A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Esther swept her jet-black hair back with her hand.

The hair that had been pushed back came cascading down again like a curtain made of ebony.

Through the part in that curtain, a pair of plump, pink lips opened like a pretty little window and let out a voice.

“A gift?”

He hadn’t exactly called it a gift, but Enkrid gave a vague nod.

His demeanor was plain, but Esther’s eyes sparkled unusually. Like a star fallen from the sky.

He didn’t know why, but he felt a kind of uplift.

Was she in a good mood?

Well, people had days like that sometimes.

Just like how some days you wake up feeling strangely refreshed.

Enkrid had pulled out what he’d packed in his bag and laid it out.

He’d gained a lot from killing the Apostle.

There were sacred relics, but also artifacts.

He could tell instinctively that they were magical items.

Some pouches tied with strings hadn’t even been opened.

“Poison, or something like it.”

That was thanks to Hira’s words. He’d planned to just leave it behind in the western lands, but when he heard that a magician might like it, he’d brought them along.

Some were intact, but many were broken.

A cracked pearl necklace, a ring split in half, a handkerchief embroidered with a woman weeping blood, a beast’s fang...

Among them, some were truly rare items.

Esther recognized them at a glance.

She hadn’t been able to resist properly, but the Apostle Enkrid met in the West could have rivaled Count Molsen as a magician if he had seriously prepared.

With magicians, the difference between being prepared and not was vast.

Besides, Enkrid had suddenly rushed in, putting the Apostle on the defensive.

A magician’s quick situational awareness generally lagged behind a swordsman’s.

Anyway, those were the items the Apostle had been carrying.

He had devoted his life to turning intact land into a demonic realm. A madman and necromancer.

Being “mad,” or at least seeming so, was often another way of referring to genius that couldn’t be understood.

Handling corpses was his specialty, but he was a genius as much as he was insane. The mad acts he dreamed of were on the verge of being realized.

Unluckily—or maybe thanks to someone else’s misfortune—he ran into Enkrid and Rem.

Esther opened one pouch with her slender, pale fingers and began placing the scattered items into it one by one, neatly and carefully.

“Not bad.”

Her eyes were already assessing the value of the artifacts.

Magicians devoted themselves to research and exploration.

No one who practiced spells and study disliked items that could help them.

Still... just where did he go to get such valuable things?

Even broken, there were talismans that warded off curses and other ill energies, amulets imbued with Western-style spiritual power...

It was as if he had slit a magician’s throat and looted the body.

No, that probably was the case.

“Fighting a magician—the method worked well.”

Hearing Enkrid say that so matter-of-factly confirmed it.

“I see.”

Esther replied, then finished packing the items and sat back down in her usual place.

It looked like she wasn’t doing anything, but she was busy.

So busy that she wouldn’t be able to do anything else for a while.

While Enkrid was away, she’d discovered that one of the curses she’d once received had permanently eroded part of her spell-world.

Even if you stitched a broken doll with thread and needle, there would always be traces left. The erosion was that trace.

For a magician, their spell-world had to be flawless and whole. But if the spellcaster themselves felt that their world was flawed—

It was like playing chess without a knight or bishop.

As time passed, the eroded parts would only worsen.

At this point, Esther had to choose between two paths.

One was to somehow repair the damaged world.

It would take time, but it wasn’t impossible.

However, as the chess analogy went, it would be like a swordsman fighting with one limb missing.

If she made a mistake and used the eroded world by accident?

That would be self-destruction. Best case, a clean death. Worst case, she could become a monster neither alive nor dead.

So then, what should she do?

The first option was to adjust and make use of her spells carefully. That was the easier path.

The second was far more difficult.

“To rebuild the spell-world.”

Not patching up the torn doll, but dismantling it and creating a new one altogether.

Most magicians wouldn’t even dare attempt it, but to Esther, a path was visible.

And to follow it, she needed various artifacts.

Items imbued with other magicians’ personal spells—and Enkrid had just brought a whole pile of them.

“Enki.”

Esther called to him while still seated.

When Enkrid turned to look, the black-haired beauty spoke again.

“Welcome back.”

Bringing back rare items? That was amazing and all, but more than that, what moved her was that Enkrid had returned.

Seeing him made one of the two paths clearer.

Like the god of magic had given her a sign, she felt certainty.

Esther herself didn’t fully realize it, but seeing Enkrid again made it clear.

She had been waiting for him.

“Rather than worrying, take a single step forward.”

Was the harder path really such a problem?

That man always spoke with his actions, his life, and everything else. No—he was still speaking, even now.

If it’s a path you believe is right, then what’s so hard about it?

Esther smiled faintly. Seeing that smile, Enkrid tilted his head slightly.

Were the things he brought really that expensive?

He’d heard that magicians liked stuff like that—was it really valuable?

Esther’s smile vanished quickly. Then she closed her eyes. She was setting out on a new path to rebuild her world.

