A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Past Martai, all the way to the East.

The journey wasn’t as grueling as Dunbakel had expected. Facing monsters and beasts was a given, but their numbers had clearly dwindled compared to before.

It was only natural.

From the Border Guard to Martai, outposts had been set up all over.

The soldiers stationed there rotated shifts, killing monsters and guarding the posts.

That didn’t mean bandits had become more active either.

There was an old saying that when monsters declined, bandits would run rampant across the continent.

If monster activity subsided, people would begin traveling more frequently, and it made sense that bandits would take root in those areas. But not here.

“If you’re caught stealing, we cut your wrist. If you’re caught thieving, we cut your head off.”

The Frontier Defense Commander who became the lord of Martai ruled over criminals the same way he had back at the Border Guard.

It was also why crime guilds couldn’t take hold.

Now and then, a Frokk named Meelun would visit out of boredom. Whenever mercenaries or thugs stirred up trouble, he would beat them senseless without mercy.

“If you think it’s unfair, come to the Border Guard.”

Recently, with more people showing up at the Border Guard who were stronger than him, Meelun had developed a new hobby: going for walks all the way here when his frustration built up.

There was even a rumor that if you took that comment seriously and actually went, a muscle monster would force you into training.

Dunbakel had heard similar stories along the road and nodded. It was a convincing rumor.

As the Border Guard raised elite troops and invested more in military resources, Martai naturally followed suit.

“Shall we let the name of the Frontier Defense fall into disgrace?!”

Torres pushed his troops harder than before.

He couldn’t let the dignity of a storied and renowned unit fall behind.

He didn’t want the Frontier Defense to become just another forgettable unit under his command.

As part of their training, Torres had the Frontier Defense serve on outpost duty, and just as Kraiss had hoped, Martai also began constructing outposts.

A safe road now stretched from the Border Guard to Martai, and naturally, merchants began to travel through it more frequently.

Originally, Martai was already a gateway city where valuable relics from the East would pass through.

Goods and relics from the East held no small value. Under normal circumstances, the Lockfried caravan might have monopolized them, but they were smart.

Rather than desperately trying to keep everything in their own hands, they took what was worth taking and left the rest alone.

They didn’t touch Eastern relics, peddlers, or merchant bands. As long as they paid the toll, they could pass through freely.

For trade caravans across the continent, not visiting the Border Guard now was practically a sign of incompetence.

It was a boom. There were no real specialty goods, and Greenperl still had a long way to go before becoming viable farmland, but as trade flourished, krona naturally began to circulate more actively.

That was why Martai had become so bustling.

Dunbakel, just as Enkrid had advised, sought out Torres. She secured the appropriate supplies.

“Heading east? Dangerous? Nah. You’re one of Enkrid’s people, right? Suit yourself.”

That’s all Torres said—though he did add one comment.

“Should I have them fill the tub for you?”

She looked like she hadn’t had a proper wash in days.

“No, it’s fine. I’m going straight.”

Dunbakel moved out in her ragged, dirty state. Leaving Martai, toward the East.

At first, a vast wasteland greeted her.

Once she passed ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) beyond the regions where monsters and bandits were rare, unfamiliar beasts started to appear.

A two-headed lizard—one head clacked its teeth to create sparks, and the other spewed some kind of gas.

Combined, they became a creature that breathed fire.

In the past, a fire-breathing lizard beast known as a Salamander had descended upon the continent, and this one was a remnant of that time.

A lower species of the Salamander, perhaps.

Someone had just slapped the name “Flame Lizard” on it.

In some places, they simply called it “Two-Headed Lizard.” Not a common sight.

The road continued as she walked, slaying beasts along the way. The East was far. The long journey made her mind wander.

‘The Epic of Dunbakel, Who Went to the East and Returned.’

What if she wrote a story like that?

Subtitle: The Tale of Honey-Drunk Bees?

Everyone, including Enkrid, would fall for her.

‘Should I leave Rem out?’

He was a married man, and Ayul was a good person. She remembered how Ayul had taken care of her back when she was staying in the West.

Later, on her way to the Eastern frontier city, Dunbakel nearly died twice.

It was a long story if told in full, but short if summarized.

When she finally met the ruler of the East, the Mercenary King Anu, his first words were:

“Hey, did that bastard lose all his fingers or something? Why doesn’t he reply to letters?”

He was grumbling that Enkrid hadn’t replied to the letter she had sent.

No words of welcome for her. But that was fine. It’s not like she’d ever been warmly received anyway.

She used to care, but now it didn’t matter anymore.

“How should I know.”

Dunbakel answered flatly.

The king looked at her.

“Why are you here?”

“Just to get some rest.”

