Blade, Banat.

The fallen noble-turned-guard, Rearvart.

“Each of them could have easily joined a knightly order. And all of them are absolutely loyal to the count.”

Just thinking about them made Edin’s mouth go dry.

They were all monstrous, inhuman figures.

The Count of Molsen was a meticulous and insidious man. That was why no one knew the true extent of his hidden power.

“Has he allied with a cult?”

Kraiss had been wondering the same thing. Hence the question. Was the count roping in forces beyond Azpen’s?

“There’s no need. He has his territorial army.”

Edin answered, and the smug look on Kraiss’s face disappeared.

No further explanation was needed.

“He’s built a monstrous army.”

While the Border Guard was busy holding back Azpen.

While the kingdom was occupied with the Demon Realm and the south.

The Count of Molsen had lain low. He hadn’t made any major trouble. He had simply been known as the King of the Borderlands.

And in that time, he had gathered his strength.

And was that all?

Would that insidious man really not have more hidden tricks up his sleeve?

What started as suspicion turned into certainty.

Bang!

Kraiss shoved back his chair and shot to his feet. The chair clattered to the floor behind him.

Seeing this, Edin closed his eyes.

The dice had been cast, and Edin could already guess what number would come up.

From outside, Kraiss’s voice rang out, his belly taut with urgency.

“Audin! Commander Shinar! Battalion Commander Greyham! We need to assemble reinforcements immediately!”

***

“That was a mistake, knocking the constable out like that.”

The words came from some guild master who had stuck himself next to Enkrid. Honestly, it was annoying, but Enkrid let him be.

The man had approached him with something resembling goodwill.

He had followed them all the way to the Naurill Plains, offering weapons and equipment.

He even mentioned that he had wielded a sword in his younger days.

In other words, he was expressing his willingness to fight for the royal army.

“A mistake?”

Andrew, who had been following behind, reacted to the comment.

“I know you have skill, but you understand, don’t you? Reputation is just as important.”

The guild master spoke as if trying to justify himself, but Andrew scoffed. Seeing that, the guild master frowned for a moment before quickly smoothing out his expression.

His opponent was an up-and-coming noble, the head of House Gardner.

And the five trainees following him were all said to be remarkably skilled.

Enkrid didn’t care what the guild master was saying.

Why was a remark like that even being made?

He didn’t need to think deeply about it—it was obvious.

No one who had truly seen what Enkrid had done had gone around running their mouth.

Aisia, who had a rough understanding of the situation, wasn’t the type to talk.

Would Rem say anything? Talking was one of Rem’s specialties, but there was no one here worth talking to. Ragna and Jaxon certainly wouldn’t bother.

And as for Esther?

Would she suddenly stand up and declare—

“This is the man who saved your king!”

Yeah, right.

Of course, there were people who had witnessed Enkrid in action.

Those who had fought against him when he rescued Crang. The ones who had seen his swordsmanship cut down a squire in an instant.

But they had all fled.

They never got the chance to talk.

Crang hadn’t said much. Neither had Matthew. Nor had the spear-wielding royal guard.

That didn’t mean no rumors had spread at all.

There were still Squire Rophod and the palace maids.

So the rumors had started circulating.

That the so-called hero of the Border Guard, Enkrid, was real.

The past claims—that he was nothing more than a braggart or an empty shell—were beginning to fade.

But not all nobles had accepted it.

So what?

Enkrid couldn’t care less.

And no one around him particularly cared about such things either.

If someone came up to mock him, that would be one thing.

Otherwise? Why bother?

Enkrid had more important matters to focus on.

He had plenty to think about and even more to do.

All throughout their journey to the Naurill Plains, Enkrid reflected on the past.

“I am Ingis of the Crimson Cloak Knights. I have a feeling we’ll meet again.”

That knight—Ingis—had sought him out before departing.

“I’d like to spar with you next time.”

Even though Enkrid had done nothing in particular, Ingis’s interest had been drawn to him.

“Why do you want to fight the commander?”

Rem, curious, had asked.

It was usually Enkrid who challenged others to a fight. The reverse wasn’t so common.

“I have a good sense for these things—you’re an interesting person.”

Ingis had swept back his hair and spoken with genuine seriousness.

To Enkrid, the man seemed quite the peculiar character.

“Well, then, until next time.”

With that, he left, saying there were troublesome matters in the south.

He repeated his farewell a couple more times before finally departing.

“You’re becoming a more and more captivating man by the day.”

Not long after, Lua Gharne had come to see him.

She had crossed blades with him a few times, then declared—

“It’s beyond me now.”

Her ankle still wasn’t fully healed. No matter how monstrous Frokk was, no one regrew an ankle in a day.

Even so, the gap in their skill was clear.

“But there are still things I can teach you.”

For five days, Lua Gharne refined his orthodox sword techniques.

Naturally, Enkrid absorbed it all diligently.

Did I do it like this back then?

Even as they marched, Enkrid ran through his sword forms, his hand slicing through the air as he replayed the techniques in his mind.

It was routine.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

The others saw it but thought nothing of it.

After all, there weren’t that many people to see it.

Ragna, Jaxon, Dunbakel, Rem, and Andrew.

Other than Andrew, the rest had originally been part of the Border Guard’s standing forces.