Of course, including Enkrid, no one could know that.

Night deepened. Shinar had taken his gift and left, and Esther closed her eyes.

Enkrid lay down to rest, and beside him, Rem, hair still wet, sat on the edge of the bed and said:

“Looks like those bastards ran off.”

“...Go to sleep.”

Rem growled twice more, then fell asleep.

Enkrid closed his eyes too. Sleep came quickly. A deep slumber, dreamless.

***

“Your greatest strength... is your adaptability.”

That was Lua Gharne’s comment at dawn while they were practicing the Isolation Technique.

The rain had stopped, and the temperature had dropped noticeably, making the morning air fresh and clean like never before.

A perfect morning for training.

Not that he was the kind of guy to skip training just because it was hot.

This wasn’t training he was doing because he felt comfortable returning to the city he used to call home.

“Oara”—formerly known as Thousand Brick.

‘Eats well, sleeps well, and runs well anywhere.’

That was one of the impressions Lua Gharne had of Enkrid.

Whether on the way to the West, while in the West, or now in the city of Oara, he was always like that.

Enkrid gave a simple nod and continued what he’d been doing.

He was standing up from a squat, balancing with his legs spread.

Resting on his shoulders was a bar made of stone—no, a pillar—that Audin had personally crafted.

It was far too thick to grasp with one hand, so calling it a bar would be wrong. It was a pillar.

Watching him, Lua Gharne counted adaptability and doggedness as Enkrid’s strong points.

Just observing him was fun and satisfying.

Though she’d seen and trained many people, none had ever brought her this much joy.

Lua Gharne knew just how pathetic so-called “talented” people could be.

Guys who’d swung a sword a few times and decided swordsmanship was easy, so they’d just sit around drinking.

She wanted to show those who believed in their “talent” the sight of Enkrid.

‘Look.’

Even if the sky split in two tomorrow, he’d keep moving the same way.

Isn’t that constant attitude and mindset admirable?

With a stone pillar on his shoulders, dripping sweat, his eyes weren’t consumed by the strain.

Even without saying much, it was clear.

He was always hungry—always yearning.

Lua Gharne began to talk tactics. Beyond just physical skill, she wanted to teach him how to fight properly.

Tactics were the art of battle.

Sometimes you had to rely on instinct, but otherwise, the one who thought and prepared always had the advantage.

“If you can clearly define what you want before the fight starts, that’s best. Why do you think that is?”

Lua Gharne posed a question.

“So you don’t just rush into the fight blindly, but instead calculate toward a goal.”

Quick answer. He’d thought and reflected on it often. What a commendable mindset.

“Half right. The other half is... so you don’t become intoxicated by the sword.”

There’s a saying—getting drunk on the blade.

If someone found killing fun, they were just a murderer.

But ironically, it was often the gifted martial artists who turned into murderers.

Oh, if I stab like this, the guy drops dead? What if I cut his neck next? Maybe I’ll slice a leg off next time?

As skill improved, so did the thrill.

To Lua Gharne, Enkrid now looked more in that danger zone than ever before.

Everyone had a moment when their skill peaked.

She considered this Enkrid’s prime.

Even though she knew deep down he wouldn’t fall to it, she still voiced the concern.

“I understand.”

Enkrid answered calmly.

He had a dream and a purpose—he wouldn’t fall prey to that.

He wouldn’t let it happen—because he had a dream, and he had a purpose.

He knew it. Enkrid, who answered, knew it too. Even so, he nodded.

Because he understood why Lua Gharne had said it.

'Beautiful man.' 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

With someone like him, who could possibly hate him?

Lua Gharne suddenly realized the reason behind the atmosphere in the barracks.

Every one of them was relentless in training, and none of them hesitated to take on new challenges.

No barracks, no knight order turned out like this.

Some ended up broken, clawing at each other out of competition.

Others trusted only in their talent and died on the battlefield.

But not here.

Among the soldiers, there were those who knew how Enkrid had reached where he was now.

Even if they didn’t know the details, they knew he was a general with outstanding skill who still rose earlier than anyone else.

That was something the rookie who got beat up yesterday had seen.

His name was Marco, though neither Lua Gharne nor Enkrid knew it yet.

After finishing the final shift guarding the general’s barracks, he sensed a presence and peeked in—only to witness it himself.

Marco’s pupils trembled violently.

‘Didn’t he just come back yesterday?’

Doing that right after returning would just build up fatigue in the body—wasn’t that inefficient?

Yes, but for some people, this might be their best method.

And for Enkrid, his current routine was so ingrained that resting actually made things worse.

He needed to move to relieve fatigue.

That was part of what the Isolation Technique achieved.

As Marco stared blankly without realizing it—

“Brother, you need to squat deeper.”

The voice startled Marco, and he quickly turned around.

