A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

“Mister, I’ve made up my mind.”

Ziba came trotting over while Enkrid was toweling off his wet hair after washing.

It was at that moment he wondered if he should finally cut it—his hair had gotten a bit long.

Enkrid looked like a completely different person than earlier.

In other words, he was calm, just as usual.

As he shook out his damp hair with the dry cloth Ziba’s mother had given him, he glanced over at her with his eyes.

What decision?

Ziba met his gaze, raised her chin, and spoke firmly.

“I’ve decided—I’ll become your wife. Just wait five years.”

Grk-grk-grrk.

Lua Gharne let out a puffed laugh of fire beside them.

Dunbakel tilted her head and said,

“Will five years be enough? I think you’ll still be underdeveloped.”

Ziba was still just a kid.

“Look at my mom. I’m gonna grow up a lot. A whole lot.”

Grow what, exactly?

Ziba’s mother, off to the side, quietly straightened her back and thrust out her chest.

The Western man who had once shown hostility nodded beside her.

Well, sure.

There was clear pride on her face.

Yes, she was large—but that wasn’t really the point.

“What’s her deal?”

Rem asked.

Though he’d been in and out of this tent a few times, the only long visit had been on the first day,

So Rem had never met this cheeky little Ziba.

“She’s Ziba. A stubborn little kid who’s hard to root for.”

Enkrid’s brutally honest evaluation earned a nod from Rem.

“If it’s her first crush, a kid who doesn’t get any support.”

You could root for any dream—but this was something different.

Marriage depended on both parties’ intent. It wasn’t something one could decide alone.

Of course, Enkrid didn’t think anything of Ziba.

If anything, he just saw her as a dim-witted little girl who was lucky to still be alive. That was all.

Ziba, having said her piece, backed away. She looked confident, even though she was bluffing.

Her stance had a fighter’s firmness.

If memory served, she wasn’t the only one who’d come seeking Enkrid.

“You’ve improved a lot.”

Rem said. And he meant it.

The people calling him a great warrior or a savior weren’t spouting empty praise.

Rem had a good eye—he could tell.

He assessed Enkrid’s current skill by comparing it to the moment when he himself had first grasped his magic.

In a real fight, many factors could affect the outcome.

What someone could do now wasn’t everything.

Just because you’re a junior knight doesn’t mean you’re immune to death at the hands of a squire.

You could die. That’s just how real battle works.

Even if you used Will, it didn’t mean your body would turn to steel.

All you could do was approximate their level of skill.

But that didn’t mean it was meaningless.

What is swordsmanship? What is combat?

Strength. Speed. Stamina. Judgement. Adaptability.

Grit that squeezes every last breath.

An unshakable mind. Sharp eyes. Acute senses.

All of it combined—used to kill your opponent.

And as he saw it now, Enkrid’s capabilities had evened out across the board.

It wasn’t just brute strength—

It was accumulated experience, integrated into his every move.

It’s pretty damn impressive,

Rem thought.

He’d seen Enkrid before, but when he shifted like this, it was still a surprise.

Not that he didn’t understand.

The world was vast, and Rem didn’t claim to know everything.

So maybe there were things like this outside his understanding.

“I still don’t quite believe it,”

he murmured.

But maybe it could be real.

Geniuses were always the ones who broke the mold.

Rem had shattered a few molds of his own in the past. That’s how he’d made it this far.

So he had no rigid preconceptions.

The only people who clung to such limits were those with shallow minds.

Rem wasn’t one of them. Lua Gharne wasn’t one of them.

Dunbakel had no sense of self-preservation.

And most Westerners didn’t even know Enkrid’s past—

They just saw what he was now, and that was enough to impress them.

“He’s grown, yeah.”

Compared to when they’d first sparred on the way here, he’d improved even more.

Enkrid simply nodded at the observation.

Killing those two giants wasn’t just killing two giants.

It was the moment where all his accumulated experience had translated into real power.

Even Enkrid couldn’t quite put it into words,

But the path that knights often aimed for—

It now looked clearer.

A once faint thread now seemed a thicker, more defined path.

“He’s amazing.”

Owl finally spoke beside Rem. She didn’t hide her admiration—or the fact that she was moved.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen someone fight better than Rem.”

That was what Owl said.

She was surprised when she first met him.

She knew he fought well, had heard he subdued even paper-users.

“I knew from the start he wasn’t ordinary.”

But even so, she couldn’t finish the sentence.