It made sense that Enkrid didn’t have soldiers of his own.

The road to the Naurill Plains was smooth.

No ambushes, no skirmishes.

The scouts constantly moved, relaying updates on enemy movements.

And the entire time, Enkrid continued refining the skills he had honed over the past month.

A month—ordinarily, a short span of time.

But this month had been different.

“You’ve improved a lot.”

Ragna’s gaze had changed.

“Come at me. I’ll get at least halfway serious.”

He had drawn genuine seriousness from Rem.

“This makes no sense.”

Aisia, having recovered enough to return, shook her head in disbelief.

How could someone improve this much in just a few days?

“It’s getting harder to recognize the way you used to be.”

Jaxon had said as much. It was high praise. Enkrid nodded.

For a month, Enkrid had barely spoken.

He had simply swung his sword and pressed forward.

Was it because of the push he had received from Sagong?

That wasn’t all.

Deep within Enkrid, the half-knight who severed the flow kept rising to the surface.

Time and time again, Enkrid questioned himself.

What if I had fought to the very end?

Then what would have happened?

Through repeated questioning, he arrived at an answer. No—he had already known the answer.

The experiences gained from repeating today over and over.

It was only now, after endless walking, that his vision had opened.

Three times. At most, that was all it would take.

Then he could surpass it.

That was why it was not a wall.

It was a fresh experience.

A mere month, one could say.

And yet, compared to the repetition of today, it had been a shockingly short time.

Time had taken on a different weight and density.

Each day, Enkrid showed change.

For him, it was simply a moment of digesting the experiences accumulated through repeated days.

But to others, it was nothing short of astonishing.

“You’re not going to die so easily anymore.”

That was Rem’s conclusion.

And so, they arrived at the Naurill Plains.

With summer’s arrival, green shoots stretched taller across the fields. Beyond them, the enemy army loomed.

Even at a glance, the sheer number of soldiers standing in formation was dizzying.

“That’s a disgusting amount.”

Rem spoke first. Ragna nodded, while Jaxon merely tilted his head slightly, arms crossed.

Dunbakel scanned from left to right before speaking. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

“At least three times our numbers.”

And she was right. The difference was staggering.

The commanders of Crang’s army had suspected the count might have allied with cultists or resorted to some kind of underhanded trickery.

They had miscalculated.

The difference was pure numbers.

Nearly ten thousand well-trained territorial soldiers stood before them.

Even standing still in formation, they projected overwhelming force.

Meanwhile, their own side had barely three thousand men prepared for the civil war.

They were outnumbered.

They were outmatched in training.

It was a losing battle.

At the front, the five monstrous warriors took their positions.

Beside each of them stood two aides, whose presence alone exuded an extraordinary pressure.

The weather was bright and clear, yet it felt as though dark clouds were gathering.

Black clouds that covered only the sky above their allies.

And then—

“I’ll just go say hello.”

A man who had come this far, refining only his sword, spoke.

He wanted to test his blade.

Somewhere within him, there was also the instinct to flip the current atmosphere on its head.

The intuition he had sharpened through the battles with Azpen—his ability to read the flow of strategy and tactics—was at work.

“One-Eye.”

Enkrid called the creature that had now become used to carrying him.

Mounting One-Eye, he rode forward.

Bwoooouuuuu!

A horn bellowed.

Dum, dum, dum, dum, dum!

Drums rumbled.

A lone rider advanced.

“Anyone, step forward.”

He called out.

The situation left many stunned, but among the five monstrous warriors, one of Jalban’s aides stepped forward.

“I shall claim your head.”

Since the opponent desired a duel, there was no reason to refuse.

The aide thrust a long spear forward and rode out on horseback.

His opponent dismounted.

What kind of fool got off his horse in a cavalry duel?

Hiiiiiing!

The aide’s horse neighed loudly.

“Hah!”

With a shout, he increased his speed.

The ground trembled beneath the heavy warhorse and its armored rider, spear leveled.

A single person standing on foot would be crushed to pieces or skewered like a kebab.

“Uhh...”

Somewhere among the royal army, someone pointed ahead, mouth agape.

Shouldn’t he be dodging?

That was the question on many minds.

But most simply stood by, watching.

It wasn’t as if everything had happened in an instant.

But what could they do?

With the situation playing out like this, all they could do was watch.

To those who saw with their own eyes, it was obvious—the man was about to be impaled.

At least, to those who didn’t know Enkrid.

Only a few remained at ease.

They were the ones who knew exactly who had stepped forward.

Dudududududu!

The warhorse rapidly closed the distance.

Even from afar, its massive weight was apparent.

Dust billowed into the air.

Grass was crushed beneath the hooves, sent flying in all directions.

Compared to the way their own cavalry had moved with a near-weightless grace, this was sheer violence in motion.

Whoosh!

The spear cut through the air.

Jalban’s aide and his mount passed straight through their target.

Splatter!

Blood sprayed into the air like paint on a canvas.

The horse galloped onward.

The rider, however, had left half of his body behind.

His upper torso, as if pulled by an invisible string, was lifted into the air before crashing to the ground.

Blood and entrails stained the grass and soil.

The first casualty.

Even if no one heard it, Enkrid muttered to himself.

“Next.”