Standing there was someone so large that he would’ve had to bend his neck all the way back just to see his face.

No, not a giant—he was human. So how had he gotten that close without being noticed?

Audin walked past the soldier with a grin, and the general, still bearing the stone pillar on his shoulders, acknowledged him.

“Audin.”

“Have you made progress with the striking method?”

“Hit me and find out.”

He said it while setting the pillar down. Even in that gesture, there was a sense of familiarity and warmth.

Behind Audin was Teresa, the true half-giant.

She too passed by Marco without a word.

Neither of them said anything.

Marco looked back at Enkrid—

Thwack!

His eyes widened again.

Audin had just punched the general in the side. That’s what it looked like.

There was no prior agreement, no warning.

He just hit him.

What the hell? Why did he hit him out of nowhere?

“Oh-ho.”

And then he admired it.

“How was it?”

Despite being hit, Enkrid smiled.

Are they all insane?

Or do you have to be crazy to fight like that?

Didn’t that training officer, Rophod, say yesterday that if you worked hard, you could be like them too?

Bullshit, seriously.

Marco realized just how insignificant his own talent was.

No—that wasn’t the end of it.

If he didn’t have talent, was this the end? Should he just go back to picking on people weaker than him like he did before?

He didn’t want that. And because he didn’t want that, Marco took one more step forward.

A courage he hadn’t known he had rose up inside him.

“Why are you hitting him?”

Marco asked.

No one told him to leave. No one stopped him from watching.

So wasn’t that tacit permission?

Even if it wasn’t, he would’ve asked.

Marco was desperate. He wanted to know.

Why get hit? Why punch him? Why smile afterward? Were they just crazy?

“That’s training.”

Marco flinched again in shock.

He nearly leapt in place.

Where the hell had this guy popped up from?

Before he realized it, a rare handsome man with reddish-brown hair was standing right beside him.

His expression was as cold and rigid as a carved block of ice.

He didn’t even look at Marco as he walked past.

“There’s something different.”

His name was Jaxon.

“If you want to test it, go ahead.”

The general extended a hand to the side. In response, Frokk placed a sword in his palm.

It was a sharpened, real sword. Marco didn’t know it was Acker, a royal blade granted by the crown, but even he could tell at a glance—it was a fine weapon.

For a wandering swordsman, a good weapon directly impacted skill.

Of course he’d developed an eye for blades.

As soon as the general raised the sword and took his stance—

The reddish-brown-haired man disappeared on the spot. Truly, he vanished.

Marco blinked.

What the—?

He was definitely watching, but the man was just gone. Like a puff of smoke.

Then—

Thud.

A gray-haired beast kicked at the spot where the man had been.

Marco couldn’t see the full movement, only the pose with an outstretched leg, the hollowed ground, and the flying dirt.

He filled in the rest with his imagination.

The beast smiled broadly, then spoke.

His voice oozed with delight.

“You’re here, wildcat!”

“Didn’t leave that behind, huh?”

Suddenly, the reddish-brown-haired man appeared next to the general.

He held a dagger in each hand.

An axe and two daggers.

The beast and the ghost stared at each other.

The gray-haired one smiled.

The reddish-brown-haired one was expressionless.

It was a quiet exchange of gazes, but Marco felt like he was standing at the center of a typhoon.

“Keep it moderate,”

Enkrid said, and that was the signal.

The two clashed.

Thud! Clang!

Those were the sounds.

In ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) Marco’s eyes, it was all invisible.

An exchange of blows had taken place that he couldn’t even see.

They’d switched places.

“Act up again and I’ll skin you alive and leave you dead.”

The gray-haired Rem said with a smile. He now stood where the reddish-brown-haired one had been.

Jaxon was staring at his dagger.

The blade was broken—only half remained. It had shattered in a single blow.

It wasn’t just the weapon. The level of skill had changed.

The broken blade was stuck deep in the ground.

“Did a few hits wake you up?”

The reddish-brown-haired man asked.

“Shit, yeah. A few hits woke me up.”

The gray-haired man answered, his grin even broader than before.

After exchanging blades, it was time for verbal jabs.

They threw a few sharp words at each other, and Enkrid stepped in at just the right time.

“My turn.”

It was a strange thing to say if he was trying to stop them.

Marco saw many things that day—and gained a new realization.

‘The place I was in... was a well.’

If he wanted to escape that well, what should he do?

He’d have to crawl out.

Lua Gharne watched as the man named Marco turned his body.

She didn’t know exactly what he was thinking, but from his steps and posture, she could tell he’d made a decision.

‘Another one.’

It was Enkrid’s magic at work again.

You couldn’t stay complacent when you looked at him. You had to move forward. He made you go beyond your limits.

‘So how do you go beyond your limits?’

You had to train with full effort and sincerity.

And for that, what you needed most—was stimulation.

Enkrid was everyone’s stimulant.

Whether he knew it or not.