What she saw had left her speechless.

“He stopped the curse, killed the giants... I don’t even know what to say.”

A middle-aged Westerner who often dropped by and made small talk said something too.

What was he doing here, cutting into this moment?

It was a man with tear stains still wet on his face—emerging between the Blade Dancer and Hira.

He grabbed Enkrid’s hand and repeatedly expressed his thanks.

“Hey, Chieftain.”

One of the shamans recognized the man.

Enkrid hadn’t realized the man was the chieftain.

His clothes were just like everyone else’s. He’d never come with attendants. He wasn’t especially powerful.

He’d occasionally come by to say thanks or drop off fruit.

Enkrid had just assumed he was a good-natured Westerner.

He did have a kind face and gentle tone.

Though he spoke with a Western accent, and used some regional terms,

The chieftain always chose his words carefully around Enkrid.

He’d explain things twice, or say them in simpler terms.

He was considerate in many ways.

Maybe that’s why he was the chieftain.

“You’re the chieftain?”

“You didn’t know?”

Nod.

“Doesn’t matter.”

He stopped the curse and killed the giants.

If he were the chieftain, he’d be ready to give his bones for this man.

Even back when Enkrid served as their human totem, the chieftain had already been overflowing with gratitude.

And now he’d slain the giants.

“If there’s anything you want, I’ll stake my title as chieftain to get it for you.”

A bit of fuss, Ziba’s outlandish claim, the chieftain’s thanks, Owl’s astonishment—

All of it passed, and everyone returned to their tasks.

“We’ll talk later.”

Rem also stepped out of the tent.

People were shouting “Savior!”

The heat of their cheers pulsed through the camp.

The way people looked at Enkrid began to change—

But that didn’t mean his day-to-day life changed much.

“Let’s spar later.”

The Blade Dancer said quietly.

He was already rising bit by bit, loosening up before his body could fully rest.

“Didn’t you say you didn’t want to spar when the sun’s out?”

“Half-hearted sparring’s no fun.”

The Blade Dancer licked his lips. He was a Westerner, after all.

He’d been willing to face off with the strongest, but now it didn’t feel worth it.

Once Western affairs were settled, he wanted a real fight—one that sparked fire.

As he said that, he bared his fangs—and they looked especially sharp.

Enkrid nodded.

“The result won’t change, though.”

“You talk pretty cocky, huh?”

“I’ve been told that before.”

With no urgent tasks, Enkrid let himself sink into reflection.

He had a habit of going over things thoroughly.

And right now, that was exactly what he needed.

“Go over everything I’ve got, one by one.”

Lua Gharne said it in passing, like an idle comment.

And that’s when Enkrid realized what it was he’d been doing.

It was something he’d already been doing for a while.

From the most basic footwork, to the way he swung a sword, to how he held it—everything he’d learned up to this point.

He started with the Ballet Footwork adaptation, then the Nameless Refined Sword Form learned from the possessed demon sword, a variety of stances, sword techniques, and movements.

He wasn’t just retracing each one and combining them—he was disassembling them again, analyzing their principles.

Why?

Because it felt like he could go even further.

It was something he realized not through logic, but through intuition—a sense born from ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) stillness and awareness.

Then what did he need now?

“Looks like you won’t be needing me for a while,”

Lua Gharne said aloud.

And she was right.

He still swung his sword like always, but it felt more correct to embody each technique through movement, rather than just thinking about it.

“Seems that way.”

“Good timing, then.”

She murmured and began prepping to head out again. She’d been leaving often lately, but Enkrid didn’t ask why.

She’d tell him when the time was right.

Despite everything going on, nothing in his routine had changed.

Enkrid still immersed himself in training.

“You can leave if you want, but if it’s more comfortable staying here, that’s fine too. If there’s anything you want, just say it. I can get you almost anything.”

The offerings kept piling up, even more generously than before.

Ziba and her mother remained nearby.

“This is wind rabbit meat, a Western specialty. You should try it.”

Wind rabbits were animals found only in this region.

They were much faster than regular rabbits, and it was said you needed elite hunting skills just to catch one.

The meat was tender, clean, and savory.

It had been minced Western-style, mixed with grain flour, and grilled—the result melted in your mouth.

“There’s this guy named Kraite in my unit. If he tasted this, he’d probably want to open a restaurant on the spot.”

High praise.

Hira and other Westerners kept asking what Enkrid wanted, so he eventually gave an answer.