The moment she said she came to the East for rest, the eyes of the people beside the king sharpened.

What the hell did that half-brained beastwoman just say?

Dunbakel had walked straight into trouble. That was her intent anyway.

So—

“So I’ll be in your care.”

Dunbakel declared boldly.

***

Crang hated politics. Just look at this.

“There seem to be more and more eyes watching Enkrid.”

“Why? Are they afraid I’ll take their land and hand it over to Enki if we get close?”

The Marquis of Octo chuckled.

“What can you do? When the royal authority grows stronger, nobles inevitably get anxious.”

Crang knocked the hard armrest of his chair.

Damn it, why is it that no matter how many you get rid of, these useless bastards keep popping up? Like mosquitoes.

They were the kind of pests that always show up when summer rolls around.

But it wasn’t something worth stressing over. On the path forward, you couldn’t stop to pick up every piece. The ones who couldn’t keep up would fall away on their own.

Some of the frontier landowning nobles had started grumbling that Enkrid’s territory was getting too large.

One of them even said outright that he’d seize part of the land by force.

What, was he crazy?

And if he dies?

Crang said, let them do what they want. But if they chose armed conflict, they would have to bear the consequences. Some of the nobles, perhaps driven to suicidal thoughts by their narrow wells, agreed.

Well, this nonsense probably had something to do with neighboring countries pulling strings behind the scenes, but even if you try to dissuade or pacify them, if they’re dead set on dying, what more can you say?

“Ah well, nothing to be done. Azpen’s acting suspicious, right?”

The seasonal rains had passed, and it was now fair to call it autumn.

Crang looked out the window at the leaves slowly turning red and said,

“We’re keeping all routes open and gathering information. In my judgment—yes, they’re preparing for war.”

That reply came from the Marquis of Baisar, who sat next to the Marquis of Octo. Across from him, Marcus Baisar moved his silverware. It was breakfast meeting time.

Though instead of sandwiches, they had moderate portions of steak, grilled broccoli, mashed potatoes, and the like.

Crang loathed waste. As a child wandering the continent, he’d seen too many people die from hunger.

He believed that just cutting down on the royal family’s tableware could save dozens, even hundreds of lives. And he had proven it.

Of course, there were nobles who hated this.

Why are you taking away what they deserve to enjoy?

Crang didn’t punish them for it. They could do as they pleased. But the royal family set the tone.

A tone of caring for the people and fulfilling responsibility, instead of indulging in excess.

That’s why they rebelled. And why they complained that Enki was being favored. And why they whined about poor knight training.

Damn nobles, always something.

And now Azpen wants to fight. Can they pull knights from the southern border to fight?

Can they withdraw the troops from the city of Oara?

They’d need knights.

This war wouldn’t be another limited skirmish like before.

Azpen would go all in. They’d stop at nothing to get Greenperl. But what gave them the confidence?

If he were Azpen’s king, this would be the time to bow and beg for mercy.

So why were they challenging now? They must have something to bank on.

There were people who didn’t see failure as despair, but as an opportunity.

Someone like Enkrid had been that kind of person.

It was possible Azpen had someone who also saw failure not as defeat but as “Again! One more time!”

They’d tried and failed countless times before. This time, they’d come better prepared.

Crang chewed his meat with a blank expression. The well-cooked lamb melted in his mouth.

War, nobles—none of it mattered. Meat was always delicious.

“The lamb is well done. Why not eat a little while you talk?”

At Marcus’s words, the Marquis of Baisar also reached for his utensils. With age, his bite had weakened, and it had become difficult for him to eat meat. Even after divine healing, his gums had never returned to their former strength.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

But the lamb was tender enough that even the Marquis could chew it easily.

“So if Azpen crosses the line, we’re to tell Enki to stop them using just the Border Guard’s strength, is that it?”

Some nobles had gathered, causing a stir just to chip away at Enkrid’s influence. The city was built to deter Azpen, and he was the high lord responsible for the region—so he should fulfill his duty. That was the line going around.

These bastards must’ve lost all sense of shame.

Had they forgotten he was the one hailed as the ender of civil war and slayer of demons?

Well, maybe the provincial nobles had never seen Enkrid’s feats firsthand.

It was among those very nobles that this talk had taken root.

Some were also bothered by how Count Molsen’s domain was being treated almost like a royal territory.

There were fools who believed that if Count Molsen died, a part of his land would become theirs.

Crang asked, and the Marquis of Baisar nodded.

“No matter how long it drags, the royal family can provide military support within a month.”

That support could include knights.

At most a month. They didn’t even have to fight seriously—just act like they were.

It was a farce, but at least it served to demonstrate that the Border Guard was doing its job and that Enkrid deserved his current position.