He wanted a sparring partner.

“Is the Blade Dancer not up yet?”

Hira called for him, but the Blade Dancer shook his head.

“Not yet.”

He wasn’t avoiding it—he just knew he needed to prepare properly if they were going to fight seriously.

Was that surprising? Or natural?

There was no shortage of sparring partners.

These were Westerners, and Westerners considered backing out of a public duel shameful.

If Enkrid wanted to fight, there was no shortage of people willing to step up.

To run just because the opponent was strong? That wasn’t the Western way.

One man, who had arrived ten days ago and had now seen Enkrid fight, came up and asked to learn a thing or two.

“For a Westerner, a wound on the back is a mark of shame.”

He had short gray hair, a chiseled jaw, and a solemn look.

“But getting hurt in a match? That’s unavoidable.”

Westerners weren’t rigid—they were flexible, and most of all, they loved jokes.

Enkrid smiled as he accepted the wooden sword the man handed him.

“I enjoy fighting in a variety of ways. Sometimes my friends call me cheap or underhanded.”

His tone was calm, his manner composed.

This had started when the man had approached him on the first day, carrying two wooden swords and handing him one.

Enkrid caught the larger one with ease.

Lua Gharne had already stepped out again, and Dunbakel sat nearby, clearly ready to just watch.

“Aaahhh.”

Dunbakel stretched with her mouth wide open and limbs sprawled.

She looked completely relaxed.

She seemed to have had a lot of action lately.

Enkrid gave the wooden sword a few light test swings. He could tell immediately—

Was the center of gravity even right?

It wasn’t a well-made weapon. Maybe the materials were poor, or maybe it was just shoddy craftsmanship.

But for all that, there was care in its shape—it looked like it had been freshly made.

Which meant it had been created specifically for this spar.

The opponent kept talking, so much that it was unclear when the match would actually start.

“But calling someone pathetic for over-preparing their tricks is...”

While he babbled, the man suddenly swung his wooden sword.

Whffft!

He’d used a cloak to hide the movement of his arm—

The cloak whipped violently, and its embroidered patterns created a visual distraction.

The wooden sword, the cloak, the chatter—it was all setup for victory.

A tactic.

Deception was part of strategy too.

Not that it mattered to Enkrid.

For example, the hollow in the middle of the wooden sword told him it was shoddy material. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

Enkrid pretended to brace his sword—and let it go.

The opponent’s wooden sword came crashing down.

Thunk.

The abandoned weapon snapped in the middle.

How rotten was this thing?

As that thought crossed his mind, he closed the gap and drove a palm strike under the man’s sternum.

He didn’t use full force.

If he had, the guy would’ve ended up with a shattered lung.

Crack!

The impact was clean.

The opponent had no time to react.

Enkrid had broken through his guard before he could even register the strike.

The man’s legs lifted off the ground. When they hit again, he collapsed face-first.

From the outside, he might’ve looked dead.

“...Ugh.”

The man lay flat, unable to speak after getting hit in the solar plexus.

“Were you trying to kill him?”

Dunbakel came over and helped stretch the fallen man’s back.

“Kh... ha... huff... haah... whew...”

His ragged breathing filled the room.

“I saw my dead father.”

Enkrid glanced at his own hand.

Apparently, he still needed to work on his control.

A female warrior was waiting nearby—next in line.

She looked like someone closely related to Clpa, a hunter with a synchronized twin-like rhythm.

Her hair was tied back, her frame well-built. She held her sword like someone trained.

She’d just watched someone take a serious hit and survive. That didn’t make her back down—

Which Enkrid found admirable.

“If I go full power, you won’t die, right? Is it okay to go all out?”

She asked. Enkrid nodded.

Soon after, Enkrid deflected her heavy strikes with the edge of his blade and knocked her unconscious with a precise strike to the back of her neck.

He was starting to realize—there were a lot of competent fighters staying in Unta’lip with the tribe.

More than before, in fact.

“So he’s really that amazing?”

Several unfamiliar faces had come just to get a glimpse of the man who’d killed the giants.

“Show some respect. If you get cocky, you’ll get thrashed.”

The Blade Dancer warned the swaggering warriors.

“Got it.”

They quickly nodded.

What Enkrid had accomplished was remarkable—but they all had their own tasks to do.

Sharpening weapons with soot paste, meditating, sparring, training—

It was obvious at a glance.

The whole tribe was preparing for battle.

In other words, killing the giants wasn’t the end.