“We’re considering sending Viscount Andrew’s troops, just in case. They should be a reliable force.”

Marcus swallowed his meat and spoke.

Andrew, lord of the city beside the capital, had received his land directly. With royal support, he was rapidly raising elite troops. Just as Marcus said, he’d be helpful.

Crang nodded. It was time to write another letter himself.

“But is the guy busy or something? Why hasn’t he replied?”

He’d sent over ten letters himself, yet there hadn’t been a single reply from Enkrid.

Shouldn’t there have been a response by now?

Hadn’t it been some time since he returned from the West?

***

‘Does he not think?’

Or maybe, for all his skill in combat, he was just an idiot.

That was what Enkrid thought as he read the Mercenary King’s letter.

It was urging him to reply. There was nothing particularly important in it. So why was he pushing for a response?

Even without a crest on your head, you’d know that sending a letter was no easy matter.

The Mercenary King had people to deliver his letters one way or another, but to send a reply all the way to the frontier city would require at least a squad of soldiers.

So far, Enkrid had left his replies in Martai, where the Easterners who had delivered the letter would take it back with them.

Which meant the timing had to line up for him to even send a reply.

Enkrid had been busy moving between the city of Oara and the West.

And now he was being pestered for not replying?

Even if they didn’t know that, it wasn’t like it was something worth replying to anyway.

Enkrid went through the stack of letters that had piled up in his absence. Most were from the Mercenary King Anu or from Crang.

A few were useless nonsense.

Letters from some lady professing love, saying they’d fallen for him at first sight.

A nobleman’s letter suggesting he meet his daughter, and so on.

Half of what wasn’t from the two kings were marriage proposals, a quarter were letters questioning whether his fame was legitimate, and the remaining quarter were requests from merchant caravans asking for favors.

“Bet you get plenty of bribes too, huh?”

Glancing through the letters and scribbling a quick reply, he asked Kraiss, who nodded.

“Yes. Quite a few. Want any?”

“No.”

He didn’t need anything in particular. He did need to get a new set of armor, but if he poked Kraiss in the side, he’d probably cough up the krona.

Actually, his personal gambeson, chainmail, and plate cuirass were already prepared.

The gambeson was dyed a deep navy blue, with a golden sword embroidered on the front.

Whoever had made it must’ve left their sense of style back in some dark corner of the demon realm.

But it was sturdy. The outer layer was covered in leather from a beast-turned wolf, and the inside was lined with trimmed feathers from an owlbear. Heavy, but not uncomfortably so.

After writing and organizing a few replies, Enkrid donned the armor, fastened Acker to his waist, and slipped three throwing knives into his chest belt.

It was a small office. As he stood and walked out, Kraiss asked,

“Where are you going?”

“To say hello.”

“To who?”

“A noble.”

That was all it took for Kraiss to realize what Enkrid intended.

There was a noble who’d been sending half-baked assassins and picking fights at every opportunity.

His domain sat between the Border Guard and Count Molsen’s territory. Not a small domain, but not one of great power either.

Then, out of nowhere, he adopted a son. That son claimed to have trained under some martial arts master, and ever since that master came to stay at the domain, the noble had started to lose his mind.

He acted as if part of Count Molsen’s territory was his by right and went around saying Enkrid was just a lucky swordsman.

“Going alone?”

Kraiss stood too and asked.

He’d already been sitting armed at the desk, clearly intending to head out.

But was there any need to take a group?

Enkrid didn’t think so.

This was, after all, nothing more than a casual outing.

Enkrid departed straight for the noble’s domain, and Rem, bored as ever, followed along.

“I’ll come too. I’m bored.”

Ragna, saying it was a hassle, went back to sleep. Lua Gharne had devoted herself to training ever since returning from the West.

Pel was still a bit gloomy, and Rophod was still full of energy.

There were nights when the seasonal rains poured and they talked about this and that, and times when they trained just like always.

After several days of rain, it cleared up. The temperature dropped to just the right level for walking and moving.

“You planning to cut off his head?”

Rem asked on the way out.

“Don’t go for the head right off the bat.”

Enkrid replied, and the two walked along the road, their footsteps quiet.

It was a bit far to go on foot, so they suggested he take a carriage, but Enkrid shook his head.

He wanted to walk. To think about the elusive trail he was trying to grasp, and to clear out some stray thoughts.

It was a ten-day journey on foot—training, hunting, and making his way forward.

Enkrid arrived at the noble’s territory. Luck was on his side: the noble was out hunting monsters, and they met at the boundary of the land.

The noble had twenty attendants with him, including his son. Enkrid had only Rem by his side.